#tw wound fucking

[chrisbangsbf]

tender

Minho/Hyunjin (2k)

Explicit 18+

Tags and Warnings: gore whore hyunjin, ftm minho, cat hybrid minho, knifeplay, blood, painplay, sadomasochism, wound fucking, thigh riding, consensual kink, established relationship

AO3 Link

[femalefemur]

i need soap to stab me and stick his tongue and fingers in the wound, maybe fuck it too

[angrelysimpping]

The (Night) Hunter: Collab'oween Day 25

Night Hunter x AFAB Reagent (they/them pronouns) 

the only prompt that wasn't mine that i actually got a chance to write for ><"

Warnings: noncon; anal; piss; weird ear stuff (thanks inky); mentioned wound fucking; violence; off screen character death (two reagents enter the trial and…..its questionable if even one leaves, actually); he’s huntin’; mentioned cum eating; a lot of crying; set in program three

Words: 2239

“Run! Hide!” He laughs as the pair scamper back around the corner, sound bouncing off the tiled walls of the orphanage bathroom. “Make this fun for me.” 

He lets them get a head start, smile curling across his lipless face, before taking off after them. The two have already made it through the laundry room, but they’re not fast enough. No one ever is. One of them makes it out of the room by just a hair before he enters. So close he can almost smell them, stale clean Murkoff soap and the metallic stench of fear. 

They won’t make it to the courtyard.

They don’t even try.

The utility room is empty, doors untouched.

Hiding vermin, like rats.

“Oh, sure is dark in here.” He shuts the door behind him, the gas trap re-setting with a soft twang as he giggles. “What a shame.”

The air is dead still, almost unsettling silence. It lays thick on his skin, an oppressive blanket that would make anyone else squirm. 

Not him, though.

“You can’t hide,” he half sighed, half sung. With heavy, sure strides, he makes his way across the room. “You sure can’t hide.” A soft, stifled sound - a sob - from under the desk. “From the man with the x-ray eyes.” 

He reaches under the desk without warning, grabbing a fist full of hair and yanks. The fucker screams, sound mixing with his harsh laughter as he flings them across the room. 

A man. He stares up with wide, unseeing eyes, night vision goggles knocked from his face. He’s dazed, sprawled out on the floor. 

Glorious sight, the fear, the fucking terror.

“I’m gonna watch you bleed.” Almost delicately, he nestles the tip of his machete between the man’s thighs. Like any caught vermin, he tries to squirm back, but there’s nowhere to go, breath stuttering as he presses the blade against groin. “And then I’m gonna watch you die.”

The brick hits him in the face. 

He topples to the floor with a thud, metal scraping against concrete as he tries and fails to keep his equipment from taking any damage. A whoop of delight echoing around the room as he crashes.  

“LITTLE SHIT!”  

Spitting out a mouthful of blood, he’s back on his fleet in a flash. He’s up faster than they expected. He can tell from the way they freeze, smile dropping and breath hitching as he lunges for them and, for a second, they seem to shine brighter for him than before.

The other little cunt running around in the dark, trying to save their dumb friend. 

“That fucking hurt!” 

Hand clamping around their forearm, they squeak, wrenching back. But his grip is iron, holding on as they scramble towards the light, the courtyard, safe haven from his x-ray eyes. 

“No you don’t, slippery little glow worm.”

But they do, near falling into the light and dragging him along.

“Shit!” 

Those damned lights were too much. Blinding, burning his eyes, scorching out his brain with their intensity. He couldn’t even blink thanks to the way those doctor fucks had made his goggles. ‘Great bird of prey,’ bah.

They don’t get far, stumbling, panic blinding them nearly as complete as the light blinds him. A desperate attempt to vault a crate is their folly as he fights to drag them back. 

And it’s so easy to pin them over the edge of the crate. 

“Got ya now, shiny worm.”

They writhe under him, bucking and twisting. Any other time, he’d gut them with his machete and move on. But, they’re squirming, their ass grinding against his dick, and god when was the last time he-

The whine of the gas trap triggering scatters his thoughts. Muffled thud of the spike impaling flesh, panicked sobs. Ah, the man from under the desk, the one they were trying to protect. 

Now getting gassed out of their mind, having opted to run away instead of help.

“Looks like your little friend tried to sneak away.” Idly, he rocks his hips forward, letting them feel how hard their struggles made him. “Gonna just be you,” he grips his machete tight, bringing the tip to the hem of their pants. They freeze, a whimper building in their throat as he takes his time, cool metal kissing their skin. Hooking the blade into the ragged material, the cloth all but falls apart on contact. “And me,” he finishes, wild giggle bubbling up from his chest as their pathetic attempts to escape redouble. 

“Aw, little glow worm, what’s with all the fuss?” With practiced hands, unseeing, he drags the waistband of his pants down, freeing his aching erection. They still again as his cock caresses the curve of their ass, hot and hard, before a small sob leaves them. “Oh, wanna play nice now, do ya?” 

A broken, moaned no that he barely hears, too enthralled by grinding against their ass. Shifting his hips just enough, his cock angles down, sliding between sweat slicked thighs and-

“Ah, feels like you’re wet, like your cunt is starved for-fuck off!”

He should have expected the kick. Little fucker had put up a hell of a fight, much more than he’d ever expected from such a feeble looking worm. Why would they have stopped now? Just roll over and give up because he’d slid between their lips? Become a silent, submissive little pup because his tip had bumped into their clit? 

No, and they wouldn't be nearly half as fun if they had.

Before they can kick out again, he grabs them by the back of their head, dirty nails digging into their scalp as he yanks them back. “Do that again,” his tongue lulls out from his destroyed mouth, hot muscle trailing up the side of their neck, “and I’ll take you apart piece by piece.” Caressing the shell of their ear, they squirm, but not there’s not as much fight as before. “Even those bastards won’t be able to put you back together again.” They go stiff as his tongue wiggles into their ear canal, a small sound of discomfort escaping them. 

But, they don’t move.

Not even as he withdraws his tongue, gnarled teeth catching on their earlobe. Steadily adding pressure, they shudder under him, but they don’t try to squirm away like before. 

"Good mousy."

Blinded still, he nearly impales their hand as he embeds his machete into the crate, a pathetic hiccuped whimper making his dick jump. Another tiny giggle leaves him as he press their head down with one hand, grabs their hip with the other, and starts to rut against them. 

They don't move, don't try to stop him as precum smears against their skin. Good enough for him. He can't see their eyes dart around the courtyard, a group of white coated "doctors," or whatever they liked to call themselves, gathered at an observation window. 

He wouldn't have cared if he had. Might have even gone on to put on more of a show, even. But, no, not right now, not this time. Right now, all he can think about, all he can care about, is the warm body beneath him. Of their soft grunts, their attempts to keep quiet and not attract any other attention. Of the way their body responds, even if they don't want it to, slick gathering on his cock, precum mixing with his own and making his movements easier. 

Of the tight hole that the head of his cock catches against as he repositions himself.

They stiffen under him, rigid as he slows his thrusts, grinding the tip of his dick against the spot where their body fights to keep him out. “What we got here, huh?” 

“D-don’t.” Their voice is so soft he almost doesn't hear it, lost in his heavy breathing and the buzzing of the lights. “N-not…not there. Don’t. P-please.”

“Not here?” He presses forward a fraction of an amount, fat head pressing against the tight ring of muscles. Their breath catches in their throat, and he can almost taste their desperation, thick like battery acid on his tongue. “Maybe if you'd been a good lil mouse from the start,” he pants, reveling in how their body is slowly succumbing to his will even as they beg for him to stop, “I’d be able to find the right hole.” 

“Go back. W-we can g-go back. Into the d-dark.” Their voice is higher pitched than before, all broken, stuttered words and pleading tone. Not the same little shit who had the gall to smash his face in with a brick only moments ago. “I w-won’t r-run.” He can hear their suppressed sobs, leans down to swipe his tongue over their cheek. Salt, tears and sweat. They shudder as his tongue traces the curve of their neck, tucking his face into the joint between their neck and shoulder. Inhaling deep, he catches the same scent as before, chemicals and fear and, under it all, the faint trace of their own scent. 

Delicious. 

He doesn’t say anything, and maybe they know the answer from the way he smiles into their skin. They sob as his cock slowly pries open their rim, losing the fight to keep him out. 

He can’t help himself after that, glorious tight heat enveloping him. Hips jerking forward, they scream as he impales their ass in one brutal thrust. Friction almost painful, he laughs into their neck, wild giggles and labored breaths as he starts to pull out. They’re still screaming, sound no longer ringing in his ears as much as before but still a persistent annoyance as he snaps forward again. 

“Might wanna shut your yap, mousy,” he growls, teeth scraping over the tender skin of their neck, tongue flicking out to swipe over a pulse point. “Unless you want Goosberry to give you a new hole for me to fuck.” 

They move, twisting under him. For a second, his hand goes for his machete, before they settle again. He can’t see them, can only feel them: tight around his cock, trembling back against his chest around his battery, wild hartbeat against his teeth, surprisingly soft skin of their hip in his scarred palm, head still pressed down and forcing their cheek against the harsh wood. He doesn’t know how they’ve moved to bite into their forearm, dampening the sounds of their sobs and screams as he starts another torturously slow withdrawal. But he notices the muffled sounds, their attempt, their promptness at his threat.

The cackle he lets out almost rivals their initial scream as he’d forced them open. 

“Good mousy.” Punctuating the sentence with a particularly brutal thrust, he’s greeted with the smell of bleach. 

He stays buried deep as a hot gush of liquid splashes against his thighs. His grins grows even wider, biting down into their shoulder lightly, almost teasingly, as he rocked forward, making sure his cock pressed hard against their insides as they pissed themself. 

“Ay, watch the equipment.” 

They only sob harder into their arm, body shaking and burning as he abandoned his slow, deliberate tempo and starts a punishing pace, fucking them into the rough suerface of the crate. “Filthy little thing, aren’t you?” The words are murmured into their skin where he keeps his face shielded from the light. If they respond, he doesn’t hear it, his own harsh breath loud in his ears as he pistons into them. It’s easier now, lewd squelch every time he slams home and the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the courtyard. “You bleeding sweetheart? Helping me fuck this ass open?” Another stifled sound of misery, and his cock twitches dangerously. “Bet it’d taste good. Wouldn’t have to carve you out with my tongue either. Loosened your ass up real good, wouldn't be able to keep it in, would ya? Messy little mousy I caught, huh?” 

Their mouth leaves their arm. He can tell instantly, their sobs unfettered, copper tang of blood on their breath as they turn as much as they can to face him. 

“P-please.” It’s a pathetic little whine, almost lost amongst sobs and broken up by the force of his hips meeting their’s. There’s a buzzing in his brain, balls tightening. “J-j-just cum. Please.”

Electricity races up his spine, and he rips out of them. Letting go of their hip, he takes his cock in hand, blood and precum smeared along the shaft and coating his palm as he pumps himself to completion. A small hiccup escapes them as his hot seed paints their abused ass. 

“Don’t worry,” he pants, his own voice sounding harsh in his own ears, heavy with his accent and a barely restrained smile. “Don’t worry little mouse, my little glow worm.” They stiffen as his thumb hooks into their puffy asshole, tormenting the already tender muscles. “You were begging for me to fill you up, weren’t you nasty little worm.” They try to push back against him, try to scramble away, but their entire body shakes at the effort. Another one of his wild giggles escapes him as they collapse back against the crate. 

That must be when they feel it, how he’s already hard again, leaking new precum against their thighs. It’s in the air, the renewed fear, the electric iron taste on his tongue. 

Slipping his thumb free, he lines himself up, can feel their hole fluttering against the tip of his dick, begging for him to fill it again.

[mcrredacteddeadove]

young gerard who's like super obsessed with internet shock content, like he saw cartel killings way too young and now he's addicted to liveleak and bestgore.

he gets infatuated with the idea of making a snuff film, after watching a bunch, at first with the same morbid fascination as with the other gore vids but then he starts jacking off to them

but the issue is he doesn't have friends so it's not like he could lure a friend into getting snuffed, so he loses hope due to lack of potential victims... until he locks eyes with mikey at the breakfast table

it's easy enough to convince mikey to go down into the basement while their parents are away. gerard just tells him he's making a film based art project, and needs an actor. mikeys sitting on gees mattress and chewing on a hangnail while gee sets up the camera and equipment, so he doesn't notice the knives and rope next to the camera

before the camera starts rolling, gee grabs the rope and ties mikeys hands up before he can protest, obviously mikey thrashes and tries to scream before a rag is shoved in his mouth, gee is pulling on a mask, and the video begins.

he undresses mikey before running the flat side of a knife along his ribs, plays it up for the camera before he finally psychs himself up to push the blade through mikeys skin. mikey then wails so loud that he manages to spit out the rag, so gee has to force a hand in his mouth so the neighbours wouldn't hear. he keeps dragging the blade through mikey's pale skin, even through this mikey makes noise and squirms and thrashes, until finally the camera captures the life leaving his beautiful brown eyes. he collapses on gees mattress, a gored angel taken too soon for his older brother's (and internet creeps') sick pleasure. gerard sticks his dick into the wound he's created, fucking mikey through his last dying breaths, before cumming all over his corpse. he grabs the camera and pans over mikey's sweet little body, then ends the recording. a few days later he posts it on the sites he frequents, where it is used as a runthegauntlet video, as well as jerkoff material for fucked individuals

gee fucks mikey's corpse lots over the following days, then cuts him up into little bits and dissolves him into a storm drain when he realises his parents are getting suspicious that mikey hasn't 'come home from a friend's house' yet

-doll guts anon (reeeaaaallly addicted to necrophile gerard recently. can you tell)

<3

[heavenlyeden]

♱Heavenly Feast♱

𓆩Chapter 9 - Catharsis𓆪

𓆩 Previous 𓆪 ♱ 𓆩 Masterlist 𓆪 ♱ 𓆩 Next 𓆪

CW: Implied minor death, child abuse, explicit noncon, wound fucking, cannibalism, and victim blaming.

Kieran's slender shaky hands gripped the knife tight as he stood above the crying girl. His entire body ached and tensed, stuck in place. He felt his father's firm hand on his shoulder as he whispered:

"What's wrong? Didn't you say she humiliated you and that you were so angry you could kill her?"

Yes, he remembered saying that. But he never thought his father would interpret a teenage boy's angry outburst after being humiliated by his racist classmate as his real wish.

"I don't- I-I didn't want this…"

"What? You don't want this? Hm. I don't understand why you are backing up from what you clearly stated to me."

His voice lowered slightly, but that alone was enough to shake Kieran to his core. Something about the person behind him felt… demonic. The way he whispered, trying to urge his own child to commit an unforgivable sin.

At that moment, he stopped recognizing his father. A demon had taken his place.

"I truly-"

"Oh, Kieran, don't delude yourself."

The girl… no, it wasn't a girl anymore, but a familiar rotten person. Benjamin taunted him with that infuriating smile of his.

"You know you want this. Don't try to pretend you don't, that you are a good person. Go on, Kieran…,"

The demonic being behind Kieran who he once called father and his spitting image below him whispered, their voices blending together.

"Punish me."

Kieran laid in bed immobile as his brain slowly processed the nightmare and brought him back to reality. His hair inside the silk bonnet was humid with sweat. He slowly raised his hand before him — it shook uncontrollably. Holding it into a fist to make it stop, he urged himself to sit up.

He breathed in and out, trying to push the thoughts away and calm his racing heart. As he looked around the room to ground himself, he caught sight of his family. Although his father's face was concealed, he could picture it clearly.

Despite that, Kieran took the portrait in his hands and pulled off the picture, unfolding his hidden face. He couldn't believe no one, not even himself, noticed it until it was too late — that demonic, devious look behind his dark eyes and angelical face and smile. It made Kieran's stomach churn.

Sick of letting him plague his thoughts any longer, he put the photo back unfolded and set the portrait down.

He moved on with his day, playing random songs on his phone as he made breakfast.

A familiar tune sounded from the phone's speakers, making him freeze. Overwhelming dread filled him as they began to sing those damned lyrics.

I know you belong to somebody new

Images of his parents dancing to the song flashed on his mind. A gesture that seemed romantic at first, but became repulsive when he realized his father's true nature.

Snapping out of the trance, Kieran paused the song. Why, out of all songs, this had to play? First the nightmare, and then that devil's signature song – it almost felt like the universe wanted to torment Kieran with memories of him.

Kieran tried to continue with his morning routine, but the dread and repulsion slowly turned to fury. And as soon as he ate the last bite of his meal, instead of starting his work day at the usual time, he went down the basement to pay Joseph's reincarnation a visit.

Benjamin laid where Kieran had left him, with a glazed expression on his face. But, to Kieran's content, he shivered when Kieran approached him and crouched by his side.

Benjamin looked at him, and begged him with pure despair and pain. "Kill me," Kieran deduced from his impaired speech.

"Why should I? This is your punishment, and I won't show you mercy. You deserve much worse."

Benjamin grabbed at Kieran's leg, growing even more desperate.

"-Lease," he begged, almost incoherently.

Kieran stared at him for a moment, taking in how pathetic he was. How low that demon had fallen.

His pathetic begging filled Kieran with desire, overcoming the anger he felt. Perhaps, he could be merciful to him when he begged so nicely. As Kieran stood up and went to choose a tool to kill him, an idea creeped from the bottom of his most rotten fantasies.

He had made sure in the past to never let such a disgusting fantasy fester. But Benjamin deserved it. Kieran was sure his father had done the same sort of thing, so why not give Benjamin a taste of it?

Kieran chose an adorned knife he made himself for gutting or skinning corpses, and came back to Benjamin, pushing him on his back. He smiled as Benjamin shook at the sight of the knife.

"What's wrong?" he teased, running the blade on his stomach without cutting. "You begged me for death. Don't act scared now."

Benjamin closed his eyes, pushing tears down. Kieran savored his fear for a bit more, and then started cutting on his lower abdomen. He tried to struggle by instinct, but Kieran held him down as he carefully cut a large enough incision. His cries of pain filled him with lust.

Kieran threw the knife away and pulled his pants down. As soon as Benjamin realized what was coming for him, he started screaming and begging. But it was too late. Kieran held him down with a sadistic grin on his face, and positioned his cock on the cut.

And then he thrusted in, getting a guttural scream out of Benjamin. The smell of blood made Kieran's mouth water, but it wasn't enough for him to lose his lucidity yet. Kieran savoured his expression once more, before fucking his insides roughly.

Benjamin clawed and screamed like an animal, to Kieran's delight. Wasn't that what he wanted? Wasn't that what he asked him to do? So he should bear the punishment for transforming him into a monster.

Kieran's teeth sharpened as the smell of blood took his toll on him. Lust and hunger mixed together, and he took a bite out of Benjamin's cheek, ripping it off. At that moment, Benjamin's eyes rolled back and he went limp and silent. Yet, Kieran didn't stop. The only sounds were of the squelches of Kieran penetrating his guts.

Kieran ate more of him, who didn't react, and raped him until he came inside of him, fully satisfied. His teeth and nails came back to normal as soon as he did. He pulled away, leaving Benjamin disfigured and gutted on the floor.

That dread and anger from earlier had vanished completely, replaced by pure glee and satisfaction. As if a weight had been taken off from his head after punishing Benjamin.

As he left the basement to take a shower and fix himself, he saw the phone he had left in his room before going down, still paused on that wretched song.

And despite his best instincts, he played the song with bloody fingers.

He didn't feel as much dread listening to it as he did earlier, to his surprise. The catharsis had numbed him from being blinded by the memories.

If anything… The song was good. He could see why that demon liked it.

Taglist: @suspicious-whumping-egg @thatonefoxyplush @hidden-dreamland @whump-me-baby-one-more-time @whatwasmyprevioususername @zillastar13 @burntcoffeewhump @whump-cravings

[silentdoves]

I Paid To Make You Mine, You See

Inspired by Hostel, Spencer Charnas needs to blow off some steam. Coincidentally, you wake up in an unfamiliar place.

18 + MINORS DNI

word count: 2908

hostel! spencer x gn reader || rape, torture || first person pov

content warnings: rape, abuse, blood and gore, kidnapping, torture, fingernail trauma, wound fucking implied

aka i am painfully attracted to the live performance of wurst vacation it's becoming a problem

also on ao3

I came to in pitch darkness.

There was something on my head, something blocking my vision. A bag, or blindfold maybe. My head was spinning. A headache was staring to form. Thoughts weren’t coming to me, I couldn’t begin to think back to how I got here or even begin to imagine where I could be. The air around me felt cold, and through the brain fog I came to realize I had been stripped down to my underwear. I felt cold metal around my wrists and ankles. I was handcuffed to the chair I was in. The rattling of metal filled the air as I pulled at the restraints. I knew I couldn’t get out of them, but I still tried. I shook my head around, trying to throw off whatever covered my eyes. The room around me was still, but I was unaware if there was another person in here with me or not. I began to yell, to scream and shout for someone to help me. I cried out until my throat began to hurt, and then I cried out more. I didn’t get a response. After what felt like hours of screaming, I heard the creaking of a door opening. The first sense to hit was smell. The smell of death. of decaying flesh and bodies. It hung heavy in the air and attacked my nose. I gagged. Tears had begun streaming down my face, soaking into the fabric covering my eyes. The door shut again and the smell began to fade. Now, there were sounds outside the room. talking, laughing, shouting. People. multiple sets of footsteps approached the door. I heard the door open again, and the sounds became louder. The conversation was in a different language, one I couldn’t understand. A voice stuck out to me, a familiar one. However, as hard as I tried I couldn’t place who it was. I let out a whine and began to pull at my restraints again. The new people in the room ignored me for awhile. They walked around me and continued to chat. Then I felt a hand on my face. It gripped my chin and moved my head slowly. The bag was torn from my head, and I had to squint against the sudden light. The hand on my chin stayed, and my eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room as they looked me over.

“Perfect.” A male voice, the familiar one, hummed as they finally let go of my face. Finally able to see, I surveyed the room. Three people stood in here with me. One that had held my face and two seemed to be guards. Rubbery gloves came between my face and the one’s bare hands. A blue surgical mask covered their nose and mouth, though I could still pick out familiar aspects to them. An old, stained apron was draped over the front of them. His blue eyes stared me down, studying me like I wasn’t human. Without looking away, he dismissed the guards. The door shut behind them, trapping me in here with him. Finally he turned away from me. I took a quick glimpse around the room, seeing if there was any way of escape. My eyes fell on the table of weapons to my right. The one my captor was currently approaching. “There’s so many options, I don’t quite know what I want to do with you yet.”

It was on the tip of my tongue, where did I know this guy?

“What the fuck is this?” I managed to squeak out. I sounded scared despite every attempt not to. I whined as they picked up a weapon. “What are you doing-”

“Oh hush, begging won’t do anything but urge me on.” He hummed. His voice was higher pitched, yet still shot fear through my body. His mask shifted, telling me he was grinning behind it. His hand clutched a knife, and he brought it up to my face. I felt the blade brush my skin. The sharp metal left teasing touches, threatening to break skin. I tried to pull away, but his hand was in my hair before I could get very far. He laughed, a sick, high-pitched laugh that shot shivers up my back.

The familiarity clicked, and my eyes went wide. I gasped softly, “Spencer?”

“Oh, would you look at that. They were nice enough to get me a fan to play with,” He chuckled. Spencer Charnas, front man of Ice Nine Kills. I whined softly as I shook my head. This can’t be happening, how was this happening? Spencer saw my distress and his mask shifted with his smile. “Actually, you can keep begging. I like your voice.”

I didn’t say a word. I watched his eyes slowly narrow. The knife was pulled away from my face. I watched it as it moved down my body, the tip now rested against my stomach. The hand holding it twisted, and I felt it enter my skin. Breath hissed through my teeth, my eyes squeezing shut from the sharp pain. He laughed again.

“Come on baby.” He cooed. Shaking my head, I felt the knife sink in deeper. Blood trickled from the small wound, at which point he retracted. I peeked an eye open. Spencer looked down at me, a blood thirsty glint in his eye. “Beg for your life and maybe I’ll treat you better.”

Once again I shook my head. My body was shaking. Small waves of pain echoed through my body, radiating from the one puncture in my stomach. Spencer’s free hand came out to hold my face. The touch of his gloved fingers was gentle, a drastic difference from the pain in my stomach. Another whine slipped from my throat. He cackled. I shuttered, my body shaking from the fear. The hand on my face got tighter and tighter, their fingers digging further into my skin. Trying to pull away was unsuccessful.

“Oh keep making noises. If you listen I’ll be gentle.” I knew he was lying. His grip on the knife tightened. In a flash, I watched as Spencer dragged the knife across my stomach. The cut was shallow, but a sting still shot through my body. I fought back every noise, the urge to scream and cry out dying in my throat. Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed together, his eyes boring holes through me. “I said make noises for me. You’re at my will, and I will do whatever I can to make you listen to me.”

His hand moved from my face as he took a small step back. I pressed my lips together. I stared at him with hatred and fear. He walked away, returning to the weapon table. I watched him pick up the bag that had previously covered my head. Unable to move away, the bag was slipped back over my head. Darkness engulfed me again. My heart beat faster. Spencer walked with silent footsteps around the room. I didn’t know where he was. Not until I heard the snap of scissors next to my ear. I yelped and jerked my head away as much as I could. I heard a laugh and then another snip, this time on the opposite side. Once again I jerked away. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it was going to stop. My breathing was speeding up as he repeated this again and again. The time between snips shortened and shortened. At points his laugh overpowered the scissors, which was even worse to hear. I took breath in with short gulps, and cracked sobs slid out of my throat. Finally it stopped, it all stopped. Silence surrounded me once again, and my breathing slowed further and further before returning to normal. I still felt the man’s presence around me, I could feel him watching me. He was circling me, like a predator with its prey.

“That wasn’t that hard, was it?” He taunted, his voice coming from right in front of me now. I pressed myself against the back of the chair, hoping this was all a bad dream. Though, the dull pain in my stomach reminded me just how real this all was. The bag was ripped off my head once more, but the sight in front of me was different this time. He had removed his blue mask as well as the cap. Spencer’s familiar face stared back at me. He was neatly shaven, hell he looked like he made himself look nice just for this. He still wore the bloody apron and gloves. A twang of attraction shot through as I stared at him. I’d always been attracted to him, and even like this he was undeniably hot. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, and watched as he picked up a pair of pliers. “You’re staring, dear.”

I ripped my eyes away. My heart pounded in my chest as he cackled. “Fuck you.”

“Oh, so vulgar,” He hummed. The pliers grew closer to my hand, and as much as I tried to pull away I couldn’t. He held my hand in place as the pliers clamped onto my nail. I cried out in protest, but that didn’t stop him. A soft tug shot a dull pain up my arm and through my body. I tried to squirm, I tried to pull away. But his grip on my hand was too intense. His movements were slow, making sure he prolonged the pain as long as he could. He hummed as he worked, like this was the most casual thing in the world. Maybe it was to him. I closed my eyes, and only felt as he ripped my finger nail out. I screamed, crying out until my voice cracked and broke. Tears streamed down my face as my finger throbbed. And he just laughed. His grip on my hand readjusted, the pliers tightening around another finger nail. I caved.

“Fine! Please, please stop.” I cried, and when I opening my eyes again I saw him grinning down at me. Fuck, that grin. It dripped poison. He looked more animal than human. He looked terrifying. I sniffled, tears still running down my cheeks. “What do you want from me?”

“Oh, doll, I just want to have some fun. To blow off some steam. That’s all.” His voice was soft, mocking. He was teasing me. And that damn smile never left his face. He took my face in his hands. His thumbs wiped away the tears on my cheeks. In any other situation I would be comforted and comfortable. But right now, there was none of that. But I still didn’t find myself pulling away from his hands. I found myself crying again, from all the emotions of the moment. His smile faltered. “Oh don’t cry, I’ll take good care of you.”

“No you won’t. You… You’re gonna…” I couldn’t get the words out between sobs. I sniffled, finally managing to pull myself out of his hold. My gaze slid down to the floor. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Oh maybe I am.” My eyes shot back up to his. Spencer grinned, that darkness back behind his smile. “Maybe I’ll just bleed you out, let your life slip through my fingers. Your fate is in my hands, darling.”

I felt myself shaking. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his. I was terrified, though also, in a fucked up way, turned on. He didn’t seem to notice my fear as he pulled himself away from me back to the weapon table. I pulled at the restraints once more and finally, after realizing how trapped I was, gave in. A heavy sigh slipped out of my mouth, one that drew his attention. He turned back to me curiously. I just shook my head and dropped my gaze. He laughed again. It was a harsh sound, like the cut of a knife or the sting of cold air. He came back over to me, I saw his shadow at my feet. I heard the rustle of clothes, and looked up to see him slipping his apron off. The heavy fabric hit the ground with a thud. I hoped this meant he was done with me, however the dark smirk on his face told me otherwise. His eyes didn’t leave me as his hands fumbled with his belt. The room was deathly silent aside from the noise of his belt sliding off.

“Please don’t,” I mumbled, but I knew I was stuck. I was trapped. He was going to do whatever he wanted to me, and I couldn’t stop him. He unzipped his pants, and I was forced to watch as he pulled his cock out. My underwear was yanked down to my ankles. The cool air on my sensitive area caused shiver up my spine. I squeezed my eyes closed as he stepped closer. His dick poked at my hole before harshly being shoved in. I cried out, but quickly felt his gloved hand over my mouth. Pulling back slowly, the man thrust harshly forward again. My cries and sobs were muffled behind his hand. He repeated his motions. A loud groan came from his throat, and the hand on my face began to dig into my skin. The thrusting sped up, and pleasure started to overcome the fear in my veins. A couple soft moans slipped from my lips. I peeked my eyes open to see him grinning.

“You fucking whore, you’re enjoying this?” He cackled, and I felt my face heat up. “Well then come on, moan for me some more. Show me how much you’re enjoying me raping you.”

I tried to shake my head, but couldn’t move under his hand. As his thrusts got harder, I bit back another unwanted moan. He didn’t seem to mind. Degrading words kept slipping through his lips, making it harder and harder for me to keep quiet. His free hand snaked up my body and wrapped around my neck. His thrusts got sloppier, and as I felt like I was reaching my breaking point, he came. I felt his hot cum inside of me, his cock twitching as he pumped me full. His cock was completely inside of me, stretching me completely. I whined softly, squirming from the feeling. Finally he pulled out, and I felt his cum spill out of me. Warm, dripping down my nude body. His cock was still hard, though he didn’t do any more. There was still a dark hunger in his eyes. I started to cry again, though he didn’t seem to care this time as he turned his back to me.

“Please let me go!”

“No can do, darling.” He grinned as he walked back to the weapon table. I watched him. His hand floated over each weapon, before finally picking up an ordinary knife. I kept my eyes on him, not knowing where else to look. He returned to me, his cock back in his pants, but the bulge was still visible. I felt the tip of the knife press into my arm. His hand under my chin made me look up at his eyes. He had a content look on his face. He looked pleased. I felt the knife dig deeper into my skin, piercing slowly through each layer. I squirmed from the pain. His hand trailed from my chin to my arm, gripping it tightly to make it stay still. The knife dug in deeper. It pierced the muscle. I looked over and saw the blade deep in my arm. The man pulled the knife out. The blade was covered in blood. Blood poured out of my arm, coating my skin and dripping to the floor. silent tears rolled down my face. I heard the knife clatter to the ground. His fingers dug into the gash. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, all I could do was watch and stare as his fingertips disappeared under my skin. A blinding pain shot through my body. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. I could barely feel his fingers past the pain. Wide eyed, I watched as his finger gripped onto something. He pulled muscle and veins out of my arms, a large mass that dripped blood into the growing puddle on the floor. A single vein ran from the mass back into my arm, still connected to my body. Spencer easily ripped it. A strangled whine came from my throat, the only noise I was able to make as pain pulsed through my body. He laughed again, watching as blood sprayed from the wound. It pumped with the beating of my heart. I stared at the blood, my head beginning to spin from the blood loss. The sound of his zipper came again, and I managed to see him once again pulling his dick out. My eyes started to feel heavy, my head spinning more. I tried to focus on staying awake, but I just couldn’t. His bloodied hand gripped my face again. I watched a knife come into my view before getting placed against my neck. It felt far away, but I knew it was there. The blade dug into my skin. Droplets of blood rolled down my neck.

“Just a couple more rounds, dear. But, this time, I fuck all your holes.” A searing pain spread from my neck, and I saw blood splash on his face before my eyelids came crashing down for the last time.

[lostmf]

[sister-lucifer]

Talk About a Mind Fuck

Tim Wright/Masky x Ticci Toby 

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

Genre: Gore smut 

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

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

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

Breaking and entering. 

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

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

This was supposed to be easy. 

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

Probably.

A lot of good ‘probably’ had done them. 

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

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

The sound of a hatchet coming down onto a throat. 

One down. 

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

Two down.

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

…A gunshot. 

A gunshot?! 

Footsteps.

Fast, frantic footsteps coming down the hallway. 

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

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

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

Three down. 

But still one bullet unaccounted for. 

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

No answer.

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

Nothing. 

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

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

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

This silence is sickening. 

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

“Answer me, dammit, Rogers!” 

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

Then his gaze trails to the center of the floor. 

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

Or what’s left of it, anyways.

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

Clean through. 

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

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

There’s no movement. 

Not a sound. 

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

Nothing. 

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

Not even a twitch. 

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

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

This isn’t happening. 

This isn’t happening. 

He’s not really gone.

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

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

Was that a…cough? 

He looks down at Toby’s body. 

It hasn’t moved. 

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

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

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

…He has no idea what just happened. 

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

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

Toby blinks up at Tim with his remaining eye. 

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

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

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

The first bullet. 

Clean through, and out the back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, it’s easier to just show him.

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

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

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

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

There it is. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He thought he was gone. 

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

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

Someone oughta teach this kid a lesson. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-What…what the f-fuck…was…”

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

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

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

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

No. Fucking. Way.

“Did…d-did you just…”

Tim doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t have to. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…How did that feel?” 

Toby sneers at the question, not looking up. 

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

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

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

That wouldn’t be the total truth. 

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

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

Tim’s breath hitches. 

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

He has to push this further.

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

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

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

“Keep talking.” 

Toby’s stomach flips. 

Tim’s not giving him a choice.

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

He doesn’t want this to stop. 

He has to keep going. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Please what, Rogers?” 

He figured he wouldn’t get it that easy. 

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

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

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

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

It’s working. 

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

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

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

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

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

Tim studies the scene before him in the mirror. 

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

He doesn’t want this to end. 

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

“What would they think…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, that’s good. 

The knot in Tim’s stomach starts to tighten. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dammit, he thinks. 

Neither of us are going to be forgetting this. 

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

[hhoneycloves]

This time, Host was clumsy. This time, Host left himself vulnerable. This time, finally, the dice were in Mind's favor.

[latenightsundayblues]

TW: Eye injury, facial scars

Here it is, a messy little demonstration of what I think Stu's face would look like after the events of the first movie if they had survived (well, more like a bunch of ideas hastily stapled together and digitalized). I took some creative liberties, like Stu only having injuries on the left side of his face due to trying to shield it from the TV and the pattern of the scars bc it looks cooler. I really can't decide if he should only have the scar cutting over his lips or just a whole chunk of his cheek missing and exposing his teeth lol (please open the image Tumblr's about to make this one extra crunchy with fries on the side)

And.... Here's Billy. He gets a participation trophy.

[mcrredacteddeadove]

leathermouth frank cutting a hole in my stomach and fucking my intestines <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 then spitting on me and sewing the hole closed with non medical thread

-doll guts anon

<3

[bonebabbles]

The Infected Wound

"Yeah Clear Sky isn't perfect and he made some mistakes but--" Shut your mouth. Read this first;

Thunder is about 6-ish months old, the WC equivalent of a 13-year-old. He has the 'audacity' to confront his dad about all the murder he's been doing to pointlessly expand his borders, and in response, Clear Sky summons Frost, whose wound hasn't healed from a forest fire.

He publicly humiliates him, ordering him to flash his weeping wound to all the cats in the clearing, announcing that he is a danger to everyone now because he is weak and must be exiled.

And he finishes with,

Because, this is a test.

This is a mind game that Clear Sky is playing with Thunder for standing up to him. Once again, he's creating a situation that will HURT Thunder, to watch him follow his orders, to prove Thunder's loyalty and his own power over him, because he's mad. This is retaliation.

This is not a mistake.

This is abuse. Intentional, malicious, controlling behavior, involving Frost's life in the game he's playing for his own ego. This has NOTHING to do with the "wellbeing" of SkyClan. He did this in response to Thunder pointing out that the forest is healing and there is no need to murder more innocent people.

And if that wasn't enough, he even took his teenage's son's face and shoved it in the festering, reeking wound, telling him to lick it.

Was that an accident? Did he slip and a billion monkeys on a typewriter came up with "lick his wound clean"? Did Clear Sky effectively utilize girl power for the good of the Clan when he shoved a child's face in infected pus?

Next there's a fox quicktime event where a random fox is in the camp, because the writers have never heard of pacing, and Clear Sky blames Thunder for attracting the fox (somehow), shoving him off the rock to fight it.

Then Thunder leaves to bring Frost to a doctor.

What all of this says about Clear Sky, what we can observe all the way back to Sun Trail, is that we know what he wants to do with power. Even as early as the Sun Trail recruitment, he is trying to pressure Bright Stream into coming. Later, he's already getting in public fights with Storm and his controlling behavior is a reason why she leaves him. He does nothing as Fox mauls Gray Wing on his orders, squealing when Fox is killed in accidental self-defense.

Now he uses his power to neglect and harass people who are disabled and infirm, saying that the presence of "weakness" is a threat to his Clan, using Frost as a pawn in an controlling display over his child.

Power reveals. This is who he is. This is who he has always been.

[lostmf]

What do you do when your parent doesn’t want to be your parent

How do you continue living after that

[doctorwhoisadhd]

OH, THATS FUCKED. JACK SPENT. NEARLY TWO THOUSAND YEARS. BURIED??????????

[raintailed]

hehoo smoke creatures :]]] versions on the right include the funny smoke and optional pupils

in order:

(first row) Artemis redesign!! She looks kinda like a really old apple now. Also her scars are wounds that didnt heal properly

Nebel, aka the Martyr! don't worry, absolutely nothing bad will happen to him :)

Aaand Lichen (they/them, it/its), a creature who was both smokied/flowered by Vex. and then adopted by Vex. I'm proud of how Lichen looks like a rock with patches of lichen on it

[chalpurnia]

Lupin III part 5 — Ep.22