Moon: Hey something came up so our mighty ruler will speak now.
Me: Hey guys, I never thought that I would post smut, but here I am. I wanted to put something depressing on here because my Great Grandma went to the hospital today. She was flown there with life flight, and I'm worried. So I put some depressed writing here. Warning: for triggers, also 3 TG fans have cried from reading this, this is mature and incredibly sad. If you don't like it, don't read it, and please don't flame me. Constructive criticism and comments are always welcome, but remember the warning. Also, if it triggers you in any way, get out of here and don't read this again. I don't want to hurt you guys. Now that that's over with, I'm gone.
Dark: Enjoy the story! Obvious disclaimers, and the authoress is a sadist! Anyway byzzles!
Tsukiyama awoke from His restless slumber to his rather lavish room. It had once been a barrage of colors like he used to wear, but now it was all black. The walls, the curtains, his four poster bed, his dresser, even his clothes all had been painted solid black. His head turned to the sole corner of color in the room. There stood two mannequins and a glass case.
The lifeless dolls reflected him, in a way. He felt as if he belonged there, but knew that he never would. One doll, had his measurements exactly, and the other had Kaneki's. His darling Kaneki! Oh how his heart ached at even the thought. His lovely Amour who had become so much more than a single meal.
With monumentous effort, he hauled himself out of bed. Slowly, as if belonging to a newborn infant, his feet touched the floor. The blankets fell to reveal Tsukiyama's withered body. Continuous months of eating even less than those fools at Antikeu did had worn at his muscles, and diminished them. All of his body was soft where it was once finely tuned, and his haunted eyes were dead to the world.
He creaked to his feet like an old automaton and drifted over to the colorful corner. His Wooden double still wore the clothes from that remarkably wonderful and ridiculously terrible night. Wonderful because he'd tasted heaven, and terrible because he had unwittingly thrown it all away at the same time.
He eagerly lifted the glass case and stared at the red piece of flooring before holding it to his face and smelling it. It was the last piece he had of his time with Kaneki-kun, and he possessively replaced the carpet and slammed the lid down. He would be wise and conserve the scent for as long as he could, because if lost, he'd loose what little he had left to live for.
So he turned to the smaller doll. This one had snow white hair, just like his beloved Kaneki. The eyes imitated his as well, but they could never compare. Lastly, the doll had posable wooden joints. It would never be as good as the living, breathing Kaneki who would demand his obedience, but for now, he could live with his own delusions. They were how he'd made it this long after all.
Tsukiyama dropped the hoodie jacket from his shoulders to reveal his naked torso underneath. He crept closer to the doll; clad in one of his love's old battle suits, as he would the real Kaneki. "Ken," the broken man whispered. He imagined Kaneki, the badass that he loved, only a bit gentler. His eyes were ice cold, and yet he embraced Tsukiyama. He was strong, but he was warm.
The mannequin stared blankly at him, but in his mind, Kaneki was calling for him. "Good little mongrel," He commended as Tsukiyama crowded in closer. "It took a lot of training, but finally you're missing me like a proper pet should," He whispered smooth as velvet, making Tsukiyama whimper. He was practically on top of the doll now and he climbed closer still. "Reward me master," he pleaded needily. At that his fantasy Kaneki chuckled.
"A little greedy, aren't we?" he asked and Tsukiyama just whimpered further. "Please!" He nearly shouted at the doll. The Kaneki of his imaginings was pleased with his begging. "I guess I'll pet my slutty little dog," he crooned. The illusion was broken for a moment as he had to move the doll's arms.
The doll's arms were curled inward and slightly up just perfectly, and the doll's knee was stuck on a small stepping stool to hold it in place. Tsukiyama leaned into the hard wooden arm and sighed at the harsh prodding in his koukaku. It was rough and pleasant, and unpleasant all at the same time. It felt so good to once again be unable to form his koukaku and have his blood just drip into s puddle on the floor.
The Kaneki of his fantasy stared at the growing pile with growing disgust. "So wet just for me, only for your master." here he was left with a gap that fantasy and reality could not bridge. Kaneki's glorious Kagune wrapped firmly around his neck to prove his point.
Tsukiyama groaned his pleasure and crossed a leg over the propped up one of the doll's. He began to grind in earnest at the whispered permission he was given, and he nearly cried out in ecstasy. Each backward thrust sent the wooden hand deeper into his back and each forward thrust stimulated his dripping dick. "So messy," the Kaneki of his imagination breathed. Yes he was, he was so messy and only for Kaneki would he ever be this way.
With thoughts like these he came in his pants in long, shooting bursts. He wanted to mark Kaneki as his. His master, his lover, his everything. Sometimes he even secretly wished he could mark his face, but Tsukiyama knew that would never happen. As he crashed to Earth, the Moon man slid off the doll. He kicked the stool away in a fleeting fit of anger. Yet still, he joined the dolls with his dead, lifeless eyes and unmoving body.