Hank Fanart Novels & Stories

I have a few scars caused by this fucking thing. The door opened, and the same man as before, Hank, marched down. He was older, fatter, and even more gross looking now. Time has not been kind to him. As he went to stomp past me, I quickly stepped out of his way to avoid that disapparating feeling. He leaned over Zee’s body and smacked her across the face a couple of times.

She seems nice and I wonder why she is doing what she is doing with the chairman. “What are you drawing?” one of the PE teachers, Hank, approach me and sit close to me. “Um, just sketching, ideas for new tattoos” I reply politely. “Cool, you’ve got many tattoos?” he asks and drinks his protein shake. “I’ve got a few” I reply. What is going on? “I’ve been thinking about getting some new ink too” he explains. Oh, okay. Maybe he’s just interested in tattoos. I don’t reply. This is a bit awkward. I know Hank is about Sebastian’s age and I have a feeling he’s gay. I hope he's not hitting on me. That would be se awkward.

"But remember, this isn’t just about Caleb and Kayla. It’s about Stephanie too. She needs to feel safe and supported." Damien looked up at Hank with gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. Hank nodded slowly, lost in thought for a moment, trying to process everything that Damien had shared. But as his gaze shifted around the room, his eyes fell on a picture hanging just above Damien's head on the wall. It was a simple wooden frame, nothing particularly eye-catching about it—until Hank saw the face within it.

Christopher knocked on the red room door. “Yeah!” a guy yelled. Christopher cracked the door open to see Hank with his dark hair disheveled and lying on his back while the big lump in the white sheet covering his lower half was moving up and down. “Uh, hey, Cootie is . . . ready to go.” “Mmm. All right, man. Let me finish up,” Hank groaned. “Sorry to rush, baby, but it sounds like you need to go ahead and finish me off.”

Soft, smooth, and lullaby worthy. “Oh, look. That’s Beth,” Hank said. My head jerked up. He brought a glass of wine to his lips, and I expertly pried it from him. “You know her?” I asked. He frowned at the glass in my hand. “Don’t you think you have had more than enough for tonight, Hank?” The other men laughed. I knew none of them but Hank. But they were all humans like him. Hank used to be my second favorite human until Mr. Parker died.

He can express his inner thoughts through his sketches, and release them from his mind. After his father helped him on his bed, the first thing he did is flip through the pages of his sketch pad. They don't have a lot of money, and for him to afford buying his art supply, he had to work with his father during the vacation season. After days of not being able to draw, Landon has a lot of ideas in mind. Every images in his sketch book are dark, morbid, and graphic depiction of murder. At first glance, you would think that he wants to be a graphic designer. That maybe, in the future he wants to work on a comic company.

"Uhm, can I have your ticket?" Kane raised a brow, amusement flickering in his blue eyes. "Ticket?" he repeated, his voice deep, teasing. The redhead—Mona, according to her name tag—bit down on her plump lower lip, her gaze darting everywhere except at him. "Sorry, it's just... you look familiar." That made him chuckle. Oh, really? He tilted his head slightly, his gaze flickering to the large poster plastered beside her booth—a giant picture of himself, fists raised, the underground champion.

Hank grinned, laughing hideously, his other members joined him swords drawn Jared closed his eyes, opening them to show rigid blood pitched eyes, Hank took two steps back, he pulled out his switchblade, ready to fight” For the last time, remember this when you get to hell, Hank, the name is not commander Mike, it is commander Jared stone to you” Hank’s eyes growled in horror, the other two tried to run when they heard his name, Jared knifed them down in slow seconds, they were dead before they saw him move

“I don’t see any reason not to.” Hank nods, clearing his throat and looking out the window, apparently eager to avoid eye contact with us. “Yup,” he says briskly, suddenly very interested in a squirrel outside running up the trunk of a tree. “I see no reason to abstain any further, if you’re –“ But there’s no reason for him to finish his sentence, because Sinclair and I are already gone.

That was probably the last time that he had taken a shower too. “Suck me off.” Rachelle looked at his half hard dick that hadn’t been washed in days. Roughly he grabbed her hair. “Is there a problem?” she swallowed hard and shook her head. “Good.” He forced her mouth to his dick. He heard a motorcycle, and he knew who it was. It was the other tattooed bastard. The one that would come by in the middle of the night and just sit with his wife. Hank hated that man. Hank tightened his grip on Rachelle’s hair and forced her further down around his cock. She sputtered and gagged but never fought him. She knew better.