fedya-simp

[fedya-simp]

Burned marks

The first time it happened, it was an accident.

Rengoku’s hand had clapped hard against Giyuu’s shoulder during a particularly close bout of sparring. His grip, excited and rough from the thrill of the match, lingered longer than necessary. Giyuu barely flinched, only exhaled quietly before stepping back and adjusting his haori.

But later, when the sun had dipped low and the Hashira gathered to rest beneath the trees, Rengoku caught a glimpse.

A bruise—soft, dusky, shaped like his fingers—blossomed just beneath the collar of Giyuu’s uniform.

Something stirred in him. It wasn’t shame, exactly, nor concern. It was a strange possessiveness—hot, quiet, insistent.

He wanted to see more of them.

He wanted to leave more of them.

Marks that said: you’re mine.

Rengoku was never subtle. But when it came to Giyuu, he learned restraint.

At first, he initiated more sparring sessions. Claimed he needed to stay sharp. Giyuu, ever unreadable, agreed without argument. He didn’t question the bruises—grip marks on his biceps, scrapes along his neck from where Rengoku’s arm had pressed too hard during a takedown.

He never tried to hide them either.

That made something curl in Rengoku’s gut.

“You don’t mind?” Rengoku asked once, when his fingers accidentally-on-purpose brushed along a fading mark near Giyuu’s jaw.

Giyuu blinked at him. “They’ll heal.”

“But I left them.”

“I know.”

That was the end of it.

But from then on, Giyuu stopped adjusting his collar. He wore those bruises like medals—silent, but seen.

They began traveling together more often, partnered on long-range missions that required silence and skill. Rengoku’s brightness balanced Giyuu’s coolness. Opposites, the Kakushi whispered.

Flame and water.

Rengoku watched him constantly. Not always openly. Sometimes, through the flicker of campfire shadows, he’d trace the edges of bruises on Giyuu’s throat with his eyes, wondering if the other Hashira ever thought about them.

He got his answer one night after a fight that left them both bloodied.

Giyuu’s shirt had torn at the shoulder. Rengoku was tending to a shallow wound along his ribs, hands steady but reverent.

“You touch me,” Giyuu said softly. Not accusatory. Just a fact.

Rengoku looked up. “I do.”

“You always leave something behind.”

Rengoku’s thumb drifted across the edge of a bruise. “Do you want me to stop?”

A long silence.

Then: “No.”

From then on, it escalated.

Rengoku would lean in too close during camp. He’d press his palm too hard against Giyuu’s back after a battle. He’d mouth along his shoulder in the guise of checking for wounds. And then—when Giyuu didn’t stop him—he started leaving hickies. Deliberate. Lingering.

He bit at the curve of Giyuu’s neck one night beneath a temple archway, breathing against his throat. Giyuu had made a sound—something between a breath and a moan—but he didn’t pull away.

He let Rengoku mark him.

“You’re letting me brand you,” Rengoku whispered.

“Maybe I want to be branded.”

Still, Giyuu remained emotionally distant.

He never initiated. Never touched Rengoku first. But there was heat behind his eyes, something restrained and heavy, like a dam straining under pressure.

“Why don’t you ever kiss me back?” Rengoku asked, voice raw, one night after a long, heated exchange that ended with Rengoku’s mouth against his jaw, breathless.

Giyuu turned to him, slowly. “Because if I do… I won’t be able to stop.”

That night, Rengoku dreamed of water rushing to meet fire—and not extinguishing it, but holding it. Feeding it.

He woke up harder than he’d ever been in his life, Giyuu still asleep beside him, neck covered in soft purple bruises that he had left.

It happened when neither of them expected it.

A demon had nearly severed Rengoku’s shoulder with a scythe. Giyuu arrived just in time, blade singing, water breathing carrying him like wind.

Afterward, bloodied and shaking, Rengoku clutched Giyuu’s haori with trembling hands.

“You came.”

“Of course.”

“I thought—”

Giyuu kissed him.

Hard.

Like he’d been waiting a lifetime.

His hands pinned Rengoku against the ground, mouth pressing hungrily over his lips, then lower, to his jaw, to his throat. When his teeth bit down, Rengoku groaned—sharp and involuntary.

A bruise bloomed under his collarbone.

Giyuu had marked him.

“I’m tired of pretending,” Giyuu breathed against his skin. “I want this.”

Rengoku pulled him into a kiss that felt like an oath.

They didn’t have sex that night. But they came close.

Clothes were pushed aside. Skin met skin. Rengoku’s tongue traced a trail of hickies down Giyuu’s chest, his fingers digging deep enough into his thighs to leave hand-shaped bruises.

Giyuu gasped, arched into him, panting, trembling.

“Say it,” Rengoku rasped.

“I’m yours,” Giyuu whispered, barely audible.

That was all Rengoku needed.

The real fire came two nights later.

An inn. Rain, pounding outside. Privacy for once.

They didn’t speak.

Rengoku undressed Giyuu slowly, reverently, mouth at every inch of revealed skin. He kissed along the curve of his collarbone, licked over old scars, bit at the sensitive hollow of his hip.

Giyuu gasped. “Harder.”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” he breathed, eyes wild. “Please.”

They moved like they were fighting—hot, desperate, intense. Rengoku held Giyuu down with strong hands and left marks across his thighs, hips, chest. Every bite earned him a moan, a shiver, a whispered curse.

And when they finally came together—skin to skin, breath to breath—it was perfect.

Rengoku thrust slowly and deep, forehead pressed to Giyuu’s. Their fingers tangled. Giyuu’s nails scratched down his back. Giyuu’s whines were music to rengokus ears. Call him selfish but he wanted, no he craved to see giyuu cry, he could get off on the sight.

“You feel so good,” Rengoku groaned.

“You’ve ruined me,” Giyuu gasped. “I can’t think straight.”

“Then don’t think.”

They came undone together, crying out into each other’s mouths.

Sunlight spilled across bruises like constellations.

Giyuu lay on his stomach, cheek pressed to Rengoku’s chest, back littered with bite marks and fingerprints.

“You’re covered,” Rengoku said proudly, fingers skimming over a particularly dark hickey.

“You did this,” Giyuu murmured.

“Damn right I did.”

Giyuu smirked—just slightly. “You’ll need to be marked too.”

“Oh?”

“I like symmetry.”

Rengoku laughed. “So possessive.”

“Takes one to know one.”

From then on, it wasn’t a secret.

Rengoku wore his own bruises with pride. Giyuu stopped pretending not to enjoy the stares, the whispers. They sparred still, but their fights ended in kisses more often than not.

They didn’t speak of love—not yet.

But Rengoku marked him every night.

And Giyuu let him.

Because there was power in being claimed—and joy in returning the favor.

It was weeks later, deep into summer, when the heat hung in the air like breath held too long. The cicadas hummed. Their shared room at the inn smelled faintly of sweat and sakura-scented oil.

Giyuu lay awake, his back to Rengoku, though he could feel the warmth of him—always, like a low fire beside him. Bruises lined his ribs, fading purple halos. Bite marks dotted his neck and shoulders.

Rengoku shifted beside him, then whispered, “Are you awake?”

Giyuu made a low sound in response. Not quite yes. Not quite no.

But Rengoku kept going, voice softer than he knew he could make it. “I need to tell you something.”

Giyuu turned, slowly, their eyes meeting in the dark.

“I love you,” Rengoku said simply.

The silence that followed wasn’t hesitation—it was breathless.

Giyuu blinked. His heart thudded in his chest like it had waited a long time for this moment.

“You do?”

Rengoku smiled faintly. “Yes. Fiercely. Probably too much. From the moment I saw you fight. From the moment you let me touch you. I’ve loved you longer than I understood it.”

Giyuu sat up slowly. Rengoku did too, the sheets falling low around his waist. The bruises on Giyuu’s skin caught the moonlight like stars across his pale body.

“And now?”

Giyuu reached for him. Touched his face. Traced the small fading bruise along Rengoku’s neck—the one he had made. “I was afraid,” he said quietly. “Of wanting this. Of losing it. Of loving you.”

Giyuu leaned in and kissed him. Not hard. Not desperate. Just real.

When they parted, he said, “I love you too.”

Rengoku exhaled like he’d been holding it for years. He pulled Giyuu into his arms and held him there, close, warm, safe.

“You’re mine,” Rengoku whispered into his hair.

“And you’re mine,” Giyuu murmured, voice barely audible.

They fell asleep like that—entwined, branded by one another, marked by fire and bound by something deeper than flesh.

Not just claimed.

"loved"

[fedya-simp]

⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. your boyfriend buys you a pretty golden necklace with his initials, not knowing it will only intensify the urge to claim you as his own in every way.

tags. older bf!gojo satoru x female reader. smut, pwp. age gap (reader early 20’s, gojo early 30’s). possessive. talks of marriage. unprotected. breēding kink; crēampies. jealousy. pregnancy kink? reader gets called ‘baby, sweetheart, mama’ not proofread; excuse the grammar. wc: 1.7k

“look at that, baby,” satoru coos as he watches the golden necklace bounce around your collarbone with each wet thrust. it’s a 24k pure gold necklace he purchased just today, with his initials on it.

something inside him stirred the moment he put it on you. satoru couln’t help himself from pinning you to the couch and claiming you as his own for the nth time. it doesn’t matter how many times he fucks you; it’s never enough.

the letters ‘sg’ are shimmering under the light of the living room. the older man is grinning from ear to ear, nearly cumming from the sight of you wearing that necklace alone. it’s a sign of possession to him. you’re his—you’re only his. he’s the only one who can touch you like this.

“shit, ‘t makes me wanna put a ring on it,” satoru hisses, one of his hands pressing down on your lower tummy. you gasp and clutch at his broad back, nails digging into his flesh quite painfully. “i think i’d engrave my initials on the inside of the ring too, what do ya think?”

each word is punctuated with a thrust. his hips are non-stop ramming into yours, claiming even the deepest spots of your body beneath him. he leans down to trail kisses down your sensitive neck, eliciting a couple whines from your lips.

“d’y wanna get married, sweetheart?” the sudden proposal takes you off guard. you can’t believe satoru would ask such a thing while being balls deep inside you. you’re blabbering nonsense, your voice muffled due to the saliva building up in your mouth.

“m— married? babe, are you ser-” your question is left unanswered as your boyfriend kisses your plump lips. he switches to a slow and gentle pace, grinding into your needy cunt until it leaves you shaking. his fingers play with the golden jewelry around your neck.

a necklace will do. as long as you’ll wear that accessory from this day forward, he’ll be satisfied. the urge to make you his forever partner could be satiated. for now, that is. he knows you still have a bright future ahead of you, like getting your degree and first ever proper job.

“let’s have you finish university first, yeah?” satoru smiles down at you after detaching his lips from yours. he watches the string of saliva hang between your mouths, giving a short hum once it snaps. his big hand slithers down to cup your breast and knead it, kissing your nipple whilst holding eye contact, “i can wait for you.”

satoru sighs as he rolls his tongue around your hardened nipple. he’s drooling over your breasts, a drunken glint in his eyes. he’s so obsessed with you to the point that he’d marry you right now if he could. that proposal wasn’t a joke—but he figured that it also wasn’t the smartest.

he’ll give you a proper and serious proposal one day. though, now you know for sure that he’s gotten into this relationship with the thought of actually marrying you.

“but i also—fuck—can’t wait,” satoru whines, feeling your walls clamp down on his thick cock. his dick is pulsing with need, exploring your squishy insides while his balls prepare to release all semen stored right into your fertile womb. even if you may take a pill to get rid of any unwanted consequences, the thought of seeing your tummy swell with his child is making the older man go insane.

satoru buries his face between your breasts and breathes heavily against your sweaty skin. his hips move with renewed vigour, his energy never depleting when it comes to pleasuring you, “wanna make you my wife ‘n breed this pretty pussy.”

you moan repeatedly, unable to stop yourself. especially after satoru frantically spews such lewd words. he’s getting lost in your cunt and the way it’s swallowing him in—into your pretty pussy that he owns. his pussy.

“wanna be your wife so bad, ‘toru,” you hiccup, nearly crying from the intense pleasure. you’d love to be satoru’s wife. he already treats you so well while you’re his girlfriend, you can’t imagine how much better it’s going to get once you’re officially his. your stomach fills with butterflies at the thought of being able to call him your husband.

the white-haired man chuckles. his blue eyes stare down at you with nothing but love, “yeah? mh, i’ll treat you so well every single day. g’nna come home to you ‘n give you some proper loving.”

satoru can already imagine it. coming home to you after a long day of work, needing a quick release. seeing you greet him at the door will send him into a frenzy. especially if you’re wearing an apron—he’s a sucker for domestic stuff.

you, his wife, taking care of him after a rough day at work. . . it’s a dream come true. he’ll spoil you with materialistic gifts and his unending love so you’ll live a happy life.

oh, don’t get him started on kids. satoru ruts into you like his life depends on it, the hypnotising rhythm of your boobs jiggling in circles is making him drool. having a little family with you is his end goal. you’ll be such a good mother and he’ll be such an amazing dad; a perfect combination.

satoru can already picture the amount of times he’ll dump his cum inside of you, without any restrictions. without you taking a pill or him wrapping a condom around his dick. his libido is going to be at an all time high when the time comes.

even if satoru ages a bit, he’s sure that he’s going to be able to have sex with you non stop. you get him hard without fail every single time. you’re his everything—the apple of his eyes.

your lover nearly chokes on his own saliva. he pushes his cock in to the base, burying it as deep as possible. your fingers curl around the pillow you’re holding for support, your eyes rolling back. his pink tip hit the right spot. that sweet spot that makes you cum without fail.

satoru bites his bottom lip. the way he’s looking at you, with a possessive kind of love and lust, is simply too much. his oceanic eyes are glimmering with need. erotic images flash through his mind of him impregnating you, “going to put a baby into you as soon as you’re ready.”

your tummy fills with butterflies. the way he’s talking to you like you’re already a married couple is making your pussy even wetter than it already is. it’s like it’s begging satoru to give it to you already—to make it store all his cum.

his eyes roll back as he leans his forehead against your shoulder. he has to hold himself back from cumming too soon. he wants to cherish every second spent inside of your warm body. satoru attaches his lips to your breasts again, “mhhh, y’re gonna look so beautiful pregnant, mama. those tits of y’rs. . .”

his voice is barely audible because he’s busy sucking on your nipples. your boyfriend is imagining the pair growing with each semester, filling out perfectly to store milk for the baby.

satoru cannot wait to be the reason why your body will change so much. you’ll be even prettier than you already are, that he can tell already. he’s going to give you gifts every day, to thank you for carrying his child. he’s going to spoil you rotten because you deserve it and so much more.

he can’t wait for the married life with you. many men dread that life, but that’s not the case with satoru. every day of his married life will be spent with his wife—you—and the honeymoon phase will never end. ever.

satoru’s cock is twitching and begging for the much needed release. he pounds you into the couch until you’re screaming in pleasure, feeling him so deep inside you. he’s so big, he’s stretching you out so well to the point of no return. the older man grins at the sight of your already fucked out face, “cunt ‘s gonna be so swollen because of how much i’ll pleasure her—paint her all white with my cum.”

satoru’s nasty words are causing unspeakable things to your body. you’re on the brink of reaching that euphoric state. the dirty talk is too much to handle at this point. your limbs are tingling and your cunt is aching to be stuffed full of his hot semen.

“s-satoru, don’t say such stuff,” you comment in a shaky breath. your head is spinning and your hands desperately reach out to hold onto his shoulders, squeezing the skin. your hips are bucking up lightly, your clit bumping against satoru’s pelvic area with each thrust, “i’m gonna cum if you keep saying that.”

your lover’s grin widens even more. he knows you enjoy it when he whispers such dirty stuff in your ear. that’s mainly the reason why he does it. he’s talked you through multiple orgasms before—it’s quite easy to do so with his husky voice and manly touch.

“that’s fine, baby,” satoru coos and leaves one last, sloppy kiss on your nipple before leaning in to attach his lips to yours. his tongue swirls around yours as you share your spit, the mixture trickling down your chins.

his hips don’t stop. he positions his lower body in an angle that gets you screaming for mercy, which he won’t do. he craves to ruin you on his cock, to see you melt with pleasure underneath him.

“make a mess on my dick while i make a mess inside of you,” satoru encourages you which seals the deal. your body shakes as you feel the waves of pleasure run through your system. you can feel hot ropes of cum nestle deep inside of your cunt. your boyfriend shudders at the sensation and helps you ride your climax out.

he pushes in and back out a few times, lazily, his finger finding your clit to rub until you’ve calmed down. “good girl. y’ took all of it, hm? lovely,” satoru nearly collapses on top of you after the energy leaves his body, careful not to crush you underneath his weight.

he doesn’t bother to pull out. he keeps his cum plugged into you—relishing the moment of ecstasy. even if he can’t fully breed you now, he’ll wait until the day he can.

“i love you, wifey,” satoru kisses your temple, tiredly giggling at the nickname he gave you. in his mind, you are already his one and only woman.

his wife and partner for life.

[fedya-simp]

HANNIBAL + Text Posts 26/∞

[fedya-simp]

Old Games

Hannibal has been manipulative because he's bored and provokes Will into taking matters into his own hands.

Shameless Smut, Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham, Consensual Violence, Blood Kink, Knife Kink, Scarification, Canon Typical Toxicity, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Wound Fingering, Post-Fall

-----

Will was beating the shit out of him, and God, was Hannibal rock hard. This was no fantasy, though there had been many times when it was. This was real, flesh on flesh, knuckles digging into his cheek bones, causing his teeth to clack with each blow. How strong Will was. How resilient those hands were. That was the only thing going through his mind as he tasted his own blood in his mouth.

Hannibal had been more shrewd than usual lately. Picking at Will, second guessing him, even when it was not necessary. Was he sure that he could pick the freshest vegetables from the grocery store? Did he turn the water off completely after washing his face before bed? Was every one of his little mongrel dogs accounted for or did he leave one outside? Will had never forgotten one of his pets, but there was ‘a first time for everything’. Besides his contrariness, the two men had lived the closest thing to domestic bliss that either one of them had ever experienced, even before the fall.

Here they were, off the coast of some Greek island – Will wanted to settle somewhere that was new to the both of them – in a home built from the ground up. It was adobe, white to match the local buildings, set a great distance from any other living soul on a modest cut of land. They had a fenced in garden, expansive, and they had dogs. They would occasionally take day trips to the large islands and scout for new sources of meat. Will went fishing almost every morning and Hannibal would join him, sitting on the shore, reading a book, every now and then glancing up from his page to gaze at his lover who floated far away on his canoe. They should be happy. He didn’t feel happy. He felt bored.

So here he was, flat on his back, Will sitting on his stomach, while those strong fisherman’s hands smashed his face to a bloody pulp. The flames of pain caressed him, cut through him, searing in the cut on his eyebrow now, down into his skull and his brain. A tightness twisting low in his gut. What had he said? Oh, yes.

“Where else would I go?” Will had piped up while Hannibal was chopping carrots.

“What was that, my love?”

“Don’t ‘my love’, me, Hannibal.”

He was only Hannibal when he had done something wrong.

“You think I’m afraid you wish to be somewhere else. You betrayed the FBI for me, Will. We have killed together. We ran away together. As far as I am concerned we are an inseparable pair and I do not understand why you are so paranoid about these things.”

Will stood from where he leaned against the island in the middle of the room and walked up next to him, one hip against the counter and arms crossed over his chest. Hannibal stilled his hands and looked at Will with a warm smile that he knew would infuriate him.

Will frowned, “If you keep playing the fool I’m going to lose my temper.”

A thrill ran down Hannibal’s spine at the threat. At a degree in which he had not felt in a very long time.

“What part do you wish me to play then?” He tilted his head, smile still on his face, fingers curling ever so slightly tighter around the chef’s knife.

Will narrowed his eyes, purposefully keeping them off of the weapon, those ocean blue rings raging darkly behind his glasses. He was so beautiful when he was angry. So stimulating.

“You’ve been toying lately. Undermining me. Eroding.”

This was dangerous territory. Before Hannibal had started picking at Will’s scabs, they had had many heartfelt conversations, one of which included the brunette expressing his fear that his thoughts and actions were not his own, even after all this time. He had soothed him then. He did not feel like soothing him now.

“You speak of me like some spurned housewife.”

“You don’t deny it.” There was an edge to Will’s voice.

“What reason would I have to do such a thing? We are long past the game of cat and mouse,” He turned away, chopping the rest of the carrot, with a dismissive tone, “really, you’re quite the by product of your post traumatic stress, you should quit—”

“Don’t.” Will interpreted, and Hannibal could almost hear his knuckles creak as he formed a fist.

He smiled to himself, knowing full well how it would be interpreted, “Being so paranoid, my love.”

To say the blow came out of nowhere would be a lie, but he had underestimated the hatred behind it, fueling its power, as it caught him across the side of the face. It gave him a headache immediately, Hannibal instinctually switching his grip on the knife, blade pointed down, but Will knew him well. He could feel the calluses against his forearm as his wrist was smashed into the stone countertop with enough force to send shooting nerve pain up his arm, the knife falling from his hand.

Hannibal growled, half anger at being surprised and half pleasure, his other hand coming up to grab Will by the throat, fingers digging into the sides of his neck and pushing the man backwards until his back slammed against the refrigerator. Will’s left hand still held Hannibal’s arm, but his right arm came up, elbow crashing down on Hannibal’s arm, breaking his grip on the other man’s throat. He was feral, unpredictable and blind to the admiration in Hannibal’s gaze as he threw all of his weight into his shoulder and lunged like a football player, tackling Hannibal to the ground.

His head hit the wood floor with a hard knock, dazing him slightly, but his lover did not let the moment go to waste. He felt the weight of Will on his stomach, knees pinning down his out flung arms as they painfully crushed his elbows. His nose crunched with the second punch that was thrown his way, the third surely would have broken it as well, were it not already broken. Will was saying something, something hard to make out over the sound of the blood rushing in Hannibal’s ears and the ringing of his head injury.

“... paranoid. After all those years of manipulating me. Here I am. Here I am.”

Planting his feet, he attempted to buck Will off him, giving himself a chance to roll over, but the moment his weight shifted, he got a swift blow to the eye socket. It was mean enough to cut his eyebrow open, blood pooling at the corner of his eye like a great well of tears, and sloppy enough that it could have caused serious optic damage. The severity of the situation dawned on him. His cock twitched.

“Will –”

There was no reply, only another blow to the face. They rained down on him now, one after the other. He did not fight, did not even struggle. He took in a ragged breath, smothered with arousal, determined to take in every detail of this moment with all five senses. All of Will’s pain and rage washed over him. He could feel the way his skin tore apart, ragged, under the force of Will’s hands. It was delicious to know that he was the cause of such strong emotions. He could hear Will’s heavy breathing, hitching slightly when he exerted himself. It was him, Hannibal, that had so much influence in Will’s life. No one else. He smiled, his lip split in two places, and it felt like being cut with a razor blade as the skin stretched over his teeth. His brown eyes twinkled up at Will, taking in the sight of his bloody knuckles, unsure if it was just his blood. Hoping it was both of theirs. The idea blew his pupils wide. Will’s features darkened and he grabbed Hannibal by the collar of his shirt, before bashing his head into the floor over and over.

“I gave up everything for you! You don’t get to play games anymore.”

He was disappointed that Will had not positioned himself on his lap, for his cock stood at full attention, the inside of his boxers damp with a spot of precum. How ruthless his lover was. Hannibal wished to grind himself against him, while those well trained hands gripped him by the hair, guiding his lucid head to look up. There was a constant throbbing in the back of his skull, his hair plastered to his head with a thick, wet warmth. The kitchen stank of blood, or maybe it was just everything that was pouring out of his nose. When he saw Will’s hard features searching his face, he was filled with a sense of certainty that this was what their victims saw before death overtook them, and need cut through him. Will’s eyes narrowed, which was no surprise, he could read Hannibal like no other.

“You’re hard right now.” He stated disapprovingly.

“I am.” Hannibal replied, blood staining his teeth pink as he smiled.

“You’re not mad at me,” Will blinked once.

“I am not.”

When Will only silently leaned back, removing the weight of his knees from Hannibal’s elbows, he was afraid their altercation would yield no sexual satisfaction.

“Mylimasis,” He whispered, flecks of his blood spraying across Will’s face as he spoke, “do you not find the spark of our old games as exciting as I do?”

Will scoffed, but the corner of his mouth pulled up into a smirk, “You goaded me because you miss getting off to our rivalry?”

“I miss when you were not a domestic animal, Will Graham.”

He could not hide the truth of his words, dismay hitting him like a freight train as he saw the way they made Will’s face twist. As he opened his mouth to explain himself, a hand closed over it, smelling strongly of sweat and blood.

“Not a word.” Will said monotonically.

When he was sure Hannibal would not speak, he removed it, and scooted his hips backwards until he sat right on top of Hannibal’s clothed dick. This made him sigh, the pressure bringing relief, but in return Will slapped him hard enough to turn his cheek red. He gave Will a surprised look and the other man only frowned.

“No sounds either.”

They could both feel the way Hannibal’s cock twitched against Will’s ass. He nodded, just barely, maintaining searing eye contact with Will who was cold as ice. Will began moving his hips back and forth, grinding down on Hannibal who bucked his hips up against him eagerly. He needed to feel more, so much more. His nose ached, the pain pulsing out into the rest of his face as his heartbeat quickened. Will’s hard on was evident, the outline of it visible against his pants, Hannibal eyed it hungrily. His tongue dashed out, wetting his lips, playing over the cuts on them, as he watched Will’s body move above his. He looked glorious, all dark curls and severe jawline, his skin coral and cream as he palmed himself over his clothes. His blue eyes caught sight of the ministrations of Hannibal’s tongue and he leaned down, their dicks rubbing together as he licked one of the cut’s on Hannibal’s lips. The sensation made Hannibal’s hole clench, his eyes fluttered shut as Will lapped up the blood from the second cut. He hissed when he felt Will’s teeth sink into his lip, fresh blood flooding his mouth from the open wound, and because he made a noise Will bit harder, creating puncture wounds and ripping it open more. Will ground his cock against Hannibal, relentlessly dry humping as he kissed him. All Hannibal could taste was his own blood, it was electric, swirling around his mouth on the vessel of Will’s tongue. Will’s lips tasted metallic, soft yet unyielding, Hannibal licked at the back of his teeth, rubbing his tongue over the other man’s with a clear desperation. Will pulled back, got off of his lap, then undid his belt.

Hannibal followed suit, shoving his pants down without a word, his cock springing free. Will didn’t look at him, he only tugged his own pants and underwear off over his shoes, and flung them to the side. Hannibal felt like his excitement was visible to the naked eye, the way the scent of his blood flooded his senses, his skull pounding in time with the rushing in his veins, the thick swallow he had to take every couple seconds, it all stoked his desire, the object of which now crouched over him, hovering just above his aching cock. He looked down at himself, saw how stiff his dick was, flushed pink, thick and sure to spread Will open like many times before. He almost whined like a dog when his lover gently lowered himself, his hole squeezing his tip over and over, precum slicking the entrance. Then the sensation was gone, Will was standing over him now, looking down with that cutting gaze.

“Will?” Hannibal protested the lack of contact.

Shaking his head, Will’s hand wandered the counter, in search of something out of Hannibal’s line of sight.

“You want the delight of carnage. I'll oblige.”

The blade of a knife glinted in the sunlight that came through the window as Will inspected it, surely for Hannibal’s benefit. It was lean, one they often used to filet seafood. His cock jerked and he wiggled his loosened front tooth with his tongue.

“It seems you almost knocked my tooth out, my love.” He tried to hide the elation in his voice as he once again spoke out of turn.

Will fell to his knees, straddling Hannibal once again, their bare dicks rubbing together as he worked the tip of the knife into the small crevice of tender flesh between his collarbone and his shoulder. Hannibal closed his eyes, clenching his teeth in a mixture of pain and pleasure. He tried not to think about the hole that was cut in his shirt. Will twisted the knife as if he was lazily trying to start a fire, tearing more fabric and skin. It made his head spin. When he did not respond, Will pushed slightly harder, until a half inch of stainless steel was inside him. He could feel the warmth of his blood welling up around the tip. Felt the warmth of it pooling into his clothes.

“You could cause serious nerve damage if you're unfamiliar with what you're attempting.” Hannibal chimed clinically.

“Enjoying being a brat, are we?” Will purred, gently pulling the blade towards him, cutting Hannibal at such a slow pace it was ripping more than slicing.

The blue eyed man hummed happily as Hannibal bucked his hips, their cocks sliding over one another, his precum wetting his own happy trail. Will moved on, tracing the knife lightly over Hannibal’s chest, poking and prodding every now and then until he settled just below his belly button. Hannibal watched the entire time, never taking his eyes off those brilliant hands as Will gripped the hem of his shirt and cut it in one long go right up the middle, as if he was being gutted. The fabric fell open, revealing his chest and stomach that already had a few red marks, and Will pushed it out of the way, ghosting his fingers through Hannibal’s chest hair. He rubbed his hips teasingly, cock brushing back and forth against Hannibal’s, resting all his weight on the hand in the center of the older man’s chest. Holding him down. Hannibal could feel his heartbeat thumping against Will’s palm. With the knife in the crook of the L of his thumb and forefinger, directly over Hannibal’s heart, Will applied pressure, the sharp bite of which bloomed outwards.

“Put it in.” It wasn't a demand or a question, it was like Will was observing the weather or their horoscopes.

He was more than happy to obey, grabbing hold of himself, resisting the urge to pump his cock, and lined it up with Will’s hole. Not a moment after his tip brushed the man’s ass did his lover sit himself onto it, slowly taking his cock, never taking his eyes off Hannibal’s face nor the knife off his chest. Instead, the more length he took, the deeper he drove the blade into Hannibal’s sternum. It was overwhelming.

“Penetrating me as I penetrate you?” He quipped. This was all part of it. Will knew he could never resist a chance to prove he would be willing to take things further than Will would.

In response Will cut into him. It wasn't hesitant or jerky, it was almost surgical. Deep enough for blood to spill immediately, but shallow enough that Hannibal was not afraid for his life. It hurt, it made him tense involuntarily as the knife made its way down his chest, leaving a burning crimson trail behind. All while his cock was slowly buried to the hilt inside the other man. He groaned, not trying to be a smartass, as Will began moving up and down, but was punished for his transgression anyways when the knife sunk deeper. The scarring would be unavoidable at this point. Hannibal ground his teeth together to keep from speaking, grabbed Will by the hips and helped him ride faster. His dick was being squeezed so tight, pumping in and out of Will’s hole as he watched the brunette’s cock bounce with every thrust. He pounded up into Will, hips snapping against the bottom of his ass. His passion made the work of the knife unsteady, dipping deeper and shallower with no design at all, the line Will was creating winding ever so slightly like a river down to just above his belly button. Hannibal could feel drops of blood cascading down his belly towards his ribs. Will moaned above him, clenching down on his dick, then ran two shaky fingers up the wound he had just inflicted, never slowing down, Hannibal violent in his thrusts that made every curl on Will’s head bob.

Will brought the two fingers up to his pink lips, dark pupils trained on Hannibal’s face as Will sucked on his middle and index finger. He pulled them out clean, except for the faint ring of red that was like lipstick around the second knuckles. Hannibal’s eyes narrowed with lust and he grabbed the hilt of the knife in Will’s hand, at first the other man resisted letting go, but when he slowed down in his thrusts, emphasizing his sincerity, Will relented. Hannibal took the weapon slowly out of his lover’s hand, Will was doing all the work with his hips now, and the salt and pepper haired man turned the blade on himself, tip pressed firmly to his stomach. With a small smile and a slow blink, jittery from the heat engulfing his dick, he stuck the end in his abdomen, somewhere he knew wouldn't be vital if he had gone deep enough for that to even matter. It made him gasp and he was so close to the edge now, but he wasn't finished. Hannibal dropped the knife, grabbed Will's hand firmly, splayed out his fingers, then pushed one of them greedily inside the wound. It made him shudder, meeting the pace of Will’s hips now, feeling the tip of his finger inside the cut sent stripes of ecstasy straight to his dick. Pumping himself in and out of Will, while Will pushed his finger deeper into his skin, Hannibal stroked the man’s cock, admiring the slight bend in it and the feeling of precum slicking the inside of his hand. Both of them were covered in a sheen of sweat and blood on the kitchen floor. He felt like an animal. He felt alive.

“This is what you wanted?” Will asked, words punctuated by small gasps.

Hannibal nodded, racing to the end, all fervor and fire. Slamming up into his Will. His Will. He would bleed only for this man. He would hold all of his beloved 's rage. He was made to bear any pain his lover put his way. Hannibal’s thoughts were becoming less linear. Will was panting, surely his legs burned, his dick twitching in Hannibal’s uncoordinated grasp, until finally he came. Seed shot onto Hannibal’s chest, mingling with his blood. The feeling made Hannibal climax too, unloading inside Will with a stifled moan. He couldn't take it. He sat up without thinking, grabbed Will behind the shoulders and sank his teeth into the crook of his neck. Will cried out, but didn't push him away. He bit deeper, Will’s hole milking his cock of every last drop of cum, his wounds throbbing and burning and flooding his body, his lover’s cum making a warm, slow trail down his stomach into the deep cuts. He might need stitches. Biting deeper. Will would be bruised. They'd have to set his nose. He did not break the brunette's delicate skin.

They sat like that on the floor, Hannibal’s teeth in his neck, Will’s trembling thighs straddling his waist. Hannibal pulled back, still ensnaring Will in his grasp and looked into his eyes. They seemed bright, normal, better than the storm he had cultivated for the last few weeks. He kissed his nose and brought him into a hug. Will sighed and rested his head on Hannibal’s shoulder. Their breathing slowed. Their heartbeats turned to normal, almost in sync. It would be enough. It already was.

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I am so incredibly upset because I couldn't find the gif of fantasy Hannibal smiling on the ground as Will beats him :'(