#the Serial Dynamic of Photographic Likeness

[zurich-snows]

André-Adolphe-Eugène Disdéri | Carte de visite (demi-mondaine), c. 1855 albumen print. 7¾ x 7 5/8in. (20.2 x 19.8cm.)

Also...

[fictioncupid]

Put the World on the Demolition Strip Baby; We're Gonna Watch the Sunrise. (they/them ver) (NSFW)

Looking for the he/him version?

Ao3 link! - Put the World on the Demolition Strip Baby; We're Gonna Watch the Sunrise.

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT REBLOG OR COMMENT. (This is my new writing blog! This is not stolen content! I've just moved!)

Summary:

Ronin’s sat above you, weight resting heavy over one of your thighs with his hands braced near your head, dark red-purple hair falling in heavy strands around your face. There’s blood on his cheek, smudged. It’s not his own. You want to lick it off him. You can feel the weight of his crowbar creasing a heavy dent on the pillow above your head. It should scare you. To know that your boyfriend is a vicious murderer. That his favourite murder weapon of choice is resting so close to you. You can smell the blood on it, have been able to since you opened the bag, since he walked in with it. It only serves to rile you up more. Your hips twitch upwards in tiny little humping movements. Ronin's grinning so wide it almost splits his face. God, there must be something wrong with you to want this so much.

OR,

todays the day you get intimately acquainted with Ronin's crowbar.

12,215 words :)

Pronouns & genital terms used!:

Ronin- he/him, cock, cunt

Reader- they/them, clit, pussy, cunt, entrance

CW/TW under cut! THIS IS DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT CONTENT. READ THE CW, HEED THE CW; IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, DON'T READ IT!

CW: D/S dynamics, sex, power imbalances, blood (not period), some dysphoria talk relating to bottom growth (dw we resolve it, no unresolved trans angst in my porn nuh-uh), uh Ronin being gross and reader being unapologetically into it.

TW: unhealthy relationship dynamics? (like don’t actually date a serial killer that shit CANNOT be good for you) blood, BLOOD, murder mentions, deranged thinking, inappropriate use of a crowbar, complete ignorance of blood borne pathogens and safe sex, uhhhh sexy murder talk, also MAD sexualisation of murder and serial killing throughout the whole thing

Also, ik ronin’s technically had both top n bottom surgery in like the quasi-canon of tumblr facts but i am currently horny for bottom growth and tdicks so TRY AND STOP ME YOU CANNOT MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

××××××××××

You already knew your boyfriend was a killer. Had known since you joined that damn chat server, way before you met him in person, but this is the first time you’ve seen the evidence first hand. As something more than just a news article or a ‘funny’ photograph dumped in #killer-shit by Ronin himself. …You didn't expect to find it so thrilling.

You’d always told yourself you were okay with it. That you would learn to be okay with it. Hells, you met Ronin for the first time in the alleyway he likes to commit his murders in, it's not like you could claim ignorance. 

He'd been covered in blood then too, but you'd brushed past it. Told yourself it was his own. That Ronin's nose was bleeding when you met him. That's where the blood was from. That you were a good person and you could save him. Fix him. Told yourself that you wanted to. You had to, right? Never mind that you only decided all this after you’d gotten home, heart racing with adrenaline from your little meetup, telling yourself that the throbbing in your clit was from ‘misattribution of arousal’ and not how electric it had felt to have Ronin kiss you in the place he normally kills people. 

Still, you've never been able to crush the niggling little worry that when you come face to face with it, when you are finally confronted with evidence so overwhelming that you can deny it no longer, that you’d balk. Turn tail and run for the hills because as much as you love your boyfriend- you are no killer. You can’t even really stomach the sight of blood. Normally it makes you sick and queasy.  So you avoid it; as much as you can, you dodge and drop the topic like it’s on fire and you’re out of water so you have to avoid getting burned.

Ronin seems to have more faith in you though. Whether it stems from your unwavering addiction devotion to his devilish persona, or from the glassy eyed stare you gave him that day in Purgatory when he brought out his knife. How you didn’t even flinch when he pressed it to your throat, just stared into his wild, wicked eyes and whispered, ‘so are you kissing me now, or after? I have to say I’d much prefer now.’ 

That had Ronin cracking up. He’d lowered the knife in favour of clutching his knees, bent over double as a wild cackle ripped free from his throat. When he finally stopped laughing enough to speak he'd said, ‘I, a certified serial killer, the butcher, the devil himself, just threatened your life and you’re asking me to kiss you? Awh baby, darlin’. I’ve thought as much before, but now I’m certain that we’re a match made in hell.’ Ronin had then crowded you into the wall, gently pressed the knife into your hands, cupped your face and kissed you. It’d taken your breath away. Still does to think about it.

You could have killed him then. Probably should of. It's what he was suggesting when he handed you the knife; giving you an out if you really were somehow bluffing. That was Ronin through and through; impossibly kind in the most deranged possible manner. And you loved him. 

But the thought had crossed your mind, once or twice. That maybe you weren't built for this. For him. You can’t look at the news articles he posts in announcements, or the photos in #killer-shit, or watch scary movies with him without crying and screaming at the tension, the jumpscares, and the gore. Always trying to hide in the fabric of his shirt, behind his jacket, hands pressed tight over your ears to block out the sounds. You’re pretty sure the only reason Ronin’s okay with it is that he finds your innocence endearing, cute even, and your tears hot. Proven by how he forces you to sit still afterwards, both hands gripping your face tight so you can’t back away from him as he looms above you, blocking out the light from the television so all you can see is him. Vision filled with his devilish beauty; his face twisting in a mock version of pity as he traces the path your tears took with his fingers.

The television behind Ronin serving to make him look like a fallen angel by Christening him with a halo of blue light, spilling out from behind the little plastic horns glued to his beanie. He’d be sickened by the thought. Ronin leaning in and licking the tears off your face. Shushing you softly and rubbing his thumb over your lip when you open your mouth to ask why? You don’t get it. 

But Ronin fucks you so sweetly when he’s done. You think it’s a prize for withstanding the horror, his horror. That, or it turns him when you let him push you so close to the edge, let him make you cry and tremble with fear before soothing it away with the thick line of his cock. He always lets you curl into his chest afterwards, rocks you to sleep while reciting odd, esoteric poetry from the depths of his mind that you think might be about how much he loves you. You hope. 

But you do worry- or, you did worry, that one day Ronin would come home to you while covered in proof that he was out hunting more than just animals, or that one day you would read the wrong article about him, or that someone would tell you about a gruesome murder done by none other than the ‘devilish butcher’, and you’d never be able to look at him the same again. That the room wouldn’t light up around his smile anymore. Instead it would seep sinister into your dreams and invade the cracks in your head with its polluting light and then you would have to leave. Quietly. Unable to face the man you love and tell him you’ve finally realised what he’s been telling you all along: that he’s a monster. 

Well, that day is today. You heard Ronin leave early this morning, slide out of bed while it was still dark, too dark for him to be leaving for work, despite your whining and pleading for ‘five more minutes’. Telling him, ‘nooooo ‘Nin, cuddles,’ when Ronin chuckled and said he had work to do. You’d drifted grumpily back into a half sleep when you felt a gloved hand brush over your forehead before Ronin stooped to press a gentle kiss there. 

‘I’ll be back real soon, darlin’. Keep dreaming of me while I’m gone.’ You’d opened your eyes blearily to catch sight of him leaving, dressed all in black with a mask pulled up over his mouth and nose. Ronin had waved his crowbar at you merrily before tucking it in his coat and under his arm and strutting jauntily out the door. You’d thought he looked like an angel then too. Not that you’d ever tell him that. It wasn’t until sometime later, after you’d woken up properly and had some time to think about it, that you realised this was the first confirmed time you’d seen him leave to go kill someone. 

You’d seen him after he’d killed plenty of times before, when he was still loopy and ecstatic from the thrill and the rush, but the perks of not living together fully yet had meant it was usually after he’d showered. And while he was one to brag, he never seemed to go into specifics, at least not with you. He was usually more preoccupied with bedding you anyways. Excitement leaking into his movements as he’d throw you onto the bed, grin at your outraged squeaks and then shut you up by rutting his thick cock against your mouth until he was satisfied. 

But this time, this time is different. This time you know where he’s going, what he’s doing. And you’re just sitting around his apartment, docile, waiting for him to come back. Drinking tea and making breakfast like nothing is different. And maybe it isn’t. It certainly doesn’t feel different. That’s what you’re convincing yourself anyways. Until Ronin opens the door with a slam and struts in, whistling. You don’t jump like you usually do, a phased calm shifting over you when you see him, like you’re settled in your own skin for the first time in your life; like you didn’t even realise something was wrong until suddenly it wasn’t. 

Black backpack in one hand, Ronin is conspicuously free of both his gloves, his mask and his crowbar. He almost looks normal when he sees you, but his eyes are wild when you make eye contact. You freeze in place, standing off the side of his kitchenette after placing your dishes in the sink. Ronin’s grin is feral, laced with something evil and you should be scared. You want to be scared as his eyes scan up and down your body, dressed only in one of his worn out oversized sleep shirts; Ronin looks upon you like prey and you shiver. 

There’s blood on his face. Just a trickle by his mouth, obscure and miniscule enough it could be his own but you can’t deny it any more. It’s not his. It's someone else’s. Someone he’s killed. Your boyfriend is a killer. A stone cold killer, for the sick, sick thrill. Your legs feel weak and your head spins with how quickly all the blood in your body rushes south, at the thought of how dangerous he is. Your clit twitches in anticipation as if to say ‘hello Ronin, darling. How I've missed you.’

‘Hey there darlin’. Got you all pavlov’d up for me, huh baby?’ Ronin’s eyes are dark with delight as they flick from your face to where you're fidgeting and rubbing your thighs together to try alleviate the heavy ache in your clit. ‘Just can’t wait to have my cock split open those pretty little folds of yours, can you? Well, too bad. You’ll have to be patient while I put this away first, but then I’m all yours darlin’.’  Ronin winks at you comically. You don't laugh, you can’t.

Ronin gestures with the bag to show you what he’s talking about and the word, ‘Don’t.’ slips out your mouth before you can think to stop it. He raises an eyebrow at you. 

‘What’s got my sweet little saint all riled up today?’ Ronin’s looking at you with curiosity on his face, clearly expecting an answer but you don't have one. You barely have any thoughts at all other than the raging need to see it, to see proof with your own eyes. 

You get to your feet with your pulse racing and your hands numb and tingling. It feels like all the blood in your body is in your head. Or your feet. Or your cunt. It thrumbs heartily with every step you take towards him. The excitement and thrill starts to slip off Ronin’s face and he’s watching you with a calculating look, like he knows today's the day. It softens slightly when you slip one hand into his, press a soft kiss to his lips and gently take the bag from him with your other hand. 

The bag’s heavier than it looks, and it should repulse you- the thought that there’s a murder weapon in here, a heavy metal crowbar stained with blood. Someone else's blood. The weight of it should spring a sick dose of reality to the forefront of your mind but as you kneel before the bag and slowly unzip it all you can picture is how strong Ronin is to be able to swing such a heavy implement at someone accurately and with ease. How he'd look in the moment. The strong lines of his shoulder and back, the tension in his arms and the ecstatic- no, the crazed expression he must have as he swings the crowbar above his head and brings it down again and again with one sick crunch after another. 

You feel like you can't get enough air though you're breathing heavier than you should be. Your face is aflame and it’s making you dizzy. You shove the sides of the backpack down with shaking hands, and it’s there. Wrapped in a white plastic bag, you can see the thick outline of the metal and the blood that’s pooling in the folds and creases of the bag around it. You reach out to peel the plastic back but a hand catches you by the chin, and turns your head to face him: Ronin. Your God. Your devil. 

Ronin’s taken his jacket off, kneeling on one knee as he looks at you with curiosity and stress on his face. Like he’s equally fascinated and worried by your reaction. That is, until he catches sight of your blown pupils and open mouth, watches the way your eyes race across his features, between his brown eyes and soft lips. Darting down to trace the line of his body, your gaze flickers back and forth between his strong arms, the slope of his pecs, and the crease in his trousers hiding the bulge of his cock. You lick your lips, mouth startlingly dry.

Ronin’s face cracks into a wide grin, eyes starting to relight with the fire from his kill, ‘Well hello there, lost little lamb. Are you in need of a Shepherd? Or ‘ve you finally found what you’ve been lookin’ for?’ His gaze lands on the bag and you look at it, mouth dry, and then look at him, like you’re waiting for permission, his permission. Ronin raises his brows at you, delighted grin on his features, tip of his tongue sticking out between his teeth, challenging you. 

You turn back to the bag, are just reaching in it when you feel the heavy weight of your boyfriend settle itself along your back. His head rests in the crook of your neck, content to just watch as his hands stroke lightly up and down the sides of your stomach. 

Your hands are shaking as you reach in the bag, gently peel back the plastic. The bag sticks to itself in the places there's blood pooling. The blood gets on your hands as you unwrap it. It's wet. And cold. Did you want it to be warm? Hot with life? Spurting from a still beating heart in a steady wet, hot pump? You shudder, full bodied and Ronin cackles, delighted by your reaction, beside your ear, leaning in to press a kiss against your cheek as you slide your fingers under the crowbar, feeling the heavy weight of it.

‘You like it, baby? You feel it? You like me?’ One of Ronin’s hands slides down to press against the front of your crotch and you gasp, hips rutting up into the feeling. Ronin inhales sharply, you feel it against your temple. ‘Awh, baby. Darlin’. Fucking knew it. Knew you wanted this since that day in Purgatory, before that, even. Might have been able to hide it from everyone else with your little ‘innocent lamb’ act but I knew you wanted more the second you entered the slaughterhouse and didn’t run screaming for the hills. You’re a sick, sick pervert huh?’ 

Ronin huffs a laugh against your temple and you want to say something, anything to deny it, deny him, but your hips are humping up against his hand in these minute, fricative little pulses you can’t quite control and you’re more turned on than you’ve ever been in your life. You squirm in his arms. Ronin slides his hand down, large fingers pressing firmly against the soaked seat of your underwear, rocking them back and forth gently until his middle finger settles between your folds, presses a delicious friction up against your clit. 

‘Just had to bring it out in you, didn’t I darlin’? You needed the devil to come along and corrupt your sweet little aorta so you wouldn’t have to take the blame, wouldn’t have to admit that you like this. That you want this, almost as much as you want me. Isn’t that right, baby?’ Ronin’s voice is barely a whisper but you hear every word loud and clear. Your face burns and your pussy is throbbing with need. 

You whimper, high pitched in your throat and Ronin shushes you, presses a gentle kiss to your fluttering eyelid. ‘Shhhh, don’t you worry, darlin’. I’ll take all the blame this time. Now, let the devil take you on down to hell.’ Ronin is going to be the death of you. You moan low in your throat and press your cunt harder against his hand, he rubs slow circles over your clit with the top of his palm, presses two fingers firmly over your entrance and rubs them over it. 

Your fingers grasp shut on the thick, cold, hard metal of the crowbar. It’s positively wet with blood. Ronin laughs by your ear again, a high pitched giggle you’ve never heard him make before. It sounds exactly as deranged as his usual cackling laugh. You turn your head to look at him, nose brushing his face you’re so close and he says, ‘watch’ as he slides his hands to cover your own. The one that was down your pants is sticky and wet where it lays over the back of your hand. Your breath stutters at the loss of friction against your pussy. Ronin presses a kiss against the side of your eye.  ‘Patience, baby. Patience. Good things come to those who wait, don’t ‘cha know?’  He laughs again, a light huff of breath ghosting over your eyelashes. You’re not sure if it's directed at you or his own words. You really don’t care. 

Ronin turns one of your hands over. Adjusts your grip so you have one hand wrapped tight around the bottom of the crowbar and the other supporting slightly above it. You feel lightheaded. Ronin’s hands are wrapped tight over yours as he lifts them up, raises them up beside your head, as if you’re going to- as if you could- ‘Ready, darlin’?’ Ronin asks, voice a sickly low drawl. You can feel your clit twitching a steady one-two. Thumping away with your heartbeat in your underwear. You swallow thickly. Ronin tightens his grip over yours, then resettles and rests more of his weight against your back. 

It feels like he’s everywhere. You can’t think. You can only imagine how hard he must be. Cock twitching away in his underwear. You think of him fucking you. You think of fucking him. His face as he moans. You think of the crowbar pressed tight across your throat, the wild grin on Ronins face as he’d watch the light slip from your eyes; if he would stop before it was too late. 

‘I asked you a question darlin’.’ 

You can’t look away from your tight grip on the crowbar. Your hands, wet and sticky with blood, seeping between your fingers and dribbling down over your knuckles. The vivid red colour smudging underneath Ronin’s tight grip over your hands. You don’t think you’re breathing. You nod, minutely, fractured, frantically. Unable or unwilling to make a bigger move lest it wretch your sight from where you need it. 

You feel the tension in your boyfriend's arms as they pull back slightly, the thickness of his muscles as they recoil and, ‘Whoosh! Ha-ha!’, let go. Your arms swing forwards, the motion contained and precise, using only the exact needed strength and precision to knock the now empty backpack straight into the wall. A whimper leaves your throat, high pitched and strangled. The feeling-  when the swing connected, the contraction of Ronin’s muscular arms around you, how powerful the blow had felt. You’re gonna pass out. The jolt of electricity you feel in your clit almost hurts. Your hips rock down, seeking friction that isn’t there.

‘Ronin.’ It comes out gasped, guttural, full of want and need.

‘Yeah. You like it, baby? You like me, huh? In all my grotesque delight?’ Ronin presses his grin to your cheek; you’re sure it would be a kiss if he could stop smiling. ‘Sweet little thing finally realised they’re dating The Butcher? Also known as The Devil Himself, darlin’.’ Ronin’s nosing against your face as he says this, you can feel his wicked smile brushing your cheek as he does. You lean back against him, squirming, trying to rub yourself against him or turn around to see him, but Ronin tightens his grip on your hands, brings your focus back to the crowbar and says, ‘ah-ah-ah, we’re not quite done yet baby. How about… some target practice?’

Ronin lets go of your hands, slides out from behind you and saunters into the kitchen. 

He flashes you a winning smile before slamming open one of the kitchen cupboards with a bang. Ronin watches you for your reaction; always does when he pulls shit like this, but you barely even notice the noise. Hands limp around the crowbar, it rests heavy against your thighs, leaving bloody red smudges on them. Your eyes are fixated instead on Ronin’s broad shoulders. How the blood on his hands is leaving smudges against the white cupboard doors. 

You’re so weak in the knees about it- about him, that when Ronin waves you over to the kitchen counter while setting a series of increasingly ugly mugs against its edge, you forget about the crowbar and stumble as the weight of it pulls you forward. Your knees buckle beneath you, and you land sprawled out on the carpet. You hear Ronin laugh from somewhere above you while you’re still staring at the carpet in shock. You watch as his spiked shoes stride slowly into view. When Ronin bends at the waist and his face swims into your vision, he’s wearing the same twisted version of faux-pity he wears after you’ve white-knuckled it through a horror movie with him.

‘Awh, sweetheart… Somebody’s desperate. You just can’t get enough of me, can you?’ He boops his knuckle against your cheeks and then your nose. Embarrassment floods through you, tinting your face red. You should be affronted. Humiliated. Or maybe some shade of afraid, but it’s hard to be with your sweet, loving, murderous boyfriend leaning over you with an entirely fond look on his face. Eyes alight like you’re what he’s been waiting for since the dawn of time, or, since the birth of Lucifer. Arousal curls hotly around your spine and joins the rutting, swirling mess in your gut. The sticky, wet-hot mess in your panties. The thought swims through your mind that you could come from just this; him standing over you, mocking you so sweetly. Maybe if he put the sole of his boot against your clit then…

‘R-Ronin…’ 

Ronin puts a hand behind his ear, tilts his head towards you in an over-exaggerated pretence of listening, ‘What’s that, sweetheart?’ You swallow, mouth dry.

‘Ronin.’

‘One more time, say my name, darlin’.’ It’s obvious he’s teasing you. Has been since the very start, but then an idea strikes you, and you can’t not.  

‘Butcher.’ Falls from your lips, breathless and Ronin groans. It’s the first time you’ve acknowledged it out loud. He turns his upper body away from you for a second, running his hand through his hair. His beanie falls off and hits the lino behind him with a clatter but neither of you turn to look at it. There’s blood in his hair when he faces you again. Sticking strands of it together as it falls back in his face and the look on it, half-pained, half-giddy, flushed red high on his cheekbones. 

‘What you do to me, darlin’. Flesh ‘n’ bone pretty, I told you.’ It comes out choked, less drawled than usual and your heartbeat skips a wicked step to be having an effect on him too. 

‘Still, we should save that for after. C’mere, upsy daisies.’ Ronin says as he tucks his hands under your armpits and drags you to stand on your wobbly legs. Holy shit your boyfriend is strong. 

You leave the crowbar on the floor. Have no choice but to. You crowd into Ronin’s space as soon as you’re able, put your hands on his neck, his cheeks, follow the action by pressing kisses to the blood left behind by your hands. Ronin laughs the whole time, and he’s beautiful. He puts his hands on your hips and pulls you into him. Catches you in a blinding, tummy fluttering, pussy burning kiss. One hand gripped tight on the back of your neck, the other tugs at the front of your panties until they slip up between your pussy lips. 

‘Roniinnn.’ You whine. He presses wet, hot kisses down your neck like a trail of fire. 

‘What? You don’t like it? I think you look rather… ravishing, like this. Could just devour you like this.’ Ronin tugs on your underwear again and again and it pulls tight around your clit, you moan in stuttering little breaths at the friction. ‘Sounds like you do.’ Ronin groans, kisses open mouthed at your neck. You shake your head, movement restricted by his tight grip on the back of your neck, his lips slide wetly against your skin. Ronin bares his teeth against your neck, not biting, but warning, and you freeze. ‘I think you do~’ Ronin murmurs, singsong. He uses his grip on the back of your neck to make you nod. You’ve never been more turned on and more embarrassed at the same time. 

‘No?’ Ronin pulls away from your neck to look you in the eye. Your face is burning with shame. You shake your head minutely, unable to hold eye contact with him as you lie. ‘Shame.’ Ronin mutters. He nips at your neck with his teeth, if it felt anything other than good you’d think it’s punishment for lying to him. He presses an open mouthed, wet kiss against it after, laves his tongue over it like he’s apologising but you know he’s just enjoying tasting the bruise. 

Ronin then yanks your underwear down your legs in one smooth motion, and pulls away to lead you to the counter with his fingers linked through yours. He pauses briefly, stooping down to pick up the crowbar at your feet. ‘Can’t forget this now can we?’  He waves it at you cheekily. ‘Alright,’ Ronin looks over his shoulder at you, ‘C’mere darlin’, I don’t bite.’ 

That’s a bold faced lie; Ronin does bite, the bastard, but you shuffle up behind him anyways. Wrap your arms around him and attempt to peak over his shoulder but you’re too short. You can just sort of make out his hands as he lines up ugly mug after ugly mug. 

‘Not pugsley!’ You gasp. Pugsley is a truly horrific, yellow, pug-faced, square shaped mug with an inside lip that creates a circle rim. You got it at a yard sale. It’s impossible to drink out of. At some point Ronin superglued googly eyes over the pugs' own to create this truly awful 3D effect. You both delight in serving the other beverages in it at seemingly random moments, hoping to catch the other off guard and startle them into laughter. The rule being that if you laugh then you have to drink out of it. Which is impossible, and usually a hilarious speedrun of how fast one person can spill a drink down themselves. Ronin gets you more than you get him, but the few memorable moments where you caught him off guard enough to succeed are more than worth it.

Ronin laughs, ‘Alright, alright. Not pugsley.’ You’re sure he only put him in the lineup to start with to get a reaction out of you. He puts his fingers on the top of the mug and sends it sliding towards the sink. It falls in with a clatter. You hope it didn’t break. 

Ronin lines up four mugs, one in front, three behind, and places the crowbar down beside them. It sticks briefly to his hands where the blood is starting to dry. You watch his skin peel away from it with your heart in your throat. ‘Now come here.’ Ronin grabs you from behind him and pulls you round in front of him. 

‘What are we doing?’ Your clit still feels heavy and hot and present between your legs and you think that there are other things you’d much rather be doing with your boyfriend at this very second.

‘I told you darlin’. Target practice.’ Ronin waves a hand fluidly as the scene in front of him. Oh. So that’s what he was doing. You consider complaining, putting it off and dragging your boyfriend to bed but if it’s target practice, if he’s teaching you, then surely you’ll get to see him swing his crowbar at least once. That’s not something you can gloss over and pretend you don’t want, because oh boy do you want. Plus, the rewards for playing along with whatever challenge Ronin sets for you that day tend to be on the more generous side, and you really want to see what his sick mind cooks up for you this time. Your pussy will survive this brief pause. 

‘Usually I prefer my targets a little more… alive. But, I’ll make an exception. For you, this once.’ The look Ronin gives you is playful, but you can’t be sure if he means it. There’s as much chance that the next time Ronin lets you touch his crowbar may be as contingent on the idea of you killing someone as it’s not. The thought sends a sick, desperate thrill down your spine. 

Ronin guides you in front of him, hands on your waist, ‘Feet shoulder width apart.’ His voice is a mocking drawl. You do it anyway. ‘Good job baby!’ He’s talking down to you, like you’re a child. It shouldn’t turn you on but it does. You shudder in response.  Ronin wraps his arms around you, over your shoulders. Dances his fingertips down your arms to settle them over your hands. He wraps them around the crowbar, tight and draws both your arms back. 

‘You wanna bend your knees, be about thiiiss far away from your target,’ He measures the distance between you and the counter with his arm, then reapplies his grip over yours. He slides your top hand down towards the bottom, ‘And keep a good, tight grip, just like that, but you don’t wanna grip it too high. You’ll catch your hand in the swing and soften the blow. Can’t crack any skulls when you’re pullin’ your punches now can ya’, darlin’?’ 

Ronin demonstrates the swing trajectory a few times, pulling your hands through the motions to practice. You’re nervous, heart racing like this is the real thing. Your hands dip slightly when Ronin lets go and steps back, the crowbar is heavy and the full weight of it pulls them down slightly. You’re struck once again with awe over how strong Ronin is.

‘Try line up your shot first.’ Ronin’s hand presses against the small of your back when you don’t move. You breathe in slowly through your nose, then exhale through your mouth. You hear Ronin take a few steps back. You line the curved tip of the crowbar up with the mug, practice your shot, once, twice, pull back and then swing. The mug explodes when the crowbar connects with it. You see it in slow motion. The pieces fly everywhere. You stumble as the weight of the crowbar and the momentum of the swing pull you along with it before Ronin’s arms catch you around your waist and keep you from falling. 

You giggle hysterically when the world catches back up to you and you’re held safely in your boyfriend’s arms, crowbar held stiffly and awkwardly out in front of you. Your elbows ache slightly. You lean your head back against Ronin’s shoulder to see his face in all its beauty. His eyes are dark as he looks at you and all you can think is how much you love him. How much you want him. You’re maybe a little high off the thrill. The rush. This is a murder weapon. Your boyfriend’s murder weapon. It’s been used to kill people. Your boyfriend kills people. Your pussy flutters back to life now that the pressure is off. You did good. You feel good. You try rubbing your thighs together to get some friction against your clit. 

‘Good job, baby.’ This one isn’t mocking, it’s entirely sincere and you squirm under the weight of it. Ronin doesn’t give direct compliments easy. He presses a kiss to your temple and laughs loudly, ‘I’ll make a murderer out of you yet.’ It’s something Ronin says to you often, and you usually laugh it off, brushing it under the rug of ‘usual Ronin antics’, but, maybe he’s been serious this whole time. The thought makes you gulp. Your pussy is drooling between your thighs. Leaving sticky wet marks between them.

‘What? You didn’t think I was joking, did’ja?’ Ronin’s eyes are twinkling with delight as he says it and your mouth runs dry. Oh shit. He wasn’t joking. ‘Now, watch me work!’ Ronin steps back from you slowly, making sure you’re not too loopy and dazed to stand on your own before prying the crowbar from your frozen fingers and dancing around you to line up another mug.

‘Step back baby. Don’t want to hit ya’. Least, not yet.’ You laugh at his teasing. For all Ronin’s threats of killing you, you know he’d miss you far too much. Or, miss the prospect of killing you after the rush fades. You think you’re okay with either. As long as it keeps you alive and in his arms.

‘What about my target practice?’ You say, Ronin looks down pointedly at your hands, they’re shaking. The blood that’s transferred from the crowbar is starting to dry and flake off around your fingers. You can’t help but feel a little… disappointed. You tuck them behind your back. Ronin is watching you silently. When you look up he flashes you a cheesy grin and waves his crowbar in a little circle like he’s saying ‘batter up!’ He’s already put all three remaining mugs in a little row on the edge of the counter.

You’re waiting for him to line up his shot when crack. Ronin’s arms shoot out and hit the first mug dead centre and you’re struck by what a vision your boyfriend is. Ceramic shattering to dust in front of him, the long line of his arms held out, wielding his crowbar with finesse and ease like it’s a part of him. An extension. Crack. The wild glee lighting up his face as he pulls his arms back and cackles, head tipping back with the laugh and then forwards again to face his target, the deadly serious look in his eyes as he locks in on the next mug, his hair falling in his eyes, tendrils sticky and wet looking with the drying blood. Crack. Your own bloody handprints littering his face and neck. He looks divine. Saint like. You would kill for him, you realise with a start. You will kill for him. Some day. Maybe soon.

‘’Nin…’ You say. Ronin looks over at you.

‘What is it, baby? Do you need me? Am I making you weak in the knees?’ Ronin reaches out and taps the end of his crowbar against the back of your knee lightly. You stumble slightly and his smile widens slowly. Like a predator circling his prey, Ronin stalks up close to you, breathes himself into your space, tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. ‘Gonna fall head over heels for me again?’ His grin is shit-eating. Your pussy clenches hotly in response.

‘’Nin, I need you.’ Your hands grasp at the front of his shirt, creasing it into tight little folds between your fingers. All the heat and want and desire from before flares back into life in the pit of your stomach. 

‘Need me, need me. Bet’cha wanna please me. Ain’t that right, baby? Am I your God or am I your God?’ 

It should be embarrassing, how fast you drop to your knees. Nuzzle your face into his crotch where you know his cock is hiding. But you’re dizzy with want. Your whole cunt is throbbing so hard you wonder if you could come just like this, simply by getting your mouth on him. Ronin needs to take his pants off now. Before you gnaw through them. You lean down and bite his bare knee, exposed by the hole in his jeans. He jumps a little, steps back to pull his knee out of your reach and swats at your head. You grin and gnash your teeth at him mid air.

‘As sweet as that offer is, darlin’, I had somethin’ a little more… gruesome in mind.’ Ronin grins wickedly at you and offers you his hand. You let him pull you to your feet, twist you into a bruising kiss before he lets you go. You watch as Ronin walks over to the backpack, and pulls out the plastic bag the crowbar was wrapped in. There’s a pool of blood at the bottom of it. Ronin grins wickedly at you before motioning you over with a beckoning finger. ‘Kneel.’ He says and you do. Situate yourself at his feet and wait with bated breath to see what he does next.

You’re not expecting it when he takes the bag and tips the remaining blood inside onto the crowbar before picking it up. Your breath catches in your throat. You wonder if that’s how it looks when he's using it. Ronin smiles, pleased at the look on your face. ‘Y’see, I was wondering, just how badly do you want this, baby? How badly do you want me? How far are you willing to go?’ 

Ronin crouches in front of you, holding the crowbar out in front of him. He lines the end of it up with your head like he’s going to hit you, pulls it back a little and you tense.  You don’t think he would, but with Ronin, you never truly know. ‘Nah.’ He chuckles, stands back up and taps the crowbar on one of your shoulders, then the other, then he ever so lightly bumps it against your forehead. ‘Here I knight thee, Pretty and Rotten and Mine, forevermore.’ Ronin swipes his thumb along the side of the crowbar, leans forwards and you feel him swipe a cross onto your forehead. ‘Forevermore and always, darlin’.’ Before he leans in and licks it off. Ronin crouches back down.

‘So, as I was saying, just how badly do you want this, baby? You want the devil so badly that you’d kiss his instrument of bloody delight?’ Ronin proffers it to you, palms up. He’s watching you with calculating eyes, like he’s seeing just how far he can push you before you break, but there’s also an intense joy in them, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. Ronin’s lips are pursed to the side, an eyebrow quirked in question. 

You want to rub your pussy on his face, against his nose, his mouth, his tongue. Your hips rock down against nothing at the thought, a quick motion but you know Ronin catches it as his eyes dip down to look at your bare cunt, hidden out of sight by his oversized t-shirt and a smirk curls around the edges of his mouth. 

Instead of responding to his question, you lean in and lick a slow stripe along the crowbar. The copper-y metallic taste of blood, a stranger’s blood, fills your mouth and your heartbeat thunders as you swallow. They’re dead now. Made into mince meat at your boyfriend's hands. You lean in and press a chaste kiss against the cold metal, and then against Ronin’s fingers curved over the bar.

‘Ha-ha! I didn’t think you’d actually do it!’ Ronin crows with laughter. ‘So what d’ya think, darlin’? How does death taste? Pretty fuckin’ great right?’ 

You’re honestly not sure, you could go without it, but it wasn’t terrible like you expected. You actually quite like the taste of metal, so you’ve always though the taste of blood is kind of nice, but if Ronin wants to know that he’s going to have to work for it. You lick your lips and screw your nose up in distaste. 

‘Not for you, huh darlin’? Awh, poor baby. So naive, so deluded.You really think you can lie to the devil? …I’ll let it go, this time. I have something much worse in mind anyway. Put your legs apart for me, darlin’. That’s right, there we go. Now put your hands behind your back.’ You do as he says. Ronin reaches over and holds the edge of your shirt up to your face, ‘ say ‘ah~’, then he tucks it in your mouth so you’re bare from the chest down, exposed. You watch as his gaze trails up and down your naked form, you can’t keep your hips still, they twitch back and forth in time with the soft pulsing in your clit. 

Ronin grins sharply,  ‘Perfect.’ He says, then he takes the crowbar and holds it upside down, turns the sharp edge of it away from you and slots the curved part up against your cunt. You gasp around your shirt, and the look on Ronin’s face is heady. You knew he was getting off on this, but it’s different to see it. His eyes are half-lidded, gaze dark, mouth open in with a smirk, tongue peeking out as he watches the shock register on your face. You can’t believe he would do something so, so disrespectful. Something so fucking hot you can’t help but buck your hips against the crowbar, grinding your clit into the cold bite of the metal. It’s wet, and you know it's the blood mixing with the slick from your cunt. 

Part of you feels sick. The other knows you’re going to cum harder than you ever have in your life to the thought of your boyfriend, Ronin, The Devilish Butcher, the Devil Himself, using this very crowbar to split some poor suckers ribcage open, to break their knees, to crack their skull. You whine and rock your hips back and forth against the crowbar, rut your clit against it desperately. Your whole pussy pulses red-hot, pleasure licking across it sending shudders through you while you get off on thinking about how dangerous Ronin is.

Ronin is watching you with an intense look on his face, like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. Your head tips backwards in ecstasy and his hand comes round to support it, tilts it up so that he can see your face. ‘I want to see the look in your eyes when you come from this, darlin’.’ Oh fuck. You struggle to keep your eyes open as the pleasure twists itself into an electric whine, burning fire across your cunt and sending fricative little jolts through your legs and up your spine. You can feel the curved edge of the crowbar pressing up deliciously against your entrance and you whine, wishing the end of it wasn’t sharp so that Ronin could fuck you with it. 

Your hips stutter down, drag your clit against the wet, bloody metal, feel yourself twitch and pulse with delight at how utterly grotesque the action feels. Ronin bites his lip and you think he sees it before you feel it and it vaguely occurs to you to be worried, before your climax washes over you in a thundering wave and you start to twitch. ‘Oh, fuck.’  Slips out your mouth before you can stop it, then devolves into a rasping, guttural moan. You feel a glittering, fuzzy numb feeling grasp the edge of your vision and your toes and shoulders as your hips rock, your clit tenses, then jolts and pulses with the rhythm of your release. You twitch your way through it until your vision dips into black around the edges, and dimly you recognise that you’re passing out just before you do.

When you come to, you’re laid panting in Ronin’s lap, one of his arms supporting your shoulders while the other brushes sweaty hair off your face. ‘Did ‘cha see the light, darlin’?’ Ronin’s smirk is cheeky, self satisfied, and you swat a limp hand at his face in mock outrage. You’re far too spent to actually consider making a real attempt at a comeback. Ronin crows, delighted at this, dodging your slow hand with ease before dipping his head down again to grin at you. ‘I take it that means you did. How were the pearly gates? Closed?’ For all his showboating he slows and kisses you softly, presses his forehead to yours and mutters, ‘Did God tell you you spent way too long dancing with the devil to be let in?’

‘Nooo.’ You grumble, slide your face away from the heavy weight of Ronin’s gaze, turn yourself sideways to hide your expression against Ronin’s stomach and wrap your arms around his middle, ‘He invited m’ in. Told him to fuck off and send me back to hell b’cause that’s where you are.’

There’s a beat of silence before Ronin laughs again, disbelieving and delighted. You feel it rumble in his chest before he pulls you up to sit in his lap properly. ‘Well aren’t you the sweetest?’ You can feel his grin as he presses his lips to your forehead. Your limbs are all loose and you feel euphoric. Giddy and content and happy to be in Ronin’s arms. He rocks you slightly and you laugh, head tipping back as Ronin kisses down your neck, scrapes his teeth against your throat. You shudder away from the stimulation and remember that while you may be satisfied, Ronin has been waiting patiently all this time and you want to make him feel as good as he made you.

‘Ronin.’ 

‘Mhm,’ you know he’s not really listening by the way he’s leaving little open mouthed kisses along your jaw.

‘Ronin.’ 

‘Yeah, baby?’ He breathes before pressing a sucking kiss at the skin just underneath your ear. 

‘Ronin!’ You snap.

‘What?’ Ronin pulls back, hair dishevelled, mouth bitten red with confusion in his eyes.

You smile at him cheesily. ‘I want you to fuck me.’ 

Ronin groans, ‘Yeah, baby? Shall I go get the strap? You want The Butcher to fuck you? You want to get to know me, your god, biblically?’ He’s leaning down to kiss at your neck again when you stop him with a hand on his shoulder. 

‘No, ‘Nin.’ You breath, ‘I want you to fuck me. I think I’m loose enough, and I think you’ve grown since we last tried.’ 

You can’t keep the grin off your face at how Ronin freezes, his pupils blown wide with lust. He wets his lips, ‘You want me to…?’

‘Yeah.’ You lean in and kiss him. Ronin doesn’t react for a second but then he’s pulling you against him, bruising, sliding his lips over yours and licking his way into your mouth like he wants to suck the air from your lungs. He pulls your legs over his own to sit between them. You feel his hips rock up under your own, the fabric of his trousers brushes over your wet cunt and you jerk away from the sensation, being too much too soon. 

‘I wish I could fuck you like this.’ Ronin grumbles against your lips.

You pull back and murmur, ‘You can fuck me another way.’ Press your forehead against his own and watch his eyes slide shut in an uncharacteristic moment of weakness. Ronin breathes out heavily and nods. 

‘Hey!’ You say, and shove him backwards while his eyes are still shut. They fly open in shock and you hold your breath, but then Ronin laughs, leans back on his elbows and appraises you with delight. 

‘Little lamb’s got teeth. How cruel, baby. What’s next? You gonna cut out my heart too? Press my still beating atrium against that dirty little cunt of yours that likes blood so much?’ 

‘Not my fault you were looking all depressed about getting to fuck me.’ You crawl over and sit on his legs, reach for his fly, undo it, and start tugging down his trousers. You glance up at Ronin’s face, lean up and kiss the wary look off it. You’re not sure what it means and that worries you. Ronin is usually a really easy read, once you’ve gotten past all his sarcasm and teasing and esotericism (which is ironic considering his opinion on esotericism is ‘hard knock’). You lean over and kiss him again, a simple peck this time. ‘I really think we’ll get it this time; I’ve been on reddit.’ You say cheekily.

‘And what wisdom did the Glorious Platform of Reddit have to share?’ It’s dripping in sarcasm and you have to resist rolling your eyes.

‘Just some helpful hints, and a position we haven’t tried before.’ You start tugging his trousers down, ‘hips up, baby.’ Ronin’s hips rock up before he lifts them deliberately; he has always liked when you use his own pet names on him. You shuffle down trying to pull Ronin’s trousers the rest of the way off, they get caught around his knees. 

‘You know it still might not work, right?’ Oh. So that’s how he’s feeling.

‘Yeah, I know. But we can still try; we got real close last time. Jesus, Ronin, how long are your legs?’ Ronin’s trousers turned inside out as you tugged them down, so you have to bundle them up to finally yank them off his feet.

‘Yeah and I was too small.’ He’s being petulant. Not even making his usual joke of, ‘no, just me,’ at your ‘Jesus’. Arms crossed, laying flopped back on the floor like he doesn’t care, what a big baby. You chuck Ronin’s bundled up trousers at him. They hit his face with a ‘flap!’ and he sits up, outraged. 

‘Stop being a baby. That’s my job.’ You say. You lean up and put your hands on his thighs, rub them back and forth soothingly. ‘I thought you’d want this. That’s why I suggested it, but we don’t have to; we can do something different.’

Ronin smooths a hand over his face, ‘No, I want to. I really, really want to. I’m just worried it won’t work, and that I’ll end up feeling less than.’

‘You will never be less than to me. No matter what, Ronin. Okay?’

‘Damn, darlin’, didn’t know you liked me that much.’ He’s smiling cheekily, but you know it’s genuine in the way it plays around the edge of his mouth and crinkling his eyes as he looks up at you.

‘Yes you did, asshole.’

‘Yeah, I did.’

‘Now, you want me to suck your dick first or what?’

Ronin chokes on a laugh, ‘Forgot how much of a romantic you are there. You not gonna wine and dine me first, darlin’? Rile me up until I’m cryin’, beggin’ for it? Oh wait, that was you.’

‘Asshole. I’m asking if I can dine you right now.’

Ronin giggles. ‘Touche. But nah, you don’t need ta���.’ Ronin sits up on his elbows and shoves his boxers down over his hips aggressively. ‘I’ve been rock hard ever since you looked at my crowbar like it was something you wanted inside you, baby. Since you finally showed me some of your rot.’ He kicks his boxers off and they go flying but you don’t see where, you’re too busy focused on the wet mess of pubic hair sticking out from between your boyfriend’s legs.

Ronin parts his legs to let you see what’s between them, the rough black hair covering his public mound, the dark skin around the swollen red lips of his cunt, a thick sheen of slick leaking out from between them. His cock is sticking out from his folds, dark red and twitching against the chill of the open air. Fuck. He’s so hard.

Ronin sucks in a breath and slides a hand down his front, parts his fingers in a ‘v’ shape around the top of his cock and presses down to pull his foreskin back with a hiss. Your mouth waters and you can't resist. You lean down and spit on his cock, letting it run out of your mouth and down your tongue slowly while looking up at Ronin. Ronin moans, and his hips hump into the air towards the wet heat of your mouth, you watch the spit run down over the head of his cock and then down between his folds so you chase it with your tongue. Press between his folds and lick up under his cock and over the head of it. Ronin moans, his hand sliding down to cover the back of your head. 

You seal your lips over his shaft with your tongue under it and push your head forwards, sucking gently. You can feel his cock pulse rhythmically against your tongue. You’re expecting him to push your head down but Ronin cards his hands through your hair and pulls you up. You look at him, mouth still hanging open, confused as he pants roughly, ‘You’re the one who said ya’ wanted me fuck ya’, darlin’.’

Oh shit. Yeah. You do. You nod rapidly, scramble to your feet and look at your boyfriend; he’s a vision on the floor; bloody hand prints on his neck, red hair disheveled, wet looking and pushed back, the light smattering of hair covering his thighs, his t-shirt rucked up around his stomach, his happy trail leading down to his hard cock sticking out proudly and his shiny wet cunt underneath it leaking between his legs. ‘You coming?’ You ask as you hold out a hand. 

Ronin grabs it and hauls himself to his feet. He leans over and grabs the crowbar off the floor, then puts his arm over your shoulders and starts walking you to his bedroom, ‘that’s the plan, sweetheart.’ You snort out a laugh at his bad joke. 

Ronin steers you into the room, drops the crowbar beside the bed, and just when you’re about to turn and kiss him, he drops his arm and shoves you, full bodied, onto the bed. You shriek in shock. You hear Ronin laughing uproariously behind you before you hear the fast padding of his feet as he launches himself towards you. ‘Wait, Ronin, no!’ You bring your arms up in defense but it's too late, and your boyfriend lands on you with a crushing blow. It doesn’t hurt anything other than your pride but you still don’t appreciate being sneak attacked and squished like this. 

‘Get! Off! Me!’ You smack him (gently) over the shoulders and on his side and his butt and anywhere you can reach. ‘Awh, I thought you liked me.’  Ronin’s face pops into view, flushed with excitement at getting revenge for your earlier antics. He leans his head on his hands and puts on an exaggerated pout, ‘what? Don't ‘cha like me, darlin’?’ 

‘Not anymore I don’t.’ You say. You see Ronin’s eyes narrow in disbelief as a wicked smirk overtakes his features.

‘Is that so?’ 

‘Yep.’ You pop the ‘p’, turning your face away from him in protest. 

Ronin starts laying wet kisses against your throat, talking in an over-exaggerated, fake, throaty moan, ‘So you don’t want me to try and bully my red-hot, throbbing, monster cock into your teeny tiny pussy?’ He’s clearly mocking you from his overzealous tone and you hate that it works. You’re mortified that he can fake arousal in such a kitsch and satirical way and it still makes you shiver and squirm to hear it. Ronin laughs against your throat. ‘Yeah, baby? You like that? Should I start using more cheesy porn lines during sex? Will that get you off?’

‘Shut up, Ronin. You know it’s you I like.’

Ronin noses under your jaw and whispers in your ear. ‘Fuck, really? Never noticed.’ He cackles it proudly against your cheek and presses a loud smooch against the side of your face. God fucking damn it. Always has to fucking win this man. Like it’s wired into his bone structure. ‘I knew it~.’ 

Ronin starts pressing wet, warm kisses under your ear again and you let out a satisfied sigh. You could stay here all day, you think, when Ronin shifts over you, lines your hips up with his, starts rutting forwards again and you feel his bare cock drag wet over your clit. The friction is a delicious bite of a sting against your spent clit, making your hips stutter away from and back into the movement. You can feel it when Ronin’s cock twitches hotly against your clit and the feeling makes you whine; you love rubbing your clit on his cock.

You rock your hips up to meet Ronin’s; his breath puffs against your temple in hot bursts and you can hear him moaning low in his throat on the downward drag of his hips. You don’t want to stop him but then you think of how ecstatic you would both feel if you could get him to actually fuck you; you don’t try this very often as it sets off his dysphoria if it doesn’t work but you know it’s one of Ronin’s biggest fantasies- to be able to fuck you himself. 

‘Ronin. Ronin, come on. Fuck me.’

‘So impatient all the time.’ Ronin murmurs, nosing along the edge of your face before pulling back to look you in the eyes. He has the same dopey, lovesick look in his eyes that he did that day you met him in Purgatory- not that he’d ever admit that’s what it was. He thumbs over your lip before leaning in to kiss you again softly. ‘But when you ask so nicely how can I resist? …So, how do you want to do this?’ The words are whispered against your lips, ‘Since you’re the certified reddit expert ‘n’ all.’ Ronin snickers. You smack him (gently) round the side of his head for the cheek. Ronin smiles at you cheekily, kisses you again. 

You get him to lift himself off you for a minute, his cock peels away wet and sticky from your cunt and you stifle a whine at the loss of burning hot heat, the feeling of him twitching against you as you move together. You hook a hand around your knee and pull one of your legs as far up and out as you can while keeping the other one laid out. You feel your cunt lips peel apart and allow the wet line from your clit to your entrance to kiss the open air. Ronin’s sat back, watching you open mouthed, hazy red high on his cheekbones, his eyes half lidded as he does. 

‘’S that f’ me?’ He asks. You bite your lip and nod. You watch as Ronin exhales slowly, an attempt to keep control, but you don’t want him in control. You want him to take you; like he does when he’s out in Purgatory.

‘Ronin.’ You say. He barely tears his eyes away from your cunt to look at you for a second before he’s staring at it again, leaning towards it like he wants to put his mouth on it but that’s not what you’re doing right now. ‘Ronin.’ He doesn’t even flinch. He mumbles something about ‘such sweet rot’ and your clit twitches under his attention. ‘Butcher.’  You try. Ronin’s eyes snap up to meet yours. ‘Get- get on- straddle my leg, and-’ 

‘Wait.’ Ronin says, and you pause, letting go of your leg for a second as he leans over you. ‘I think we’re forgetting something.’ You’re confused as to what until Ronin reaches across and casually lifts the crowbar from beside the bed with one hand.  You watch the muscles in his arm twist and flex as he handles it. ‘’M not exactly The Butcher without my handy-dandy little friend.’

‘Please never call your crowbar your ‘handy-dandy little friend’ again.’ 

‘What? You don’t like it?’

You cover your face. ‘No, I don’t like it, it's not sexy at all.’

‘Ah, I forgot. You’re a freak who gets off on the fact that their boyfriend is a murderer. A serial killer. The Butcher. You’re a dirty little pervert.’ Ronin’s holding the crowbar in one hand, tapping the end of it against the other, leaning over you, leering. He’s beautiful. You’re about to deny his claims when he says, ‘don’t lie. Not this time darlin’. I know you like it. It’s written all over your face. Can see it when I-’ The crowbar crashes into the pillow just above your head with a ‘thump!’ Ronin moves so fast you don’t see it coming. You gasp and flinch, but your hips kick up as you do, ‘-swing it around a bit.’ Ronin’s smirking at you, self-satisfied. ‘Told you~’ He says. He goes to pick up the crowbar but you stop him, grabbing his wrist. 

‘Leave it there.’ You say. The heavy pressure above your head is a dizzy-making reminder of just how dangerous Ronin is; a heavy reminder of how he didn’t even pause before swinging at you. How strong Ronin has to be, how sure of himself he is to have done that and known he wouldn’t hurt you, or, how reckless he is knowing he could have and doing it anyway. You don’t know which idea turns you on more. You squirm in place, waiting for Ronin to answer you.

‘Sure.’ Ronin says, before he leans down and kisses you gently, ‘Whatever gets you off, you pervert.’ You snort out a laugh. Ronin levels you with a burning stare, eyes dark with want. You feel the hair on the back of your neck raise underneath it and your skin pricks. You wonder if this is how his victims feel when they realise he’s going to kill them. You can’t stop the shudder that rolls through you at the thought. 

‘Leg up, baby.’ Ronin helps you pull your thigh back into your own grip, and then straddles himself across your other leg at an angle, ‘So then I just put it in?’ He sounds a little breathless at just the thought.

‘Uh-huh,’ you’re a bit breathless yourself, trying to keep your hips from twitching up towards the heat of his. Ronin leans over you, wraps your raised leg high on his waist so you can let go of it, braces his hands by your shoulders and slowly lowers his cunt over yours; you feel his cock brush against the swollen lips of your cunt. You whine as you hear him inhale sharply, before his cock slides firmly over your clit, slips down between your lips with a stroke of fire and bumps against the wet suckling grasp of your entrance. You clench against the intrusion and feel Ronin exhale heavily against your face. He grinds his cock down against you and you moan in the back of your throat, hips rocking back and forth into the movement. 

‘C’mon, darlin’, baby,’ Ronin breathes against your temple, ‘You gotta relax, gotta be nice and open f’me f’r this to work.’ He pushes his cock against you harder, it slides wetly over your entrance and down towards your buttcrack. ‘Shit.’ Ronin mutters, looking down. You catch his face with your hand, tangle it in the hair behind his ear and pull him into a bruising kiss.

‘C’mon, butcher. Try again, need it in me, need you in me.’ You murmur against his mouth, let go of his face and grab one of his hands, slide it up behind your head and wrap it around his crowbar, then you wrap your hand over his. Ronin drops his other arm onto the elbow and full body shudders against you. You feel his hips rut against your ass once, twice before he manages to pull them up and slot his cock against your cunt again. 

You can feel his shaft pressed up the length of you, putting pressure against your clit, as the head of his cock brushes your entrance. You breathe out, ‘Wait- wait a sec, can you- what if- pull your foreskin back, baby.’ Ronin nods, lets go of the crowbar to reach down and adjust himself, before putting his hand back on the crowbar. You then reach in between you both and pull the lips of your cunt to the side, out of his way. It works, Ronin’s cock slides down slightly, the head presses against your entrance firmly and you press your hips up into the pressure, breathe in deep and try to relax. 

His cock is pressed fully up against you. You hear Ronin moan and grind his hips against you and your entrance flutters. You want him inside and your body agrees. You can feel your cunt pulse against him and you know Ronin feels it too the way he chokes on a moan and his hips stutter before they come to an abrupt halt. He lets out a choked gasp where his head is tucked against your neck. You’re about to ask what’s wrong, Ronin’s whole body is a tense line above you but then you feel it; the head of his cock sliding slowly in under the pressure of your suckling cunt, rubbing just about an inch inside of you. 

The feeling is erotic. It relights the fire in your belly, the slow burning aching pleasure of pleasing Ronin; having him fit inside you, knowing how much your boyfriend has wanted this. Ronin’s hips start moving back and forth slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid this won’t last or he’ll slip out. You hear him whine, mutter, ‘oh fuck,’ choke out, ‘baby. Darlin’. You feel divine.’ against your neck. You laugh, breathless, feel your cunt pulse around him in agreement and he groans against your neck, slides his head up and kisses wetly against your jaw. ‘Fuckin’ killing me darlin’. That’s my job.’ His voice is laced with venom. Ronin dips his head down to nip at your neck. You yelp, jump slightly at the sharp sting and Ronin groans. 

His cock dislodges with a wet ‘pop’, but Ronin just laughs against your neck, giddy off the high of getting to fuck you himself; safe in the knowledge that he’s managed to do it once so he can do it again. He starts sucking a new bruise on your neck as presses his cock up against your entrance again. ‘You gonna put me out of a job, darlin’? Replace The Butcher with your perfect fuckin’ pussy ‘n’ you’ll kill about the same amount.’ 

You can’t even laugh at his stupid joke, too focused on the hot, heavy pressure of him against your entrance. His cock slides into place easily now that he knows the angle. You moan as you feel him press into you, a burning hot pressure and you can feel every twitch and pulse of his cock as he does. 

Ronin’s head dips forwards, his forehead bumps your own and he grits out, ‘Not- not gonna last, baby.’ You can feel his arms shaking beside your head, his hips pulsing forwards in heavy, slow grinds, pumping his cock into you in a hard rhythm. 

You pant out, ‘wait, hold on jus’ a sec-second, I think I can-’ you slide your hand between you both, down to where Ronin’s pelvis has been brushing over your clit, spiking electric little shocks up your spine. 

Your entire cunt feels molten, the heat of his cock inside you, the pressure of his shaft against you all the way up to your clit. You press your fingers down over the little nub and  start rubbing in little circles. You can feel your clit bumping little kisses against Ronin’s shaft on the down stroke. Ronin shudders as he realises what you’re trying to do, presses his lips against your temple and leaves panting little kisses there until his voice is overtaken by guttural, stuttering moans. You tighten your grip on the crowbar above you, think of Ronin swinging it at your head earlier, picture him doing it to someone else, picture him killing them. 

Your clit twitches hotly against Ronin’s cock, you rock your hips into the heavy motion of his rutting and feel the head of his cock rubbing firmly inside you; your hips and thighs start to shake as you come with a low moan. Ronin chokes against your temple; he’s still in you and you know he can feel every wet, slick pulse of your cunt around him. His hips freeze up before hitching harder against your cunt and you feel his cock contract as he starts to come in you. You whine and press your hips up into the feeling, your orgasm spasms into over-sensitivity with a series of heavy clenches but you wouldn’t cut this short for Ronin under threat of death. You’re not pulling back until he does. 

Ronin presses his forehead to yours. You hear him gasp wetly, feel something drip onto your face, feel his breath spilling in and out rapidly against your cheek as his hips hump against yours in several long presses until he shudders and slumps over you. Ronin lands on you, chest to chest, panting hard. His cock pops out your cunt with a slick, wet noise and you can feel him twitching slightly against your thigh with aftershocks. 

Your hand is numb when you peel your sticky fingers off of Ronin’s and the crowbar. You take care to peel back his fingers too, giving Ronin’s arm back to him and interlacing your finger’s with his against your shoulder. You use your other hand to pet gently at the sweaty hair on the nape of his neck as you both catch your breath. 

Ronin’s the first to break the silence, his voice is a little slurred and entirely giddy as he mumbles, ‘told you I could do it, darlin’.’

There’s a heavy beat of silence before you try smack him (gently) on the shoulder, laughing- but you are limp from your second orgasm in the space of thirty minutes and your hand just sort of glides across his sweaty back of his t-shirt and skids onto the bed with a bump. ‘Told me, told me? Who was it that suggested this in the first place? That’s right, me. You shithead.’ You try to fake outrage but you’re giggly and out of breath. 

Ronin snorts out a laugh and props his wobbly self up on one elbow to look you in the face, ‘Who taught you to be so proud little lamb? Next you’re gonna start blaspheming and fantasising about serial killers, and we can’t have that can we?’ He’s smiling that dopey lovesick grin, and you know he’s teasing you but all you can see are the little shiny wet lines streaking down from the corner of his eyes and you think ‘holy shit, I made him come so hard he cried’. 

You rub a thumb over the corner of his eye gently and Ronin turns his head into the motion before biting at your thumb. He’s like a big cat really. Rubbing himself all over you and biting you for affection. The thought makes you snort a laugh and you say, ‘did you see the light then, darlin’? Who’s cryin’ for it now?’ 

It’s Ronin’s turn to laugh at this and he says, ‘yeah. And I told God all about what a dirty little sinner I’ve been making you into,’ he presses his head into your hand and his eyes are bright as he looks at you and says, ‘so I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.’ Ronin bites his lip, leans in and kisses you gently. He then ruins the moment by looking pointedly at the crowbar and then saying, ‘hope you like hell, darlin’, cause heaven isn’t open to you now.’ 

His voice is dark and heavy when he says it, but even if you believed in hell you know for a fact you ‘wouldn’t be found anywhere else, Ronin, because this is where you are.’

‘You’re so sickly sweet. My little saint.’ Ronin’s voice is mocking when he says it, but he kisses your forehead anyway. He’s still wearing that lovesick look when he pulls back and you know that just as you would brave hell for him that he’d brave heaven for you- not that you’ll ever ask him to. You like hell far too much to ever leave, and if the devil just so happens to keep fucking your brains out with the help of his crowbar you don’t think you’ll ever go back.

…

‘Hey, Ronin...’

‘Yeah, baby?’

‘D’you think you could take the sharp end off your crowbar in the shop?’

‘Why would I want to-’ Ronin cuts himself off with a startled laugh as he figures out what you’re getting at. ‘I’ll see what I can do baby. You fucking pervert.’

[hide-your-bugs-away]

Thank you for the tag @angrytranspossum !!!! Much appreciated, and rambling will be INEVITABLE. 🙏

Favorite Movie: Dont Look Back (1967) 100%. Some day very soon, I'm going to make an entire video about how genius the cinematic structure of Dont Look Back is along with the roles of the "characters" and how imperative each and every one of them is to the narrative arc that follows Bob... But beyond its cinematic magnificence, I just really love seeing the dynamic of that tired, cynical, introverted yet good-natured rock&roll poet has with everyone in his circle, and the film letting the viewer in on this dynamic. It's such a cozy film, and a really easy one to get into if you're a classic rock fan, especially a fan of 60s music - even if you don't have all of Bob's music and history committed to memory. I knew barely anything about him watching it for the first time... and now it's my favorite movie ever. It also features this silly and fruity British guy who wanders in drunk from time to time and plays really good piano... Alan Price, I think is his name? 🤔

Favorite TV Show: I personally don't watch serialized, fictional shows, since I don't have the mental capactiy to keep up with those sorts of things, but I legitimately loved The Owl House as it came out! Which is funny, because fantasy and horror are two genres I don't engage with much, if at all... but just make everyone LGBT and then it clicks with me. I am basically The Collector with regards to Animals memorabilia 🙏

Favorite Musical Artists: ALAN PRICE ALAN PRICE ALAN PRICE *BASHES MY HEAD AGAINST A WALL* Such an incredible pianist and songwriter.. Besides him, I of course can't shut up about The Animals either 🏳️‍🌈😔 I also really like Donovan, Herman's Hermits, Georgie Fame, Lulu, The Beatles, Dusty Springfield, and a whole lot of Motown music (SUPREMES!! SMOKEY ROBINSON!!) British Invasion/60s music in general! In terms of "modern" music, I like Glass Animals a lot (been listening to their stuff since "How To Be A Human Being" came out).

Favorite Color: Lavender

Favorite Season: Autumn (no allergies 🤞)

Favorite Book: I'll admit, it's been ages since I've read any fiction or books with a traditional narrative since I usually just read biographies now... One of my "recent" favorites is Andy Blackford's "Wild Animals", which features soooo many GOOD color photographs of the Animals, along with a succinct, detailed biography!! WITHOUT TOO MUCH ANTI-ALAN BIAS YAY. "Ready, Steady, Go!: The Weekend Starts Here" is also one I’ve enjoyed so far and am excited to dive deeper into.

Do you have any Funko Pops? : Two, for the sake of my Price-Burdon collection - my friend @/tealightwhimsy got me Leafeon and Glaceon figures because I associate those Pokémon with Eric and Alan respectively. 🙏

Do you play any instruments? : I used to, in high school, when I was in marching band - specifically, the xylophone, marimba, and auxiliary percussion. I stopped because I've become shyer over the years and don't really like performing anymore... I like having my art speak for me instead. ALAN PLAYED THE VIBES AT ONE POINT, THOUGH!! So we played similar instruments at one point, which is cool!! 🥹

Do you have any pets? : I live with three dogs and four rabbits! And I'm allergic to rabbits... 😆

Do you read or write Fanfiction?: Reading fanfics, not so much anymore, mostly because my special interest in The Animals means there's not really anything out there besides the self-indulgent shit I write, haha (especially because I have my own historical fanon and interpretations of the band's dynamic,, I read my own stuff a lot, I'm afraid 🥶). I do read Pokémon fanfics from time to time because there are a lot of gays throughout the series, especially the new games, that are fun to speculate about. I also read anything and everything @/unchained-daisychain writes because she's got that galaxy brain in terms of prompts and scenarios and skills!!! Writing, though, I still do when I have the time between art projects - most recently focused on my Price-Burdon essay-turned-passion-project, but I do want to dabble in writing some more fictitious Animals scenarios and studies in the future... yes, self-indulgent Price-Burdon stuff will of course come free-of-charge, but their fractured dynamic as a band is fun to explore, especially the forces above them that were driving them apart.

What song(s) have you had on repeat repeatedly? : "Hampstead Incident" by Donovan, and "Left Over People"/"Is There Anybody Out There?" by,, cONNIE ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT ALAN PRICE AGAIN,,

wheeEee tagging:

@majito18 @hilton-my-luvx @bobbyhasstardust @unchaineddaisychain @gasstationwomen

[nitrateglow]

Halloween 2023 marathon: 9-11

The Slumber Party Massacre (dir. Amy Holden Jones, 1982)

A serial killer breaks free from jail, but the local high school population could not care less. There's sex to be had and joints to be smoked at the latest slumber party. Anyone not invited to the party either aims to crash it (the horny high school boys) or stay at home trying not to think about how uncool they are (the new girl who's better at basketball than her catty peers). All will be drawn together once the killer makes his way into town with a handy power drill that totally won't be used inappropriately.

I saw this movie for the first time earlier this year and immediately fell in love with its goofy charm. Apparently, it was written to be a parody of slasher tropes. The movie isn't played for broad comedy, but the humor is ever present in both overt and subtle ways. There's also a blend of cattiness and affection between the female characters that reminds me of the sorority house dynamics of Black Christmas, and the dialogue is often hilarious.

However, for all the humor, there are some creepy moments. The Driller Killer's "love" monologue is skin-crawling-- even if it is followed by a glorious parody of "the killer should be dead but isn't" trope.

This is one I love showing to other people. Everyone usually falls over laughing by the end, so it's a great group movie, but even alone, it's a fabulous time. You can currently catch it on Tubi for free.

Eyes of Laura Mars (dir. Irvin Kershner, 1978)

Controversial fashion photographer Laura Mars starts having psychic visions of the murders of her associates right as the crimes are being committed. She and everyone she knows become suspects of the slayings. The police find it particularly interesting that Laura's photos, which pair high fashion with images of murder and violence, resemble the subsequent crime scenes. Confused and feeling guilty, Laura teams up with cynical investigator John Neville, hoping to track down the killer before she or anyone else she loves becomes the next target.

This is a new-to-me horror film I caught on Tubi. All I knew about Eyes of Laura Mars is that it was directed by Irvin Kershner, a journeyman filmmaker best known for The Empire Strikes Back, and written by John Carpenter (though tampered with by many before shooting began). The movie is essentially an American spin on the Italian giallo genre. You have the familiar setting of the fashion world, sexy models who become murder victims, a hapless protagonist drawn into the mystery, and some very nasty kills.

There's a lot I like about this film, but in the end it didn't completely work for me. Maybe it's because unlike the best giallo, the movie doesn't have that otherworldly, psychedelic vibe that makes an audience able to swallow the sillier parts of the story. This is a very grounded, gritty presentation of New York City, making the more outrageous things in the film (like the unexplained psychic powers) stand out and not in a good way. Faye Dunaway's performance also verges into unintentional camp, with her wailing like she's in a 1940s melodrama much of the time. And I love melodramatic 1940s movies with appropriately overheated performances, but when the rest of your story is trying to be more realistic, that approach just takes me out of it because it doesn't gel. (Don't even get me started on the final twist, which I can't decide if I find laughable or clever.)

And yet, this is hardly a bad film. What frustrates me so much about it is that there's a lot that's pretty great. The supporting characters aren't the deepest in the world, but they are likable, so when they got picked off, I actually felt something. The movie also has an appealing time capsule element in its presentation of NYC during the height of the disco era. The fashions and the music are dated in the best way.

Despite my complaint about Dunaway's campy moments, Laura Mars is an interesting protagonist. She takes her art very seriously despite the derision she receives from her critics. She doesn't allow anyone to push her around, be it her boozy ex-husband, hostile reporters, or the police. She clearly loves the models, make-up artists, and other associates who work with her, and Dunaway does well lending a genuine sense of bereavement to the character as her social circle gets picked off one by one. However, I feel like the movie doesn't do much with her and she doesn't really have an arc.

I just really wish this film were a better version of itself. However, I can definitely see myself rewatching it someday, so maybe knowing the twists will make me better appreciate what is there. I don't know.

The Curse of Frankenstein (dir. Terence Fisher, 1957)

From adolescence, Baron Victor Frankenstein has had one dream: to cheat death. He and his research partner Paul Krempe delve into the mysteries of life, managing to reanimate a dead dog. Paul is satisfied with this achievement, but like a Disney Princess, Victor wants more. Like, creating a superbeing from bits and pieces of corpses more. This does not end well. At all.

It isn't spooky season without some Hammer Horror. I really have a hard time picking a favorite Hammer film, but The Curse of Frankenstein is definitely up there. Peter Cushing is so perfectly amoral and charming as Victor Frankenstein. I love Colin Clive in the Universal movies, but Cushing is my favorite in the part.

I've always admired how this movie sets itself apart from the Universal series without overdoing the opposition. The Universal movies were influenced by 1920s German expressionism, whereas the Hammer films go for more of a Victorian gothic meets explicit (by 1950s standards) sex and gore vibe. The sets and costumes are always wonderful in these films. I really love Cushing's glorious jackets, particularly the emerald green one.

<spoilers down below-- beware!>

Curse is also interesting for its frame narrative with Frankenstein telling the story from prison the hour before he is to be guillotined for his crimes. No one believes there was ever a creature and Victor wants everyone to know that, hey, he didn't commit ALL the murders. What's most fascinating about the frame story is the way it presents Paul, Victor's former tutor and research partner. Throughout the story, Paul is an unheeded voice of conscience tormented by the crimes Victor commits to achieve his goals. It's also implied Paul is in love with Victor's fiancee Elizabeth, and that this passion ignites further resentment against Victor on Paul's part because Victor clearly does not care about Elizabeth at all but is going to marry her anyway.

The film ends with Victor begging Paul to tell the authorities about the Creature, but Paul acts as though Victor is insane or just making it all up. He doesn't want to save Victor-- but is that because he wants to see justice done? Or is he also tight-lipped because he wants to secure Elizabeth for himself and knows she'll feel too duty-bound toward Victor (who supported her and her destitute aunt during Elizabeth's childhood) to break off the engagement unless the groom-to-be is, well, headless? It's a wonderfully ambiguous touch and it makes Paul more than just a nagging moral center.

<spoilers over>

Anyways, this is a perfect Halloween movie. Don't miss it if you've never seen it!

[darkdoverpseeker]

🔎 I'm a 25+ NB looking for one or a few people to help me flesh out an OC I've got! Please be at least 21 to write with me! This will be an MxM rp on Discord! 🕊️

Literacy: Literate and be able to write multiple paragraphs with detail and description to move the story along with me. Give me at least 3 - 6 full paragraphs, more if/when the scene calls for it! (I do expect you to write side characters with me to keep the story moving).

My OC: This guy is nearly 30 years old, and is a talented criminal psychologist/homicide detective working for the FBI. He has an eidetic and photographic memory to boot. He's solved hundreds of cases, but had briefly stopped working in the field due to close call with death after being stabbed multiple times. MC usually has a flat demeanor, even if his voice and eyes match his emotions more. That was a change after the attack. He also has a black cat that he cherishes. (For the sake of plot, I'd make him get back out in the field).

Plot Ideas: I really wanted to try something out like with the Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham dynamic? So, YC would more aligned with Hannibal, but they can either be a serial killer, or a cannibal, if you want them to. Maybe these two start off as new friends or a one night stand (or friends w/benefits)? Slowly, as they get closer, we can explore a psychological aspect where MC slowly starts to spiral down into darkness that has always been there for him, but YC just nudges it in the right direction. As far as whether YC has a direct (mind altering substances, gaslighting, etc) or indirect (some type of earth shattering event) influence on this, we can discuss it together! I'd just really love to do something gritty, dark, toxic, and an all around mindfuck! So, please come with your darkest ideas, and I shall reciprocate with mine! I would like to add non-con/dub-con into this with MC as the victim because I've never done that before and would like to experiment! Eventually, this will turn consensual.

Limits/Kinks will be discussed in private! Ideally, I'd like to write with someone who is down for some gore too, when describing crime scenes.

Please like if you're interested! And I shall reach out to you! I'd like to read a writing sample from you to ensure our styles match! And I'll give you one of mine too, to review, so it's fair. (For this guy, in particular, I only have a anime/manhwa style FC for him. I have not found a RL one for him yet that I like. If that will be a problem, I don't mind doing descriptions instead)

like if interested !

[a-film-app]

Acting Chance in Tamil Movies - What You Need to Know Before You Start

The Tamil film industry, fondly called Kollywood, thrives as a vibrant hub of creativity and talent. For aspiring actors, securing an acting chance in Tamil movies requires passion, preparation, and strategic networking. This article explores the essentials to kickstart your journey in Tamil cinema, addressing key considerations and practical steps.

Understanding the Tamil Film Industry

Kollywood, based in Chennai, ranks among India’s largest film industries, producing hundreds of films annually. Its storytelling blends tradition with innovation, attracting diverse audiences. To pursue an acting chance in Tamil cinema, you must grasp its dynamics - 

Rich Legacy -  From silent films like Keechaka Vadham (1918) to modern blockbusters, Tamil cinema values versatile performers.

Star Power -  Icons like Rajinikanth, Vijay, and Suriya dominate, but new talent often breaks through with persistence.

Creative Opportunities -  Directors like Mani Ratnam and Shankar prioritize fresh faces for compelling stories, offering openings for newcomers.

Building Your Acting Skills

Success in Tamil cinema demands honed skills and a professional approach. Aspiring actors should focus on developing their craft before seeking opportunities.

Enroll in Acting Classes -  Join reputed institutes like the Madras Film Institute or Koothu-P-Pattarai to learn acting techniques, voice modulation, and stage presence.

Practice Diligently -  Perform in local theater, short films, or student projects to gain experience and build confidence.

Learn Tamil -  Fluency in Tamil enhances your appeal, as most films require natural dialogue delivery. Non-native speakers should invest in language coaching.

Networking and Auditions

Networking is critical for securing an acting chance in Tamil movies. Kollywood values connections, but talent can open doors. Here’s how to navigate this space - 

Attend Auditions -  Platforms like howtogetchance.com post casting calls for films and serials. Register to access these opportunities.

Connect with Casting Directors -  Reach out to professionals via social media or industry events. Be professional and showcase your portfolio.

Avoid Scams -  Beware of fraudulent agencies promising instant fame. Verify contacts before sharing personal details.

Regarding telugu actors phone numbers, aspiring actors sometimes seek direct contact with stars for guidance. However, Kollywood and Tollywood (Telugu cinema) are distinct industries. Instead of chasing unverified numbers, focus on legitimate channels - 

Social Media Engagement -  Follow Tamil actors like Sivakarthikeyan or Vishal on platforms like Twitter or Instagram for updates on auditions or workshops.

Fan Clubs -  Join official fan clubs for networking events where you might meet industry insiders.

Creating a Professional Portfolio

A strong portfolio showcases your talent and increases your chances of landing roles. Include - 

Headshots -  Hire a professional photographer for high-quality images reflecting versatility.

Showreel -  Compile clips from theater performances, short films, or monologues to demonstrate your range.

Resume -  Highlight acting training, language skills, and any prior roles, even minor ones.

Overcoming Challenges

Breaking into Tamil cinema isn’t easy. Nepotism and competition pose hurdles, but persistence pays off. Address these challenges proactively - 

Combat Nepotism -  Showcase unique skills to stand out. Directors value fresh talent for innovative projects.

Stay Resilient -  Rejections are common. Use feedback to improve and keep auditioning.

Financial Planning -  Initial years may offer low pay. Budget for training, travel, and portfolio expenses.

Leveraging Technology

Digital platforms simplify access to opportunities. Apps like The Film India App provide verified listings of casting calls, acting classes, and industry contacts. Use these tools to stay updated and connect with professionals.

Final Tips for Success

To maximize your acting chance in Tamil cinema, adopt a disciplined approach - 

Stay Fit -  Physical appearance matters in cinema. Maintain fitness and groom yourself for roles.

Study the Industry -  Watch Tamil films to understand trends, genres, and directors’ styles.

Be Patient -  Success takes time. Focus on skill-building and networking while awaiting your break.

With dedication and strategy, you can transform your dream of acting in Tamil movies into reality. Use resources wisely, avoid shortcuts, and let your talent shine in Kollywood’s vibrant landscape.

[prpfz]

Hi! 24, looking for some fandomless MxM roleplays with people that are willing to put in some effort. 20+ because I want to include a lot of smut but plot too ofc!

I prefer to play the sub, so some doms would be nice, semi-lit and 3+ paragraphs. Just something to work with and be active like me. And just a heads up, I also only do real face claims.

Please be okay with dead dove content since I want to write something darker and maybe abusive. 🕊️

I have some plot and dynamics in mind, but I'm down to brainstorm together if you have any other ideas!

Paring ideas:

- Cop x robber

- Serial killer x victim

- Tall hitman x short hitman

- Nsfw photographer x kidnap victim

- Last two men on earth / apocalypse

- Mental hospital patient x patient/nurse

Like this and I'll reach out! 🌿

give a like and anon will get back to you

[delusion-of-negation]

can you name any other criminal crushes?

there's complicated dynamics at play with that one, because like sometimes people are older than you, then they die while they're crime-ing it up, and then you outgrow them. i don't think people wrote the bible with readily available photographs in mind, it has kinda been a bit of an oversight. i don't usually like people all this much older than me, so a couple times it's a problem - normies'll crush on the middle-aged nerd killer dude and don't worry about things like this. generally, i'm not hybristo. but a criminal may be attractive by chance for me, i don't find it elevates someone i am otherwise unattracted to. i'm attracted to hybristos ngl, i just like people who like me for my evil ways and not in spite of them. i'm super into vlad the impaler though, that dude could hit. probably actually my oldest human crush. my first ever crush is debatable whether they count as a serial killer, because it's the grim reaper (hence specifying human re vlad, i think death itself is a tad old). actually, i just realised, i have fallen victim to anti logic in this ask because i'm talking about people who are dead and killed people actually for real, and acting like the only thing that complicates a potential ethical crush is whether or not i'm a bit older. i think it's probably already in an ethical grey zone, me, i think we're past it. dude, my favourite story about vlad is once he was eating, and a child wouldn't stop crying... likely due to the fact that he had just impaled its parents. eventually, he got fed up of the noise and he impaled the kid. i mean, if that isn't a 'tism mood idk what is tbh. technically vlad isn't a criminal, as war crimes were not invented. complete aside but i recommend this david mitchell video about people viewing crimes hundreds of years ago vs crimes now, the description there makes it sound dull, but it's a very funny thing.

[cannibalsurprise]

saturday is just starting i know, but this is all i read this week. (just hannigram)

a not interesting list of fic recs

by wangi.

mostly: fluff, a/b/o (i’m on my period, i read a/b/o on my period, it weirdly helps with the gender dysphoria), romcom style.

picture imperfect by shiphitsthefan [13k]

A/B/O with meet cute Hannigram, i don’t really like omegaverse but something about this caught my eye, maybe Will as a photographer, which was very interesting, maybe Hannibal finally leaving the role of eternal top/alpha/dom in a non-angsty fic (thank you, authors who write bottom Hannibal), really liked it, it’s a light read, soft, fluffy, might even be a comfort little fic. 10/10

dancing with the beast by proser [86k]

intimacy. intimacy is wow. and also, pretend relationships because why the hell not? Hannibal has feelings, which is cool, great, the writing was soothing, charming, IT’S COZY. REAL COZY. i loved it, i love that is a Hannibal pov, there’s so much longing and it’s beautiful, it’s not such a light read but it’s not at all overwhelming, would read again a hundred percent. 10/10

a fucking parent trap scenario by Devereauxs_Disease <3 [26k]

a misunderstanding leaves Hannibal feeling betrayed, and since he has two braincells, he’s somehow convinced by a stranger who looks just like him that switching lives parent trap style is a Great Idea. a Hannibal extended universe fanfic by my favorite hannigram author, it’s as the title says, a parent trap scenario, as always the writing is completely charming, Dev’s Nigel is one of the best, so well written and on character that is really pleasing to read, Nigel and Hannibal are both raging narcissistic assholes, and it’s just so funny and witty and charismatic. 100/10, would read again.

like you like this by acheforhim [35k]

another pretend relationship fic, but this time is also a a/b/o with some “unconventional” a/b/o dynamics, amazing, i loved it. a serial killer is targeting alphas with Hannibal’s profile, Will and Hannibal thinks it would be cool to pose as a fake couple to catch the killer. it’s surprisingly lighthearted and fluffy, i thought it would be more serious and dark but yk how things go. it was a great read, highly entertaining, engaging and beautiful in all it’s pining. Idiots In Love my friends. yeah, loved it. 10/10, would read again.

short little things that warmed my heart.

how to save a life (the cannibal-friendly handbook) by kittendiamore [3k]

a re-read. loved it (again). 10/10

the mongoose under the house by Devereauxs_Disease. [3k]

beautiful in a heartwrenching way. 10/10

prey by Miss_Lv [7k]

gorgeously gothic. plot-twisty. loved it. 10/10

hannigram word count of the week:

around 137k !!!

[fictioncupid]

Put the World on the Demolition Strip Baby; We're Gonna Watch the Sunrise. (he/him ver) (NSFW).

Looking for the they/them version?

Ao3 link! - Put the World on the Demolition Strip Baby; We're Gonna Watch the Sunrise.

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT REBLOG OR COMMENT. (This is my new writing blog! This is not stolen content! I've just moved!)

Summary:

Ronin’s sat above you, weight resting heavy over one of your thighs with his hands braced near your head, dark red-purple hair falling in heavy strands around your face. There’s blood on his cheek, smudged. It’s not his own. You want to lick it off him. You can feel the weight of his crowbar creasing a heavy dent on the pillow above your head. It should scare you. To know that your boyfriend is a vicious murderer. That his favourite murder weapon of choice is resting so close to you. You can smell the blood on it, have been able to since you opened the bag, since he walked in with it. It only serves to rile you up more. Your hips twitch upwards in tiny little humping movements. Ronin's grinning so wide it almost splits his face. God, there must be something wrong with you to want this so much.

OR,

todays the day you get intimately acquainted with Ronin's crowbar.

12,215 words :)

Pronouns & genital terms used!:

Ronin- he/him, cock, cunt

Reader- he/him, cock, pussy, cunt, entrance

CW under cut! THIS IS DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT CONTENT. READ THE CW, HEED THE CW, IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, DON'T READ IT!

CW: D/S dynamics, sex, power imbalances, blood (not period), some dysphoria talk relating to bottom growth (dw we resolve it, no unresolved trans angst in my porn nuh-uh), uh Ronin being gross and reader being unapologetically into it, corruption kink

TW: unhealthy relationship dynamics? (like don’t actually date a serial killer that shit CANNOT be good for you) blood, BLOOD, murder mentions, deranged thinking, inappropriate use of a crowbar, complete ignorance of blood borne pathogens and safe sex, uhhhh sexy murder talk, also MAD sexualisation of murder and serial killing throughout the whole thing

Also, ik ronin’s technically had both top n bottom surgery in like the quasi-canon of tumblr facts but i am currently horny for bottom growth and tdicks so TRY AND STOP ME YOU CANNOT MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

××××××××××

You already knew your boyfriend was a killer. Had known since you joined that damn chat server, way before you met him in person, but this is the first time you’ve seen the evidence first hand. As something more than just a news article or a ‘funny’ photograph dumped in #killer-shit by Ronin himself. …You didn't expect to find it so thrilling.

You’d always told yourself you were okay with it. That you would learn to be okay with it. Hells, you met Ronin for the first time in the alleyway he likes to commit his murders in, it's not like you could claim ignorance. 

He'd been covered in blood then too, but you'd brushed past it. Told yourself it was his own. That Ronin's nose was bleeding when you met him. That's where the blood was from. That you were a good person and you could save him. Fix him. Told yourself that you wanted to. You had to, right? Never mind that you only decided all this after you’d gotten home, heart racing with adrenaline from your little meetup, telling yourself that the throbbing in your cock was from ‘misattribution of arousal’ and not how electric it had felt to have Ronin kiss you in the place he normally kills people. 

Still, you've never been able to crush the niggling little worry that when you come face to face with it, when you are finally confronted with evidence so overwhelming that you can deny it no longer, that you’d balk. Turn tail and run for the hills because as much as you love your boyfriend- you are no killer. You can’t even really stomach the sight of blood. Normally it makes you sick and queasy.  So you avoid it; as much as you can, you dodge and drop the topic like it’s on fire and you’re out of water so you have to avoid getting burned.

Ronin seems to have more faith in you though. Whether it stems from your unwavering addiction devotion to his devilish persona, or from the glassy eyed stare you gave him that day in Purgatory when he brought out his knife. How you didn’t even flinch when he pressed it to your throat, just stared into his wild, wicked eyes and whispered, ‘so are you kissing me now, or after? I have to say I’d much prefer now.’ 

That had Ronin cracking up. He’d lowered the knife in favour of clutching his knees, bent over double as a wild cackle ripped free from his throat. When he finally stopped laughing enough to speak he'd said, ‘I, a certified serial killer, the butcher, the devil himself, just threatened your life and you’re asking me to kiss you? Awh baby, darlin’. I’ve thought as much before, but now I’m certain that we’re a match made in hell.’ Ronin had then crowded you into the wall, gently pressed the knife into your hands, cupped your face and kissed you. It’d taken your breath away. Still does to think about it.

You could have killed him then. Probably should of. It's what he was suggesting when he handed you the knife; giving you an out if you really were somehow bluffing. That was Ronin through and through; impossibly kind in the most deranged possible manner. And you loved him. 

But the thought had crossed your mind, once or twice. That maybe you weren't built for this. For him. You can’t look at the news articles he posts in announcements, or the photos in #killer-shit, or watch scary movies with him without crying and screaming at the tension, the jumpscares, and the gore. Always trying to hide in the fabric of his shirt, behind his jacket, hands pressed tight over your ears to block out the sounds. You’re pretty sure the only reason Ronin’s okay with it is that he finds your innocence endearing, cute even, and your tears hot. Proven by how he forces you to sit still afterwards, both hands gripping your face tight so you can’t back away from him as he looms above you, blocking out the light from the television so all you can see is him. Vision filled with his devilish beauty; his face twisting in a mock version of pity as he traces the path your tears took with his fingers.

The television behind Ronin serving to make him look like a fallen angel by Christening him with a halo of blue light, spilling out from behind the little plastic horns glued to his beanie. He’d be sickened by the thought. Ronin leaning in and licking the tears off your face. Shushing you softly and rubbing his thumb over your lip when you open your mouth to ask why? You don’t get it. 

But Ronin fucks you so sweetly when he’s done. You think it’s a prize for withstanding the horror, his horror. That, or it turns him when you let him push you so close to the edge, let him make you cry and tremble with fear before soothing it away with the thick line of his cock. He always lets you curl into his chest afterwards, rocks you to sleep while reciting odd, esoteric poetry from the depths of his mind that you think might be about how much he loves you. You hope. 

But you do worry- or, you did worry, that one day Ronin would come home to you while covered in proof that he was out hunting more than just animals, or that one day you would read the wrong article about him, or that someone would tell you about a gruesome murder done by none other than the ‘devilish butcher’, and you’d never be able to look at him the same again. That the room wouldn’t light up around his smile anymore. Instead it would seep sinister into your dreams and invade the cracks in your head with its polluting light and then you would have to leave. Quietly. Unable to face the man you love and tell him you’ve finally realised what he’s been telling you all along: that he’s a monster. 

Well, that day is today. You heard Ronin leave early this morning, slide out of bed while it was still dark, too dark for him to be leaving for work, despite your whining and pleading for ‘five more minutes’. Telling him, ‘nooooo ‘Nin, cuddles,’ when Ronin chuckled and said he had work to do. You’d drifted grumpily back into a half sleep when you felt a gloved hand brush over your forehead before Ronin stooped to press a gentle kiss there. 

‘I’ll be back real soon, darlin’. Keep dreaming of me while I’m gone.’ You’d opened your eyes blearily to catch sight of him leaving, dressed all in black with a mask pulled up over his mouth and nose. Ronin had waved his crowbar at you merrily before tucking it in his coat and under his arm and strutting jauntily out the door. You’d thought he looked like an angel then too. Not that you’d ever tell him that. It wasn’t until sometime later, after you’d woken up properly and had some time to think about it, that you realised this was the first confirmed time you’d seen him leave to go kill someone. 

You’d seen him after he’d killed plenty of times before, when he was still loopy and ecstatic from the thrill and the rush, but the perks of not living together fully yet had meant it was usually after he’d showered. And while he was one to brag, he never seemed to go into specifics, at least not with you. He was usually more preoccupied with bedding you anyways. Excitement leaking into his movements as he’d throw you onto the bed, grin at your outraged squeaks and then shut you up by rutting his thick cock against your mouth until he was satisfied. 

But this time, this time is different. This time you know where he’s going, what he’s doing. And you’re just sitting around his apartment, docile, waiting for him to come back. Drinking tea and making breakfast like nothing is different. And maybe it isn’t. It certainly doesn’t feel different. That’s what you’re convincing yourself anyways. Until Ronin opens the door with a slam and struts in, whistling. You don’t jump like you usually do, a phased calm shifting over you when you see him, like you’re settled in your own skin for the first time in your life; like you didn’t even realise something was wrong until suddenly it wasn’t. 

Black backpack in one hand, Ronin is conspicuously free of both his gloves, his mask and his crowbar. He almost looks normal when he sees you, but his eyes are wild when you make eye contact. You freeze in place, standing off the side of his kitchenette after placing your dishes in the sink. Ronin’s grin is feral, laced with something evil and you should be scared. You want to be scared as his eyes scan up and down your body, dressed only in one of his worn out oversized sleep shirts; Ronin looks upon you like prey and you shiver. 

There’s blood on his face. Just a trickle by his mouth, obscure and miniscule enough it could be his own but you can’t deny it any more. It’s not his. It's someone else’s. Someone he’s killed. Your boyfriend is a killer. A stone cold killer, for the sick, sick thrill. Your legs feel weak and your head spins with how quickly all the blood in your body rushes south, at the thought of how dangerous he is. Your cock twitches in anticipation as if to say ‘hello Ronin, darling. How I've missed you.’

‘Hey there darlin’. Got you all pavlov’d up for me, huh baby?’ Ronin’s eyes are dark with delight as they flick from your face to where you're fidgeting and rubbing your thighs together to try alleviate the heavy ache of your cock. ‘Just can’t wait to have my cock split open those pretty little folds of yours, can you? Well, too bad. You’ll have to be patient while I put this away first, but then I’m all yours darlin’.’  Ronin winks at you comically. You don't laugh, you can’t.

Ronin gestures with the bag to show you what he’s talking about and the word, ‘Don’t.’ slips out your mouth before you can think to stop it. He raises an eyebrow at you. 

‘What’s got my sweet little saint all riled up today?’ Ronin’s looking at you with curiosity on his face, clearly expecting an answer but you don't have one. You barely have any thoughts at all other than the raging need to see it, to see proof with your own eyes. 

You get to your feet with your pulse racing and your hands numb and tingling. It feels like all the blood in your body is in your head. Or your feet. Or your cunt. It thrumbs heartily with every step you take towards him. The excitement and thrill starts to slip off Ronin’s face and he’s watching you with a calculating look, like he knows today's the day. It softens slightly when you slip one hand into his, press a soft kiss to his lips and gently take the bag from him with your other hand. 

The bag’s heavier than it looks, and it should repulse you- the thought that there’s a murder weapon in here, a heavy metal crowbar stained with blood. Someone else's blood. The weight of it should spring a sick dose of reality to the forefront of your mind but as you kneel before the bag and slowly unzip it all you can picture is how strong Ronin is to be able to swing such a heavy implement at someone accurately and with ease. How he'd look in the moment. The strong lines of his shoulder and back, the tension in his arms and the ecstatic- no, the crazed expression he must have as he swings the crowbar above his head and brings it down again and again with one sick crunch after another. 

You feel like you can't get enough air though you're breathing heavier than you should be. Your face is aflame and it’s making you dizzy. You shove the sides of the backpack down with shaking hands, and it’s there. Wrapped in a white plastic bag, you can see the thick outline of the metal and the blood that’s pooling in the folds and creases of the bag around it. You reach out to peel the plastic back but a hand catches you by the chin, and turns your head to face him: Ronin. Your God. Your devil. 

Ronin’s taken his jacket off, kneeling on one knee as he looks at you with curiosity and stress on his face. Like he’s equally fascinated and worried by your reaction. That is, until he catches sight of your blown pupils and open mouth, watches the way your eyes race across his features, between his brown eyes and soft lips. Darting down to trace the line of his body, your gaze flickers back and forth between his strong arms, the slope of his pecs, and the crease in his trousers hiding the bulge of his cock. You lick your lips, mouth startlingly dry.

Ronin’s face cracks into a wide grin, eyes starting to relight with the fire from his kill, ‘Well hello there, lost little lamb. Are you in need of a Shepherd? Or ‘ve you finally found what you’ve been lookin’ for?’ His gaze lands on the bag and you look at it, mouth dry, and then look at him, like you’re waiting for permission, his permission. Ronin raises his brows at you, delighted grin on his features, tip of his tongue sticking out between his teeth, challenging you. 

You turn back to the bag, are just reaching in it when you feel the heavy weight of your boyfriend settle itself along your back. His head rests in the crook of your neck, content to just watch as his hands stroke lightly up and down the sides of your stomach. 

Your hands are shaking as you reach in the bag, gently peel back the plastic. The bag sticks to itself in the places there's blood pooling. The blood gets on your hands as you unwrap it. It's wet. And cold. Did you want it to be warm? Hot with life? Spurting from a still beating heart in a steady wet, hot pump? You shudder, full bodied and Ronin cackles, delighted by your reaction, beside your ear, leaning in to press a kiss against your cheek as you slide your fingers under the crowbar, feeling the heavy weight of it.

‘You like it, baby? You feel it? You like me?’ One of Ronin’s hands slides down to press against the front of your crotch and you gasp, hips rutting up into the feeling. Ronin inhales sharply, you feel it against your temple. ‘Awh, baby. Darlin’. Fucking knew it. Knew you wanted this since that day in Purgatory, before that, even. Might have been able to hide it from everyone else with your little ‘innocent lamb’ act but I knew you wanted more the second you entered the slaughterhouse and didn’t run screaming for the hills. You’re a sick, sick pervert huh?’ 

Ronin huffs a laugh against your temple and you want to say something, anything to deny it, deny him, but your hips are humping up against his hand in these minute, fricative little pulses you can’t quite control and you’re more turned on than you’ve ever been in your life. You squirm in his arms. Ronin slides his hand down, large fingers pressing firmly against the soaked seat of your underwear, rocking them back and forth gently until his middle finger settles between your folds, presses a delicious friction up against your cock. 

‘Just had to bring it out in you, didn’t I darlin’? You needed the devil to come along and corrupt your sweet little aorta so you wouldn’t have to take the blame, wouldn’t have to admit that you like this. That you want this, almost as much as you want me. Isn’t that right, baby?’ Ronin’s voice is barely a whisper but you hear every word loud and clear. Your face burns and your pussy is throbbing with need. 

You whimper, high pitched in your throat and Ronin shushes you, presses a gentle kiss to your fluttering eyelid. ‘Shhhh, don’t you worry, darlin’. I’ll take all the blame this time. Now, let the devil take you on down to hell.’ Ronin is going to be the death of you. You moan low in your throat and press your cunt harder against his hand, he rubs slow circles over your clit with the top of his palm, presses two fingers firmly over your entrance and rubs them over it.   

Your fingers grasp shut on the thick, cold, hard metal of the crowbar. It’s positively wet with blood. Ronin laughs by your ear again, a high pitched giggle you’ve never heard him make before. It sounds exactly as deranged as his usual cackling laugh. You turn your head to look at him, nose brushing his face you’re so close and he says, ‘watch’ as he slides his hands to cover your own. The one that was down your pants is sticky and wet where it lays over the back of your hand. Your breath stutters at the loss of friction against your pussy. Ronin presses a kiss against the side of your eye.  ‘Patience, baby. Patience. Good things come to those who wait, don’t ‘cha know?’  He laughs again, a light huff of breath ghosting over your eyelashes. You’re not sure if it's directed at you or his own words. You really don’t care. 

Ronin turns one of your hands over. Adjusts your grip so you have one hand wrapped tight around the bottom of the crowbar and the other supporting slightly above it. You feel lightheaded. Ronin’s hands are wrapped tight over yours as he lifts them up, raises them up beside your head, as if you’re going to- as if you could- ‘Ready, darlin’?’ Ronin asks, voice a sickly low drawl. You can feel your cock twitching a steady one-two. Thumping away with your heartbeat in your underwear. You swallow thickly. Ronin tightens his grip over yours, then resettles and rests more of his weight against your back. 

It feels like he’s everywhere. You can’t think. You can only imagine how hard he must be. Cock twitching away in his underwear. You think of him fucking you. You think of fucking him. His face as he moans. You think of the crowbar pressed tight across your throat, the wild grin on Ronins face as he’d watch the light slip from your eyes; if he would stop before it was too late. 

‘I asked you a question darlin’.’ 

You can’t look away from your tight grip on the crowbar. Your hands, wet and sticky with blood, seeping between your fingers and dribbling down over your knuckles. The vivid red colour smudging underneath Ronin’s tight grip over your hands. You don’t think you’re breathing. You nod, minutely, fractured, frantically. Unable or unwilling to make a bigger move lest it wretch your sight from where you need it. 

You feel the tension in your boyfriend's arms as they pull back slightly, the thickness of his muscles as they recoil and, ‘Whoosh! Ha-ha!’, let go. Your arms swing forwards, the motion contained and precise, using only the exact needed strength and precision to knock the now empty backpack straight into the wall. A whimper leaves your throat, high pitched and strangled. The feeling-  when the swing connected, the contraction of Ronin’s muscular arms around you, how powerful the blow had felt. You’re gonna pass out. The jolt of electricity you feel in your cock almost hurts. Your hips rock down, seeking friction that isn’t there.

‘Ronin.’ It comes out gasped, guttural, full of want and need.

‘Yeah. You like it, baby? You like me, huh? In all my grotesque delight?’ Ronin presses his grin to your cheek; you’re sure it would be a kiss if he could stop smiling. ‘Sweet little thing finally realised he’s dating The Butcher? Also known as The Devil Himself, darlin’.’ Ronin’s nosing against your face as he says this, you can feel his wicked smile brushing your cheek as he does. You lean back against him, squirming, trying to rub yourself against him or turn around to see him, but Ronin tightens his grip on your hands, brings your focus back to the crowbar and says, ‘ah-ah-ah, we’re not quite done yet baby. How about… some target practice?’

Ronin lets go of your hands, slides out from behind you and saunters into the kitchen. 

He flashes you a winning smile before slamming open one of the kitchen cupboards with a bang. Ronin watches you for your reaction; always does when he pulls shit like this, but you barely even notice the noise. Hands limp around the crowbar, it rests heavy against your thighs, leaving bloody red smudges on them. Your eyes are fixated instead on Ronin’s broad shoulders. How the blood on his hands is leaving smudges against the white cupboard doors. 

You’re so weak in the knees about it- about him, that when Ronin waves you over to the kitchen counter while setting a series of increasingly ugly mugs against its edge, you forget about the crowbar and stumble as the weight of it pulls you forward. Your knees buckle beneath you, and you land sprawled out on the carpet. You hear Ronin laugh from somewhere above you while you’re still staring at the carpet in shock. You watch as his spiked shoes stride slowly into view. When Ronin bends at the waist and his face swims into your vision, he’s wearing the same twisted version of faux-pity he wears after you’ve white-knuckled it through a horror movie with him.

‘Awh, sweetheart… Somebody’s desperate. You just can’t get enough of me, can you?’ He boops his knuckle against your cheeks and then your nose. Embarrassment floods through you, tinting your face red. You should be affronted. Humiliated. Or maybe some shade of afraid, but it’s hard to be with your sweet, loving, murderous boyfriend leaning over you with an entirely fond look on his face. Eyes alight like you’re what he’s been waiting for since the dawn of time, or, since the birth of Lucifer. Arousal curls hotly around your spine and joins the rutting, swirling mess in your gut. The sticky, wet-hot mess in your panties. The thought swims through your mind that you could come from just this; him standing over you, mocking you so sweetly. Maybe if he put the sole of his boot against your cock then…

‘R-Ronin…’ 

Ronin puts a hand behind his ear, tilts his head towards you in an over-exaggerated pretence of listening, ‘What’s that, sweetheart?’ You swallow, mouth dry.

‘Ronin.’

‘One more time, say my name, darlin’.’ It’s obvious he’s teasing you. Has been since the very start, but then an idea strikes you, and you can’t not.  

‘Butcher.’ Falls from your lips, breathless and Ronin groans. It’s the first time you’ve acknowledged it out loud. He turns his upper body away from you for a second, running his hand through his hair. His beanie falls off and hits the lino behind him with a clatter but neither of you turn to look at it. There’s blood in his hair when he faces you again. Sticking strands of it together as it falls back in his face and the look on it, half-pained, half-giddy, flushed red high on his cheekbones. 

‘What you do to me, darlin’. Flesh ‘n’ bone pretty, I told you.’ It comes out choked, less drawled than usual and your heartbeat skips a wicked step to be having an effect on him too. 

‘Still, we should save that for after. C’mere, upsy daisies.’ Ronin says as he tucks his hands under your armpits and drags you to stand on your wobbly legs. Holy shit your boyfriend is strong. 

You leave the crowbar on the floor. Have no choice but to. You crowd into Ronin’s space as soon as you’re able, put your hands on his neck, his cheeks, follow the action by pressing kisses to the blood left behind by your hands. Ronin laughs the whole time, and he’s beautiful. He puts his hands on your hips and pulls you into him. Catches you in a blinding, tummy fluttering, pussy burning kiss. One hand gripped tight on the back of your neck, the other tugs at the front of your panties until they slip up between your pussy lips. 

‘Roniinnn.’ You whine. He presses wet, hot kisses down your neck like a trail of fire. 

‘What? You don’t like it? I think you look rather… ravishing, like this. Could just devour you like this.’ Ronin tugs on your underwear again and again and it pulls tight against your cock, you moan in stuttering little breaths at the friction. ‘Sounds like you do.’ Ronin groans, kisses open mouthed at your neck. You shake your head, movement restricted by his tight grip on the back of your neck, his lips slide wetly against your skin. Ronin bares his teeth against your neck, not biting, but warning, and you freeze. ‘I think you do~’ Ronin murmurs, singsong. He uses his grip on the back of your neck to make you nod. You’ve never been more turned on and more embarrassed at the same time. 

‘No?’ Ronin pulls away from your neck to look you in the eye. Your face is burning with shame. You shake your head minutely, unable to hold eye contact with him as you lie. ‘Shame.’ Ronin mutters. He nips at your neck with his teeth, if it felt anything other than good you’d think it’s punishment for lying to him. He presses an open mouthed, wet kiss against it after, laves his tongue over it like he’s apologising but you know he’s just enjoying tasting the bruise. 

Ronin then yanks your underwear down your legs in one smooth motion, and pulls away to lead you to the counter with his fingers linked through yours. He pauses briefly, stooping down to pick up the crowbar at your feet. ‘Can’t forget this now can we?’  He waves it at you cheekily. ‘Alright,’ Ronin looks over his shoulder at you, ‘C’mere darlin’, I don’t bite.’ 

That’s a bold faced lie; Ronin does bite, the bastard, but you shuffle up behind him anyways. Wrap your arms around him and attempt to peak over his shoulder but you’re too short. You can just sort of make out his hands as he lines up ugly mug after ugly mug. 

‘Not pugsley!’ You gasp. Pugsley is a truly horrific, yellow, pug-faced, square shaped mug with an inside lip that creates a circle rim. You got it at a yard sale. It’s impossible to drink out of. At some point Ronin superglued googly eyes over the pugs' own to create this truly awful 3D effect. You both delight in serving the other beverages in it at seemingly random moments, hoping to catch the other off guard and startle them into laughter. The rule being that if you laugh then you have to drink out of it. Which is impossible, and usually a hilarious speedrun of how fast one person can spill a drink down themselves. Ronin gets you more than you get him, but the few memorable moments where you caught him off guard enough to succeed are more than worth it.

Ronin laughs, ‘Alright, alright. Not pugsley.’ You’re sure he only put him in the lineup to start with to get a reaction out of you. He puts his fingers on the top of the mug and sends it sliding towards the sink. It falls in with a clatter. You hope it didn’t break. 

Ronin lines up four mugs, one in front, three behind, and places the crowbar down beside them. It sticks briefly to his hands where the blood is starting to dry. You watch his skin peel away from it with your heart in your throat. ‘Now come here.’ Ronin grabs you from behind him and pulls you round in front of him. 

‘What are we doing?’ Your cock still feels heavy and hot between your legs and you think that there are other things you’d much rather be doing with your boyfriend at this very second.

‘I told you darlin’. Target practice.’ Ronin waves a hand fluidly as the scene in front of him. Oh. So that’s what he was doing. You consider complaining, putting it off and dragging your boyfriend to bed but if it’s target practice, if he’s teaching you, then surely you’ll get to see him swing his crowbar at least once. That’s not something you can gloss over and pretend you don’t want, because oh boy do you want. Plus, the rewards for playing along with whatever challenge Ronin sets for you that day tend to be on the more generous side, and you really want to see what his sick mind cooks up for you this time. Your pussy will survive this brief pause. 

‘Usually I prefer my targets a little more… alive. But, I’ll make an exception. For you, this once.’ The look Ronin gives you is playful, but you can’t be sure if he means it. There’s as much chance that the next time Ronin lets you touch his crowbar may be as contingent on the idea of you killing someone as it’s not. The thought sends a sick, desperate thrill down your spine. 

Ronin guides you in front of him, hands on your waist, ‘Feet shoulder width apart.’ His voice is a mocking drawl. You do it anyway. ‘Good job baby!’ He’s talking down to you, like you’re a child. It shouldn’t turn you on but it does. You shudder in response.  Ronin wraps his arms around you, over your shoulders. Dances his fingertips down your arms to settle them over your hands. He wraps them around the crowbar, tight and draws both your arms back. 

‘You wanna bend your knees, be about thiiiss far away from your target,’ He measures the distance between you and the counter with his arm, then reapplies his grip over yours. He slides your top hand down towards the bottom, ‘And keep a good, tight grip, just like that, but you don’t wanna grip it too high. You’ll catch your hand in the swing and soften the blow. Can’t crack any skulls when you’re pullin’ your punches now can ya’, darlin’?’ 

Ronin demonstrates the swing trajectory a few times, pulling your hands through the motions to practice. You’re nervous, heart racing like this is the real thing. Your hands dip slightly when Ronin lets go and steps back, the crowbar is heavy and the full weight of it pulls them down slightly. You’re struck once again with awe over how strong Ronin is.

‘Try line up your shot first.’ Ronin’s hand presses against the small of your back when you don’t move. You breathe in slowly through your nose, then exhale through your mouth. You hear Ronin take a few steps back. You line the curved tip of the crowbar up with the mug, practice your shot, once, twice, pull back and then swing. The mug explodes when the crowbar connects with it. You see it in slow motion. The pieces fly everywhere. You stumble as the weight of the crowbar and the momentum of the swing pull you along with it before Ronin’s arms catch you around your waist and keep you from falling. 

You giggle hysterically when the world catches back up to you and you’re held safely in your boyfriend’s arms, crowbar held stiffly and awkwardly out in front of you. Your elbows ache slightly. You lean your head back against Ronin’s shoulder to see his face in all its beauty. His eyes are dark as he looks at you and all you can think is how much you love him. How much you want him. You’re maybe a little high off the thrill. The rush. This is a murder weapon. Your boyfriend’s murder weapon. It’s been used to kill people. Your boyfriend kills people. Your pussy flutters back to life now that the pressure is off. You did good. You feel good. You try rubbing your thighs together to get some friction against your cock. 

‘Good job, baby.’ This one isn’t mocking, it’s entirely sincere and you squirm under the weight of it. Ronin doesn’t give direct compliments easy. He presses a kiss to your temple and laughs loudly, ‘I’ll make a murderer out of you yet.’ It’s something Ronin says to you often, and you usually laugh it off, brushing it under the rug of ‘usual Ronin antics’, but, maybe he’s been serious this whole time. The thought makes you gulp. Your pussy is drooling between your thighs. Leaving sticky wet marks between them.

‘What? You didn’t think I was joking, did’ja?’ Ronin’s eyes are twinkling with delight as he says it and your mouth runs dry. Oh shit. He wasn’t joking. ‘Now, watch me work!’ Ronin steps back from you slowly, making sure you’re not too loopy and dazed to stand on your own before prying the crowbar from your frozen fingers and dancing around you to line up another mug.

‘Step back baby. Don’t want to hit ya’. Least, not yet.’ You laugh at his teasing. For all Ronin’s threats of killing you, you know he’d miss you far too much. Or, miss the prospect of killing you after the rush fades. You think you’re okay with either. As long as it keeps you alive and in his arms.

‘What about my target practice?’ You say, Ronin looks down pointedly at your hands, they’re shaking. The blood that’s transferred from the crowbar is starting to dry and flake off around your fingers. You can’t help but feel a little… disappointed. You tuck them behind your back. Ronin is watching you silently. When you look up he flashes you a cheesy grin and waves his crowbar in a little circle like he’s saying ‘batter up!’ He’s already put all three remaining mugs in a little row on the edge of the counter.

You’re waiting for him to line up his shot when crack. Ronin’s arms shoot out and hit the first mug dead centre and you’re struck by what a vision your boyfriend is. Ceramic shattering to dust in front of him, the long line of his arms held out, wielding his crowbar with finesse and ease like it’s a part of him. An extension. Crack. The wild glee lighting up his face as he pulls his arms back and cackles, head tipping back with the laugh and then forwards again to face his target, the deadly serious look in his eyes as he locks in on the next mug, his hair falling in his eyes, tendrils sticky and wet looking with the drying blood. Crack. Your own bloody handprints littering his face and neck. He looks divine. Saint like. You would kill for him, you realise with a start. You will kill for him. Some day. Maybe soon.

‘’Nin…’ You say. Ronin looks over at you.

‘What is it, baby? Do you need me? Am I making you weak in the knees?’ Ronin reaches out and taps the end of his crowbar against the back of your knee lightly. You stumble slightly and his smile widens slowly. Like a predator circling his prey, Ronin stalks up close to you, breathes himself into your space, tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. ‘Gonna fall head over heels for me again?’ His grin is shit-eating. Your pussy clenches hotly in response.

‘’Nin, I need you.’ Your hands grasp at the front of his shirt, creasing it into tight little folds between your fingers. All the heat and want and desire from before flares back into life in the pit of your stomach. 

‘Need me, need me. Bet’cha wanna please me. Ain’t that right, baby? Am I your God or am I your God?’ 

It should be embarrassing, how fast you drop to your knees. Nuzzle your face into his crotch where you know his cock is hiding. But you’re dizzy with want. Your whole cunt is throbbing so hard you wonder if you could come just like this, simply by getting your mouth on him. Ronin needs to take his pants off now. Before you gnaw through them. You lean down and bite his bare knee, exposed by the hole in his jeans. He jumps a little, steps back to pull his knee out of your reach and swats at your head. You grin and gnash your teeth at him mid air.

‘As sweet as that offer is, darlin’, I had somethin’ a little more… gruesome in mind.’ Ronin grins wickedly at you and offers you his hand. You let him pull you to your feet, twist you into a bruising kiss before he lets you go. You watch as Ronin walks over to the backpack, and pulls out the plastic bag the crowbar was wrapped in. There’s a pool of blood at the bottom of it. Ronin grins wickedly at you before motioning you over with a beckoning finger. ‘Kneel.’ He says and you do. Situate yourself at his feet and wait with bated breath to see what he does next.

You’re not expecting it when he takes the bag and tips the remaining blood inside onto the crowbar before picking it up. Your breath catches in your throat. You wonder if that’s how it looks when he's using it. Ronin smiles, pleased at the look on your face. ‘Y’see, I was wondering, just how badly do you want this, baby? How badly do you want me? How far are you willing to go?’ 

Ronin crouches in front of you, holding the crowbar out in front of him. He lines the end of it up with your head like he’s going to hit you, pulls it back a little and you tense.  You don’t think he would, but with Ronin, you never truly know. ‘Nah.’ He chuckles, stands back up and taps the crowbar on one of your shoulders, then the other, then he ever so lightly bumps it against your forehead. ‘Here I knight thee, Pretty and Rotten and Mine, forevermore.’ Ronin swipes his thumb along the side of the crowbar, leans forwards and you feel him swipe a cross onto your forehead. ‘Forevermore and always, darlin’.’ Before he leans in and licks it off. Ronin crouches back down.

‘So, as I was saying, just how badly do you want this, baby? You want the devil so badly that you’d kiss his instrument of bloody delight?’ Ronin proffers it to you, palms up. He’s watching you with calculating eyes, like he’s seeing just how far he can push you before you break, but there’s also an intense joy in them, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. Ronin’s lips are pursed to the side, an eyebrow quirked in question. 

You want to rub your pussy on his face, against his nose, his mouth, his tongue. Your hips rock down against nothing at the thought, a quick motion but you know Ronin catches it as his eyes dip down to look at your bare cunt, hidden out of sight by his oversized t-shirt and a smirk curls around the edges of his mouth. 

Instead of responding to his question, you lean in and lick a slow stripe along the crowbar. The copper-y metallic taste of blood, a stranger’s blood, fills your mouth and your heartbeat thunders as you swallow. They’re dead now. Made into mince meat at your boyfriend's hands. You lean in and press a chaste kiss against the cold metal, and then against Ronin’s fingers curved over the bar.

‘Ha-ha! I didn’t think you’d actually do it!’ Ronin crows with laughter. ‘So what d’ya think, darlin’? How does death taste? Pretty fuckin’ great right?’ 

You’re honestly not sure, you could go without it, but it wasn’t terrible like you expected. You actually quite like the taste of metal, so you’ve always though the taste of blood is kind of nice, but if Ronin wants to know that he’s going to have to work for it. You lick your lips and screw your nose up in distaste. 

‘Not for you, huh darlin’? Awh, poor baby. So naive, so deluded.You really think you can lie to the devil? …I’ll let it go, this time. I have something much worse in mind anyway. Put your legs apart for me, darlin’. That’s right, there we go. Now put your hands behind your back.’ You do as he says. Ronin reaches over and holds the edge of your shirt up to your face, ‘ say ‘ah~’, then he tucks it in your mouth so you’re bare from the chest down, exposed. You watch as his gaze trails up and down your naked form, you can’t keep your hips still, they twitch back and forth in time with the soft pulsing in your cock. 

Ronin grins sharply,  ‘Perfect.’ He says, then he takes the crowbar and holds it upside down, turns the sharp edge of it away from you and slots the curved part up against your cunt. You gasp around your shirt, and the look on Ronin’s face is heady. You knew he was getting off on this, but it’s different to see it. His eyes are half-lidded, gaze dark, mouth open in with a smirk, tongue peeking out as he watches the shock register on your face. You can’t believe he would do something so, so disrespectful. Something so fucking hot you can’t help but buck your hips against the crowbar, grinding your cock into the cold bite of the metal. It’s wet, and you know it's the blood mixing with the slick from your cunt. 

Part of you feels sick. The other knows you’re going to cum harder than you ever have in your life to the thought of your boyfriend, Ronin, The Devilish Butcher, the Devil Himself, using this very crowbar to split some poor suckers ribcage open, to break their knees, to crack their skull. You whine and rock your hips back and forth against the crowbar, rut your cock against it desperately. Your whole pussy pulses red-hot, pleasure licking across it sending shudders through you while you get off on thinking about how dangerous Ronin is.

Ronin is watching you with an intense look on his face, like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. Your head tips backwards in ecstasy and his hand comes round to support it, tilts it up so that he can see your face. ‘I want to see the look in your eyes when you come from this, darlin’.’ Oh fuck. You struggle to keep your eyes open as the pleasure twists itself into an electric whine, burning fire through your cunt and sending fricative little jolts through your legs and up your spine. You can feel the curved edge of the crowbar pressing up deliciously against your entrance and you whine, wishing the end of it wasn’t sharp so that Ronin could fuck you with it. 

Your hips stutter down, drag your cock against the wet, bloody metal, feel yourself twitch and pulse with delight at how utterly grotesque the action feels. Ronin bites his lip and you think he sees it before you feel it and it vaguely occurs to you to be worried, before your climax washes over you in a thundering wave and you start to twitch. ‘Oh, fuck.’  Slips out your mouth before you can stop it, then devolves into a rasping, guttural moan. You feel a glittering, fuzzy numb feeling grasp the edge of your vision and your toes and shoulders as your hips rock, your cock tenses, then jolts and pulses with the rhythm of your release. You twitch your way through it until your vision dips into black around the edges, and dimly you recognise that you’re passing out just before you do.

When you come to, you’re laid panting in Ronin’s lap, one of his arms supporting your shoulders while the other brushes sweaty hair off your face. ‘Did ‘cha see the light, darlin’?’ Ronin’s smirk is cheeky, self satisfied, and you swat a limp hand at his face in mock outrage. You’re far too spent to actually consider making a real attempt at a comeback. Ronin crows, delighted at this, dodging your slow hand with ease before dipping his head down again to grin at you. ‘I take it that means you did. How were the pearly gates? Closed?’ For all his showboating he slows and kisses you softly, presses his forehead to yours and mutters, ‘Did God tell you you spent way too long dancing with the devil to be let in?’

‘Nooo.’ You grumble, slide your face away from the heavy weight of Ronin’s gaze, turn yourself sideways to hide your expression against Ronin’s stomach and wrap your arms around his middle, ‘He invited m’ in. Told him to fuck off and send me back to hell b’cause that’s where you are.’

There’s a beat of silence before Ronin laughs again, disbelieving and delighted. You feel it rumble in his chest before he pulls you up to sit in his lap properly. ‘Well aren’t you the sweetest?’ You can feel his grin as he presses his lips to your forehead. Your limbs are all loose and you feel euphoric. Giddy and content and happy to be in Ronin’s arms. He rocks you slightly and you laugh, head tipping back as Ronin kisses down your neck, scrapes his teeth against your throat. You shudder away from the stimulation and remember that while you may be satisfied, Ronin has been waiting patiently all this time and you want to make him feel as good as he made you.

‘Ronin.’ 

‘Mhm,’ you know he’s not really listening by the way he’s leaving little open mouthed kisses along your jaw.

‘Ronin.’ 

‘Yeah, baby?’ He breathes before pressing a sucking kiss at the skin just underneath your ear. 

‘Ronin!’ You snap.

‘What?’ Ronin pulls back, hair dishevelled, mouth bitten red with confusion in his eyes.

You smile at him cheesily. ‘I want you to fuck me.’ 

Ronin groans, ‘Yeah, baby? Shall I go get the strap? You want The Butcher to fuck you? You want to get to know me, your god, biblically?’ He’s leaning down to kiss at your neck again when you stop him with a hand on his shoulder. 

‘No, ‘Nin.’ You breath, ‘I want you to fuck me. I think I’m loose enough, and I think you’ve grown since we last tried.’ 

You can’t keep the grin off your face at how Ronin freezes, his pupils blown wide with lust. He wets his lips, ‘You want me to…?’

‘Yeah.’ You lean in and kiss him. Ronin doesn’t react for a second but then he’s pulling you against him, bruising, sliding his lips over yours and licking his way into your mouth like he wants to suck the air from your lungs. He pulls your legs over his own to sit between them. You feel his hips rock up under your own, the fabric of his trousers brushes over your wet cunt and you jerk away from the sensation, being too much too soon. 

‘I wish I could fuck you like this.’ Ronin grumbles against your lips.

You pull back and murmur, ‘You can fuck me another way.’ Press your forehead against his own and watch his eyes slide shut in an uncharacteristic moment of weakness. Ronin breathes out heavily and nods. 

‘Hey!’ You say, and shove him backwards while his eyes are still shut. They fly open in shock and you hold your breath, but then Ronin laughs, leans back on his elbows and appraises you with delight. 

‘Little lamb’s got teeth. How cruel, baby. What’s next? You gonna cut out my heart too? Press my still beating atrium against that dirty little cunt of yours that likes blood so much?’ 

‘Not my fault you were looking all depressed about getting to fuck me.’ You crawl over and sit on his legs, reach for his fly, undo it, and start tugging down his trousers. You glance up at Ronin’s face, lean up and kiss the wary look off it. You’re not sure what it means and that worries you. Ronin is usually a really easy read, once you’ve gotten past all his sarcasm and teasing and esotericism (which is ironic considering his opinion on esotericism is ‘hard knock’). You lean over and kiss him again, a simple peck this time. ‘I really think we’ll get it this time; I’ve been on reddit.’ You say cheekily.

‘And what wisdom did the Glorious Platform of Reddit have to share?’ It’s dripping in sarcasm and you have to resist rolling your eyes.

‘Just some helpful hints, and a position we haven’t tried before.’ You start tugging his trousers down, ‘hips up, baby.’ Ronin’s hips rock up before he lifts them deliberately; he has always liked when you use his own pet names on him. You shuffle down trying to pull Ronin’s trousers the rest of the way off, they get caught around his knees. 

‘You know it still might not work, right?’ Oh. So that’s how he’s feeling.

‘Yeah, I know. But we can still try; we got real close last time. Jesus, Ronin, how long are your legs?’ Ronin’s trousers turned inside out as you tugged them down, so you have to bundle them up to finally yank them off his feet.

‘Yeah and I was too small.’ He’s being petulant. Not even making his usual joke of, ‘no, just me,’ at your ‘Jesus’. Arms crossed, laying flopped back on the floor like he doesn’t care, what a big baby. You chuck Ronin’s bundled up trousers at him. They hit his face with a ‘flap!’ and he sits up, outraged. 

‘Stop being a baby. That’s my job.’ You say. You lean up and put your hands on his thighs, rub them back and forth soothingly. ‘I thought you’d want this. That’s why I suggested it, but we don’t have to; we can do something different.’

Ronin smooths a hand over his face, ‘No, I want to. I really, really want to. I’m just worried it won’t work, and that I’ll end up feeling less than.’

‘You will never be less than to me. No matter what, Ronin. Okay?’

‘Damn, darlin’, didn’t know you liked me that much.’ He’s smiling cheekily, but you know it’s genuine in the way it plays around the edge of his mouth and crinkling his eyes as he looks up at you.

‘Yes you did, asshole.’

‘Yeah, I did.’

‘Now, you want me to suck your dick first or what?’

Ronin chokes on a laugh, ‘Forgot how much of a romantic you are there. You not gonna wine and dine me first, darlin’? Rile me up until I’m cryin’, beggin’ for it? Oh wait, that was you.’

‘Asshole. I’m asking if I can dine you right now.’

Ronin giggles. ‘Touche. But nah, you don’t need ta’.’ Ronin sits up on his elbows and shoves his boxers down over his hips aggressively. ‘I’ve been rock hard ever since you looked at my crowbar like it was something you wanted inside you, baby. Since you finally showed me some of your rot.’ He kicks his boxers off and they go flying but you don’t see where, you’re too busy focused on the wet mess of pubic hair sticking out from between your boyfriend’s legs.

Ronin parts his legs to let you see what’s between them, the rough black hair covering his public mound, the dark skin around the swollen red lips of his cunt, a thick sheen of slick leaking out from between them. His cock is sticking out from his folds, dark red and twitching against the chill of the open air. Fuck. He’s so hard.

Ronin sucks in a breath and slides a hand down his front, parts his fingers in a ‘v’ shape around the top of his cock and presses down to pull his foreskin back with a hiss. Your mouth waters and you can't resist. You lean down and spit on his cock, letting it run out of your mouth and down your tongue slowly while looking up at Ronin. Ronin moans, and his hips hump into the air towards the wet heat of your mouth, you watch the spit run down over the head of his cock and then down between his folds so you chase it with your tongue. Press between his folds and lick up under his cock and over the head of it. Ronin moans, his hand sliding down to cover the back of your head. 

You seal your lips over his shaft with your tongue under it and push your head forwards, sucking gently. You can feel his cock pulse rhythmically against your tongue. You’re expecting him to push your head down but Ronin cards his hands through your hair and pulls you up. You look at him, mouth still hanging open, confused as he pants roughly, ‘You’re the one who said ya’ wanted me fuck ya’, darlin’.’

Oh shit. Yeah. You do. You nod rapidly, scramble to your feet and look at your boyfriend; he’s a vision on the floor; bloody hand prints on his neck, red hair disheveled, wet looking and pushed back, the light smattering of hair covering his thighs, his t-shirt rucked up around his stomach, his happy trail leading down to his hard cock sticking out proudly and his shiny wet cunt underneath it leaking between his legs. ‘You coming?’ You ask as you hold out a hand. 

Ronin grabs it and hauls himself to his feet. He leans over and grabs the crowbar off the floor, then puts his arm over your shoulders and starts walking you to his bedroom, ‘that’s the plan, sweetheart.’ You snort out a laugh at his bad joke. 

Ronin steers you into the room, drops the crowbar beside the bed, and just when you’re about to turn and kiss him, he drops his arm and shoves you, full bodied, onto the bed. You shriek in shock. You hear Ronin laughing uproariously behind you before you hear the fast padding of his feet as he launches himself towards you. ‘Wait, Ronin, no!’ You bring your arms up in defense but it's too late, and your boyfriend lands on you with a crushing blow. It doesn’t hurt anything other than your pride but you still don’t appreciate being sneak attacked and squished like this. 

‘Get! Off! Me!’ You smack him (gently) over the shoulders and on his side and his butt and anywhere you can reach. ‘Awh, I thought you liked me.’  Ronin’s face pops into view, flushed with excitement at getting revenge for your earlier antics. He leans his head on his hands and puts on an exaggerated pout, ‘what? Don't ‘cha like me, darlin’?’ 

‘Not anymore I don’t.’ You say. You see Ronin’s eyes narrow in disbelief as a wicked smirk overtakes his features.

‘Is that so?’ 

‘Yep.’ You pop the ‘p’, turning your face away from him in protest. 

Ronin starts laying wet kisses against your throat, talking in an over-exaggerated, fake, throaty moan, ‘So you don’t want me to try and bully my red-hot, throbbing, monster cock into your teeny tiny pussy?’ He’s clearly mocking you from his overzealous tone and you hate that it works. You’re mortified that he can fake arousal in such a kitsch and satirical way and it still makes you shiver and squirm to hear it. Ronin laughs against your throat. ‘Yeah, baby? You like that? Should I start using more cheesy porn lines during sex? Will that get you off?’

‘Shut up, Ronin. You know it’s you I like.’

Ronin noses under your jaw and whispers in your ear. ‘Fuck, really? Never noticed.’ He cackles it proudly against your cheek and presses a loud smooch against the side of your face. God fucking damn it. Always has to fucking win this man. Like it’s wired into his bone structure. ‘I knew it~.’ 

Ronin starts pressing wet, warm kisses under your ear again and you let out a satisfied sigh. You could stay here all day, you think, when Ronin shifts over you, lines your hips up with his, starts rutting forwards again and you feel his bare cock drag wet over yours. The friction is a delicious bite of a sting against your spent cock, making your hips stutter away from and back into the movement. You can feel it when Ronin’s cock twitches hotly against yours and the feeling makes you whine; you love rubbing your cock on his.

You rock your hips up to meet Ronin’s; his breath puffs against your temple in hot bursts and you can hear him moaning low in his throat on the downward drag of his hips. You don’t want to stop him but then you think of how ecstatic you would both feel if you could get him to actually fuck you; you don’t try this very often as it sets off his dysphoria if it doesn’t work but you know it’s one of Ronin’s biggest fantasies- to be able to fuck you himself. 

‘Ronin. Ronin, come on. Fuck me.’

‘So impatient all the time.’ Ronin murmurs, nosing along the edge of your face before pulling back to look you in the eyes. He has the same dopey, lovesick look in his eyes that he did that day you met him in Purgatory- not that he’d ever admit that’s what it was. He thumbs over your lip before leaning in to kiss you again softly. ‘But when you ask so nicely how can I resist? …So, how do you want to do this?’ The words are whispered against your lips, ‘Since you’re the certified reddit expert ‘n’ all.’ Ronin snickers. You smack him (gently) round the side of his head for the cheek. Ronin smiles at you cheekily, kisses you again. 

You get him to lift himself off you for a minute, his cock peels away wet and sticky from your own and you stifle a whine at the loss of burning hot heat, the feeling of him twitching against you as you move together. You hook a hand around your knee and pull one of your legs as far up and out as you can while keeping the other one laid out. You feel your cunt lips peel apart and allow the wet line from your cock to your entrance to kiss the open air. Ronin’s sat back, watching you open mouthed, hazy red high on his cheekbones, his eyes half lidded as he does. 

‘’S that f’ me?’ He asks. You bite your lip and nod. You watch as Ronin exhales slowly, an attempt to keep control, but you don’t want him in control. You want him to take you; like he does when he’s out in Purgatory.

‘Ronin.’ You say. He barely tears his eyes away from your cunt to look at you for a second before he’s staring at it again, leaning towards it like he wants to put his mouth on it but that’s not what you’re doing right now. ‘Ronin.’ He doesn’t even flinch. He mumbles something about ‘such sweet rot’ and your cock twitches under his attention. ‘Butcher.’  You try. Ronin’s eyes snap up to meet yours. ‘Get- get on- straddle my leg, and-’ 

‘Wait.’ Ronin says, and you pause, letting go of your leg for a second as he leans over you. ‘I think we’re forgetting something.’ You’re confused as to what until Ronin reaches across and casually lifts the crowbar from beside the bed with one hand.  You watch the muscles in his arm twist and flex as he handles it. ‘’M not exactly The Butcher without my handy-dandy little friend.’

‘Please never call your crowbar your ‘handy-dandy little friend’ again.’ 

‘What? You don’t like it?’

You cover your face. ‘No, I don’t like it, it's not sexy at all.’

‘Ah, I forgot. You’re a freak who gets off on the fact that his boyfriend is a murderer. A serial killer. The Butcher. You’re a dirty little pervert.’ Ronin’s holding the crowbar in one hand, tapping the end of it against the other, leaning over you, leering. He’s beautiful. You’re about to deny his claims when he says, ‘don’t lie. Not this time darlin’. I know you like it. It’s written all over your face. Can see it when I-’ The crowbar crashes into the pillow just above your head with a ‘thump!’ Ronin moves so fast you don’t see it coming. You gasp and flinch, but your hips kick up as you do, ‘-swing it around a bit.’ Ronin’s smirking at you, self-satisfied. ‘Told you~’ He says. He goes to pick up the crowbar but you stop him, grabbing his wrist. 

‘Leave it there.’ You say. The heavy pressure above your head is a dizzy-making reminder of just how dangerous Ronin is; a heavy reminder of how he didn’t even pause before swinging at you. How strong Ronin has to be, how sure of himself he is to have done that and known he wouldn’t hurt you, or, how reckless he is knowing he could have and doing it anyway. You don’t know which idea turns you on more. You squirm in place, waiting for Ronin to answer you.

‘Sure.’ Ronin says, before he leans down and kisses you gently, ‘Whatever gets you off, you pervert.’ You snort out a laugh. Ronin levels you with a burning stare, eyes dark with want. You feel the hair on the back of your neck raise underneath it and your skin pricks. You wonder if this is how his victims feel when they realise he’s going to kill them. You can’t stop the shudder that rolls through you at the thought. 

‘Leg up, baby.’ Ronin helps you pull your thigh back into your own grip, and then straddles himself across your other leg at an angle, ‘So then I just put it in?’ He sounds a little breathless at just the thought.

‘Uh-huh,’ you’re a bit breathless yourself, trying to keep your hips from twitching up towards the heat of his. Ronin leans over you, wraps your raised leg high on his waist so you can let go of it, braces his hands by your shoulders and slowly lowers his cunt over yours; you feel his cock brush against the swollen lips of your cunt. You whine as you hear him inhale sharply, before his cock slides firmly over yours, slips down between your lips with a stroke of fire and bumps against the wet suckling grasp of your entrance. You clench against the intrusion and feel Ronin exhale heavily against your face. He grinds his cock down against you and you moan in the back of your throat, hips rocking back and forth into the movement. 

‘C’mon, darlin’, baby,’ Ronin breathes against your temple, ‘You gotta relax, gotta be nice and open f’me f’r this to work.’ He pushes his cock against you harder, it slides wetly over your entrance and down towards your buttcrack. ‘Shit.’ Ronin mutters, looking down. You catch his face with your hand, tangle it in the hair behind his ear and pull him into a bruising kiss.

‘C’mon, butcher. Try again, need it in me, need you in me.’ You murmur against his mouth, let go of his face and grab one of his hands, slide it up behind your head and wrap it around his crowbar, then you wrap your hand over his. Ronin drops his other arm onto the elbow and full body shudders against you. You feel his hips rut against your ass once, twice before he manages to pull them up and slot his cock against your cunt again. 

You can feel his shaft pressed up the length of you, putting pressure on the bottom of your cock, as the head of his cock brushes your entrance. You breathe out, ‘Wait a sec, can you- what if- pull your foreskin back, baby.’ Ronin nods, lets go of the crowbar to reach down and adjust himself, before putting his hand back on the crowbar. You then reach in between you both and pull the lips of your cunt to the side, out of his way. It works, Ronin’s cock slides down slightly, the head presses against your entrance firmly and you press your hips up into the pressure, breathe in deep and try to relax. 

His cock is pressed fully up against you. You hear Ronin moan and grind his hips against you and your entrance flutters. You want him inside and your body agrees. You can feel your cunt pulse against him and you know Ronin feels it too the way he chokes on a moan and his hips stutter before they come to an abrupt halt. He lets out a choked gasp where his head is tucked against your neck. You’re about to ask what’s wrong, Ronin’s whole body is a tense line above you but then you feel it; the head of his cock sliding slowly in under the pressure of your suckling cunt, rubbing just about an inch inside of you. 

The feeling is erotic. It relights the fire in your belly, the slow burning aching pleasure of pleasing Ronin; having him fit inside you, knowing how much your boyfriend has wanted this. Ronin’s hips start moving back and forth slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid this won’t last or he’ll slip out. You hear him whine, mutter, ‘oh fuck,’ choke out, ‘baby. Darlin’. You feel divine.’ against your neck. You laugh, breathless, feel your cunt pulse around him in agreement and he groans against your neck, slides his head up and kisses wetly against your jaw. ‘Fuckin’ killing me darlin’. That’s my job.’ His voice is laced with venom. Ronin dips his head down to nip at your neck. You yelp, jump slightly at the sharp sting and Ronin groans. 

His cock dislodges with a wet ‘pop’, but Ronin just laughs against your neck, giddy off the high of getting to fuck you himself; safe in the knowledge that he’s managed to do it once so he can do it again. He starts sucking a new bruise on your neck as presses his cock up against your entrance again. ‘You gonna put me out of a job, darlin’? Replace The Butcher with your perfect fuckin’ pussy ‘n’ you’ll kill about the same amount.’ 

You can’t even laugh at his stupid joke, too focused on the hot, heavy pressure of him against your entrance. His cock slides into place easily now that he knows the angle. You moan as you feel him press into you, a burning hot pressure and you can feel every twitch and pulse of his cock as he does. 

Ronin’s head dips forwards, his forehead bumps your own and he grits out, ‘Not- not gonna last, baby.’ You can feel his arms shaking beside your head, his hips pulsing forwards in heavy, slow grinds, pumping his cock into you in a hard rhythm. 

You pant out, ‘wait, hold on jus’ a sec-second, I think I can-’ you slide your hand between you both, down to where Ronin’s pelvis has been brushing over your cock, spiking electric little shocks up your spine. 

Your entire cunt feels molten, the heat of his cock inside you, the pressure of his shaft against you all the way up to your own. You grip yourself by your shaft and start rubbing back and forth. The head of your cock pulls back and forth with the pressure, bumping little kisses against Ronin’s shaft. Ronin shudders as he realises what you’re trying to do, presses his lips against your temple and leaves panting little kisses there until his voice is overtaken by guttural, stuttering moans. You tighten your grip on the crowbar above you, think of Ronin swinging it at your head earlier, picture him doing it to someone else, picture him killing them. 

Your cock twitches hotly against Ronin’s, you rock your hips into the heavy motion of his rutting and feel the head of his cock rubbing firmly inside you; your hips and thighs start to shake as you come with a low moan. Ronin chokes against your temple; he’s still in you and you know he can feel every wet, slick pulse of your cunt around him. His hips freeze up before hitching harder against your cunt and you feel his cock contract as he starts to come in you. You whine and press your hips up into the feeling, your orgasm spasms into over-sensitivity with a series of heavy clenches but you wouldn’t cut this short for Ronin under threat of death. You’re not pulling back until he does. 

Ronin presses his forehead to yours. You hear him gasp wetly, feel something drip onto your face, feel his breath spilling in and out rapidly against your cheek as his hips hump against yours in several long presses until he shudders and slumps over you. Ronin lands on you, chest to chest, panting hard. His cock pops out your cunt with a slick, wet noise and you can feel him twitching slightly against your thigh with aftershocks. 

Your hand is numb when you peel your sticky fingers off of Ronin’s and the crowbar. You take care to peel back his fingers too, giving Ronin’s arm back to him and interlacing your finger’s with his against your shoulder. You use your other hand to pet gently at the sweaty hair on the nape of his neck as you both catch your breath. 

Ronin’s the first to break the silence, his voice is a little slurred and entirely giddy as he mumbles, ‘told you I could do it, darlin’.’

There’s a heavy beat of silence before you try smack him (gently) on the shoulder, laughing- but you are limp from your second orgasm in the space of thirty minutes and your hand just sort of glides across his sweaty back of his t-shirt and skids onto the bed with a bump. ‘Told me, told me? Who was it that suggested this in the first place? That’s right, me. You shithead.’ You try to fake outrage but you’re giggly and out of breath. 

Ronin snorts out a laugh and props his wobbly self up on one elbow to look you in the face, ‘Who taught you to be so proud little lamb? Next you’re gonna start blaspheming and fantasising about serial killers, and we can’t have that can we?’ He’s smiling that dopey lovesick grin, and you know he’s teasing you but all you can see are the little shiny wet lines streaking down from the corner of his eyes and you think ‘holy shit, I made him come so hard he cried’. 

You rub a thumb over the corner of his eye gently and Ronin turns his head into the motion before biting at your thumb. He’s like a big cat really. Rubbing himself all over you and biting you for affection. The thought makes you snort a laugh and you say, ‘did you see the light then, darlin’? Who’s cryin’ for it now?’ 

It’s Ronin’s turn to laugh at this and he says, ‘yeah. And I told God all about what a dirty little sinner I’ve been making you into,’ he presses his head into your hand and his eyes are bright as he looks at you and says, ‘so I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.’ Ronin bites his lip, leans in and kisses you gently. He then ruins the moment by looking pointedly at the crowbar and then saying, ‘hope you like hell, darlin’, cause heaven isn’t open to you now.’ 

His voice is dark and heavy when he says it, but even if you believed in hell you know for a fact you ‘wouldn’t be found anywhere else, Ronin, because this is where you are.’

‘You’re so sickly sweet. My little saint.’ Ronin’s voice is mocking when he says it, but he kisses your forehead anyway. He’s still wearing that lovesick look when he pulls back and you know that just as you would brave hell for him that he’d brave heaven for you- not that you’ll ever ask him to. You like hell far too much to ever leave, and if the devil just so happens to keep fucking your brains out with the help of his crowbar you don’t think you’ll ever go back.

…

‘Hey, Ronin...’

‘Yeah, baby?’

‘D’you think you could take the sharp end off your crowbar in the shop?’

‘Why would I want to-’ Ronin cuts himself off with a startled laugh as he figures out what you’re getting at. ‘I’ll see what I can do baby. You fucking pervert.’

[jinx-on-mars-19xx]

Memories Are Blurry

(Kill Somebody Like You Part Two Chapter Eleven)

🔪Previous Parts Here🔪

Dom x Colson (Yungblud x Machine Gun Kelly)

Warnings: ABO dynamics (knots, slick, heats, mpreg), alpha serial killer/hitman Dom, omega mob boss Kells, baby fic, past abuse, past SA, childhood trauma, allusions to selling people, sexism (against omegas), drinking, mentions of murder, mentions of bombs, mentions of weapons, Dom's darker urges, Kells being playful, family talks, fears, hurt/comfort, blood, trying to sober up, movie time, edging, sexting, Kells being naughty, d/s dynamics, Dom being a dropped needy mess, teasing, enemies to lovers ❤️‍🔥 Rating: mature

All ideas helped by @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker 🩷

Dom was curled at the end of their sofa with his second cup of coffee and a blanket wrapped around him. He had eaten half a loaf of bread and a small bag of crisps just to sober up but it wasn't really helping. He could barely look at anyone else because he felt too embarrassed and he knew Tom was still upset with him. He wasn't supposed to binge drink but he really wasn't allowed tequila. Fuck. He'd have to buy the omega something. Or make him dinner. Maybe he could kill someone for him.

“So anyone gonna tell me why Dom's in the dog ‘ouse?” Blain asked from his spot on the other couch. He'd been wasting time watching tv but he could only keep preoccupied for so long when his parents were being weird in the same room.

“He's not.”

“He fucked up.”

“I fucked up.” Dom spoke at the same time as his mate and his brother and almost laughed that he and Tom were still so in sync. He was happy his lover forgave him already but he supposed it was only fair. He'd forgiven Colson a few unforgivable things. “I ain't allowed tequila but I got upset and drank anyways. Ya uncle deserves to be pissed.”

“Oh thank you for granting me permission you twat. I would be anyway. I'm not upset because you drank, I'm upset because you broke a bloody promise and you risked everything!” The photographer’s voice started rising and the Alpha winced. He was somehow still shitfaced and already hungover. “I get you're a sociopath but you're not allowed to lie to us. Don't fuck up again. Next time if your husband doesn't kick your arse I fucking will!”

Dom looked to his someday husband in question and smiled when the other man winked at him. He was sitting at the other end of the sofa holding their son and feeding him with a bottle even though he was shirtless and his pretty inked tits were so close. Yeah… Dom was still drunk and tequila always made him horny. “Sorry bruv. I swears I'll try ‘arder to do good. I were scared. You all deserve betters.”

“You add a lot of extra ‘s’s when you're drunk and you already put them where they don't belong.” Their older son laughed. “But alright, explain to me why you were scared. I've got a feeling it has to do wiv me.”

“Just a bit.” Kells huffed. He wanted to help but at the same time he couldn't help being a little snippy. He had already forgiven his mate and honestly it was a little adorable watching him drunk after he stopped trying to kill himself but there was a part of him still annoyed. He didn't understand how the killer broke after he'd tried so hard to show Dom they were together on this. He was there for him. They could handle anything if they were just together and his bitch ass partner tried to go off the deep end. Yeah, he was a little upset.

“Give him the book Dominic.” Tom demanded but Dom shook his head. He didn't even bring it out with him.

“We can jus’ talk. No one needs to-” He tried to explain but the omega was stalking away to retrieve it before he could finish his statement. He sighed deep and took another drink from his cup. The dark roast made him grimace but his lover rolled his eyes.

“At least you can have it. This little douchebag keeps me clean of all the fun shit don't you? Yes you do.” Colson didn't mean to use his baby voice in front of everyone but he was already exhausted. Their night had been perfect but they stayed up later than they should have and his day was already stressful as hell.

“Don't call Punk a douchebag. Ain't nice.” Dom hummed. It seemed like something they shouldn't start because they'd both grown up being insulted. Joking or not it might stick around and he wanted his boys growing up happy. As Tom walked back in wiping off the pages of the album Dom knew he might not be able to keep that wish with the older one. He wasn't sure if this would devastate the boy or not. It certainly had him.

“Nah, just has one for a dad.” Col teased, sticking his tongue out at his fiancé. He could tell he was nervous though and he reached over to pet his thigh.

Dom had to ignore the way his cock tried to fill at his lover's touch in exchange for the way his heart flipped when Blain took the book and started flipping through it. His hand dropped to cover Colson's and he squeezed. He wanted to playfully insult the other man back but he couldn't do anything but watch. Watch as the kid he took in and loved so much already came to realize they'd known each other a long time. Watch as Blain turned page after page until he saw the truth of their past. His stomach was in knots, his nerves a mess. It didn't take long but it felt like hours and when the boy was finished he closed the pages to set the album to the side. He sat back and looked at the ceiling for a moment, his eyes welling with tears. After a long pause he stood to walk over to their couch and took a seat next to Dom, leaning against his side.

“I should have known it was you. Nothing has ever comforted me like your scent.” The boy whispered. “So… you got drunk cause we was promised to wed? Am I tha' bloody disgusting to yas?”

“God no, I love you. You're amazing to me and I know we boff feel lucky as fuck to ‘ave you in our lives. But you me son, not me mate. You was never supposed to be tha’.”

“Ew. Fuck tha’. No offense.” Blain huffed.

Dom laughed and kissed the boy's hair but he still had to ask and he was terrified. The Alpha took a deep breath of his familiar family scent and made himself speak even though it hurt. “Do you remember… if anyfing ever ‘appened wiv us? Like bad? Or… ya know if you wanna talk about anyfing tha’ might ‘ave ‘appened to you at all. We ‘ere.” He wasn't good at the feelings thing. It didn't frighten him but he wasn't sure he was good at empathizing. It was a fuzzy spot for him as a sociopath but he had enough heart left inside him to love his family. He was reassured when his son didn't move away but he did feel a shift in his mood.

“I don't believe you did anything, no. A lot of people tried but… you was safe. If they tried anything wiv us… I don't remember. I jus’ remember being ‘appy every time they brought me to you. I remember running for yas and knocking you over.” He laughed softly. “But you'd giggle and pick me up. You always gave me wha’ever I wanted. You'd carry me all night if I asked. Sometimes I could only sleep next to you.”

Colson watched his boys bond and tried not to let himself get choked up. He didn't really have the hormone excuse anymore and he didn't want to cry in front of anyone. He was supposed to be a damn badass but how could he be with such sweetness around him? Everywhere he turned there were big puppy eyes and button noses. He was surrounded by shit to make him squee. He tried to keep his focus on the little one in his hold but he kept glancing over to make sure Dom didn't need him. He even checked on Tom and Mod and could tell the other omega was softening as he watched. He couldn't seem to stay upset with the Alpha any more than Col could. It wasn't fair.

“I love you too. I don't think you've said tha’ since we was kids.” Blain sighed. “I wouldn't ‘ave minded being given to you. We could ‘ave left together. I guess your dad's money weren't enough cause mine promised me to someone else. Some cousin. Wonder if we related too.”

“I don't know. We can look into it. So ya already knew you was promised to someone? He called me today.” Dom sighed though he knew he should explain it wasn't that simple. “Fucker tried to assasin- assass- assass-”

“Assassinate. He tried to assassinate you.” Colson chuckled. Dominic was holding it together surprisingly well for being so gone but he had trouble with some words anyway and he loved it.

“Tha’. Yeah he put a bomb on our car.”

“Our?”

Dom gave his mate a playful look and shook his head with a soft laugh. “Yes our. It didn't work and we talked for a few. He said he'll kill Cols and Punk if I don't give yas back and turn me'self over for killing the whole bloody mob. I never knew we was in a mob. Like ‘ow bloody weird is tha’?”

“You rambling. I assumed it was summat like tha’ but I didn't know for sure. I mean we ain't royalty tha’s for sure and it ‘ad to be one or the other.” The kid shrugged. “I'm sorry he's after you all for me. If you wanna give-”

“Don't even start. You're ours and you're not going anywhere.” Kells demanded. He wouldn't hear about trades or anything of the sort. Fuck that.

“Alright.” The young omega hid a bright smile against his adoptive father's shoulder. “You could give me a gun and send me in. I'll fix our problem since I started it.”

“The fuck you did. I slaughtered allllll ‘em bastards. I did. Me. Fucked ‘em all up. Pieces of ‘em everywhere. Blood- blood um… wha’ was I saying?”

“Tha’ you started it I fink. You was showing off about ya body count. Give me a few years and I'll be right wiv yas.” Blain grumbled. It probably wasn't something they should teach him or something they should tease about but they certainly weren't a normal family. They could teach him to do it to people who deserve to be hurt just like Dom disciplined himself. He didn't have to do terrible things with his urges. “I don't want anyone ‘urt because he wants me.” He whimpered softly showing a loving side was still so strong inside him. “I don't want Punk-”

“He won't get anyone. He's a fucking pussy! He built a piece of shit bomb and is probably a momma's boy little bitch. We could take him out in our sleep. Don't worry about any of us. We're supposed to worry about you kiddo.” Col tried to help.

“So wha’ do we do? How long do we have before he wants us?” The boy asked. He wasn't incredibly worried because he'd watched them both be terrifying multiple times already. He felt safe with his family but he didn't want to be the cause of new problems.

“A day. But I'll figure it out. Don't worry.” Dom soothed. He didn't have a plan yet but it shouldn't be too hard to deal with- as his mate had called the man- a pussy. He wrapped his arm around his son and held him close much in the way he did when they were young. “Since we all ‘ere why don't we watch a movie and relax? I fink we deserve a rest.” He met his mate's gaze and caught the raised brow. He had to just give him a smile back. He did need his lover but he needed his family too and it felt like Blain needed them. At least for a little while.

They let the boy pick the movie and got settled in. Dom had already finished his coffee so he was fidgeting with his free hand until he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He was getting a little lost in the film, Blain picked Saw which was one of his favorites and the traps always held his attention. When his phone vibrated again he pulled it free and opened it. He had to tilt it away from their kid so fast he fumbled and dropped it to his lap. He didn't remember his lover taking that picture of him but there he was caught in perfect clarity on his knees with Col’s cock in his mouth.

C: That's what you get for ignoring me🖕🏼

Dom swallowed hard and repositioned himself, trying to pull up one of his legs so his hard-on wouldn't be visible to the room. He glanced back at his partner and the other man was watching the movie as if he hadn't done anything. The Alpha was far too drunk for this shite.

D: I weren't. Was just watching the movie

C: I can see that. Whore. You get off on this?

Jade eyes went wide and Dom trembled. He didn't want to answer the wrong way but he wanted to be honest. He wasn't exactly turned on but his killings had started right around puberty when his hormones went wild. The two were inextricably linked. He got pleasure from murder and bloodshed but he wasn't sure he liked it in the way the other was asking. But they both knew he was always ready for sex after a kill.

D: I get off on you 🤤🥵

He chose the careful answer and he caught Colson covering a laugh with a cough. He was still feeling the effects of the picture his fiancé sent him and he felt saliva pool in his mouth. The phantom weight of the man's dick on his tongue was something he couldn't ignore and it all went straight to his knot. He'd committed to family time though. He couldn't break so easily and early.

C: You want to. You're dying for it aren't you? All that blood and pain and your weird ass version of justice is playing in that fucked up mind of yours. You're hard aren't you?

Dom had to swallow a whine. It wasn't fair how well his lover played him. He could feel the soft pressure of his pants and he fought not to grind up. It wouldn't help anything. He needed real relief.

D: Yeah

C: I know baby boy. All that booze swimming in your veins and everything is going to your dick. Can't even use it tonight. And now you're making yourself edge

D: not making. You is. Fucker. Wait I ain't using me dick? 👀

C: Nope. I'll be using mine. If you're a good bitch

D: well leave me alone and I can be

C: where's the fun in that?? 😉

Dom groaned low when another picture came through. It was from the same instance as the other, he could remember the night. Colson was teasing him, rubbing his cock along Dom’s ass and catching the head of himself against his hole. The picture showed him pink and open. Needy. Wet from Col’s precum. Bloody hell he wasn't going to last through the movie if his mate kept up but he knew that was the game. He had to prove himself after what he'd done earlier. He had to make it up to the man he loved and so fucking desperately craved.

Author's Note/Tags: @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker @hollywoodxwhore @jaxbreaker @fenoy7 @cole-way-iero28 if anyone wants tagged let me know 💛

A little more plot but I think we can all tell where the next chapter is going. Poor Dom doesn't know what he's in for. Colson is in a mood. No one seems worried about the not-so mysterious stranger, I guess we'll see if they should be or not. Hope y'all are ready for a very... Wet ride next chapter, and I hope you're all still enjoying this! 🖤❤️‍🔥

[ninja-muse]

Slowly chipping away at my TBR pile this month! As in I read two instead of my  usual one, and both of those last week, when I realized I’d yet to tick that goal off for the month. Plus I managed to read four things off my ARC stack and cross a few anticipated releases off my list as well! Feeling pretty good about all of that, honestly, but also a little burned out on reading. I’m hoping The River Ki will be the reset I need!

And as always, in order of how glad I am to have read them:

Passing - Nella Larsen Irene reconnects with an old friend who does as she pleases. A study of identity, belonging, and how best to be Black in America. - Black cast, Black author,  #ownvoices - warning: colourism, racism including slurs, death

Seasonal Fears - Seanan McGuire The old monarchs of the seasons have died, sparking a competition for the thrones. Melanie and Harry do not want to be part of it, and yet. - protagonist with heart condition, Latin secondary character, 🏳️‍🌈 author - warning: murder

The Grief of Stones - Katherine Addison Thara Celehar is petitioned to solve the murder of an elderly noblewoman, which leads to all manner of other dark secrets. - 🏳️‍🌈 protagonist - warning: references to child sexual abuse and abuse materials

Love in the Time of Serial Killers - Alicia Thompson Phoebe is a spiky loner writing a dissertation on true crime while packing up her father’s house. Sam, the guy next door, is really nice—but maybe that’s just what he wants people to think. - fat protagonist, 🏳️‍🌈 secondary character, Indian- and Korean-American secondary characters - warning: references to dysfunctional/abusive family dynamics, body shaming

The Sandman, Vol. 4 - Neil Gaiman with various illustrators Morpheus must return to Hell to free a woman he once imprisoned. This cannot end well. - 🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters, Black and Japanese secondary characters

The Marriage Portrait - Maggie O'Farrell At fifteen, Lucrezia is married to the Duke of Ferrara against her will. At sixteen, she dies mysteriously. This is her life. Out in September. - warning: child abuse and neglect; domestic abuse, including gaslighting, physical violence, confinement, and less-than-consensual sex

A Lady for a Duke - Alexis Hall When Viola reconnects with her best childhood friend, she finds him broken and grieving her death. Clearly she must help him back to himself, but that threatens to awaken feelings better left alone. Women like her cannot marry dukes, after all. - 🏳️‍🌈 protagonist, 🏳️‍🌈 author

The Rise and Reign of the Mammals - Steve Brusatte The evolution of mammals, from the Triassic to the present day.

The River of Silver - S.A. Chakraborty Deleted scenes and other side stories from the Daevabad Trilogy. Out in October. - Middle Eastern and Egyptian cast, Muslim author

Witchmark - C.L. Polk When a witch-in-hiding dies in his care, Miles is drawn back to the world of magic he fought hard to escape. Meanwhile, his solider patients are exhibiting disturbing and violent symptoms. - 🏳️‍🌈 protagonist, 🏳️‍🌈 love interest, Black secondary character, 🏳️‍🌈 and Black author, 🇨🇦 - warning: family annihilation, mild homophobia

Aces Wild - Amanda DeWitt Jack and his asexual friends decide to take down the casino owner who put Jack’s mom in jail. Out in September. - 🏳️‍🌈 main character, 🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters, Deaf secondary character, 🏳️‍🌈 author, #ownvoices

The Carpet People - Terry Pratchett When the force Fray destroys their village, the Munrungs must cross the Carpet to find safety. There are mouls in the hairs, though, and they’re up to something.

Tread of Angels - Rebecca Roanhorse When her sister is accused of murder, Celeste has two days to prove her innocence. Out in November. - 🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters, Black and Pueblo author - warning: racism, classism, colonialism

Mint Chocolate Murder - Meri Allen Riley’s hired to serve ice cream at a gallery opening at a local estate, only for the star photographer to be found dead in the dungeon. - major Black secondary character

Currently reading:

Rogues - Patrick Radden Keefe Long-form true crime journalism. - warning: mass shooting, plane bombing

The River Ki - Sawako Ariyoshi with Mildred Tahara (Translator)    The lives of three women living along a Japanese river during the first half of the 20th century. - Japanese cast, Japanese author, #ownvoices

The Penguin Complete Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle Victorian detective stories - major disabled character

 - warning: colonialism, racism

Stats


Monthly total: 14
 Yearly total: 104 + 1
 Queer books: 4
 Authors of colour: 3 
Books by women: 9 
Canadian authors: 1
 Off the TBR shelves: 2 
DNFs: 0

January February March April May June July

[sitp-recs]

hey liv! have you got any good recluse!harry fics? where he fell off after the war and now somehow got draco on his hands? i really like that dynamic, lowkey angry and antisocial harry vs needly and curious draco lol. thanks a lot!

Hi anon! This is such a fantastic trope - I don’t know many fics but these are all gold:

A British Summer by Omi_Ohmy (2012, E, 8.5k)

Ice cream, oh ice cream! Harry is a recluse, but Draco bumps into him on a British Summer's day and is surprised by what he finds.

Hippomancy for Beginners by khalulu (2016, E, 11k)

When Draco desperately insists on becoming a Centaur Liaison, he doesn’t know what he’s getting into, especially with that annoying hero-turned-hermit Harry Potter living right at the entrance to the Forbidden Forest.

Come Night's Fall by @corvuscrowned (2021, M, 11k)

After Harry disappears from society, Draco finds him living in a secluded cabin on the edges of a small town, harboring a dark secret he’ll do anything to preserve.

Dance by the Light of the Moon by @writcraft (2012, T, 13k)

Harry is miserable and living like a recluse at Grimmauld Place and Draco retired from Wizarding society after his divorce. One day a misdirected owl from Scorpius Malfoy finds its way into Harry's hands.

This Delicious Solitude by Omi_Ohmy (M, 17k)

Draco is sent to investigate Harry’s extraordinary carrots for the Prophet after whispers of cheating rock the world of competitive vegetable cultivation. But how’s he meant to get anywhere when Harry won’t even let him past the garden gate?

Violent Delights by @primaveracerezos (2021, E, 20k)

Draco Malfoy's life should be going very well. He's engaged to a wonderful man and in line for the Head Auror job. He's been made lead investigator on a serial murder case, trying to figure out who is killing off the scum of the wizarding world, one by one.

The Last of What the World Left You by @xanthippe74 (T, 25k)

If the wizarding world won’t give Draco a second chance, he has a plan to survive: live in his Animagus form, a carrion crow, in the Forbidden Forest. Not only does Harry Potter come along and ruin it, he’s radiating a strange aura of power. With nowhere to go and a Life-Debt to his mother that Potter insists on repaying, Draco puts himself into the hands of the reclusive Boy Who Lived. Will the bleak corner of Yorkshire where Potter makes his home be another dead end or an unexpected refuge?

All Roads by korlaena and Saulaie (2019, M, 36k)

Draco hates his job at the Prophet. He hates it even more when he’s assigned to write an article on Harry Potter, who left the country three years ago after their falling out.

Of Wands and Trees by Omi_Ohmy (2018, E, 45k)

All Draco wants to do is be a wandmaker, but to do so he needs to understand the soul of trees. Of course, the only man who might be able to help him is the one man who is more of a mystery to him than any tree.

What Shall Not Be Unearthed by iero0 (2019, E, 49k)

At the northernmost point of Shetland, surrounded by pointed cliffs, towers the Ootsta Lighthouse on a small isle in the middle of the open sea. Little does Harry know that he's not the only new lighthouse keeper. Draco Malfoy is as obnoxious as he always was, with his posh tone of voice and his luxury yacht jumpers. Harry tries his best to avoid the git—who knows what he's up to anyway?

The Bolthole by aideomai, GallaPlacidia, Tepre (2020, E, 54k)

Harry is a hoarder, Draco is grief-stricken, and both are capable human adults who can definitely spend a month in a cottage in the Cotswolds together without ever talking about the time they slept together in eighth year. Yeah, no, totally.

The Magic Behind the Camera by oldenuf2nb (2021, E, 55k)

Magical Photographer Evan Peverell is an enigma, one magazine assistant editor Draco Malfoy finds fascinating. The 'rock star' photog, with his purple hair streak and assorted piercings, is not remotely Draco's type. And yet there's just something about him…

The Way Down by lettered (2015, T, 65k)

Harry is overwhelmed by his own power and fame and angst, so he's become a hermit. Draco Malfoy is tired of the melodrama.

The Kitchen Thieves (and the Kitchen Herself) by @potteresque-ire (2018, E, 67k)

In a deserted cottage miles away from Hogsmeade, two young spirits waited for a new owner to call the place home.

Wild, orphaned (E, 92k)

“No,” Harry said, by way of greeting. Malfoy’s blonde head rose slowly, carelessly. “Get out.” “I feel as though we’ve already established this, Potter,” Malfoy responded. “And I feel that what we established was that you telling me to get out of places really doesn’t make me more likely to vacate them.”

I Am Not Who I Became by mab_di (2019, E, 93k)

Draco left England after the trials and has travelled the world meeting wizards and Muggles from different cultures and with vastly different relationships to magic, each other, and the natural world.

Chasing Dragons by @the-sinking-ship (E, 100k)

Draco can think of only one way to outclass his pleat-front-khaki-wearing politician ex, and that’s by making headlines with an obvious upgrade. And who better to upstage the cheating bastard than the Saviour of the World, Harry Potter himself?

A Sword Laid Aside by @korlaena (2018, E, 128k)

When Draco’s cover is blown during a deep undercover operation and the Ministry is compromised, Ron takes Draco to the only safe place he can think of—Potter.

Bonus: Harry’s not exactly a hermit in these but I think they work too:

Unseen by astolat (2016, M, 11k)

When he wasn’t wearing it, he got jumpy, always waiting for someone to come at him wanting something—and now they did it even more urgently, if they ever saw him, because most of the time, nobody did.

Voices From The Fog by noeon (2010, E, 13k)

After years of running away, Harry crosses paths with an all-too familiar face and follows him to Amsterdam.

He Who Must Not Be Normal by @letteredlettered (2013, E, 41k)

Potter has fame and fortune and posh clothes and all he wants is a simple life. Draco has a flat and a cat and a steady job and all he wants is a complicated life.

Unseen by Jackvbriefs (T, 47k)

Harry Potter finally has the chance to leave England and its expectations for The Chosen One behind for good. All he has to do is survive one Auror training conference overseas with Draco Sodding Malfoy.

[skyfire85]

-The Bell X-5 research aircraft in front of the NACA hangar at Edwards AFB in 1952. | Photo: NACA/NASA

FLIGHTLINE: 161 - BELL X-5

Developed in part from a captured Nazi prototype, the X-5 was the first aircraft that could change its wing sweep in flight.

As engines became more powerful the maximum potential speed of aircraft increased at an exceptional rate, with the Hughes H1 Racer setting a record speed of 352mph in 1935, a mark broken just two years later by an German Bf 109 fighter. As aircraft became faster, designers began running into aerodynamic limits imposed by the thick, straight wings in common usage, and began to research alternatives. Engineers quickly hit upon the idea of sweeping the wing backwards, which delayed the formation of drag-inducing shockwaves. They also quickly found that sweeping the wings produced poor low-speed handling and excessively long takeoff and landing runs. A proposed solution would be to develop a wing that could alter its sweep, allowing the low-speed handling of a straight wing for takeoff and landing, and the high-speed performance of a swept wing during cruise or dashes. The development and refinement of the turbojet engine during WWII put higher emphasis on researching swept or variable-sweep wings, resulting in the development of Messerschmitt Me P.1101 in 1944. The P.1101 was intended to be a research aircraft, and the sweep of the wing could only be changed on the ground. Still, the capture of the partially completed prototype at the end of the war, along with the capture of German researchers and documents under Operation PAPERCLIP proved to be a windfall for designers in the US during the post-war and early Cold War period.

-An American USO troupe poses with the captured P.1101 at Oberbayerische Forschungsanstalt, Germany in 1945. | Photo: Green4life80

SWING WING

Delivered to Bell Aircraft's plant in Buffalo, NY, the incomplete and damaged P.1101 provided enough information to their Chief Designer, Robert Woods, to propose his own VSW research aircraft to both NACA and the USAF. Construction of two aircraft, designated the X-5 and allocated USAF serial numbers 50-1838 and 50-1839, began in 1949, with the planes being completed and trucked to Muroc dry lake in 1951.

-Orthograph of the X-5, with the various positions of the wing shown in outline. | Illustration: USAF/NACA

The X-5s were small aircraft, just 33' long and a wingspan at minimum sweep of 30'. At full sweep the span was reduced to 20 feet 9 inches. The aircraft weighed just under ten thousand pounds fully loaded, and the Allison J35 engine provided enough thrust to push the plane to 705mph, just under Mach 1. Unlike the earlier P.1101, the wings sweep of the X-5 could be altered in flight, with a jackscrew assembly driving a hinge along rails and disc brakes holding the wing at sweeps of 20°, 40° and 60°. Moving from minimum to maximum sweep could be accomplished in less than 30 seconds, and articulation of the hinge and pivots compensated for shifts in the centers of pressure and gravity caused by the movement of the wings. As was common with first and second generation jets, the engine was slung under the fuselage for ease of maintenance and replacement. The X-5s were supported by tricycle landing gear while on the ground. The X-5 was equipped with a conventional tail, which as it turned out was inadequate for maintaining the craft's stability.

-A multiple-exposure photograph of one of the X-5s showing the various positions of the wing. | Photo: NACA/NASA

The two X-5s took their maiden flights on 20 June and 10 December 1951, and testing continued until 1955. The aircraft were flown at speeds up to Mach 0.9 and altitudes of up to 40,000', showing that their variable-sweep wings showed potential. The aircraft were somewhat flawed however, as the poorly positioned and somewhat undersized tail could not keep the aircraft from spinning at certain sweep angles. On 14 October 1953, Air Force Captain Ray Popson died after the second X-5 entered an unrecoverable spin with the wings at 60° sweep. The test program continued on with the first X-5 for two more years, and the aircraft remained at Edwards as a chase plane until early in 1958.

-The first X-5 in flight over Muroc dry lake, circa 1953. | Photo: USAF

-The cockpit of the X-5. The wingsweep selection dial is prominent in the center of the instrument panel. | Photo: NMUSAF

A LASTING LEGACY

The USAF had planned to further develop the X-5's basic design in to a tactical fighter for itself and for possible sale to NATO allies, but the poor handling characteristics of the plane saw those plans canceled. The data provided by the X-5 program was later incorporated into other, more successful VSW aircraft like the General Dynamics F-111, the Grumman F-14, and the Rockwell B-1, as well as some unsuccessful designs like the SST. Further advances in aerodynamics, engine design and fly-by-wire/computer controlled stability systems have rendered swing wings somewhat obsolete, as the potential gains from VSW are now available without the attendant penalty of their complex and heavy pivots and related actuators.

The remaining X-5 was transferred to the National Museum of the USAF in 1958, where it has been on display in various locations for the last 63 years. Its current home is the new R&D hangar, opened in 2016.

-The X-5 on the ramp outside Wright Patterson AFB, during one of its moves around the USAF Museum. | Photo: NMUSAF

-The X-5 in its former location, circa 2009. | Photo: Valder137

-The X-5 in its current display. The wing of the XB-70 is just visible at the bottom of the image. | Photo: NMUSAF

[fallingoverharrypotter]

Torn a New One

This is based on the @drarrymicrofic​ prompt for pretend, and got very long. Heres the ao3 link :).

The shirt is supposed to make Harry look like that one Bratz doll meme; you know the one. 

Thanks for reading <3 <3

Harry is a stoic man. That’s what Hermione calls him.

He’s sitting on Ron’s plush carpeted floors in his shiny new flat. Ron himself is passed out on a couch that costs more galleons than a year of Hermione’s tuition, with Hermione herself teetering on the edge of both her couch and hers and Ron’s refusal to bring up that they’re still fucking on the side of their tumultuous breakup. She brings up Harry’s problems to distract herself, and Harry tells her not to bother. Harry also tells her that she and Ron should just own up to their idiocy and sort their crap out sooner rather than later, and then Hermione yells loud enough to wake Ron with: Harry James Potter, you’re a complete and utter hypocrite. Ron does wake up when their voices raise like this, and then cordons Hermione off to the main bedroom leaving Harry to pretend that he’ll floo home, before the three of them end up eating cereal whilst sitting at/on Ron’s granite countertops the next morning.

All three look a right picture. Hermione is staunchly refusing to acknowledge that she’s wearing a t-shirt of Ron’s – old Canon’s merch that she’s absolutely swimming in. Harry, in solidarity, is also wearing one of Ron’s shirts without pants – the newest Wheezes rollout collection, classic stylized lettering (Ron’s got this beautiful flat because every single Witch and Wizard between the ages of 14 and 37 owns Wheezes now). And Ron himself is shirtless and in nothing but underwear.

They’ve seen more of each other than is completely normal over the last 15 years, but they’re still indulgent enough not to bring up any of the shit they refuse to talk about. They need a balancing force, Harry often thinks, someone who is outrightly honest and refuses the stupid little games that the golden trio fall into to avoid talking about their true feelings. That’s what Harry thinks inside his head, but his body ends up groaning and bending forward so his forehead smacks the countertops none too gently. His consciousness sounds more and more like someone he refuses to think about whenever he’s been drinking. Merlin save him.

“Oi,” Ron admonishes without looking up from his bowl. He’s leaning atop the counter on forearms and staring into his cereal, swirling the spoon around the stodgy mess and eating no longer.

Harry grunts first, and then says “gonna sick up, Ronnykins?” and gets glared at by Hermione who is onto her third bowl of cereal at this point. Right. Can’t joke about Lavender either, apparently. That fling definitely didn’t help the dynamic, Harry reminds himself.

“Jus’ don’t wan’ you bruising my bench with your fat head.”

Harry kicks out at Ron with his closest foot and makes contact, gets an immediate groan for his efforts, before Ron’s pulling up from his slouch and getting Harry into a pretty tight headlock. Harry resorts to elbowing Ron in the gut over and over. Ron groans and releases, making a mad dash for the fancy powder room into which he projectiles.

Hermione, for all she looks dazed and noncommittal this early into a hangover, manages to give off an air of created aloofness about the violent noises coming from down the hall. Harry smirks at her, and gets his own kick in response that makes him exclaim “ow, fuck. You two are so bloody violent.”

Before she responds, there’s a tapping at the window. Owl. Hermione stares at Harry to let him know that there’s no way she’s moving from her lounging for the bloody post, so Harry straightens up to open the window for the tawny. Efficient things these post owls are this morning; just drops the paper on the countertop near Harry’s bowl before flying right out the window without even waiting for a treat.

Harry’s shaking his head to brush away the last fuzz of the evening with the assistance of the scent of fresh air. Hermione gasps out loud. That makes Harry turn around quick enough for whiplash, and then he wishes fervently for death by sustained head trauma when the figure on the front of the paper, unfurled and sepia, winks right at him.

“Fuck,” Harry says. His gut churns, and then he’s running down the hall, past the occupied powder room to Ron’s master bath, and vomits up his guts.

 ***

Ron’s back in the kitchen by the time that Harry stumbles back in. Three strong cups of tea are quick-brewing under Hermione’s wand, even though both her and Ron’s attention is maintained by the Prophet’s front page. Because that is Draco Malfoy wearing a Wheezes “I shagged Harry Potter and all I got was this stupid shirt” collectable.

“It’s ironic!” Ron and George had insisted on its’ inception 4 years back. Only 100 had been made, a necessity: scarcity is key. They resell for a lot of money these days. Harry would rather die than see another in person. His face, a terrible photo of him caught by photographers during a pretty brutal night out, is plastered right on the middle along with stylized fireworks that go off every couple of minutes. He’d been convinced into making them, to try and control the narrative or whatever bullshit the Weasley’s had spouted just a couple of days beforehand when Harry had started stomping around the burrow or the floor of the joke shop or Hermione and Ron’s old shoebox apartment in anguish. It worked, he guesses, and he doesn’t see many of them anymore, as they’re kept in the strongest of imperturbable charms and modified protegos by anyone lucky enough to get one. But this one. This one he didn’t know about.

Hermione’s been muttering to herself as she read the accompanying story, when her voice perks up. “Merlin, listen to this: ‘this intrepid reporter asked what I’m certain all our readership will be most curious to uncover now that we are sitting down with the one and only Draco Malfoy. When we had sat down in Mr. Malfoy’s beautifully appointed drawing room, I too was especially shocked at his choice of attire,’” Hermione pauses here to roll her eyes and mutter “oh here we go,” before continuing in a higher and haughtier voice. “‘We all know the poise that Mr. Malfoy holds, one of Wizarding Britain’s most darling Stars, his performance in Wizarding Wireless serials having taken our world by storm the past 6 years. I must myself mention the serialisation of the modern take on the Wizarding classic story of Millicent Mimbletonia’s Marvelous Manor; captured this reporter’s heart, it did.’ What a load of absolute nonsense.”

“Oh, come on, Herm,” Ron says and knocks into her arm to get her to continue the story.

“Fine, but this is all absolute tripe. What was Draco thinking! Okay. Blah blah blah, you can’t believe how long this person goes on about Draco’s drawing room, blah. Okay here. ‘On questioning Mr. Malfoy’s choice to wear the now famously collectible Wheezes’ Harry Potter shirt, the gentleman seems to look slightly pensive.’

“‘‘Monsieur,’ our Star addresses me, ‘when you have been in the business of telling stories for as long as I, you start to have a great fondness for truth. I must now admit to you, and all of your lovely readers, that I bought this shirt on release and whilst under Polyjuice’. Now readers, you must bear with Mr. Malfoy here. Yours truly was very shocked-’ Good God, can this man obfuscate. Okay, then Draco says, ‘‘I’ve kept my ownership of such an item close to my chest, and away from my closest relationships. I have found over the years that true mutual affection, friendship, and love, have foundations built on beds of uncertainty and trust simultaneously, and thus I was afraid to expose myself.’ I but in here and ask what we must all be thinking at this admission: is he such a big fan of our Saviour that he is ashamed? But Mr. Malfoy continues: ‘No, monsieur. In all honesty, I am the man’s biggest critic.’’” Harry ducks his head, his hands shaking as he reaches for the now over-brewed tea.

Hermione looks up at Harry and Ron with wide eyes. Ron looks back at her wide eyed too, glancing small looks at Harry every now and again when he finds something particularly salacious, but he says nothing. Harry is hiding his trembling hands and trembling mouth behind a blisteringly hot cup of tea. She receives no objections, and continues. “‘‘I am livid that he’s been out of the public eye for so long regardless of his exceptional ability to bring about change in those around him; Potter has worked the same archival job in the Ministry for 5 years, with no end in sight, I fear. He refuses to allow those outside of his closest friends and family to know him in any sense, and I would argue that this is truly detrimental to his relationship with the Wizarding community. Although I disagree with the man on many things, I will be the first to say here and now that if any person deserves privacy, it is him. But the relationships we build with those we love-’’” and Harry snatches the paper out of Hermione’s hands.

“Harry,” Ron starts, reaching out a hand and grasping his upper arm. Hermione too has hopped down off the counter and is crowding Harry’s other side. He wants to shake them off, but he can’t. He can’t stop looking at the paper in his hands with Draco’s figure. Draco’s white blond head of hair turned beige on paper, his eyes sharp and flirty to readers, his hands restlessly gripping at his shirt. The shirt with Harry’s face.

Harry is a stoic man. Hermione tells him that exactly, Ron tells him that adjacently, and Draco. Draco has said the same thing in so many ways and at so many times that Harry has had it drilled into his head. His eyes are watering now, a little. And he can’t read much more of the article, but he doesn’t really need to. Because Draco will skate around enough of his personal life that it seems as though he’s come clean about something when he’s actually just marketing his next serial; it’s what he does.

This time, though, he’s wearing one of those terrible shirts that almost single-handedly sparked the Wheezes fashion line and bought Ron this apartment, and he’s saying things here that Harry knows are true. Knows are directed right at Harry. Knows because a week ago Harry had walked right out of Draco’s “well-appointed” drawing room, slamming the door and not answering the following owls. Harry hasn’t slept at his own sparse flat for a week. He’s spent time at Ron’s, spent time at Hermione’s, spent time at the Burrow. He’s even spent time in the dark halls of Grimmauld, which he hasn’t wanted to touch for years, no matter how many people around him shared their opinions on it being the perfect. Home. One day.

They’re standing there, the three of them, when a knock sounds on Ron’s front door. Harry freezes, but Ron staggers out into the hallway, still in nothing but underwear.

“Sweet Merlin, Weasley, could you put on some bloody pants? You do know it’s ten o’clock?” Says the visitor, and Harry just lets his back go limp, setting out to truly bruise Ron’s beautiful granite countertops with his forehead once again. He can hear Ron sarcastically mumble something along the lines of ‘yes Malfoy, of course you can come in’. Hermione grips his arm slightly in sympathy, but turns to face the entrance to the kitchen anyway. Like a traitor.

“Hermione, lovely as always. I see the three of you are in similar states of distressed undress this morning. Have you finally succumbed to your polyamorous destiny?”

“Nice to see you too, Draco. Lovely article.”

“Thank you. Do you like the shirt, too? Catches a sweet mint in resale these days.”

“You don’t say…”

“Yes, yes. Now, Harry, please pick yourself up off of the place we civilised people prepare our food.”

Harry groans into the cool surface, but can’t stop himself from responding. It’s a natural reaction to the bullshit that comes out of Draco’s mouth most times. “If you’ve ever made a meal by yourself in your life, I’ll eat the countertop.”

“Harry,” his voice is menacing, and his footsteps are getting closer, “I’m not civilised.” And at that Draco grabs Harry by the shoulder and turns up around and back up against the counter top with not a small amount of force.

Harry’s reply comes out breathless from the impact. “You said ‘we’.”

“It was a universal ‘we’.” Draco says this through gritted teeth. His blond eyebrows are sitting right on top of his grey eyes and they scream murder louder than they’ve ever done before, which is saying something since Draco was once a Death Eater, no matter what the admiring general Wizarding public would like to remember.  

Harry doesn’t have a retort prepared, per se. It would be a more concise comment on how Draco hadn’t taken a single English language course his entire life, and what would he know about the universal ‘we’, but Harry meets Draco’s eyes and he’s a bit lost. A week of blanket non-communication. A bit extreme. Not gone longer than a couple of days without talking for years, have they.

“Cuppa, Draco?” That’s from Ron.

“Yes. Two sugars. Level.”

Ron scoffs, but Draco beats him to it. “Weasley it’s two-level sugars, please, for once, reorient your sense of balance before you spill the entire sugar pot into the cup.”

“Just don’t give him any sugar, Ron. He’s obviously already mental, we don’t want him to go into cardiac arrest.” This from Hermione.

“Uh-”

Draco scoffs before Ron can respond. “Settle down Granger. I’m not going to pretend to like black tea for some sense of superiority like some of us.”

“It’s better for your-”

“You know what’s good for your health?” Draco all but yells and spins around to face Ron and Hermione. Ron, still next to naked, and Hermione drowning in Ron’s clothes. She’s back to sitting on the counter, Ron leaning back next to her. They look like they’ve looked for the past 10 years – drawn to each other, allies, et cetera. Draco huffs. “What’s good for your health is you two sitting down and talking about your absolutely bloody insane coupling. What’s good for your health is not getting blackout drunk every Friday night and ending up sleeping with each other, and then not talking about it, until the next week when you can do it again.”

Ron and Hermione are shifting where they sit, Hermione, looking as though she’s getting herself ready to argue back, and Ron in a more protected position behind his ex-girlfriend. Harry feels a little sorry for them, getting the third degree from Draco when he looks as unhinged as he does now. The Harry on his chest, a mess when the photo was taken, is now looking at them disappointedly like he’s on Draco’s side. Like a magical recreation of a Harry who was in quite an intense meltdown at the time has any right to be “on Draco’s side” about any issues of wellbeing.

Hermione does get the strength to pipe up. “Don’t take that tone with us, Draco Malfoy.” But that’s all she can get out. Harry’s pretty sure she’s stumped. Doesn’t have an argument. Draco, Harry knows, has refused to get involved in this situation. Has watched from the side-lines and stewed. Harry’s been all for letting the two of them work their shit out in their own time, but he’s a stoic man, what does he know about all that?

“Don’t take that tone with us, Draco Malfoy,” is Draco’s retort, mocking back in a high-pitched squeak that Harry winces at. Hermione was about to hop off the counter, he could see, but Ron’s sudden arm around her waist kept her down. “You two just have to talk about it. So what if Hermione slept with Lavender? You guys weren’t together at the time!”

Hermione splutters, eyes wide, all thoughts of advancing physically on Draco gone. Ron sat eyes wide too, flicking between Draco and Hermione as if waiting for more.

“Wait-” he starts.

Hermione wails “Ron I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I know. It was such a bad thing to do-”

“No wait! You’ve been acting weird because of that?” And Ron looks incredulously at Harry. Harry sends him an incredulous look back, equally as surprised that Draco hit the nail on the head.

“What! You knew?” Hermione is still wailing.

Ron turns fully to face her and wails himself: “Of course I knew! How could I not know! Harry told me! Draco told me! Lavender told me! Hell, a month ago you got so drunk you told me.”

Hermione’s eyes are so wide that Harry’s afraid she’s going to start crying, and he grabs Draco’s arm in shock. Draco tenses all of a sudden and then Harry consciously remembers why he’s not doing that and shrinks back again. Ron and Hermione aren’t really focusing on anything but themselves now, so they don’t notice how Draco turns slowly back to face Harry, backed against the kitchen’s island like he has been since Draco arrived.

“And you, Harry Potter.” Draco pauses, and Harry has time to do a quick pass over. Draco on the front page of the Daily Prophet and Draco in the middle of Ron’s stylish London flat are two very different Draco’s. Quiet, pensive, charming and loveable Draco in the papers. Thoughtful. Friendly. A bloody myth.

This Draco. Angry, flustered, dishevelled, loud. This is the same Draco who, when Harry slipped up the other week – the week when everything changed – went red, went silent, went unresponsive in so many ways. Harry, fresh off the first love confession he’d ever given, so incredibly off the cuff that it had shocked him and scared him, had had to storm out of the apartment, slam the doors behind him, and apparate away to his own flat he barely spends any time in.

He’d slipped up. They’d never even suggested anything romantic between the two of them. They’d been close for a long time at this point and. Feelings. His feelings. They were supposed to be unspoken. He’d been nursing the growing beast of his feelings behind his stupid chest, which was okay as long as they were unspoken. Pretending every day that they weren’t eating at him alive.

Eating at him when he woke up in Draco’s spare room on more mornings than he’d liked to count, early enough before work that they could sit for breakfasts in Draco’s kitchen. And then Harry’s co-workers at the Ministry archives asking him questions about Draco’s new shows or his schedule or his favourite foods. Draco and Harry having dinner with Ron and Hermione at hole in the wall restaurants in the muggle world. Birthdays together; dinners at Draco’s or Ron’s nicer flats; bickering over anything and everything they could get their minds on.

“You hate my job.”

Harry’s eyes bulge open. Did he mean to say that? Sweet Merlin. It was definitely him, and now Draco is staring at him in confused consternation, as if he has to come to terms now that Harry’s gone insane.

Harry doubles down, though. Trusts his subconscious decisions. “Yeah, you hate my job!” he repeats.

“Are,” Draco starts, slowly, “you kidding me.”

He could respond, but Harry just shakes his head instead.

Harry’s thought Draco’s been properly angry this whole time. He was wrong. “I hate your job? Who doesn’t hate your job!” Draco’s arms reach out and grab tightly around Harry’s upper arms. Harry’s not above flexing, just a little. He tells himself it’s to test the grip, but honestly, he’s hoping to distract Draco from the rage.

“It’s not that bad!” Harry repeats, and Draco groans loudly.

“Not that bad? Are you trying to give me a stress induced ulcer?”

“What do you know about stress induced ulcers?” comes a faint response from Hermione.

Draco turns his head, hands still tight around Harry’s biceps, and says “don’t you two have make-up sex to attend to?”

Harry responds. “Ron’s sick.”

Draco glares back at Harry for a second, and then turns back to where Ron and Hermione haven’t moved. “Get out, you’re distracting him from the fight.”

“We’re the emotional support,” and “lame fight” come respectively from Hermione and Ron.

“Oh, that’s rich!” Draco yells in their direction, but Harry’s sure that he’s ignoring Ron’s comment. “Emotional support! You two have let this wanker,” a thumb thrown at Harry from over Draco’s shoulder, “probably crash on your couches rather than forcing him to face me. You’re all as bad as each other.”

“Draco,” Harry feels he has to say, and draws Draco’s attention from his two best friends who definitely have been letting him crash on their couches and had not once tried to force Harry to face his problems. He loves them a hell of a lot.

“Don’t you try to lessen this, Harry Potter.” Harry’s been on the receiving edge of worse glares from Draco, so this one isn’t that bad. Harry’s actually feeling a lot better now that Draco is in the same room as him. Feels his terrible, traitorous heart almost relax. “I’m sick of you three. You’re the worst bloody enablers for each other.”

Harry scoffs. Sure, they’d never force him to do something he didn’t want to, but it’s not like they agree with his decisions all the time.

Draco hears the scoff of course, and gives up on trying to chase the others out of the kitchen. He turns around towards the entrance, faces away from all of them and talks to himself at top volume. “This is what my life has become. The sole source of constructive criticism for the bloody Golden Trio.”

Ron snorts to cover up a laugh.

“I survive working for a fascist dictator, successfully rebuild my image, forge a new path for myself in the world, but I’m here. An overworked, under-rewarded, glorified therapist!”  

Harry, Hermione, and Ron exchange glances. The other two look at Harry in commiseration, but Harry is starting to think that Draco has a bit of a point when he realises that Ron’s arm is still around Hermione’s waist who is leaning right into his side.

“Okay.” Draco takes a deep breath and turns around to face Harry. “Since they’re not leaving, you all get to hear this.” He steps closer. “I hate your job. I hate your flat. I hate that you won’t face up to hard things, and I refuse to be okay with any of that.”

Harry swallows hard.

“People are letting you get away with anything at the moment, and when you told me you loved me, I got scared. Because I thought that I’d become one of those people to you too.”

“That’s not-”

“No.” Draco stops Harry for butting in. “No. We’re not pretending any longer. I love you-” thump goes Harry’s heart in his chest, eyes bulging and smile unable to be stopped “-but sometimes I seriously don’t like you.”

Harry’s smile does dim at that, but only slightly.

Draco looks away at last, his hands on his hips, and starts pacing. “I couldn’t believe-” sharp glance at Harry through the pacing, “-you just left after you said that. I couldn’t believe you’d actually not answer my owls. You’re an absolute coward sometimes.”

“You didn’t say anything…” Harry mumbles.

“Oh,” Draco responds with an eyeroll, still pacing, “so you get to freak out for a week, but I’m not allowed longer than a couple of minutes to compose myself?”

Harry ducks his eyes, ashamed.

Draco hmphs, and pauses in his pacing to look down his nose at Harry. “That’s right. You should feel bad.”

Shirt-Harry shakes his head at real-Har- “God Draco, take the shirt off!”

“What?” Draco is shocked into pausing his restless movement. “Take my shirt off? You haven’t even apologised and want to get me half naked like the rest of you? I think not!”

“That’s not- ugh, forget this.” Harry reaches forward and grabs Draco mid-pace. “Draco.” Deep breath. Harry meets Draco’s eyes. Draco looks like he’s been through his paces. He doesn’t even look angry anymore, he just looks like the culmination of a week of stress. Ron and Hermione are eating dry cereal right out of the box from their perch as they watch, and they both give Harry nods and a thumbs up in encouragement when his eyes stray to them.

He’s a stoic man: Draco and Hermione are right. He hasn’t had to be brave in a long while. This is a moment that’s worth it though, even if he has to fake it at first.

“I’m sorry.” He has to pause at that, because he can feel the emotions bubbling up a bit too high. He takes a deep breath, and makes sure that Draco’s eyes don’t stray. “You’re… you’re right. About a lot of that-”

Draco buts in with “I’m right about all of it, actua-”

“Shut up, do you want me to get this out?”

Draco concedes.

Harry takes another breath, but the nerves have disappeared in the face of Draco’s unfiltered verve. “I shouldn’t have left. I was-”

“A coward.”

“Draco.”

“…sorry.”

“I was. I was a coward. I was scared. You didn’t respond, which never happens. You’re so good with your words.” He has to take a minute to collect his thoughts, but finds the right thread. “I love you, and have done for a while. I ran because I kind of didn’t mean to say it then. We were already fighting about something, and it just came out, which wasn’t right, and sometimes I’m so afraid that things will change, because you’re my best friend-” “Hey!” “-my best friend and I didn’t want to lose that.”

“You should have said that then.”

Harry closes his eyes. God, feelings are so bloody hard. “Yeah, yeah I know.”

“Oh well, as long as you know.”

“Draco. Shut up.” He swallows. “I like my job.”

“No, you don’t. You come home-” a sharp breath “-you come to mine, I mean. You come to mine after work and you can’t stop complaining. We like our jobs. I’m sure when Hermione finishes her ChP and becomes the Minister she’ll love her job too.” (“It’s a PhD, Draco, I’ve told you a million times.” “Maybe another time, Herm.”)

Harry has to breath deeper, because his blood is pumping a bit too fast in his ears. He drops his hands from Draco and takes a couple of steps back. A retreat. “I think,” and he has to swallow a couple of times before he can force the words out of his throat. He looks up and meets all of their eyes. “I don’t think I can do important things anymore. I. I don’t want to- I.”

“Merlin sakes, Harry.” Draco says. “I think it may be time we force you into therapy.” And Draco just looks impatient. “You can’t keep pretending it’s not a problem, and we can’t keep letting you!”

Harry. Harry nods. He thinks he nods. It’s what he wants to do, but he’s not really looking at anyone anymore, eyes to the ground, heart a bit too fast in his chest for comfort. He wishes that he was still eating soggy cereal in the kitchen before the post arrived this morning. He’s a stoic coward.

Draco seems to take a deep breath, and then he turns around to face the others. “Okay, get up. I’m sick of standing in Weasley’s kitchen.”

Harry takes a pause and looks at Draco’s face. He’s perfectly serious, and so is the Harry on his shirt.  Harry’s heart is still racing, but Draco just looks resigned and present. He can’t help himself from smiling a little when his eyes catch on Draco’s. He gets a pretty severe glare in response, before Draco just walks right out of the kitchen and into the living room.

Harry follows, and hears the small grunt from Hermione hitting the ground behind him. Two sets of feet follow his own.

“Don’t forget my tea, Weasley!”

Ron scoffs, but still walks back into the kitchen to make a tea he’d promised about 20 minutes earlier.

Harry sits down on the floor in the same place he sat last night. Draco’s chosen the armchair near the fire; where he usually sits. Hermione stomps over to take the seat on the couch closest to the armchair, and Ron can be heard pottering around the kitchen.

“PhD.”

Draco looks to Hermione with a frown. “What?”

Hermione looks haughty yet contrite. Like she actually can’t help herself from making sure that Draco knows he was wrong, and feels a little bit sorry about it. “It’s a PhD, not a ChP or whatever you called it.”

“Honestly Granger, what does it matter?”

A harrumph from Hermione as she settles back into Ron’s expensive couch cushions. “It’s a very important thing.”

Harry chucks her a grin, and she smiles back proudly.

Draco rolls his eyes. “Why do you all insist on patting yourselves on the back constantly. You don’t see me singing my own praises.”

Ron let’s out a violent laugh from the kitchen, and Draco flushes a little bit, his eyes flicking to Harry who grins at him too.

Mugs float out from the kitchen, Ron trailing behind. Harry grabs his out of the air and cherishes the sent of the strong tea. He can’t help but laugh when Hermione grimaces at the taste of her milkless cup, and Draco looks at her as if he’s won something.

Harry’s won something. He’s won Draco sitting here in Ron’s expensive apartment, Draco rolling his eyes when Hermione chides him about his too sweet tea, then Draco chiding Ron when he argues that Ron made it too sweet anyway, and that if he has to have teeth work done it’ll be Ron’s fault.

“You can make your own tea, you know, you’re not that famous.”

“Actually, Weasley, I’m more famous than all three of you, currently. The only thing getting you through is dumb luck and a gullible consumer base. I get by on pure talent.”

“Sure, Draco.”

“Also, I expect thanks when Wheezes gets the significant boost in sales it’s sure to this week, what with the Prophet this morning.”

“Sure, Draco.”

Harry smiles. His arse will probably start hurting before his mug is drained, and the sounds of arguing will get tiring soon after that. He’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt a little. He takes a deep breath. “Okay, fine. Therapy. I’ll do it.”

Ron and Hermione smile at him like they knew it was coming all along, pressed up against each other on the expensive couches. Draco just looks at him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for who knows what. Probably an oral manifesto of Harry’s recognised faults and his plans to change them. Harry just smiles right back at Draco, wide and unashamed. Draco shakes his head a little bit, lips pulling up too.

Harry’s worried that if Draco keeps looking at him at all that he’ll have to walk over there and kiss him without warning. He picks his mug up and keeps sipping though, pretends he doesn’t absolutely need to do just that. Because there’s going to be time. Lots of it.

His stoicism has its uses sometimes, maybe.

[ghcstfced]

@profanecenser​ left a message: public enemy #1 💍 ( does your muse have a “type” of people that they prefer to enter relationships with? is their type generally compatible with them, or does the dynamic tend to be toxic? ) ✨( what aesthetics or symbols do you reference when writing your muse? are these backed up by canon, if your muse comes from a canon? is there any specific relevance to these choices? ) 🏆 ( is your muse multitalented? what are their hobbies, and why did they pick up these hobbies? if they don’t have hobbies, why don’t they? )

danny loves a toxic relationship, and thus, he doesn’t really have a “compatible” partner, really. as an adaptive and adjusting type of guy in a relationship, he kind of just adapts to situations and partners he has. he’s very bad at being himself (he’s a serial killer), so you can decide whether that’s good or bad.

uh honestly, i pull a LOT from the original scream movie. like, the first scream. billy and stu. their comedy really plays into my portrayal. i also really enjoy using 80s schlocky comedy in my portrayal of danny. i really just wanted him to be more funny than actually threatening. because when he is threatening, it’s a bit more scary. when the jokes fall away, there’s nothing left but danny and the knife. y’know?

danny is very multitalented! he’s a genuinely good photographer, and he has an eye for art. he’s also pretty good with languages, having picked up a bit of french, some italian (this one is just BASIC), and spanish. mostly, i want him to be normal, outside of his killing. it’s that kind of like compartmentalization. it is compartmentalization, i suppose.