I've just watched my bloody valentine! The remake one. Can you do Tom? The one JA plays? "I killed them for you. Say thank you." and "I’d do anything for you. Even kill again."
𝖇𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖍𝖉𝖆𝖞 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖙 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊!
𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖙𝖘: "I killed them for you. Say thank you." and "I’d do anything for you. Even kill again."
𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖒𝖊: Dark + Yandere
𝖋𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒: My Bloody Valentine (2009)
𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗: Tom Hanniger
The metallic tang of blood clings to the back of your throat before you even see him. The mine tunnels are heavy with it, coppery and damp, like rust made flesh. Your boots crunch over gravel as you step forward, and the beam of your flashlight finally catches him.
Tom.
He’s standing there, mask lifted, cheeks streaked with sweat and crimson. Behind him lies what’s left of someone you recognized only moments ago. The body is mangled beyond hope, face unrecognizable except for the tattered edge of their jacket.
Your breath hitches.
Tom’s eyes gleam when they lock on yours, unblinking. “I killed them for you,” he says, voice raw but eerily steady, as if the violence hadn’t cost him anything at all. His pickaxe drips thick, dark drops that spatter the stone floor between you. “Say thank you.”
You can’t move. The scream that claws at your throat won’t break free. Instead, your body betrays you- frozen, trembling under the weight of his gaze.
Tom takes a step closer, boots echoing in the narrow tunnel. “They looked at you. They wanted you. And you…” His lips curl into something that’s not quite a smile, not quite a snarl. “You belong to me.”
The pickaxe scrapes as he drags the tip across the floor, metal shrieking against stone. “Don’t you understand? I’d do anything for you.” His voice softens, almost pleading, but that only makes the words worse. “Even kill again.”
The words hang in the damp air, heavier than the stench of death. His chest rises and falls with ragged breath, but his eyes never waver. He’s waiting. Demanding.
You try to take a step back, but your spine presses against the cold rock wall. His shadow looms larger, swallowing you whole as he closes the distance. His free hand, slick, trembling, comes up to brush your cheek. The heat of his skin smears blood along your jawline.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, tilting his head like a curious predator. “But don’t worry. I’ll protect you. Always. No one will ever hurt you. No one will ever take you from me.”
The words feel like a vow and a threat at once. The pickaxe drips between you, marking the moment with slow, steady drops.
“Now,” Tom whispers, leaning close enough for you to feel the warm rush of his breath. “Say it.”
Your heart pounds, desperate, wild. There’s no air, no choice, only the certainty that if you refuse, the next sound in this tunnel will be your own scream torn in half.
So your lips part, the word breaking against them like glass. “Thank you.”
His smile blooms, terrifying, satisfied, devoted. And in that moment you understand: you’ll never leave this place. Not while Tom Hanniger’s love keeps you caged in blood.
“Let Will have a taste, dear,” Hannibal whispered in your ear, holding you down as Will continued to suck on your clit, hungrily. “How do they taste?”
“Mmm. Perfect.”
Lowering his head, he ran the tip of his tongue around your entrance before inserting it in, licking up your juices.
Moaning, you felt tears come to your eyes as Will began fucking you with his tongue, and before you could make your hopeless plea to stop, you suddenly felt the psychiatrist’s fingers rubbing against your clit, pushing you to cum on the other man’s tongue.
Pulling away from the man’s neck, you saw that while he was barely hanging on to consciousness, his heart was still beating. Perfect.
“Jen,” you called. “Got a snack for you.”
Smiling, the half-demoness walked over to you, her eyes held a look of hunger towards the man and you.
“You spoil me so good,” she said, pulling your body against hers.
You both quickly shared a bloody kiss, both of your fangs slightly grazing each other, before she pulled away and looked down at the man. Sighing, you watched, happily, as she bit into him. God, I love her.
Aww Preston 🥺. Does that man still have to eat? And if yes, do you help him with that? (also, can I hug him? 🥺
"Yes," Cue montage, his only eye rolling in its socket as the Prototype shuddered- claws hesitantly dotting out a line in the exposed muscle along their segmented legs, only to reel UP, and then back DOWN with one swift motion-
practically shearing a paper-thin layer off of itself between their razorlike fingers.
"-yes..." He now wearily sighed, working the living dead figure's jaw hinges apart with its free hand- all the while muttering SOME sort of well-intended reprimand at him under their breath until he'd just barely manage to cram the slice inside-
This idea I've had all day but haven't had the chance to sit down and really write out
Retired Military!Ghost x Cannibal!Soap
Ghost's last assignment led to a pretty rough mental breakdown, and the higher-ups pulled the plug on "Ghost" and benched Simon Riley permanently
Nothing Price or Laswell could do would fix this
But he can't sit still. He ends up traveling a lot, and it's how he ends up in some old bar in a small town in the Scottish Highlands.
It's how he meets a very attractive stranger, all deep voiced and smooth talking.
Normally, Simon isn't one for hook-ups, but it's his retirement and he figures he should enjoy himself while the opportunity presents itself. Besides, this man, apparently called "John" is very attractive, and Simon finds himself enjoying the way the man's hands feel on his waist, the way his stubble scratches his neck as the man whispers downright filthy things into his ear.
"Ahm gonna eat yah right up" shouldn't be as... enticing as it is to Ghost, as something about the way the man growled it should have been a red flag.
Another red flag should have been how quick the man was to offer they head back to his place. But Simon figured it didn't matter, and it was certainly cheaper than finding a motel at this time of night for a reasonable price just to get laid.
Another red flag was the fact the man was practically a recluse, living deep in the mountains in a quaint little place. But, again, Simon didn't mind. He figured, that despite how well built the man was and despite not having the upper hand here, he'd still be able to easily defend himself should the worst arise. He is Ghost after all, retirement be damned.
And the man is good in bed. He's got Simon on his back, practically whimpering, as he bites and kisses all over Ghost's body. He's pinching the fat along his stomach, nipping at the stretch marks along his hips, thighs, and pecs, sucking hickeys into the fat of his arms. Simon feels like he's being eaten alive, but by god is it addicting.
Soap, meanwhile, isn't a human only diet type of cannibal. It's more of a guilty pleasure, going to the nearby bar and picking off an unsuspecting tourist that fits the physique he knows makes for a good meal, and can last the course of several meals.
He hadn't even planned on bringing anyone home that night. Certainly not to eat, and certainly not for sex.
But when he saw the absolute unit that is Simon Riley walk in and take a seat at the bar, he knew he just had to sink his teeth into that man's biceps.
But he finds himself struggling to commit to the idea of killing and eating this man. He craves it, so desperately, as he bites and kisses along the man's stomach. He feels perfect, and Soap so desperately wants to taste him in the most literal sense.
But he just can't
The obscene noises he's making under Soap's tongue, teeth, and hands are noises he's finding himself addicted to.
Besides, he knows he's not winning that fight as long as the man is conscious.
Anyways I don't know where this would go but yeah. That's the idea. It's been rotting my brain all day and I needed to get it out :)
Hey so real shit. I got an ask about my silly OC that turned into a quick short story! Ignore this if you want! I'm just getting the old writer brain working again.
TW: Blood, Horror, Body Horror, Mention of suicide. A horrible attempt at writing horror!
Tiny little chips of fire flicker off the roaring flame. That warmth translates into both temperature and color. Red and orange eating away at the smoking, dry firewood. How could one define a summer night quite like this?
A bunch of tipsy, high out-of-their-mind assholes sitting around a campfire. It was a good thing Stan lived so far away from town and that his dad was gone for the weekend at some farmers' market. The backyard of a farm was the perfect place to get away from it all. If you weren't Stan literally any other day of the year.
The lip of the cheaply bought gas station beer clicks against the twin black rings on her bottom lip. A familiar buzz runs down her spine, swirls to the front of her stomach, and settles there for the night. She tilts the bottle back until the liquid is all but a memory.
The flames light reflects off the bottle as it goes soaring through the air, shattering against the side of the trashcan. Jean quirks a brow at it, only a bit surprised she actually made it into the trashcan this time.
"That story was kinda lame, dude. How was that supposed to be scary? Jean-Bean! Tell them a real scary story!" Jean finally tunes back into the conversation going on around the fire. A slurred chores of murmurs followed by a light-hearted command to quiet down by Kenny.
"I was telling it fine!" Poor Clyde's face screams betrayal. He lets his hand fall down onto his leg in defeat.
"I know your 'and-then' headass isn't talking! Hush, chatty monkey!" Red is quick on the draw, shooting the brunette down before anyone else had a chance to. The rest of the group finds humor at his expense.
"What story am I telling?" She stretches out a hand, giving Clyde's shoulder a little squeeze as she sits up in the foldable chair. It creeks a bit under sudden shift, the four legs tip back to two, then back to four.
"That toy maker one!" Kenny grins that easy-going smile. His voice - just loud enough to create that tension that one could pluck out of the air.
Jean can feel her lips tug into a smile, mirroring her childhood friend. There's a glint of mischief in both their eyes, a silent conversation that comes from years of knowing one another.
"Ah... the toy maker. Yeah, I think I remember how that goes." There's a pause thrown in there so she can lean forward on her knees. Propping herself up on her elbows, she stares into the fire. The warmth helps her gather her thoughts, bringing her into the mindset.
"Every story starts with a rumor. Words on the wind - whispers in the ear of another. Over tea or coffee, little lunch dates with friends. This one is no different... well... aside from the fact there are no records of this tale. All of it is told by tongue." Jean clicks her tongue ring against the little metal rings on her lips. Her eyes dart from person to person in tempo with her tongue.
"In a little town, off the coast of the shores of South Carolina, lived a toy maker and his family. He didn't start off a toy maker. No, that came later in life. At first, he was an artist, a business man, and a doctor. Quite the established fellow, having achieved so much in life." She pauses again. This time so she can fish around in the bag of marshmallows resting near her black boots. The sugary puff sits between her fingers, already beginning to melt from how close she's sitting next to the fire. It creates a stringy sticky film around her digit.
"As such, his family was well off. His children and wife never wanted for anything. Neither did the town. They rejoiced in the parties the toy maker threw. Every night was something different. Food, drink, song! What more could a town ask for?" She pops the marshmallow in her mouth, chewing it without a care in the world. The only other sound is the laughter of the fire and Red shifting in her seat.
"So, of course, the toy maker grew restless. At the request of his darling little girl, he learned to craft toys! It started off with little toy trains and wooden dolls. Puppets on a string that would laugh simply because he willed it too!" Her body snaps up as if she had strings attached to her elbows and shoulders. Clyde jumps back a bit, his body finding comfort next to Kenny. The sudden shout coming from the raven haired woman pulls the attention of the others. "Now, not only was the toy maker supplying the town with his medical expertise and money, but now it was entertainment! The chileren of the town loved the toy maker!" She tilts her head, still moving as if someone were pulling her strings.
Red bites her lip, tucking the ruby red paint in between her teeth. She swallows back any urges to interrupt with a swig of her alcohol. The shallow gulp catches Jean's attention. She waits until the drink is down her throat before she starts tapping her tongue ring against her teeth.
Click. Click. Click
Tick. Tick. Tick.
"Goes the passage of time. See, I may have lied to you. Not everyone loved the toy maker. The mayor of the town was a stern man, a spiteful man, a jealous man." Jean tuts softly. "Always looking for a way to buy back the love and admiration of his people. He simply couldn't stand that the toy maker was soaking up the spotlight. So when the time came for another party, he attended this one. With one goal in mind. He would simply...snip the strings of the toy maker. One.at.a.time." She emphasizes each word by dropping her limbs limp. The story cuts the invisible strings, keeping her arms up.
With her head hung low, her knuckles brushing against the cold earth, her long black braids dangling by her her, she murmurs. "First is starts with a little poison in his wife's drink. A glass of wine that hides the taste of the deadly concoction. The poor, poor toy maker spends his days trying to nurse his wife back to health. All the while, his children are being taken care of by the staff. Then goes the youngest son, who played a little too close to the shores of the Atlantic. The dark blue tides gobbled him up and spit him back out. When he came home, his skin was dark blue, and his skin was cold to the touch."
Her body begins to move and twitch again. Twisting her taller frame up so that way she could peer up at her friends. She catches the eyes of Tolkien, the fires light making the brown of her eyes shine like pools of honey.
"Oh, how kind the mayor had been to return the boys body to his father. Oh, how kind the mayor had been when he told the toy maker that it was his fault; after all, it was due to his negligence that his son died. Oh, how kind the mayor had been indeed."
Jean sits up fully now, slowly rising to her feet. She gestures for Jimmy to take her seat, practically walking on air that she's captured his attention. Having someone like Jimmy stop and listen to your story was like winning a medal of honor. She begins the slow walk around the fire, casting a tall shadow over the group.
"What was a man to do? His youngest passed away, and his wife still wasn't getting better. What could he do? Well...he could...lock himself in his workshop and his office? Yes! He could...shut the doors to his estate, letting only the staff in and out of the house! Brilliant! Oh, and of course he could...put that medicals degree and toy making skills to work!" Her hands suddenly snap over towards Kenny's shoulder, grabbing the material the orange parka like a lifeline.
Kenny only chuckles and lets her use his arm for the dramatic effect. He lets his body go limp so she can lift up his arm.
"His dear sweet wife only needed a tune-up! Just a few new parts, and she'd be good as new! The toy maker was a brilliant man, but even he knew better than to attempt anything without a little practice first." Her voice drops to something more smooth. She lifts Kenny's arm up and inspects it for a moment, pretending as if she were the man in the story. "So it starts with a servant. The poor old nanny was on her last leg anyway~! He was doing her a favor."
Jean hums quietly, stuffing Kenny's arm back into his jacket. Which, thankfully, he obliged and slipped his arm into his coat. She drops his sleeve and moves towards the other arm. Gingerly, plucking the glass bottle out of his hand and setting it aside. "The toy maker lured the old woman down into their basement. There, he sedates the woman, rendering her helpless to his twisted experiment. Unfortunately for her and him, the old woman's body just didn't take to the doll nearly as well as he hoped. It moved and talked, but it lacked the soul. But do the first attempts ever really work?"
Jean goes on to tell the group about how the toy maker slowly picks off servants and how it isn't until he attacks the head chef that it finally works. All the while, she's hiding pieces of Kenny's body in his coat. Each limb is another victim. When she gets to the chef, she's holding the sides of Kenny's head.
"Finally, he had done it! The chefs soul took to the robotic husk! He moved and talked like the beloved family chef, ever loyal and kind! Just in time, too, the bodies in the basement were beginning to pile up too high. The townsfolk were beginning to complain about the pungent smell. A meeting was held, where they begged the mayor to do something."
She grins down at Kenny, who was only pouting because she was tossing his head back and forth. Her fingers gently dig into his cheeks as she guides his face around. "The mayor was so happy to have his people back. They needed him. They loved him. Him, not that silly toy maker. Of course, he'd answer their calls!"
Her hands stop their playful movements. She moves her fingers down towards Kenny's chin, tilting his head up so he's looking at the people surrounded by the campfire. More of the people they grew up with have stopped to listen to the silly tale. She wasn't sure if it was really scaring anyone, but it was nice to be so entertaining. Kenny didn't seem to mind the attention either. He was trying, so hard not to grin. The next part of the story required him to focus.
"So, the mayor rounds up some brave folk, and they march straight up to the manor. They bang on the doors of the once beloved home. Their voices ring out into the night, demanding the toy maker meet them! Tick. Tick. Tick. They can hear the sound of a clock ticking... but it's not a clock. It's the maid. She opens the door."
Another pause.
"Where there should be flesh is porcelain. Where there should be a steady heartbeat is a ticking of a clock. Glassy eyes greet them, then the broken voice of a woman long gone." Jean mimics a bow, gesturing for some invisible town folk to walk inside a manor that is not there. "Oh won't you come inside. The master is busy at the moment, but the least I can do is get you refreshments."
It would be comical the way her voice pitches up an octave. It doesn't fit right on her tongue, she made a mental note to work on that later.
"The townsfolk reel back in horror. What was the abomination that just opened the door?! How did it move so fluidly. Immediately, they knew they had reached the doors to hell. The smell of decay and rot assaulted their scenses. It churns their stomachs and sets off that part of their mind that tells them to run. Unfortunately, they don't get the chance to."
Jean smirks, her lips twist across her face showing off those sharp canines. "So it starts with the men in the back. The sound of a buzzing, fleshing being torn apart. Screams of agony and panic."
At that exact moment, the rev of a chainsaw comes out from the fields that surround the Marsh farm. The engine sputtering to life with a thick growl.
"Through the mist of blood, the townsfolk could see the failed experiments coming from the unkempt yard. Their twisted limbs and toy parts clawing and ripping through their loved ones! With no place to go but in the manor, they push their way in! The mayor scrambles inside, screaming, begging, pleading to whoever will hear his prayer until he's down to his last four men. Just him and these poor souls, trapped in the deep dark corners of this once great home."
The sounds grow louder, as if the chainsaw was getting closer. If it wasn't for the grin on her face, maybe someone in the group would suggest they leave. Clyde, who was trying to enjoy the night, looked as if he was about to pass out. He clung to the expensive material of Tolkien's shirt for dear life. Red had Bebe tightly secured in her arms, a relaxed look on her face through the whole thing. Butters was on the edge of his seat, watching with those soft baby blues.
"Hands of all shapes and sizes reach out from the darkness. They grab onto the men's legs, pulling them away. Their finger nails scrape and leave marks into the wooden floor boards. The buzzing sound hasn't stopped. It's just the mayor now. All alone in this hellscape, he helped create. Just as he thinks he's going to get pulled in, his mind racing with all the horrible things the toy maker would do to him, the lights flicker on. He's sitting in the corner of the ballroom. In a room with people dressed so neatly and perfectly. Music kicks on, and a heavy waltz begins. The stone cold faces of people - no...dolls begin to move past him."
Jean starts to hum the gentle tune of what the waltz might have been. It's a little difficult over the sound of the chainsaw, but somehow, they make due. Just as she reaches the crescendo, a blur of another human moves out from the shadows.
Flashes of red curly hair illuminating from the fire, a chainsaw raised above his head. Kyle revs it once more over the chorus of screams and laughter. It wasn't often Broflovski joined in on things like this, but the chance to scare a few of his classmates was one he couldn't pass up on. Especially if it meant getting to bust out the old chainsaw he used on Halloween that one year.
Once everything has calmed down, Jean continues the story. "They say that if you go to that small town, on nights that are calm and warm...you can hear the whole town gathering at the manor. Their immortal doll husks danced the night away. All except the toy maker, of course. Poor man never succeeded in keeping his family together. The wife, his children, the servants, even the mayor. They all live an eternity with each other... but he had to live with what he had done. Eventually, he couldn't take it anymore...and just -"
Jean turns Kenny's head with a quick push of her hands. The blonde goes limp and falls forward with a heavy thud. He lands next to Bebe, who lets out a blood curdling scream.
"Oh my god!"
"Jean what the fuck?!"
"Dude!"
Again, it isn't until both Kyle and Jean fall into a fit of laughter that the group stops. Under their laughter, they could hear Kenny's raspy laugh under it. He slowly sits up and pops his neck back into place, creating a moment of silence.
"Oh, the things we do to make ourselves look like assholes~." Kenny coos, sitting up with the help of Butters. The sweet man is quietly praising Kenny.
For the rest of the night, Jean has a smile on her face that's a mile wide. She could handle the name calling and people half-assed bullying her. It was all worth it for this, Clyde was crying and Bebe was scolding her.
She'd pay her dues later that night when Jimmy took his turn. Curled up in her seat, holding onto Bebe and Red both as if they were nothing more than a stuffed animal, letting Clyde hide his face into her back.
Two weeks ago, Mariana died. Charlie had held him in his hands and wept as he squeezed out his last words. Charlie held his cold hand at the funeral and comforted Flippa as she’d watched them lower him into the ground. He could still feel his tie seemingly tightening around his throat and the way he almost choked on his breaths saying goodbye. His eyes still burned at night when he remembered fondly how their arguments would lull him to sleep.
That was until he came back.
You see, two days ago, Mariana had limped his way home, still covered in dirt and pale. He’d raised a greyed fist and knocked on the door pathetically. Charlie had almost screamed when he saw him. His beloved bitch wife looked exactly as corpse-like as the day they’d buried her. But at least he was back.
Mariana’s hands were still cold. So, so cold. Charlie would watch him carefully in the few moments they weren’t together, but he never caught so much as a cold chill. Mariana had seemingly also lost any desire for bickering that he’d had before undeath. Their halls were emptier and quiet without their constant arguing. Instead, Mariana had begun to actually be sweet to him. Normally, Charlie would have to fake being asleep to receive affection, but now he could hardly shower on his own.
Even Flippa was a little put off by it. She gave Charlie odd looks behind her Apa’s back, but all he could do was shrug. Mariana would tangle all of her limbs amongst Charlie’s, effectively pinning him to whatever surface they were cuddling on, and just hold him there. Ordinarily, Charlie might not have minded this too much, but without their usual routines of bickering and making up, being married and then divorced, he just began to find it boring. He hated thinking of his wife that way, but he’d just changed. His bitch wife had devolved into just his wife.
He’d stuck with this Mariana for a week before he’d noticed another oddity. In the middle of the night, always around one or two am, Mariana would silently detach herself from him and creep out into their kitchen. On one such night, he climbed out of bed and tried to follow him, hoping his own escape would be as silent as his husband’s had been. He thought he’d succeeded but he’d only barely stepped foot into the kitchen and caught a glimpse of Mariana staring into a bubbling pot on the stove when she’d turned his head so quickly towards him that he was almost convinced she’d broken her neck.
He’d then turned his body to match his head. Even in the dark, Charlie could make out Mariana’s wide and nearly delirious eyes. She took a step towards him, and Charlie took one step back. The little hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and his blood ran cold. Mariana took two steps towards him now, still at that tediously slow pace. Charlie’s stomach flipped. Mariana took three steps this time, though on the third she tottered just slightly before her foot hit the ground silently. Charlie had subconsciously given up on making any sort of escape as Mariana finished her tediously long walk towards him. She carefully raised a frigid hand to his face and caressed it, soft as a Spring breeze. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Charlie’s trembling lips before standing back up.
“Go on back to bed, Slime. It’s too late for you here,”
And all Charlie could do was nod and listen to him.
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Thank you for reading! I've also posted this to Ao3, where I'll be cataloguing all of my works for this month! I also have 3 other WIP fics, so if you enjoy my works please go show some love over there or feel free to shoot me an ask!
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