#tbhk fic

[tojifile]

@Teru Minamoto . . . (*´-｀*)

Tags: FLUFF + MAJOR ANGST, Teru x f!apparition!reader, you’re both 17, THE WHOLE TEXT, doesn’t follow tbhk lore (but it follows most apparition laws) SPOILER WARNING

A/N: Hi bbgs, I’m so so so sorry for just disappearing for months :(((( I was really really busy, and I have been super stressed all the time. I’ve scheduled a psych consultation and I’m trying to give myself a break. I also didn’t enjoy writing for a while so I hope this would give me what I need. This prompt just came to me, and I just love it so much. Teru is literally MY bf 🩷🩷🩷 I will be answering everything in my inbox on a post after this, thank you so much for 400+ followers!!! I love you all 🤤

LINKS:

TAGLIST: @toxicramune @oh-my-beel @nymphsdomain @morinuu @sweetcoorpse @asqmi @xavlyzn @strxxberries @justcallmesakira – Comment 🪩 to be on my taglist !

I. Friends . . . ?

You don’t exactly know when this ‘friendship’ came to be, but here you were, swinging your feet while sitting on the table he was working at. He seemed so focused on the documents. What you didn’t know was, he would take small glances at you every chance he could.

He’d look at you out of the corner of his eyes, he could see your smile, the way your legs swung, and he could hear your quiet humming to a familiar soothing tune. For a guy who claimed to be from a family of great exorcists, he had a hard time even beginning to imagine exorcising you.

“Teru-kun..” You softly called out. “What?” He spoke a bit harshly, he didn’t even bother looking at you. Teru had to act nonchalant and a bit cruel, he didn’t want you to think that he had a soft spot for you that grew over the course of a few years.

“Do you remember when we first met?” You giggled softly as you spoke. Vague, yet meaningful questions, those were the ones that you’d always ask him randomly. And you’d deliver it with that cute smile of yours, god.. how he hated it.

“Yes, why?” He replied, still not turning to face you. “Why didn’t you exorcise me then?” That question made the blush rush to his face, which in turn, made you laugh. “Teruuu!! You’re all red!”

“Shut up.” He huffed as he continued reviewing the documents. The grumpy student council president really didn’t want to show you that he had grown fond of you, but you knew deep down that he had a weak spot and that you were the one poking at it.

. . .

After he finished reviewing and correcting the documents, he cleaned and packed up. He walked towards the door, but just as he was about to exit, he looked back. “Do you.. want to walk with me to the gates?” He asked you.

“Yes please!” You replied cheerfully.

Teru knew that you couldn’t leave the school, you were bound to it for some reason. He’s asked you multiple times, but every time you’d shut it down. No matter how much he revamped the question, you just wouldn’t answer.

. . .

The two of you walked toward the school’s gates. As you got to the edge, he awkwardly smiled and looked back. He stood beyond the gates, and you stood inside. You faced each other as the wind blew gently. “See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow Teru-Kun.” You smiled softly. As he turned away to walk home, you tried to reach out for him to no avail. You couldn’t leave the school, this is your home, your plac, where you were . . .

II. Bound . . .

TW: Murder

The year was 1972, you were 17 years old, top of your class, and student council president at Kamome High School. Of course you were aware of the apparitions that roamed the corners of the school, you weren’t stupid after all, but you also weren’t heartless. You refused or shunned any act of exorcism until an apparition openly harms someone.

You would often help out students who had problems with the apparitions that strode along the halls of the school. They were successfully encouraged to be kinder, and open their eyes to the supernatural’s presence. Apparitions weren’t something to be afraid of, for the most part, they did no harm. Co-existence was practicable.

Students and apparitions walked the halls freely. It was a peaceful time in Kamome High. Everyone knew you and had grown fond of you, their smart, kind, and thoughtful council president. All but one person was happy with everything—the secretary.

“I’m tired of this.” The secretary angrily declared as she stood up from her seat and banged her palms on the table. She had called a private meeting in the council’s room, just the two of you, which you happily agreed to.

You kept a worried expression on your face, standing at the end of the table with your hands behind you. “Tired of what?” You asked softly and politely. “I’m tired of following you around!!” She yelled. “Be friends with the apparitions?! You just want everyone to think that you’re this good girl!!” She then pulled out a knife from under the table and looked at you with a horrible amount of blood lust.

She ran straight towards you with the knife securely in her hands as she cursed “If you love this school and apparitions so much then die here and become one!!!” You tried to stop her by holding her wrist, but she twisted her arm and that gave her access to stabbing you in the stomach multiple times. That was it.. you were meant to lead a great life. You had everything, now you had nothing.. you couldn’t even see the people you loved one last time.

After that day, rumors had spread that it was an apparition that killed you. It hurt you deeply, and so you decided to hide in a closet in the student council room, sleeping for decades. Maybe that’s how it was supposed to go, maybe you were meant to die to be able to meet . . .

III. Minamoto Teru . . .

2011, 39 years after your murder, Minamoto Teru was roaming around the school. The Minamoto clan was well renowned for exorcism, which earned them a high status among those who believed in the apparitions, and so, he was permitted by the school’s head to be inside the campus before the school year had started.

He could sense an apparition in the room beside him. Teru immediately entered, ready to exorcise, but he saw nothing. He began searching around the room, after a while, he decided to open a large closet. Your eyes widened as you came face to face with him.

Teru was stunned as he saw you. He had never seen an apparition that only seemed a few years older than him. “Y– you’re a child..” He spoke softly.

Despite claiming to hate supernaturals, he just couldn’t wrap his head around exorcising you. “If you’re going to exorcise me, please do it quickly..” You spoke softly. Your words made him freeze, you sounded so sad.

“I’m not going to exorcise you.” He scoffed. Teru tried to put on a brave face, no one can see him go soft. He may have been handsome and charming, but he sure wasn’t vulnerable. “I’ll let you stay but you have to do things for me, got that?” You just nodded in response.

After that day, the two of you were inseparable in school. You made sure no one else saw you but him, only Teru had that privilege.

You would always do what he asked, but most of the time, you were cheeky with his requests. The both of you grew fond of each other. Sometimes, he’d be sweet. Teru would stay in school late most days just to spend more time with you, he’d tell his friends he just has to fix some documents, look for a book in the library, or any other excuse.

. . .

There were times where you’d catch him with other girls, mainly trying to boost the positive feedback on his persona. People loved that he was smart, charming, helpful, handsome, and kind, he was the whole package!

He’d never admit it but he’d rather spend all that time with you, just you and him. He wanted to be able to bring you to his favorite places, but he doubts that he’d ever be able to do that.

. . .

Decades after the start of your slumber, it was Minamoto Teru that woke you up. He hated having to leave you in school every night, he wishes he could break the . . .

IV. Curse . . .

Now back to the present, 2014, although Teru wasn’t aware of the ‘curse’ you had, he knew that there was something that was preventing you from leaving the school, a boundary or a curtain perhaps..

This day was no different than any other since he met you. He saw you the moment he saw the school, you were standing after the gate with a huge grin on your face. “Good morning Teru-kun!” You greeted politely as he walked in with his brother.

He smiled softly at your greeting, you were just so.. cute!! Sometimes, he couldn’t help but smile a bit at your words, your tone, your smile, just.. everything about you made him happy too. He patted your head and greeted you back “Good morning..”

You can’t even call her a cute name? God Teru! You’re such a coward!!

Those were the thoughts that ran through his brain. He desperately wanted to be more open, yet he also wanted to act strong. His iron mask shall never falter, not even for you. But then, you gave him a soft kiss on the cheek, as a good morning maybe??? So he could change... just a bit for you.

He blushed profusely and looked at you as his brother was walking away, he was glad that Kou didn’t see what you had done. “W— what..?” You just smiled as he turned into a blushing mess.

. . .

During his lunch break, he sat with you in a locked area in the school. Of course he had the key to it, he was the student council president after all! He couldn’t take his mind off the fact that you weren’t able to leave the school, he also knew so little about you, but you probably knew so much about him. It always shocked him how much you really knew.

“Teru-kun.. are you okay?” You questioned, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Yeah.. yes! I’m okay..” He replied. “You seem to have something on your mind..” You spoke softly. Was she worried? I’m so excited.. she’s so cute! What??? Shut up. I’m rambling.. talk to her before she gets suspicious!!!!

“I know you don’t like to talk about it… but.. how did you become an apparition? W— why can’t you leave the school?” He stammered a bit. Please.. tell me the truth..

You sighed and finally decided to tell him what had happened, and the exact words the secretary said before you died. He looked at you, his expression had a mix of shock and worry. You made it so hard to be nonchalant and a bit cruel.

He got closer beside you and wrapped an arm around your waist, hugging you closely to his side without uttering a word. You found his gesture to be sweet even if he didn’t say a thing, you knew that it was already a big thing for him to give you physical affection.

You leaned your head on his shoulder in an intimate yet chaste display of affection. I just wish I could break the curse.. he thought to himself. Just this one thing in his life.. he just wanted this one thing to go as he wants it to.

“Do you know if you can break the curse?” He asked softly. “I don’t know.. I’ve never tried.” You spoke.

. . .

Throughout that week, the both of you tried and tried different techniques to get you out of the school. He tried pulling you out, carrying you out, rushing you out.. but nothing seemed to work. The both of you were tired.

You stood face-to-face, him being beyond the gate, looking down at you with sad eyes.

“I wish I was born the same year as you..” You mumbled as you started to cry softly. “What? Why?” He asked worriedly running up to you and hugging you. “Shh.. don’t cry..”

“Then I would still be a human.. and you wouldn’t have to stay in this school all the time..” You sobbed as he wiped your tears away with his thumbs. You hugged him back, crying, crying, and crying. He sighed and picked you up as you just kept crying. He went back to the council’s room with you in his arms.

“You’ll be leaving after your third year and I’ll.. still be here.” You mumbled as he placed you on the table, wiping your tears again. “It’s much more dangerous to be a human y’know?” He tried to soothe you stupidly.

“But.. at least I’d get to be with you.” You replied as you sniffled. He chuckled at your words and expression, trying to look unaffected. “You’re so sweet for me..”

That night, he stayed at school, it may have been unconventional, but he just couldn’t bear to leave you, it was all too much… maybe if we wait, things may . . .

V. Change . . .

This chapter follows after Aoi’s death (Listen to Fortnight while reading this).

Something felt different today.. it felt like I was being called back to the Far Shore. I can’t go back.. not now..

You decided not to tell Teru, you didn’t want him to worry. The day went on as expected, he had his classes, he spent time with you, and now, he was about to go home. But then, you stepped past the gate “Teru..” you mumbled softly.

He was ecstatic to finally see you out the gate. “H— how..?” You finally got out.. after years he was going to be able to take you out, he could show you his favorite places, and possibly gain something more. You smiled softly and hugged him.

. . .

Every day, the call back to the Far Shore got stronger and stronger. You still haven’t told Teru. It’s been weeks since you could first go out. You stayed at his house, locked up in his room when his parents were home.

He told you that he’d take you to a garden today, one of the few things you told him about yourself is how much you missed the prefecture. Now that you could go out, he wants to show you all of it. “Let’s go?”

“Mhm!” You replied. He smiled at your sweet hum. You’ve never seen him so happy before. This was a side of him that only you saw. He could be nice and he could be mean, it depended on his mood. But he always tried to be nice to you, you were just too important to him.

. . .

You walked side by side, he had the urge to hole your hand, it was just too tempting. The both of you had been more intimate before, but it felt so different this time. “Can I.. hold your hand?” He asked you politely.

The way he looked at you, it was as if he was seeing the stars for the first time. You looked up at him and smiled softly, grabbing his hand in the process. His fingers laced with yours and he gave your hand a small squeeze. “You’re so cute..”

“T— thank you..” You spoke softly as butterflies swarmed your stomach. The both of you walked through the busy streets happily. He would squeeze your hand on occasion, he loves reminding himself that you’re holding each other’s hands.

. . .

You finally arrive at the garden, it was beautiful. The grass was green and happy, the flowers were bright and beautiful, everything was perfect. Being able to share it with Teru made it all better.

“It’s beautiful Teru-kun!!” He just stared at you as you looked in awe of everything. He loved seeing you so happy, ‘living’ your childhood, and enjoying. You kept showing him random things as he smiled at you, keeping a tight grip on your hand. “Look Teru, the pink flower is so pretty!!”

It was ironic really, you were prettier than any flower he’s ever seen. He finally stopped you and held you by the waist with one hand with his other still not letting go of yours. “I love you..” He spoke softly as he looked down at you. That was all he needed to say.

You looked up at him, dumbfounded. You love me? How could someone like you love me..? As these thoughts circled your mind, the call to go back to the Far Shore got exponentially strong. You were starting to disappear..

Teru looked at you, scared, scared that the person he had just confessed to would disappear forever. “Don’t leave me now..” He pleaded as he held you tightly. “Teru..” You spoke softly as you started to cry.

“Teru I love you..”

#tbhk #toilet bound hanako kun #teru #teru minamoto #minamoto #tbhk teru #tbhk minamoto #tbhk minamoto teru #tbhk teru minamoto #teru x reader #minamoto x reader #teru minamoto x reader #minamoto teru x reader #teru x f!reader #minamoto x f!reader #fic #tbhk fic #angst #fluff #highschool #kamome high school #kamome academy #tbhk fandom #tbhk fan #hanako kun #hanako #nene #yashiro #toilet bound #tojifile

[banjjakz]

the grim reaper's wife; hananene oneshot

“...McDonald’s?”

Hanako smiles at her like she’s just told him a terrible joke.

“McDonald’s.”

(Or, in which Nene goes to college and meets the... janitor. Groundskeeper. Gardener? He works there. She thinks.)

wc: ~4k warnings: horror; graphic depictions of violence; serial killer!au; psychological thriller; emotional manipulation; major character death

🖤 read on ao3 🖤

Her lungs burn. Like running a marathon in the middle of winter. It hurts to breathe, it hurts so badly that she holds her breath and counts and waits and counts and waits and counts until the numbers melt away, along with her mind.

If, Nene thinks, she were to be anybody else right now other than herself, she would like to be the grim reaper’s wife. Then she wouldn’t have to drive herself dizzy with the held-breath business. What must it be like to exist so intimately with her own death? The idea excites her. When she can breathe again, she’ll remember to scribble it down on her Thought Wall.

“Hey. You’re doing it again.”

The sky knits itself back together. The clouds right themselves. The trees are next, sprouting up from the ground and defiantly raising dark, jagged limbs against the fluorescent inferno of the city’s setting sun. 

And at the center of it all is him: pale and slim and dark in all the worst places. The mask from that foreign horror film she had to watch for her world cinema class. Ghostface.

“Hi,” Nene exhales, shuddering.

“Hey there.” Why is he smiling? She hates when he does that. She hates it so much that she holds her breath and counts and waits and counts and waits and counts until the ardor of her fury threatens to burn her alive. 

The sight of him makes her want to shut her eyes against all else. She doesn’t. She bears the brunt of him, even as he grins and extends his hand. “Need some help?”

“No, thank you.” 

“I’ll leave you here.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t. Come on. Let’s go get something to eat.”

He refuses to retract his hand. Something tells her it’ll never leave. She reaches out to take a hold of it, and ignores the way their skin slips and slides together with a disturbing familiarity. 

“McDonald’s?” asks Nene, exhausted.

“McDonald’s,” answers Hanako. 

He’s still smiling.

When Nene first arrives on campus, she is already exhausted. It’s hot. She’s in the heart of a metropolitan playground. She almost killed herself trying to wiggle her way into the lucky little sliver of 17% of all applicants that get to attend this bustling, elite microcosm of academic prestige. And now that she’s here, she mostly just wants to take a nap.

This goal would be easier to accomplish if she hadn’t already lost her keycard. You know -- the tiny, four-by-four piece of cheap plastic that acts as her means of entering literally any building on campus. 

The breakdown isn’t quite yet at the point of boiling over, but it’s a very near thing. She can feel her internal temperature beginning to rise with each measured breath she struggles to control. It’s the first day, thinks Nene, the first day and I’ve already done something bad. 

Move-in is stretched over the course of a four-day period. No more than 25% of a residential building’s populace is present at one time, at least not for today. Her building is at the southernmost corner of campus, a good twenty minute walk from any kind of support service. There is nobody around to let her in. She really wants to take a nap.

Suddenly overcome with a wave of frustration, Nene rams her fist thrice against the locked double doors. It is a testament to her self-control that she doesn’t shriek out in rage. It is an even larger one that she continues to breathe -- deeply, evenly -- through the upset coursing viscous and molten through her rigid, tremorous body.

“Wow.”

It takes her a moment to process that there is now a presence here, in this volatile space she’s created, that does not belong to her.

Woodenly, Nene turns around. fists balled tightly into muted remnants of her momentary lapse in judgement. 

He stands there in a white T-shirt and jeans. Beat-up old trainers. A red windbreaker tied around his slim, wiry waist. Double knotted. The fabric is red and frayed at every conceivable edge.

“What’d he ever do to you?”

The joke falls flat, but the dark haired boy pays it no mind as he bustles around in his pockets, pulling out a large keyring. Quickly, assuredly, he swipes one of his many apparatuses against the black swatch of plexiglass beside the left door. A telltale click echoes in the otherwise heavy quietude. He hefts the door open and holds it for her by the handle.

“If you really wanted to fuck him up,” he continues, “you’d have gone for the jugular, or the solar plexus. A solid hammer strike would take any fella out of commission, even if he were as big as this nasty brute.”

“Do you live here?” asks Nene, dubiously.

He flashes an ID card with his free hand. “Maintenance.”

She scans the few characters she can catch before he shoves it away. “Yugi Amane.”

“Yes, Yashiro Nene?”

Every cell in her body goes cold and still all at once. She can’t even speak. The synapses in her brain are just beginning to fire again -- propelling her desperately towards flight flight flight -- before the strange boy nods at something on her chest.

Despite herself, she looks down. 

At her new student name tag, pinned to the front of her shirt. 

Sheepishly, she meets his eyes again, this time with a little less unguarded accusation in her gaze. 

“Come on, give me a little credit,” says Amane, amicably. “If I were a creep that would have been a rookie mistake. Now you know too much. I gotta kill you. Game over.”

“I could take you,” she argues, against her better judgement.

“Really?”

“Sure.” She feels the lingering jitters from her initial wariness melt away into something gentler, something placed decidedly lower in her gut, something colder than fear, so cold that it threatens to brand the very core of her. “Wouldn’t be too hard. Jugular, solar plexus.”

“My oh my. I’d better be careful of you, then.”

“You do that,” Nene hums, gracefully sliding past, “Yugi-san.”

“Call me Amane.”

He doesn’t move from his spot amidst the doorframe, one hand gripping easily onto the slab of steel, the other waving in the air, bidding her adieu. He doesn’t move even as Nene makes her way into the elevator. He doesn’t move even as Nene raises her own hand in farewell. He doesn’t move even as their field of vision is severed and Nene rises up, up, up and away. 

It’s absurd, she knows, but she can’t help picturing the image of his thin, wiry, bobbleheaded self, rooted to the spot, holding open the door, waving at nothing, frozen still and solid well into the night. 

And in this fantasy, his grin never falters.

The Thought Wall is an entire stretch of plain, white drywall that she’s cleared off in her single suite room and dedicated to thousands of post-it notes. 

Not all of the stickies are significant. Some are grocery lists. Some are doctor’s appointment reminders. Others detail traipsing, loosely connected plot points narrated by fragments of her mundane schedule: Lunch is with Aoi @ 12:30 p.m. Meeting is with Professor Tsuchigomori @ 4:00 p.m. 

They are all the same color, and they all fall into neatly gridded lines across the expanse of her wall. If she wanted to, Nene would be able to catalogue each and every individual experience dating back to the day she moved into the dorms -- which, to be fair, was only a mere two weeks away from where she currently reflects, but retrospect tends to cloud her view with a hazy, dissociative glaze. 

Amongst all of the transient variables of her newfound independent, adult life, there is one constant:

Amane takes out the trash at 9:00 p.m.

The bins are right underneath her second-story window. If she parts her blinds just so, she’s able to catch a glimpse of that familiarly sparse frame lugging gargantuan black bags that dwarf him near comically in size. The noise of him struggling through the task would wake her, if she were one to sleep early and well. 

Amane takes out the trash at 9:00 p.m.

Come to think of it, Nene doesn’t think she’s seen him wear the university’s trademark navy jumpsuit reserved for custodial staff. It’s always those same jeans; that same iridescently bright shirt; that same frayed, crimson jacket, double-knotted around his waist. Falling apart at the seams.

Amane takes out the trash at 9:00 p.m.

Tonight he is whistling. She doesn’t recognize the tune.

Amane takes out the trash at 9:00 p.m.

Tonight the moon is full. Autumn swiftly approaches. She wonders if he ever gets cold, out there, alone. In darkness.

Amane takes out the trash at 9:00 p.m.

She wonders where the custodial staff live on campus. Is it close to her building? Is that why he’s always lurking around on the grounds?

Amane takes out the trash at 9:00 p.m.

She saw him today, with a bucket and a mop outside of her lecture hall. He winked at her, and raised a finger up to his lips.  As if there was anything to say.

Amane takes out the trash at 9:00 p.m.

Where is his jacket? 

At first, Nene thinks he’s cut off the sleeves in some bizarre, avant-garde fashion statement. And then she realizes that it is his t-shirt he wears -- the one that’s supposed to be white, but is now dyed a horrifically deep shade of carmine. The entire garment is soaked through with it, oversaturated to the point of streaking down his lean, pale arms in red rivulets. 

What meagre light filters down from the street lamp above highlights the pop of color bright against his usually washed-out palette. He is wraithlike. He is gorgeous. He is hefting a black bag into the dumpster with frighteningly considerable ease.

He is meeting her gaze through where she peeks between two blinds.

He is smiling.

He is red there, too.

Amane takes out the trash at 9:00 p.m.

“Campus should be shut down. I mean, this is just ridiculous.”

“What is?” Prompts Nene, sidling down into her usual seat beside the other girl. Aoi blots the lipstick so violently onto her thin, pouting lips it’s almost as though her intention is to bring forth a fresher, brighter burst of ruby. The image makes Nene shudder.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard about the bathroom stall.”

“I can’t say I have.”

A pause. The lipstick slides shut and away, for now. Nene breathes a silent sigh of relief. “Nene, I don’t know whether to weep or scold you. Anyways. You really haven’t heard anything? Nothing at all?”

Nene shakes her head.

“Well, in the girl’s bathroom on this hall -- this hall! -- someone was…”

Before Aoi has the chance to finish her sentence, Professor Tsuchigomori interjects from the pit of the amphitheater, announcing the beginning of class. His voice, too, is stretched thin in the same way that Aoi’s is, as she hisses under her breath in consternation.

“A girl was murdered,” she whispers, heatedly. “And we’re having class the next week like the crime scene tape hasn’t just been removed. It’s horrible. The girl who did it-- perpetrator, whatever -- even signed her name. Hanako-san. Like, what is this, some sadistic role-play fantasy?”

“Miss Akane. Is there something you feel compelled to add to today’s lecture?”

“No, sir.”

“Alright then.”

“When,” murmurs Nene after a moment has passed.

“Two days ago, Saturday. At night, too. Right before all the buildings lock at nine. Makes you wonder who could’ve gotten away with it, at that time.”

And wonder Nene does.

“Hanako-kun,” she greets him, which is her first mistake.

She beat him out to the bins tonight. Instead of observing from the relative safety of her bedroom, Nene elected to stand out in the mid-October cold and wait for thirty minutes, with thinly-veiled anticipation that made her toes twitch and shiver with more than just the chill in the air.

He doesn’t expect her to be standing there. He certainly doesn’t expect her to say that name, but he manages it well. “Yashiro Nene,” he chirps, hefting one large black bag up and over his shoulder.

“Are you gonna kill me now?” She asks, which is her second mistake.

Laughter. He’s -- laughing, possibly for the first time Nene can remember after all the weeks she’s spent observing him. Quietly. Studiously. Obsessively, if she’s being honest with herself.

There is just something so illustrious about the darkness that clings to his alabaster skin like a magnetic field of sin and dread and enticing ambiguity. He is bright, but there are shadows that tuck themselves away into the hollow of his cheekbones, the crook of his lethal elbows, the depressions beneath his abrasive, beady eyes; he is slim, but there is an unannounced strength that emerges when he slinks out beneath the moon every night to fill the dumpster; he is dangerous, Nene knows he is dangerous. And yet, still she is drawn like a moth to flame. 

“I know too much,” she continues, “You’ve got no choice. It’s game over.”

His back is to her. Something about the absence of his ever-present grin sets her on edge. 

“There’s worse things than death.”

“Like what?” She prompts, which is the final nail in the coffin. 

Hanako turns around, then. The straggly lighting of the street lamp does little to properly illuminate his features, but Nene thinks that there is nothing that could obstruct this view from being permanently etched into her memory. He’s a basket case, hands coated in red, his teeth a stark strip of grim white amidst the impenetrable inky black of the city limits. Nene feels nauseous. Her feet move on their own accord, drawing her closer, impossibly close. Close enough to smell, to touch.

To burn.

“I can’t wait to show you, Yashiro,” says Hanako, mouth wide, eyes bright. 

Foresight is not one of Nene’s strong suits. Neither is thinking in retrospect. Seemingly the only kind of self-preserving thought Nene has mastered the art of is fight or flight, and even that survival instinct fails her at some notably terrible times. 

If she were a better person, she wouldn’t have ignored the red flags. No, that’s not quite right. She didn’t ignore them. She was excited by them; charged headlong straight through them like a bull incensed with bloodlust, throwing herself straight into the impending gore.

If she were a smarter person, Nene would have figured a way out of the spider’s web into which she’d so foolishly fallen. She would have escaped before it got too serious, too scary, with consequences all too material. She would have clawed her way back to the mundanity of her former life. She would have lived to tell the tale. Or, at least, this is what she likes to believe. It helps her sleep at night. 

If she were perhaps anyone other than who she is, Nene might have done better.

Unfortunately for her, she’s stuck with her own fate.

This is how she finds herself on a double date at McDonald’s. An empty, grimy, liminal McDonald’s.

At eight-thirty in the evening. On a Saturday.

“That’s so funny, Yugi-san,” hums Aoi into her medium seltzer water with lemon (ordered at the counter of this decrepit, run-down, understaffed McDonald’s. Really. She’s a wonder.) “I didn’t know you went to our school. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around, before? What program are you in?”

“Business and finance. And please, Amane is more than fine. No need for formalities. A friend of Yashiro’s is a friend of mine, yeah?”

Akane raises his double-patty in solidarity. “Hear, hear! Y’know, I quite like this guy, Yashiro. Where’d you dig him up at?”

“The dumpsters behind my building,” Nene answers truthfully.

The raucous laughter that rounds the table is undercut by a sharp pang of discomfort in Nene’s gut as she catches Hanko’s eye; for a moment, they are the only two in this restaurant, in this city, in this country, in this world, and the way he holds her gaze captive in a merciless chokehold lets Nene know that if he could keep it this way -- just them, forever, suspended in an indefinite, impenetrable solitude -- he would.

Give to me what you love the most, he’d told her last night at nine p.m, and I’ll return the favor.

So. They’re on a double date with Nene’s best friend and her best friend’s boyfriend. It’s rapidly nearing her own personal witching hour. It’s a Saturday. 

She recognizes the irony inherent in one’s last meal being soggy fries and a limp bun from a McDonald’s straddling the edge of the city limits, no help, no contact, no hope in sight. Just one long strip of highway to the east and an extreme abundance of shadowy, secretive forestry an innocuous ways away. 

“Nene-chan? You there?”

Blinking back into focus, Nene meets Aoi’s eyes. Her kind, gentle, sweet eyes. 

“I’m here,” says Nene. “I’m right here.”

It’s hard to believe that, though, as the conversation ebbs and flows around her and all she can do is soak it up and let it leave her like a grimy, worn out sponge. She feels old. She feels tired. She feels more alive than she ever has in her whole life and the evening has barely started.

“Good.” 

Aoi reaches across the table and risks her dainty elbows against the greasy surface, all just to grab Nene’s hands in her own smaller, paler, softer ones, and squeeze. “I’m glad.”

There is little else Nene can bring herself to do other than nod jerkily.

TO: XX Univeristy Class of 20XX, 20XX, 20XX, 20XX, VP XX, Shinjuku Police Department

Subject: Regarding The Bathroom Stall Incidents

Good Afternoon,

There has been much speculation and rumor spread amongst the student populace as of late. We’re sure you all are looking for real, conclusive answers.

Our administration writes today under the express permission of the Shinjuku Police Department to confirm the discovery of two bodies in the third floor bathroom of the Arts Center for Creative Development. This is the second instance of homicide on school grounds in what has now been confirmed to be a slew of serial murders, marked by the signature ‘Hanako-San of the Toilet.’

In light of recent events, all students and faculty are to adhere to the new curfew implemented Sunday morning, effective 8:00 p.m. tonight. The Arts Center for Creative Development has been shut down until further notice. Anyone caught trespassing will be subjected to a fine and potential lawful investigation.Class re-assignments will be posted on campus portal later today.

On behalf of the families of the victims, we ask that students refrain from circulating the names of the victims. Until legitimate identities can be confirmed by the police, neither the University nor any other unaffiliated party may comment conclusively on the identities of the victims at this time.

Stay safe, stay vigilant, and care for one another amidst this tumultuous period of fear and uncertainty.

Thank you.

XX UNIVERSITY

“You hungry?”

Nene remains silent. Squeezes her eyes even more tightly shut. 

“Because it’s been a while for me. I’m hungry. I’m starving.”

Curls her fingers into the comforter. Sinks into her mattress. Pretends she isn’t there, not really. This isn’t her life. It can’t be. It’s not. It’s not.

“It’s been McDonad’s these past few times, but we could switch it up, if you’re bored. You just say the word, Yashiro, and we can go anywhere. Anywhere you want. Pizza, Chinese, American, Traditional--”

Holds her breath and counts and waits and counts and waits and counts.

“Korean--”

And waits.

“--Mexican--”

And counts.

“--Italian--”

And--

“God,” Nene bursts out, shooting up from her corpse’s lay on her bed. “We just ate this weekend. It’s been three days, you can’t possibly be hungry again. Don’t you ever get full? Are you not satisfied?”

Hanako hates sitting in chairs. The only time he does so is when they go out to eat; and even then, he’s fidgeting the entire meal. With cagey, restless energy. Today he’s twisted pretzel-like on top of her work desk, one arm leant for balance against her lamp as the other fiddles idly with a pen and a sticky note. “Satisfaction is the furthest thing from why humans eat. Survival. Baser Instincts. Satiation, more like.”

“Okay,” she bargains, “well, I’m done. I’m full. I’ve had enough, Amane. Really.”

“Really-really?” He huffs out, amused.

“Really- really. I’m not hungry. I don’t think I can ever eat again in my life. So please, can we just--”

“But you were the one who killed her. Or don’t you remember?”

How couldn’t I, screams Nene’s stilled posture, her held breath, her glassy eyes.

“You held the knife.” He is smiling. How can he smile and say disgusting things such as these? It’s almost impossible to believe. Nene wouldn’t be able to wrap her head around the juxtaposition had she not already bore witness to Hanako’s grin present in much darker, much more twisted deeds than simply telling the horrible truth. 

“You stabbed her. In fact, you wanted to go first. And right before you took the plunge -- right before, just right before, remember, Yashiro? -- what did you say?”

That wretched, awful night comes flooding back into the forefront of her mind regardless of how hard she tries to suppress it. Sharp flashes of images awash in murky technicolor, stained a muted burgundy by her subconscious’s feeble attempts at guarding her sanity; Aoi’s long, slender legs quivering in fear from where they were bound together at her pretty, petite ankles; her grey face stripped of its normal flush by a slab of crudely-torn duct-tape; her luscious amethyst curls scattered around her quaking shoulders; and her eyes. 

Those eyes. The same eyes that twinkled at her, not just an hour before the tragedy, which then begged -- pleaded -- for a second chance. A last chance. Any chance at all.

“I’m hungry,” whispers Yashiro.

“Louder.”

“I’m hungry.”

“Did you mean it? Do you mean it?”

“I’m hungry!”

“Are you? Can you feel the craving? Does your stomach ache with it, Yashiro?”

“I’m hungry! I’m hungry! I’m hungry!”

“Exactly right. You’re just like me. We’re no different. We’re the same.” Hanako unfolds himself to hop off of the desk and approach the bed. She remains still as a statue, even as he touches her at her jugular, her solar plexus. A light, fleeting, feathery caress. “The same here, and here. And here, too,” a touch at her lips, then. He tastes chemical. Sterile. She fights the urge to lap at the pads of his fingers, and then forgets why she’s ever resisted in the first place. When it was so inevitable to fall into him, into Amane, into Hanako, into the strange abyss that lay between the two.

When he pulls away, it feels all too soon. Hanako slips something from his pocket and sticks it in the next free space on the Thought Wall:

Lunch is with Hanako @ 6:qkjewkn right now.

“Come on,” he beckons her. “Date night.”

“Double date?”

“Double date.”

“...McDonald’s?”

Hanako smiles at her like she’s just told him a terrible joke.

“McDonald’s.”

Maybe he was right, in the end. Maybe they were just alike.

Maybe Yashiro is just as bad as he was, or no better. It doesn’t matter anymore, does it? 

When she asks the bathroom stall, she receives no reply. Not even when she calls his name three times -- Hanako, Hanako, Hanako! -- echoing and staccato and cacophonous and desperate and tragic in the worst of ways. He doesn’t answer not even when she shakes him, not even when the knife slips from her grasp and into the sea of blood that pools around her ankles, tepid and viscous, as though she’s wading through the world of the undead. 

What facts Nene knows definitely are these:

She is hungry. She will never not be hungry, now that she’s learned what an appetite she possesses.

The name on the bathroom stall is hers to keep.

And,

The jugular was easier to hit, in the end. 

All she needed was a solid hammer strike.

#hananene ao3 #hananene #hananene fic #hanako x nene #hanako x yashiro #amane yugi x yashiro nene #amanene #jshk #tbhk #jshk ao3 #tbhk ao3 #jibaku shounen hanako kun #toilet bound hanako kun #jshk fic #tbhk fic #my writing

[nataliedrawz]

Ticklish? Here?

A/N: SO SINCE @thatonetickleblog MADE ME GET BACK IN TBHK, I AM WRITING THIS MINI DRABBLE FROM THE MINI INSPIRATION I GOT! HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY!!

"No way, you're ticklish here, Hanako-kun?" Yashiro claimed in pure amusement, gazing upon the newly defensive Hanako, arm's waving around in defense befire covering his face in pure embarrassment, "Yeah, a little bit, but that doesn't mean you aren't!~" Hanako grinned widely whilst pointing towards her, confussion filling her expression, quickly fading pure red, "W-Well-! This isn't about me, now, how about this!" She gently raked her nails underneath his underarms, a blank expression taking over as he had no reaction to it.

"Wh- How do- nevermind that, I know one spot, and that's enough for me!" She puffed, nuzzling her nose against his cheek, Hanako gasping as if he just punched in the throat, causing a giggle to emerge from Yashiro's lungs, Hanako's bubbly giggles bursting out his throat, struggling to hold back, Yashiro giggling along with him, amused from the newly giggly Hanako, he couldn't help but flush brightly, why didn't he mind this? Perhaps she really was different to him?

#tickle fic #tickle fluff #tkl fic #tbhk tickle fic #tbhk tkl fic #tbhk tickle #tbhk tkl #tbhk fic #lee!hanako #ler!yashiro #ticklish!hanako #ticklish!yashiro #ratty writes

[itischeese]

New fic!

#jibaku shounen hanako kun #jshk #tbhk fic #terukane #mitsukou #teru #kou

[kittytheartist]

I've posted another fic! this time it's NatsuTeru!

description:

it's winter break and Natsuhiko couldn't be more bored. what he didn't expect was to find someone more entertaining then anything he would have planned

Natsuhiko stays by Teru's side for a few hours and can't help but want to be with him again

alt description:

Natsuhiko encounters Teru when he goes to his local convenience store and decides to use his free time to bother Teru and they find out the others company is very comforting

tysm if you decide to check it out!

#source link: archiveofourown.org #natsuteru #teruhiko #tbhk #jshk #toilet bound hanako kun #jibaku shonen hanako kun #minamoto teru #teru minamoto #natsuhiko hyuuga #hyuuga natsuhiko #teru x natsuhiko #natsuhiko x teru #tbhk fic #tbhk writing #tbhk fanfiction #tbhk fanfic #jshk fanfiction #jshk fanfic #natsuteru fanfic #rare pair #my fanfiction

[hyuugaalee]

❝ Master, is your love, perchance... for me? ❞ 〔Terukane〕

〔 𝗚𝗵𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗖𝗮𝗳𝗲 𝗯𝗮𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗔𝗨 | 𝗗𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗻!𝗔𝗸𝗮𝗻𝗲 × 𝗛𝘂𝗺𝗮𝗻 (?) 𝗧𝗲𝗿𝘂 〕

＞ 𝘋𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘈𝘬𝘢𝘯𝘦, 𝘏𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 (?) 𝘛𝘦𝘳𝘶, 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳/𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘤 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨.

― 𝙎𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨: Akane was left in the dirt on Teru's command to help carve a path to start getting close to the fabled Hotel that stole his brother from him. But Akane - a demon summoned to do Teru's bidding - was starving from Teru's lack of planning, and it's time for his side of the payment...

ー　𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬) 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫:

- Demon Akane (Ghost Hotel style).

- Human (?) Teru (Ghost Hotel Style).

- Teru is "dozens of years old" like in Ghost Hotel, hence the (?) next to the Human tag.

- Ghost Hotel lore says Teru found the Hotel by himself: don't worry, I'm not reconning this! This is just pre-Ghost Hotel canon, he will eventually find his way there.

- Blood, blood drinking, injuries, and emotional attachment to your boss/servant.

- Tiara being a gremlin, but still baby!

°:.   *₊        ° .   ☆     　 °:.   *₊      °  . °  .•°:.   *₊        ° .   ☆     　 °:.   *

☆ﾐ         It's been years since they've started this deal, and it's been years since he's been properly fed when not within the confines of the Hotel.

He needed something to eat, or else he might eat someone randomly and send the staff into a frenzy. But, he had to stay calm and wait per the rules. He knew he could hold out for far longer than this―he has before, and it won't be the last―and simply ignored the mansion's staff as he walked through the mansion's barriers with the permission of a Blessed Key…

Akane looked up at the residents of his master, taking it in once again after dozens of years doing so again and again.

The old European mansion was a very pale sandstone construct near the city's edge that was larger than a few of the nobles own vacation homes, rivaling that of maybe even their main homes. It consists of three sections of gardens with three different fields of magic to practice and protect the family indoors. 

The gate wrapped around it all was a tall, black, and triad shaped speared fence far too tall for any natural living being on Earth to climb. The first garden had high walls of bluegrass and yellow rose bushes that smelled sweet to visitors and animals, but ghosts are simply repelled by the scent and usually turn away. Ghosts who are persistent and want to invade the home have to get through the first barrier of magic, and face the garden of plants and vegetables the Minamoto's grew for themselves. By far the largest garden, and all plants changing with the seasons; the plants were all dangerous to spirits of any kind. All plants have living vines with different effects and some that even are needlessly aggressive, if they are a year-round plant. The final garden was a sand garden with water ponds all around, with water lilies and lotus heads all around. This is generally where demons think they can relax, as humans usually only exist here during the day for training…

But it's indoors that they should worry about: but Akane is in a foul enough mood to not care to explain or even think of it any further. Without even using the accursed key that showed his "trustworthiness", he simply forced the door open with a gust of wind so it did not impede his path indoors. 

The rain that followed him indoors and the gust of wind blew out many of the candles and uncapped lanterns on the Japanese streamer and paper styled chandelier. Because he did not want a scolding from the manors head―should a maid or butler even care enough to complain about him in the morning to his master―he had an ethereal hand shut it tight, locking it. 

The water upon his visage of a normal human dries in but a second, a blink of an eye… as his body was not normal and was not fully Earthly, no matter how hard he tried. Right now, he could feel the skin on his cheek start to crack like glass and a shard of disguise was sent flying. He could feel the dark red and purple smoke that was pouring from the soles of his shoes, start to pour from the shatter right below his eyes. He didn't let out a peep as it worsened before he even got to the stairs to the upper floors, where a large shatter appeared along his arm―over his clothes as well, which were summoned and woven with his demonic power. 

Well, this was progressing far too fast for his liking. And it was an abnormal sight, he's sure…

And yet: the maid who rushed to the front door to clean up his mess, didn't bat an eye at him or his unearthly features he could not control right now. 

As he walked into the now darkened foyer he raised his oil-burning lantern to light his way purely ceremoniously, as he did not need earthly light to see where he was going. That, and he wanted his face to be visible just in case of a rambunctious trainee running the halls. He didn't want one of the human exorcists who could barely hold funeral rites to get any funny ideas of attacking him as he walks, thinking he was prey. He might just make them prey in such a situation.

His heels squeak and squeal across the linoleum floor as he finally takes steps up the stairs, where a dark blue carpet meets his shoes and silences his steps.

And up he went, to confront his master and the only person who can take off his ban…

Upon reaching the second floor, Akane could spy it was as dead as a doornail and only every other light upon the wall was burning. Skipping this entire floor and continuing onto the final and largest floor, he noticed the lights were down low but it was the busiest of all the floors…

Maids and butlers without shoes were gliding in and out of the darkest parts of the hallways and doors, to make as little to no noise as possible. To a demonic being, it does little to truly hide them, but they were doing all this so elegantly and effectively. The only room on this wing has its light off, so the help can't be for his master…

It became clear who the servants quietly coming and going were for once two handmaid's were rushing downstairs with one maid holding a cloth to her co-worker's bleeding hand, hushing her as they disappeared on the second floor. 

Ah. So Tiara was playing rough before bed again. 

Akane continued to walk the halls of master bedrooms with a lantern within his gloved hands, and he's sure the remaining staff running about were assisting the young Lady Tiara to finally rest. A butler taking away a box of toys, a maid with a plate of milk and honey, a butler with new sheets and blankets. It was to be expected every night the young girl's eldest brother goes to be without seeing her. Tiara was the youngest Minamoto and was always the feistiest when it came to sleeping, because poor handmaids have come out with bite marks and soft clawed wounds upon their hands. Ever since her direct older brother―Minamoto Kou―had disappeared, she cried often when not able to hear of her only remaining family member at home…

And said brother, was in his room, quiet as a mouse. Akane had not been able to see what Teru had done all day, as the young lord of the family had split off from him all day and left Akane to… trudge in the dirt and foliage all day. That's actually where Akane was coming from now, as he had left his tracking and path clearing for a later date upon the rain coming down on him. 

Once he got past Tiara's hallway and walked into a section with no lights, he passed the old hallway that would have belonged to Minamoto Kou should he have been here today. Akane stopped in his tracks for a second, before casting a glance at the door that should be Kou's room. The disturbance of dust, the smell of burnt parchment, and a scent of grief (akin to the smell of petrichor to humans) wafting from the unused and locked room…

Akane doesn't approach the room's giant dark brown door, but smirks to himself as he finally gets what Teru had made him split off from him for…

And he continues on to the final hallway that leads to Minamoto Teru, the tragic man he called a master. The hallway was dark, just like Kou's, but the carpet and furniture in the hallway was dusted and kept neat. The door was identical as well to all his siblings doors, but Teru had installed a glass lens to his so he may peek at whoever comes knocking at his door. 

Almost as comedic timing would allow, he could feel the splintering skin of his already cracking arm shatter further and actually mutilate the image of his hand. He looked, in an honest bit of shock, as his true form's hand peaks through the smoke he's producing―and he can feel what was left of his mortal-aligned sanity start to slip. He was starving, but he wasn't beyond his senses enough to want to take anything Teru might throw at him such as a dead rat or raging pigeon. 

(... Yes, the bastard was cruel enough to have done it before to Akane, but thankfully never when he was starving. Especially like he is now.)

Akane was getting his deal of payment, one way or another. He wasn't about to become feral enough to actually eat a pigeon, thank you… 

So he slipped inside the door without knocking, and phased through the cracks in a billow of smoke and ashes until he had completely rebuilt himself―and his lantern―inside Teru's room. Said room was a spacious, yet traditional room with personal amenities and sentimentals behind a classic and captivating folding door with paper screens. The more business side of the room, on this side of the paper screen, held the bed and twin workshops for Teru's paperwork and sword collection, respectively. The giant window above his bed was unfastened and unlatched, open just enough to get a small current of fresh air into the room. Sitting on his pillows―where his head should be if he were resting, which he seems to be far from―was Teru, on his knees in his nightgown and thin nightly trousers. Teru was very much awake, and gazing upon the main entrance of the residents and the rolling hills it overlooked. Akane could not see his eyes from his position, so he could not guess why the young lord was still awake.

The gentleness of the moon and pattering of rain gave the demon pause, but only for a brief moment. Akane had never been on the best of terms with his master, and he was sure the situation must have been dire for such a young man to have called upon a spirit like him, but the cruelty shared between the two was mutual and… strangely, cathartic. Akane had been a soul of both worlds, once upon a time, so having the chance to feed and "live" amongst the humans was tantalizing after being stuck in an abyss of time and space straining to stay together. Until he was given an ultimatum from his soon-to-be master, who was barely age fourteen when they met. An ultimatum that would lead to nights like this…

"... Master." Akane greeted with a small bow that didn't even untuck his hair from behind his ear. "It's far too late for one such as yourself to stay awake past midnight."

Teru didn't exactly acknowledge anything he said until the final words, and genuinely laid his head down in exhaustion against the windowsill. "Midnight already. And still no luck finding anything…" The young man, years older than when they first met, still huffs like a child as his day of searching goes up in smoke. 

"Yes. But I carved a path for the expedition members of that guild you hired to help you track your missing brother, and have made sure that a basic gravel pathway was made. At least, on the terrain that wasn't a deathly drop or steep incline." Akane informs, and sets his oil-lamp on Teru's desk to finally snuff out its flame. "If they get lost like the last bunch, I say drop hiring expedition members and…"

"'Set you free, so you may lead me like a guest into the hotels foyer.'" Teru quotes him from a previous conversation, and not at all pleased that Akane has brought up the issue again. "You know I won't do that, I cannot do that. I need you on my side, Akane, and I will not walk into that accursed hotel alone."

Akane could tell the same issue was going to come of this scolding if he allowed it to continue. Teru may have learned to hide his feelings from all but the small family he actually held dear, but one of those small bubbles of sanity for him was missing, and Akane knew Teru would latch onto any means for that success in finding him. Even me, Akane knew. 

Akane sighed, and walked towards the young exorcist of the Minamoto clan, and took him by the shoulders to try and pry him from the freezing wind and rain. "Master, please, it's time to rest and we'll start again in the morning. Burning the candle on both ends will get us nowhere in your goal…"

"Get me nowhere." Teru seemed to like correcting him there. Teru allows Akane to drag him backwards to sit on his bed regularly, and as Akane went to fasten the window shut, "Oh, you look positively awful, demon. Did I forget to feed you?"

There it was. Deflecting any care and concern, especially for a being like Akane, doing so with a joyful yet sinful tongue of silver. Akane could feel his eye twitch at Teru taking a tone he would to a cute puppy he neglected for a short while: when in truth he's been exuding constant energy for little under a month with little sustainable food sources under Teru's ultimatum. The demon takes his contractee by his nightgown collar and does get a bit rough with Teru, yanking him forward to hiss in his ears as Akane feels his lips crack under pressure. 

"𝙇𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙣, 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙩, 𝙄 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙞𝙩'𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙖 𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙤𝙙𝙨 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙣 𝙗𝙮 𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨," Akane breathes hot air into the other's ear as he keeps his voice low, just between master and servant. "𝘽𝙪𝙩 𝙄'𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙢𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙣𝙤𝙬. 𝙏𝙬𝙤 𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙠𝙨. 𝙏𝙬𝙤 𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙠𝙨, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙣'𝙩 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙖 𝙛𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙝 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙠𝙞𝙣 𝙤𝙧 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙠𝙞𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙣…"

Akane hasn't felt the sensation of partaking in fresh, warm blood in two weeks of hard work, or even a lesser form of feeding him like offering a soul. Akane wasn't the type of demon that relied purely on the souls of humans or other apparitions for longevity, he was human at one time and he was built differently than the two demons he shares a circle with… he could sustain himself off of raw meat each day and be just fine, but blood was his main form of food. Good blood could, and has, kept Akane strong for months on end (but that much usually puts humans in the coma range, and exorcists don't take that risk nor like the idea). Teru's blood was strange to begin with, as anyone in his whole family that can summon lightning technically has a purifying effect on their blood in some way. In layman's terms: the blood was far more pleasing to consume, but could cause issues if magic is used when giving blood to Akane (he's been shocked in the mouth before, and it wasn't fun to have his disguise writhe in pain like that). Teru also called the way he sustains himself "archaic", even though Akane thought it was quite unique nowadays… 

But even after all of that and taking things into consideration, Teru's blood was all he was allowed to consume without Teru's express permission. His first rule for Akane before making more rules was ultimately just an ultimatum: you drink my blood to stay healthy, and never hurt anyone unless I say so; or I'll send you to Hell all over again !

"... 𝙎𝙤 𝙨𝙝𝙪𝙩 𝙪𝙥 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙚 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜, I'm falling apart at the seams here!" Akane let it out gruffly, almost like it was hard to say (and it was, it is pride bruising). "Master, please!" 

… Truly, a sadist fourteen year old, Teru had been. Thinking master was anything more the humiliating for Akane to address him as. The kid had laughed joyously after he had uttered it the first time.

Nowadays, Teru just hears the title and barely cracks his mask as they are in close proximity to each other daily.

While physically manhandling his master, Teru was not bothered in the slightest at the misconduct Akane was showing to him. Unlike the years before, Teru had given him leniency for some odd reason. He was allowed to touch him without a need to straighten up his clothes―and if anything― Akane's sure he's hurt Teru before during missions, or just trying to feed from him after Teru's teased him before. 

Never enough to leave more than bruises: he was far too good at his job already to get sent to Hell so early. 

Suddenly: a sharp pain. A large splinter tears through both his legs after that thought ends, and the smoke surrounding him starts to lap and weave across the ceiling as if feeling curiously around. 

Teru stared at him with those iced over eyes, and his small smirk of having gotten something he found pleasing. Teru didn't push him away as he spoke to Akane's plea for benevolence, "... Pitiful. But we are in an agreement, and I am truly grateful for all the work you've done for my goals all these years, Akane…" 

Akane's hands were brushed off gently, the demon's hands unknowingly shaking despite his attempts to appear frustrated at his master's antics and blatant sadism. The brunette flexed his hands to stop their trembling as he watched Teru begin…

… to unfasten his nightgown's high collar buttons. 

Akane froze at the sight of rosy, sun-kissed pink skin appearing before his eyes as the nightgown collar drops. It's nothing revealing, and nothing he hasn't seen while helping Teru change in the past, but the blonde never allowed for such a vital area to ever come into their agreement. It was always either a cut finger, drinking from Teru's wrist, or just using whatever wound was available if it wasn't awkward. Never had Teru…

"... Well? You're starving, aren't you?" Teru speaks as he leans back like he had no care in the world, the position was barely sustainable if Akane tried drinking from his neck… "I will admit I've been a neglectful Master, and will pay you extra… just this once."

"But, Teru…" A small crack was heard from his lips, but nothing major happened past that. "I might not stop if you allow me to partake from…"

"But you will. I know you will." Teru's voice was very matter-of-fact, stern. But it wasn't unkind, like when he called him pitiful or babied him like a puppy. "I wouldn't offer my throat to anyone, Akane. You know me better than anyone else here… eat."

Akane didn't know how to handle the sudden wave of cold that flashed across his body at the order of his Master. His Master's command was absolute (and not like he was complaining at this point) in their contract. Akane knew how he must look to Teru, approaching the young lord as he dropped his human-like traits to let go for feasting. He's been told by Teru before, who had been in a fit of laughter at how he looked: "Like a dog to my vein, you narrowed it down! At least your sense for canines isn't horrible, I barely felt the prick. But you looked like a doe-eyed creature, Akane! Like I was a fresh piece of meat! How grotesque."

Akane had been a bit stung at the comments before, as he had an aesthetic and a human nature to fall back upon he knows well. He can still empathize with humans, no matter how long it's been. But centuries or longer as a demon really gets to you, and wears your familiar old self down…

At least this way―with Akane out of Teru's vision, able to hide his eyes and teeth―Akane also didn't have to see those teasing eyes and the wince of pain as he drew blood and soul-energy through the insertion site on Teru's neck. It made it far too intimate for him to draw too much, or go too far.

Akane―against the blonde's rule of stepping over his boundaries as a servant and joining him directly in his bed―put one boot on the frame, and put one knee into the plush mattress to stabilize him against Teru's leaning back form. He can feel his mouth widening as his teeth fill in past his disguise, and he uses his hands to hold Teru by his shoulders…

… Until he located the vein pumping the loudest near the surface of his skin, and he sank his teeth in with barely a turn of the head. Unlike a vampire, this would not turn nor feel pleasant for the recipient of his bite. The groan of pain from Teru was quite evident in his ringing ears, and his technique was far sloppier than usual. There was no pleasant suction aided by his fangs, and the demon could only rely on flexing his jaw to reopen and stretch the wound repeatedly: effectively stopping Teru's blood from clotting around his teeth. 

Teru groaned further in discomfort, and was still for an exceptional long amount of his drinking time. But eventually, Teru began to panic…

The Minamoto's blood was as fresh as he liked it, and the soul strong as any noble clan such as his. But the soul was injured: missing a piece nearest to it that was reaching for familiarity, reaching out for something like a lost child in a crowded street. Akane would not dare begin to leech from the soul's inner core as his senses began to come back to him, and his tongue became less dry all around in his mouth. But being so close to the human soul can cause great distress in human targets: it was only a defensive instinct from humans…

He starts to incorporate his tongue to heal the bottom wounds, when utter distress and brief flashes of scents he's never smelt and food he can't recall at all fills his senses. 

"Stop! Stop, Akane! Please… !" Teru's voice was strained, and the distress he could hear in the blonde's voice made it evident where the fear taste across his tongue came from. "Get off, get off me!"

Even before his body would naturally respond to his Master's command, he backed away without needing to hear the beginning of his Master's plea of release. He's sure he looks like an animal: eyes slitted and watching his Master with heightened sight, the moon giving his healed and shatter-free visage an ethereal glow. Blood around his mouth, messily even. 

But Akane could only guess how he looked, for his Master's state was far more of a concern to him. 

(... Him? Concerned? For Minamoto Teru… ?) 

The bite mark he had left was nothing short of what you could expect from an animal: and nothing like the vampires have mastered. Akane had latched his lower and upper jaw into two separate places at the joined area of Teru's collarbone and neck. It was as if he had tried taking a chunk from his skin, with how he had stretched the wound inwards in a chewing fashion. The flesh was red around it and other teeth marks would eventually show: but the blood was a tad bit concerning. The nightgown had an almost horror-fiction drip affect upon it by a color nobody can mistake for anything but blood! It was three thin lines (probably where Akane first broke skin, and perhaps made a gusher wound) and nothing Akane hasn't restored before… but Teru seemed out of it.

The clan head was shaking in his arms alone but strangely still elsewhere, and he was paler than his usual self (matching up with blood loss symptoms) in the moonlight and cascading rain. Teru wasn't preparing to runn from him, or even de-summoning him and sending Akane away: he was simply lying upon his back and gasping for air as he stared off at the ceiling.

A panic attack? It seems likely, with how much soul energy Akane had stolen from him along with his life-blood. Those sensations he had taken were even memories in lesser forms, taking the lesser strain of smell and taste. Teru had panicked and shuddered away from him the second his memories started to leak: and ultimately changing the chemicals in the body to represent fear as he experienced it. Teru perhaps thought the brunette was trying to break into his memories and his past, but that was absurd, was it not? Surely... because Teru had said he trusted Akane to stop, and he had upon request.

Akane reached a hand into his breast pocket, and pulled out a fair and pale handkerchief he knew would absorb the blood with ease (as it was woven with his magic). But, with the potential state of his Master's psyche, he dared not touch the clan head without permission… he didn't want to be shocked after gaining back his senses, after all…

As Akane straightens up his stance and takes himself off the bed per his master's rules, he wraps the handkerchief around his gloved hands and gently dabbed it against his tongue to get it wet. "Master, I need to clean the wounds. You look like you've been mauled by a dog. I'll also get you a change of clothes to rest in…" Akane slips back into work mode, and Teru's breath catches and he flinches. "If you cannot allow yourself to let me touch you: I can have another senior butler come and clean―"

"No. Don't call anyone else…"

It was said so sternly, yet passionately. It was emotional, it had a voice crack as well following its declaration. Teru's face went from emotional numb and exhausted to commanding and broken in one sentence. Strange. Teru's voice must be gone and shot from yelling in panic earlier, but it seemed no worse for wear as he continued now.

"... I don't want anyone else's help. Only yours."

The declaration was obviously sentimental, and Teru was effectively pouring out his heart in a very post-bite sentiment of closeness. It was common, yes, but only amongst vampires to truly get this level of attachment to their victim and partners through charm and pleasant feasting tactics. Not to mention their numbing agent in their fangs they inject can make it barrable: but Akane can only maul and chew with no relief to Teru's senses because of his being. That, and vampires have a natural "charm" that Akane severely lacks (said by Teru himself, and once backed up by Tiara in the past: which hurt far worse then it should have). 

Teru's fuzzy eyes during his pleading were far from "out of it" as Akane had seen him so far. He was watching the demon with eye's trained straight in his own, showing no fear to the demon he had just starved and fed. The demon who could have mauled him to pieces if Teru wasn't careful with or trusted dearly. There are stories of betrayal in contracts often, so Teru must have known the potential danger...

And Teru let out a small noise that almost sounded pained, or at least reluctant to come out. "And... And don't compare yourself to..."

Any normal person might not have heard what Teru had said, but Akane was an apparition of the highest caliber that could catch even the quietest of insects passing by. Akane thought on the trail off of Teru's statement for a moment, compare himself to... ?

Akane quizzes him, "A dog?"

"Yes." Teru said and nodded his head gently as well in confirmation. "I... won't be calling you that either, I won't do it again. Apologies... Akane." 

It was… emotional. Open. Akane felt something in his chest lighten, and his anxiety for the well-being of his Master started to blossom and skyrocket in his being. He gently started to dab and swipe the blood away with the cloth as Teru smirked after a few lazy seconds of him watching Akane work.

Teru started with a quiet chuckle. "Huh, haha... I didn't expect you to be such a charmer, I would have picked another demon if you weren't so cute…" Teru slurred lightly, his throat still out of whack. 

And Akane paused on a swipe upwards to get the last bit of dried blood across the collarbone of his Master, as he stared into Teru's eye's so suddenly and intensely. 

Seeing Akane look from his wound and into his eyes so suddenly, the young Minamoto clan leader was startled in his skin. Seemingly forgetting about his lineage and self-defense training, he let Akane take his chin in his hand and move Teru to look into his eyes (that he is 100% sure are now the big, brown eyes of his human disguise). 

Looking into a human's eyes can heed many results for a demon of his stature, but never the one he seems to be in a contract with. They always get a free pass and only with permission can they read their souls through their eyes: their emotions always come out far easier, anyways. As he watched his master's eyes and drew in closer to try and read what that emotion had meant…

("Ah ... ! Akane… ? Akane…! Your getting a l-little too close, Akane !")

… Akane saw a sheen of pink and violet roll over Teru's crystal blue eyes, and it startled Akane back enough that he had time to think before anything else.

That meant… when Teru called him "cute"...

Oh…

… Ohhhhh.

He had simply wanted to know if his Master was emotionally manipulated or bleeding from the soul because of his lackluster, savage drinking tactic earlier. (Any he's so in shock that he's forgetting to look at his Master's whole face, with how beat red and startled it is at his brazen hold on Teru's face so close to his own.)

"Master…?" The demon asks, low and steady as he broaches the idea to ask about what had changed in his young lord's heart about him…

The young lord was startled into answering. "Y-yes… ?"

Akane didn't know how to phrase it, but what had come out was: "What is… love. To you, I mean… Could you feel it for me?"

#TBHK #Toilet Bound Hanako-kun #JSHK #Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun #Minamoto Teru #Teru Minamoto #Akane Aoi #Aoi Akane #Terukane #Teru x Akane #Akane x Teru #TBHK Teru #TBHK Akane #TBHK Fic #JSHK Fic

[mari-lair]

Why are you giving Akane two plushies Teru? Do you want him to give the other one to Aoi??

#I want to write a fic based on this art cause is such a goofy art but i already have so many wips #yeah i am delusional but i don't care 'save me terukaneaoi! save me!' #tbhk #toilet bound hanako kun #jshk #jibaku shounen hanako kun #teru minamoto #aoi akane #terukaneaoi

[yescking]

the last time i saw you

#me art #🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯 #can SOMEONE already dm me a fic w this au bc at this point ill draw a full comic abt it (no) #mitsukou #mitsuba sousuke #minamoto kou #bakeneko au #tbhk fanart #tbhk #jshk fanart #jshk #toilet bound hanako kun

[terukanerealist]

posting this one here too bcz i liked it.

#tbhk #jshk #fanart #tbhk fanart #jshk fanart #teru minamoto #aoi akane #akane aoi #terukane #toilet bound hanako kun #jibaku shounen hanako kun #i love these two #inspired by a baseball terukane fic

[livvidaloca]

been working on a royalty au that im planning on making a big fic for so heres my most recent art of it :3 i have lots more for it in my pinned on my twitter (same @)

#liv art #tbhk #mitsuba sousuke #jshk #kou minamoto #mitsukou #toilet bound hanako kun #jibaku shounen hanako kun #royalty au #liv fic

[sau-cen]

Spoilers for @mari-lair ‘s new dimensional travel fic lmao

#go read her fic is pretty good and fun #tbhk #jshk #teru minamoto #akane aoi #video post #fanfic #ao3 #ao3fic #terukane

[banjjakz]

bleed for me; hananene 5+1 oneshot

He’s amassed whole lifetimes of bad habits, and never has one felt more grievous than the way his lifeless body threatens to rise again after Yashiro launches herself off of him in mortified realization of their compromising position. A bad habit, thinks Hanako, watching his roommate flee away as he barely resists the urge to give chase. Predator and prey. A body drained dry. I’d take good care of you.

(Or: Five times Hanako is painfully, embarrassingly obvious about being a vampire -- and the one time he doesn't even need to be.)

wc: ~6.7k

warnings: vampire!au; horror elements; disturbing themes; graphic descriptions of blood & ensuing oral consumption; etc, etc

🖤 read on ao3 🖤

1. Garlic Bread

“I’m home!”

From his lax recline on the bed, Hanako calls out a lazy welcome back. He doesn’t get up because he’s far too comfortable watching old primetime reruns of ridiculous game shows, and also -- well. 

He’s a little unhappy.

Ah, maybe not unhappy. That’s a rather strong word -- sensation? Feeling? For someone who’s felt a lot of them for a very long time, Hanako isn’t the most adept at categorizing his own emotions. Let alone experiencing them. It’s much more convenient to acknowledge that something probably important is sounding off in his chest, and then leave it alone to run its course. Hands-off is always the way to go. Less messy that way.

But then, he’s forced to deal with complex situations such as these:

The lovely, strange, absolutely enrapturing human being whose life he feels lucky enough to occupy even just a small, miniscule part of -- flouncing into his bedroom, all bright eyes and wide-lipped smiles and rosy cheeks and limbs jittering in excitement at seeing him after a mere handful of hours spent apart--

And Hanako, whose cold, dead heart threatens to jolt back to life at the mere sight of her.

How odd. He wonders what it means, and then immediately stops doing that. Hands-off. Mess free.

“Hanako-kun!” Greets Yashiro, rushing to stand at his side, her stockinged feet thump-thump-thumping at the hardwood in a rapid, red-blooded pulse. Her hair flows freely today, which is unusual. Normally, she has it pulled back and away from her face, in one neat platinum sphere at the base of her neck. There’s a decorative clip or three in there, somewhere, too.

Where are those tonight? What happened to the disturbingly skull-shaped barrette? He likes that one. “Hanako-kun, look! For you!”

Oh, she’s holding something. He hadn’t even noticed. Upon closer inspection, it seems to be…

“A greasy paper bag,” Hanako deadpans. “How kind of you, Yashiro.”

She rolls her eyes, and stomps her foot. He can see the vibrant red of her painted toenails even through those dark tights she insists on wearing out everyday. These are one of her nicer pairs, though. No rips or runs in sight. Not even when Hanako scans her legs up and down and up again, just to check. Just to make sure.

Yashiro’s irate scoff sends his eyes scrambling very rapidly back to meet her own. “You’re impossible. You gotta guess what’s in- side the bag, dummy.”

“Radishes. No, wait, we already have plenty of those on hand.”

“Oh my God, I am literally going to kill you. Do you wanna die?” Hanako almost laughs. “Last chance before I change my mind and don’t let you have any!”

“Ohhh. Something I can have?”

Yashiro nods. Hanako tracks the movement of her jaw like a vulture circling a corpse, freshly splayed open and vulnerable and tantalizing with how red the blood, how plump the flesh, how easy it would be to sink his talons in and bare his teeth and--

“I have no idea,” he muses, “what that would be, then.”

“You’re so weird sometimes, Hanako-kun. Anyways, remember how I went over to Kou-kun’s tonight? Because he needed a taste-tester for his school assignments? Remember?”

Ah, and here he returns to the root issue of tonight’s predicament. Hanako is swiftly delivered back into the strange sensation of discontent that plagued him mere moments prior to Yashiro’s arrival. She’d distracted him -- as she is so often does -- from his brooding. 

Hanako remembers that he’s supposed to be brooding.

Hanako begins to brood. 

It’s a pitiful attempt, really, because Yashiro is hellbent on injecting the evening with her unique brand of excitable fanfare, and Hanako has never been able to put up much of a fight against her. He’s weak to the sun and all it’s gifts of brightness, after all.

In a last-ditch effort to save face, he manages to pout. Yes, this will show her. This will express to her his deep-seated dissatisfaction! 

“Hmph. I guess,” sighs Hanako, batting his lashes for good measure.

“Oh quit it. Don’t look like such a jealous puppy--”

“-- Excuse me--”

“--Especially ‘cause I brought you such a good gift! Look!”

And then Yashiro reaches into the bag and pulls out a slice of greasy, buttery, deliciously succulent garlic bread.

Hanako doesn’t even have the time to process her accusation of jealousy (which, hello? A little absurd if you ask him.) as he’s preoccupied with scrambling backwards to the opposite side of the bed, as fast as what will hopefully appear to be humanly possible.

“Kou-kun’s in the middle of his global unit in school, and he chose to make some Italian dishes, so I thought I’d bring home-- hey!! Where are you going!” Yashiro, clearly perplexed, pauses in her bubbly explanation. “Don’t be like that! I know you don’t like Kou-kun for whatever stupid reason, but really? He made it just for you!”

Of course he did, thinks Hanako, scathingly. He will deal with that overgrown menace of a mutt later, when his physical body is not in imminent danger and Yashiro is not growing steadily closer, brandishing the bread as though it were a sword, or rapier.

Oh, if only she knew.

Normally, Hanako would be elated -- ecstatic, even -- to see Yashiro crawling across his mattress, chasing him with a dark intensity in her eyes and a palm outstretched. But the issue here is that her palm, as sweet-smelling and milky soft as it looks and probably feels (Hanako wouldn’t know), is currently wielding a weapon of mass destruction.

He tries to placate her, or at least slow her steady advance, but it’s all for naught. “H-Hey now, Yashiro--”

He should throw her off. She shouldn’t even be in his home in the first place, let alone in his bed, but somewhere along the way Hanako had started making inappropriate, foolish, misguided allowances for this strange woman, and then he… never stopped.

Honestly? For a mistake as silly as entertaining a human of all things, he supposes he should go out in an equally as embarrassing fashion: death by sliced bread.

Yashiro is on top of him now, her thick calves bracketing the bony jut of his hips as she sits on his chest and leans over him, her cheeks incensed a bright and healthy rouge -- a mere few shades darker than those glittering fuschia eyes. Hanako can’t help but wonder just how red she can get; how much red she has to spare. How much red would be enough to burst her open and leak along the sides of her pristinely pale canvas like spilled acrylic in one big, gory, spattering mess. 

For two (definitely, totally, absolutely) mutually exclusive reasons, Hanako feels his stomach contract.

“You’re being ridiculous,” announces Yashiro from her perch atop his body, blissfully unaware of the fact that Hanako could very easily toss her clean across the city if he so chose. 

(Or maybe, it’s the fact that might know, and is unafraid of the prospect. As though she believes he won’t. Humans are such an arrogant, fickle species. He can’t say that he particularly misses being amongst their ranks.)

“It’s bread. Would it kill you to be agreeable for once and just take a freaking bite?”

Her heartbeat. He can hear it loud and clear even as he lays underneath the vice grip of her sturdy legs. Does she even know how fast her pulse rams itself against her veins? Like it’s begging to be rescued from the confines of that pretty, porcelain cage? 

Fuck. Fuck.

Hands-off. 

Mess free. 

“I’m allergic,” says Hanako, slowly, face blank and clean as a slate as he stares unblinkingly back up at his captor. “To garlic.”

There’s a curtain of shimmering white that cascades around the two of them, shifting to block out any and all extraneous stimuli. He should remind her to pick up some more bleach the next time she takes a trip to Daiso. It’s time to touch-up her roots again.

“Allergic,” she parrots.

The way her lips shape around the word, tasting it and rolling it around in suspicion, is captivating. In all his years of dealings on this earth never has Hanako followed a journey so gripping, so intense, as the way that Yashiro Nene’s mouth moves across a sentence. “Allergic,” she says again, flat and faint.

He’s just barely able to nod. “Deathly.”

“You’re deathly allergic to garlic.”

Time grinds to a painful, halting stop. The gradual slowing of the outside world is so acute that Hanako can track with his eyes the moment that Yashiro’s gaze flickers down to his cracked lips and the steady in-and-out of her breath is all but frozen in place. It’s excruciating, the level of detail he’s been subjected to bear witness to as a creature borne of blood and misery. He hates that he can hear her lungs rattle in suspense. He hates that he can name each muscle that goes still and locks solidly into place, anchoring around him in a rigid, tense embrace. He hates that he can smell her fear.

“Precisely. And you are straddling me. Are we done stating facts or would you like to continue on, Yashiro?”

It’s a bad habit he has, relying on humorous deflection. He’s amassed whole lifetimes of bad habits, and never has one felt more grievous than the way his lifeless body threatens to rise again after Yashiro launches herself off of him in mortified realization of their compromising position. A bad habit, thinks Hanako, watching his roommate flee away as he barely resists the urge to give chase. Predator and prey. A body drained dry. I’d take good care of you.

The crumbs in his bed dig into his skin and burn there, serving as a very stark, very physical reminder of his worst habit.

He’s already served his penance. Is currently serving it. Is slated to serve it for the rest of whatever conceivable eternity awaits him. 

So why, then, does his chest twist and ache with an ardor he thought had died with him, all that time ago? 

2. Reflection

The only reason he’d agreed to tag along was because Yashiro promised him that he didn’t have to speak if he didn’t want to. He isn’t much inclined to converse with random humans -- especially not over cheap, young wine. 

But this is, of course, exactly what he finds himself doing on a Thursday evening he would otherwise spend alone, holed up in his room, with his blackout curtains drawn to the side to bask in the glow of the full moon. Longingly, Hanako glances out of the large window he’d surreptitiously made a home next to immediately upon their arrival. Ah, well. Next month.

A round of boisterous laughter startles him out of his reverie. He chances a glance back to the sectional sofa in front of him and is greeted by the sight of Yashiro nearly doubled over in apparent amusement, wine glass tipping dangerously to the wayside. Her cheeks are speckled with the beginnings of a youthful pink. Unshed tears cling to her thin eyelashes. When she straightens up to catch her breath, she meets his gaze and allows her grin to melt into something soft and warm and entirely unsuited for the terrible, awful things that run through Hanako’s mind faster than the speed of light.

Having fun? She mouths discreetly, bringing the glass up to take another sip.

He nods, draining the red in his own grasp long and slow. It tastes like ash on his tongue. 

One of the other humans speaks, then. It isn’t the orange haired fellow who’d immediately struck Hanako as a sniveling, blindsided, spineless fool of a man -- no, it’s his wife, who’s entirely too preoccupied with asking questions about Hanako’s personal life for his comfort. 

“Hanako-san,” she begins pleasantly, gripping the wine bottle by the neck as she tops off his glass. Unprompted. “I’ve been wondering about something! Nene-chan is an Insta-freak, you know, right?” A what? “But you’re never on her page,” she continues with a pout, “And you aren’t tagged in any photos. Are you shy? That’s adorable!”

How can a woman speak so politely with eyes as cold as hers? They glitter at him underneath the fluorescent lighting of the living area, small and hard and blindingly bright, a twin set of enchantingly haunted jewels. Delicately, she tastes at the rim of her glass, and says nothing else.

Before he can conjure up a response that isn’t mood-killing and really little more than a thinly veiled threat, Yashiro pipes up. “Hanako-kun’s super off-grid!” She stresses, eyes wide, words comically over exaggerated as though she is delivering information of the utmost importance. “He has a very troubled childhood! He doesn’t like talking about it! So that’s why!”

“A troubled childhood,” muses the purple haired menace.

Yashiro nods solemnly, gulping another hit of her dry white. “Yeah! He’s got a bunch of weird allergies, too. Did you know that he can’t eat garlic? Not even garlic bread? Isn’t that so sad!”

“...Indeed it is. My condolences, Hanako-san.”

Right.

The evening doesn’t really improve from there, apart from Yashiro falling into his side after she gets a bit too wine drunk. Hanako can smell more than just the saccharine perfume she slathers on all the time; no, from this close, Hanako inhales and internalizes the scent of a robust, earthy musk, far richer than anything spritzed or patted superficially into the skin. Hanako can smell underneath her skin. Hell, Hanako can practically see -- can practically taste the delicacies hidden there, with how firmly she leans onto him. Would she still feel comfortable holding clutching onto his arm, if she knew the kinds of things he thinks about her? About doing to her?

They say good night to the amethyst wench and her sad excuse of a clueless human husband not long after that. The apartment isn’t far away and it’s too late to stumble into the car of a subway, so the pair of them trek home on foot.

A quiet night. The moon is as full as she is healing, and Hanako returns to himself a little bit more underneath her watchful, healing gaze.

“Now that I think about it… we really don’t have any pictures together.”

Although Yashiro has sobered up enough to stand straight, she still maintains a loose grasp on his arm. Her fingernails curl into the sleeve of his button down, a splash of bright, vivid red disappearing in the deep dark of a moonless night. Swallowed right up without a second thought. “Is it… is it because you’re embarrassed, Hanako-kun? Of, um… well. Do you not want to be seen with me? I’m sorry…”

He could break his own neck. He should. He would, if she asked him to.

“You own a Polaroid camera, yes?”

“Ah! You mean my Hello Kitty one? Uh-huh! Why?”

“When we return home,” Hanako says, like a fool, “We can take a picture.”

If he were a defendable creature, he’d point to Yashiro’s sudden and swift ascent into excitement as the justification for the latest manifestation of his long, long list of bad habits. Her strong ankles defy gravity and carry her as she floats on air, giggling as she skips the whole way home. Even as they make their way through the front door. Even as she must root around in her cluttered bedroom (that Hanako cannot follow her into, for obvious reasons). Even as she struggles to remember how to change the film, and inputs a decorative mascot-inspired roll, nicking more than a few of her pale, slender fingers in the process.

Even as she wades through darkness, Yashiro is so bright. 

The actual photo itself requires some set-up which eventually results in Hanako reversing the contraption unto them and pressing down on what he’s only halfway sure is the capture button. He assumes that he’s done well when a thin strip of glossy paper leaks out from the bottom and Yashiro swipes at it in a giddy stupor, remnants of the Riesling from earlier that evening rendering her sloppy and uncoordinated. 

“‘Kay, it’s gotta develop now… should only be a few more seconds! Will you keep it safe tonight? ‘M sooooo tired, and I really gotta shower before I pass out…”

Yashiro is already stumbling away, back towards her bedroom. She slips the rapidly lightening square in his palm as she slips back, lingering for one moment too long against the doorframe.

“Thanks, Hanako-kun. G’night.”

And then she is gone.

Which is probably for the best. The film has finally pulled itself from the murky depths of ambiguity. Hanako looks down at the picture in his palm and Yashiro stares back at him: her bold, red lips and silver-spun hair are two twin beacons of color, misplaced and incongruent within the impenetrable sea of blackness surrounding her. 

Where Hanako should have been instead lies a lapse in composition. The photograph is blank and undeveloped around his general silhouette. But that is not the strangest thing about the photograph.

The strangest thing is howYashiro leans into the darkness, unafraid of the way it spindles into her own boisterous portrait and slowly eats at the brightly hued pigments of her warm flesh, her pretty, frilly dress, her smile. That unerringly loud, human smile.

How long will it take, he wonders, before the shot is entirely eclipsed by that cold, dead void.

3. Sunlight

It’s a bad day before he even opens his eyes.

As a creature of indeterminate longevity and supernatural capabilities, sleep is not the necessity it once was for him. But he indulges, from time to time, when there’s little to do during the daylight hours. After all, he’s confined to his bedroom from sunrise until sunset. Pacing the perimeter of a lion’s cage grows tiresome, even to eternally patient apex predators such as himself. Much easier to force his body to shut down and pass the time for him, as his consciousness wanders aimlessly through the realm of a deep, dreamless slumber.

This day is not one of those days. This day is the peak of Summer’s cruel, tyrannical reign. This day is suffocating. This day is warm. This day is bright. 

This day maneuvers above and below and all around the blackout curtains that are always painstakingly drawn over his windows. This day leaks into his bedroom and weasels its way into his sheets, underneath his skin, scorching him from the inside out with such a ferocity that it renders him immobile. Every fiber of his being threatens to splice into terrifying, meaningless oblivion. 

When Yashiro first asked, Hanako told her it was migraines.

It was a vague excuse that pinpointed some rare, untreatable immune-disease that left him inexplicably weak to sunlight. Yashiro really should have been more persistent in hunting down the real truth -- the actual truth -- especially considering her occupation as an urgent clinic nurse. He considers the idea that it’s an answer she doesn’t care enough to unearth. He mulls over the alternative, which is that she is too frightened by whatever she may find to go searching for it in the first place. He then decides he’s done thinking about her. Today is torture enough.

A gentle knock at his door renders all of his efforts fruitless, however. “Hanako-kun?” Her voice filters easily through the heavy fog clouding his awareness, like a blade through slackened flesh. “You okay?”

She’s still standing hesitantly in his doorway, as though waiting for permission to enter. He’d laugh if it didn’t hurt so badly to do anything other than lay still and flat as a corpse.

He can’t afford to expend any unnecessary effort lest he wear himself out completely, so he goes for the most direct course of action:

Snakes his arm out of the big, black ball of sheets and comforter in which he’s coffined himself inside. Holds back a curse as he’s made aware of just how weak he’s become. Struggles not to drop his cellular phone when he finally manages to blindly locate it. Unplugs the device single handedly with tremorous fingers. Holds it out to the open air.

“Take this,” says Hanako, voice dim and tepid. “Dial the contact ‘Tsukasa.’ Give him this address.”

Not for the first time, Hanako realizes that he should be grateful for this human’s absence of curiosity. He has amassed plenty of bad habits in the past, all of them metastasizing entirely too close for comfort until he’d been forced to handle them in a way that had been entirely hands-on and the very opposite of mess-free. For Yashiro to wordlessly collect the cellular phone from his trembling grasp and do as she’s told is what he’d call a blessing, if he still believed in feats as fickle as faith. 

She is confused as she makes the phonecall. Hanako can hear the shift of her hair sliding past one shoulder as she tilts her head. He can feel the way her chest flutters in a muted gasp of surprise when the line connects after the first ring. She can’t be more than three or four feet away. Close enough for him to reach out and brush, with the pitifully pale pads of his fingertips. What a sight that would paint, muses Hanako, deliriously. Icarus and his glittering, lethal lover.

Time ebbs and flows and bends and breaks after that. He’s distantly aware that he drops in and out of consciousness. The hot wax slathering each of his limbs is an imagined thing, he’s sure, as is the sensation of free-falling to an anticipated, blunt death. These sensations are from the dreamscape that pulls him beneath its suffocating depths only to release him at the last second, in a cruel imitation of the sea and all her unfathomable terror. 

(He has not dreamt in so very, very long. It’s a bad habit.)

The final time he breaks the surface, he surges up against something -- cold. The kind of cold that forces his own to bow its head. The kind of cold that relieves him of his fever, and sends a violent chill through his body, all at once. The kind of cold one should only absorb in small doses, with limited contact. A once-in-every-three-decades kind of cold. That kind of cold.

“Hi, Amane! You look terrible!”

Tsukasa’s hand on his forehead is frigid enough that it loops back into the realm of burning. Hanako must gently bat it away and blink blearily up at the sight of his twin brother, just as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he always was. Always is.

“Hi, Tsu.”

“Hold still, ‘kay? I brought the bendy straws you like. All you gotta do is sip. Open wide!”

Obediently, Hanako parts his lips and accepts the flimsy piece of plastic. 

He tries not to think about what, exactly, it is that he’s doing. If he closes his eyes and holds his breath, Hanako can almost pretend that he’s being fed by different hands, in a different world, as a different person. 

“Hey, Amane?”

Gulp, shudder. Resist the instinctive gag that claws its way up his throat like a beast bending the bars of its cage. “Yeah, Tsu?”

“Why are you starving yourself?”

Eyes closed. Mouth shut. Another swallow. Hands-off. Mess free.

“You have food right there,” Tsukasa whispers. “Is there something wrong with her? Is she sick? Y’know, I’m not picky. If you don’t want her, I can--”

Hanako, with newfound strength, launches upright into a sitting position. What wonders a couple of mouthfuls can do. 

Oh, how to explain this. Oh, how to navigate his way through an intersection of muddled implications and unspoken subtleties, all of which will go right over Tsukasa’s head. How can Hanako pretend to be a creature of innuendo and self-control, when his biggest, most glaring lapse in judgement sits across from him in the damned den of his own design?

He struggles for a moment, running a tired hand down his face. “Yashiro is a -- friend.”

“A friend?”

“Yes,” confirms Hanako, desperately avoiding Tsukasa’s curious gaze. “And friends don’t eat friends.”

The words are slimy and leave a bad taste in his mouth. Well. Maybe the words themselves aren’t what lingers at the back of his tongue and stains his teeth. But they are odious, nonetheless, and hang in the air like empty nooses dripping down from a gallows.

“Friends don’t let friends starve,” is Tsukasa’s counterpoint. “If it were me, Amane, I’d let you. Even though you already did, I’d let you do it again. I’d always let you.”

Hanako has never understood why Tsukasa refuses to cover up the twin bite marks that marr his jugular. Is it to punish him? Is it not punishment enough, that Hanako has to see his face at all? 

When his brother grins at him, it cuts like a knife. Hanako remembers a time where those cheeks stretched wider, when those eyes glistened with something other than black ice. Tsukasa plucks the bendy straw out of the cup and drinks straight from the rim, tossing his head back to give Hanako full view of the way his throat opens and closes around the infernal contents. 

He can’t stop staring at the scars: two lone stars fixed in an empty, pallid, apocalyptic sky.

The younger boy is sated only when the cup has been drained dry -- and even then, he pants, exhilarated, pupils blown large and dangerously obsidian as they flitter back and forth as though in search of more, more, more. 

Why are you starving yourself?

He’d always been a messy eater. His baby brother, Tsukasa. Tsukasa who loved Katanuki. Tsukasa who loved to paint. Tsukasa who still loves to paint, but now works solely in abstract monochrome. Tsukasa, who paints himself over and over and over again until he’s dripping, covered head-to-toe in a masterpiece of his own design. Tsukasa, who licks his canvas clean at the end of each night only to start anew in tomorrow’s dangerous twilight dusk. Tsukasa, who collects victims like portraits.

Tsukasa, who had once been a portrait himself. Hanako, who held the brush in his hands and created something freakishly beautiful that wretched, awful night.

Why are you starving yourself?

He feels full enough, watching Tsukasa pass his tongue over his chops. He feels like he’ll never need to eat again.

By the time his brother makes his departure, the sun has long since sunk beneath the horizon. Hanako’s room is once again as it should be: a thick, inky fog of opaque black. It’s so dark, in fact, that had he not been what he is, he would never have spotted the slight gap between his door and its frame, where a slender figure lingers in apprehensive wait.

Yashiro is checking on him, he realizes belatedly. 

Why are you starving yourself?

“Good night,” She calls, softly. “I’m about to head out for a double.”

“Be safe.”

“‘Course! I always am… I hope you feel better soon, Hanako-kun.”

He couldn’t have this if he ate like an animal. He couldn’t have Yashiro -- sweet, gentle, lovely Yashiro -- living alongside him as he devoured bodies made in her image. Already, Hanako struggles with what his baser instincts urge him towards… to give into those temptations would be putting her in danger. 

His door clicks quietly shut. His room is bathed in the cover of night once more.

Left alone to his own devices, the beat begins to roam its cage. A growl sounds, low and deep and mortally wounded. Not from his throat -- but from the very pit of his stomach.

Resistance is one thing, but ignorance, however feigned, is quickly ruled out of the realm of his personal possibility. There is no disregarding the sensations that fester inside of him. There is no course for his desires to run. There is only the ugly, maddening truth:

Hanako is hungry.

Hanako needs to put his hands on something.

Hanako needs to make a mess.

4. Silver

“Promise rings!”

“... Excuse me?”

“N-Not in a weird way, or anything like that!” Stutters Yashiro, fumbling with the miniature wooden box in her shaking, manicured grasp. “They’re just little cheap ones. I saw them on display at the mall, and I couldn’t just not… plus, do you even know what day it is?”

Hanako raises a brow. “Enlighten me.”

“It’s our six-months-as-roommates-a-versary!”

“Wow.”

“I’m really happy you recognize the importance here, Hanako-kun. Now stick out your hand so I can put yours on! And then you do me!”

If he didn’t know any better, Hanako would wonder how Yashiro gets anything done with those delicate fingers of hers. They’re as soft-looking and malleable and enticingly peachy as the rest of her, topped off at their gracefully tapered ends with a neat coat of ruby red. They dance along everything they touch, nimble little ballerinas hopping from pose to pose, commanding rapt attention wherever they leap. 

As his own hand raises to meet hers, he must fight the urge to clench into an ugly, defensive fist. 

The first touch sends something like electricity ricocheting down his spine like lightning through a weather vane. She is so gentle. How can she be so gentle? How can she be so round-edged and rosy-cheeked and expect him to just stand here, wordlessly, with nothing to do or say about it? How can she live in his house for six months and celebrate, rather than mourn? How can she look at him, a creature innate to unsightly presence and habit, and say to herself: this is something worthy of care.

The second touch is just as unnerving, but for all the wrong reasons.

“I thought you said this was cheap,” grits Hanako, exhaling sharply through his nose as the silver ring slides slow and meticulously down the length of his finger. 

Yashiro pauses, eyes narrowed. “Is it not? How can you even tell?”

“A-allergic… !”

To her credit, she’s properly mortified. Yashiro almost falls all over herself  to wrench the offending piece of jewelry off and away, apologizing profusely as she studies the burn wound on his middle finger. Her mouth twists into a tense little knot. Hanako wants to smooth it out.

Instead, he follows her obediently into her bathroom after she tells him to come inside and sit his ass down on the toilet -- which he does, sheepishly.

“I can’t believe -- oh, God, I’m so sorry, Hanako-kun… Just, hold still okay? It’s only gonna hurt a little, I promise.”

It’s an injury that would’ve long since healed itself by now, if he were in any other state than the one he currently occupies; which is to say that he’s rather unhealthy. Which is to say that the rats and possums and other small rodents he guiltily entraps in the alley behind the house do nothing besides sate a momentary desire. Which is to say that it is impossibly difficult to keep himself aware and conscious and disciplined enough not to careen head-first into Yashiro’s exposed clavicle and unhinge his jaw and feel his skull shift to accommodate the extra layer of fangs and sink his claws into her perfect, supple hips and feel her go paralyzed with terror as he--

“Okay! All done. Do you feel better now?”

“Yes.” It’s a pretty bandage. Pink and bright with tiny dancing radishes along the perimeter.

“I really am sorry,” mumbles Yashiro, encasing his frigid hands with her own, squeezing and rubbing with her soft thumbs. “I don’t ever want to hurt you. You’ve always -- you’re always so kind to me, all the time, and it just seems like… well, I don’t know. Lately I feel like I just never know how to help you, Hanako-kun. I feel like I just make things… worse. So can you promise me something?”

“Anything,” says Hanako, unblinkingly, because blinking is a sign of dishonesty.

“You have to tell me when you need something. Or when you don’t need something. Or when you -- uh, well, I really want you to be honest with me. Okay? Can you promise me that? Because it makes me really sad that you struggle with… a lot, and there’s not so much I know about how to help. So, please? Do you promise? To be honest?”

“I promise,” says Hanako, unblinkingly, because blinking is a sign of dishonestly and also because he can’t close his eyes without seeing her body splayed out in the bathtub behind her, limbs limp and gore overflowing past the rim and into his eagerly awaiting mouth. In this fantasy, he uses his tongue to follow the carmine droplets bulleting down the porcelain edge, licking and slurping until he reaches the source of the mess, the heart of the storm, the original inspiration to all his reverence. He would take his time. 

(Or would he lose himself? Would it be hands-on? Would it be messy?)

“Thank you for trusting me. I trust you… with my life, you know. Maybe it’s naive, but I hope one day you could do the same.”

He can’t touch her, not right now, even though she looks like she’s about to shake apart at the seams. All Hanako can do is watch from a safe distance, and wonder. And want. And ache.

As always.

5. Blood

She comes home early.

Hanako has only just padded his way into the kitchen when he hears the front door unlock. Is it that time, already? No, it can’t be. Yashiro usually arrives when he is just settling in to go back to sleep. She brings with her the pale light of a budding dawn, and although Hanako regrets their sparse interactions and conflicting schedules, he’d rather not disintegrate into a pile of ashes atop the living room couch just because he felt like saying welcome home, honey.

Tonight is different, apparently. A cursory glance thrown over to the microwave clock reveals that it’s only a few minutes past the witching hour. And despite there being a total absence of sunlight when Yashiro opens the door, Hanako still falls to his knees in a sudden onslaught of unadulterated agony.

His vision turns spotty, only worsening as Yashiro rushes inside and screams at the sight of his crumpled body. “Hanako-kun? Oh my God! Oh my God, can you hear me?”

Barely, is what he wants to say, but can’t. His throat is too tight, too dry. His mouth begins to salivate at an alarmingly disgusting rate. 

That smell.

Pathetically, he crawls over to her on his hands and knees, body running on autopilot as it drives him towards the source. Hanako can feel his body shift and transform with the pavlovian response he’s developed over the decades -- an instinct borne out of the memory of a chase, of a hunt,of warm flesh twisting and stretching and tearing underneath his capable grasp, of muffled screams and kicking legs and the eventual, gradual descent into permanent stillness, of hands scrabbling desperately into dirt, into pavement, into carpet, as they scream his name and beg him -- no -- no, stop -- what are you -- Hanako-san--!

Blood. But, not just any kind of blood. 

Fresh, human blood.

Six months is a very, very long time to go without food.

The scent wafts from the messenger bag thrown haphazardly over Yashiro’s shoulder. Hanako claws weakly at it, burying his nose into the worn fabric and moaning in relief at the contact. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, breathy. The debauched soundtrack of his own muffled desperation would embarrass him, probably, if he were cognizant of anything other than the metallic tang filling his nostrils.

The last thing he remembers is Yashiro running her fingers through his hair, shushing him quietly. 

And then it all fades to black.

“Oh, Good. You’re awake!”

Hanako gets about halfway through a sarcastic reply before something is shoved past his lips. Something… familiar. Something -- bendy?

“Drink up,” huffs Yashiro, pushing the straw more firmly into his mouth. “You’re lucky we had a contaminated batch of bags today. I-it’s still safe to drink, though! Or at least… I hope… tell me if it tastes funny, okay? Jeez, Hanako-kun… I didn’t know you were so hungry! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?

His lack of a response only propels her onward. 

“Well… I know you don’t like to talk about it… I’m sorry if this is making you uncomfortable, but I couldn’t just sit and watch you waste away--”

“You knew?”

“... Um. Was I not supposed to know?”

“You knew,” Hanako repeats numbly around the plastic in his mouth, dumbfounded. “This whole time, you knew.”

Unimpressed, Yashiro raises an eyebrow. “That you’re a vampire? Duh. Allergic to garlic? And silver? And sunlight? I’m not stupid, and you aren’t nearly as slick as you think you are, mister.”

 The chuckle she gives after this quickly peters off into something more melancholy, a little bit darker in origin. From where she’s perched on the couch, leaning above him to adjust the straw’s positioning into the medical packet on his chest, Hanako can see the sorrow, there, in her big, doe-like eyes. 

“You never brought it up… and I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries! I’ve never, erm, done ‘this’ before… if you couldn’t already tell. But since you never said anything… I just thought that, I don’t know? Maybe my blood wasn’t good enough to drink, or something like tha--”

“That is absolutely not the case.” 

He’s quick to cut her off. Too quick. “Far from it, really,” he attempts to joke in an effort to lessen the intensity of the blow, but the damage has already been done. Yashiro’s hand freezes around the blood bag, her eyes flitting up to lock onto his own. 

It’s unfairly attractive, the way her blush blossoms across her face. Hanako takes a long drag from the straw and swallows, never breaking his stare.

“I would… definitely be okay. More than okay. With doing -- ahem. That.”

“Drinking,” supplies Nene, so quietly that Hanako reads her lips more than he hears the charged word spill from her pink, glistening tongue. “You’d drink from me?”

What a question. Oh, if only she knew.

“Sure,” he hums, easily, “as long as you promise not to bring home anymore garlic bread. Especially not from that mangy mutt.”

“Hey, that isn’t very nice! Kou-kun isn’t… wait. You’re… you don’t mean…?”

“Yep.”

“Oh my god. That’s why you don’t like him!”

“His pack leader really, really hates me. Heh.”

“You know, you probably shouldn’t look so pleased about that.” She says, with a fond smile. Hanako wants to taste it. 

On his next sip, he’s met with an ugly slurping sound. Normally, the fact that he’d sucked down a pint of blood in less than five minutes would be cause for concern. But his circumstances are not normal. His circumstances haven’t been normal for quite a good while, really, and Hanako can’t bring himself to think about it too hard. Not when his worst bad habit is within arms’ reach; not when she’s digging into her bag and procuring another packet of blood for him to puncture with the blunt end of his straw.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, awestruck.

“And I’ve got seven more where that came from! So just take your time, okay? No rush. I’ll stay here and make sure you get your fill… I promise.”

Hanako thinks he will hold her to that.

+1: Feeding

This is nothing like the first time, which is what he’d originally been terrified of. This is nothing like the second, or third, or fourth or fiftieth or hundredth time.

(How could it be? How could having her pliant and wanton underneath his capable grasp be anything other than pure ecstasy?)

Before he takes the plunge, he -- has to warn her. Again. Just in case she’s changed her mind. “Last chance,” Hanako breathes into the fleshy meat of her, the aroma of pumping blood doing unspeakable things to his mind. “This is your last chance to back out, Yashiro.”

She’s pretty as a portrait, the way she shifts and wriggles underneath his body reminiscent of the melding of a varied color palette coming together in one grand, epic composition. 

But he’s about to stain her in monochrome. 

“Don’t be gentle,” Yashiro gasps, dragging his hands to hold her down. “I’m not afraid o-of a little mess.”

You should have been, thinks Hanako, mournfully, as he paints his first stroke of bright, brilliant red.

#hananene fic #hananene ao3 #tbhk fic #jshk fic #hanako x yashiro #hanako x nene #amane yugi x yashiro #amane yugi x nene #toilet bound hanako kun fic #jibaku shounen hanako kun fic #my writing

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what i am writing for currently: TBHK,obey me,ohshc, creepypasta, ERROR143!!!!

i will NOT write smut or do a fem reader. male or gn readers only.

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[itischeese]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 地縛少年花子くん | Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun | Toilet-bound Hanako-kun (Manga), 地縛少年花子くん | Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun | Toilet-bound Hanako-kun (Anime) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Minamoto Kou/Mitsuba Sousuke Characters: Minamoto Kou, Mitsuba Sousuke Additional Tags: First Kiss, Pining, Kou has anxiety I don't make the rules, Fluff, Drabble, I've never written a drabble before so this is very strange to me, well. I've never written a drabble that wasn't intended to utterly destroy you., Consent, for the kiss, bc I don't see enough of that Series: Part 4 of Kintsukuroi Universe Summary:

Can I kiss you?” Kou breathes.

He doesn’t expect much, expects Mitsuba to call him a perv and a weirdo and any number of other things, to never let him forget this incident.

What he doesn’t expect is for Mitsuba’s eyes to blow wide, his lips to part slightly, and a deep flush to rise to his face as he stares at Kou and processes what Kou has just said. It should not be attractive, objectively. It only makes Kou want to kiss him more.

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What’s this? A fic on *not* Thursday? Who Is She

#I would also like to not that it is *fluff* #I'd call it character development if I didn't know how many angst fics I'm working on #tbhk fic #ao3 #Mitsukou

[kaistarus]

My Fic Recs

South Park

Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space (gremlinteeth)–(Creek-complete(137k)–this is quite literally the greatest fic in existence. ‘but South Park is cring–’ shut your mouth, get over it, and read this masterpiece. The character/relationship development, worldbuilding, symbolism, characterization?? I still get emotional listening to “Wouldn’t It Be Nice.” by The Beach Boys.... Like what?!? I cannot wait for the day that I have forgotten enough of this fic that I can reread it again properly. IDC what fandom you’re from read this fic.

Me, You, And Time(HelplessRomantic_2)--(Creek-complete(13k))--There are a lot of fics on Craig and Tweek’s development using canon moments in the show and I think this one does it best. Characterization, realism, character/relationship development, friend group dynamics. It’s just a great fic overall. Love it

Family Is What You Make Of It(Mareepysheepy)--Creek-complete(17k))--This fic is unbelievable. It’s an absolute masterpiece of a take on the Tucker family dynamic and how Tweek has fit into their lives. The unconditional love they have for each other and Tweek’s support for Craig. It’s one of my favorite Tucker family fics and the writing itself is phenomenal

Life In Color (BlameCanada)-@blame-canada-Creek-Complete(2k)--This is so artistically written and underappreciated. It’s a shorter one-shot, but their ability to take Craig’s monotonous descriptions to show how his worldview and outlook literally change with Tweek around is beautiful. Gives me that chest achy lovey feel and cannot get enough

Your Eyes, My Nose (PinkFan_Gurl)-@pinkfan-gurl-Creek-Incomplete(75k)-I admit, I was a little hesitant at first because babies, but I gave it a chance and OH my god I’m so glad. The writing style is fantastic, the characterization is phenomenal, there are unique relationship dynamics, and most importantly we get dopey Craig who is so in love with Tweek it’s embarrassing. I flip out when I see there's an update in my inbox. Not complete, but still updates 🙂

A Beautiful Sight, We’re Happy Tonight (@tlinrookie)-Creek-Complete(13k)--I am so obsessed with this fic, it's just so fucking good and one of my favs. Post-high school hook-up into insecure/awkward flirting? It’s so well done and realistic as a concept that if someone told me this actually happened to them in college I’d believe it. I love that in my fics. And once again, awkward blushy Craig <3

press pause (pink2d)--Creek-complete(13k)--Just Craig overwhelmed with his newly developing feelings through fantastic writing and emotional description. He just wants to kiss his boyfriend but can’t stop overthinking literally everything. I LOVE the author’s use of little details and actions to show love and build up on Craig’s end, gives you a chest achy emotion

Anyone Else But You(@fruitloopzed)-Creek-Complete(3k)--One of my fav meet cutes. I’m always a sucker for love at first sight, but Craig seeing a cute boy at five-years-old and his first instinct being to rizz them up with red racer? What a concept. Genius. It’s so cute and actually writes them in character for their age which is well done

Nervous young inhumans(tweakers)-Creek-Incomplete(136k)@tweakerist--Have you ever wanted Craig to be hopelessly in love, but literally everyone and their grandma knows except him? Well, I have the fic for you! lmao seriously tho Craig is an idiot. but his and Tweek’s relationship dynamic/development is so good. I will reread some interactions like ten times cause they’re so cute and funny. So if you also like dialogue/interactions sign yourself up. It’s incomplete, but author updates regularly!

Toilet Bound Hanako-Kun

More Trouble Than You’re Worth(@voidjelli)–Amanene-Complete(183k)- Have you ever wanted as many fanfic tropes as possible shoved into one beautifully written fic? Well I've got the story for you! lol I’m personally obsessed with ‘he’s so in love with her it’s pathetic’ so this fic kills me. The writing is phenomenal and the characterization/relationship buildings are amazing. I’m a sucker for good friendships and fun group dynamics which this fic is filled with AND there’s  a prequel Last Call(7k)

Undertow(Kawffee)-@kawff33-Amanene-Complete(96k)--The amount of effort and research that must have gone into this fic astounds me. Like a mystery/romance with a small-town island setting, Nene doing Orca research? I learned so much. The writing is astounding, the concept is fantastic, it was so fun to read, and I’m amazed it exists as just a fanfic tbh

#honestly i have more of both and other ships but these are my fav rn #south park #craig tucker #sp creek #sp craig #jshk #amanene #fic recs #tweek tweak #tbhk #hanako #nene #maybe i'll add if and when i have more fics to share #sharing is caring after all #if i missed any blog tags feel free to add them I tried to find everyone :) #hananene

[tsutsumi-kurose]

aoi collects ghost stories so she can tell them to nene bc she knows nene loves them

aoi takes nene into a haunted house and holds her hand and smiles when nene gets scared and clings to her

this girl is one step away from inviting nene over to have a sleepover and watch scary movies so nene will hide her face in aoi’s shoulder at the suspenseful parts and ask aoi to cuddle when they go to bed bc she’s scared. and i support her completely

#the fic is writing itself #literally romancing her #get your girl aoi!!! you can do it!!! #they’re so cute 😭💕 #aoinene #tbhk spoilers #tbhk 112