i'm not sure why i like these idiots lol


“will you shut the fuck up, v? we aren’t gonna get caught, who the fuck else in littleton is going to sneak into a cemetery at 2 am?” eric had a point.

dylan wasn’t sure why eric dragged him out of his house tonight, black canvas backpack in hand, looking like a vengeful god. dylan wasn’t sure, and he didn’t want to ask. eric was in another one of his fucking moods, and if you said something that pissed him off, you better have your fists up in advance.

“well, for-fucking-give me if i don’t want to get arrested, again!” dylan whisper-yelled, running to catch up with eric’s fast and angry steps.

“listen, babe, go the fuck home if you’re that damn worried about it.” eric grabbed his wrist, and pulled him under the metal framed archway that led to a plethora of rotting flesh.

they don’t talk as they walk through the cemetery, eric shines flashlights on the headstones. there are kids, teenagers, sisters, fathers, grandmothers. there are people buried six feet underground for the rest of eternity.

they sit under a willow tree, legs intertwined, black jeans against black jeans, combat boots against ratty sneakers. it was very dylan and eric, joined at the hip, till death do them part.

“what’s up?” eric asked, tapping his fingers on dylan’s knee.

“just sitting on some dead bodies, how about you?” eric rolled his eyes, fumbling around inside of his bag, pulling out a bottle of fireball.

“underage drinking in the presence of a one mister klebold, on this lovely tuesday night. can’t imagine a better way to spend my time.” he poured the alcohol into a small paper cup, handing one to dylan, and wrapping his hands around the other.

“technically, reb, it’s wednesday morning.” dylan smiled, tilting his cup in eric’s direction.

“don’t be a smartass, babes. it’s not a good look for you.” eric replied, shooting the liquid down his throat. he crumpled the cup and threw it behind him, pulling dylan’s lips to his, sloshing the alcohol onto their clothes.

eric’s leaning on top of dylan, mouthing and biting at his lips, working his fingers to the bottom of his shirt, lifting it up and off.

“hold on, baby,” eric says, grabbing something from his backpack. his hand pulls out a few seconds later, the clean black handle of a shiny and long bladed knife in his hand.

dylan isn’t expecting eric to do what he does. dylan expects eric to shove the knife in between his ribs, or maybe a long slit from ear to ear. instead, eric lifts the knife up to his mouth, smiling, before licking along the blade. something about it gives dylan a feeling in the pit of his stomach, like he’s just tried to swallow fire.

eric climbs on top of dylan, holding the knife loosely in his hand, pressing the blade gently against his neck. dylan’s breath hitches at the feeling of the cool metal against his skin, and the way eric’s calloused hands move roughly against his waistline.

“i’m gonna cut you up, baby,” eric hisses, “gonna taste your blood. i bet it tastes like honey.” dylan arched up into eric’s touch, whining in want.

eric moves the blade smoothly across dylan’s hip, harshly and quickly, moving his head to lick at the blood dripping from the cut. dylan cried out, in pain and pleasure, hips buckling up into eric’s mouth.

“easy there, baby boy. shh, i’ll give you whatever you want. what do you want?” dylan stutters over his words, letting out nothing but a string of profanities.

“want me to fuck you, baby?” dylan nods, almost screaming when eric cuts the waistband of his jeans. they slide off of his legs, and eric leaves his boxers on, mouthing at his dick through the fabric.

dylan’s hips want to buck up, but every time they threaten to, eric moves his body up dylan’s and holds a knife to his throat. dylan restrains himself.

it’s harder for him to restrain himself when eric is shoving his fingers into him, rough and angry and everything dylan has been wanting since eric stuck his tongue in dylan’s mouth.

eric breathes into dylan’s mouth heavily, bringing the blade up again and pressing it against dylan’s mouth after pulling away. dylan’s tongue comes out, gently licking the sharp point of the blade, a drop of blood sliding down the shiny sliver. eric groaned, catching the red liquid with his thumb, smearing it on to dylan’s lips.

“god, i wanna fuck you. you want that, baby? want it so hard you can’t fucking walk?” dylan gulps, licking his lips, pulling eric down into another messy, open mouthed, and bloody kiss.

eric pulls his pants down his hips, dylan wrapping his legs around eric’s back, trying to get something. eric pushes slowly into dylan, and dylan scratches at his back from the feeling.

“fuck,” dylan whined, “fuck, reb, harder, please.” eric obliges, thrusting roughly into dylan, gripping at his hips hard and bruising. eric can feel the blood still dripping from dylan’s wound, and he gathers it with his fingers, bringing them up to dylan’s mouth. dylan sucks them in, the blood staining his skin and lips.

“how is it?” eric chokes out.

dylan grins and says, “sweet like honey.”

Holly Sucks at Small Talk
  • Lunchbox: I have a question for you.
  • Gail: We haven't talked in over a year but sure, knock yourself out.
  • Lunchbox: Such a trooper. Here goes: If you could have one superpower what would it be?
  • Gail: That's it? That's what you wanted to ask me after all this time? Not, how's work? Are you seeing someone? Murder anyone lately? Do you miss me? Did you ever get that piercing we talked about?
  • Lunchbox: I was leading up to all that.
  • Gail: You are so weird.
  • Lunchbox: So I've been told, but it always meant more coming from you.
  • Gail: You can't see my face right now but I'm rolling my eyes.
  • Lunchbox: You forget that I know you, you are also blushing and smiling like an idiot.
  • Gail: Shut up! Am not.
  • Lunchbox: Sure, sure. Back to the question then.
  • Gail: Fine. The power to time travel.
  • Lunchbox: Interesting. I could have sworn you'd choose something to do with mind manipulation.
  • Gail: Why's that?
  • Lunchbox: So you can make your friends fetch you things, like donuts.
  • Gail: I already do that anyway. Or at least try to. They are far less compliant these days. Well that and I no longer eat donuts.
  • Lunchbox: I'm sorry... I think my brain just short-circuited. Really? No donuts?
  • Gail: No lol. Still as gullible as ever, I see. You know my grave will read: She Loved Donuts. (Oh and Lunchboxs' boobies)
  • Lunchbox: How could I forget that conversation?
  • Lunchbox: So what time would you travel to, and why?
  • Gail: I can't believe you just made me math. I'd travel back 14 months, 11 days, and roughly 5 hours to tell the woman I love that I loved her - I would tell her that I loved her and that I was sorry. For everything. Then I'd beg her to stay.
  • Lunchbox: lol is that all?
  • Gail: Yeh, that's the gist of it
  • Lunchbox: I imagine you'd be very hard to say no to. This woman you loved was very lucky and obviously a complete idiot for ever leaving in the first place.
  • Gail: Love. Present tense.
  • Lunchbox: Gail...
  • Gail: Lunchbox...
  • Lunchbox: I have another question for you.
  • Gail: Shoot.
  • Lunchbox: Did you really get that piercing?
  • Gail: Come visit me and you can find out ;)
  • Lunchbox: I'll be there in 6 minutes.
  • Gail: Maybe your brain really did short-circuit, I think you meant 6 hours. Or do you have a superpower I don't know about? Oooh do you have a one of those tight fitting costumes too? Because that'd be sexy af.
  • Lunchbox: I'm in a hotel around the corner.
  • Gail: Shut up, you are not.
  • Lunchbox: I beg to differ.
  • Gail: Seriously?
  • Lunchbox: Seriously. Meet me half way?
  • Gail: I'll see you in 3 minutes.
  • Lunchbox: Kiss you in 1.5 if we run.
  • Gail: Better not, just ate 4 donuts. But you can tell me you love me in 4.5