Bubbles🫧

20…

[bubbl3sworld]

Hey!! I thought to finally introduce myself after having this blog for 7+ years.

I’m Bubbles🫧 20 and I go by she/they. I write black readers and the black readers only 🫶🏽 I’m getting back into fandom stuff slowly I promise

Fandoms-

DC Comics

Marvel Comics

Slasher/Horror

Here’s the link to my masterlist!

Bye bye!!

[rainrot4me]

I Hate That Boy

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

─────────────────────────────────── ego - romy mars

── .✦ do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. dividers by me.

CONTAINS NSFW MINORS DNI

✦ . Summary: You hate Toby Rogers. Hate. He’s immature, and whiny, and gets in your way more often than not. Proxies are meant to work together, but you two just don’t. Fights are prone to happen, but when your hands accidentally find his throat, Toby accidentally finds out that he likes it. You hate him. And he hates you. So why can he suddenly not jerk off without thinking about your hands on his neck? Why does he want you to do it again??

✦ . Characters: Ticci Toby x Female Reader, Proxies

✦ . Warning: Enemies to Fuck Buddies, fighting, arguing, physical violence, violent arguments, blood, punching, slapping, choking, strangulation kink, choking kink, masturbation, pervert Toby, submissive Toby, teasing, hate fucking, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, spanking, creampie, mention of corpses, murder, graphic depictions of violence, hair pulling, bruises

✦ . Words: 21k

✦ . Note: Suprise fic! Please please please mind the tags, there’s a whole lot going on in this story. Yes, this was supposed to be the German Toby fic, but I decided I was too lazy to follow through, so white-boy Toby it is 💔 Nonetheless, please enjoy whiny Toby! I’ve been wanting to make a reader-dominant fic for a while, and I finally got around to it! Happy reading!!

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You hated Tobias Rogers. Hated. Even now.

The lake was so still. The kind of stillness that made the air heavy, as if even the water held its breath in anticipation. Moonlight fractured across the surface in sharp, silver shards, illuminating the awkward shapes of two figures dragging something heavy across the moss-slick ground.

You and Toby.

The corpse hung between you like an anchor, its weight making your arms ache with each step. The smell of damp earth and decay was thick in your nose. Every time Toby shifted his grip, the body smacked against the ground with a dull thud.

“Careful,” you hissed, slipping on a wet root. “It’s not going to sink if you—”

“Maybe if you d-didn’t drop your end every t-two seconds,” Toby grunted, voice muffled under his bulky muzzle, “we’d be done a-al-already.”

You glared, tugging on your end. “Excuse me for not wanting to ruin my boots in swamp water.”

“Oh, right,” he shot back, sarcasm dripping, “because t-this job is about fashion.”

The two of you stumbled to the edge of the shore, shadows from the Slenderwoods curling around you. The trees loomed like sentinels, tall and skeletal, their branches swaying with a sound that was almost a whisper. You hated this place at night—the way the silence seemed alive, watching, waiting. Toby, of course, didn’t seem to care. He didn’t care about anything, as far as you were concerned.

You heaved the body once, twice, then shoved it into the water with a final grunt. It splashed hard, ripples spreading outward until the lake swallowed them whole. You didn’t know the man, didn’t even really care to, it was just another job from the Operator. For a moment, you both just stood there, catching your breath, staring at the dark water as the final inches of the body sunk into the abyss.

“Happy now?” you muttered.

“Real p-pro-professional,” he replied flatly.

Your teeth ground together. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re a pain in the ass,” he shot back without hesitation.

The exchange was so familiar it almost felt rehearsed. Every mission ended like this: harsh words, rolled eyes, and the tension of two people forced into each other’s orbit who simply didn’t fit. The only difference is Masky wasn’t here to break it up.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried.

When Slender first made you both proxies, you’d done what Masky and Hoodie told you: learn each other’s strengths, cover each other’s weaknesses, trust is mandatory. And you tried. You really did. But from the very first mission, something had been off.

Maybe it was his immaturity—the way he cracked jokes in the middle of grim work, or the way he blew off orders to do things his own reckless way. Maybe it was your frustration—your need for control clashing violently against his chaos. Every step he took felt like it undermined yours. Every word out of his mouth made your patience snap just a little thinner. 

You weren’t blind, though. You saw how efficient he was, how quickly his hatchets moved, how easily he carried violence without hesitation. He was good—annoyingly good. Which made it worse. Because you should have worked well together. You were both proxies, bound to the same faceless master, trapped in the same mansion and forest. On paper, it made sense. In practice? You were oil and water.

Some people just weren’t meant to click.

“Guess we’re d-done here,” Toby muttered, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. He lit it, the brief flare of orange glow painting his face in harsh lines as he unstrapped his muzzle to take a drag. “W-We’ll never get a-along, will we?”

You gave a humorless laugh, wiping splatters of mud from your jeans. “Not a chance.”

He exhaled smoke into the night, shrugging like it didn’t matter. “Fine by me.”

The lake was silent again, just as still as if there wasn’t a body sinking to the bottom now. You turned, hauling back toward the direction of the mansion and away from him, but the walk back was worse than the mission itself. The Slenderwoods closed in on all sides, branches scraping like claws, owls hooting too low, too human. Every shadow moved if you stared too long, but none of that was as grating as the boy trudging a few feet beside you.

“You could’ve at least waited before stabbing him like that,” you grumbled, pulling your jacket tighter against the chill. “The plan was to corner him—”

“The p-plan was slow,” Toby interrupted, his voice sharp and smug. “He was running. I stopped h-him. Problem solved.”

“Problem solved?” you scoffed. “You nearly blew our cover, dipshit. He screamed loud enough to wake the entire county.”

Toby snorted, kicking a stone off the path. “Still got h-him in the end, didn’t we? He’s f-fish food now. You’re welcome.”

You threw him a glare sharp enough to cut. “I didn’t ask you to play hero. There’s a difference between efficiency and being reckless, and you wouldn’t know it if it hit you in the face.”

He tilted his head, grinning as he puffed a dark cloud of cigarette smoke towards you. “Guess t-that makes me reckless, then.”

The banter didn’t stop until the looming silhouette of the mansion swallowed you both in its shadow. The Slendermansion sat hunched at the edge of the woods, its black windows like hollow eyes. The air grew heavier the closer you got, as if the walls themselves were listening, feeding.

Inside, the floorboards creaked beneath your boots as you tossed your gear onto the table in the main hall. The familiar smell of stale smoke, mildew, and faint copper clung to the air, but it was the home you knew. Masky was already there, arms crossed, watching the two of you like a teacher sick of breaking up the same fight between the same students.

“You two done?” Masky asked flatly, eyes narrowing.

“Ask him,” you said at once.

“Ask her,” Toby fired back.

Masky groaned, dragging a hand down his mask. “Every damn time…”

From the couch, Hoodie let out a quiet snicker without looking up from his notebook he was sketching in. He never interfered much, but the slight shake of his shoulders told you he found your constant arguments entertaining. Infuriatingly entertaining.

Kate was sprawled in one of the armchairs, cleaning one of her knives with a rag. She raised her eyes just long enough to catch the tail end of your glare-and-growl routine. “You both need to grow up,” she said bluntly.

You opened your mouth to protest, but Toby beat you to it. “I a-am grown up,” he said, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms, flicking the final ashes from his cigarette onto the grimy floor before tossing it.

Kate arched a brow. “Mhm.”

You smirked at that, but it only lasted a second before Toby turned his mockery back on you. “D-D-Don’t get too fuckin’ cheeky—you’re not e-exactly winning any maturity awards e-either.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. “Says the guy who nearly fucked up tonight’s mission by charging in like a bulldozer.”

“And you would’ve l-let him get away while you m-made a speech ab-about ‘proper execution,’” Toby countered, mimicking your voice in a whiny falsetto that made Hoodie snort louder.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, throwing yourself into the opposite armchair with a huff.

Masky’s sigh was sharp, final. “I don’t care how you got it done. The point is, it’s done. Next time, don’t cause such a fuss and just get the damn thing over with.”

The words settled between you like a warning. But even warnings didn’t last long in this house. The air was too thick, the walls too close. You felt Toby’s eyes on you from across the room, smug, as if he’d won something.

You looked away first.

And that was the problem. Around Masky, Hoodie, and Kate, you could breathe. The dynamic worked. Missions went smoothly enough. The mansion felt tolerable, almost like a twisted version of family. But with Toby? It was always barbed words, tense silences, and the gnawing thought that you’d never, ever get along.

And yet… you were stuck together, whether you liked it or not.

── .✦

Life in the mansion was cramped, but not in the physical sense. The house itself stretched wide and tall, with too many rooms, too many halls that seemed to change direction when you weren’t looking. Space wasn’t the problem. People were. Or more specifically—Toby.

Morning started with a fight more often than breakfast.

You were standing in the kitchen, half-awake, nursing a chipped mug of bitter coffee when Toby barreled in, raiding the cabinet like a raccoon.

“Did you ta-take the last of t-the cereal?” he asked, voice scratchy from sleep.

“No,” you said, sipping slowly. “Kate did yesterday.”

Toby pulled the box down anyway, stared at the empty bottom, and turned on you. “So you k-knew and didn’t say an-anything?”

“Not my job to babysit your stomach,” you said dryly, turning your back on him.

By the time he stomped off, Hoodie was already leaning against the doorway, watching the exchange like it was a morning sitcom rerun. He muttered something about “placing bets next time” before pouring his own coffee and disappearing.

Later, it was weapons.

You had your knives laid out on the coffee table, sharpening them methodically, when Toby came over and plucked one up without asking.

“Don’t touch my stuff.”

“Relax,” he said, flipping the blade in his palm. “I was j-just looking.”

“Looking with your fingerprints all over it,” you snapped, snatching it back.

Masky’s sigh from the couch was loud enough to shake the windows. “I swear, it’s like living with children.”

Kate didn’t even look up from the book in her lap. “That’s because it is.”

Toby threw his hands up. “What, so s-she can throw a fit but I’m the p-problem?”

“Yes,” Kate and Masky said in unison. You couldn’t help smirking at that.

Dinner was the worst. 

The table was long enough for space, but somehow you and Toby always ended up across from each other. Tonight it was stew—Masky’s attempt at “normalcy,” though the meat was questionable at best. You didn’t eat together often, but it was a joint effort when you did.

“Don’t hog the b-bread,” Toby said, reaching across the table.

“I’ve had one piece,” you shot back, yanking the plate closer.

He lunged, you pulled away, and in the struggle the whole loaf toppled onto Hoodie’s lap. He froze, staring down at the mess, then at both of you with the slow, simmering irritation of a man two seconds from throwing something heavy. Kate snorted. Masky pinched the bridge of his nose.

Slender wasn’t around much, but you sometimes wondered if he kept you two paired just for his own amusement. Because every day, it was something. The fights were never big enough to break anything, never serious enough to leave bruises. But they stacked. They simmered. They filled the halls like static, humming between every word and every glare. And yet, for all the irritation, all the arguments, neither of you ever walked away for long. Missions still got done. The mansion still ran. Somehow, despite it all, the two of you stayed orbiting each other—gravitational pull you couldn’t escape, even if you wanted to.

── .✦

It was one of those heavy, still evenings where the Slenderwoods felt closer than usual. The air smelled like damp pine and smoke, a thick fog mist rolling over the dense grass underfoot. You and the others sat out on the creaking porch, ashtrays cluttered between boots and half-empty bottles of water. Masky smoked slow and deep, his mask balancing on the top of his thigh as he leaned back onto the wooden seat. Kate leaned back against the railing, picking at the chipping paint on the wood, eyes sharp but distant. Toby sat a little too close to you, tapping his leg like a drumbeat you couldn’t ignore.

You lit your own, trying not to acknowledge him, exhaling a sharp cloud into the humid night.

“So…” Toby finally said, breaking the comfortable silence. “Anyone e-else notice she always steals the li-lighter first?”

You shot him a look. “I do not.”

“Shut up, boy.” Masky started.

“Yeah, you do,” he said, grinning beneath the thick goggles that he had pushed up into his hairline. “It’s l-like a compulsion or something.”

“Or maybe you’re just too slow to keep track of your things,” you fired back.

Masky groaned low under his breath, muttering something that sounded like not this again. Before the argument could spiral, Hoodie pushed open the porch door and stepped outside, tucking his notebook into his jacket. His voice cut through the quiet with the weight of a dumbbell on your chest. “New mission,” he said simply.

Everyone straightened.

“All of us?” Masky asked.

Hoodie nodded. “Yeah. Orders came down. Tonight.”

The group exchanged looks. Missions that required everyone weren’t common—they usually split duties to keep the mansion covered. When all five were pulled, it meant something bigger, something messier.

“Guess family outing it is,” Kate said dryly, dumping her ashtray onto the gravel siding below.

── .✦

When darkness settled fully, the mansion stirred alive. Boots thudded against wood floors, gear clinked against belts, and weapons gleamed under dim light. Everyone had their rituals: Masky checked his sidearm three times at least, Hoodie adjusted straps across his chest, Kate wiped down her blade a final time. Toby spun his hatchets between his fingers like a magician showing off. You rolled your eyes and double-checked the knives at your thigh. The air was thick with anticipation. 

The pickup truck waited outside, dark paint faded from the sun, battered, and smelling faintly of gasoline and smoke. Masky slid into the driver’s seat without a word, Hoodie riding shotgun as he pulled up the map on his cracked cellphone. 

That left the back.

You climbed in, immediately pressed against the left side. Toby hopped up on the right, his knee bouncing instantly like he was vibrating with restless energy. Kate sighed and planted herself squarely between the two of you, arms crossed, glaring dead ahead through the windshield.  The truck dipped and squeaked on its hinges are you all settled in, then rumbled to life, headlights cutting through the black woods.

It only took a few minutes before Toby started.

“You’re sitting t-too close,” he muttered.

“I’m not even near you,” you said flatly.

“You do-don’t need that m-much space.”

“You don’t need to breathe, but here we are,” you shot back.

Kate’s elbows shot out, hitting both of your ribs at once. “Shut up. Both of you.”

You winced, rubbing your side. “Ow—”

“Don’t tempt me to hit harder,” Kate warned, eyes forward.

Masky’s voice floated back from the front seat, dripping with amusement despite himself. “This is going to be a long drive. Quit fighting and occupy yourselves.”

Hoodie didn’t even look up from the map. “Longest one yet.”

The engine hummed, the woods blurred past, and the truck rolled deeper into the dark. Despite Kate’s solid wall between you, you could still feel Toby’s presence—like static in the air, buzzing just out of reach. And you hated how much you noticed it.

── .✦

The truck rattled down the backroads for nearly an hour before Hoodie finally spoke.

“Target’s in the clearing past Miller’s Gorge,” he said, tapping the map image across his phone screen. “Couple of locals have been sniffing around the woods, talking about setting up cameras, trying to ‘catch something.’ Boss wants them gone one way or another.”

Kate exhaled a sharp breath. “So like, wannabe monster hunters.”

“Exactly.” Hoodie’s voice was calm but clipped. “They’ve already posted online. If they get anything solid, Slender won’t be happy. This isn’t one we can take half-measures with. We need it erased.”

Masky grunted. “So we wipe the whole camp.”

“Why all of us?” you asked, leaning forward from the back.

“Because there’s at least five of them,” Hoodie replied. “Armed. And cautious. Not idiots out for ghost stories—people who want proof. People who will fight back. They apparently realize that the stuff they’re hunting is more than just ghosts.”

The weight of his words settled in the truck. Everyone went quiet, the only sound the hum of the engine and Toby’s restless knee bouncing against the truck bed.

“Should b-be fun,” Toby muttered.

── .✦

When the truck finally rolled to a stop, the woods were suffocatingly dark, thick with crickets and the distant sound of running water. Masky killed the headlights, and everyone piled out, boots crunching softly against dead leaves.

The air was tense but focused. The group fanned out at the tree line, eyes scanning the faint glow of campfire in the distance. Voices drifted—male, confident, laughing, the kind of laugh people made when they didn’t know what waited for them.

Masky handed out orders quietly. “Pairs. Hoodie with Kate. I’ll take her. Toby—” He paused, as if even he hated saying it. “You circle wide and cut off any stragglers.”

Toby scoffed. “Solo? Figures.”

“No one wants to deal with your noise,” Kate said bluntly, earning a sharp laugh from Hoodie.

Toby shot her a look, but Masky had already moved, tilting his head toward you. “Stay sharp.”

You fell in beside him easily. Working with Masky was… natural. His movements were measured, precise, and he didn’t waste time on unnecessary words. You mirrored his pace without thinking, both of you flowing silently through the trees like you’d trained together for years. Every signal he gave, you read instantly. Every shift you made, he accounted for. It was seamless.

Behind you, faintly, you heard the sound of Toby muttering curses under his breath as he hacked through brush on his solo path. You didn’t have to see him to know he was irritated.

Masky glanced your way briefly, as if he could read your thoughts. “Ignore him.”

You smirked faintly. “That’s the plan.”

Together, you and Masky reached the edge of the camp without a sound. You crouched low, watching the five men move lazily around the fire, rifles slung across the backs of their folding chairs, a camera rig propped against a log. Beer cans were littered everywhere, dozens of containers of eaten food and trash on the forest floor between their tents. They were unprepared.

Masky leaned close, voice low. “On my signal, we take the two closest. Hoodie and Kate will flank right. Toby will cut off anyone who runs.”

You nodded, knives already loose in your grip. The firelight flickered across the blades, and the thrill of the hunt tingled in your chest.

For the first time all night, you felt steady. Focused. Like the tension from the mansion and the truck ride had melted away into clarity. This—this was what you were good at.

Masky snapped his fingers, the unspoken signal.

The campfire crackled, throwing lazy sparks into the night. The men didn’t know they were being watched. Didn’t know that five shadows had slipped into their circle of light like wolves closing in.

Masky moved first. His pistol coughed quietly through the silencer, a muted pop, and the man nearest the fire slumped forward without a sound. At the same time, Hoodie slipped behind the next, arm locking around his throat, blade pressing in until the man’s gurgle faded. Kate was quicksilver, gliding from shadow to shadow before sinking her knife between ribs and twisting, her target crumpling into the dirt while her hand held tight over his gaping mouth. You were already in motion, your knives flashing as you closed the distance. Your target barely had time to look up before you drove steel across his throat. Hot blood spilled, spraying across the fire, sizzling as it hit the flames. You let him drop, pulse steady, breathing smooth.

It was clean. Precise. The four of you moved like clockwork.

Then a shout split the clearing.

You spun, heart lurching, eyes scanning. One of them had bolted—no, not bolted. He’d seen and decided to fight back. Toby’s voice rang out through the trees, strained, guttural. “Got one!”

Through the smoke, you saw him—locked in a brutal struggle with the biggest of the group. Broad-shouldered, stronger than the others, swinging wild fists that clipped Toby’s jaw and nearly sent him sprawling. Toby snarled, teeth bared beneath the thick muzzle, trying to drag the fight into control, but the man was too strong, too desperate. Toby couldn’t feel the punches that were thrown, but they still jarred him nonetheless.

Without thinking, you darted forward. You grabbed the hunter by the collar and yanked him backward off Toby, the two of you wrestling him to the ground. Your knee pressed into his chest, pinning him just long enough to shout—

“Get up! Now!”

Toby staggered to his feet, hatchet already in his grip. His chest heaved, hair stuck to his forehead, eyes wild and bright. He didn’t hesitate.

The hatchet swung.

It sank into the man’s skull with a sickening crunch, the force so hard it sprayed hot blood across your face, soaking into your shirt, spattering down your arms. The warmth hit before the shock did.

You gasped, jerking back in disgust. “Toby!”

He yanked the hatchet free, crimson dripping down the blade, chest rising and falling in ragged rhythm. For a second, he looked almost proud of himself.

“You—you just—” You swiped at your face, smearing blood across your cheek. “Are you serious?!”

“What?” he said, shrugging like he hadn’t just drenched you. “I-It worked.”

You stared at him, mouth open, hands sticky with blood. “You could’ve aimed! You could’ve waited until I—”

“There wasn’t time!” he shot back, bristling. “He was go-gonna throw you off. I finished i-it!”

“Finished it? You fuckin’ soaked me with it!” Your voice cracked, frustration boiling over. Blood dripped down your face, sticky, hot, stinking of iron. And Toby just stood there, smug behind his mouth guard, hatchet still wet, staring you up and down.

That was it. You lunged at him.

“HEY—” he barked, staggering back as you grabbed a fistful of his hoodie and slammed him into the dirt. You smeared bloody hands across his face, dragging thick crimson streaks down and across his eyes.

“There!” you spat, shoving harder. “How do you like it?”

Toby snarled and shoved back, the two of you tumbling into a heap of thrashing limbs. He rolled, trying to pin you, but you twisted, fist snapping across his jaw. The crack of impact echoed, sharp in the clearing.

“You’re insane!” he growled, throwing a hand that glanced off your shoulder.

“I’m insane?” you shouted, driving your elbow into his ribs. “You’re the one who—”

The words cut off when you shoved your hands to his throat, pinning him to the ground as he tried to sit up. Your fingers locked tight, squeezing hard. His body bucked beneath you, hatchet clattering out of his grip as he clawed at your wrists.

“Get—off—” he choked, his voice rough, broken. His head thrashed in the dirt, but your grip only tightened. The blood smeared across both of you now, sticky and warm, the world narrowing to the sound of his ragged gasps and the hammering of your pulse.

“Dammit!” Masky barked from somewhere beyond. “Enough!”

Kate’s voice cut sharper. “You’re gonna kill each other!”

But you didn’t stop. Not yet. Not until you felt his pulse falter beneath your palms, until his eyes widened—not with anger, not with panic—but something else.

Something strange.

Toby’s body trembled, his breath stuttering under your hands, but instead of pure desperation, there was… heat. A rush. A dizzying flood through his veins that wasn’t entirely fear. He should have been furious, terrified, clawing harder. But as your fingernails dug into his skin and the world blurred at the edges of his vision, something dark curled inside him. Something you could physically see stirring in him.

“You’re…crazy…” he rasped, the grip of your wrists faltering as his eyelids began to flutter. You felt your heart skip, but it wasn’t enough to register, not when Masky and Kate were on you in a second.

“Enough!” Masky barked, grabbing you by the shoulders and hauling you backward with a force that made your chest wrench from Toby’s throat. Kate shoved between the two of you, her knife still tight in her hand, eyes blazing.

“Are you out of your mind?” she snapped at you. “You’re both fucking children.”

You jerked in Masky’s grip, still seething, still tasting the heat of rage in your mouth. “He’s a fucking idiot!”

Toby rolled onto his side, coughing, ragged gasps rattling out of him. One hand clutched at his throat, the other dug into the dirt, nails carving furrows. Blood was smeared across his face, his hoodie, everywhere—but he wasn’t looking at you, only at the ground beneath him.

For the first time since you’d known him, Toby was silent.

No muttering. No insults. No half-crazed laughter at your expense. Just… silence. He sat up slow, pulling the mouth guard back into place, eyes fixed somewhere past you all. When he stood, it was without a word. He brushed dirt off his hoodie, hatchet hanging limp in his hand, and started toward the edge of the clearing.

“Toby,” Hoodie called after him, tone sharp, warning. But Toby didn’t answer. Didn’t even look back.

The rest of the night crawled like rot under the skin.

You all worked the scene in tense, heavy silence—dragging bodies, dousing blood with gasoline, scattering ash into the brush. Every now and then you caught a glimpse of Toby through the smoke, his shoulders hunched as he hacked the bodies into smaller pieces to fit into the bonfire you were throwing them into, his jaw clenched tight. No jokes. No muttered complaints. Just methodical, mechanical movements.

When you stripped out of your bloodied shirt near the stream nearby, scrubbing your arms raw in the freezing water, you could feel his eyes burning into your back from across the bank. Not glaring. Not mocking. Just… watching. Quiet.

By the time you trudged back to the truck, smelling of iron and smoke and death, Masky was rolling his eyes, muttering about “immaturity.” Kate looked like she wanted to strangle the both of you herself. Hoodie, as usual, said nothing—just kept his cigarette glowing, eyes narrowed.

But Toby? He climbed into the bed of the truck without a sound, hatchet propped against his knee, gaze fixed on the passing trees.

The silence pressed down heavier than the arguing ever had. And the longer it stretched, the more you hated it.

── .✦

The week that followed felt… off.

Toby didn’t pick fights. Not even little ones. Not the tiny jabs that had been part of your daily rhythm—the back-and-forth you’d grown used to, the words that always bounced off walls like sparks. He moved through the mansion like a ghost, quiet, methodical, focused only on smoking, weapons, and missions.

When he did speak, it was clipped, necessary. Orders, reports, directions—never aimed at you. His eyes flicked past, not meeting yours. You caught him glancing at you once or twice when he thought you weren’t looking, but it was fleeting, and every time the sight made your stomach tighten with a strange mix of satisfaction and unease.

The bruises on his throat were obvious even if you didn’t look close. Dark purple and angry against the pale skin, fading slowly but leaving deep, persistent marks. You’d caught him passing in the hallway once and remembered the weight of your hands around him, the raw heat of adrenaline and anger. A pang of guilt twisted in your gut—you’d let him get to you—but alongside it, a sharper, quieter thrill: for the first time, you had one-upped him. You had won.

At first, that smugness warmed you. You told yourself you’d earned it. You replayed the moment in your head, felt the power, the control. Toby hadn’t laughed at you. Toby hadn’t mocked you. He hadn’t even argued. For once, the scales had tipped.

But the relief didn’t last.

Toby didn’t bounce back. Not like every time before. The chaos that had defined him—the relentless teasing, the petty fights, the fire in his voice—was gone. He didn’t sneak into the kitchen and steal your lighter just to rile you. He didn’t flick ash onto your boots and smirk. He didn’t mutter under his breath or make jokes you’d spend the day wanting to punch him for.

The absence was strange. Hollow.

By the third day, it felt almost wrong. The mansion, which had been loud and infuriating, was quieter than it had ever been with him there. You realized you had grown used to his presence—not the violence, not the chaos itself, but the rhythm of it. The constant tension that had made your skin crawl was now a kind of anchor, a pulse you hadn’t realized you relied on.

And now? It was gone.

Every time you passed him in the halls, your chest tightened. He wouldn’t meet your eyes. He wouldn’t speak. He didn’t react to your snide comments or half-hearted insults. You felt a creeping, uncomfortable feeling settle over you. Part guilt. Part frustration. Part… longing? The tension, the conflict, the constant sparring—it had been exhausting, yes. But now, without it, you were left staring at a quiet, withdrawn version of the boy who had once been the most unpredictable part of your day.

The deeper the week stretched on, the more you realized that what you’d thought was triumph had turned into something else entirely: a slow, gnawing emptiness.

You had won the fight. But you might have lost him.

But you should be happy… right?

── .✦

Another mission order came in from Slender. You were checking your gear in the corner of the mansion’s main hall when Hoodie appeared, silently sliding a small pack over his shoulder.

“You’re with me on this one,” he said, voice low, precise, as always.

You nodded, hefting your own weapons, already going through mental checklists. This was routine. Simple. Easy. Comfortable.

Then the door creaked, and Toby stepped in. You froze—just a little. The mansion felt a little smaller with him there. He moved quietly, deliberately, but there was an edge to his posture you hadn’t seen since… that fight.

“I should g-go,” he said.

Your hands stopped mid-adjustment, eyes darting to Hoodie.

“You?” Hoodie asked, brow raised, tone careful. “Like… you two?”

Toby didn’t answer at first. He just leaned against the doorway, faint shadows under his eyes, arms crossed. Then he met Hoodie’s gaze, and there was… determination there. A quiet insistence.

“I’ll handle it,” Toby said. “I need t-to go. Need to get o-out of the house.”

You blinked. Dumbfounded. Alone… with me? Your chest fluttered with a mix of nerves, disbelief, and something else you didn’t want to name yet. You stared at him, really stared, and realized the bruises on his throat were almost gone—just faint traces of pink fading into pale skin.

You exhaled slowly, running a hand through your hair. “It’s alright,” you said, finally. “I can go with him.”

Hoodie’s eyes shifted between the two of you, expression unreadable. Then he let out a long, resigned sigh. “Fine,” he muttered. “But try not to kill each other before you even get there.”

Toby didn’t say anything to you immediately. He just stepped aside, giving you a narrow space to move past him. And then—your eyes met his for the first time all week. No words. No sarcasm. No fights. Just a look that was sharp, quiet, heavy. There was something in it—curiosity, tension, and maybe the barest trace of acknowledgment

You swallowed. He didn’t look like the Toby who laughed at your every irritation or goaded you endlessly. He looked… different. Still the same chaotic energy under the surface, but tempered. Careful. Watching. Waiting.

You nodded once, almost imperceptibly. He nodded back, then stepped out together into the night. The mansion grew smaller behind you, the faint glow of lights fading, and suddenly, the woods felt wider, quieter, trapping the two of you together.

After the mansion had long disappeared behind the two of you, you tried to break the silence first. “So… you actually decided to acknowledge me. Must be a full moon or something.”

Toby glanced at you briefly. A slow, measured nod. “Yep.”

You frowned, adjusting your grip on your pack slung over your shoulder. “And… you’re not going to pick a fight, bark something sarcastic, or pretend you’re better than me this time?”

Another nod. Short, clipped. “Nope.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Wow. Silent Toby. Real terrifying.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t even glance your way. Just kept moving as you followed behind. The tension built like static. Every step you took felt heavier, filled with the weight of all the words unsaid between you. The heat of your own irritation grew, but it was tangled with something else—something that made your stomach twist and pulse.

Time passed, and you knew you were close to your destination when the scent of musk travelled around you.

“You know,” you muttered, testing the waters again, “we could at least plan this out before running in there and—”

But he didn’t wait for a reply. Not really. He veered slightly off the path, silent and purposeful, already moving ahead toward the dark silhouette of the warehouse you were assigned.

Your jaw tightened. “Seriously?” you snapped under your breath, jogging to catch up. “Do not pull this shit, Toby.”

He didn’t look back. Just a brief flick of the head, a nod toward the structure. No words. No argument.

The warehouse loomed as you reached the clearing—old, corrugated metal walls rusted, shadows pooling in every corner. Faint light spilled from windows shattered long ago, revealing crates stacked in uneven towers. The smell of damp wood, oil, and smoke drifted out to meet you. Someone had set up shop here, smugglers taking advantage of the abandoned structure, thinking no one would come. Unluckily, it was stirring commotion in the Slenderwoods, so they had to be rid of.

You stopped just outside, lowering your weapons slightly. “Okay. So—”

Toby was already moving. Hatchets swinging low in his grip, steps silent as he circled the side entrance, scanning, analyzing, slipping into shadows like he owned the place.

Your irritation flared. “I said we should plan—”

No response.

You ground your teeth. He didn’t even acknowledge your words beyond a brief nod to indicate he’d seen you. The careful, silent Toby—the one who had stopped fighting with you, stopped talking to you altogether—was moving without you, ignoring every attempt at control, ignoring the chaotic rhythm you had always relied on when paired.

And somehow, that made you feel even tenser than a shouting match ever could.

The warehouse groaned under its own weight as you slipped inside, shadows thick and stale air heavy with oil and dust. Somewhere deeper in the building, muffled voices echoed—low, muttering, careless. The smugglers thought they were safe.

You crouched low, pressing into the dark, and flicked a look toward Toby, ready to signal how to split. But he didn’t wait. He was already moving, sliding between stacks of crates and disappearing from your sights.

Your jaw clenched. Fine. You’d adapt.

The first smuggler came into view around the corner, cigarette ember glowing as he leaned against a crate. You tightened your grip on your knife and slid closer, focusing on quieting your movements, heart syncing with your breath—

—but Toby slipped in from the opposite side faster than you could realize. His hatchet rose and fell before you could reach striking distance, and the man dropped in silence, cigarette rolling across the floor as blood sputtered from his throat. He couldn’t even scream.

You froze, teeth grinding.

Really?

Shoving down the irritation, you darted toward the next shadow—another guard, pacing near the stairwell. You timed it, waited for him to turn, and lunged—

—but Toby’s arm shot out, shoving you back against a crate. You caught yourself with a hand before you made noise, eyes blazing as you turned on him—only to see him already driving into the man’s spine. The smuggler collapsed at his feet, blood seeping into the concrete. Toby held his mouth to keep him quiet, but the wretched coughing still echoed slightly.

Your pulse spiked hot. “What the fuck—” you hissed low.

Toby only gave a short glance, then moved on. No words. You stalked after him, every nerve on fire. This wasn’t an accident. He was cutting you off, stealing every strike, sliding into your space just a second before you could land it.

Another smuggler. Another opportunity. You adjusted your grip, prepared to move.

And then your foot hooked on something.

You stumbled, catching yourself on a crate with a dull thud. Looking down, you saw it—Toby’s boot had slid out at the last second, tripping you. He didn’t even look back, just stepped in and slit the throat of the smuggler you’d been aiming for.

Hot rage seared through you.

This wasn’t clumsy overlap. This wasn’t the two of you failing to mesh. No. This was intentional. Toby wasn’t just ignoring you anymore—he was playing with you. Undermining you. Pushing you, tripping you, cutting you off, every move designed to make you burn hotter, to make you snap.

The warehouse was a graveyard of broken bodies by the time you and Toby pushed deeper inside. Crates stood like crooked tombstones, the smell of blood thick and metallic in the air. Your knife hand ached from clutching tightly for too long, but not from use—because every time you moved in, Toby was there first. Every time you breathed, he was already cutting the air ahead of you.

You were shaking with it now. Rage crawling under your skin like fire ants.

It wasn’t just that he was faster. It wasn’t just skill. No—he was watching you. Waiting for you. Moving not around you, but through you. Blocking, tripping, shoving. Every chance you reached for a kill, his hatchet stole it from your grip at the very last second. And he knew. God, he knew.

The bastard was doing it on purpose. You gritted your teeth so hard your jaw hurt. Your breath sawed in and out, shallow, furious, your chest tight with the effort of holding yourself back. If you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure if words or a scream would come out.

Then you reached the last room.

The final smuggler was cornered near a busted loading dock door, fumbling with a pistol in shaking hands. His eyes went wide at the sight of you both, the whites bright in the dim light. Your grip tightened on your knife. Yours. This one is yours.

But Toby moved. Of course he did. He strode forward with that same unnerving calm, hatchet gleaming, as if this was just another tally mark to add to his collection. He didn’t even look at you as he raised his arm, claiming the kill before you could take a step.

Something inside you snapped. Before he could swing, you hurled your knife.

The blade hissed through the air, so close you heard the whisper of it graze Toby’s hoodie as it buried itself in the smuggler’s torso. The man crumpled with a strangled gasp, blood pooling as your knife jutted from his ribs. He was already dead by the time he hit the floor.

Silence rang out for a heartbeat. Then Toby turned. Slowly.

His head cocked, hair falling into his face, eyes burning from behind his goggles. His voice came low, rasping, edged like broken glass. “You almost h-hit me.”

“Good!” you exploded, stomping forward, your voice shaking as it poured out of you. “I should’ve aimed for you instead!”

His chest rose and fell, ragged. “What t-the fuck is yo-your problem?”

“You’re my problem!” you spat, closing the distance until you were nearly nose-to-nose. Your finger jabbed hard against his chest, smearing blood into the fabric. “You won’t stop. You cut me off, you trip me, you push me out of the way like I don’t matter!”

He shoved your hand away, heat sparking in his tone. “You don’t g-get it, do you? You ne-never fucking get it.”

“Oh, enlighten me then!” You threw your arms out, voice bouncing off the metal walls. “What exactly am I missing? That you’re such a big man because you can steal kills out from under me? That you think you’re the only one who knows what the hell they’re doing?”

Toby’s hands curled into fists, shoulders tense, body vibrating with contained rage. “You think t-this is about y-you?”

You laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. “It’s always about me when you make it this way!”

His chest heaved as he stepped closer, hatchet still gripped in his hand though lowered, his voice raising to match yours now. “Maybe if y-you weren’t so busy proving yo-yourself every goddamn second, I-I wouldn’t have to clean u-up your me-messes!”

You shoved him hard, your palms slamming against his chest. He staggered a step but didn’t fall, coming back twice as hot, his own shove rattling your teeth as you stumbled back against a crate.

“Mess?!” Your voice cracked, raw with fury. “You’ve been sabotaging me since the second we stepped in here, and I’m the mess? You think I can’t see what you’re doing?”

Toby’s laughter broke then—sharp, ragged, almost unhinged, though there was no humor in it. He dragged a hand across his face, shaking his head. “You’re s-so goddamn blind.”

“Oh, screw you—” You lunged, shoving him again, and this time he grabbed your wrist, yanking you forward until your faces nearly collided. You could feel his breath hot against your cheek, could see every drop of blood spattered across his muzzle.

The room buzzed with it—your rage, his heat, the echo of all that pent-up chaos finally unleashed. The fight wasn’t about the smugglers, wasn’t about the mission. It was about the two of you, about everything that had burned too long without a spark to ignite it. And now, you were both on fire.

Toby’s grip on your wrist tightened, and before you could wrench free, you shoved him hard into another crate. The metal screeched as it shifted under his weight. He snarled and came back at you, tackling you full-force. You both went down hard, the concrete jarring every bone in your body. His hatchet skittered away with a clatter, forgotten in the heat of the struggle. You clawed at his hoodie, slamming your knee up to catch his ribs, and he grunted, twisting to roll you beneath him.

“Why now?!” you shouted, your voice tearing raw through your throat as you shoved at him. “Why the fuck this week, Toby?!”

His laugh came cracked, bitter, his breath hot against your face as he pressed you down. “Why do y-you care? You liked it better w-when I shut the hell u-up, right?!”

You twisted, bucking your hips, flipping the both of you onto your sides, rolling across the dirt-stained floor. Broken glass scraped your palm, but you didn’t let go. “You didn’t speak to me for days—nothing! Then suddenly you just have to come with me? Just so you can trip me and screw me over?”

He gritted his teeth, voice rough, guttural. “M-Maybe I wanted t-to see how you’d h-handle it. Maybe I w-wa-wanted to see you squirm for once.”

Rage spiked through you, sharp and white-hot. You slammed your elbow into his chest, forcing him onto his back. He gasped, coughing, but his hands were still at your arms, nails biting.

“Is this payback?” you snarled, your breath coming ragged. “For me choking you out? You sick little shit—you couldn’t just say something, you had to do this? Are you fucking five years old?”

He bucked up, trying to roll you again, and the two of you smashed into a half-rotted crate, splinters bursting. The smell of mold and dust coated your tongue, acrid and foul. You shoved harder, knee digging into his ribs until finally—you broke free of his grip and pinned him flat against the concrete. You straddled his waist, your hands pressed hard against his shoulders, forcing him down. Both of you were panting, sweat and blood smeared across your skin, breaths shallow with fury.

And then—something shifted.

Toby’s head tilted back, baring the flushed stretch of his throat. His pulse throbbed there, fast and strong. And he was looking right at you, eyes wide and unblinking behind the streaks of dirt and blood.

Not fighting. Not mocking. Just… giving. Exposing his throat, silent, his gaze locked on yours as if daring you to finish what you’d started last week.

You froze. The world narrowed to the hollow of his throat, to the heat rolling off his body beneath you, to the fact that he wasn’t pushing you away. He was waiting.

Your heart lurched, fury colliding with confusion. You ripped your hands off him and stumbled up, standing over him. “What the fuck are you doing?” you demanded, voice sharp, trembling.

Toby stayed on the floor, chest rising and falling, throat still exposed. Slowly, his familiar grin returned—thin, crooked, unsettling. But he didn’t answer. He just chuckled under his breath. It wasn’t steady. It cracked halfway out, like he couldn’t quite hold it together.

“Go on,” he rasped, voice roughened by the fight—and maybe something else. “Do it a-again. Thought y-you liked shutting m-me up.”

Your stomach flipped. Heat curled low in your spine, but rage fought its way back to the surface, blinding the confusion you felt. “You’ve been fucking with me all night,” you hissed. “Cutting me off, tripping me, stealing every kill. And this—” your eyes hovered over his throat, his pulse hammering beneath skin still faintly stained with last week’s bruises “—this is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

His grin faltered, but his eyes never left yours. Nervous. Hungry.

You almost laughed, disbelief bubbling sharp in your chest. “Jesus Christ,” you muttered. “You’ve been trying to piss me off so I’d choke you again?”

The silence was answer enough. His jaw worked, his breath shallow, silently chasing the contact he wasn’t brave enough to ask for.

Something ugly and electric knotted in your chest.

“You’re fucking sick,” you spat, standing to put space between you. “All this—what—just to get your little fix? You’re pathetic.”

He sat up slowly, tearing at the strap of his muzzle and shoving the piece off his face—the metal clattering against the cold floor, and finally let out a low laugh—broken, ragged. “Maybe. But you w-were gonna do it, weren’t y-you?”

You turned away, disgust coiling hot in your chest, but Toby’s voice followed—low and sharp, like a knife slipped between ribs. “Guess I w-was right. You only e-e-ever look good wh-when you’re on top o-of me.”

That was it.

You spun, fury surging bright and blinding, and launched yourself at him. You couldn’t care anymore if this was some perverted goade, he would get what he asked for now. He hit the floor hard, head bouncing off concrete with a dull thump, and before he could so much as blink, your hand was clamped around his throat.

“Oh, this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” you snarled, leaning close, your words dripping venom. There wasn’t a muzzle to block you anymore, so your noses were practically inches from each other. “Poor little Toby, can’t get off unless he’s gasping like a fish. Pathetic.”

His grin widened even as your grip tightened, lips split and cracking, teeth flashing. His laugh jerked and stuttered, turning to wheezes under your palm, but he didn’t fight you off. Not this time. Instead, his hands slid down, fumbling and quick, finding your thighs where you straddled his abdomen. He gripped tight, fingers digging into your pants hard enough to bruise, like he was holding onto an anchor while you cut the air out of him.

You squeezed harder, your mockery coming in ragged bursts. “What, you like this? Huh? You want everyone to see those bruises again—so they’ll know exactly what I did to you?”

His laugh dissolved into a groan, his eyes glassy, unfocused, lips parted on shallow, rattling gasps. And then—his hips jerked up against you. Once. Twice. You lurched forward with the movement, your full weight pressing down onto his throat as his body bucked beneath yours, desperate, uncontrolled. Your palm bore down harder, your thighs pinning him in place, and his grip on you tightened until it hurt.

It was obscene. Violent. Maddening.

Your grip faltered when his hands crept higher on your thighs, rough palms sliding toward dangerous ground. You ripped your hand from his throat, throwing your weight back to keep yourself steady before you toppled forward.

The second you let go, Toby’s laugh cracked open, wild and desperate, spilling into something frantic. He shot upright against your weight, grabbing for your wrists, his voice ragged with need.

“No—don’t fu-fucking s-s-stop—” His words broke into a choked rasp as his chest heaved. “Do i-it again—p-pl-please—”

You shoved him down hard, eyes blazing. “You’re insane—!”

“Yeah?” he spat, his voice catching, body twisting under yours. “Then fucking b-be insane with me, h-huh? Don’t just s-sit there acting li-like you don’t get o-off on t-this shit too!”

Your rage spiked, white-hot. “Are you serious right now? I nearly killed you last time, and this is what you want?”

“Yes!” His shout tore from his throat, cracking halfway through, echoing off the warehouse walls. “Yes, fuck—goddamn i-it, you don’t g-get it—I need it!”

The words hit like a brick to the chest, and you froze just long enough for him to ramble on, his voice rising, frantic, like the dam had burst and he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. He was panting for God’s sake.

“E-Ever since that night—when you h-had your hands on me—” His eyes flashed wild, glassy with something more than anger. “I-I couldn’t fucking s-stop thinking about it. I’d lay th-there staring at t-the bruises—every g-go-goddamn night—touching mm-myself to the thought of you choking me out, and it w-was the only thing that worked—”

You reeled back, disgust curling sharp in your gut. “You’re disgusting.”

He grinned—broken, shameful, desperate. “Yeah. Y-Yeah, I know. But when t-they faded—when the bruises were gone—” His voice cracked again, lower now, almost pleading. “I couldn’t finish an-anymore. Nothing worked. I’ve been going o-out of my fucking m-mi-mind—”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. “So you pulled this stunt tonight? Just to piss me off enough to do it again?”

“Yes! Jesus fuck! Yes!” he barked, eyes blazing with a feverish light. “I had to! I don’t c-care if you hate m-me, I don’t care if you th-think I’m pathetic, I just—fuck—” His hands clawed at his own throat now, red scratches blooming under his nails. “I need y-your hands here. No o-one else’s. Yours.”

You stared down at him, chest heaving, every nerve screaming between fury, disbelief, and something darker curling beneath. “You’re seriously telling me you’ve been choking your dick every night to the thought of me almost killing you?”

His grin faltered, teeth bared like he was half-laughing, half-breaking apart. “I wanted i-it. I still want it. I-I need you to finish me off, or I’m go-gonna lose my fucking mind.”

The words hung between you—hot, filthy, and raw. And for the first time since you’d known him, Toby wasn’t hiding behind his immaturity or his smirk. He was laid bare, trembling under you, begging with every cracked word.

“I hate you, Toby.” Your breath hissed out between your teeth, sharp and electric, as you slammed your hand back around his throat. His body jolted like you’d lit a match to it.

Toby’s moan tore out of him, shameless and guttural, the sound vibrating against your palm. His eyes rolled halfway back, lids fluttering, and he arched up into your grip like a starving man finally fed. “Fuck—yes—” His voice rasped high and broken, and the sheer relief in it made your stomach twist. “Don’t stop—don’t stop—”

You leaned down, sneering inches from his flushed face. “Look at you. Pathetic little freak. Can’t even look at me without getting hard.”

His laugh cracked, feral, desperate, his mouth curling wide even as his breath stuttered in ragged gasps under your pressure. He coughed once, then sneered closer into your grip, gritting his teeth. “Say it a-again—fuck—say it—”

“Pathetic,” you hissed, tightening your grip, your thumb pressing against the thick veins running up his throat. “Sick little bitch.”

His hips bucked up violently, knocking you forward again, and this time he didn’t hold back. His hands shot past your thighs, fumbling frantically at his belt behind you. The buckle clattered against the concrete, his jeans yanked open with a clumsy desperation that made your blood thrum. You couldn’t see, but you could hear the moment Toby’s hand shot into his boxers and began jerking his cock wildly, moaning through labored chokes.

“Jesus Christ,” you spat, half a laugh, half a curse. “You’re actually jerking yourself while I choke you?”

“Not—j-jerking,” he wheezed, his grin splitting wider even as his face flushed red under your grip. “Just—getting ready—” His laugh broke into a cough, then another moan. “Fuck—I don’t care i-if you hate me, just k-keep squeezing—”

Your stomach knotted, fury clashing with something darker as you pressed down harder, feeling the frantic pulse hammer beneath your hand. You should have pulled away. Should’ve shoved him off and ended this disgusting display. But the way his voice cracked when you snapped at him, the way his body writhed beneath yours, hands trembling as he shoved his jeans lower—it sparked something hot and unsettling in your chest.

“I can’t stand you,” you breathed, voice low, sharp, and shaking with something you didn’t want to name. “You’re nothing without me.”

His moan bled into a laugh, high and frantic. “I k-know. I fucking know. That’s w-why I need you.” And god help you—your lips curled, the power surging through you like fire. You were enjoying it, too.

Your palm pressed harder against his throat, pinning him flat, your thighs tight against his ribs. Toby’s grin broke into something wrecked, lips trembling as his groans spilled shamelessly between shallow gasps.

“That’s it,” you hissed, leaning close, breath hot against his ear. “Choke on it. That’s all you’re good for.”

His hips jerked up violently, jeans shoved halfway down his thighs now, his cock straining free into the cool air. His hand wrapped tight around the base, already slick, already trembling. You could hear the sound of skin-on-skin, his fist moving insanely fast and brutal.

“F-Fuck—yes—” he choked, voice torn to ribbons under your grip. “Keep talking—don’t s-stop—please—”

You sneered, pressing your weight down harder, and he let out a strangled cry that almost tipped into a sob. “Look at yourself,” you spat, mocking, eyes blazing as you looked back to see him rut up into his own fist like a man possessed. “Wheezing like a dying dog. You’re disgusting.”

“Uh—hnn—f-fuck—yeah,” he rasped, grin stretching bloody and wild. “Say it a-again—call me that—”

“Disgusting. Pathetic. Useless little freak.”

His eyes rolled, breath rattling, hips pumping faster. You heard his boots scuff and slip on the ground below, kicking dust with every jerk of his body. His free hand clawed at your thigh, nails biting hard into your skin, grounding himself in your weight, in your hold on his throat.

“Harder,” he begged, voice splintering, a desperate whine breaking loose. “Please—please, don’t let g-go—don’t stop—fuck, I’m so c-close—”

And God help you—you squeezed tighter. You felt the pulse stuttering beneath your palm, his throat straining, his moans breaking into guttural wheezes as his body arched up beneath yours.

“You need me for this,” you hissed, lips curling in something that was no longer just anger. “You can’t even come without me choking the life out of you. Need me to make your little dick come.”

His hand blurred on his cock, hips bucking helplessly now, eyes glassy and unfocused as drool slicked the corner of his mouth. “Y-yesmmn—fuck, yehmmn—need you—need your hand—don’t let go—hnn—hah—”

And then he broke.

His whole body jolted beneath you, a strangled moan tearing from his throat as his hips bucked up hard. Hot release spilled across his abdomen and into his fist as he writhed, every vein straining under your hand while you squeezed him through it. His cock twitched violently in his grasp, his moans pitching higher, wetter, delirious. “Fuckfuckfuck—yes—” he gasped, trembling, his grip on your thigh bruising as he rode the high, every thrust messy, erratic, desperate.

You held firm until he sagged under you, chest heaving, throat raw and flushed purple where your hand pressed. Only then did you release him, wiping your palm against your jeans with a sharp sneer. “Fucking hell,” you muttered again, though your heart was hammering just as hard as his.

Toby lay there, grinning up at you with glassy, wrecked eyes, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. He coughed once, rough and raw, then laughed—a cracked, unhinged sound. “Worth it.”

The warehouse smelled like iron and smoke, the floor sticky with blood, bodies slumped where they fell scattered throughout the halls. Normally you’d have cleaned—burned the place down or dragged the corpses to the woods. That was protocol.

But not tonight.

You shoved yourself off Toby’s chest, breath ragged, disgust curling sharp and hot in your gut. You wiped your palm against your pants until the skin burned, as if you could scrub off the memory of his throat thrumming beneath your grip, the moans spilling out of him, the mess he made of himself under you.

“Fuck,” you spat, turning on your heel. “Fuck this.”

Toby scrambled upright behind you, fumbling with his belt buckle, tugging his jeans back up with clumsy, shaking hands. His hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, his hoodie damp with it too.

“W-Wait—hey—” he stammered, voice still rough, strained. He grabbed his hatchet and muzzle from the floor and scurried after you, footsteps uneven on the concrete. “Don’t—don’t make i-it a thing, okay? Just—forget it h-ha-happened.”

“Forget it?” you snapped, not slowing. “You’re sick, Toby.”

He laughed nervously, breath catching on the sound. “Yeah, well—you al-already knew that.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your stomach twisted too tight, too hot, your chest buzzing with something you didn’t want to settle on. You shoved through the broken door, the night air slapping cold against your damp skin, and started the trek back to the mansion. Behind you, Toby’s boots scuffed the dirt, never too far, dogging your steps like a shadow.

“C’mon,” he tried again, voice softer this time, more nervous. “Don’t g-go all weird on m-me. It doesn’t have to mean an-anything.”

Your fists clenched at your sides. “Shut up.”

Silence stretched between you after that, broken only by the crunch of leaves, the distant cry of some night creature in the woods. You didn’t look back, not once. But no matter how far you tried to walk ahead, he stayed just behind you—close enough to feel his presence crawling against your skin. Your chest heaved, every breath tight. Anger, shame, disgust—all of it roiled inside you, twisting lower until your stomach was burning, your thighs aching where his hands had dug into you.

Warm. You felt too warm. And you hated yourself for it.

By the time the mansion lights came into view through the trees, your jaw ached from clenching it so hard. You’d marched fast, hard, like if you moved quick enough, you could outrun the heat coiling in your gut, the way your pulse jumped at the memory of Toby’s voice breaking under your hand, at his eyes watering so easily.

But when you reached the porch steps, he was still there. Still trailing you. And no matter how you tried to bury it—your body still hummed with the echo of his moans.

“J-Just don’t say anything to t-them—”

“Shut up, Toby.”

The mansion’s door creaked open, hinges groaning into the quiet of the hour. You stepped in first, blood dried on your clothes, boots heavy with dust. The air inside smelled faintly of woodsmoke and old leather, warmth clinging to the walls after the chill of the forest outside.

Masky looked up from the couch where he sat sipping from a steaming mug. Hoodie was leaning against the wall nearby, arms crossed, while Kate perched on the armrest, picking at her fingers.

Three sets of eyes landed on you and Toby at once.

You kept yours on the floor, brushing past with a muttered, “It’s done.” Your voice was flat, clipped, nothing like the normal back-and-forth bickering they were used to hearing spill through the door after missions. Toby hovered behind you, shifting from foot to foot. His hatchet dangled loose at his side, his hoodie wrinkled, belt crooked like he’d thrown it back together in a rush. His mouth opened once, twice, but no words came.

Masky’s eyes narrowed. Hoodie straightened. Kate blew a huff of air through her nose, brows furrowing as her gaze bounced between you both. You didn’t wait for questions. You strode past them, your chest tight, your pulse hammering, Toby’s nervous fidgeting prickling against the back of your skull like static. Your boots echoed faint up the stairs, and when you reached your room, you shut the door hard enough to rattle the frame.

Finally—silence.

You pressed your back against the wood, chest rising and falling, staring blankly into the shadows of your room. Your knees felt weak, like the fight had dragged out hours longer than it really had.

“What the fuck,” you whispered into the stillness. Your mind replayed it whether you wanted it to or not: his face slack with need, his body bucking beneath you, his voice breaking when you called him pathetic. The sound of him moaning your name. The way he’d begged you not to let go.

Your pulse jumped hard, traitorous, and you wrapped your arms around yourself as though that could cage it. How? How had this boy—the one who needled you, cursed you, fought you at every corner—made your stomach twist and your core ache with just his wrecked voice and shameless grin?

You growled under your breath, shoving off the door, moving on autopilot. Stripping out of bloodied clothes. Cleaning the grime from your skin in the dim light of the bathroom mirror. Your reflection looked wrong—flushed, unsettled, eyes too wide.

You tried to ignore it.

Back in your room, you tugged a shirt over your head and crawled beneath the covers, pulling them tight around yourself. The sheets were cool against your skin, the house humming faint and low in the background. You shut your eyes, forcing yourself to think of anything else.

But your mind betrayed you.

Every blink brought back Toby—the heat of him, the frantic way he’d clawed at your thighs, the rasp of his moans under your palm. You could almost feel his throat again, the thrum of his pulse weakening against your grip, the desperate way he’d pushed into your hand as if he couldn’t live without it. The way he insisted only you could do this for him—only you.

Your breath caught. Your thighs pressed together beneath the sheets. “Goddamn it,” you muttered, low, ashamed.

But your hands moved anyway. Sliding down, curling over your stomach, lower, until your fingers pressed against the ache that had been building since you walked away from him on that filthy warehouse floor.

Toby’s voice played in your head, raw and broken—Harder. Please. Don’t stop.

The sheets were stifling, heat curling in every inch of your body, but you burrowed deeper under them anyway, cocooning yourself as if that could keep the shame in. Your breath was uneven, pulse climbing higher the longer you tried to resist. Your hand slipped lower, into the waistband of your shorts, finding the slick heat between your thighs. You were already wet, embarrassingly so, and the realization made your stomach flip.

“Fuck…” you hissed under your breath.

But your fingers moved anyway. Slow at first, just circling, teasing, trying to convince yourself you weren’t really doing this. Except the moment you closed your eyes, you saw him again—Toby’s head tilted back, throat bare to you, his lips parted in a desperate grin as you squeezed down harder.

The memory made your hips twitch, your hand quicken. Your breathing grew rougher, sharper, filling the stillness of your room. The friction wasn’t enough—you needed more. You slid two fingers against your entrance, pressing inside and gasping at the sudden stretch, your body clenching tight.

And your mind betrayed you again.

You imagined it was his hands, not yours—rough, calloused palms pushing inside, desperate and greedy. You imagined the way he’d been bucking against you, hips jerking, like he was trying to fuck the air just to get relief. What if you had fucked him then? Would it have been as fast and desperate as his fist was?

A whimper slipped out of you before you could stop it. Your free hand clutched the sheets by your head, knuckles whitening as your pace picked up. Each press, each thrust of your fingers had your body curling tighter, chasing something you didn’t want to admit you wanted. Your thighs trembled. Sweat dampened your temples.

And then Toby’s voice flooded your skull, unbidden: Harder. Please. Don’t stop. I need you.

Your body jerked. A moan tore from your throat. You slammed your fingers deeper, grinding your palm against your clit until the ache sharpened into something blinding. Your orgasm ripped through you like fire, your body arching off the bed, breath caught, the sound of his pleading still ringing in your ears.

You stayed there, quivering, your hand still buried between your thighs as the aftershocks trembled through you. The sheets were tangled, your skin slick with sweat, your chest heaving. And when your mind finally cleared, disgust hit you like a wave.

You ripped your hand away, burying your face into the pillow, your body still thrumming with unwanted pleasure.

“What the fuck is wrong with me,” you whispered to the dark, voice breaking. But no matter how tightly you curled into yourself, no matter how hard you tried to will it away, the memory of his moans and the feel of his throat under your palm stayed burned into you.

“I hate that boy.”

── .✦

The mansion was never quiet, not really. Floorboards creaked, the woods whispered, doors groaned when opened. But between you and Toby? Silence had become the loudest thing of all.

You ignored him. Flat-out, stone-faced ignored him.

When he leaned against the doorway of the training room, flicking his pocket knife open and shut, waiting for you to snap? You kept punching the heavy weight bag, not giving him so much as a glance.

When he dropped some smartass remark during meals, fishing for the rise he always used to get? You chewed slowly, eyes fixed on your plate, not even flinching.

When he “accidentally” bumped your shoulder in the hall? You walked on, didn’t miss a beat.

It drove him mad—you could see it in the twitch of his jaw, the way his tics flared sharper, faster when you didn’t bite back. But it drove you mad too, in a way you didn’t want to admit.

Because the bruises were back. 

Dark, blooming fingerprints circling his throat like a necklace only you could’ve left. They were darker than last time, more intense. They peeked from under his collar when he tilted his head back, caught the light when he twisted just so. And every time you saw them, your stomach clenched.

You couldn’t help imagining him again, in that messy sprawl on the warehouse floor—eyes glazed, lips split, gasping for air under your hand. The memory tangled with the fact you knew he was jerking off to it every night, chasing that high you’d given him like some addict.

And then came the shame.

Shame because you’d done the same. Shame because your own fingers had dug into yourself with his voice in your ears, his body pressed against yours in your mind. Shame because it made you warm now, just thinking about it in broad daylight. You hated yourself for it.

The others noticed.

Masky groaned and rolled his eyes whenever the silence stretched too long in the room, muttering about “finally shutting the both of you up.” Hoodie, quiet as ever, glanced between you two with something unreadable in his gaze, like he was tracking pieces to a puzzle he didn’t want to put together. And Kate? She smirked. She didn’t say anything—yet—but her eyes lit up with amusement every time Toby walked in, bruises stark and ugly, your gaze flickering before you could stop it.

The mansion wasn’t built for subtlety. Everyone could feel the tension brewing.

And Toby? Toby basked in it. Even when you ignored him, even when your face burned with shame, you could see it in the edge of his grin, in the way he let his collar hang just a little lower. He liked that you saw the bruises. He wanted you thinking about them. Thinking about him.

── .✦

The porch was cold, even with the smoke curling warm in your lungs. You leaned against the railing, staring into the stretch of black trees. The woods whispered with wind and crickets, an endless, empty hum that should’ve eased your head but didn’t.

You were halfway through your cigarette when the door creaked behind you. You didn’t have to look to know who it was. His uneven footsteps, the scrape of his hoodie against the doorframe—Toby.

You stiffened immediately, flicking ash into the night, already crushing the half-finished cigarette against the rail. The second he stepped outside, you pushed off the porch, muttering, “Nope.” But before you could make it to the door, his hand shot out and grabbed your arm.

You spun on instinct, your fist colliding with his chest, hard enough that it would’ve left anyone else wincing. He didn’t even flinch. His head just tilted, eyes flicking from your hand to your face.

“You probably liked that too, didn’t you?” you spat, ripping your arm from his grip. “Bet you’ll jerk off to that later too.”

For a moment, the corner of his mouth curled up into a grin like he was about to shoot something smart back. But then it faltered. He swallowed, shifting his weight. “You can’t k-keep being mad at m-me,” he said, quieter than you expected.

You barked a laugh, sharp and humorless. “Oh, that’s rich. What’s this—gaslighting me now? Pretending I imagined all your bullshit? You baited me into it, Toby. You made me—”

“I’m not saying th-that.” His voice cut through, sharper this time. He stepped closer, shoulders tense, hands fidgeting. “I’m saying… you d-did it too. You wanted it. D-Don’t dump all the blame o-on me like I’m the only fucked up o-o-one here.”

You blinked at him, the words burning hotter than the smoke simmering in your lungs. The laugh that came out of you was dry, ugly. “Wow. That’s your angle? Turn it around on me so you don’t feel like a creep?”

He shook his head quickly, stammering, “No. That’s not—fuck—” He scrubbed a hand through his messy curls, his tics pulling his shoulders tight. Then his voice dropped, raw and stripped. “I just… I hate i-it when you’re quiet.”

That stopped you.

His eyes flicked up to yours, no grin this time, no mask. Just something bare. “I can handle y-you being pissed at me. You c-can scream, throw punches, call me every name in the book—I don-don’t care. I’ll give it right back. That’s what we do.” He took a step closer, the porch creaking under his boots. “But this? Y-You ignoring me? Acting like I don’t exist? That’s wo-worse than any fight we’ve ever h-had.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse suddenly pounding in your ears.

“You always bounce b-back,” he went on, voice rough with an edge of desperation. “No matter h-how ugly it gets, you always come back a-at me w-with something. And now you’re just—gone. Silent. And it fe-feels like I’m fucking… nothing t-to you. And I can’t stand that.”

The words hung between you, heavy as the smoke drifting in the night air. You clenched your fists, struggling to breathe steady. Your chest felt too tight. His words were still in your ears, rattling around, refusing to leave. You dragged a hand through your hair, then crossed your arms hard, locking yourself in. Your gaze flicked down—just for a heartbeat—to his throat, where the bruises were stark against pale skin, then to his hands fidgeting at his sides. A sigh slipped out before you could swallow it down.

“God, you’re annoying,” you bit out, venom dripping. “You stand here begging for scraps of my attention like some whipped fucking dog.”

Toby’s lips twitched, but he didn’t fight back. He just nodded once, sharp, almost eager. “Y-Yeah. I am.”

You blinked at him, taken aback. Then the anger surged hotter. Even still, even as you tried to push him away, he was still enjoying it.

“You don’t even try to deny it? That’s how low you are? That’s how little self-respect you have?”

“Mmhm.” Another nod. His boots creaked closer against the porch boards.

Your arms tightened across your chest. “You’re disgusting, Toby. You make me sick.”

“Yeah.” Another step closer. His grin was small now, faint, but his eyes were locked on you like he was drinking it all in. Your nails bit crescents into your arms. You should’ve walked away—you knew you should’ve walked away—but the way he was letting you tear into him only made your pulse race faster.

“Say it,” you snapped, stepping forward yourself. “Say you’re a fucking disgusting waste of space.”

“I’m di-disgusting,” he echoed, nodding. “Waste of space. All o-of it. Go on.” He was right there now, only inches away, and still coming closer.

“You’re nothing,” you spat, your voice trembling with how hard you forced the words out. “I hate you.”

He nodded again, eyes bright, voice low. “Then hate me.”

And then he leaned forward. Not quick, not sharp—slow, steady, like he was giving you all the time in the world to stop him. His breath brushed your lips, his bruised throat bare and tempting, his whole body a dare.

Something snapped in you. Your hand shot up and clamped over his mouth. Hard.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you growled, glaring into his eyes.

For a heartbeat, the night was silent, only your ragged breathing between you. His lips moved against your palm, hot breath searing your skin, but he didn’t try to pull away. He just looked at you, wide-eyed and unblinking, as if you’d given him exactly what he wanted.

Then his arms came up.

Before you could react, he wrapped them around you, hauling you flush against him. Your body collided with his, hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs, and that’s when you felt it—his bulge thick and insistent against your hip.

Your heart jumped. You recoiled, but he only crushed you tighter, his muffled voice spilling hot against your palm. “Can’t—fuck—can’t help i-it,” he mumbled under your hand, words slurring but frantic. His eyes were wild, pleading and burning all at once. “You don’t understand how good i-it sounds. The way you talk to me—how mean you a-are—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snapped, pressing harder against his mouth, like you could shove the words back down his throat. And then—warm, wet, obscene—his tongue dragged across your palm. You jerked your hand back instantly, grimacing. “Motherfucker—”

The slap cracked sharp across his face before you even thought about it, your palm stinging from the impact. He didn’t even blink, face jerking to the side for only a moment. His laugh tore out, jagged and breathless, like it was the best gift you’d ever given him. “More,” he goaded, his voice breaking with a tic as his grin split wide. “C’mon—hit me again—”

Something boiled inside you. Rage. Heat. Hunger. You couldn’t name it, couldn’t separate it. You fisted his collar instead, yanking him down hard enough his head snapped forward. Your lips crashed into his in a violent, messy collision—more teeth than anything else, half-kiss, half-bite.

He made a noise deep in his chest, caught between a moan and a growl, and bit back. Your teeth scraped his lip, tearing it raw, copper flooding between your tongues as you devoured each other like a fight you couldn’t win. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t kind. It was violent, greedy, your mouths clashing, biting, swallowing each other’s breath until you were dizzy. His hands gripped your waist, bruising, desperate, dragging you closer still.

The porch boards creaked under your stumbling steps as you shoved him back, and he only laughed against your mouth, teeth clacking yours, his breath ragged and burning hot as he kissed you like you were both still trying to draw blood.

Your teeth clashed again, the taste of copper thick on your tongue, and Toby groaned like it was ecstasy. His hands roamed rough, not searching but taking—fingers digging into your hips hard enough you swore he’d leave bruises through your clothes. You shoved at his chest, trying to push him back, but he turned you violently, pinning you against the porch railing. The wood bit into your spine. His mouth crashed against yours, sloppy and biting, like he was trying to consume you whole.

“Fucking—” you gasped between kisses, your nails clawing into his shoulders. “I hate you.”

“F-Fuck yeah you do,” he growled, teeth dragging along your jaw before sinking in just hard enough to sting. His hips ground forward, rough, shameless. His bulge pressed against your hip so hard you could feel every inch. “Show me just h-how much, baby.”

Your laugh broke into a moan, guttural and unwilling, as he rocked against you. That only pissed you off more. You tangled a hand in his curls and yanked his head back hard, exposing his throat. “Pathetic little pervert,” you spat, glaring at the bruises you’d already put there. Your free hand wrapped around his throat again, squeezing until his breath stuttered, and his eyes rolled for just a second.

He moaned just as loud and whiny as he had the other night. The sound made heat coil tight in your stomach. You pressed harder, relishing the way his pulse hammered under your fingers. He choked out a laugh, lips swollen and red, trying to lunge forward again—but you held him just out of reach.

“Say it,” you hissed. “Say you’re nothing. Say you’re mine to break.”

His grin split wide, voice raw and ragged as he rasped, “I’m nothing. I’m—fuck—I’m y-yours to break.”

That was all it took for you to slam your mouth back onto his, devouring him. Your bodies ground together in a messy, furious rhythm, every movement as much a fight as it was a touch.

Toby’s hand slid down, gripping the back of your thigh, hauling your leg up around his hip. You gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound greedily, bucking into you. Your nails raked down his chest, and he shuddered, growling against your lips. He bit at your bottom one hard enough to make you taste blood again.

The porch creaked, your breath echoed, and for a moment, the whole world was just this: violent mouths, grasping hands, and the line between hate and want blurring until there was no difference. You tried to shove him off, but he anchored himself against you with his hands—one gripping your waist, the other sliding lower, hot and slick, brushing over the waistband of your shorts.

You stiffened immediately, pressing back, but he didn’t stop. He shoved his hand down past the hem, his warm palm pressing flat against your fluttering cunt. You hissed, digging your nails into his shoulders. The pad of his thumb traced along your slick folds, the subtle heat radiating from your body under his touch making him groan low and uneven.

“Right—so defensive, but you’re soaked—” he panted against your jaw, dragging his fingers through your slick and probing against your entrance. You wanted to curse him, but your hips were too busy chasing after his hand, mind too muddled with want. “Y-You’re not very good a-at playing pretend.”

And then—careful, deliberate—he slipped a finger inside. The movement was slow at first, testing, curling just enough to brush the spot that made you gasp, hips bucking despite your effort to stay rigid. Your breath hitched, caught in your throat as your hands clamped over his shoulders, nails digging in hard, and yet your stomach tensed, core aching in unwanted, feral need.

“Goddamn it, Toby—get the fuck—” you tried to snap, but the words came out a whimper as his fingers moved in perfect rhythm with the heat coiling between your legs.

“Can’t stop,” he rasped, teeth grazing your jaw. “Your hands—your words—f-fucking kill me. I can’t help it.”

You clawed at him, nails digging into skin. He moved another finger in, slick and warm, curling expertly, pressing, rubbing, and suddenly the fire coiling low in your belly blazed out. You arched up, fighting, hissing at him through your teeth, but the sound only seemed to make him smirk against your jaw.

“You piss me off,” you spat, pressing back harder, rocking your hips against his hand in a mix of resistance and desperate need. Every nerve in your body screamed, every pulse of blood seemed to thrum straight down into the ache he was cultivating with each careful, greedy curl of his thick fingers. “You’re so fucking gross.”

“Yeah,” he moaned, the word rattling through him. “Gonna make you cum. I h-have to. Ne-Need to.” The sound—raw, desperate, unashamed—made arousal coil tighter in your belly. Your free hand tangled in his hair, yanking his face to yours again. Teeth clashed, lips smacked, and he grunted as you bit him, tasting yourself on him, smelling the deep earthy tones of him.

He bucked into you, nails digging into your hip, sliding his fingers faster, curling them deep, teasing you, testing you, making you gasp and growl your frustration into the night air. You tried to glare, tried to snap insults, but your body betrayed you, trembling, hips pressing against him, sliding back onto his fingers despite the growl of anger and disgust still catching in your throat.

“Told you,” he rasped, voice ragged, “I l-like it better when you’re pissy.”

You hit him on the chest, hard enough to make him grunt, and he chuckled, throat choked and vibrating under your hand. The contrast—his rough, hungry laugh and the slick heat of him inside you—sent fire lashing in your veins, spreading down and low, making your nails dig deeper, your chest rise faster, your body tremble like you were breaking apart. You tried to pull away, tried to scream insults, tried to shove him off, but every movement only made him grip harder, curling fingers deeper, his thumb rubbing against your clit as he held you flush against him.

“Fuck—Toby…” you gasped, teeth clenching, nails digging into the fabric of his hoodie as heat roared through your body. His hand moved faster, rolling you expertly against him, pressing and curling until every nerve in your belly lit up. You clenched, tight, shivering, and suddenly the wave hit—sharp, overwhelming, and completely consuming. Your body quaked as your orgasm ripped through you, muffled gasps caught in your throat. Toby didn’t falter; instead, he held you steady, rolling you just enough to ride it out, keeping you flush against him, your arousal spilling all over his palm.

Your chest heaved, and you grabbed his jaw with both hands, pulling him down roughly into a kiss that was desperate and messy. His mouth moved against yours, hot and slick, teeth nipping as tongues tangled, groans muffled and raw. And then, just slightly, the feral edge simmered into something slower, almost tired—your bodies still flush, hearts hammering, lips pressed together as you clung to him, fingers gripping his shoulders and chest. Your legs threaded around him, your nails dragging along his back, and you shivered against the warmth of him, still trembling from release and the cold air outside.

Finally, he pulled his fingers out, slick and glistening, and tilted his head back just slightly. His eyes locked onto yours, dark in the dim porch light, and he brought his fingers to his mouth, licking and sucking them clean with a low hum that made your heart stutter.

“Fuck,” you panted.

You don’t let him think. You take his wrist like it’s a leash and pull, hard, the way you used to when dragging him out of some stupid accident—only this time your grip is charged, hungry. Toby stumbles after you, mouth parted, eyes bright and unsteady, like he’s both surprised and exactly where he wants to be. He tries to say something—stammer a protest, some jagged joke—but you yank him faster and his words die in the cut of your stride. You pull him through the mansion’s doors and into the warmth of the house, dragging him up the stairs like a toy.

Upstairs creaks under your boots; the house is quiet but for the ragged sound of his breathing close behind. When you shove the door to your room shut, it slams. The sound is satisfying, final. You press back against it, feel the cheap paint bite into your back through your clothes, and the world narrows until it’s only you and him and the hungry strain between your bodies pressed tight.

He drops to his knees without being told. You haven’t even made a sound and he’s already obeying—fast, focused, hands fumbling as he works the waistband of your shorts. He tugs them down slow, reverent, as though he’s unwrapping something sacred and volatile. The fabric slips over your hips and slides to your knees, and you can feel the cool air lick at your skin. Toby’s head dips, lips brushing the inside of your thigh first like it’s a courtesy, then moving with increasing boldness.

You’re in control. You know it. You feel it in the slick press of your bodies, the steady drum of your pulse at the back of your throat. You lean forward, hands braced on his shoulders, and you start to talk down to him.

“Look at you,” you say, each word deliberate. You’re quieter now inside, trying your best not to disturb Masky and Hoodie only a few doors down. “On your knees for me. So ready.” Your fingers rake through his hair, rough enough that he gasps, chin lifting to give you access. He nods, desperate and grateful, eyes glossy. The motion is small, but it’s permission, and it makes something molten shift deeper inside you.

Toby’s face is close, warmth and breath and that wild laugh caught somewhere between fear and worship. He’s trembling—hands shaking as they find your hips, thumbs stroking, mapping, sliding up and under your shirt. He lifts his mouth and your name slips off his lips like a prayer. The sound is intoxicating. He’s pathetic on purpose: he knows that’s exactly what you want to see, and he gives it fully.

“You like the way you look when you beg?” you murmur, leaning down to press your forehead to his. “Like how it feels?.”

He swallows. His voice is a thin thing when it comes. “I—please. I like—hnngh, I like w-when you—” He breaks, breath hitching. “I like when you make me—when y-you choke me—when you sa-say those things.” His fingers curl into your hips like anchors, digging into your flesh.

You grin, and it’s all teeth. You like that he admits it. You like that he’s helpless to stop himself from wanting more, and you take your time making that want work for you. Hell, he couldn’t even cum without your help a week ago. One hand slides down his scalp, tilting his head, the other ghosts lower until the pad of your thumb brushes the tint in his jeans. He pants, a sharp, eager noise, and when you press that thumb—just a tease—he moans and jerks, hips lifting on their own.

“Good boy,” you whisper, the title slipping out like a command. “Work for me.”

He obeys like he breathes—fast. His hands grip your thighs, pull you closer, and he uses his mouth this time—not gentle, not careful, but greedy. When his lips close around your clit, and your back immediately hits the door, rattling the frame. He’s competent; his mouth knows how to coax sounds from you, how to lap his tongue through your folds, how to curl it in the right place. He sucks, he sucks hard, and you can feel it all rolling through you—the tug and the release, the heat pooling and then building again.

You press a palm flat to the crown of his head and drive him harder, encouraging, demanding, not letting him take the easy route. You want him raw, you want him ragged; you want him making up for every single ache he’s caused you. You lean your weight into him, hips rocking as his mouth works miracles, and you start to bark orders—softly but stiff.

“Faster.”

“Mhmn—” he hums, wrapping his hands behind your thighs, pulling you closer.

“Keep your eyes up, Toby.”

He answers by sinking his tongue into your cunt, forcing the muscle into the sticky sweet slick of your last arousal. His eyes flutter and roll, his nose pressing against your clit as he swallows every taste of you.

He’s shameless now, hands slamming up your thighs, hauling you closer until the pads of his fingers dig into the soft of your waist. He crushes his face between your legs, breath hot and urgent, tongue darting, exploring. When his fingers slide from your leg to between them, worming their way to your entrance with his tongue, you clench, eyes rolling with the stretch. He moans against you, the sound vibrating right up into your pelvis, and the crude, honest worship of it makes heat flare up into your throat.

You keep talking, degrading in that perfect, stinging way that makes him whine harder, do more. Each insult you throw is an instruction, each barb a route to deeper compliance.

“You want this,” you tell him, voice low and hard. “You want to be thrown around. Admit it.”

He lifts his head, face flushed, lips slick. He meets your eyes and says it plain, breathy and broken, “I wa-want you to hate me. I want you to hit me and h-hurt me.” He nods, like a man confirming the one truth he lives for.

“You don’t even—hah—even feel pain.”

“Let’s play pretend.”

That’s all you need. You press him back with a casual force, pressing down on his shoulders and forcing him flat to the floor. His back hit the wood, hoodie riding up, and you didn’t give him the chance to keep talking. You climbed over him, straddling his chest, knees planted on either side of his shoulders, the weight of you pinning him like prey.

“Shut up,” you spat, leaning forward just enough that your shadow swallowed his face. “You want to fuck me so bad? You’re gonna fucking earn it.”

Toby’s grin only widened. His hands went to your thighs automatically, not pushing, not resisting—just holding, squeezing like he was anchoring himself to you. His eyes, those wild, fractured things, were locked on your cunt hovering above him. His mouth fell open on instinct, tongue flashing out in a shaky, eager swipe across his lips.

“Fuck—look at you,” you muttered, rolling your hips forward until you sat fully on his face. His nose pressed firm against your clit, his tongue sliding up and tasting you with a hunger that sent shocks all the way down your spine. “On the floor, exactly where you belong.”

The sound he made against you was half-moan, half-chuckle, and the vibration shot straight through you. You fisted his messy curls, forcing his head back into the wood, rocking yourself harder against his mouth.

“Open wider,” you ordered, voice sharp, breath catching. “You’re gonna take every bit of me.”

He obeyed instantly, mouth parting, tongue flattening and dragging in long, desperate licks. He was sloppy, unashamed, drowning himself in you. Every time your hips rolled down, he groaned like he was savoring it, like he’d starve if you moved away. You ground against him harder, chasing the rhythm, riding his face with purpose. The slick sounds of his tongue working you filled the room, obscene and perfect. Toby’s hands clamped tight on your thighs, pulling you down harder, like he wanted to suffocate under you.

“Stupid weirdo,” you hissed between gasps, yanking his head tighter into your heat. “This is what you’ve been begging for, isn’t it? My pussy—fuck—my fucking hands on you.”

His answer was a muffled, ecstatic noise, hips bucking up from the floor uselessly. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t joke, couldn’t bite back. He could only take it—your weight, your rhythm, your degradation. He moaned into you again, and you felt the sound rip through your core.

You leaned back slightly, fingers twisted cruelly in his hair, your thighs trembling as his tongue curled just right, hitting that spot over and over. You threw your head back, breath breaking into ragged gasps, staring up at your ceiling just like you had a couple of nights ago—imagining how he would feel against you. It made your heart burn.

“God—fuck, Toby—don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He couldn’t. His mouth latched tighter, tongue flicking, sucking, devouring like it was oxygen. You rode him through it, thighs squeezing against his head, grinding down until the pleasure crested sharp and overwhelming.

When it hit again, it was violent. You clamped down around his tongue, body shuddering, a cry tearing itself from your throat as you came hard, grinding his face through the waves. Toby moaned with you, greedy for every second, every twitch, every slick pulse. The overstimulation was already building, your body growing so tried. You slumped forward on shaking thighs, chest heaving, still tugging his hair, forcing him to lap at you while aftershocks rolled through. Only when your muscles gave did you finally lift off, dragging your heat from his face and watching as he gasped for air, lips and chin wet, eyes glazed and wide.

You smirked down at him, breathless but still sharp. “Look at you. So pitiful.”

Toby laughed—hoarse, shaky, half-mad—licking his lips like he couldn’t bear to waste a single taste. “Do it again,” he begged, voice raw. “Please—ride m-me again.”

“Nah.”

Your thighs trembled as you rose off of him, knees shaky, breath uneven. Toby’s hands pawed uselessly at the floor, still reaching, still begging—but you ignored him. You staggered to your bed, hips heavy with the ache he left behind, and collapsed face-first onto the mattress. The sheets were cool against your burning skin, and you stretched out, lazy and languid, your feet still dangling over the edge, your back arching with the natural curl of exhaustion and satisfaction.

Behind you, you heard him scramble up—the shuffle of knees, palms on the floor, the frantic sound of him scurrying like a dog chasing its master.

“Stay.” The single command cracked through the quiet like a whip. He froze. “Don’t you fucking move.”

You didn’t need to see him to know he was obeying—you could feel the tension rolling off him, could almost taste the way he wanted to lunge forward, to drag his mouth back where it belonged. You felt his eyes bore between your legs, onto the mess he had created now cooling on your skin.

“P-Please…” Toby’s voice was a rasp, thick with need. “Please, let me—let m-me touch you—”

“I said no.” 

Your words were final, and they cut. You heard him groan, guttural, muffling it into his fist. A second later, the sound of teeth scraping against knuckles filled the air—he was biting down hard just to keep himself quiet. You turned your head slightly, gaze dragging to where he stood, and what you saw made a laugh roll out of you, low and cruel.

Toby was doubled over, one hand fisting in his hoodie, the other clawing at the waistband of his jeans. The bulge strained hard and obscene against the denim, and he rocked into it like he could grind the ache away. He looked half feral, pupils blown, mouth wet, hair hanging in his face. Pathetic. Perfect.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” you teased, voice lazy with amusement. You knew it didn’t really hurt him, but he wanted to play pretend, didn’t he? “Can’t even move without thinking about me, huh?”

He groaned again, louder, his body jolting with the effort of restraint. His knuckles were slick with spit where his teeth dug in, and his free hand gripped his jeans like he could tear them open. You laughed again, sharper this time, and rolled onto your back. Your legs hung off the edge of the bed, feet brushing the floor, and you spread your knees wide, lazy and taunting. The motion was deliberate—an invitation, a cruelty, a display he couldn’t resist. It didn’t matter if he had already made you cum twice, you needed him to fuck you right now just to prove a point.

You were going to make this boy cum all by yourself. Not the idea of you, not his imagination—yourself.

“Go on, Toby,” you murmured, voice dripping with control. “Come here.”

Toby nearly tripped over himself getting to you, stepping between your dangling legs like he belonged there—like he had been waiting his whole life for it.

You leaned up onto your elbows, reaching a hand out to the edge of his waistband. His breath hitched, chest rising and falling in jagged heaves as your fingers toyed with his belt, tugging it open with a cruel kind of patience. The metallic clink of the buckle rang loud in the quiet room, and Toby’s hands twitched at his sides, useless, trembling, aching to reach for you.

“Keep them there,” you warned without looking up. “If you touch me without permission, you’re done.”

He whimpered softly—pathetic and desperate—and forced his arms straight at his sides, fingers flexing, curling into fists as though nailing himself to the spot.

You unzipped his jeans with a sharp tug, knuckles brushing the hard swell pressing against the fabric. Toby hissed through clenched teeth, head falling back, the veins in his throat standing out under the dim light. You smirked, tugging the thick fabric apart, and then slid your hand under his waistband, under the last barrier.

The heat of him hit you first—feverish and pulsing. You pulled him free, and your breath caught despite yourself.

Toby’s cock was flushed, angry red, the skin tight and stretched, a bead of slick shining at the tip. His breath came out in a stutter when the cool air touched him, his thighs trembling under your gaze. He was thick in your hand, twitching, the veins standing out like cords beneath your grip. His pubic hair was just as messy and unkempt as the rest of his hair, running up in a smattered patch to his belly button, coaxing your eyes to the mouthwatering crease of his v-line.

You let go of him, rubbing that hand between your legs, wetting your hand with your own slick. Toby’s teeth practically chattered as he thrummed, watching you.

And you didn’t give him mercy. Not even a second. You dragged the same hand you’d just rubbed against your soaked core up his shaft, coating him in your slick before your fist wrapped around him fully. Toby nearly folded in half, a broken noise tearing from his throat as his knees buckled.

“Fuck—” his voice cracked.

You stroked him hard. Fast. Cruel. Your hand pumped with purpose, each stroke wet, obscene, loud in the heavy silence. His cock twitched violently in your grip, swollen and desperate, precum smearing across your knuckles as you worked him like you were wringing every ounce of need out of his body.

Toby ripped his hoodie off like it was strangling him, yanking it over his head and tossing it blindly aside. His chest was pale, scarred in streaks that caught the dim light of your room, his stomach taut and flexing with every jerk of your hand. His hair clung wild to his forehead, his lips slick, swollen, parted in ragged gasps. He looked ruined—an animal panting, feigning for you.

And fuck, you hated him. You’d always hated him. Hated the way he laughed, the way he berated you, the way he made everything harder than it had to be. But now—seeing him above you, trembling, literally begging for the mercy of your hand—something deep and feral cracked open inside you.

You tightened your grip and stroked faster.

Toby’s whole body jerked. His hands shot forward instinctively, clamping around your wrist, not to stop you, but to slow you down. His face was wrecked, eyes glassy and pleading, mouth falling open around broken words. “Please—please slow d-down—fuck, I—” He groaned, panting above you, chest heaving with every groan. “You’re—you’re gonna make me—fuck—too fast—”

Your grip went iron-tight for a moment, jerking him so hard his hips jolted forward—then you stopped. Let go.

Toby gasped, his body shuddering as the sudden loss ripped through him. His cock bobbed helplessly in the air between you, slick and flushed, veins throbbing as if the blood inside him had nowhere else to go. His chest heaved, mouth open, eyes wide with disbelief.

You stared up at him, pure venom in your gaze, lips curling into a cruel little smile. “What did I say, Toby?”

His gaze shot down to where his hand still gripped yours.

“I told you not to touch me,” you hissed, shaking off his hand like it disgusted you. “But you couldn’t help yourself, could you? Can’t listen to anything.”

The mockery in your voice carved him open. He whined, stepping back an inch as if it physically stung, his cock twitching painfully in the air between you. Then, without warning, you sat up. Toby’s eyes darted down, confused, hopeful, but then widened when your hands went to the hem of your shirt. You peeled it off in one slow, deliberate motion, baring yourself, and tossed it carelessly aside.

His breath stuttered. He looked like you’d punched him in the gut. You leaned forward again, close enough that your breath fanned against his chest, eyes locked on his ruined face. You didn’t touch him. Not a single brush of your hand. You just sat back a little and watched. Watched as his hips twitched, as he tried to will himself not to reach for you again, as his cock leaked and throbbed helplessly, straining toward the heat of your body.

He writhed in it like it was killing him. His hands fisted at his sides so hard his knuckles cracked, his chest heaving with harsh, uneven gasps. His jaw clenched, a vein pulsing in his temple. The desperation turned sharp, ragged.

“F-Fuck you,” he spat, the words rough, guttural. “You—you fucking t-t-tease—you think you’re—gah-goddamn better than me?”

You tilted your head, smirking cruelly. “I don’t have to think it.”

His huff came out half a snarl, half a whimper. He shifted on his feet, cock jerking violently, his whole body tight with the strain of keeping his hands off you.

“Don’t—don’t fucking d-do this,” he begged through gritted teeth, but even his curses broke into something needy. “Goddamn bitch—you can’t—fuck—you can’t just stop—”

“Oh, I can,” you murmured sweetly, leaning back on your elbows so your chest arched and his eyes dropped helplessly. “I told you not to touch me. You broke the rules. Now you get nothing.”

He actually growled, low in his throat, head dropping forward as he cursed again. His words were broken, a tangle of hatred and begging, teeth grinding as though if he didn’t use them to form insults, he’d cry out something weaker. “Fuck you—fuck—you’re s-so goddamn—” He groaned, thighs trembling. “Please, please—I’m begging you—don’t l-leave me like this—I’ll d-do anything—you h-hear me?”

The sound of his voice like that—shattered, strung out, caught between curses and pleas—shot straight through you. It stirred something low and hungry in your gut, made your skin prickle with heat. You smirked lazily, stretching your legs a little wider, making sure he saw everything. “You hate me so much, Toby,” you taunted, voice low, sultry. “So why are you begging me like a dog?”

He stared at you, jaw twitching with irritation. You tilted your head at him, lips curling into something cruel. His chest was heaving, his cock red and leaking, his fists trembling at his sides, and you knew he was about to break.

You dragged the knife in deeper.

“Aww,” you cooed, sliding off the edge of the mattress and rolling over onto your stomach. You crawled forward a little, your hips swaying as you moved further up the bed. Toby’s eyes followed every inch, wide and wild, his whole body shaking like an animal straining against its leash.

Then you stopped, sank down onto your elbows, your chest pressing to the sheets. You arched your back so hard it burned, your ass high in the air, cunt fluttering in time with your heartbeat. You glanced back at him over your shoulder, your voice low.

“Then come here, puppy.”

The word cracked him in half.

Toby didn’t hesitate. He scrambled up onto the bed so fast it shook under his weight, knees digging into the mattress as his hands clamped down hard on your hips. His boots scuffed the sheets, twisting them under his knees as he pressed behind you. His grip was bruising, frantic, like he thought you might slip away if he didn’t anchor you. 

He slammed into you without hesitation, the force brutal and reckless. His cock drove deep, fast, urgent, and you gasped from the sharp, animalistic impact. He was panting, growling, releasing all the frustration, all the rage he’d been holding back, smashing into you like he’d intended on tearing you open.

“God—fuck!” he hissed, voice ragged, teeth clenched. “You—you’ve ruined me—stupid—fucking—”

You gritted your teeth, holding the bedspread tight, letting him feel your every shiver and thrum, every gasp and muffled cry. You pressed back against him just enough to meet each brutal thrust, riding his anger as much as he rode you. His hands clenched your hips tighter, dragging you back onto him with each slam. His motions were messy, desperate—no care for rhythm, only a need to fuck, to bury himself inside you, to release everything pent up in the past week. The bed creaked and groaned under the weight of you both, sheets twisting, skin slapping against skin.

“You—fuck—you f-feel so—God!” he cursed again, voice breaking. “So good—stupid b-bitch, you’re mine—”

“Yours?” you spat back, tone sharp and mocking. “You’re the one—hah—the one begging to fuck m-me—”

That stoked something further in him. His thrusts became harder, faster, reckless, as though trying to drive every ounce of need into you and make you feel his desperation. His growls turned to raw moans, voice trembling as he ground into you without restraint. One hand pressed against your back, the other gripping tight into the sheets beneath.

You could feel the stretch of him, hot and hard, sliding inside you in short, punishing jolts. Your stomach twisted, thighs pressed tight together, arching deeper with every slam, taking his animalistic pace.

The bed rocked under you, nails clawed into the sheets, every movement messy, filthy, primal. He was broken, panting, utterly at your mercy, and you turned your head to watch, smirking as he cursed and groaned, burying his face in your neck for support.

His lips found purchase, dragging wet, sloppy kisses along the sensitive skin there. A shiver ran through you, and a low, involuntary moan escaped your throat. Your hands shot up, tangling in his hair, yanking him closer to you, forcing his mouth against your skin as you pressed back against him, matching each thrust, each grind, each slick slide with your own desperate, hungry movements.

He groaned against you, teeth grazing your neck, and you bit back—literally—snapping your teeth down on his lower lip as he kissed you, mouth opening against yours in a collision of teeth and tongues. The kiss was violent, messy, consuming—an echo of the chaos that had always defined your dynamic. You shoved your body flush against him, hips rocking, back arching, dragging him as close as you could manage, fingers twisting in his hair like you were trying to tether him to you entirely.

“Fuck, I’m—” Toby rasped against your lips, breath rough, voice trembling. “I-I’m about to—shit, don’t stop—”

But you weren’t having it. Not yet. Not when you had the power, not when you could control him fully. With a sudden, deliberate push of your hips, you shoved him off of you, rolling the two of you until he landed on his back with a soft thump, sheets twisting beneath the force.

You straddled him immediately, knees planted on either side of his hips, pressing down with calculated weight. The shift of power was instant—Toby’s hands went to your hips instinctively, trying to find purchase, but you leaned back slightly, letting gravity work for you as you sank down onto him, his eyes watching as your cunt sheathed him.

“Mine,” you murmured, voice low, sharp, and all teeth and heat as you began to rock, rolling your hips forward and back with controlled, measured force. “This is mine from now on.” 

He gasped, gripping your thighs, still trying to reclaim some sense of command, but you moved faster, harder, hips pushing down and pulling back like a pendulum. Toby’s head fell back against the mattress, hair tousled, lips parted in ragged moans, eyes glazed and desperate. Every thrust from you hit him with a sharp, relentless rhythm that had him gasping, shivering under your control. His hands gripped your hips, nails digging into your skin, begging, pleading, but you were merciless. You refused to move up and down, only dragging your hips back and forth, catching your clit on the tone of his pelvis.

“You like this?” you spat, leaning forward, pressing your chest against his, teeth brushing along his collarbone. “You like being mine, don’t you? Finally listening.”

“Yes! Fuck—yes!” he rasped, voice breaking, hands clinging to you. “You’re—fuck—you’re killing me—god, I’m y-yours—please—”

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his in a wild, consuming kiss, tongue slipping inside to tangle with his as your hips rolled again, faster now, driving him closer to the edge. 

“You whine too much, puppy.”

You leaned up slightly, pressing your palms flat against his chest, letting your fingers wander over the taut planes of his abs. The heat radiating from him was insane, skin burning, muscles tight under your touch. Slowly, you dragged your hands higher until your fingers latched onto the familiar groove of his throat—the place where all of this had started, where this little game had started between you.

Toby’s breath hitched immediately. His hands shot to your waist, fingers digging in, anchoring you as he thrust upward into your cunt. You gasped at the sharp, thrilling impact, the way his body forced yours down, bouncing you against him. He didn’t even hesitate—he wanted it, craved it, and he wasn’t holding back.

“Did you jerk off like this—hnngh—the first time I choked you? This fast?” you spat, voice low and sharp, watching his eyes begin to water.

“I—fuck—yes!” he rasped, tilting his head back, mouth open in ragged gasps. His hands slid higher, cupping your tits roughly, thumbs teasing, squeezing, forcing your movements to match his rhythm of jerking his hips up into you.

You grinned, biting down on your bottom lip as the chaos of it hit you. He was giving, he was taking, every motion messy, raw, and beautiful in its recklessness. You bounced down onto him, hard, each bounce of your hips shoving his cock deep, his hands clawing and forcing your body to meet his own.

“I hate you,” you hissed, brushing teeth over his collarbone, letting your grip tighten around his throat. “I hate you. I hate—hah—hate you. Fuck—don’t stop.”

Toby choked, face flushing against the grip on his neck, his breathing becoming labored. “Fu-Fuck—Fuck you bitch. Feels s-so—mmmnh—so good—” His hand reached around and slapped across your ass, grabbing the flesh in his palm and forcing your hips faster, forcing your pace to match his desperate thrusts.

You responded in kind, hitting his face with your palm once, twice, letting the sharp sting mix with the slick, hot heat between your bodies. He didn’t care. He couldn’t feel the pain, the slap, the rough hands on his chest, and it made him buck harder, moaning and growling in pure, unfiltered need. You slapped him again.

Toby’s growls turned sharp at that, low and dangerous, cutting through the thick, humid heat of the room. His hands gripped your hips with bruising force, nails digging into your flesh as he thrust up against you. “You feel too fu-fucking good,” he spat, voice rough, teasingly cruel. “I’m gonna m-make you cum fi-first, bitch.”

“Oh, are you kidding?” you shot back, slamming down hard on him, hands wrapping tighter around his throat, eyes wild. “You’re gonna cum like the pathetic little pervert you are.”

His laugh was harsh, raw, vibrating against your hands. “You always h-have to—fuck—have to have a comeback—can’t j-just be quiet—”

You cut him off with another slap, your nail cutting his cheek where you hit him. A thin line of blood welled, and Toby stared at you through wide, frantic eyes. He grabbed harder, leaving dark purples across your hips and waist where his nails dug deep, tracing patterns only he could leave, marking you as his even as you marked him.

The room was chaos: skin slapping against skin, groans and curses tearing from both of you, bodies slick with sweat, hair wild and tangled, breaths ragged. Each thrust, each grind, each sharp slap or bite escalated the tension between you, a dangerous dance of dominance and pain and raw, primal need.

“C-Cum” he growled, tilting his hips, driving into you with bruising force, knocking the head of his cock against your cervix.

“Not before you,” you shot back, grinning fiercely, rolling your hips to match his pace, nails digging into the taut plane of his stomach as you leaned down to bite at his jaw, licking up his cheek to the spot you nicked him. Blood and sweat mixed, hot and sharp on your tongue, and it only pushed you both harder.

His hands dug into your thighs and waist, leaving angry red marks, dragging you down, forcing you to ride him with every ounce of strength and ferocity. You matched him blow for blow, bite for bite, scratch for scratch, until the two of you were a mess of raw, gleaming skin, bruises and blood painting the chaos of your struggle.

“I’m—fuck, Toby—fuck I’m coming—” you cried, digging your nails into his chest.

He whined, staring at the heavy way your eyes looked, his beginning to flutter shut. “Mhm—I c-can’t—hnn, I can’t stop—I’m gonna—”

Teeth sank, nails scraped, hips slammed, and finally the tension broke in a violent, shuddering peak. You both came together, voices strangled, wet, raw, bodies shaking, muscles trembling, bruised and marked and utterly wrecked. He snapped his hips one final time, and your cunt clenched against him so hard you felt the way he pulsed inside you. Every rope of hot cum filling you, claiming you. You milked every drop from him.

You collapsed against him, chest pressed to his, hearts pounding in furious synchrony. His breath came in ragged gasps, head tilted to the side, lips red, eyes glazed. You looked at him, smirk twisting across your lips even through the haze of post-climax heat.

“You’re disgusting,” you murmured, voice low, laced with satisfaction.

“And you’re worse,” he shot back, voice hoarse, smiling anyway despite the blood and mess.

For a moment, the fire between you softened just enough to let something else creep in. Your lips met his, sharp at first, teeth grazing, tasting the sweat and salt—but then, slower, gentler. The anger and frustration that had fueled you for the past two weeks melted, just for a second, into something almost tender. You kissed him, ignoring the slick heat still clinging to your thighs, the marks you’d left on each other, the bruises that would ache for days.

When you finally pulled back, your chest heaving, you allowed yourself a smirk, wet and satisfied. Slowly, achingly slow, you sat up, straddling him for one last lingering moment. He watched as your hips rose, his hands brushing your knees as you pulled him out, hissing at the tug before the final pop.

You felt the warmth slipping down your thighs immediately, his cum and your arousal making your cunt uncomfortably warm and sticky. You groaned.

“Fuck you,” you hissed, hitting his chest, Toby’s eyes nearly damn sparkling at the sight of his cum dripping out of you.. “You really are a damn dog.”

You collapsed onto the bed next to him, letting your arms fall across your chest. Your foot connected sharply with his side in a lazy, spiteful push. “Go away,” you muttered, tone sharp but breathless, still buzzing from the aftermath.

Toby groaned softly, but he didn’t move. Instead, he kicked his boots off with a quick, clumsy motion, then tugged the remnants of his jeans and boxers the rest of the way down, surprised how they had managed to still stay on at all. He tossed them onto your floor. His eyes flicked to yours—but there was no pleading, no frantic edge this time. 

Without a word, he crawled up next to you, chest brushing yours, arm draping loosely over your waist. You flinched slightly at the contact, the lingering warmth between you both still slick and potent, but the anger had faded into something heavy, intimate. Tense. The air was thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and the raw, unspoken agreement that had finally, messily, solidified between you.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. You could feel him, warm and pressed against your side, heartbeat rattling in sync with your own. Your hands twitched, itching to push him away or move out of his reach—but instead, you let the silence settle, letting his arm lay limp across your waist.

Toby shifted slightly beside you, his fingers rubbing against your skin absentmindedly, a small smirk playing on his lips. “You know,” he muttered, voice low and tired, “I re-really don’t like being c-called a dog.”

You arched an eyebrow, smirking, reaching for your pillows and placing one under your head. “Then maybe you shouldn’t beg me like one.”

He rolled his eyes, but his gaze stayed locked on yours, sharp and intense, and you felt a flutter in your stomach you hadn’t expected. “Stop staring at me like that,” you said quickly, voice catching slightly. “You’re being weird. Go back to your own room already befo—”

He cut you off with a soft chuckle, leaning a little closer. “Can I k-kiss you again?” His tone was cautious, different from the heated demands of earlier, almost vulnerable.

Your heart thumped, and you stared at him, eyes flicking between his and his mouth, searching for something you couldn’t quite name. The air between you thickened, tense and electric.

Finally, you shook your head slightly, lips pressing into a thin line. “I hate you, Toby. That’s not going to change,” you said, flat but not cruel, voice almost a whisper.

Toby’s smile widened, slow and knowing, as if he’d been waiting for that. “Then hate me,” he murmured softly, leaning in.

And then he kissed you. Not hot, not frantic, not messy and angry like before—just a kiss. Soft, slow, a quiet brush of lips, a grounding anchor in the aftermath of a hurricane. It was a moment of connection, a fleeting affirmation that despite the violence, the teasing, and the mess of the past weeks, there was… something between you. Affection, of a sort neither of you had admitted until now. A weird type of longing.

When you pulled back, your foreheads brushed together for a second, eyes flicking to one another with something like understanding. No words were needed—just the weight of what had passed, and the subtle promise that, messy and complicated as it was, this was far from over.

But then you palmed his face, pushing his head away from you with a grin. He smiled against your hand, kissing it, too. His arm around your hip pulled you closer, and if you leaned into it, that’s nobody’s business but your own.

── .✦

The mission site was scattered with debris, slick blood, and the lingering metallic tang that you knew you’d have to clean up. The proxies moved efficiently, hauling bodies, wiping down surfaces, and gathering evidence, but you and Toby, as usual, couldn’t go five minutes without trading insults.

“God, you’re useless at this,” you snapped, throwing a wet rag at him that stunk of bleach and vinegar.

“I’m sorry Ms. Fucking Perfect, d-do it your damn self,” he shot back, voice sharp. You both glared at each other, daring the other to keep going.

Masky groaned behind you, rubbing his temples. “Are we still on about this? Just clean the goddamn blood.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you stood and grabbed Toby by the arm mid-retort and yanked him up, dragging him with you. Masky shouted something, but you were already climbing the stairs and dragging him to the first storage closet you saw. His eyes widened in surprise, but before he could react further, you shoved the door closed behind him.

He barely had a moment to process before his hands were on you, lips crashing against yours in a fast, rough kiss. His tongue darted in, claiming, and your hands tangled up into his hair as he slid one hand down the front of your pants, fingers immediately finding their mark and pressing against your aching clit.

You gasped into the kiss, teeth clashing against his in a way that was half challenge, half need. His other hand clutched at your waist, pulling you flush against him, and for a moment, the chaos of the mission, the others, the world outside that small, cramped closet, ceased to exist.

And in that moment, you realized just how much had shifted between the two of you.

The bickering, the arguing, the constant pushing each other’s buttons—it was all still there. You still drove him insane, and he still managed to get under your skin in ways no one else could. But instead of letting it spill over, instead of making everyone else deal with the fallout, you’d found a… solution.

You snuck off during missions, hearts racing, to bite, lick, and fuck the tension out of each other. After dinner, when the others were distracted, one of you would find the other and drag them to some quiet area of the mansion and use their hands on the other, letting the frustration and irritation turn into heat that left you both gasping and sticky. At night, sneaking into each other’s rooms to whisper insults, spurring the other on just so they’d grab you and fuck you through the mattress. During missions, your trips taking longer because you’d have to stop and fight over who was going to give the other head first.

It was messy. It was reckless. It was everything the two of you had always been—and now, for the first time, it was satisfying. The anger became fuel, the hate became lust, and the fights that had once been a thorn in everyone else’s side became an intimate, electric game of control, dominance, and pure, unfiltered need.

And even as you found yourself pressed against him in this closet, hands gripping, hips sliding together, teeth clashing, gasps mingling with curses, you couldn’t help but smile.

Eventually, the door clicked open, and you both staggered out, breath still ragged, hands sticky, hair wild, but the world had resumed its usual pace. Toby followed a step behind, straightening his hoodie, adjusting his belt, hands now conspicuously idle. You fixed your hair, wiping the slick from your lips, tugging your shirt back down.

Without a word, the two of you fell back into your roles, hauling gear, wiping surfaces, and cleaning up the aftermath like the chaos of a few minutes ago had never existed. You moved in tandem with him only because necessity demanded it, but there was a subtle electricity in the air, just enough that you both noticed—but neither spoke of it.

Masky and Hoodie exchanged a look across the room, each raising an eyebrow. Hoodie whispered something inaudible, and Masky shook his head, muttering, “I don’t care. They’re quiet.” They were confused, but grateful that the usual bickering had been replaced by quiet efficiency. They didn’t care how it got to that point.

Kate leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, a knowing look in her eyes. She watched as you and Toby moved through the cleanup with the barest hint of coordination, eyes occasionally flicking toward each other in a way that suggested familiarity… maybe even fondness, if one squinted.

Sliding closer to you as you scrubbed a particularly messy patch of floor, she whispered, teasing, “What’s changed? I didn’t know you started liking him.”

You froze mid-swipe, wiping at the surface with one hand, and let your gaze drift lazily toward Toby. He was kneeling a few feet away, straightening a chair, annoyed and fidgeting as usual, completely oblivious to Kate’s question.

A slow, amused smirk curved your lips. “Nah,” you said, voice light as you stared at him. “I hate that boy.”

Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated!

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── .✦ rainrot4me2025, all rights reserved. ꩜ .ᐟ

[rainrot4me]

I Hate That Boy

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

─────────────────────────────────── ego - romy mars

── .✦ do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. dividers by me.

CONTAINS NSFW MINORS DNI

✦ . Summary: You hate Toby Rogers. Hate. He’s immature, and whiny, and gets in your way more often than not. Proxies are meant to work together, but you two just don’t. Fights are prone to happen, but when your hands accidentally find his throat, Toby accidentally finds out that he likes it. You hate him. And he hates you. So why can he suddenly not jerk off without thinking about your hands on his neck? Why does he want you to do it again??

✦ . Characters: Ticci Toby x Female Reader, Proxies

✦ . Warning: Enemies to Fuck Buddies, fighting, arguing, physical violence, violent arguments, blood, punching, slapping, choking, strangulation kink, choking kink, masturbation, pervert Toby, submissive Toby, teasing, hate fucking, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, spanking, creampie, mention of corpses, murder, graphic depictions of violence, hair pulling, bruises

✦ . Words: 21k

✦ . Note: Suprise fic! Please please please mind the tags, there’s a whole lot going on in this story. Yes, this was supposed to be the German Toby fic, but I decided I was too lazy to follow through, so white-boy Toby it is 💔 Nonetheless, please enjoy whiny Toby! I’ve been wanting to make a reader-dominant fic for a while, and I finally got around to it! Happy reading!!

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You hated Tobias Rogers. Hated. Even now.

The lake was so still. The kind of stillness that made the air heavy, as if even the water held its breath in anticipation. Moonlight fractured across the surface in sharp, silver shards, illuminating the awkward shapes of two figures dragging something heavy across the moss-slick ground.

You and Toby.

The corpse hung between you like an anchor, its weight making your arms ache with each step. The smell of damp earth and decay was thick in your nose. Every time Toby shifted his grip, the body smacked against the ground with a dull thud.

“Careful,” you hissed, slipping on a wet root. “It’s not going to sink if you—”

“Maybe if you d-didn’t drop your end every t-two seconds,” Toby grunted, voice muffled under his bulky muzzle, “we’d be done a-al-already.”

You glared, tugging on your end. “Excuse me for not wanting to ruin my boots in swamp water.”

“Oh, right,” he shot back, sarcasm dripping, “because t-this job is about fashion.”

The two of you stumbled to the edge of the shore, shadows from the Slenderwoods curling around you. The trees loomed like sentinels, tall and skeletal, their branches swaying with a sound that was almost a whisper. You hated this place at night—the way the silence seemed alive, watching, waiting. Toby, of course, didn’t seem to care. He didn’t care about anything, as far as you were concerned.

You heaved the body once, twice, then shoved it into the water with a final grunt. It splashed hard, ripples spreading outward until the lake swallowed them whole. You didn’t know the man, didn’t even really care to, it was just another job from the Operator. For a moment, you both just stood there, catching your breath, staring at the dark water as the final inches of the body sunk into the abyss.

“Happy now?” you muttered.

“Real p-pro-professional,” he replied flatly.

Your teeth ground together. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re a pain in the ass,” he shot back without hesitation.

The exchange was so familiar it almost felt rehearsed. Every mission ended like this: harsh words, rolled eyes, and the tension of two people forced into each other’s orbit who simply didn’t fit. The only difference is Masky wasn’t here to break it up.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried.

When Slender first made you both proxies, you’d done what Masky and Hoodie told you: learn each other’s strengths, cover each other’s weaknesses, trust is mandatory. And you tried. You really did. But from the very first mission, something had been off.

Maybe it was his immaturity—the way he cracked jokes in the middle of grim work, or the way he blew off orders to do things his own reckless way. Maybe it was your frustration—your need for control clashing violently against his chaos. Every step he took felt like it undermined yours. Every word out of his mouth made your patience snap just a little thinner. 

You weren’t blind, though. You saw how efficient he was, how quickly his hatchets moved, how easily he carried violence without hesitation. He was good—annoyingly good. Which made it worse. Because you should have worked well together. You were both proxies, bound to the same faceless master, trapped in the same mansion and forest. On paper, it made sense. In practice? You were oil and water.

Some people just weren’t meant to click.

“Guess we’re d-done here,” Toby muttered, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. He lit it, the brief flare of orange glow painting his face in harsh lines as he unstrapped his muzzle to take a drag. “W-We’ll never get a-along, will we?”

You gave a humorless laugh, wiping splatters of mud from your jeans. “Not a chance.”

He exhaled smoke into the night, shrugging like it didn’t matter. “Fine by me.”

The lake was silent again, just as still as if there wasn’t a body sinking to the bottom now. You turned, hauling back toward the direction of the mansion and away from him, but the walk back was worse than the mission itself. The Slenderwoods closed in on all sides, branches scraping like claws, owls hooting too low, too human. Every shadow moved if you stared too long, but none of that was as grating as the boy trudging a few feet beside you.

“You could’ve at least waited before stabbing him like that,” you grumbled, pulling your jacket tighter against the chill. “The plan was to corner him—”

“The p-plan was slow,” Toby interrupted, his voice sharp and smug. “He was running. I stopped h-him. Problem solved.”

“Problem solved?” you scoffed. “You nearly blew our cover, dipshit. He screamed loud enough to wake the entire county.”

Toby snorted, kicking a stone off the path. “Still got h-him in the end, didn’t we? He’s f-fish food now. You’re welcome.”

You threw him a glare sharp enough to cut. “I didn’t ask you to play hero. There’s a difference between efficiency and being reckless, and you wouldn’t know it if it hit you in the face.”

He tilted his head, grinning as he puffed a dark cloud of cigarette smoke towards you. “Guess t-that makes me reckless, then.”

The banter didn’t stop until the looming silhouette of the mansion swallowed you both in its shadow. The Slendermansion sat hunched at the edge of the woods, its black windows like hollow eyes. The air grew heavier the closer you got, as if the walls themselves were listening, feeding.

Inside, the floorboards creaked beneath your boots as you tossed your gear onto the table in the main hall. The familiar smell of stale smoke, mildew, and faint copper clung to the air, but it was the home you knew. Masky was already there, arms crossed, watching the two of you like a teacher sick of breaking up the same fight between the same students.

“You two done?” Masky asked flatly, eyes narrowing.

“Ask him,” you said at once.

“Ask her,” Toby fired back.

Masky groaned, dragging a hand down his mask. “Every damn time…”

From the couch, Hoodie let out a quiet snicker without looking up from his notebook he was sketching in. He never interfered much, but the slight shake of his shoulders told you he found your constant arguments entertaining. Infuriatingly entertaining.

Kate was sprawled in one of the armchairs, cleaning one of her knives with a rag. She raised her eyes just long enough to catch the tail end of your glare-and-growl routine. “You both need to grow up,” she said bluntly.

You opened your mouth to protest, but Toby beat you to it. “I a-am grown up,” he said, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms, flicking the final ashes from his cigarette onto the grimy floor before tossing it.

Kate arched a brow. “Mhm.”

You smirked at that, but it only lasted a second before Toby turned his mockery back on you. “D-D-Don’t get too fuckin’ cheeky—you’re not e-exactly winning any maturity awards e-either.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. “Says the guy who nearly fucked up tonight’s mission by charging in like a bulldozer.”

“And you would’ve l-let him get away while you m-made a speech ab-about ‘proper execution,’” Toby countered, mimicking your voice in a whiny falsetto that made Hoodie snort louder.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, throwing yourself into the opposite armchair with a huff.

Masky’s sigh was sharp, final. “I don’t care how you got it done. The point is, it’s done. Next time, don’t cause such a fuss and just get the damn thing over with.”

The words settled between you like a warning. But even warnings didn’t last long in this house. The air was too thick, the walls too close. You felt Toby’s eyes on you from across the room, smug, as if he’d won something.

You looked away first.

And that was the problem. Around Masky, Hoodie, and Kate, you could breathe. The dynamic worked. Missions went smoothly enough. The mansion felt tolerable, almost like a twisted version of family. But with Toby? It was always barbed words, tense silences, and the gnawing thought that you’d never, ever get along.

And yet… you were stuck together, whether you liked it or not.

── .✦

Life in the mansion was cramped, but not in the physical sense. The house itself stretched wide and tall, with too many rooms, too many halls that seemed to change direction when you weren’t looking. Space wasn’t the problem. People were. Or more specifically—Toby.

Morning started with a fight more often than breakfast.

You were standing in the kitchen, half-awake, nursing a chipped mug of bitter coffee when Toby barreled in, raiding the cabinet like a raccoon.

“Did you ta-take the last of t-the cereal?” he asked, voice scratchy from sleep.

“No,” you said, sipping slowly. “Kate did yesterday.”

Toby pulled the box down anyway, stared at the empty bottom, and turned on you. “So you k-knew and didn’t say an-anything?”

“Not my job to babysit your stomach,” you said dryly, turning your back on him.

By the time he stomped off, Hoodie was already leaning against the doorway, watching the exchange like it was a morning sitcom rerun. He muttered something about “placing bets next time” before pouring his own coffee and disappearing.

Later, it was weapons.

You had your knives laid out on the coffee table, sharpening them methodically, when Toby came over and plucked one up without asking.

“Don’t touch my stuff.”

“Relax,” he said, flipping the blade in his palm. “I was j-just looking.”

“Looking with your fingerprints all over it,” you snapped, snatching it back.

Masky’s sigh from the couch was loud enough to shake the windows. “I swear, it’s like living with children.”

Kate didn’t even look up from the book in her lap. “That’s because it is.”

Toby threw his hands up. “What, so s-she can throw a fit but I’m the p-problem?”

“Yes,” Kate and Masky said in unison. You couldn’t help smirking at that.

Dinner was the worst. 

The table was long enough for space, but somehow you and Toby always ended up across from each other. Tonight it was stew—Masky’s attempt at “normalcy,” though the meat was questionable at best. You didn’t eat together often, but it was a joint effort when you did.

“Don’t hog the b-bread,” Toby said, reaching across the table.

“I’ve had one piece,” you shot back, yanking the plate closer.

He lunged, you pulled away, and in the struggle the whole loaf toppled onto Hoodie’s lap. He froze, staring down at the mess, then at both of you with the slow, simmering irritation of a man two seconds from throwing something heavy. Kate snorted. Masky pinched the bridge of his nose.

Slender wasn’t around much, but you sometimes wondered if he kept you two paired just for his own amusement. Because every day, it was something. The fights were never big enough to break anything, never serious enough to leave bruises. But they stacked. They simmered. They filled the halls like static, humming between every word and every glare. And yet, for all the irritation, all the arguments, neither of you ever walked away for long. Missions still got done. The mansion still ran. Somehow, despite it all, the two of you stayed orbiting each other—gravitational pull you couldn’t escape, even if you wanted to.

── .✦

It was one of those heavy, still evenings where the Slenderwoods felt closer than usual. The air smelled like damp pine and smoke, a thick fog mist rolling over the dense grass underfoot. You and the others sat out on the creaking porch, ashtrays cluttered between boots and half-empty bottles of water. Masky smoked slow and deep, his mask balancing on the top of his thigh as he leaned back onto the wooden seat. Kate leaned back against the railing, picking at the chipping paint on the wood, eyes sharp but distant. Toby sat a little too close to you, tapping his leg like a drumbeat you couldn’t ignore.

You lit your own, trying not to acknowledge him, exhaling a sharp cloud into the humid night.

“So…” Toby finally said, breaking the comfortable silence. “Anyone e-else notice she always steals the li-lighter first?”

You shot him a look. “I do not.”

“Shut up, boy.” Masky started.

“Yeah, you do,” he said, grinning beneath the thick goggles that he had pushed up into his hairline. “It’s l-like a compulsion or something.”

“Or maybe you’re just too slow to keep track of your things,” you fired back.

Masky groaned low under his breath, muttering something that sounded like not this again. Before the argument could spiral, Hoodie pushed open the porch door and stepped outside, tucking his notebook into his jacket. His voice cut through the quiet with the weight of a dumbbell on your chest. “New mission,” he said simply.

Everyone straightened.

“All of us?” Masky asked.

Hoodie nodded. “Yeah. Orders came down. Tonight.”

The group exchanged looks. Missions that required everyone weren’t common—they usually split duties to keep the mansion covered. When all five were pulled, it meant something bigger, something messier.

“Guess family outing it is,” Kate said dryly, dumping her ashtray onto the gravel siding below.

── .✦

When darkness settled fully, the mansion stirred alive. Boots thudded against wood floors, gear clinked against belts, and weapons gleamed under dim light. Everyone had their rituals: Masky checked his sidearm three times at least, Hoodie adjusted straps across his chest, Kate wiped down her blade a final time. Toby spun his hatchets between his fingers like a magician showing off. You rolled your eyes and double-checked the knives at your thigh. The air was thick with anticipation. 

The pickup truck waited outside, dark paint faded from the sun, battered, and smelling faintly of gasoline and smoke. Masky slid into the driver’s seat without a word, Hoodie riding shotgun as he pulled up the map on his cracked cellphone. 

That left the back.

You climbed in, immediately pressed against the left side. Toby hopped up on the right, his knee bouncing instantly like he was vibrating with restless energy. Kate sighed and planted herself squarely between the two of you, arms crossed, glaring dead ahead through the windshield.  The truck dipped and squeaked on its hinges are you all settled in, then rumbled to life, headlights cutting through the black woods.

It only took a few minutes before Toby started.

“You’re sitting t-too close,” he muttered.

“I’m not even near you,” you said flatly.

“You do-don’t need that m-much space.”

“You don’t need to breathe, but here we are,” you shot back.

Kate’s elbows shot out, hitting both of your ribs at once. “Shut up. Both of you.”

You winced, rubbing your side. “Ow—”

“Don’t tempt me to hit harder,” Kate warned, eyes forward.

Masky’s voice floated back from the front seat, dripping with amusement despite himself. “This is going to be a long drive. Quit fighting and occupy yourselves.”

Hoodie didn’t even look up from the map. “Longest one yet.”

The engine hummed, the woods blurred past, and the truck rolled deeper into the dark. Despite Kate’s solid wall between you, you could still feel Toby’s presence—like static in the air, buzzing just out of reach. And you hated how much you noticed it.

── .✦

The truck rattled down the backroads for nearly an hour before Hoodie finally spoke.

“Target’s in the clearing past Miller’s Gorge,” he said, tapping the map image across his phone screen. “Couple of locals have been sniffing around the woods, talking about setting up cameras, trying to ‘catch something.’ Boss wants them gone one way or another.”

Kate exhaled a sharp breath. “So like, wannabe monster hunters.”

“Exactly.” Hoodie’s voice was calm but clipped. “They’ve already posted online. If they get anything solid, Slender won’t be happy. This isn’t one we can take half-measures with. We need it erased.”

Masky grunted. “So we wipe the whole camp.”

“Why all of us?” you asked, leaning forward from the back.

“Because there’s at least five of them,” Hoodie replied. “Armed. And cautious. Not idiots out for ghost stories—people who want proof. People who will fight back. They apparently realize that the stuff they’re hunting is more than just ghosts.”

The weight of his words settled in the truck. Everyone went quiet, the only sound the hum of the engine and Toby’s restless knee bouncing against the truck bed.

“Should b-be fun,” Toby muttered.

── .✦

When the truck finally rolled to a stop, the woods were suffocatingly dark, thick with crickets and the distant sound of running water. Masky killed the headlights, and everyone piled out, boots crunching softly against dead leaves.

The air was tense but focused. The group fanned out at the tree line, eyes scanning the faint glow of campfire in the distance. Voices drifted—male, confident, laughing, the kind of laugh people made when they didn’t know what waited for them.

Masky handed out orders quietly. “Pairs. Hoodie with Kate. I’ll take her. Toby—” He paused, as if even he hated saying it. “You circle wide and cut off any stragglers.”

Toby scoffed. “Solo? Figures.”

“No one wants to deal with your noise,” Kate said bluntly, earning a sharp laugh from Hoodie.

Toby shot her a look, but Masky had already moved, tilting his head toward you. “Stay sharp.”

You fell in beside him easily. Working with Masky was… natural. His movements were measured, precise, and he didn’t waste time on unnecessary words. You mirrored his pace without thinking, both of you flowing silently through the trees like you’d trained together for years. Every signal he gave, you read instantly. Every shift you made, he accounted for. It was seamless.

Behind you, faintly, you heard the sound of Toby muttering curses under his breath as he hacked through brush on his solo path. You didn’t have to see him to know he was irritated.

Masky glanced your way briefly, as if he could read your thoughts. “Ignore him.”

You smirked faintly. “That’s the plan.”

Together, you and Masky reached the edge of the camp without a sound. You crouched low, watching the five men move lazily around the fire, rifles slung across the backs of their folding chairs, a camera rig propped against a log. Beer cans were littered everywhere, dozens of containers of eaten food and trash on the forest floor between their tents. They were unprepared.

Masky leaned close, voice low. “On my signal, we take the two closest. Hoodie and Kate will flank right. Toby will cut off anyone who runs.”

You nodded, knives already loose in your grip. The firelight flickered across the blades, and the thrill of the hunt tingled in your chest.

For the first time all night, you felt steady. Focused. Like the tension from the mansion and the truck ride had melted away into clarity. This—this was what you were good at.

Masky snapped his fingers, the unspoken signal.

The campfire crackled, throwing lazy sparks into the night. The men didn’t know they were being watched. Didn’t know that five shadows had slipped into their circle of light like wolves closing in.

Masky moved first. His pistol coughed quietly through the silencer, a muted pop, and the man nearest the fire slumped forward without a sound. At the same time, Hoodie slipped behind the next, arm locking around his throat, blade pressing in until the man’s gurgle faded. Kate was quicksilver, gliding from shadow to shadow before sinking her knife between ribs and twisting, her target crumpling into the dirt while her hand held tight over his gaping mouth. You were already in motion, your knives flashing as you closed the distance. Your target barely had time to look up before you drove steel across his throat. Hot blood spilled, spraying across the fire, sizzling as it hit the flames. You let him drop, pulse steady, breathing smooth.

It was clean. Precise. The four of you moved like clockwork.

Then a shout split the clearing.

You spun, heart lurching, eyes scanning. One of them had bolted—no, not bolted. He’d seen and decided to fight back. Toby’s voice rang out through the trees, strained, guttural. “Got one!”

Through the smoke, you saw him—locked in a brutal struggle with the biggest of the group. Broad-shouldered, stronger than the others, swinging wild fists that clipped Toby’s jaw and nearly sent him sprawling. Toby snarled, teeth bared beneath the thick muzzle, trying to drag the fight into control, but the man was too strong, too desperate. Toby couldn’t feel the punches that were thrown, but they still jarred him nonetheless.

Without thinking, you darted forward. You grabbed the hunter by the collar and yanked him backward off Toby, the two of you wrestling him to the ground. Your knee pressed into his chest, pinning him just long enough to shout—

“Get up! Now!”

Toby staggered to his feet, hatchet already in his grip. His chest heaved, hair stuck to his forehead, eyes wild and bright. He didn’t hesitate.

The hatchet swung.

It sank into the man’s skull with a sickening crunch, the force so hard it sprayed hot blood across your face, soaking into your shirt, spattering down your arms. The warmth hit before the shock did.

You gasped, jerking back in disgust. “Toby!”

He yanked the hatchet free, crimson dripping down the blade, chest rising and falling in ragged rhythm. For a second, he looked almost proud of himself.

“You—you just—” You swiped at your face, smearing blood across your cheek. “Are you serious?!”

“What?” he said, shrugging like he hadn’t just drenched you. “I-It worked.”

You stared at him, mouth open, hands sticky with blood. “You could’ve aimed! You could’ve waited until I—”

“There wasn’t time!” he shot back, bristling. “He was go-gonna throw you off. I finished i-it!”

“Finished it? You fuckin’ soaked me with it!” Your voice cracked, frustration boiling over. Blood dripped down your face, sticky, hot, stinking of iron. And Toby just stood there, smug behind his mouth guard, hatchet still wet, staring you up and down.

That was it. You lunged at him.

“HEY—” he barked, staggering back as you grabbed a fistful of his hoodie and slammed him into the dirt. You smeared bloody hands across his face, dragging thick crimson streaks down and across his eyes.

“There!” you spat, shoving harder. “How do you like it?”

Toby snarled and shoved back, the two of you tumbling into a heap of thrashing limbs. He rolled, trying to pin you, but you twisted, fist snapping across his jaw. The crack of impact echoed, sharp in the clearing.

“You’re insane!” he growled, throwing a hand that glanced off your shoulder.

“I’m insane?” you shouted, driving your elbow into his ribs. “You’re the one who—”

The words cut off when you shoved your hands to his throat, pinning him to the ground as he tried to sit up. Your fingers locked tight, squeezing hard. His body bucked beneath you, hatchet clattering out of his grip as he clawed at your wrists.

“Get—off—” he choked, his voice rough, broken. His head thrashed in the dirt, but your grip only tightened. The blood smeared across both of you now, sticky and warm, the world narrowing to the sound of his ragged gasps and the hammering of your pulse.

“Dammit!” Masky barked from somewhere beyond. “Enough!”

Kate’s voice cut sharper. “You’re gonna kill each other!”

But you didn’t stop. Not yet. Not until you felt his pulse falter beneath your palms, until his eyes widened—not with anger, not with panic—but something else.

Something strange.

Toby’s body trembled, his breath stuttering under your hands, but instead of pure desperation, there was… heat. A rush. A dizzying flood through his veins that wasn’t entirely fear. He should have been furious, terrified, clawing harder. But as your fingernails dug into his skin and the world blurred at the edges of his vision, something dark curled inside him. Something you could physically see stirring in him.

“You’re…crazy…” he rasped, the grip of your wrists faltering as his eyelids began to flutter. You felt your heart skip, but it wasn’t enough to register, not when Masky and Kate were on you in a second.

“Enough!” Masky barked, grabbing you by the shoulders and hauling you backward with a force that made your chest wrench from Toby’s throat. Kate shoved between the two of you, her knife still tight in her hand, eyes blazing.

“Are you out of your mind?” she snapped at you. “You’re both fucking children.”

You jerked in Masky’s grip, still seething, still tasting the heat of rage in your mouth. “He’s a fucking idiot!”

Toby rolled onto his side, coughing, ragged gasps rattling out of him. One hand clutched at his throat, the other dug into the dirt, nails carving furrows. Blood was smeared across his face, his hoodie, everywhere—but he wasn’t looking at you, only at the ground beneath him.

For the first time since you’d known him, Toby was silent.

No muttering. No insults. No half-crazed laughter at your expense. Just… silence. He sat up slow, pulling the mouth guard back into place, eyes fixed somewhere past you all. When he stood, it was without a word. He brushed dirt off his hoodie, hatchet hanging limp in his hand, and started toward the edge of the clearing.

“Toby,” Hoodie called after him, tone sharp, warning. But Toby didn’t answer. Didn’t even look back.

The rest of the night crawled like rot under the skin.

You all worked the scene in tense, heavy silence—dragging bodies, dousing blood with gasoline, scattering ash into the brush. Every now and then you caught a glimpse of Toby through the smoke, his shoulders hunched as he hacked the bodies into smaller pieces to fit into the bonfire you were throwing them into, his jaw clenched tight. No jokes. No muttered complaints. Just methodical, mechanical movements.

When you stripped out of your bloodied shirt near the stream nearby, scrubbing your arms raw in the freezing water, you could feel his eyes burning into your back from across the bank. Not glaring. Not mocking. Just… watching. Quiet.

By the time you trudged back to the truck, smelling of iron and smoke and death, Masky was rolling his eyes, muttering about “immaturity.” Kate looked like she wanted to strangle the both of you herself. Hoodie, as usual, said nothing—just kept his cigarette glowing, eyes narrowed.

But Toby? He climbed into the bed of the truck without a sound, hatchet propped against his knee, gaze fixed on the passing trees.

The silence pressed down heavier than the arguing ever had. And the longer it stretched, the more you hated it.

── .✦

The week that followed felt… off.

Toby didn’t pick fights. Not even little ones. Not the tiny jabs that had been part of your daily rhythm—the back-and-forth you’d grown used to, the words that always bounced off walls like sparks. He moved through the mansion like a ghost, quiet, methodical, focused only on smoking, weapons, and missions.

When he did speak, it was clipped, necessary. Orders, reports, directions—never aimed at you. His eyes flicked past, not meeting yours. You caught him glancing at you once or twice when he thought you weren’t looking, but it was fleeting, and every time the sight made your stomach tighten with a strange mix of satisfaction and unease.

The bruises on his throat were obvious even if you didn’t look close. Dark purple and angry against the pale skin, fading slowly but leaving deep, persistent marks. You’d caught him passing in the hallway once and remembered the weight of your hands around him, the raw heat of adrenaline and anger. A pang of guilt twisted in your gut—you’d let him get to you—but alongside it, a sharper, quieter thrill: for the first time, you had one-upped him. You had won.

At first, that smugness warmed you. You told yourself you’d earned it. You replayed the moment in your head, felt the power, the control. Toby hadn’t laughed at you. Toby hadn’t mocked you. He hadn’t even argued. For once, the scales had tipped.

But the relief didn’t last.

Toby didn’t bounce back. Not like every time before. The chaos that had defined him—the relentless teasing, the petty fights, the fire in his voice—was gone. He didn’t sneak into the kitchen and steal your lighter just to rile you. He didn’t flick ash onto your boots and smirk. He didn’t mutter under his breath or make jokes you’d spend the day wanting to punch him for.

The absence was strange. Hollow.

By the third day, it felt almost wrong. The mansion, which had been loud and infuriating, was quieter than it had ever been with him there. You realized you had grown used to his presence—not the violence, not the chaos itself, but the rhythm of it. The constant tension that had made your skin crawl was now a kind of anchor, a pulse you hadn’t realized you relied on.

And now? It was gone.

Every time you passed him in the halls, your chest tightened. He wouldn’t meet your eyes. He wouldn’t speak. He didn’t react to your snide comments or half-hearted insults. You felt a creeping, uncomfortable feeling settle over you. Part guilt. Part frustration. Part… longing? The tension, the conflict, the constant sparring—it had been exhausting, yes. But now, without it, you were left staring at a quiet, withdrawn version of the boy who had once been the most unpredictable part of your day.

The deeper the week stretched on, the more you realized that what you’d thought was triumph had turned into something else entirely: a slow, gnawing emptiness.

You had won the fight. But you might have lost him.

But you should be happy… right?

── .✦

Another mission order came in from Slender. You were checking your gear in the corner of the mansion’s main hall when Hoodie appeared, silently sliding a small pack over his shoulder.

“You’re with me on this one,” he said, voice low, precise, as always.

You nodded, hefting your own weapons, already going through mental checklists. This was routine. Simple. Easy. Comfortable.

Then the door creaked, and Toby stepped in. You froze—just a little. The mansion felt a little smaller with him there. He moved quietly, deliberately, but there was an edge to his posture you hadn’t seen since… that fight.

“I should g-go,” he said.

Your hands stopped mid-adjustment, eyes darting to Hoodie.

“You?” Hoodie asked, brow raised, tone careful. “Like… you two?”

Toby didn’t answer at first. He just leaned against the doorway, faint shadows under his eyes, arms crossed. Then he met Hoodie’s gaze, and there was… determination there. A quiet insistence.

“I’ll handle it,” Toby said. “I need t-to go. Need to get o-out of the house.”

You blinked. Dumbfounded. Alone… with me? Your chest fluttered with a mix of nerves, disbelief, and something else you didn’t want to name yet. You stared at him, really stared, and realized the bruises on his throat were almost gone—just faint traces of pink fading into pale skin.

You exhaled slowly, running a hand through your hair. “It’s alright,” you said, finally. “I can go with him.”

Hoodie’s eyes shifted between the two of you, expression unreadable. Then he let out a long, resigned sigh. “Fine,” he muttered. “But try not to kill each other before you even get there.”

Toby didn’t say anything to you immediately. He just stepped aside, giving you a narrow space to move past him. And then—your eyes met his for the first time all week. No words. No sarcasm. No fights. Just a look that was sharp, quiet, heavy. There was something in it—curiosity, tension, and maybe the barest trace of acknowledgment

You swallowed. He didn’t look like the Toby who laughed at your every irritation or goaded you endlessly. He looked… different. Still the same chaotic energy under the surface, but tempered. Careful. Watching. Waiting.

You nodded once, almost imperceptibly. He nodded back, then stepped out together into the night. The mansion grew smaller behind you, the faint glow of lights fading, and suddenly, the woods felt wider, quieter, trapping the two of you together.

After the mansion had long disappeared behind the two of you, you tried to break the silence first. “So… you actually decided to acknowledge me. Must be a full moon or something.”

Toby glanced at you briefly. A slow, measured nod. “Yep.”

You frowned, adjusting your grip on your pack slung over your shoulder. “And… you’re not going to pick a fight, bark something sarcastic, or pretend you’re better than me this time?”

Another nod. Short, clipped. “Nope.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Wow. Silent Toby. Real terrifying.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t even glance your way. Just kept moving as you followed behind. The tension built like static. Every step you took felt heavier, filled with the weight of all the words unsaid between you. The heat of your own irritation grew, but it was tangled with something else—something that made your stomach twist and pulse.

Time passed, and you knew you were close to your destination when the scent of musk travelled around you.

“You know,” you muttered, testing the waters again, “we could at least plan this out before running in there and—”

But he didn’t wait for a reply. Not really. He veered slightly off the path, silent and purposeful, already moving ahead toward the dark silhouette of the warehouse you were assigned.

Your jaw tightened. “Seriously?” you snapped under your breath, jogging to catch up. “Do not pull this shit, Toby.”

He didn’t look back. Just a brief flick of the head, a nod toward the structure. No words. No argument.

The warehouse loomed as you reached the clearing—old, corrugated metal walls rusted, shadows pooling in every corner. Faint light spilled from windows shattered long ago, revealing crates stacked in uneven towers. The smell of damp wood, oil, and smoke drifted out to meet you. Someone had set up shop here, smugglers taking advantage of the abandoned structure, thinking no one would come. Unluckily, it was stirring commotion in the Slenderwoods, so they had to be rid of.

You stopped just outside, lowering your weapons slightly. “Okay. So—”

Toby was already moving. Hatchets swinging low in his grip, steps silent as he circled the side entrance, scanning, analyzing, slipping into shadows like he owned the place.

Your irritation flared. “I said we should plan—”

No response.

You ground your teeth. He didn’t even acknowledge your words beyond a brief nod to indicate he’d seen you. The careful, silent Toby—the one who had stopped fighting with you, stopped talking to you altogether—was moving without you, ignoring every attempt at control, ignoring the chaotic rhythm you had always relied on when paired.

And somehow, that made you feel even tenser than a shouting match ever could.

The warehouse groaned under its own weight as you slipped inside, shadows thick and stale air heavy with oil and dust. Somewhere deeper in the building, muffled voices echoed—low, muttering, careless. The smugglers thought they were safe.

You crouched low, pressing into the dark, and flicked a look toward Toby, ready to signal how to split. But he didn’t wait. He was already moving, sliding between stacks of crates and disappearing from your sights.

Your jaw clenched. Fine. You’d adapt.

The first smuggler came into view around the corner, cigarette ember glowing as he leaned against a crate. You tightened your grip on your knife and slid closer, focusing on quieting your movements, heart syncing with your breath—

—but Toby slipped in from the opposite side faster than you could realize. His hatchet rose and fell before you could reach striking distance, and the man dropped in silence, cigarette rolling across the floor as blood sputtered from his throat. He couldn’t even scream.

You froze, teeth grinding.

Really?

Shoving down the irritation, you darted toward the next shadow—another guard, pacing near the stairwell. You timed it, waited for him to turn, and lunged—

—but Toby’s arm shot out, shoving you back against a crate. You caught yourself with a hand before you made noise, eyes blazing as you turned on him—only to see him already driving into the man’s spine. The smuggler collapsed at his feet, blood seeping into the concrete. Toby held his mouth to keep him quiet, but the wretched coughing still echoed slightly.

Your pulse spiked hot. “What the fuck—” you hissed low.

Toby only gave a short glance, then moved on. No words. You stalked after him, every nerve on fire. This wasn’t an accident. He was cutting you off, stealing every strike, sliding into your space just a second before you could land it.

Another smuggler. Another opportunity. You adjusted your grip, prepared to move.

And then your foot hooked on something.

You stumbled, catching yourself on a crate with a dull thud. Looking down, you saw it—Toby’s boot had slid out at the last second, tripping you. He didn’t even look back, just stepped in and slit the throat of the smuggler you’d been aiming for.

Hot rage seared through you.

This wasn’t clumsy overlap. This wasn’t the two of you failing to mesh. No. This was intentional. Toby wasn’t just ignoring you anymore—he was playing with you. Undermining you. Pushing you, tripping you, cutting you off, every move designed to make you burn hotter, to make you snap.

The warehouse was a graveyard of broken bodies by the time you and Toby pushed deeper inside. Crates stood like crooked tombstones, the smell of blood thick and metallic in the air. Your knife hand ached from clutching tightly for too long, but not from use—because every time you moved in, Toby was there first. Every time you breathed, he was already cutting the air ahead of you.

You were shaking with it now. Rage crawling under your skin like fire ants.

It wasn’t just that he was faster. It wasn’t just skill. No—he was watching you. Waiting for you. Moving not around you, but through you. Blocking, tripping, shoving. Every chance you reached for a kill, his hatchet stole it from your grip at the very last second. And he knew. God, he knew.

The bastard was doing it on purpose. You gritted your teeth so hard your jaw hurt. Your breath sawed in and out, shallow, furious, your chest tight with the effort of holding yourself back. If you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure if words or a scream would come out.

Then you reached the last room.

The final smuggler was cornered near a busted loading dock door, fumbling with a pistol in shaking hands. His eyes went wide at the sight of you both, the whites bright in the dim light. Your grip tightened on your knife. Yours. This one is yours.

But Toby moved. Of course he did. He strode forward with that same unnerving calm, hatchet gleaming, as if this was just another tally mark to add to his collection. He didn’t even look at you as he raised his arm, claiming the kill before you could take a step.

Something inside you snapped. Before he could swing, you hurled your knife.

The blade hissed through the air, so close you heard the whisper of it graze Toby’s hoodie as it buried itself in the smuggler’s torso. The man crumpled with a strangled gasp, blood pooling as your knife jutted from his ribs. He was already dead by the time he hit the floor.

Silence rang out for a heartbeat. Then Toby turned. Slowly.

His head cocked, hair falling into his face, eyes burning from behind his goggles. His voice came low, rasping, edged like broken glass. “You almost h-hit me.”

“Good!” you exploded, stomping forward, your voice shaking as it poured out of you. “I should’ve aimed for you instead!”

His chest rose and fell, ragged. “What t-the fuck is yo-your problem?”

“You’re my problem!” you spat, closing the distance until you were nearly nose-to-nose. Your finger jabbed hard against his chest, smearing blood into the fabric. “You won’t stop. You cut me off, you trip me, you push me out of the way like I don’t matter!”

He shoved your hand away, heat sparking in his tone. “You don’t g-get it, do you? You ne-never fucking get it.”

“Oh, enlighten me then!” You threw your arms out, voice bouncing off the metal walls. “What exactly am I missing? That you’re such a big man because you can steal kills out from under me? That you think you’re the only one who knows what the hell they’re doing?”

Toby’s hands curled into fists, shoulders tense, body vibrating with contained rage. “You think t-this is about y-you?”

You laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. “It’s always about me when you make it this way!”

His chest heaved as he stepped closer, hatchet still gripped in his hand though lowered, his voice raising to match yours now. “Maybe if y-you weren’t so busy proving yo-yourself every goddamn second, I-I wouldn’t have to clean u-up your me-messes!”

You shoved him hard, your palms slamming against his chest. He staggered a step but didn’t fall, coming back twice as hot, his own shove rattling your teeth as you stumbled back against a crate.

“Mess?!” Your voice cracked, raw with fury. “You’ve been sabotaging me since the second we stepped in here, and I’m the mess? You think I can’t see what you’re doing?”

Toby’s laughter broke then—sharp, ragged, almost unhinged, though there was no humor in it. He dragged a hand across his face, shaking his head. “You’re s-so goddamn blind.”

“Oh, screw you—” You lunged, shoving him again, and this time he grabbed your wrist, yanking you forward until your faces nearly collided. You could feel his breath hot against your cheek, could see every drop of blood spattered across his muzzle.

The room buzzed with it—your rage, his heat, the echo of all that pent-up chaos finally unleashed. The fight wasn’t about the smugglers, wasn’t about the mission. It was about the two of you, about everything that had burned too long without a spark to ignite it. And now, you were both on fire.

Toby’s grip on your wrist tightened, and before you could wrench free, you shoved him hard into another crate. The metal screeched as it shifted under his weight. He snarled and came back at you, tackling you full-force. You both went down hard, the concrete jarring every bone in your body. His hatchet skittered away with a clatter, forgotten in the heat of the struggle. You clawed at his hoodie, slamming your knee up to catch his ribs, and he grunted, twisting to roll you beneath him.

“Why now?!” you shouted, your voice tearing raw through your throat as you shoved at him. “Why the fuck this week, Toby?!”

His laugh came cracked, bitter, his breath hot against your face as he pressed you down. “Why do y-you care? You liked it better w-when I shut the hell u-up, right?!”

You twisted, bucking your hips, flipping the both of you onto your sides, rolling across the dirt-stained floor. Broken glass scraped your palm, but you didn’t let go. “You didn’t speak to me for days—nothing! Then suddenly you just have to come with me? Just so you can trip me and screw me over?”

He gritted his teeth, voice rough, guttural. “M-Maybe I wanted t-to see how you’d h-handle it. Maybe I w-wa-wanted to see you squirm for once.”

Rage spiked through you, sharp and white-hot. You slammed your elbow into his chest, forcing him onto his back. He gasped, coughing, but his hands were still at your arms, nails biting.

“Is this payback?” you snarled, your breath coming ragged. “For me choking you out? You sick little shit—you couldn’t just say something, you had to do this? Are you fucking five years old?”

He bucked up, trying to roll you again, and the two of you smashed into a half-rotted crate, splinters bursting. The smell of mold and dust coated your tongue, acrid and foul. You shoved harder, knee digging into his ribs until finally—you broke free of his grip and pinned him flat against the concrete. You straddled his waist, your hands pressed hard against his shoulders, forcing him down. Both of you were panting, sweat and blood smeared across your skin, breaths shallow with fury.

And then—something shifted.

Toby’s head tilted back, baring the flushed stretch of his throat. His pulse throbbed there, fast and strong. And he was looking right at you, eyes wide and unblinking behind the streaks of dirt and blood.

Not fighting. Not mocking. Just… giving. Exposing his throat, silent, his gaze locked on yours as if daring you to finish what you’d started last week.

You froze. The world narrowed to the hollow of his throat, to the heat rolling off his body beneath you, to the fact that he wasn’t pushing you away. He was waiting.

Your heart lurched, fury colliding with confusion. You ripped your hands off him and stumbled up, standing over him. “What the fuck are you doing?” you demanded, voice sharp, trembling.

Toby stayed on the floor, chest rising and falling, throat still exposed. Slowly, his familiar grin returned—thin, crooked, unsettling. But he didn’t answer. He just chuckled under his breath. It wasn’t steady. It cracked halfway out, like he couldn’t quite hold it together.

“Go on,” he rasped, voice roughened by the fight—and maybe something else. “Do it a-again. Thought y-you liked shutting m-me up.”

Your stomach flipped. Heat curled low in your spine, but rage fought its way back to the surface, blinding the confusion you felt. “You’ve been fucking with me all night,” you hissed. “Cutting me off, tripping me, stealing every kill. And this—” your eyes hovered over his throat, his pulse hammering beneath skin still faintly stained with last week’s bruises “—this is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

His grin faltered, but his eyes never left yours. Nervous. Hungry.

You almost laughed, disbelief bubbling sharp in your chest. “Jesus Christ,” you muttered. “You’ve been trying to piss me off so I’d choke you again?”

The silence was answer enough. His jaw worked, his breath shallow, silently chasing the contact he wasn’t brave enough to ask for.

Something ugly and electric knotted in your chest.

“You’re fucking sick,” you spat, standing to put space between you. “All this—what—just to get your little fix? You’re pathetic.”

He sat up slowly, tearing at the strap of his muzzle and shoving the piece off his face—the metal clattering against the cold floor, and finally let out a low laugh—broken, ragged. “Maybe. But you w-were gonna do it, weren’t y-you?”

You turned away, disgust coiling hot in your chest, but Toby’s voice followed—low and sharp, like a knife slipped between ribs. “Guess I w-was right. You only e-e-ever look good wh-when you’re on top o-of me.”

That was it.

You spun, fury surging bright and blinding, and launched yourself at him. You couldn’t care anymore if this was some perverted goade, he would get what he asked for now. He hit the floor hard, head bouncing off concrete with a dull thump, and before he could so much as blink, your hand was clamped around his throat.

“Oh, this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” you snarled, leaning close, your words dripping venom. There wasn’t a muzzle to block you anymore, so your noses were practically inches from each other. “Poor little Toby, can’t get off unless he’s gasping like a fish. Pathetic.”

His grin widened even as your grip tightened, lips split and cracking, teeth flashing. His laugh jerked and stuttered, turning to wheezes under your palm, but he didn’t fight you off. Not this time. Instead, his hands slid down, fumbling and quick, finding your thighs where you straddled his abdomen. He gripped tight, fingers digging into your pants hard enough to bruise, like he was holding onto an anchor while you cut the air out of him.

You squeezed harder, your mockery coming in ragged bursts. “What, you like this? Huh? You want everyone to see those bruises again—so they’ll know exactly what I did to you?”

His laugh dissolved into a groan, his eyes glassy, unfocused, lips parted on shallow, rattling gasps. And then—his hips jerked up against you. Once. Twice. You lurched forward with the movement, your full weight pressing down onto his throat as his body bucked beneath yours, desperate, uncontrolled. Your palm bore down harder, your thighs pinning him in place, and his grip on you tightened until it hurt.

It was obscene. Violent. Maddening.

Your grip faltered when his hands crept higher on your thighs, rough palms sliding toward dangerous ground. You ripped your hand from his throat, throwing your weight back to keep yourself steady before you toppled forward.

The second you let go, Toby’s laugh cracked open, wild and desperate, spilling into something frantic. He shot upright against your weight, grabbing for your wrists, his voice ragged with need.

“No—don’t fu-fucking s-s-stop—” His words broke into a choked rasp as his chest heaved. “Do i-it again—p-pl-please—”

You shoved him down hard, eyes blazing. “You’re insane—!”

“Yeah?” he spat, his voice catching, body twisting under yours. “Then fucking b-be insane with me, h-huh? Don’t just s-sit there acting li-like you don’t get o-off on t-this shit too!”

Your rage spiked, white-hot. “Are you serious right now? I nearly killed you last time, and this is what you want?”

“Yes!” His shout tore from his throat, cracking halfway through, echoing off the warehouse walls. “Yes, fuck—goddamn i-it, you don’t g-get it—I need it!”

The words hit like a brick to the chest, and you froze just long enough for him to ramble on, his voice rising, frantic, like the dam had burst and he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. He was panting for God’s sake.

“E-Ever since that night—when you h-had your hands on me—” His eyes flashed wild, glassy with something more than anger. “I-I couldn’t fucking s-stop thinking about it. I’d lay th-there staring at t-the bruises—every g-go-goddamn night—touching mm-myself to the thought of you choking me out, and it w-was the only thing that worked—”

You reeled back, disgust curling sharp in your gut. “You’re disgusting.”

He grinned—broken, shameful, desperate. “Yeah. Y-Yeah, I know. But when t-they faded—when the bruises were gone—” His voice cracked again, lower now, almost pleading. “I couldn’t finish an-anymore. Nothing worked. I’ve been going o-out of my fucking m-mi-mind—”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. “So you pulled this stunt tonight? Just to piss me off enough to do it again?”

“Yes! Jesus fuck! Yes!” he barked, eyes blazing with a feverish light. “I had to! I don’t c-care if you hate m-me, I don’t care if you th-think I’m pathetic, I just—fuck—” His hands clawed at his own throat now, red scratches blooming under his nails. “I need y-your hands here. No o-one else’s. Yours.”

You stared down at him, chest heaving, every nerve screaming between fury, disbelief, and something darker curling beneath. “You’re seriously telling me you’ve been choking your dick every night to the thought of me almost killing you?”

His grin faltered, teeth bared like he was half-laughing, half-breaking apart. “I wanted i-it. I still want it. I-I need you to finish me off, or I’m go-gonna lose my fucking mind.”

The words hung between you—hot, filthy, and raw. And for the first time since you’d known him, Toby wasn’t hiding behind his immaturity or his smirk. He was laid bare, trembling under you, begging with every cracked word.

“I hate you, Toby.” Your breath hissed out between your teeth, sharp and electric, as you slammed your hand back around his throat. His body jolted like you’d lit a match to it.

Toby’s moan tore out of him, shameless and guttural, the sound vibrating against your palm. His eyes rolled halfway back, lids fluttering, and he arched up into your grip like a starving man finally fed. “Fuck—yes—” His voice rasped high and broken, and the sheer relief in it made your stomach twist. “Don’t stop—don’t stop—”

You leaned down, sneering inches from his flushed face. “Look at you. Pathetic little freak. Can’t even look at me without getting hard.”

His laugh cracked, feral, desperate, his mouth curling wide even as his breath stuttered in ragged gasps under your pressure. He coughed once, then sneered closer into your grip, gritting his teeth. “Say it a-again—fuck—say it—”

“Pathetic,” you hissed, tightening your grip, your thumb pressing against the thick veins running up his throat. “Sick little bitch.”

His hips bucked up violently, knocking you forward again, and this time he didn’t hold back. His hands shot past your thighs, fumbling frantically at his belt behind you. The buckle clattered against the concrete, his jeans yanked open with a clumsy desperation that made your blood thrum. You couldn’t see, but you could hear the moment Toby’s hand shot into his boxers and began jerking his cock wildly, moaning through labored chokes.

“Jesus Christ,” you spat, half a laugh, half a curse. “You’re actually jerking yourself while I choke you?”

“Not—j-jerking,” he wheezed, his grin splitting wider even as his face flushed red under your grip. “Just—getting ready—” His laugh broke into a cough, then another moan. “Fuck—I don’t care i-if you hate me, just k-keep squeezing—”

Your stomach knotted, fury clashing with something darker as you pressed down harder, feeling the frantic pulse hammer beneath your hand. You should have pulled away. Should’ve shoved him off and ended this disgusting display. But the way his voice cracked when you snapped at him, the way his body writhed beneath yours, hands trembling as he shoved his jeans lower—it sparked something hot and unsettling in your chest.

“I can’t stand you,” you breathed, voice low, sharp, and shaking with something you didn’t want to name. “You’re nothing without me.”

His moan bled into a laugh, high and frantic. “I k-know. I fucking know. That’s w-why I need you.” And god help you—your lips curled, the power surging through you like fire. You were enjoying it, too.

Your palm pressed harder against his throat, pinning him flat, your thighs tight against his ribs. Toby’s grin broke into something wrecked, lips trembling as his groans spilled shamelessly between shallow gasps.

“That’s it,” you hissed, leaning close, breath hot against his ear. “Choke on it. That’s all you’re good for.”

His hips jerked up violently, jeans shoved halfway down his thighs now, his cock straining free into the cool air. His hand wrapped tight around the base, already slick, already trembling. You could hear the sound of skin-on-skin, his fist moving insanely fast and brutal.

“F-Fuck—yes—” he choked, voice torn to ribbons under your grip. “Keep talking—don’t s-stop—please—”

You sneered, pressing your weight down harder, and he let out a strangled cry that almost tipped into a sob. “Look at yourself,” you spat, mocking, eyes blazing as you looked back to see him rut up into his own fist like a man possessed. “Wheezing like a dying dog. You’re disgusting.”

“Uh—hnn—f-fuck—yeah,” he rasped, grin stretching bloody and wild. “Say it a-again—call me that—”

“Disgusting. Pathetic. Useless little freak.”

His eyes rolled, breath rattling, hips pumping faster. You heard his boots scuff and slip on the ground below, kicking dust with every jerk of his body. His free hand clawed at your thigh, nails biting hard into your skin, grounding himself in your weight, in your hold on his throat.

“Harder,” he begged, voice splintering, a desperate whine breaking loose. “Please—please, don’t let g-go—don’t stop—fuck, I’m so c-close—”

And God help you—you squeezed tighter. You felt the pulse stuttering beneath your palm, his throat straining, his moans breaking into guttural wheezes as his body arched up beneath yours.

“You need me for this,” you hissed, lips curling in something that was no longer just anger. “You can’t even come without me choking the life out of you. Need me to make your little dick come.”

His hand blurred on his cock, hips bucking helplessly now, eyes glassy and unfocused as drool slicked the corner of his mouth. “Y-yesmmn—fuck, yehmmn—need you—need your hand—don’t let go—hnn—hah—”

And then he broke.

His whole body jolted beneath you, a strangled moan tearing from his throat as his hips bucked up hard. Hot release spilled across his abdomen and into his fist as he writhed, every vein straining under your hand while you squeezed him through it. His cock twitched violently in his grasp, his moans pitching higher, wetter, delirious. “Fuckfuckfuck—yes—” he gasped, trembling, his grip on your thigh bruising as he rode the high, every thrust messy, erratic, desperate.

You held firm until he sagged under you, chest heaving, throat raw and flushed purple where your hand pressed. Only then did you release him, wiping your palm against your jeans with a sharp sneer. “Fucking hell,” you muttered again, though your heart was hammering just as hard as his.

Toby lay there, grinning up at you with glassy, wrecked eyes, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. He coughed once, rough and raw, then laughed—a cracked, unhinged sound. “Worth it.”

The warehouse smelled like iron and smoke, the floor sticky with blood, bodies slumped where they fell scattered throughout the halls. Normally you’d have cleaned—burned the place down or dragged the corpses to the woods. That was protocol.

But not tonight.

You shoved yourself off Toby’s chest, breath ragged, disgust curling sharp and hot in your gut. You wiped your palm against your pants until the skin burned, as if you could scrub off the memory of his throat thrumming beneath your grip, the moans spilling out of him, the mess he made of himself under you.

“Fuck,” you spat, turning on your heel. “Fuck this.”

Toby scrambled upright behind you, fumbling with his belt buckle, tugging his jeans back up with clumsy, shaking hands. His hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, his hoodie damp with it too.

“W-Wait—hey—” he stammered, voice still rough, strained. He grabbed his hatchet and muzzle from the floor and scurried after you, footsteps uneven on the concrete. “Don’t—don’t make i-it a thing, okay? Just—forget it h-ha-happened.”

“Forget it?” you snapped, not slowing. “You’re sick, Toby.”

He laughed nervously, breath catching on the sound. “Yeah, well—you al-already knew that.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your stomach twisted too tight, too hot, your chest buzzing with something you didn’t want to settle on. You shoved through the broken door, the night air slapping cold against your damp skin, and started the trek back to the mansion. Behind you, Toby’s boots scuffed the dirt, never too far, dogging your steps like a shadow.

“C’mon,” he tried again, voice softer this time, more nervous. “Don’t g-go all weird on m-me. It doesn’t have to mean an-anything.”

Your fists clenched at your sides. “Shut up.”

Silence stretched between you after that, broken only by the crunch of leaves, the distant cry of some night creature in the woods. You didn’t look back, not once. But no matter how far you tried to walk ahead, he stayed just behind you—close enough to feel his presence crawling against your skin. Your chest heaved, every breath tight. Anger, shame, disgust—all of it roiled inside you, twisting lower until your stomach was burning, your thighs aching where his hands had dug into you.

Warm. You felt too warm. And you hated yourself for it.

By the time the mansion lights came into view through the trees, your jaw ached from clenching it so hard. You’d marched fast, hard, like if you moved quick enough, you could outrun the heat coiling in your gut, the way your pulse jumped at the memory of Toby’s voice breaking under your hand, at his eyes watering so easily.

But when you reached the porch steps, he was still there. Still trailing you. And no matter how you tried to bury it—your body still hummed with the echo of his moans.

“J-Just don’t say anything to t-them—”

“Shut up, Toby.”

The mansion’s door creaked open, hinges groaning into the quiet of the hour. You stepped in first, blood dried on your clothes, boots heavy with dust. The air inside smelled faintly of woodsmoke and old leather, warmth clinging to the walls after the chill of the forest outside.

Masky looked up from the couch where he sat sipping from a steaming mug. Hoodie was leaning against the wall nearby, arms crossed, while Kate perched on the armrest, picking at her fingers.

Three sets of eyes landed on you and Toby at once.

You kept yours on the floor, brushing past with a muttered, “It’s done.” Your voice was flat, clipped, nothing like the normal back-and-forth bickering they were used to hearing spill through the door after missions. Toby hovered behind you, shifting from foot to foot. His hatchet dangled loose at his side, his hoodie wrinkled, belt crooked like he’d thrown it back together in a rush. His mouth opened once, twice, but no words came.

Masky’s eyes narrowed. Hoodie straightened. Kate blew a huff of air through her nose, brows furrowing as her gaze bounced between you both. You didn’t wait for questions. You strode past them, your chest tight, your pulse hammering, Toby’s nervous fidgeting prickling against the back of your skull like static. Your boots echoed faint up the stairs, and when you reached your room, you shut the door hard enough to rattle the frame.

Finally—silence.

You pressed your back against the wood, chest rising and falling, staring blankly into the shadows of your room. Your knees felt weak, like the fight had dragged out hours longer than it really had.

“What the fuck,” you whispered into the stillness. Your mind replayed it whether you wanted it to or not: his face slack with need, his body bucking beneath you, his voice breaking when you called him pathetic. The sound of him moaning your name. The way he’d begged you not to let go.

Your pulse jumped hard, traitorous, and you wrapped your arms around yourself as though that could cage it. How? How had this boy—the one who needled you, cursed you, fought you at every corner—made your stomach twist and your core ache with just his wrecked voice and shameless grin?

You growled under your breath, shoving off the door, moving on autopilot. Stripping out of bloodied clothes. Cleaning the grime from your skin in the dim light of the bathroom mirror. Your reflection looked wrong—flushed, unsettled, eyes too wide.

You tried to ignore it.

Back in your room, you tugged a shirt over your head and crawled beneath the covers, pulling them tight around yourself. The sheets were cool against your skin, the house humming faint and low in the background. You shut your eyes, forcing yourself to think of anything else.

But your mind betrayed you.

Every blink brought back Toby—the heat of him, the frantic way he’d clawed at your thighs, the rasp of his moans under your palm. You could almost feel his throat again, the thrum of his pulse weakening against your grip, the desperate way he’d pushed into your hand as if he couldn’t live without it. The way he insisted only you could do this for him—only you.

Your breath caught. Your thighs pressed together beneath the sheets. “Goddamn it,” you muttered, low, ashamed.

But your hands moved anyway. Sliding down, curling over your stomach, lower, until your fingers pressed against the ache that had been building since you walked away from him on that filthy warehouse floor.

Toby’s voice played in your head, raw and broken—Harder. Please. Don’t stop.

The sheets were stifling, heat curling in every inch of your body, but you burrowed deeper under them anyway, cocooning yourself as if that could keep the shame in. Your breath was uneven, pulse climbing higher the longer you tried to resist. Your hand slipped lower, into the waistband of your shorts, finding the slick heat between your thighs. You were already wet, embarrassingly so, and the realization made your stomach flip.

“Fuck…” you hissed under your breath.

But your fingers moved anyway. Slow at first, just circling, teasing, trying to convince yourself you weren’t really doing this. Except the moment you closed your eyes, you saw him again—Toby’s head tilted back, throat bare to you, his lips parted in a desperate grin as you squeezed down harder.

The memory made your hips twitch, your hand quicken. Your breathing grew rougher, sharper, filling the stillness of your room. The friction wasn’t enough—you needed more. You slid two fingers against your entrance, pressing inside and gasping at the sudden stretch, your body clenching tight.

And your mind betrayed you again.

You imagined it was his hands, not yours—rough, calloused palms pushing inside, desperate and greedy. You imagined the way he’d been bucking against you, hips jerking, like he was trying to fuck the air just to get relief. What if you had fucked him then? Would it have been as fast and desperate as his fist was?

A whimper slipped out of you before you could stop it. Your free hand clutched the sheets by your head, knuckles whitening as your pace picked up. Each press, each thrust of your fingers had your body curling tighter, chasing something you didn’t want to admit you wanted. Your thighs trembled. Sweat dampened your temples.

And then Toby’s voice flooded your skull, unbidden: Harder. Please. Don’t stop. I need you.

Your body jerked. A moan tore from your throat. You slammed your fingers deeper, grinding your palm against your clit until the ache sharpened into something blinding. Your orgasm ripped through you like fire, your body arching off the bed, breath caught, the sound of his pleading still ringing in your ears.

You stayed there, quivering, your hand still buried between your thighs as the aftershocks trembled through you. The sheets were tangled, your skin slick with sweat, your chest heaving. And when your mind finally cleared, disgust hit you like a wave.

You ripped your hand away, burying your face into the pillow, your body still thrumming with unwanted pleasure.

“What the fuck is wrong with me,” you whispered to the dark, voice breaking. But no matter how tightly you curled into yourself, no matter how hard you tried to will it away, the memory of his moans and the feel of his throat under your palm stayed burned into you.

“I hate that boy.”

── .✦

The mansion was never quiet, not really. Floorboards creaked, the woods whispered, doors groaned when opened. But between you and Toby? Silence had become the loudest thing of all.

You ignored him. Flat-out, stone-faced ignored him.

When he leaned against the doorway of the training room, flicking his pocket knife open and shut, waiting for you to snap? You kept punching the heavy weight bag, not giving him so much as a glance.

When he dropped some smartass remark during meals, fishing for the rise he always used to get? You chewed slowly, eyes fixed on your plate, not even flinching.

When he “accidentally” bumped your shoulder in the hall? You walked on, didn’t miss a beat.

It drove him mad—you could see it in the twitch of his jaw, the way his tics flared sharper, faster when you didn’t bite back. But it drove you mad too, in a way you didn’t want to admit.

Because the bruises were back. 

Dark, blooming fingerprints circling his throat like a necklace only you could’ve left. They were darker than last time, more intense. They peeked from under his collar when he tilted his head back, caught the light when he twisted just so. And every time you saw them, your stomach clenched.

You couldn’t help imagining him again, in that messy sprawl on the warehouse floor—eyes glazed, lips split, gasping for air under your hand. The memory tangled with the fact you knew he was jerking off to it every night, chasing that high you’d given him like some addict.

And then came the shame.

Shame because you’d done the same. Shame because your own fingers had dug into yourself with his voice in your ears, his body pressed against yours in your mind. Shame because it made you warm now, just thinking about it in broad daylight. You hated yourself for it.

The others noticed.

Masky groaned and rolled his eyes whenever the silence stretched too long in the room, muttering about “finally shutting the both of you up.” Hoodie, quiet as ever, glanced between you two with something unreadable in his gaze, like he was tracking pieces to a puzzle he didn’t want to put together. And Kate? She smirked. She didn’t say anything—yet—but her eyes lit up with amusement every time Toby walked in, bruises stark and ugly, your gaze flickering before you could stop it.

The mansion wasn’t built for subtlety. Everyone could feel the tension brewing.

And Toby? Toby basked in it. Even when you ignored him, even when your face burned with shame, you could see it in the edge of his grin, in the way he let his collar hang just a little lower. He liked that you saw the bruises. He wanted you thinking about them. Thinking about him.

── .✦

The porch was cold, even with the smoke curling warm in your lungs. You leaned against the railing, staring into the stretch of black trees. The woods whispered with wind and crickets, an endless, empty hum that should’ve eased your head but didn’t.

You were halfway through your cigarette when the door creaked behind you. You didn’t have to look to know who it was. His uneven footsteps, the scrape of his hoodie against the doorframe—Toby.

You stiffened immediately, flicking ash into the night, already crushing the half-finished cigarette against the rail. The second he stepped outside, you pushed off the porch, muttering, “Nope.” But before you could make it to the door, his hand shot out and grabbed your arm.

You spun on instinct, your fist colliding with his chest, hard enough that it would’ve left anyone else wincing. He didn’t even flinch. His head just tilted, eyes flicking from your hand to your face.

“You probably liked that too, didn’t you?” you spat, ripping your arm from his grip. “Bet you’ll jerk off to that later too.”

For a moment, the corner of his mouth curled up into a grin like he was about to shoot something smart back. But then it faltered. He swallowed, shifting his weight. “You can’t k-keep being mad at m-me,” he said, quieter than you expected.

You barked a laugh, sharp and humorless. “Oh, that’s rich. What’s this—gaslighting me now? Pretending I imagined all your bullshit? You baited me into it, Toby. You made me—”

“I’m not saying th-that.” His voice cut through, sharper this time. He stepped closer, shoulders tense, hands fidgeting. “I’m saying… you d-did it too. You wanted it. D-Don’t dump all the blame o-on me like I’m the only fucked up o-o-one here.”

You blinked at him, the words burning hotter than the smoke simmering in your lungs. The laugh that came out of you was dry, ugly. “Wow. That’s your angle? Turn it around on me so you don’t feel like a creep?”

He shook his head quickly, stammering, “No. That’s not—fuck—” He scrubbed a hand through his messy curls, his tics pulling his shoulders tight. Then his voice dropped, raw and stripped. “I just… I hate i-it when you’re quiet.”

That stopped you.

His eyes flicked up to yours, no grin this time, no mask. Just something bare. “I can handle y-you being pissed at me. You c-can scream, throw punches, call me every name in the book—I don-don’t care. I’ll give it right back. That’s what we do.” He took a step closer, the porch creaking under his boots. “But this? Y-You ignoring me? Acting like I don’t exist? That’s wo-worse than any fight we’ve ever h-had.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse suddenly pounding in your ears.

“You always bounce b-back,” he went on, voice rough with an edge of desperation. “No matter h-how ugly it gets, you always come back a-at me w-with something. And now you’re just—gone. Silent. And it fe-feels like I’m fucking… nothing t-to you. And I can’t stand that.”

The words hung between you, heavy as the smoke drifting in the night air. You clenched your fists, struggling to breathe steady. Your chest felt too tight. His words were still in your ears, rattling around, refusing to leave. You dragged a hand through your hair, then crossed your arms hard, locking yourself in. Your gaze flicked down—just for a heartbeat—to his throat, where the bruises were stark against pale skin, then to his hands fidgeting at his sides. A sigh slipped out before you could swallow it down.

“God, you’re annoying,” you bit out, venom dripping. “You stand here begging for scraps of my attention like some whipped fucking dog.”

Toby’s lips twitched, but he didn’t fight back. He just nodded once, sharp, almost eager. “Y-Yeah. I am.”

You blinked at him, taken aback. Then the anger surged hotter. Even still, even as you tried to push him away, he was still enjoying it.

“You don’t even try to deny it? That’s how low you are? That’s how little self-respect you have?”

“Mmhm.” Another nod. His boots creaked closer against the porch boards.

Your arms tightened across your chest. “You’re disgusting, Toby. You make me sick.”

“Yeah.” Another step closer. His grin was small now, faint, but his eyes were locked on you like he was drinking it all in. Your nails bit crescents into your arms. You should’ve walked away—you knew you should’ve walked away—but the way he was letting you tear into him only made your pulse race faster.

“Say it,” you snapped, stepping forward yourself. “Say you’re a fucking disgusting waste of space.”

“I’m di-disgusting,” he echoed, nodding. “Waste of space. All o-of it. Go on.” He was right there now, only inches away, and still coming closer.

“You’re nothing,” you spat, your voice trembling with how hard you forced the words out. “I hate you.”

He nodded again, eyes bright, voice low. “Then hate me.”

And then he leaned forward. Not quick, not sharp—slow, steady, like he was giving you all the time in the world to stop him. His breath brushed your lips, his bruised throat bare and tempting, his whole body a dare.

Something snapped in you. Your hand shot up and clamped over his mouth. Hard.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you growled, glaring into his eyes.

For a heartbeat, the night was silent, only your ragged breathing between you. His lips moved against your palm, hot breath searing your skin, but he didn’t try to pull away. He just looked at you, wide-eyed and unblinking, as if you’d given him exactly what he wanted.

Then his arms came up.

Before you could react, he wrapped them around you, hauling you flush against him. Your body collided with his, hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs, and that’s when you felt it—his bulge thick and insistent against your hip.

Your heart jumped. You recoiled, but he only crushed you tighter, his muffled voice spilling hot against your palm. “Can’t—fuck—can’t help i-it,” he mumbled under your hand, words slurring but frantic. His eyes were wild, pleading and burning all at once. “You don’t understand how good i-it sounds. The way you talk to me—how mean you a-are—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snapped, pressing harder against his mouth, like you could shove the words back down his throat. And then—warm, wet, obscene—his tongue dragged across your palm. You jerked your hand back instantly, grimacing. “Motherfucker—”

The slap cracked sharp across his face before you even thought about it, your palm stinging from the impact. He didn’t even blink, face jerking to the side for only a moment. His laugh tore out, jagged and breathless, like it was the best gift you’d ever given him. “More,” he goaded, his voice breaking with a tic as his grin split wide. “C’mon—hit me again—”

Something boiled inside you. Rage. Heat. Hunger. You couldn’t name it, couldn’t separate it. You fisted his collar instead, yanking him down hard enough his head snapped forward. Your lips crashed into his in a violent, messy collision—more teeth than anything else, half-kiss, half-bite.

He made a noise deep in his chest, caught between a moan and a growl, and bit back. Your teeth scraped his lip, tearing it raw, copper flooding between your tongues as you devoured each other like a fight you couldn’t win. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t kind. It was violent, greedy, your mouths clashing, biting, swallowing each other’s breath until you were dizzy. His hands gripped your waist, bruising, desperate, dragging you closer still.

The porch boards creaked under your stumbling steps as you shoved him back, and he only laughed against your mouth, teeth clacking yours, his breath ragged and burning hot as he kissed you like you were both still trying to draw blood.

Your teeth clashed again, the taste of copper thick on your tongue, and Toby groaned like it was ecstasy. His hands roamed rough, not searching but taking—fingers digging into your hips hard enough you swore he’d leave bruises through your clothes. You shoved at his chest, trying to push him back, but he turned you violently, pinning you against the porch railing. The wood bit into your spine. His mouth crashed against yours, sloppy and biting, like he was trying to consume you whole.

“Fucking—” you gasped between kisses, your nails clawing into his shoulders. “I hate you.”

“F-Fuck yeah you do,” he growled, teeth dragging along your jaw before sinking in just hard enough to sting. His hips ground forward, rough, shameless. His bulge pressed against your hip so hard you could feel every inch. “Show me just h-how much, baby.”

Your laugh broke into a moan, guttural and unwilling, as he rocked against you. That only pissed you off more. You tangled a hand in his curls and yanked his head back hard, exposing his throat. “Pathetic little pervert,” you spat, glaring at the bruises you’d already put there. Your free hand wrapped around his throat again, squeezing until his breath stuttered, and his eyes rolled for just a second.

He moaned just as loud and whiny as he had the other night. The sound made heat coil tight in your stomach. You pressed harder, relishing the way his pulse hammered under your fingers. He choked out a laugh, lips swollen and red, trying to lunge forward again—but you held him just out of reach.

“Say it,” you hissed. “Say you’re nothing. Say you’re mine to break.”

His grin split wide, voice raw and ragged as he rasped, “I’m nothing. I’m—fuck—I’m y-yours to break.”

That was all it took for you to slam your mouth back onto his, devouring him. Your bodies ground together in a messy, furious rhythm, every movement as much a fight as it was a touch.

Toby’s hand slid down, gripping the back of your thigh, hauling your leg up around his hip. You gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound greedily, bucking into you. Your nails raked down his chest, and he shuddered, growling against your lips. He bit at your bottom one hard enough to make you taste blood again.

The porch creaked, your breath echoed, and for a moment, the whole world was just this: violent mouths, grasping hands, and the line between hate and want blurring until there was no difference. You tried to shove him off, but he anchored himself against you with his hands—one gripping your waist, the other sliding lower, hot and slick, brushing over the waistband of your shorts.

You stiffened immediately, pressing back, but he didn’t stop. He shoved his hand down past the hem, his warm palm pressing flat against your fluttering cunt. You hissed, digging your nails into his shoulders. The pad of his thumb traced along your slick folds, the subtle heat radiating from your body under his touch making him groan low and uneven.

“Right—so defensive, but you’re soaked—” he panted against your jaw, dragging his fingers through your slick and probing against your entrance. You wanted to curse him, but your hips were too busy chasing after his hand, mind too muddled with want. “Y-You’re not very good a-at playing pretend.”

And then—careful, deliberate—he slipped a finger inside. The movement was slow at first, testing, curling just enough to brush the spot that made you gasp, hips bucking despite your effort to stay rigid. Your breath hitched, caught in your throat as your hands clamped over his shoulders, nails digging in hard, and yet your stomach tensed, core aching in unwanted, feral need.

“Goddamn it, Toby—get the fuck—” you tried to snap, but the words came out a whimper as his fingers moved in perfect rhythm with the heat coiling between your legs.

“Can’t stop,” he rasped, teeth grazing your jaw. “Your hands—your words—f-fucking kill me. I can’t help it.”

You clawed at him, nails digging into skin. He moved another finger in, slick and warm, curling expertly, pressing, rubbing, and suddenly the fire coiling low in your belly blazed out. You arched up, fighting, hissing at him through your teeth, but the sound only seemed to make him smirk against your jaw.

“You piss me off,” you spat, pressing back harder, rocking your hips against his hand in a mix of resistance and desperate need. Every nerve in your body screamed, every pulse of blood seemed to thrum straight down into the ache he was cultivating with each careful, greedy curl of his thick fingers. “You’re so fucking gross.”

“Yeah,” he moaned, the word rattling through him. “Gonna make you cum. I h-have to. Ne-Need to.” The sound—raw, desperate, unashamed—made arousal coil tighter in your belly. Your free hand tangled in his hair, yanking his face to yours again. Teeth clashed, lips smacked, and he grunted as you bit him, tasting yourself on him, smelling the deep earthy tones of him.

He bucked into you, nails digging into your hip, sliding his fingers faster, curling them deep, teasing you, testing you, making you gasp and growl your frustration into the night air. You tried to glare, tried to snap insults, but your body betrayed you, trembling, hips pressing against him, sliding back onto his fingers despite the growl of anger and disgust still catching in your throat.

“Told you,” he rasped, voice ragged, “I l-like it better when you’re pissy.”

You hit him on the chest, hard enough to make him grunt, and he chuckled, throat choked and vibrating under your hand. The contrast—his rough, hungry laugh and the slick heat of him inside you—sent fire lashing in your veins, spreading down and low, making your nails dig deeper, your chest rise faster, your body tremble like you were breaking apart. You tried to pull away, tried to scream insults, tried to shove him off, but every movement only made him grip harder, curling fingers deeper, his thumb rubbing against your clit as he held you flush against him.

“Fuck—Toby…” you gasped, teeth clenching, nails digging into the fabric of his hoodie as heat roared through your body. His hand moved faster, rolling you expertly against him, pressing and curling until every nerve in your belly lit up. You clenched, tight, shivering, and suddenly the wave hit—sharp, overwhelming, and completely consuming. Your body quaked as your orgasm ripped through you, muffled gasps caught in your throat. Toby didn’t falter; instead, he held you steady, rolling you just enough to ride it out, keeping you flush against him, your arousal spilling all over his palm.

Your chest heaved, and you grabbed his jaw with both hands, pulling him down roughly into a kiss that was desperate and messy. His mouth moved against yours, hot and slick, teeth nipping as tongues tangled, groans muffled and raw. And then, just slightly, the feral edge simmered into something slower, almost tired—your bodies still flush, hearts hammering, lips pressed together as you clung to him, fingers gripping his shoulders and chest. Your legs threaded around him, your nails dragging along his back, and you shivered against the warmth of him, still trembling from release and the cold air outside.

Finally, he pulled his fingers out, slick and glistening, and tilted his head back just slightly. His eyes locked onto yours, dark in the dim porch light, and he brought his fingers to his mouth, licking and sucking them clean with a low hum that made your heart stutter.

“Fuck,” you panted.

You don’t let him think. You take his wrist like it’s a leash and pull, hard, the way you used to when dragging him out of some stupid accident—only this time your grip is charged, hungry. Toby stumbles after you, mouth parted, eyes bright and unsteady, like he’s both surprised and exactly where he wants to be. He tries to say something—stammer a protest, some jagged joke—but you yank him faster and his words die in the cut of your stride. You pull him through the mansion’s doors and into the warmth of the house, dragging him up the stairs like a toy.

Upstairs creaks under your boots; the house is quiet but for the ragged sound of his breathing close behind. When you shove the door to your room shut, it slams. The sound is satisfying, final. You press back against it, feel the cheap paint bite into your back through your clothes, and the world narrows until it’s only you and him and the hungry strain between your bodies pressed tight.

He drops to his knees without being told. You haven’t even made a sound and he’s already obeying—fast, focused, hands fumbling as he works the waistband of your shorts. He tugs them down slow, reverent, as though he’s unwrapping something sacred and volatile. The fabric slips over your hips and slides to your knees, and you can feel the cool air lick at your skin. Toby’s head dips, lips brushing the inside of your thigh first like it’s a courtesy, then moving with increasing boldness.

You’re in control. You know it. You feel it in the slick press of your bodies, the steady drum of your pulse at the back of your throat. You lean forward, hands braced on his shoulders, and you start to talk down to him.

“Look at you,” you say, each word deliberate. You’re quieter now inside, trying your best not to disturb Masky and Hoodie only a few doors down. “On your knees for me. So ready.” Your fingers rake through his hair, rough enough that he gasps, chin lifting to give you access. He nods, desperate and grateful, eyes glossy. The motion is small, but it’s permission, and it makes something molten shift deeper inside you.

Toby’s face is close, warmth and breath and that wild laugh caught somewhere between fear and worship. He’s trembling—hands shaking as they find your hips, thumbs stroking, mapping, sliding up and under your shirt. He lifts his mouth and your name slips off his lips like a prayer. The sound is intoxicating. He’s pathetic on purpose: he knows that’s exactly what you want to see, and he gives it fully.

“You like the way you look when you beg?” you murmur, leaning down to press your forehead to his. “Like how it feels?.”

He swallows. His voice is a thin thing when it comes. “I—please. I like—hnngh, I like w-when you—” He breaks, breath hitching. “I like when you make me—when y-you choke me—when you sa-say those things.” His fingers curl into your hips like anchors, digging into your flesh.

You grin, and it’s all teeth. You like that he admits it. You like that he’s helpless to stop himself from wanting more, and you take your time making that want work for you. Hell, he couldn’t even cum without your help a week ago. One hand slides down his scalp, tilting his head, the other ghosts lower until the pad of your thumb brushes the tint in his jeans. He pants, a sharp, eager noise, and when you press that thumb—just a tease—he moans and jerks, hips lifting on their own.

“Good boy,” you whisper, the title slipping out like a command. “Work for me.”

He obeys like he breathes—fast. His hands grip your thighs, pull you closer, and he uses his mouth this time—not gentle, not careful, but greedy. When his lips close around your clit, and your back immediately hits the door, rattling the frame. He’s competent; his mouth knows how to coax sounds from you, how to lap his tongue through your folds, how to curl it in the right place. He sucks, he sucks hard, and you can feel it all rolling through you—the tug and the release, the heat pooling and then building again.

You press a palm flat to the crown of his head and drive him harder, encouraging, demanding, not letting him take the easy route. You want him raw, you want him ragged; you want him making up for every single ache he’s caused you. You lean your weight into him, hips rocking as his mouth works miracles, and you start to bark orders—softly but stiff.

“Faster.”

“Mhmn—” he hums, wrapping his hands behind your thighs, pulling you closer.

“Keep your eyes up, Toby.”

He answers by sinking his tongue into your cunt, forcing the muscle into the sticky sweet slick of your last arousal. His eyes flutter and roll, his nose pressing against your clit as he swallows every taste of you.

He’s shameless now, hands slamming up your thighs, hauling you closer until the pads of his fingers dig into the soft of your waist. He crushes his face between your legs, breath hot and urgent, tongue darting, exploring. When his fingers slide from your leg to between them, worming their way to your entrance with his tongue, you clench, eyes rolling with the stretch. He moans against you, the sound vibrating right up into your pelvis, and the crude, honest worship of it makes heat flare up into your throat.

You keep talking, degrading in that perfect, stinging way that makes him whine harder, do more. Each insult you throw is an instruction, each barb a route to deeper compliance.

“You want this,” you tell him, voice low and hard. “You want to be thrown around. Admit it.”

He lifts his head, face flushed, lips slick. He meets your eyes and says it plain, breathy and broken, “I wa-want you to hate me. I want you to hit me and h-hurt me.” He nods, like a man confirming the one truth he lives for.

“You don’t even—hah—even feel pain.”

“Let’s play pretend.”

That’s all you need. You press him back with a casual force, pressing down on his shoulders and forcing him flat to the floor. His back hit the wood, hoodie riding up, and you didn’t give him the chance to keep talking. You climbed over him, straddling his chest, knees planted on either side of his shoulders, the weight of you pinning him like prey.

“Shut up,” you spat, leaning forward just enough that your shadow swallowed his face. “You want to fuck me so bad? You’re gonna fucking earn it.”

Toby’s grin only widened. His hands went to your thighs automatically, not pushing, not resisting—just holding, squeezing like he was anchoring himself to you. His eyes, those wild, fractured things, were locked on your cunt hovering above him. His mouth fell open on instinct, tongue flashing out in a shaky, eager swipe across his lips.

“Fuck—look at you,” you muttered, rolling your hips forward until you sat fully on his face. His nose pressed firm against your clit, his tongue sliding up and tasting you with a hunger that sent shocks all the way down your spine. “On the floor, exactly where you belong.”

The sound he made against you was half-moan, half-chuckle, and the vibration shot straight through you. You fisted his messy curls, forcing his head back into the wood, rocking yourself harder against his mouth.

“Open wider,” you ordered, voice sharp, breath catching. “You’re gonna take every bit of me.”

He obeyed instantly, mouth parting, tongue flattening and dragging in long, desperate licks. He was sloppy, unashamed, drowning himself in you. Every time your hips rolled down, he groaned like he was savoring it, like he’d starve if you moved away. You ground against him harder, chasing the rhythm, riding his face with purpose. The slick sounds of his tongue working you filled the room, obscene and perfect. Toby’s hands clamped tight on your thighs, pulling you down harder, like he wanted to suffocate under you.

“Stupid weirdo,” you hissed between gasps, yanking his head tighter into your heat. “This is what you’ve been begging for, isn’t it? My pussy—fuck—my fucking hands on you.”

His answer was a muffled, ecstatic noise, hips bucking up from the floor uselessly. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t joke, couldn’t bite back. He could only take it—your weight, your rhythm, your degradation. He moaned into you again, and you felt the sound rip through your core.

You leaned back slightly, fingers twisted cruelly in his hair, your thighs trembling as his tongue curled just right, hitting that spot over and over. You threw your head back, breath breaking into ragged gasps, staring up at your ceiling just like you had a couple of nights ago—imagining how he would feel against you. It made your heart burn.

“God—fuck, Toby—don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He couldn’t. His mouth latched tighter, tongue flicking, sucking, devouring like it was oxygen. You rode him through it, thighs squeezing against his head, grinding down until the pleasure crested sharp and overwhelming.

When it hit again, it was violent. You clamped down around his tongue, body shuddering, a cry tearing itself from your throat as you came hard, grinding his face through the waves. Toby moaned with you, greedy for every second, every twitch, every slick pulse. The overstimulation was already building, your body growing so tried. You slumped forward on shaking thighs, chest heaving, still tugging his hair, forcing him to lap at you while aftershocks rolled through. Only when your muscles gave did you finally lift off, dragging your heat from his face and watching as he gasped for air, lips and chin wet, eyes glazed and wide.

You smirked down at him, breathless but still sharp. “Look at you. So pitiful.”

Toby laughed—hoarse, shaky, half-mad—licking his lips like he couldn’t bear to waste a single taste. “Do it again,” he begged, voice raw. “Please—ride m-me again.”

“Nah.”

Your thighs trembled as you rose off of him, knees shaky, breath uneven. Toby’s hands pawed uselessly at the floor, still reaching, still begging—but you ignored him. You staggered to your bed, hips heavy with the ache he left behind, and collapsed face-first onto the mattress. The sheets were cool against your burning skin, and you stretched out, lazy and languid, your feet still dangling over the edge, your back arching with the natural curl of exhaustion and satisfaction.

Behind you, you heard him scramble up—the shuffle of knees, palms on the floor, the frantic sound of him scurrying like a dog chasing its master.

“Stay.” The single command cracked through the quiet like a whip. He froze. “Don’t you fucking move.”

You didn’t need to see him to know he was obeying—you could feel the tension rolling off him, could almost taste the way he wanted to lunge forward, to drag his mouth back where it belonged. You felt his eyes bore between your legs, onto the mess he had created now cooling on your skin.

“P-Please…” Toby’s voice was a rasp, thick with need. “Please, let me—let m-me touch you—”

“I said no.” 

Your words were final, and they cut. You heard him groan, guttural, muffling it into his fist. A second later, the sound of teeth scraping against knuckles filled the air—he was biting down hard just to keep himself quiet. You turned your head slightly, gaze dragging to where he stood, and what you saw made a laugh roll out of you, low and cruel.

Toby was doubled over, one hand fisting in his hoodie, the other clawing at the waistband of his jeans. The bulge strained hard and obscene against the denim, and he rocked into it like he could grind the ache away. He looked half feral, pupils blown, mouth wet, hair hanging in his face. Pathetic. Perfect.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” you teased, voice lazy with amusement. You knew it didn’t really hurt him, but he wanted to play pretend, didn’t he? “Can’t even move without thinking about me, huh?”

He groaned again, louder, his body jolting with the effort of restraint. His knuckles were slick with spit where his teeth dug in, and his free hand gripped his jeans like he could tear them open. You laughed again, sharper this time, and rolled onto your back. Your legs hung off the edge of the bed, feet brushing the floor, and you spread your knees wide, lazy and taunting. The motion was deliberate—an invitation, a cruelty, a display he couldn’t resist. It didn’t matter if he had already made you cum twice, you needed him to fuck you right now just to prove a point.

You were going to make this boy cum all by yourself. Not the idea of you, not his imagination—yourself.

“Go on, Toby,” you murmured, voice dripping with control. “Come here.”

Toby nearly tripped over himself getting to you, stepping between your dangling legs like he belonged there—like he had been waiting his whole life for it.

You leaned up onto your elbows, reaching a hand out to the edge of his waistband. His breath hitched, chest rising and falling in jagged heaves as your fingers toyed with his belt, tugging it open with a cruel kind of patience. The metallic clink of the buckle rang loud in the quiet room, and Toby’s hands twitched at his sides, useless, trembling, aching to reach for you.

“Keep them there,” you warned without looking up. “If you touch me without permission, you’re done.”

He whimpered softly—pathetic and desperate—and forced his arms straight at his sides, fingers flexing, curling into fists as though nailing himself to the spot.

You unzipped his jeans with a sharp tug, knuckles brushing the hard swell pressing against the fabric. Toby hissed through clenched teeth, head falling back, the veins in his throat standing out under the dim light. You smirked, tugging the thick fabric apart, and then slid your hand under his waistband, under the last barrier.

The heat of him hit you first—feverish and pulsing. You pulled him free, and your breath caught despite yourself.

Toby’s cock was flushed, angry red, the skin tight and stretched, a bead of slick shining at the tip. His breath came out in a stutter when the cool air touched him, his thighs trembling under your gaze. He was thick in your hand, twitching, the veins standing out like cords beneath your grip. His pubic hair was just as messy and unkempt as the rest of his hair, running up in a smattered patch to his belly button, coaxing your eyes to the mouthwatering crease of his v-line.

You let go of him, rubbing that hand between your legs, wetting your hand with your own slick. Toby’s teeth practically chattered as he thrummed, watching you.

And you didn’t give him mercy. Not even a second. You dragged the same hand you’d just rubbed against your soaked core up his shaft, coating him in your slick before your fist wrapped around him fully. Toby nearly folded in half, a broken noise tearing from his throat as his knees buckled.

“Fuck—” his voice cracked.

You stroked him hard. Fast. Cruel. Your hand pumped with purpose, each stroke wet, obscene, loud in the heavy silence. His cock twitched violently in your grip, swollen and desperate, precum smearing across your knuckles as you worked him like you were wringing every ounce of need out of his body.

Toby ripped his hoodie off like it was strangling him, yanking it over his head and tossing it blindly aside. His chest was pale, scarred in streaks that caught the dim light of your room, his stomach taut and flexing with every jerk of your hand. His hair clung wild to his forehead, his lips slick, swollen, parted in ragged gasps. He looked ruined—an animal panting, feigning for you.

And fuck, you hated him. You’d always hated him. Hated the way he laughed, the way he berated you, the way he made everything harder than it had to be. But now—seeing him above you, trembling, literally begging for the mercy of your hand—something deep and feral cracked open inside you.

You tightened your grip and stroked faster.

Toby’s whole body jerked. His hands shot forward instinctively, clamping around your wrist, not to stop you, but to slow you down. His face was wrecked, eyes glassy and pleading, mouth falling open around broken words. “Please—please slow d-down—fuck, I—” He groaned, panting above you, chest heaving with every groan. “You’re—you’re gonna make me—fuck—too fast—”

Your grip went iron-tight for a moment, jerking him so hard his hips jolted forward—then you stopped. Let go.

Toby gasped, his body shuddering as the sudden loss ripped through him. His cock bobbed helplessly in the air between you, slick and flushed, veins throbbing as if the blood inside him had nowhere else to go. His chest heaved, mouth open, eyes wide with disbelief.

You stared up at him, pure venom in your gaze, lips curling into a cruel little smile. “What did I say, Toby?”

His gaze shot down to where his hand still gripped yours.

“I told you not to touch me,” you hissed, shaking off his hand like it disgusted you. “But you couldn’t help yourself, could you? Can’t listen to anything.”

The mockery in your voice carved him open. He whined, stepping back an inch as if it physically stung, his cock twitching painfully in the air between you. Then, without warning, you sat up. Toby’s eyes darted down, confused, hopeful, but then widened when your hands went to the hem of your shirt. You peeled it off in one slow, deliberate motion, baring yourself, and tossed it carelessly aside.

His breath stuttered. He looked like you’d punched him in the gut. You leaned forward again, close enough that your breath fanned against his chest, eyes locked on his ruined face. You didn’t touch him. Not a single brush of your hand. You just sat back a little and watched. Watched as his hips twitched, as he tried to will himself not to reach for you again, as his cock leaked and throbbed helplessly, straining toward the heat of your body.

He writhed in it like it was killing him. His hands fisted at his sides so hard his knuckles cracked, his chest heaving with harsh, uneven gasps. His jaw clenched, a vein pulsing in his temple. The desperation turned sharp, ragged.

“F-Fuck you,” he spat, the words rough, guttural. “You—you fucking t-t-tease—you think you’re—gah-goddamn better than me?”

You tilted your head, smirking cruelly. “I don’t have to think it.”

His huff came out half a snarl, half a whimper. He shifted on his feet, cock jerking violently, his whole body tight with the strain of keeping his hands off you.

“Don’t—don’t fucking d-do this,” he begged through gritted teeth, but even his curses broke into something needy. “Goddamn bitch—you can’t—fuck—you can’t just stop—”

“Oh, I can,” you murmured sweetly, leaning back on your elbows so your chest arched and his eyes dropped helplessly. “I told you not to touch me. You broke the rules. Now you get nothing.”

He actually growled, low in his throat, head dropping forward as he cursed again. His words were broken, a tangle of hatred and begging, teeth grinding as though if he didn’t use them to form insults, he’d cry out something weaker. “Fuck you—fuck—you’re s-so goddamn—” He groaned, thighs trembling. “Please, please—I’m begging you—don’t l-leave me like this—I’ll d-do anything—you h-hear me?”

The sound of his voice like that—shattered, strung out, caught between curses and pleas—shot straight through you. It stirred something low and hungry in your gut, made your skin prickle with heat. You smirked lazily, stretching your legs a little wider, making sure he saw everything. “You hate me so much, Toby,” you taunted, voice low, sultry. “So why are you begging me like a dog?”

He stared at you, jaw twitching with irritation. You tilted your head at him, lips curling into something cruel. His chest was heaving, his cock red and leaking, his fists trembling at his sides, and you knew he was about to break.

You dragged the knife in deeper.

“Aww,” you cooed, sliding off the edge of the mattress and rolling over onto your stomach. You crawled forward a little, your hips swaying as you moved further up the bed. Toby’s eyes followed every inch, wide and wild, his whole body shaking like an animal straining against its leash.

Then you stopped, sank down onto your elbows, your chest pressing to the sheets. You arched your back so hard it burned, your ass high in the air, cunt fluttering in time with your heartbeat. You glanced back at him over your shoulder, your voice low.

“Then come here, puppy.”

The word cracked him in half.

Toby didn’t hesitate. He scrambled up onto the bed so fast it shook under his weight, knees digging into the mattress as his hands clamped down hard on your hips. His boots scuffed the sheets, twisting them under his knees as he pressed behind you. His grip was bruising, frantic, like he thought you might slip away if he didn’t anchor you. 

He slammed into you without hesitation, the force brutal and reckless. His cock drove deep, fast, urgent, and you gasped from the sharp, animalistic impact. He was panting, growling, releasing all the frustration, all the rage he’d been holding back, smashing into you like he’d intended on tearing you open.

“God—fuck!” he hissed, voice ragged, teeth clenched. “You—you’ve ruined me—stupid—fucking—”

You gritted your teeth, holding the bedspread tight, letting him feel your every shiver and thrum, every gasp and muffled cry. You pressed back against him just enough to meet each brutal thrust, riding his anger as much as he rode you. His hands clenched your hips tighter, dragging you back onto him with each slam. His motions were messy, desperate—no care for rhythm, only a need to fuck, to bury himself inside you, to release everything pent up in the past week. The bed creaked and groaned under the weight of you both, sheets twisting, skin slapping against skin.

“You—fuck—you f-feel so—God!” he cursed again, voice breaking. “So good—stupid b-bitch, you’re mine—”

“Yours?” you spat back, tone sharp and mocking. “You’re the one—hah—the one begging to fuck m-me—”

That stoked something further in him. His thrusts became harder, faster, reckless, as though trying to drive every ounce of need into you and make you feel his desperation. His growls turned to raw moans, voice trembling as he ground into you without restraint. One hand pressed against your back, the other gripping tight into the sheets beneath.

You could feel the stretch of him, hot and hard, sliding inside you in short, punishing jolts. Your stomach twisted, thighs pressed tight together, arching deeper with every slam, taking his animalistic pace.

The bed rocked under you, nails clawed into the sheets, every movement messy, filthy, primal. He was broken, panting, utterly at your mercy, and you turned your head to watch, smirking as he cursed and groaned, burying his face in your neck for support.

His lips found purchase, dragging wet, sloppy kisses along the sensitive skin there. A shiver ran through you, and a low, involuntary moan escaped your throat. Your hands shot up, tangling in his hair, yanking him closer to you, forcing his mouth against your skin as you pressed back against him, matching each thrust, each grind, each slick slide with your own desperate, hungry movements.

He groaned against you, teeth grazing your neck, and you bit back—literally—snapping your teeth down on his lower lip as he kissed you, mouth opening against yours in a collision of teeth and tongues. The kiss was violent, messy, consuming—an echo of the chaos that had always defined your dynamic. You shoved your body flush against him, hips rocking, back arching, dragging him as close as you could manage, fingers twisting in his hair like you were trying to tether him to you entirely.

“Fuck, I’m—” Toby rasped against your lips, breath rough, voice trembling. “I-I’m about to—shit, don’t stop—”

But you weren’t having it. Not yet. Not when you had the power, not when you could control him fully. With a sudden, deliberate push of your hips, you shoved him off of you, rolling the two of you until he landed on his back with a soft thump, sheets twisting beneath the force.

You straddled him immediately, knees planted on either side of his hips, pressing down with calculated weight. The shift of power was instant—Toby’s hands went to your hips instinctively, trying to find purchase, but you leaned back slightly, letting gravity work for you as you sank down onto him, his eyes watching as your cunt sheathed him.

“Mine,” you murmured, voice low, sharp, and all teeth and heat as you began to rock, rolling your hips forward and back with controlled, measured force. “This is mine from now on.” 

He gasped, gripping your thighs, still trying to reclaim some sense of command, but you moved faster, harder, hips pushing down and pulling back like a pendulum. Toby’s head fell back against the mattress, hair tousled, lips parted in ragged moans, eyes glazed and desperate. Every thrust from you hit him with a sharp, relentless rhythm that had him gasping, shivering under your control. His hands gripped your hips, nails digging into your skin, begging, pleading, but you were merciless. You refused to move up and down, only dragging your hips back and forth, catching your clit on the tone of his pelvis.

“You like this?” you spat, leaning forward, pressing your chest against his, teeth brushing along his collarbone. “You like being mine, don’t you? Finally listening.”

“Yes! Fuck—yes!” he rasped, voice breaking, hands clinging to you. “You’re—fuck—you’re killing me—god, I’m y-yours—please—”

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his in a wild, consuming kiss, tongue slipping inside to tangle with his as your hips rolled again, faster now, driving him closer to the edge. 

“You whine too much, puppy.”

You leaned up slightly, pressing your palms flat against his chest, letting your fingers wander over the taut planes of his abs. The heat radiating from him was insane, skin burning, muscles tight under your touch. Slowly, you dragged your hands higher until your fingers latched onto the familiar groove of his throat—the place where all of this had started, where this little game had started between you.

Toby’s breath hitched immediately. His hands shot to your waist, fingers digging in, anchoring you as he thrust upward into your cunt. You gasped at the sharp, thrilling impact, the way his body forced yours down, bouncing you against him. He didn’t even hesitate—he wanted it, craved it, and he wasn’t holding back.

“Did you jerk off like this—hnngh—the first time I choked you? This fast?” you spat, voice low and sharp, watching his eyes begin to water.

“I—fuck—yes!” he rasped, tilting his head back, mouth open in ragged gasps. His hands slid higher, cupping your tits roughly, thumbs teasing, squeezing, forcing your movements to match his rhythm of jerking his hips up into you.

You grinned, biting down on your bottom lip as the chaos of it hit you. He was giving, he was taking, every motion messy, raw, and beautiful in its recklessness. You bounced down onto him, hard, each bounce of your hips shoving his cock deep, his hands clawing and forcing your body to meet his own.

“I hate you,” you hissed, brushing teeth over his collarbone, letting your grip tighten around his throat. “I hate you. I hate—hah—hate you. Fuck—don’t stop.”

Toby choked, face flushing against the grip on his neck, his breathing becoming labored. “Fu-Fuck—Fuck you bitch. Feels s-so—mmmnh—so good—” His hand reached around and slapped across your ass, grabbing the flesh in his palm and forcing your hips faster, forcing your pace to match his desperate thrusts.

You responded in kind, hitting his face with your palm once, twice, letting the sharp sting mix with the slick, hot heat between your bodies. He didn’t care. He couldn’t feel the pain, the slap, the rough hands on his chest, and it made him buck harder, moaning and growling in pure, unfiltered need. You slapped him again.

Toby’s growls turned sharp at that, low and dangerous, cutting through the thick, humid heat of the room. His hands gripped your hips with bruising force, nails digging into your flesh as he thrust up against you. “You feel too fu-fucking good,” he spat, voice rough, teasingly cruel. “I’m gonna m-make you cum fi-first, bitch.”

“Oh, are you kidding?” you shot back, slamming down hard on him, hands wrapping tighter around his throat, eyes wild. “You’re gonna cum like the pathetic little pervert you are.”

His laugh was harsh, raw, vibrating against your hands. “You always h-have to—fuck—have to have a comeback—can’t j-just be quiet—”

You cut him off with another slap, your nail cutting his cheek where you hit him. A thin line of blood welled, and Toby stared at you through wide, frantic eyes. He grabbed harder, leaving dark purples across your hips and waist where his nails dug deep, tracing patterns only he could leave, marking you as his even as you marked him.

The room was chaos: skin slapping against skin, groans and curses tearing from both of you, bodies slick with sweat, hair wild and tangled, breaths ragged. Each thrust, each grind, each sharp slap or bite escalated the tension between you, a dangerous dance of dominance and pain and raw, primal need.

“C-Cum” he growled, tilting his hips, driving into you with bruising force, knocking the head of his cock against your cervix.

“Not before you,” you shot back, grinning fiercely, rolling your hips to match his pace, nails digging into the taut plane of his stomach as you leaned down to bite at his jaw, licking up his cheek to the spot you nicked him. Blood and sweat mixed, hot and sharp on your tongue, and it only pushed you both harder.

His hands dug into your thighs and waist, leaving angry red marks, dragging you down, forcing you to ride him with every ounce of strength and ferocity. You matched him blow for blow, bite for bite, scratch for scratch, until the two of you were a mess of raw, gleaming skin, bruises and blood painting the chaos of your struggle.

“I’m—fuck, Toby—fuck I’m coming—” you cried, digging your nails into his chest.

He whined, staring at the heavy way your eyes looked, his beginning to flutter shut. “Mhm—I c-can’t—hnn, I can’t stop—I’m gonna—”

Teeth sank, nails scraped, hips slammed, and finally the tension broke in a violent, shuddering peak. You both came together, voices strangled, wet, raw, bodies shaking, muscles trembling, bruised and marked and utterly wrecked. He snapped his hips one final time, and your cunt clenched against him so hard you felt the way he pulsed inside you. Every rope of hot cum filling you, claiming you. You milked every drop from him.

You collapsed against him, chest pressed to his, hearts pounding in furious synchrony. His breath came in ragged gasps, head tilted to the side, lips red, eyes glazed. You looked at him, smirk twisting across your lips even through the haze of post-climax heat.

“You’re disgusting,” you murmured, voice low, laced with satisfaction.

“And you’re worse,” he shot back, voice hoarse, smiling anyway despite the blood and mess.

For a moment, the fire between you softened just enough to let something else creep in. Your lips met his, sharp at first, teeth grazing, tasting the sweat and salt—but then, slower, gentler. The anger and frustration that had fueled you for the past two weeks melted, just for a second, into something almost tender. You kissed him, ignoring the slick heat still clinging to your thighs, the marks you’d left on each other, the bruises that would ache for days.

When you finally pulled back, your chest heaving, you allowed yourself a smirk, wet and satisfied. Slowly, achingly slow, you sat up, straddling him for one last lingering moment. He watched as your hips rose, his hands brushing your knees as you pulled him out, hissing at the tug before the final pop.

You felt the warmth slipping down your thighs immediately, his cum and your arousal making your cunt uncomfortably warm and sticky. You groaned.

“Fuck you,” you hissed, hitting his chest, Toby’s eyes nearly damn sparkling at the sight of his cum dripping out of you.. “You really are a damn dog.”

You collapsed onto the bed next to him, letting your arms fall across your chest. Your foot connected sharply with his side in a lazy, spiteful push. “Go away,” you muttered, tone sharp but breathless, still buzzing from the aftermath.

Toby groaned softly, but he didn’t move. Instead, he kicked his boots off with a quick, clumsy motion, then tugged the remnants of his jeans and boxers the rest of the way down, surprised how they had managed to still stay on at all. He tossed them onto your floor. His eyes flicked to yours—but there was no pleading, no frantic edge this time. 

Without a word, he crawled up next to you, chest brushing yours, arm draping loosely over your waist. You flinched slightly at the contact, the lingering warmth between you both still slick and potent, but the anger had faded into something heavy, intimate. Tense. The air was thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and the raw, unspoken agreement that had finally, messily, solidified between you.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. You could feel him, warm and pressed against your side, heartbeat rattling in sync with your own. Your hands twitched, itching to push him away or move out of his reach—but instead, you let the silence settle, letting his arm lay limp across your waist.

Toby shifted slightly beside you, his fingers rubbing against your skin absentmindedly, a small smirk playing on his lips. “You know,” he muttered, voice low and tired, “I re-really don’t like being c-called a dog.”

You arched an eyebrow, smirking, reaching for your pillows and placing one under your head. “Then maybe you shouldn’t beg me like one.”

He rolled his eyes, but his gaze stayed locked on yours, sharp and intense, and you felt a flutter in your stomach you hadn’t expected. “Stop staring at me like that,” you said quickly, voice catching slightly. “You’re being weird. Go back to your own room already befo—”

He cut you off with a soft chuckle, leaning a little closer. “Can I k-kiss you again?” His tone was cautious, different from the heated demands of earlier, almost vulnerable.

Your heart thumped, and you stared at him, eyes flicking between his and his mouth, searching for something you couldn’t quite name. The air between you thickened, tense and electric.

Finally, you shook your head slightly, lips pressing into a thin line. “I hate you, Toby. That’s not going to change,” you said, flat but not cruel, voice almost a whisper.

Toby’s smile widened, slow and knowing, as if he’d been waiting for that. “Then hate me,” he murmured softly, leaning in.

And then he kissed you. Not hot, not frantic, not messy and angry like before—just a kiss. Soft, slow, a quiet brush of lips, a grounding anchor in the aftermath of a hurricane. It was a moment of connection, a fleeting affirmation that despite the violence, the teasing, and the mess of the past weeks, there was… something between you. Affection, of a sort neither of you had admitted until now. A weird type of longing.

When you pulled back, your foreheads brushed together for a second, eyes flicking to one another with something like understanding. No words were needed—just the weight of what had passed, and the subtle promise that, messy and complicated as it was, this was far from over.

But then you palmed his face, pushing his head away from you with a grin. He smiled against your hand, kissing it, too. His arm around your hip pulled you closer, and if you leaned into it, that’s nobody’s business but your own.

── .✦

The mission site was scattered with debris, slick blood, and the lingering metallic tang that you knew you’d have to clean up. The proxies moved efficiently, hauling bodies, wiping down surfaces, and gathering evidence, but you and Toby, as usual, couldn’t go five minutes without trading insults.

“God, you’re useless at this,” you snapped, throwing a wet rag at him that stunk of bleach and vinegar.

“I’m sorry Ms. Fucking Perfect, d-do it your damn self,” he shot back, voice sharp. You both glared at each other, daring the other to keep going.

Masky groaned behind you, rubbing his temples. “Are we still on about this? Just clean the goddamn blood.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you stood and grabbed Toby by the arm mid-retort and yanked him up, dragging him with you. Masky shouted something, but you were already climbing the stairs and dragging him to the first storage closet you saw. His eyes widened in surprise, but before he could react further, you shoved the door closed behind him.

He barely had a moment to process before his hands were on you, lips crashing against yours in a fast, rough kiss. His tongue darted in, claiming, and your hands tangled up into his hair as he slid one hand down the front of your pants, fingers immediately finding their mark and pressing against your aching clit.

You gasped into the kiss, teeth clashing against his in a way that was half challenge, half need. His other hand clutched at your waist, pulling you flush against him, and for a moment, the chaos of the mission, the others, the world outside that small, cramped closet, ceased to exist.

And in that moment, you realized just how much had shifted between the two of you.

The bickering, the arguing, the constant pushing each other’s buttons—it was all still there. You still drove him insane, and he still managed to get under your skin in ways no one else could. But instead of letting it spill over, instead of making everyone else deal with the fallout, you’d found a… solution.

You snuck off during missions, hearts racing, to bite, lick, and fuck the tension out of each other. After dinner, when the others were distracted, one of you would find the other and drag them to some quiet area of the mansion and use their hands on the other, letting the frustration and irritation turn into heat that left you both gasping and sticky. At night, sneaking into each other’s rooms to whisper insults, spurring the other on just so they’d grab you and fuck you through the mattress. During missions, your trips taking longer because you’d have to stop and fight over who was going to give the other head first.

It was messy. It was reckless. It was everything the two of you had always been—and now, for the first time, it was satisfying. The anger became fuel, the hate became lust, and the fights that had once been a thorn in everyone else’s side became an intimate, electric game of control, dominance, and pure, unfiltered need.

And even as you found yourself pressed against him in this closet, hands gripping, hips sliding together, teeth clashing, gasps mingling with curses, you couldn’t help but smile.

Eventually, the door clicked open, and you both staggered out, breath still ragged, hands sticky, hair wild, but the world had resumed its usual pace. Toby followed a step behind, straightening his hoodie, adjusting his belt, hands now conspicuously idle. You fixed your hair, wiping the slick from your lips, tugging your shirt back down.

Without a word, the two of you fell back into your roles, hauling gear, wiping surfaces, and cleaning up the aftermath like the chaos of a few minutes ago had never existed. You moved in tandem with him only because necessity demanded it, but there was a subtle electricity in the air, just enough that you both noticed—but neither spoke of it.

Masky and Hoodie exchanged a look across the room, each raising an eyebrow. Hoodie whispered something inaudible, and Masky shook his head, muttering, “I don’t care. They’re quiet.” They were confused, but grateful that the usual bickering had been replaced by quiet efficiency. They didn’t care how it got to that point.

Kate leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, a knowing look in her eyes. She watched as you and Toby moved through the cleanup with the barest hint of coordination, eyes occasionally flicking toward each other in a way that suggested familiarity… maybe even fondness, if one squinted.

Sliding closer to you as you scrubbed a particularly messy patch of floor, she whispered, teasing, “What’s changed? I didn’t know you started liking him.”

You froze mid-swipe, wiping at the surface with one hand, and let your gaze drift lazily toward Toby. He was kneeling a few feet away, straightening a chair, annoyed and fidgeting as usual, completely oblivious to Kate’s question.

A slow, amused smirk curved your lips. “Nah,” you said, voice light as you stared at him. “I hate that boy.”

Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated!

๑ back to my masterlists

── .✦ rainrot4me2025, all rights reserved. ꩜ .ᐟ

[aurumacadicus]

"Did you know people are masturbating to your smut fics-- 🤢" I hope they get twice as wet as I did writing it, mind your fucking business.

[ourdramaqueen]

What did you think I write smut fics for?!

[substantial-exposure]

Not Shaving Cream

Rick Grimes x OC

Summary: After he shaves once they're in Alexandria, Rick has his girlfriend sit on his face and reap the benefits.

Warnings: Smut, 18+ MDNI, Swearing, making out, face-sitting, brief non con (if you squint), slight dacryphilia?, idk man

Wet feet padded along the floors of the house as they entered the master bedroom. After weeks spent crawling and scavenging in the woods, a nice hot shower was much deserved and well needed.

Rick ran a hand over his chin and jaw, getting used to the feeling of smooth skin. As he pulled his hand away he noticed multiple pinprick small dots of red on his hand as well as one rather large one. He'd cut himself once or twice from the look of it.

As the man looked up, he noticed his minx of a lover staring at him with a devious look in her eyes. Personally, he couldn't barely bring himself to look past it. Although Rick did think that she looked great. Tulip stood in front of a mirror with damp hair and fresh clean clothes.

In his eyes, she looked like she was glowing. It wasn't far off from the truth. Weeks worth of dirt and soot were washed away and finally Tulip felt like she could breathe.

Tulip stared at him and it was like her jaw had hit the floor. She closed her mouth to try and hide the shock. Instead she walked up to him, smiling wide and unabashedly. Her fingers reached out for his face, his skin was smooth. Her fingers running over his jaw and chin as she inspected him.

"I almost forgot what you looked like under all that." She cooed happily. Tulip walked right up to him, admiring the freshly shaven face of the man she adored. Her hands wound themselves behind his neck, pulling him down for a surprisingly tender kiss.

Rick stood there in nothing but a towel as his hands landed on her waist. He smiled against her lips. "Think I nicked myself a few times." He said laughing off his mishaps. It had been a long time since he'd actually used a fresh razor.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers once more. Rick could happily say he was getting used to this, to the affection, that is. Both the giving and the receiving. He almost forgot what it was like to be vulnerable. To be loved and to be seen and not have every conversation be a battle. He didn't need the complications and the worry and stress. Rick was slowly learning that he just needed the companionship. It took him a long while to figure it out. But right now, right here, in between her kiss and her breath against him, Rick figured out just what he needed.

Tulips kisses had turned from loving pecks to full on loving. From there, Ricks fingers tightened around her waist. He pulled her in closer as their kisses deepened and grew hungrier. He already knew where this was heading, he didn't mind one bit.

His point was proven right when he felt one of her hands snake down from behind his neck down his chest. Slender fingers traveled towards his naval and right up to where his towel was folded in and bunched. It had been the only thing keeping him decent. His eyes had shot open and he could feel his cock stirring near instantly. It had been far too long for his preference.

Tulip knew they'd be here sooner or later. There were walls around them. There was a roof. There was a bedroom door that locked. The only other factor she needed was that Rick was standing there looking like he did. A girl can only hold out for so long.

"I missed you." Tulips words were mumbled between kisses. She could feel strong eager hands run up her sides and start pulling her shirt over her head.

Rick pulled back smiling, taking her shirt and tossing it to the floor. "Missed me?" He asked her. "You just saw me ten minutes ago" he chided. His eyes lowered to look at the bra she was wearing. His breath caught in his throat, that was new too.

His hands moved to the buttons of her jeans, he was tugging them down before he'd even gotten a proper look at them. They had a moment alone, they had an actual bed, what else did he need?

He had been leaning down to help his girl finish removing her clothes when his towel fell. His head picked up, looking up at Tulip who was biting back a giggle as she held the towel in one of her hands. Rick brushed it off with a smile. God he hadn't smiled like this in weeks. He didn't have a reason to ever since the church.

"C'mere baby." Rick's voice dragged out lowly. His hands wrapped around her, holding her close and letting his hands wander around clean exposed skin. He was half hard just letting his fingers graze over the fabric of her bra. He left his hands planted on her hips. This was a sight he hadn't seen before. Seeing Tulip in a matching set made him wonder if hell had finally frozen over. "Could get used to this." He said to her.

Tulip held onto him by the back of his triceps and tried to lean up slightly. Thankfully he got the message and he was leaning down to kiss her once again. Their lips didn't part, they each held onto the other desperately. Their lips danced and their tongues began to hesitantly mingle. It had been so long since they'd done this properly.

Rick let his hands wander everywhere, groping and grabbing, kissing and kneading, he needed every part of her. He couldn't decide what he wanted first. He took one last look at her fully in the matching pink velvet set. It was pretty in and of itself . It looked even prettier on her. In the back of his mind he wondered if it would look even better on the floor.

His fingers slipped down the front of her panties. Rick was surprised to find out that she'd already shaved as well. But as his hand ventured further he found the growing wetness that resided between her thighs.

Tulip let out a gasp, her hand holding onto his forearm as he practically inspected her. It was almost demeaning. But still, she'd be lying if she said it didn't get her going.

"Baby.." she whined, gasping slightly and feeling as he played with her folds and teased her clit. It had been so long it was overstimulating. It was so much at once she almost couldn't process it.

"Yeah, sweetheart?" He asked her. "What's wrong?" Rick asked her. He removed his fingers from her panties and brought his slick covered fingers into view. Rick contemplated tasting her himself but his eyes went wide at the idea. His smirk spread in the blink of an eye, his next idea had him antsy.

"Open up." He said. Rick held out his fingers and he watched as Tulip opened her mouth. He smiled proudly in response, she was always so good at following his instructions. He raised his other hand to cup the side of her face, silent praise as he had his fun.

The man eased one of his fingers into her mouth and let it press down against her tongue. He could practically feel her salivating around his one finger, so naturally he added in the second. Rick watched the way she let her lips close around them.

He felt his dick throb. His eyes were entranced on her lips and the way they wrapped around his fingers. After a few more seconds he removed them from the girls mouth. Rick let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. He raised them to his own now, the taste of her faint. Her saliva and slick mixed together and hitting his own tongue.

Tulip stared up at him now, her pupils expanding and shrinking and expanding again with every breath and heartbeat. The woman was reaching up and throwing her arms around his shoulders quickly, she pulled him down with a force that left him stumbling. Her lips smashed into his, there was no reason for him to tease like this. To leave such filthy images in her mind.

Rick planted his hands on her waist and let his fingers slide beneath the fabric of her underwear. He didn't stop urging them down until they were pooled at her ankles.

"I missed this." He muttered against her lips. Every second they paused for breath, Rick was right back pulling her closer. He had officially decided he needed her more than required air. He'd let the kiss last up until he was nearly gasping for air. He was too preoccupied trying to bully his tongue into her mouth and pull her almost completely bare frame into him.

Tulips hand dropped and trailed the side of his thigh inwards. Her hand wrapped around his length, he was hard and heavy in her palm. She slowly twisted her wrist while giving his cock an experimental tug. Tulip watched the big scary man that Rick had become crumble in front of her. He melted into her touch, hovering over her and slumping down to meet her.

He groaned into the open air and he shuddered. There weren't many things that got Rick weak in the knees. He liked things done his way, he was the man in charge, he liked to be in control of things. But there were times when he liked to turn his brain off. Times like when his girlfriend was grabbing him by the dick and smiling like the devil that made him ease up on the reigns. He'd never fully give them up, not a chance but sometimes he needed this.

Rick didn't need every time they were intimate to be some elaborate thing. He didn't need the dirty talk or the shameless filth they chose to enjoy in each other. The only thing Rick needed was the intimacy and cherished love he held for her. All he cared about was that his lover was well taken care of. Whether it be physically, like the way he protected her whenever a situation arose. Or emotionally, when the nights were long and the exhaustion left her too tired for tears. Sexually, when the fire inside her couldn't be dulled by anything other than him. Rick would give her whatever she needed, however she needed it. But right now, he just wanted to make sure she was well taken care of in every sense of the word.

Tulips voice wasn't hesitant, but her voice wavered. "Wanna ride you." She croaked, still gasping for breath as desperate eyes looked up at him.

"Yeah?" Rick asked her, his hands grazing over the front of her bralette top. The fuzzy velvet was pretty but not all too practical. He didn't care too much at the moment. He reached his hands behind her back and unclipped it.

"Yeah."

Rick knew exactly what that meant. Tulip never asked to ride him. She was asking if she could tease him until he lost it. Every time she asked it would result in the same thing, she'd roll her hips until she just had his tip securely inside her. She would go even further as to pull him out completely and leave the dripping tip of his cock just against her and slowly sink down on just the tip. Tulips definition of riding him more often than not resulted in teasing him until he was bending her over and splitting her open.

He moved himself to sit up on the bed. That was until he actually laid down on it . Rick splayed himself out on the bed, it'd been the first time he'd actually properly laid on it. He propped himself up on an elbow and watched as the woman hurriedly moved to join him. The bed dipped slightly as she climbed on and went to swing her leg over him. She straddled him a little further up his stomach than she'd originally intended.

It was like a lightbulb went off above Ricks head. No, if she wanted to tease, he could do much worse. As Tulip tried to move further back down, trying to bring his cock closer to her, Rick stopped her.

"Wait-" he blurted out. His hands were grabbing her sides and pulling her further up towards his chest. The man was certain he was flushed. "I got an idea, sweetheart." He confessed. Rick looked up at her, he wet his lips before speaking. "How'd you feel about sittin' on my face?" He asked her.

Tulip felt her cunt pulse near instantly.

Rick could only describe the look on her face as unsure. She always looked shy at first, but he learned what that look behind her eyes meant a long time ago. He would swear sometimes it was just an act. Tulip would hit him with those wide doe eyes and the next thing he knew she was giving it her all. No matter how timid she'd appear, he was starting to not believe her. He moved further down the bed and guided her into a comfortable position over him. His hands now wrapped behind her thighs, giving him the perfect hold to move her and hold her down.

While she'd yet to fully relax and let herself actually sit down, Rick was inches away from her sex. He held her thighs apart still, using his hold to drag her closer. Up until his tongue could finally reach her and he could set to work.

He listened to her gasp. The initial reaction had him in anticipation. Who knew how long it had actually been since she'd been touched properly. Rick pulled her down further, while silently urging her sit completely he licked a flat stripe up her center.

There was a hand buried in the man's hair almost instantly.

Tulip let one hand lay on his chest to balance herself. Her other hand held the top of his head, her fingers running through his hair and grabbing onto it. Her mouth opened and refused to close as she gasped out at the feeling. Her hips rocked down towards his mouth, desperate to feel his tongue again.

The feel of it all was so different somehow. She'd grown so used to the scratch of his facial hair. After all she hadn't seen him clean shaven since the day she met him. However Tulip didn't sit and think about it for long. Not once he set himself to the task like a man starved.

Rick used his grip on her thighs to hold them apart. As he finally started, her hips moved involuntary. Naturally he made sure to hold her in place he was getting closer to actually achieving his desired goal. In a show of dominance and strength, Rick hiked her up closer, compelling her to stop hovering and let him get to work already.

His tongue laps at her already swollen pussy. Something about the sight above him has him doubling his efforts already. To see her so at ease and so relaxed made him proud. He knew he'd feel even better about himself when he made her cum though. His nose budged slightly as he moved.

Years ago Rick would never have seen himself as such a messy eater. Then again he couldn't say he'd ever had a woman whose pussy leaked after almost every conversation with him. The man's tongue would slip inside her as far as he could manage, hell he'd pull her closer trying to get deeper. That was usually when she'd almost hyperventilate.

Her hold on his hair was tight as she rolled and rocked her hips, craving less and more at the same time. It was starting to be too much. The way he'd groan and his own hips would sputter. His cock was lying over his stomach, dribbling precum over himself as Rick's attention was solely on her.

Tulip was gasping for breath. Unable to catch it as the man worked her over. His lips moved further up her pussy until he was sucking on her clit, the sensation had her shaking. She didn't know what to do, what to hold onto, she wanted to scream and cry from the sheer force of it.

"Its... s' too much" she whined , her thighs shaking and trembling on each side of his head and in his hands. "Rick" she moaned out his name, placing her hands behind her and down onto his chest. She tried to push herself up slightly, trying to put some distance between them.

Rick wasn't having it. He pulled her right back down. It might have been his favorite thing. She never learned this. For some reason Tulip always thought she could fight him, that she was stronger than him and could get away. She'd yet to have a single attempt that made it past him. His hands held her securely and yanked her right back to where she had been. He subjected her to more of the overwhelming pussy numbing stimulation she'd been trying to escape from to begin with.

Her whines were frantic and drastic. Her hips didn't stop moving and Tulips hands scratched at his chest and stomach. She was trying to grab onto him somewhere, she needed something to hold onto. Maybe it wasn't ethical but when she got to this point, it only made Rick want her more. The look on her face, the desperation.

"Baby." She pleaded. Tulip raised her head and she faced the ceiling while her eyes fluttered to a close once again. Her dark hair cascading down her back as she continued to rock her hips against the man's eager tongue. "Fuck I can't take it... please" she begged. Her voice was pouty and her bottom lip trembled. She was about to start crying. This was his favorite fucking part.

The woman above him was short of breath, with her cunt pulsing, and her heartbeat racing. A harsh bite was placed to her thigh, one that would bruise and occupy her thoughts for the foreseeable future. The pleasure ceased for a minute but Rick offered no time to rest.

"Sweetheart." He groaned before teasing yet another nibble over the now sensitive skin on her thigh. "I'll stop eating when I'm damn well ready." He told her. Rick could feel how wet his lips and chin were now. It was another thing that seemed to fill him with pride.

As he dove back into his meal perfectly served up above him, he was salivating. He could taste her everywhere inside his mouth. In every crevice and every nook and cranny, he could fucking taste her. He could feel her on his breath and he refused to be believe for a second that she wasn't enjoying it. Judging by the way she immediately went back to rocking herself back over his mouth and riding his face like a rodeo, Rick was rather proud of himself. She could bitch and moan about how it was 'too much' for her all she wanted, but the way she held onto his hair, whined his name, and the tears that were welling up in her waterline told him all he needed to know.

Rick wiped at his forehead. The sweat that gathered there wasn't surprising, his aching cock had been so sensitive it took a lot of his energy just to not cum untouched. Truthfully he hadn't been inside her more than a few minutes before he'd spilled himself out into a towel beside the bed.

He'd spent so much time building up his stamina all that time ago and he was back to square one.

But the knocking at the front door of the house was repetitive and urgent. In fact it had Rick rushing to throw on his pants and go get it to stop already.

Tulip was still at the bedside, looking for where she'd thrown the ratty old inhaler that Daryl had managed to snag for her some time ago. It was nearly empty. Her undergarments were back on and her shirt had been thrown over them carelessly. As Tulip was missing her pants, Rick was missing his shirt. He was already making his way out the bedroom door towards the entrance of the house.

Rough and tired hands wrapped around the door handle and yanked it open. He could see a woman through the glass. What could possibly be so goddamn important?

He stood face to face with the woman. Rick blinked rather confused as he looked her over. The woman was holding a large storage container in her hands.

Rick carefully took a step back. He put space between himself and the stranger, he didn't trust these people. Not yet anyway.

"Hey." The blonde woman said with her best welcoming smile. "I work in the pantry. Deanna asked me to bring these over for you and your friends." She told him whilst holding the container out to him.

Rick grabbed it and looked it over. It was a variety of things, it was food, dish soap, paper towels, random stuff and some essentials. He held it in arms loosely. This was so awkward. "Thank you.." he told her nodding along. Rick licked over his lips, he could still taste it on his lips and all through his mouth. He swallowed deeply. "We were ugh, just cleaning up." He told the woman.

"I see that." The woman stated. She gestured to the side of his face. "I think you still have shaving cream or something on your chin there." She chuckled looking at him.

Rick froze for a second and secured the container with one hand and held it against his side. It was a rather dangerous feat but he freed his one hand to wipe at the side of his face. That definitely was not shaving cream.

I was 'bullied' into posting this. This is my contribution to the fandom 🫶🏻

[bubbl3sworld]

Bullied you to post some great art 😩😩

[d1onysusw1n3]

TWD

is it just me or does anyone else forget how much they hated Andrea until the re-watch the first season…. 💀

[bubbl3sworld]

Season 3 is such a hard watch for me because of her

[wario-land]

I hate Nintendo Switch Online. I hate the lack of optimization. I hate the expensive subscription service. I hate the lack of games. I hate the limited time releases. I hate that it's never gonna have the level of content that the Wii virtual console had. I hate what capitalism has done to gaming.

This collection includes: All the GBA, GB and GBC games currently available on the Switch!!

+ And a few extra bonus!! Mostly from the same series'seses

Download here for free!!: https://www.mediafire.com/file/pzycxh6zu9b8drf/GBA_Online_PC.rar (405 MB Uncompressed)

They're all ready to be played in HD on PC. Just drag and drop the files on the included program

[wario-land]

Target audience right here!! The joy of gaming and sharing it with others is the reason i post and i made this blog. Enjoy the Kirbyses very much, and do remember to support the official release whenever possible

[bubbl3sworld]

Quiet new life [Simon (Ghost) Riley x black oc]

Description: Simon is a retired military veteran who is trying to adjust to his new life after being discharged.

Author’s note: This is purely self indulgent but I thought this was super cute and wanted to share. I do have my friends ocs in here as well! Mind some errors, currently editing

Simon enjoyed his quiet new life.

He spent most of his time with his dog, Riley. He wouldn’t think retirement suited him at all, especially at the age he had to call it quits. But here he was, sitting at the booth of a little small restaurant he adored with his dog laying on the ground. “Here you go Mister Riley” The waitress came over with a smile, he enjoyed her positive attitude. “And here you go Riley” She leans down to give his dog a plain hamburger. “Thank you, Alison” “You need anything else? I’m about to head out” Simon slightly tilted his head hearing the news. “So early? You work pretty late normally”

“I know right? But me and my friends have plans” Ali cleaned off her tables, moving the dirty dishes into buckets. “It’s okay, Jerry will take care of you” Simon rolled his eyes, Jerry. He fucked hated Jerry so much. He moved his mask that was sitting on top of his nose completely over his face. “Hmph. Hope ya have fun” Ali smiles as she started to head to the back of the restaurant. Simon sat peacefully as he looked into his coffee cup, the small skull slowly dissolving into the coffee.

The bell of the front door rung throughout the restaurant, Riley briefly opened her eye. Her gold sandals stepped past him as she walked up to the bar. Simon glanced at her briefly, his eyes gluing themselves to her backside. Her yellow tight dress made it hard for him not to stare not to mention her long braids that complimented her appearance. Simon tried not to look at her, he really did. He didn’t want to be perceived as a creep, but someone as bright as her it was hard not to look.

“Jerry, stop fucking playing with me” Her voice took him by surprise as she stared at the taller man. “You know what I want” “Then give me what I need.” The man shot back, his arms propped up on the counter. “Ten dollars” “Me and you both know a milkshake ain’t no fucking ten dollars” Her nails tapped on the counter as she stared at the man. He only gave her a sickly smile, leaning down to tower over her. “For you sweetheart? I’ll make an exception.”

“Don’t worry about it” Simon spoke up as he held his coffee cup. She turned her head to look at him, he could finally see her face. She was pretty cute looking, her eyes forming a confused look as she locked onto his. “I’ll pay for it.” Simon looked at Jerry, motioning his hand for Jerry to get away. “Just make the damn milkshake” She glanced at Jerry, shooting him a smirk. “What he said, thank you Jerebear”

Simon watched as she took a seat on the bar seat, staring at him. “Aren’t you a kind soul” She smiles as she walked over to his booth. “Change of heart?” “Just fuckin hate Jerry” Simon responded as he lifted up his mask to sip his coffee. “He was being a prick” “Hey, it’s what he gets paid to do” She glanced up at his mask, her head tilted as she took in his appearance. He was very muscular, the shirt he wore hugged his body all in the right ways. She smirked as she leaned onto her hand. “Ex military?” She questioned as she reached for a small straw on the table.

“Yeah…how’d you guess?”

“Dog tags on ya neck” She points to them with the straw, it made him cringe slightly. He should’ve fucking known, he wears his tags with him everywhere. “Let me guess, your code name was like, Skull. Or bones, no! Skullator” He chuckled at the few names she gave, it wouldn’t be lying if one wasn’t in consideration at the time. “Ghost, love” She leans in a bit on the table with her right leg over her right. She flashes him a smile, it nearly made him tense up. “Ghost, it fits you” Simon studied her carefully, his eyes fell to her chest. The golden necklaces littered her chest as he searched for anything for a sign of her name.

“Here’s your milkshake.” Jerry places the milkshake on the table in front of the black girl. “Thank you honey bunches. Now don’t make me tell Ali of your behavior to your customers” She flicks her hand to dismiss the main, her bracelets jiggling with it. He glanced at them and noticed the initial J. “You a friend of Alison’s?” Simon asked cautiously, he was still rather unsure how to continue to converse with her. She was gorgeous but he didn’t want to scare her away. “Mhm. Waiting for her so we can go hang”

Simon nodded, he paused slightly. “Wh-“ “Okay Jade! I’m ready!” Ali came bursting from the kitchen with her bookbag on her back. “I need to stop at your house to shower but…” Ali trailed off seeing Jade and Simon sitting at the booth together. “Finally, you take forever!” Jade picked up her milkshake. The straw slipped between her lips as she began to walk past Simon. However, she paused in front of him. Jade reached down to grab his dog tags, her yellow nail pushed against the plate as she read the name. “Simon. I like Ghost a bit better”

Simon’s eyes were locked onto her glossy lips as they formed a mischievous smile. “See you around, Ghost” She waves as she followed behind Ali out the door. Simon watched carefully as the two girls walked to a car with yet another girl in the drivers seat. He shifts in his seat slightly watching her get in the front seat. His hand went over his mouth as he dropped his head, looking down at Riley. “What the hell…” He mumbled. There’s no way he was feeling what he thought he was.

~

“Lieutenant Simon, Ghost, Riley. Wow, look at those badges” Jade scrolls on her phone as she went through his social. “What do you know about him Ali?” “I know, that you should probably not get involved with him” Ali sighs, she couldn’t believe it. “This is why I hate when you guys come into my job!” “Why?” Tulip looked back in the visor, sporting a smirk on her face. “You hiding more eye candy from us?” “No!! He’s a customer!” “And so am I. He’s a sweet little thing, and he has a puppy. What’s the catch?” Jade turned around in her chair to look back at her.

“He got any kids? Bad family?”

“He’s…British?” Ali shrugs her shoulders. “Don’t think he has family. I remember him mentioning them being killed” “Yikes, Emotional trauma” Tulip comments as she turns onto a different street. “Did he go into detail?” Jade inquired, she was more so hyper focused on the many post on Simon’s now Instagram feed she ended up finding. “Oh look at his buddies!”

“Bitch, how did you even find his Instagram?”

“You’d be surprised. I mean, it’s practically linked to his Facebook” Ali could only shake her head, it was reasons such as this that made her hate when Jade and tulip showed up to her job. She didn’t know Simon too well, he could’ve been a silent weirdo to her knowledge. “Look, they’re all kinda hot” Tulip glanced carefully at the phone, licking her lips as she pointed at the screen. Her finger landed on the black man on the screen, he had on dark sunglasses and was holding a gun next to ghost.

“Him, he’s pretty cute lookin” Jade snatched her phone back to continue scrolling throughout his feed. “You snow bunny! I should’ve figured” Tulip cackled as they turned onto Jade’s street. “What? He’s hot. Technically I’m not a snow bunny, I’ve only like…” She paused as she parked in front of her house. “One guy! Fontaine!” Jade rolled her eyes as she opened the car door. “Don’t remind me. Get out, it’s time to get ready” Ali snickered at Jade’s sudden irritation, grabbing her back from beside her. “Your mom’s home?”

“Yeah, she’s watching Azizi for the day” Jade pulled out her keys to open the front door. Once the door pushed up, they were greeted with Shawna feeding Azizi within his high chair. “Oh hi girls!” Shawna smiled as she looked at them down the line. “What are you guys getting into today?” “The bar” Jade walked over to the two in the kitchen, kissing her nephew’s forehead. “And who’s gonna be the sober one?” Ali raises her hand as she and tulip made their way towards the steps.

“I don’t plan on drinking that much tonight. Plus I’m not gonna be the first one gone after three green tea shots” Jade flips her off making her giggle. “As long as you guys are safe! Jade, I left the outfit for you on the balancer” Jade grins as she walked away while waving at her mother. “Thank you! We’ll be back!!” The girls all went upstairs to Jade’s room, Ali threw her bag on her bed. “I’m gonna take a quick shower” “You know where the towels are” Jade was too busy looking at the outfit her mother had given her.

“Your mom is obsessed with leopard print” Tulip comments as she looked at the leopard printed shorts. “Legend has it that my mom was wearing these the night she met my dad” Jade looked at the mesh top before turning to look at Tulip. “You think I’m about to catch my husband tonight?” Tulip rolls her eyes while she walked over to Jade’s closet. “I hope not. We’re too young to retire so early” Jade could only snicker as she reached over to grab her lace bra to put on.

[dollsolete-deactivated20251030]

could you do a best friends with benefits with complete opposite reader as rafe!! like reader is innocent and really soft

༊·˚ Thinking about Rafe teaching his innocent and soft fwb how to deepthroat…

cw: 18+!, mdni, blowjob, deepthroatish, corruption kink, innocent and soft reader, finger sucking, deepthroating with fingers..?, training gag reflex away, softdom!Rafe but also pervy as fuck rafe !!

a/n: took me so long to get this but i hope you like it luv 💞 also didn’t know if you wanted smut or not so bare with me :,) I haven’t written for obx in a hot minute so it might be kinda shitty. I didn’t know if you wanted smut or not but i hope you enjoy either way :)

Rafe had such a infatuation with you. You were so… innocent and soft, unlike him. It shocked everyone on kildare who found out the two of you were best friends.

Unlike Rafe, you were 100% clean. No drugs and no drinking. When someone was in a conversation with you and they’d make a dirty joke, you’d just tilt your head to the side slightly and get that adorable, puzzled expression on your face while your mind worked overtime to try and decipher the meaning- and when you did, you’d blush a deep shade of red in embarrassment and shrink into yourself. Letting out a chuckle of embarrassment, avoiding eye contact with the other and mumbling a quick and dismissive response before quickly changing the subject.

Also unlike Rafe, you weren’t aggressive. You were a complete softy. Baking… sewing… gardening… the stereotypical soft girl.

Rafe remembers one day in particular- you came with the Camerons to a strawberry patch at Wheezie’s constant begging. Settling to wear a short, tighter sun dress that was decorated in pastel baby blue and white stripes. Your outfit accessorized with a straw sun hat and pearl necklace. You looked fucking flawless while the sun beat down on you. Your movements graceful and feminine while you skipped around and picked strawberries with Wheezie, every time you bent the hem of your skirt would trail up the curve of your ass in a teasing manner. Just giving him enough to imagine the rest.

And that’s what finally made Rafe lose control: He decided that day that he would have you and there was no way he would settle without. Hence what caused you guys to shift from best friends to best friends with benefits.

Rafe felt a pinch of shame at his actions, completely defiling you of your innocence with some of the things he would do. But fuck, even the thought has his cock twitching in your mouth. The way you’d look up at with your wide, damp doe eyes that were a mix of awe, trust and lustful curiosity. It made him feel secure and wanted. As bad as it may sound: he loved ruining you.

“Shit.. s’o good at this sweetheart..” Rafe drawled out, eyes screwed shut, head leaning forcefully against the brick wall of the public washroom the two of you were hid out in. Your mouth suctioned around his cock and hair bopped up and down with your movements as you desperately tried to make Rafe feel good. Your eyes looking up at him with awe, soaking in his groans ‘n moans of pleasure which made your panties soak in your own arousal even more than they already were.

Rafe’s hand rested atop your head, resisting the urge to force you down while he bit his lip. His cock twitching in your mouth as he imaged the sight and sounds of you gagging around his cock, which you could only take half way.

Rafe craned his head back down, biting his lip at your damp eyes. “Think you could take anymore?” He asked, smirking slightly, knowing damn well that you couldn’t.

You whined around his cock, shaking your head ‘no’ before coming up from his cock with a wet ‘pop’. “‘M trying.” You pout, scared you weren’t doing well enough for him.

Rafe’s heart clenched in his chest at the sight of your teary eyes. Bringing his hand up to rub soothing circles on your cheek which were damp from the amount of times you gagged, causing tears to fall. “I know sweetheart don’t worry.” He murmured, small grin forming on his face as he felt the way you subconsciously leaned into his touch. God you seemed so obedient for him(and were). “We’re gonna train that gag reflex away, k pretty girl?” He said, cocking his head to the side slightly to analyze and make sure you’re completely ok with this. His thumb slowly trailing to and brushing against your lower lip.

“Ok..” You nod, opening your mouth just enough to let him hook his thumb into your mouth, the digit immediately pressing down against your tongue.

“Open wider baby,” He said softly, though his tone still had an undeniable amount of dominance. Feeling a swell of pride in his chest at your simple obedience. “Like you’re at the dentist.” He teased.

You did as was told of you, opening your mouth wide for him. “Good girl.” He smirked wider. His ring and middle finger entering your mouth. You moaned around the intrusion that was his fingers, eye’s furrowing slightly when he shoved his fingers further into your mouth and pressed down against your tongue, soft gags spilling up from your throat and out of your mouth.

“C’mon.. how do you expect to take my full cock down your throat if you can’t even take my fingers?” He chuckled, his fingers slowly making way further down your throat. His cock twitching as he watched your face flush in embarrassment at his lewd words. His next words strained with arousal. “Gotta practice a bit at a time princess, you can do it.”

God. The way he spoke so soft but still dominant. The nicknames. The softness in his touch. It had your mind reeling with dirty thoughts no one should be having of their ‘best friend’ and your pussy clenching around nothing. You nodded your head slowly, wide damp eyes looking up at the man, admiring how hot and affected he looked by you.

Suddenly, a sharper and louder gag fell from your lips. Your head attempting to jerk away from Rafes fingers when he forces them practically as far down your throat as they physically could. Rafes grip just tightened on your chin, the thumb of his free hand rubbing soft circles on the skin of your jaw while a few tears fell from your eyes.

“Nah uh.” Rafe clicks his tongue, shaking his head slightly in disapproval, finally pulling his fingers back after a couple of seconds. Attempting to ignore how badly he wanted to feel you gag around his cock.

“You can do it, just try not to jerk away, k?” He murmurs. A soft whine escaping your lips as his fingers descent back down your throat at a faster pace. But you manage to give a small nod in response, pushing your thighs together as his fingers constricted your breathing.

A content grin made its way to Rafe’s lip. Free hand moving up to pat your cheek. “Good.” He praised. His fingers practically finger fucking your throat. Occasionally pressing down on the back of your tongue just to feel you slobber and gag around his digits even more, imagining that it was around his cock.

You slowly became more and more used to the sensation, body relaxing into his touch as your body rested against his legs, hands holding his knees as you let him use your mouth in what would typically be considered a degrading way. Yet Rafe still managed to make it feel anything but degrading while his fingers were down your throat.

A shaky breath left Rafe’s lips as he fully pulled his fingers out from your mouth. Smirk gracing his features yet again as he admired his slick-with-your-spit fingers. Resisting the urge to seem like too much of a freak and licking your excess spit off from his fingers. Instead deciding to use your spit as some type of lube for his cock, spreading your saliva around his pretty much neglected for the last few minutes cock. Soft groan falling from his lips as he did so.

He glanced back at you, face flushing as he saw how you eyed his cock with undeniable, somewhat innocent(as much as it can be) desire. Bringing his cock to your lips and smearing his tip, covered in your saliva, over your lips. “Ready to take a bit more of my cock yet princess?”

⟡ ݁₊ . written by sarahsangelicdoll, 2025 on tumblr! © do not repost on any third party website or repost as yours. Doing so will result in me blocking you and reporting.

Rafe taglist; @rafestoothbrush

[bubbl3sworld]

I don’t even go here but this is good asf omg 😩😩

[chelliebelle]

I DON'T SEE A RING ON YOUR FINGER | n. kento

꩜ SUMMARY . . having just finalized his divorce, a bitter kento tries to find the end to his sorrows in the bottom of a liquor bottle. but when a pretty young thing comes fluttering by his side, he decides there's no better time to get laid than now. ꩜ WORD COUNT . . 4.9k words of flith <333 ꩜ CONTAINS . . smut, divorcee!kento, reader is described as slutty, age gap (reader is in her early twenties and kento is in his late thirties), sexual frustration, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, pussy slapping, spanking, rough sex, biting, spitting, they're kind of drunk, choking, bruising, pussy drunk!kento ꩜ AUTHOR'S NOTE . . kento's balls practically shriveled during his sexless marriage so best believe he's gonna enjoy himself!!

Nanami Kento had it all. 

A two-story house in the suburbs, a high-paying job, a beautiful wife—he had the perfect life. And damn did he hate every second of it. He hated waking up in that house to greet his nosy neighbors, hated driving to his soul sucking office job, and especially hated going home to his wife every night. She’d leave him leftovers in the fridge and kiss him goodnight before bed, and Kento would stay up every night wondering how to escape this limbo.

Tonight was the first time he felt free in years. Sitting at some shitty bar he can't remember the name of, he absentmindedly fiddled with his wedding band. Months ago, this little piece of metal meant everything. A loving marriage. A promise of a future. A sign of success. Now? It's just a worn-out ring that he can't throw out.

Kento sighed, setting it down on the table in favor of a glass of whiskey, letting it burn down his throat as he took a sip. He was never a drinker, but maybe it was something he repressed over the years. What else had he missed out on while trying to play Mr. Perfect?

Right, sex.

Kento was so obsessed with a picture perfect life that he even married someone he barely knew. She was pretty and nice enough—boring as fuck now that he thought about it—but that was enough for him to get down on one knee and take her down the aisle. What he didn't take into account was his own needs. All a man needed after a long day of work was some pussy, and he was no different. Mrs. Nanami was beautiful, sure, but one hell of a prude. If he was lucky, he got laid about once a month. Even then, she'd just lay stiff on the bed while he fucked her. If Kento didn't see the rise and fall of her chest, he'd assume he was sleeping with a corpse.

This meant that every night after his wife fell asleep, he'd go to his study to jack off to porn on his computer. It was enough for him to go to bed without a raging hard-on, but only having his hand to rub his cock raw all the time took a toll on him. Kento stopped initiating anything with Mrs. Nanami, opting to go straight online whenever he felt his dick twitch. For years, he lived like this.

Wake up, go to work, get home, say goodnight to wife, jack off.

Until a few months ago when his wife said she wanted a divorce. She must've been expecting him to start a fight, because her face fell when Kento nodded without a second thought. It was a long time coming. Sure, he believed he should've been the one to divorce her, but at least he was gonna be free. The days after she moved out was the happiest he had ever been. Waking up in an empty bed and coming home to an even colder bed filled him with a sense of contentment he thought he'd never feel again.

Cheers to being single, he thought to himself as he ordered another drink. As he waited, he couldn't help but sigh. The ink on his divorce papers hadn't even dried yet and he was already thinking of getting his dick wet. Kento hadn't had good pussy since he was twenty. The thought of cheating never even passed his mind during his marriage, opting the company of his own right hand over breaking the promise he made to his wife. Ex-wife.

He brought the rim of the glass to his lips, eager to drink himself to sleep, until the scraping of a barstool broke his concentration. "Drinking alone, handsome?"

The voice was soft and feminine, making him turn his head in curiosity. It came from a young girl, probably still in college but wearing a tight dress that looked like it came off a stripper. Kento wasn't a boomer by any means, but he still found himself disapproving how there was more skin than fabric on her body.

Kids these days.

Retrieving his gaze, he let out a quiet hmm before turning back to his drink. That didn't deter you, a girlish giggle leaving your lips as you leaned towards him.

"Seriously, there's no way you're here alone. Is this a set up? Where are the hidden cameras?"

College kids were so weird these days. With a scrunch between his brows, he shakes his head as he lets out a low rumble that makes your stomach twist. "Sorry to disappoint, kid. It's just me, no hidden cameras."

When he turns his head to face you, he's surprised at how close you were to him. Kento could smell the vodka shots off your breath. It reminded him of when he was as young as you were, getting drunk off cheap liquor. A soft pink dusted your cheeks, along with a tipsy smile that made his chest warm for some reason. You seemed to catch him staring, reaching out to rest your hand on his bicep.

"You look like...really put together. Like you do your taxes and sleep early or something."

The choked cough he lets out when you touch him makes the whiskey burn up his nose, hand coming up to cover half his face. Just a friendly gesture from a girl made him act like this? Get it together, Kento. Scoffing, he shrugged off your hand as he looked away. You pout as he does so and the sight fills him with regret immediately. Before he can apologize, you knock your head against his shoulder, nuzzling against him like a spoiled kitten. Guilt pools in the pit of Kento's stomach when his cock twitches in his slacks. Not now!

"Do you have a name, handsome mystery man?" you mumble against his shirt, the action making his loins burn. He seriously considers pushing you away but decides you're probably too drunk to function right now. After a few beats pass, he reluctantly grumbles a "Kento" in response. You're quiet save for a soft hum and Kento is left hating himself for getting hard at how clingy you're being.

Poor girl, you're clinging to someone who you think looks dependable in this shady ass bar. Or at least that's what he thinks until you grab his wrist and bring it up to your face. For a moment, he assumes you're trying to get a look at the Rolex around his wrist, the sleek gold glinting in the air. He has to repress a sigh—until he realizes your attention is actually on his hands. Kento's fingers are lengthy from years of typing at his desk everyday, the digits at least twice as thick as yours. Pretty veins run along his knuckles and up his forearms, disappearing under the fabric of his rolled sleeves. You can't help but sigh, eyes flickering up to his with admiration.

"Your hands are like, really...big."

He immediately pulls his hand away with a bewildered look, clicking his tongue as he adjusted the watch around his wrist, ignoring the whine you let out.

"What does that even mean?" he huffs, his fingers twitching at the traces of heat from your delicate hand grabbing his. You giggle at his reaction, slumping against him until your chest presses against his arm.

"I wonder what you can do with them, m'sure you'd know how to use them good."

Oh. Oh. When his gaze connects with your breasts that are almost spilling out the top of your dress and the sultry look in your eyes, only then does he realize that he's being hit on.

"Look, kid. I'm m—" he catches himself before he finishes his sentence. Fuck, was he going to say he was married? The wedding band in his other hand suddenly felt much heavier and he quickly shoves it in his pocket.

"...much older than you, I'm almost twice your age."

Another mellifluous giggle leaves your lips and Kento has to hold himself back from shutting you up so that blood stops rushing to his dick.

"I think you're flirting with me," you tease, rubbing your chest against his arm. If he focuses, he swears he can feel your hardened buds brushing against him through your dress. Not even wearing a bra, you're begging to be fucked. The thought of being the one to take you home tonight passes his mind but he shoves it away. You're drunk and almost half his age, it'd be wrong. All rational thought comes flying out the window when your hot breath fans against his ear.

"But, I also think you're really hot, Kento. So maybe we can..."

Your words fall on deaf ears as his eyes flutter shut and his head tilts back. Kento was never a religious man, but in this moment he prayed to the gods above for clarity. You were offering yourself up to him like a hog on a silver platter, tied up with an apple in your mouth for him to devour. He couldn't help but imagine your glassy eyes rolling into the back of your head, your sweet lips hanging open when he drives his cock deep into your tight and young cunt—

Fuck it.

Will he ever get another chance to bring a pretty young thing like you home? The thought is what drives him as he grabs your wrist to drag you out the bar and into his car.

When you approached the hot stranger earlier, you sure didn't expect that it'd end with you moaning with his hand between your legs.

Drunk out of your mind, your gaze had fell onto the brooding man at the bar, eyeing his rippling muscles under his crisp blue shirt. Now that was a back you'd love to scratch up. It didn't take long for you to stumble on your too-high heels towards the blonde man. You were never this forward but something about him had you squeezing your thighs together. Maybe it was the silent classiness that screamed luxury, the heat in his eyes that burned every time his gaze lingered on you—or maybe it was how he practically flung you over his shoulder and ran all the red lights to take you home.

But never in a million years had you expected that man to be this nasty.

His lips tasted like heavy liquor, tongue sloppily tangling with yours as he slammed you against the door, one hand coming up to cup your jaw. You were used to bad french kisses from frat boys, all teeth and smelly breath, but the way Kento was devouring you made you lightheaded. 

"What a dirty mouth, wonder if you pussy's even wetter."

He pushed your legs apart with his foot and let his hand wander up your inner thigh. You gasp when he finds your mound, panties thoroughly soaked. The scoff that leaves his lips makes your cheeks flush. He cooes as he drag a thick digit along the clothed slit of your cunt, swallowing up your weak moans with his mouth.

"I don't even need to prep you," he chuckles, shaking his head as his thumb prods at your bud hidden beneath your folds.

"You have such a smart cunt, s' already drooling for me."

Kento pulls his hand from between your legs and grabs the back of your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist. Head still spinning from the alcohol, you lose your balance, but the death grip he has keeps you upright as he carries you to his bedroom.

It's scantily decorated and you note that the bed it a bit too big for someone living alone, but you forget all about it when your back hits the plush mattress.

His eyes are wide as if he's trying to commit the sight of you to memory, every exposed sliver of skin and plush flesh permanently burned into his mind. Before you know it, Kento's hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, squeezing your thighs, yanking your dress up like he's unwrapping the first real gift he's ever had. Your slutty dress is long forgotten on his bedroom floor, and fuck, he's hard. Painfully so.

How can't he be when your sweet body is all on display for him?

Kento can't find it in him to give a damn about some dress when all he can see are your perky tits, so soft and malleable. He doesn't spare a moment to admire the view, slapping your breasts till they jiggled deliciously. Before you can whine about how mean he's being, he attacks your tender chest, lips wrapping around the mounds of flesh. It catches you off-guard and you tug at his hair, but he only bites down around your nipple, flicking his tongue over the hardened bud.

"Don't." 

His voice is a low growl you never heard before, and damn if it didn't make your clit throb with need. Right on cue, he pries your legs apart and gets on his knees between them, mouth never leaving your breast. The way his hips grind against you is vicious, as if he's been waiting years for this. Which, in a way, he has. Kento has spent too many nights in his cold bed, jerking off to the thought of someone warm beneath him. Now that he has it? Best believe he's not letting you go tonight.

Your heat seeps through the fabric of your underwear and he can tell that you're making a mess all over the front of his slacks, his bulge covered in your slick. Clicking his tongue, he pushes your knees against your chest to come face-to-face with your clothed core. His thumb tugs at the lace of your panties, lifting your hips to slide it over your ass and letting the flimsy fabric dangle on your ankle.

He intended to teach you a lesson, but his brain short-circuits when he sees your weeping cunt. Your chubby lips were glistening with slick from his teasing, that pretty clit hidden under your swollen folds. Kento hasn't had a taste of pussy in years, so he can't resist leaning forward to roll his tongue against your slit.

Immediately he's gone.

He laps at you like a man starved, locking his arms around your thighs to keep you spread open for him. Mrs. Nanami was never this wet for him and it had messed with his confidence for a while, but your sweetness was all it took to bring him back. His cock twitches at the sight of you writhing under him, the front of his slacks now completely stained with precum. Kento nearly forgot to breathe with how absorbed he was in your pussy.

“You're like a piece of candy,” he mouths against your sensitive cunt, pushing the tip of his tongue into your warm entrance. “So sweet, can eat you up all night.”

Your thighs tremble and clamp around his head, the action only pushing him closer against your waiting heat, nose bumping against your clit. Kento moaned as he flattened his warm tongue against you, making out with your cunt with more fervor than when he had kissed you. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, Kento completely forgets about his aching hard-on, hips instinctively rutting against the mattress with every swipe of his tongue. Your lips were so puffy that he couldn't resist biting down, latching his lips onto your neglected bud and sucking hard.

You almost cry out at the sensation, reaching your hand down to pull at his hair as you thrash under him, feeling your thighs quiver. "S'too much! Gonna make me come—"

SMACK.

His palm had landed flat on your cunt.

"None of that. You wanted my attention, now take it." 

The mean rumble of his voice along with the harsh slap against your sensitive heat sent you over the edge, coming onto Kento's face as your back arched off the bed. He was more than eager, lips hanging open as he swallowed up every drop of your sweetness.

Like heaven on his tongue.

Your taste was addictive, making him groan with every bob of his Adam's apple. Kento slurps up all the wetness he can get, chin glistening with your essence once he pulls away. The sudden orgasm had you panting, only coming back to your senses when you heard the sound of a belt buckle hitting the floor, lifting your head up at the exact moment Kento tugged his ruined boxers down.

His heavy cock slapped against his sweaty washboard abs, leaking onto his abdomen. You had seen enough subpar dicks in your life to know that he was big, the idea of it stretching you open making your pussy drool. Pretty veins ran along the base, leading up to his thick tip that was already dribbling pearls. It was an angry red, sensitive from rubbing against the fabric of his slacks. You could've sworn his cock twitched when his eyes locked with yours.

He reluctantly rolls on a condom, mumbling something under his breath as he strains against the pink rubber. Should just fuck this pussy raw. Luckily, he still had enough common sense to stop him from begging you to let him go in without protection. Kento grabs your thighs, hefty length dragging down your slit as he positioned himself between your legs. With his cock resting on your mound, you can tell he's gonna be so deep in your tummy that you'll feel him tomorrow.

“I'll make sure of it, pretty girl,” he chuckles, slapping his member against your puffy clit.

Did you actually say that out loud—?

Your cheeks puffed up at his words, an embarassed flush on your face at your little slip-up. He's so heavy between your legs that you wonder how he'll even fit. Kento's hand reaches to pull you flush against him by the ankle, propping your leg up his shoulder, groaning as his cock dragged between your lips.

"You're so wet," he muses, pumping himself lazily before he lined himself up your entrance. "Bet you're gonna take me like a good girl, hmm?"

You gasp when he pushes his flushed cockhead between your swollen folds, struggling past tight rings of muscle. So tight. Fuck, he should've known—you were just a little brat who thought she could handle him. He hisses as your walls clamp down around his tip, nails digging into your hips as he tries to catch his breath. 

"Loosen up, sweetheart. You're gonna snap off my dick."

Kento stayed like that, tip twitching inside your warm pussy, before he pushes forward once more. He's bigger than any cock you've taken before. Unprepared for the stretch, your brows knit together when he bullies his way into your cunt. He barely makes it a few inches in before your eyes start to water. Your insides were being stuffed to the brim. You take a deep breath, weakly shaking your head as your thighs tremble.

"K-Kento, please—" Please? 

You didn't even know what you were begging for, did you? How cute. With a sigh, he pulls out from the comfort of your pussy. You let out a sigh of relief, before a warm liquid hit your bare lips. With the viscosity dribbling between your folds, you realized that was Kento's spit. Your gaze flickered up towards him but he focused on other things—like the way your clit twitched when his saliva hit the neglected bud. Eyes dark and brows knitted, he reached down to thumb at your sensitive nub, a choked moan leaving your lips.

"Ease up, that's right," he praised, using the wetness to roll his hips forward. 

Your walls fluttered around him, your moans egging him on as he continued to feed you more of his monster cock. Kento never needed this amount of prep with Mrs. Nanami, considering she always seemed so...bored. He was even beginning to think he was bad at sex! But the way your eyes rolled into the back of your head told him all he needed to know. A low groan rumbled in his chest when he finally bottomed out, his tip kissing your cervix. After so long with only his hand as company, he worried he'd come the second he was inside you. The way you were squeezing his dick didn't help either. Kento swallowed hard, trying to take deep breaths as he let you adjust to his size.

"How are you so tight?" 

When his panting reached your ears, you let out a slurred mumble, eyes unfocused as you tried to look up. He leaned down, forehead resting against yours to regain his composure. Body covering yours, he only buried himself deeper all the way to the hilt. It was like your mind went blank.

"Ngh—you're just too big!" you managed to shout, eyes glassy from how he kept nudging against your womb.

That was all it took for Kento to lose his mind.

Locking an arm around your leg, he fucked into you, heavy balls slapping against your ass as his hips snapped forward. His pace was merciless, knocking the breath out of your lungs with every mean thrust. 

"Yeah? How deep am I?" he growled, his grip on your waist bruising.

 All the way in my tummy, you try to say, but you were too fucked out to answer. Just a few thrusts had you dumb on his cock, glossy lips hanging open weakly. The sight makes Kento chuckle, holding onto your thighs as his skin smacked against yours.

It had been years since he had been in a pussy this wet and eager for him. He was in love with your cunt. The slickness as he slid past your folds, the way your walls tried to milk him—but the cock drunk look in your eyes was the cherry on top. Kento turns his head to the side, pressing kisses onto your calf as he fucked you. 

Come back, pretty girl.

When he notices your lack of response, he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh, emphasized with a harsh thrust that made you scream. "Kento, slow down," you cry out, heat churning in your belly from the cruel pistoning of his hips.

He only chuckles, shaking his head before he sped up his pace. The shocked look in your eyes made him reach down to rub tight circles on your clit for relief. Loud squelches and the slapping of skin-on-skin filled the air, the room reeking of sweat and sex. Kento's eyes locked on the way your ass bounced back against his pelvis with every thrust, cock twitching as he thought of taking you from behind. He continued to jackhammer into you, strings of profanities leaving his lips. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into. As you mumbled incoherently on the verge of tears, a hand wrapped around your throat.

"Shh. Your sweet pussy's talkin' to me," he tuts, squeezing your throat to shut you up. 

His hand completely engulfed your neck, rough palm pressed tightly against your pulse. Gasping for breath, you could feel your head spin from the lack of air. You rake your nails along his back, digging crescents into his skin to try and make him let go. Kento hissed at the sensation, cockhead slamming hard against your g-spot. It was too much—the delicious stretch of his cock, the way his tip kissed your gummy insides with every thrust, his hand around your throat—the knot in your stomach snapped. Even when you tried to push the heat down, your climax ripped through you like white lightning. 

Your back arched off the bed, cursing out Kento's name as your orgasm shook through your body. The man nearly collapsed on top of you, a sharp groan leaving his lips as your walls clamped down and milked his cock so suddenly. His grip on your throat loosens and you thrash under him. 

You might die from how good he's dicking you down. 

Rolling onto your stomach, you stumble as you get on your hands and knees to try and crawl off the bed. A pair or rough hands grab onto your waist, followed by heavy panting that makes your blood run cold.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Kento spits, dragging you back against him. 

He'd be damned if he let the first good pussy he's had in years get away. Even when you try to thrash and break free, your body is too weak from coming so hard! His palm lands a harsh smack against your ass, your arms collapsing under your body as you cried out. Kento pushed your head down into the pillows, propping you up by the back of your knees. Face down, ass up. The sight of you so vulnerable with your glistening pussy on display made him lick his lips, quickly positioning himself behind you. 

"Naughty girl, trying to run away from me," he tuts, swiping his tip up and down your creamy folds.

As punishment, he reached down to pinch your clit, earning a choked sob from you. He rolled the bud between his fingers, resting his free hand on the plush of your ass. Cock throbbing for release, he buried himself to the hilt in one thrust, setting up a mean pace immediately.

Yep, might die from this dick. 

Every slam of his hips against yours had you sobbing into the pillows, the fabric damp with your salty tears. Your body was still reeling from your multiple orgasms, cunt fluttering around him. Even if it was too much, Kento was fucking you so good your insides had molded to every ridge and vein of his cock. Your tits jiggled with every thrust and he wasted no time in grabbing your hefty breasts, playing with your soft nipples. He buried his head in the tender area where your neck and shoulders connected, groaning against you. 

Kento was getting close, you could tell from how frantically he rutted into you. His cock throbbed inside you, pulsing against your gummy walls. You couldn't resist the urge to push your ass back into him, making his dick hit even deeper inside you. You were half sure he was bulging through your tummy at this point. The action made him suck in shallow breaths through his teeth, keeping a death grip on your ass as he bulllied your cunt.

"Fuuuck, I'm gonna come," he groans into your shoulder.

His face scrunched up in pleasure, panting heavily into your skin as he buried his cock deeper and deeper. Seeing such a composed man this broken made your cheeks flush. Your walls were heavenly, every clench pushing him closer to the edge. 

Screw his hand. Coming from your pussy squeezing him was better that jacking off to any porno he could watch online. 

With a strangled moan, Kento shot thick spurts of cum into the condom, as if he hadn't finished in years. He collapsed on top of you, the orgasm rendering him unable to even hold himself up anymore. It was like losing his virginity all over again. You whine as the rubber began to fill up with his load, heavy in your pussy. After a few moments to catch your breath, you tried to push yourself off him, worried he'd spill into you.

"We should probably take that off—" 

Kento shut you up immediately, grabbing your waist to drag your hips back on top of him. Now straddling his lap, his still hard cock prodded new places you had never even touched before, a pathetic moan leaving your lips. His blonde hair was messy and dripping with sweat, eyes glazed over as his cheeks flushed. You felt him twitch inside you when he met your gaze, the same fucked-out look in both your eyes. He definitely wasn't done with you yet.

"It's only midnight, sweetheart."

You'd be lucky to come out of here alive.

You spent the rest of the night going several rounds, trying every position possible before collapsing from exhaustion. What's for sure—sex would never be the same ever again. How could you go back to one night stands with shitty frat bros when an older man just gave you the dicking down of your life? 

The next morning, you roll on your side to see Kento sitting at the edge of the bed. His bare back was wrecked, littered with vicious nail marks and lipstick stains. You chew on your bottom lip, pulling the duvet over your chest. 

"Are we gonna see each other again?" you croak, voice hoarse from last night.

The muscles in his back tensed at your words. Kento didn't want to see the hickeys and bruises on your skin, undeniable marks of the years of frustration he took out on you. He actually slept with a girl almost half his age right after getting divorced.

Talk about issues. 

Though his stomach churned with guilt, the memories of last night flashed through his mind. How eager you were for him, your sopping cunt, your sweet whines. He was even starting to imagine what it'd be like to sink into you raw.

He couldn't deny how addicted he was to your body. Doing this once was one thing, but agreeing to meet you again? Kento let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. After a few moments, he spoke up.

"Let me check my schedule, pretty girl."

TAGS: @lucakaneshiroswife @susanhill @hana-patata @kenzieluvsnanami @luvingmyships @sutaagaaru @secretfoxmaker @savannaounana @ilyjupit3r @h4n1vs @supernatrualqueen @mayhaps-nerd @1ennj4 @jiwooahae @gojomaki @raenfall562 @l0v3rgirl-owo @levisjinchuriki @yourgirljasmine5 @nanamiscsleeve @boyimjustaloserforyourlove @jjkmenluver @vmpireslut @namorafushiguro @cindyneko-strider @zeunys @t4matar @c0ckdrunkk @mortallyshadysoul @red-writes @fferairy @vipblinkagase1111 @evieloves @jdopeisdope @cherryreads-blog @itsinherited @sparklyhologramstarfish @hannahhmelv @umiwu @sugurusjaz @miguelsonlywife @lyraa06 @illumissei @aneternallyexhaustedpigeon @celestialhvns @nanamisd0ll @blushedcheri @grr457 @yogichi @kaislashes @briefrebelfanalmond @fictionalytmenhavemyheart @kekeanna266 @airandyeah @hollowwolf22 @ssstingrayyyyyyyy

[naammiii-deactivated20260407]

SUKUNA FIC RECS // mdni!

cursed promises - @/madamechrissy

I’ll make you miss me - @/hiraethwrote

puff, puff, ass! - @/screampied

baby yuji and sukuna masterlist - @/sukunas-wife

shameless - @/nanaslutt

true form sukuna - @/nanaslutt

use your words - @/gumii-bearr

porn star sukuna - @/webism

maybe I’m the problem - @/screampied

best friend sukuna - @/kamitv

sit still - @/madamechrissy

well are you mine? - @/madamechrissy (this one is SO good)

1:03 am: first kiss - @/reignpage

love and company - @/starmapz

like a queen! - @/classyrbf

play with me instead - @/bratbby333

in the heat of the battle - @/glystenangel

(tongue) tied - @/starmapz

unwavering - @/cinnamorollcrybaby

2:35am: late night cravings - @/reignpage

me and the devil - @/yenayaps

no heater - @/euthymiya

servant duties - @/classyrbf

oh my - @/tonycries

strip club owner sukuna - @/madamechrissy

I DONT OWN ANY OF THESE FICS!! // CREDS TO THE WRITERS!! <3

[bubbl3sworld]

Thinking about coming back to dump some self indulgent writing back on the blog with TikTok getting banned n all.

Also to potentially befriend some black oc writers?

[screampied]

you always had a bad habit of falling asleep—not just anywhere though, but on sukuna ryōmen’s notorious throne. .

he hated it.

he hated how how you hogged up his space.

he hated how your near-quiet snores would echo through his poorly aged walls.

most importantly though, he hated how frustratingly cute you looked . . all scrunched up, curled up in a ball, and occasionally shivering a bit from the cool air that settled against your bare skin.

“tch..” he’d sigh, feeling his muscles ache with each step he took toward you. as usual, sukuna had just returned from some battle and here you were, always waiting for him to return. he’s probably told you over about a hundred times that you could have slept in his private chambers but no—you always preferred his throne. always.

you never told him, but part of the reason why you loved sleeping on it was because of his strong scent that always lingered on the piece of ancient furniture. a musky scent that you’d grow to always miss whenever he wasn’t with you.

“oi. you awake?” sukuna grumbles, and you shift a bit once he lifts you. you could hear him murmuring vexed curses under his breath as he positioned you to lean up a certain way. crimson-velvet eyes bore into your sleeping state and sukuna held back a snickering smile. “pft. ‘course not,” and you felt him starting to trod away with you snugly cradled in his broad arms. as sukuna made his way upstairs, he softly strokes a thumb underneath your nape. “brat. sleep in my bed next time. you’re gonna get back aches at this rate.”

despite his cold-hearted, rough exterior he was always gentle with you. only you. just you.

sukuna carried you in his arms like every other night—sometimes, he wonders if you do this on purpose. purposely falling asleep on his throne just so he could pick you up bridal style, bringing you back to his bed.

each step he took shook your entire body, and you let off a groan in your sleep from the abrupt bumps. “i know. i know little one. just a few more steps.” he rolls his eyes, secretly finding your slumbering state adorable. never in a million years would he ever admit it though.

as the wooden stairs creak—he continues to walk, occasionally looking down at you. right as he’s at the final groaning step, sukuna tenses a bit, feeling your head brush up against his soft exposed pecs.

his fleecy kimono was half open and you’re just buried in his arms, snuggling all against him like a needy cat.

the audacity. .

his pink slit brow furrows as he scoffs at the sight, bringing you inside his quiet spacious bedroom. gently, he starts to lie you down on the mattress but that’s when your arms wrap around him.

“eh? what are you-” sukuna grunts, and that’s when he collapses right against your chest. sukuna deadpans once your warm legs and arms sneakily snake around him—clinging onto him tight like a koala. “keh.. such a handsy pest, even when you’re dead asleep.” he clicks his tongue, letting you drag him further into the bed with you.

sukuna feels a strange feeling pooling near the very bottom depths of his heart.

it’s eerily strange . .

it doesn’t feel like the usual resentment, hatred, or even arrogance he feels toward others ‘below him’.

he finds himself melting into your tender touch, his chin gradually burying itself in your shoulder.

the soreness in his muscles started to subside as he was just on top of you—inhaling your sweet scent, stubbornly grumbling swears in your neck.

sukuna was feeling . . . soft.

he was so closely pressed up against you that he could feel the steady racing beats of your heart. each slow-paced ba-dump! that pumped out of your chest quickened by the second.

was . . he the one making your heart race?

sukuna heard how your shallow breaths significantly slowed, and your arms started to tighten more around his thick neck. he didn’t think he’d ever feel like this. whatever… emotion this was.

sure, he’s had to carry you up to his chambers so you’d sleep more comfortably lots of times but this- this moment felt more a bit different.

“i . . can’t sleep like this, y’know,” the demon breaks the silence, huffing at the awkward predicament he was in. sukuna was currently lying on top of you, hovering over you just so he wouldn’t crush your cute human body. with each longing second passing, he could already feel his limbs starting to ache from just idly hanging over you. “at least let me rest near the side.”

no reply.

sukuna scoffs again, realizing he’s practically talking to himself. but instead of responding with actual words—you cling onto him even tighter, your non-verbal way of saying ‘stay.’

“you’re even more annoying when you’re asleep,” he sighs, pinching his forehead. “fine.. i’ll- i’ll stay like this. here, with you. ‘s not like i plan to go anywher—” sukuna gets cut off once he sees you shifting a bit in your sleep again.

the silence was undeniably loud. with his lips mutely parting, he watches as you get more comfortable, letting off a few heavy exhales.

sukuna starts to ponder to himself. you looked so peaceful . . sound asleep.

he wondered what you were dreaming about. he was so busy staring at you while you slept that he didn’t even notice that he was starting to get drowsy himself. sukuna’s eyelids started to droop and he grunted, letting off an obnoxious yawn.

with watery eyes, sukuna stretches his arms before sinking his face back into your left shoulder. your warmth made him quietly purr into your neck. it was faint, but you heard it.

sukuna even mimicked some of your movements from earlier, softly rubbing his forehead against you as you held him close. “huh. this isn’t . . that bad,” he gruffly utters, his gravely voice pitching.

your chin rests on the top of his head, and sukuna gives you one last glance.

“i. . i love you.” he quietly whispers, thinking that just because you were asleep you couldn’t hear.

but- you did, you heard it all. every word.

little did sukuna know, you were actually wide awake the entire time. you woke up when he was carrying you up the stairs, but you just pretended to be asleep from that point up until now.

a small genuine smile curves on both sides of your crooked lips as your eyelids remain closed. in a sweet groggy voice, you instantly replied, “love you too ‘kuna. it’s about time you finally said it.”

sukuna’s eyes widen as his head quickly rises from against your chest. you’re looking down at him with very much open eyes now and the world’s smugest grin.

his cheeks—they’re burning, flushing with a rosy flamed color and you don’t think you’ve ever seen sukuna ryomen more embarrassed.

“you . . you didn’t . . hear that.”

“i definitely heard it.”

“ugh. i hate you.”

“i love youuu.”

“i… love you too, stupid cheeky human. now go back to sleep. hmph.”

[rinhaler]

Trigger Finger Ready and Got Nowhere To Run To

Did you ever imagine your boyfriend would offer up your body to solve a yakuza dispute? No, but you aren't surprised.

✧˖*°࿐ : 18+ only, no minors.    ✧. ┊ yakuza!ryomen sukuna x f!reader x yakuza!toji fushiguro

Genre: filthy filthy porn with a plot Notes: biggest happy bday to the dilf of dilfs (and my husband of husbands), toji!! (++ sukuna bc they r both beefy n hot :3) Warnings: 18+, dub/noncon, mentions of violence/murder, toxic!relationship, free use ♡, manipulation, jealousy, fem!Uraume, degradation ♡, praise, no prep, oral fixation ♡, size!kink, daddy!kink, choking (hands + belt), slight breathplay, exhibitionism, spanking, dacryphilia ♡, dumbification, creampie(s), calls your pussy “she/her”, slight cucking, oral (m+f receiving), restraints, fingering ♡, pussy spanks, squirting ♡, multiple orgasms, double penetration!(one hole), brief anal mentioning, breeding ♡, belly bulge ♡, pet names (princess, brat, good girl, sweetheart). Words: 15.2k

You’re numb.

Only mentally, numb, to the word which you willingly leapt into. A world with bloodied rivers and bodies piled to the height of the highest mountains. None of it bothers you, not anymore.

Talks of murder and dismemberment barely reach your ears as you flip through the pages of your magazine. You aren’t sure why Sukuna insisted that you be here. He likes to show you off, you suppose. He likes to flaunt what he possesses, and his men never will.

“How much longer?” you whisper, eyes scanning the pages on the gossip mag in your hands. You’d rather be reading a copy of Vogue, but one of Sukuna’s idiotic subordinates picked up the wrong magazine in a hurry.

Actually… You haven’t seen him since.

“What have I told you?” your lover whispers back, he leans over to you. His head turns away from looking at the men in the room as the meeting goes on. But their boss sharing his attention with you rather than the subject at hand earns a few nosy onlookers watching you converse. “Be a brat in private, not here.”

You sigh, crossing one leg over the other as you carry on reading. Sukuna’s hand rests on your thigh before he scowls at the men who’d dare to look at him with an emotion other than fear in their eyes.

He stands up, staring down silently at everyone in the room. It even manages to get your attention. The dread he’s able to instill into his subordinates is more than just impressive to you. It’s exhilirating. Sukuna is a king, and not just to you. To his little brother sitting nearby as the meeting continues. To the subordinates he trusts and who hang on his every solitary breath. And to the public.

People know who you are, now.

You’re Sukuna’s girl.

You were nothing, until him.

He was quite fond of your big mouth and downright horrible attitude when you met. He liked that you didn’t know who he was, and you didn’t hold back when he accidentally bumped into you while shopping. You were wearing a white sundress that hugged every inch of your body, and the coffee in your hand turned the material murky and hideous.

The men surrounding him and ready to silence you for good weren’t even registered in your mind. You didn’t even notice they were there until the friend you were shopping with told you to shut up.

You insulted him, sure. But Sukuna was barely listening. He was too drawn to the way the liquid made your already tight dress cling and stick in all of the right places. Your decision to go braless became painfully obvious to anyone who’d dare let their eyeline drop to your chest.

He dismissed his men, earning a sigh of relief from you and your friend. You watched him carefully as he pulled out his wallet.

“I ruined your dress, huh? Let me buy you a new one, and a new coffee.” he told you. Your eyes bulged as you saw the fat wad of cash in his hand. He smirked, watching your hand hesitate back and forth as you were unsure whether to accept it.

Before him, you weren’t wealthy.

The opposite, really.

You were barely making ends meet and every penny you had was spent on living essentials and rent. The money he offered you was enough for more than that. He was handing you the option to live a little. But before you could take it, before you could fully grasp the bank notes in his hand, he flicked his wrist away.

“I want your number for the pleasure of this expensive meeting.” he grinned.

In hindsight, it was incredibly stupid to accept money from a yakuza man. It seemed like too good of an offer to turn down, though.

For the pleasure of knowing Sukuna and that chance meeting, there have been ups and downs. Everything you knew before Sukuna is your old life. You can’t remember the last time you saw those friends you had. You haven’t been back to your old apartment in over a year, though you know Sukuna still pays the rent on it.

It’s used for some kind of illegal activities, you’re sure. You don’t know why else he’d still pay for it otherwise.

Your old clothes weren’t good enough for you anymore. That’s how Sukuna felt. And with each extortionate purchase he made, you began to agree. You can no longer bear the thought of wearing some cheap, discounted item like you used to. Your entire wardrobe is designer, and you’re like a new woman.

If anyone from your past could see you now, they wouldn’t recognise you.

You don’t care, though. You’ve been poor and you’ve been miserable. What Sukuna gave you that day wasn’t just money, it was an opportunity to cast the old you aside. You’re glamorous, you’re taken care of.

But most importantly, you’re loved.

You’re an object, a doll for him to play with.

But he loves you.

It’s apparent in the way you are in private together. He can be so many things in so many ways. But you know that you are more loved by him than you’ve ever been in any other relationship. He loves you more than friends and family combined.

To Sukuna, you’re everything.

“Listen. Up.” he starts. You know he doesn’t mean you. He wouldn’t mind if you kept your nose buried in your tacky magazine for the entire day. And yet, you find yourself closing it and putting it down on the desk in front of you. Your sole focus is on him. “My wife and I have better things to be doing than sitting here listening to this shit. Figure out this territorial dispute, today, or I’m going to lose my patience.”

His wife.

Everyone’s eyes fall on you when he refers to you as such, and it takes every ounce of concentration and sheer will power to stop yourself from smiling. Your face remains straight and composed, but there are two men who know you enough to see through the façade.

Sukuna, and his brother.

The elder of the two looks down at you, only because he loves to see you squirm because of him. And he’s proud of you, oh so proud that you are well behaved and know that you should appear as strict as he is.

Yuuji, however, has to turn away so no one can see how much he wants to laugh. He’s always liked you; he likes that his brother likes you and he likes how nice you are when you warm up to people. People like him. He’s gotten to know you through being his brother’s second in command. If Sukuna can’t be by your side, Yuuji will be.

And he thinks it’s cute, really, how much you love his big brother. The big brother that most would see as nought more than a terrifying monster. A murderer and a fiend who can so easily ruin lives just because he feels like it.

Yuuji thinks it’s downright adorable.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts when his big brother whistles. He watches as you hurriedly stuff your magazine back into your handbag and follow him to the exit. Yuuji follows, too, after his brother gives him a commanding look.

“You shouldn’t lie.” you mutter, leaving the room and walking by Sukuna’s side as Yuuji trails behind you both. Sukuna turns his head sideways so he can look down at you. His tattooed hands remain in his pants pockets as you approach the exit of the building. You keep looking forwards, though. And he smirks.

It’s a cute little pout he recognises.

“You are my wife.” he tells you. “Don’t be a brat because I haven’t proposed, how droll.”

You scoff, finally looking at him, your full glossy lips seem to pout even harder when you actually face him.

“You know what happens when you get married for real, princess?” he asks. And you scoff, again, because you know what he’s going to say. He says the same thing every time you have this truly trite conversation. “Boring sex. And then, none at all. And I know you can’t live without this cock in you for too long.”

“You’re disgus—”

“Speaking of which,” he stops walking and turns to face you. It makes you laugh every time he talks about how boring your sex life would be if you got married. You aren’t sure how true it is, but it amuses you, nonetheless. He gets his wallet from his inner breast pocket and withdraws his credit card, handing it to you with a wide smile on his face. “That’s what you get when you’re a good girl. Thank you.” he grabs the crown of your head with a large palm and plants a sweet kiss on your forehead.

“I thought we were talking about sex, not money.” you speak, and he smiles. “Which do you think I prefer?”

“With me, sex. In general, money.” he tells you, and you suppose he’s right. “But with money, you can buy things for sex. Unless you want to be a brat, I can take back the card. Otherwise, buy a pretty set for daddy to fuck you in.”

He loves how your demeanour changes at the use of your favourite name for him when you’re alone. Yuuji is here, yes, but he knows the intricacies of your relationship so there’s no need to be concerned.

“Theeeere she is, daddy’s good girl.” he approaches you; his hand settles on your waist. A simple cue for Yuuji to know he doesn’t want to be here. He walks on ahead; and you both watch him walk by before focusing on each other again. He backs you up until your shoulder blades rest against the wall. You tilt your head to kiss him, but he pulls his head back to tease you. “Why aren’t you always a good girl for me?” he wonders.

You allow your head to loll back against the wall with a gentle thud. He watches you, intently, wondering what’s going on in that pretty head of yours. His eyes drop as your right hand gently traces over his crisp black dress shirt until you find his tie.

And you tug.

His body cages you in and you will never get over what a behemoth of a man he is. He’s so intimidatingly large. You’re like a little mouse about to be devoured by a viper. And yet, somehow, you’re in control. He gasps, albeit quietly, but there is pleasure behind it as you pull him closer.

“You’d be so bored if I was always good, daddy. And you fuck me better when I’m a brat for you.” you tell him, voice filled with lust as your sultry tones reach his ears. His cock twitches at your words, although he’s tired of you having the upper hand. One hand grabs your jaw, and you know if he wanted to, he could break it with ease. But you smile, willingly.

If you are to die, it would be an honour by his hand.

He kills you with a kiss, instead. Your thoughts dissipate as you allow your lips to lock and teeth to clash as you needily make out. His body presses into yours, uncaring for the place or potential audience that could find you at any moment. A soft, needy moan slips by your lips as you feel his hardening bulge grind between your legs. It makes him smile, smugly and proud as he steals continuous little noises from you.

“You only keep your fucking mouth shut when you’re getting this dick.” he comments, his tongue licks against yours before he suffocates your desperately mewling with heated kisses once again. He pulls away, whispering in your ear. “You’re nice ‘n wet for daddy, yeah? Want my cock, baby?”

“Mhmm…” you nod, raising your leg to rest on his hip. His fingers squeeze into the flesh of your thigh as he helps it settle in place. His kisses are barely there anymore. Soft pecks as he gradually pulls away until you’re whimpering and begging for more. “Please, daddy… please.”

“Awe,” he gives you one final kiss before looking over his shoulder to see some of the higher ranked members of his organisation approach. He pulls away, leaving you completely breathless. “Brats don’t decide when their holes get used. Their daddy’s do.” he reminds you.

You’re left panting with your hand on your chest as he walks away. He looks over his shoulder at you before giving you a self-satisfied smirk as he waves at you.

“Keep your cunt wet for daddy.” he tells you.

You scoff, fleeing the scene quickly as the humiliation of his words surges through you. The lack of respect and discretion should make you furious. And honestly, it does. But that feeling of anger and fury is overridden with pure, unadulterated lust.

“Hey, are you ready to go?” Yuuji asks as you walk through the double doors and out into the blaring summer sun. The heat is unbearable, you’re sure the sidewalk would steam if you poured water onto it. “Are you okay? Thirsty? Can I carry your jacket?” Yuuji wonders. And you nod.

“Thanks, Yuu.” you smile, taking off your coat for him to hold for you. “You’re taking care of me again, I guess.” you sigh, but try to remain optimistic. You both know you’d rather Sukuna be the one taking you shopping, but you don’t hate spending time with his brother.

“What are we shopping for today?” he asks, opening the door to his car for you to climb into. He puts your coat in the back and rushes around to driver’s seat. “You can go crazy since he won’t be there to stop you.” he winks. You giggle a little as he buckles himself in and starts the car. “Oh, he wanted you to get some lingerie, right?”

You go quiet, looking down at your hands as you nod quickly. It’s almost unnoticeable, but Yuuji knows. He starts driving to a boutique he knows you like, smiling to himself. You’re so brazen and loud most of the time. You can be so confident and fearless.

But he thinks it’s sweet that you get so shy about things like this.

“I’m not judging you, y’know.” he tells you, looking to the side to see if you’re listening. You raise your head to look at him, the slight anxiety you feel slowly leaves your body the longer you look at him. “You’re a good friend to me. I’m happy Sukuna met you, otherwise I wouldn’t know you.”

“Yuuji…” you respond, you can’t stop yourself from smiling as you hear his sweet words. It makes him laugh, though. He’s happy he managed to break you out of your nervous sulk. “I wonder sometimes… if I’m crazy.”

“You are.” he tells you. You lightly slap his arm, “Hey, I’m driving!” he laughs. “You have some kind of arrangement with my brother, right? That doesn’t matter. You love him, don’t you? I know he loves you too. He’s told me enough, and I can see it in his eyes. You’re crazy, but he is too.”

An arrangement.

You’re happy it’s a secret, even to Yuuji. If anyone from your past life knew what you agreed to with Sukuna, they’d be ashamed. You figure anyone would be, really. But you don’t care. Yuuji is right.

Sukuna is crazy.

But so are you.

“Thanks, Yuuji.” you smile, weakly. “You’re a good friend to me, too.”

Sukuna is possessive, he’s greedy.

But what Sukuna doesn’t know won’t hurt him. You model a few lingerie sets to his little brother. And Yuuji, of course, is a perfect gentleman about it. His eyes rake over your body, though you can detect a lack of lust in him. There’s another woman on his mind that you know to be the reason. He’s a lovesick puppy, and you are off limits. He isn’t stupid, but he’s happy to help you shop.

Sukuna should be the one here with you now, anyway. He should be the one watching you try on panties and bras and pretty baby dolls. And yet, he’s sent you away to give himself some peace while he works on whatever the hell it is he does all day. Threatening and being a general bastard to the city at large.

If he were here, you know you’d be getting fucked within an inch of your life in every pretty ensemble you try on.

“Yuuji, what is your brother doing today?” you ask him, pouting a little. It feels humiliating to have to ask. You should know where your boyfriend is and who he’s with. Even Yuuji looks taken aback. Does Sukuna often keep you in the dark? It’s not like what he does for a living is some big secret.

“… There’s a huge territorial dispute right now…” he starts, looking at the store clerks and urging them to walk away if they know what’s good for them. They do, giving you two the space to talk. “He and the other higher ups are having a follow up meeting to decide what to do.”

You huff and start to undress as you head back into the changing room.

“Uraume?” you wonder, already knowing the answer. “Is she there?”

“Well, she’s Sukuna’s right hand. After me, obviously.” he tells you, and it only earns another huff of annoyance from you.

You know what Sukuna will want is for you to pick a pretty lingerie set to wear under your clothes all day until he gets home. You’re not doing that, though, not now. Not when you know he’s with her. He’s lucky you’re even still buying any in the first place. Yuuji watches you as you tell the staff to ring you up, a look almost akin to sorrow lingering in his soft brown eyes.

“Nothing is going on between them, y’know.” he tries to assure you. All you can do is scoff. The notion of remaining silent dies as you begin to think about how many positions he’s probably fucking her in while you run around and play the role of the oblivious wife.

A wife without a ring, at that.

“No offence Yuuji, I’m not exactly going to take your word for it. He’s your brother.” you sigh. He grabs the shopping bags for you once you pay the extortionate price. Sukuna had told you to get a set, not several. But you think it’s the least you deserve after finding out he’s with Uraume instead of you. “I want some new jewellery, let’s go.”

You hold the door open for Yuuji before you walk side by side towards the nearest jewellery store. Sukuna’s feelings are the least of your concern, whether he’s frustrated with your purchases or not doesn’t matter to you. Not right now. You’re hellbent on giving his credit card a workout before you go home.

The air conditioning hits you as you enter. Yuuji finds a seat as you begin to browse, dumping your shopping bags by his feet. He keeps a watchful eye on you as you’re shown around at some pieces you might like. A necklace is calling your name, but new earrings would be nice, too. But with the way you’re feeling, you might just leave with everything that you take even the vaguest of interest in.

You hear Yuuji’s phone ring behind you, and it forces you to look at him expectantly. It’s embarrassing, really, how badly you’re hoping it’s Sukuna to ask for your location so he can be here with you. But his younger sibling shakes his head despondently, feeling sad that he’s letting you down.

“Shit, I have to go.” Yuuji tells you, and your brows furrow. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been left alone. What could be so important? He looks at you, eyes serious and almost desperate as he wills you to listen to him. “I won’t be long, please don’t leave. Sukuna will kill me if anything happens to you.”

“It’s fine, Yuu.” you nod, barely looking at him anymore as you admire the glimmering jewels in their glass display cases once more. “I’ll be here.”

He smiles, gratefully, and squeezes your shoulder. His speed is impressive, you’re surprised you haven’t been left with a dust cloud as he leaves your side and departs the store. You have no idea what’s happening, but it must be serious if Yuuji had to rush off like that.

The clerk assisting you can’t help but fawn over how gorgeous you look as he allows you to try on a diamond necklace that caught your eye. It’s simple, something you’d wear every day. It’s glamorous but not overstated.

“There are matching earrings, if you’re interested.” the clerk tells you, and you nod. “And there’s—”

“If it matches, I’ll take it all.” you smile. The clerk nods and takes the necklace from you. You watch for a few minutes as he wanders around and collects everything you’ve asked for, but you soon get bored and begin browsing again.

You raise your head as you see two men with black hair enter. You unintentionally stare, but soon avert your gaze when another necklace catches your eyes. You hear the men discuss something about a sister, and you deduce they are likely here to purchase gifts. You feel your blood run cold as they become silent, and you feel them glaring at you.

You’ve gotten a sense of when people are sizing you up, now. Even if it’s something as tedious as being leered at. Being with Sukuna has taught you to sense danger, however small.

“I’d like this necklace as well, please.” you speak, hoping your confidence and signalling of the staff will get them to stop staring at you. The clerk nods and sends another member of staff to your side to aid you.

You look in the direction of the men. Truthfully, you aren’t sure if you had tried to warn them that you were onto them with a look their way. It seems like you’re more interested in scoping out a potential threat.

“It’ll suit you.” the younger one says. “Maybe we should get something like that for Tsumiki?”

The older man is silent.

Your skin tightens together, breaking out in goosebumps as his looming presence gets closer and closer to you. You clear your throat, hoping that it will be enough to tell him that you know he’s there and you don’t want him to be. It does little to dissuade him, though.

He stares at you, urging you to return it. There’s an uncomfortable yet palpable silence between the two of you as you look into each other’s eyes. His face is sculpted, yet damaged. And still, you find him beautiful. A scar stabs betwixt his lips, though it’s aged and healed.

It’s a warning, in itself, that you shouldn’t trust him.

But his gaze is serious and endearing all in one. His eyes are beautiful, just like the man he’s with. There’s no doubt, now, that they’re related. They’re like a copy of one another. Father and son, you suspect. Though they remind you of Sukuna and Yuuji. The man in front of your appears to be the same age as your lover, maybe a little older. Yuuji is around the same age at the young man accompanying him.

You find yourself lost in his eyes, an odd compulsion to figure out this man and his life story. Who is he and what could he want with you? Your guard has been lowered, despite it being unwise. You should be more alert, if anything.

But those eyes are—

“You’re staring, sweetheart.” he tells you, breaking his eyes away from you to look at the clerk behind you. He curls his finger, a simple instruction that you seem to miss until you see him holding the necklace in his hand. “May I?” he asks, acting before you even answer.

You turn around and make sure your hair isn’t in the way so he can put it on you. This isn’t right, you know it isn’t. You aren’t sure why you’re allowing him to do this. He’s so close that you can feel his breath on the back of your neck, the hairs stand on end when you realise.

He fastens the clasp behind your neck, and casually allows his hand to fall into the small of your back as he guides you to a nearby mirror.

“Suits you.” he tells you, tucking hair behind your ear so he can examine it further. You don’t miss the way his eyes drop to your cleavage, though, and you clear your throat again. It prompts him to slip back into his cool demeanour. “My daughter is around your age. Think she’d like it?”

“I don’t know your daughter. And I don’t know you.” you remind him, earning a soft chuckle from him. You watch him summon the man he brought with him, and now you’re sure he’s his son. After hearing him mention his sister, you manage to put the pieces together.

“I want two of these.” he announces, making sure everyone can hear. You aren’t sure if he’s instructing his son or the clerk beside you. Either way, he hands his credit card to the man he’s with in a similar way Sukuna does to you.

It’s almost… dismissive.

“Two?” you say, curiously.

“I’m buying yours.” he tells you. He shushes you when you go to protest. “You’re brave, hah? Big mouth, attitude, ‘n your pretty too. I like it.”

“I’m spoken for. And expensive things won’t—”

“I know.” he interrupts you, putting his hands in his pockets. He looks over to his son as he pays for the jewellery. You’re nervous, though it’s not entirely because of him. The thought of explaining this to Sukuna sends chills down your spine. “Girls like you are always spoken for. And he looks after you, yeah? Buys you nice things ‘n all that. Figures.”

“… Y-You didn’t tell me your name…” you say, meekly. It’s pathetic and wimpy, though that’s how you feel beneath his divine gaze. He smirks at the sound of your voice, maybe it’s the submission.

“Toji.” he replies, simply. His son approaches him with a single shopping bag, it’s black and sleek with the store logo on the side. It makes you excited and impatient to receive your own purchases. And after this, you have no desire to shop anymore. You want to get home where you know you’re safe. “We ought’a get goin’, Megs.” Toji tells his son, who nods in agreement.

Just as they’re about to leave, Yuuji returns.

He can’t say anything, not right away. If you were looking at him, though, you’d be able to see how much he wants to burst. There’s a vein bulging in his forehead as he looks between the men.

But your eyes are solely on Toji.

His hands remain firmly in his pockets as he walks away and towards the exit. And then he turns around again, fully, facing you head in to gift you with his parting words.

“Give Sukuna my regards, won’t you, sweetheart?” he smirks, leaving the store with his son in tow.

“Fushiguro!” Yuuji yells, though they pay him no mind. He faces you, now, intent on finding out what the hell is going on. “What was that all about? Are you stupid? Seriously stupid? I told you not to talk to anyone!”

“You didn’t, you told me not to leave.” you remind him, and he grunts. “Who were they, Yuuji? I’ve never seen either of them before.” you tell him. He just shakes his head and decides to ignore you. He’s furious, though you can’t figure out why.

Have you really done something so bad?

The fact that Toji seems to know who Sukuna is certainly doesn’t bode well. They’re from rival gangs, clearly. His and his son’s tattoos aren’t like Sukuna’s. His are brazen, confident. He was cocky enough to get them on his face, too. But the Fushiguro’s, as Yuuji had named them, must hide their markings beneath their shirts like most yakuza men tend to.

“Let’s go.” Yuuji speaks, anger lingering in his quiet words as he leads you out of the store and back to his car. “I’ll have to tell Sukuna about this…” he explains, making sure all of your shopping is secure safely in the trunk of his car. You get into the passenger seat and shrug, it makes no difference to you if he tells his brother about this.

You don’t even know what he’s telling him.

It gets later and later into the evening, with no signs of Sukuna returning any time soon.

And you’re ready for him.

You’re fully dressed, wearing the very same clothes you’d worn to go shopping hours earlier. But you had stripped briefly when you got to your room. The lingerie options were almost infinite as you peaked in each and every shopping bag you brought home from the boutique.

He’ll like the pink one most, you suspected.

So, you put it on.

“Where’s Sukuna?” your one and only true friend in this cutthroat world asks through the speaker of your phone. It snaps you from your daze as you recall how the pink lingerie fit your body like a God damn glove while you checked yourself out in the mirror. “You’re doing housewife shit while he’s out having fun?” Nobara continues, and it makes you scoff. There’s laughter in it, but your annoyance towards your lover is evident.

“He’s with Uraume.” you say, calmly, as you continue washing the mountains of dishes in the sink. You aren’t normally one to do chores, but you thought it would distract you from your worries. Even if only for a moment.

“Oh I hate her.”

“Me too.” you agree. Something tells you Nobara doesn’t feel as strongly as she’s making out, she’s just showing support. You appreciate it all the same, though. “There’s something going on… I know there is.”

“No way. You don’t know, you just think you do. But even I can see how much he worships you. He’d never cheat!” she says confidently, and you wish you could believe her. It’s not like you’d leave him, even if he was.

He’s conditioned you to need him, after all. How can you go back to your old apartment when it’s his, now? Your old, pathetically paying job won’t cut it, either. Sukuna has gotten you used to the finer things in life, things you don’t want to lose. Your friends, your family, it’s all gone and forgotten. All you have is him.

There’s no leaving him, now.

“… I don’t trust him, sometimes.” you confess, quietly. You aren’t even sure if she heard you over the sound of the gushing tap. “I don’t trust—”

The sound of a lock turning in the door stops you from speaking anymore. You look over your shoulder, and you finally see him. He doesn’t say a word as he comes in. He gives you a curt nod as he hangs up his jacket.

“Uh, Nobara, how’s your day been?” you ask, loudly, hoping she’ll get the hint and change the subject.

You tense up a little as you feel Sukuna’s presence looming closer and closer. You put down a plate as you feel him behind you. His body traps yours between his and the sink. You hold your eyes closed lightly as you feel him. Really feel him. You aren’t sure you’ll ever get over his domineering size.

Nobara begins to prattle on about nothing in particular, and relief flows through you. You manage to stifle a heavy breath as Sukuna begins to kiss your neck; though you almost falter as he takes your earlobe softly between his teeth.

“Sukuna, ‘m on the phone.” you angle your head to whisper, but he just silences you with a kiss instead. And instinctively, you’re smiling again. You’re so simple, maybe even stupid. It’s always so easy for him to placate you, even without knowing you’re upset with him.

“Don’t care,” he growls into your mouth, kissing you again. “You agreed, did you not?” he asks, feeling you up over your clothes. Your head droops back onto his shoulder as you feel him caress your tits through the fabric of your dress. His free hand roams between your legs, pushing the black material covering your thighs between them and dampening it with your slick.

“Mmpf,” you hum, lightly, biting your lip. You can’t help but wriggle and squirm beneath his touch. As much as you’d prefer to stop so you can wrap up what you’re doing first, you did agree to this when you started dating him.

“Anyway, I still don’t think Sukuna would fuck Uraume.” Nobara speaks, and you both freeze for a moment.

As she lists her reasons, in gratuitous detail, Sukuna’s hands move across your body. They’re slow, but with purpose. Your dress settles back into place once he moves his left hand away from your core. He wraps his arm around your midsection, tightly, giving you no chance to flee. His right hand moves a little quicker, fingers brush along your collarbone until he finds your neck. He somehow manages to choke you, slightly, while holding your jaw with his thumb and index finger.

And he makes you look at him.

He doesn’t speak, the sound of Nobara discussing everything you’ve told her about him and Uraume is the only sound either of you hear. His red eyes terrify you the longer it goes on. The longer he goes without speaking a word.

“’Kuna—”

“You’re jealous of Uraume?” he says, loud enough for Nobara to hear. She’s quiet. Uncharacteristically so. And then your heart plummets when you hear the beep that signifies the call has ended. “Still?”

“What do you— Sukuna!” you yell, feeling him pull your dress down your body. You try to scold him. You try to focus on finishing the dishes so you don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how desperately you crave him. But it’s all in vain as he spanks you upon seeing the pretty pink set hugging your body.

“Good girl.” he tells you, spanking you again.

The chore of washing cups and plates is soon abandoned as he yanks your hair by the roots. Your back arches gloriously, and he can’t help but slap your ass repeatedly until it stings. He wants to hurt you, just because he loves you.

He’s insulted that you think so little of him.

“What happened to you, princess?” he asks, spanking you again. “You never used to be so insecure. That’s what I liked about you.”

Liked?

“Don’t— c-care—”

“Oh?” he interrupts, “You really want to be a brat for me right now? I’m not in the mood, but you can test me if you’re feeling brave.” he warns you, and you manage to shake your head in defiance.

“Sukuna, I just— I don’t like her.” you tell him, you see an eyebrow raise out of the corner of your eye. It’s a curious look you can’t quite place. Maybe he hadn’t expected you to say something so honest, or maybe he just can’t put his finger on why you feel this way about her. “She has feelings for you… it’s so obvious.”

“And?” he speaks, his hand that had been around your throat moves to the bend of your knee. He effortlessly raises your leg so that it rests on the marble countertop. His breathing is heavy and stained with alcohol as it fans across your shoulder.

Your breath hitches as he hooks his finger into the seat of your panties, moving the pink material into the crease of your thigh. You shiver just slightly as the cool air of the air-conditioned room hits your folds, and he growls as he holds you tighter.

With one hand, he unbuckles his belt and manages to free his length from his trousers. You gasp as you feel him press his heavy tip between your folds, the tacky wet sound reverberates through the room. He isn’t targeting anywhere specific, but he snarls each time you mewl when he catches against your entrance.

“Unff— fu-uck!” you keen as he finally pushes into you.

“This,” he starts, slowly sinking inside of your welcoming slot. Your eyes roll over white with each agonising delve into your walls and towards your sweet spot. He spanks you once more, demanding your concentration as he tries to drill his words into your before he starts drilling his cock into you. “It’s all yours, y’hear me, princess?” he explains as he carefully rocks his hips, his chest swells with pride as he repeatedly nudges against your g-spot.

“S-Sukuna,” you pant. “Daddy, I love you.” you tell him, tears spill down your cheeks as you pathetically confess. He knows, of course he knows. But his ego will never tire of hearing those four precious words from the lips of his favourite girl.

“Yeah? Y’love daddy?” he asks, faux sympathy in his voice as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. “Hurts my feelings when you don’t trust me.” he lies.

“’m sorry,” you sob, “I trust you, daddy, ‘m sorry!” you continue, and you melt into his touch when you feel him softly kiss your cheek again and again as his thrusts get faster and faster and faster.

He’s so deep you can feel him in your throat. Your mind is churning, thoughts become liquid the harder and deeper he pounds into you. His teeth sink into your shoulder as he continues, and he shoves his fingers into your mouth to silence your cries.

You suck and lick and lave over them as if your life depended on it.

He forces your mouth open wide, strings of drool dribble from your lips and tongue as he repeatedly fingers dangerously close to your throat. He laughs maniacally when he flies to close to the sun, triggering your gag reflex.

“Oh, baby, got real tight for daddy like that.” he tells you. Your hands search for something, anything to grasp as he ruins you from the inside. “So fuckin’ tight for me, princess. Wanna cum?”

“Yes, yes please.” is what you’re hoping to say despite his fingers still invading your orifice. “Please daddy, n-need it.”

“Mmm, good fucking girl.” he praises you. “So needy, hah? I’ll be good to you this once. So cum.”

You brace yourself, twisting your torso so that you’re facing him. His fingers remain in your mouth, but your fixation on them has dies a slow, painful death the longer this encounter carries on. His fingering slows, but the spit leaking from your mouth still pools out and covers whatever it squelches on top of.

“Go on, cum for daddy.” he orders.

And you do.

You cream his length as you lose control of your entire body and give it to him. You’re crying so hard but you don’t know why. He licks your cheeks, though, getting off on the taste of the salt and sorrow you’re gifting him with. You convulse as you reach the peak of your orgasm, and he makes sure to keep a careful hold of you.

“Hate you being fucking jealous.” he explains as he chases his own high, the deafening sounds of your genitals meeting again is so sloppy and lewd. If you weren’t so tired, you’re sure your face would flush with heat from the embarrassment of it all. “You’re mine. I only fuck you. I only cum in this perfect cunt. Are you listening? Or did daddy fuck you too fucking stupid?”

“D-Daddy,” you mumble, “love you…” you trail off, exhaustion consuming you as you bargain with yourself to rest your eyes for just a minute.

“Daddy’s slutty girl, yeah?” he grunts, and he’s surprised that you manage to nod in response. “Only shut that big fucking mouth of yours when you’re getting this cock.” he speaks, he hopes you’re listening but he’s not so sure.

With only a few thrusts later, he’s cumming buckets into you. You hum at the sensation, the warmth of being gifted with your daddy’s load is a soothing feeling that makes you feel completely claimed. You’re safe, secure, like this. He plugs his cum inside of you for a while as he refuses to move.

You don’t want to think about the fact that you aren’t ever really going to know the truth. You won’t know if he’s just telling you what you want to hear while he’s out doing exactly what you’re worried about. You won’t truly feel safe unless Uraume goes.

But you know that will never happen.

He pulls out of you, watching as your pussy pulses while he splits open your lips on his fingers. His softening cock jumps at the sight of his sperm gushing out of you and splattering against the cold kitchen tiles below. He angles your body, again, so that he can plant a searing, messy kiss on your lips from behind.

He wipes his dick against your ass, doing a poor job of it before he tucks himself back into his grey trousers. He moves the gusset of your panties back where it belongs to stop anymore cum from dripping out of you.

“I should… clean up…” you say, wistfully as you look at the remaining dishes in the sink and the dollop of sperm on the ground beneath you.

“Don’t worry about it.” he tells you, walking towards your bedroom to find your shopping bags. “Show daddy what else you got today.”

You take a deep breath and stumble a little on unstable legs. He looks behind himself, reaching out to take your hand to support you. He leads you to your room, a little surprised by the amount of new shopping bags spread out.

He lifts you up and places you down carefully on the bed. You bite your lip as he helps you out of your high heels while he’s down on one knee. He watches, attentively, as you throw your head back as he kisses each of your legs.

“I don’t recall telling you to buy jewellery.” he speaks, knowing he didn’t say it at all. You only giggle, which makes his smile grow wider. He rests his body on his knuckles on either side of your thighs, his nose almost touching yours as he examines you. “That one is new, isn’t it?” he asks, reaching up to hold the pendant against his palm. You nod, and he hums.

He takes his time admiring everything as he looks through each and every bag. You’re silent as he searches, not sure what he’s actually looking to find. Sukuna seems pleased with the multitudes of lingerie you’ve returned home with, often looking between the material and yourself as he envisions it on your body.

Though soon enough, he’s looking through the jewellery. He’s full of flattery, for some reason. You can’t help wondering if it’s because of your very obvious insecurity.

Your heart sinks, however, when he picks up the receipt.

“W— uh, what are you doing?” you ask, cursing yourself for not playing it cool in the least.

He’s silent as he looks over each item and price. His eyes drift briefly to look at you before he’s fixated on the receipt again. “I’m checking how much having a bratty princess for a wife has cost me today.” he tells you, his voice almost monotone as he speaks. He picks up each piece of jewellery as he mentally checks it off of the list in his hand. And then his eyes zero in on you once more. Or specifically, the necklace you’re wearing. “Did you steal that?” he asks.

You shake your head.

If there’s one thing you’ve learnt from being with Sukuna, it will never serve you to lie. He knows more than you can possibly imagine. And what he doesn’t know, he figures out quickly.

“… I’m going to fucking kill him.” he speaks through gritted teeth, crumpling up the receipt in his hand. You have no idea who he’s talking about. He stands up, holding the necklace around your neck in a clenched fist. “Tell me, princess. Do you love this necklace? Or did you pick it impulsively?”

“Both,” you nod. “I was only looking at it because— b-but I love it, now.”

He lets go of the pendant, now warm against your skin after being in the palm of your lover despite it being brief. He smooths his hand over your hair and then strokes your cheek with his thumb.

“A lovely gift from a man trying to muscle in on my territory.”

You knew Toji must be yakuza, too. But you had no idea he was such a direct rival of Sukuna’s. It’s unsurprising, though. Maybe they’d been tailing you and Yuuji today. You’d assumed it was a coincidence that they wound up in the same store as you, but you’re no stranger to being naïve.

Sukuna’s territory…

Could he also be referring to you?

“Territorial disputes are standard practice in our line of work, Sukuna.” Uraume starts, trying her best to calm your boyfriend down as he seethes in yet another meeting. “Although she has certainly complicated things.” she speaks, looking at you as her tone becomes more calculated and vicious.

Of course to anyone else, it sounds like she’s just making a point.

But you know better.

“I didn’t complicate anything, thank you, Uraume. I went shopping as I was instructed to do and he just showed up.” you try to defend yourself maturely despite wanting to rip her hair from her scalp.

“No, this isn’t your fault.” Sukuna reassures you. “You shouldn’t have fucking left her you idiot!” he bellows, his voice booming through the room until it reaches his brothers ears. His words seem to echo the longer Yuuji remains silent. He doesn’t even get the chance to talk as Sukuna demands he be quiet. “More and more of them are doing shady shit in areas that I own. Making profit that should be mine. How do we—”

“Yuuji, you’re friendly with his son, right?” you ask. And he shrugs, passively. You’re sure there’s a story there. Perhaps they went to school together given that they’re the same age, but you don’t want to press it and risk him getting in deeper trouble with his sibling. “Do you have a phone number or anything for him?”

“Uh…” Yuuji pats down his body as he looks through his phone. Sukuna watches, everyone watches as he scrolls through his contacts. And finally, he nods.

“Call it.” Uraume orders, Sukuna looks at her and then nods at his brother in agreement.

The tension in the air can be cut with a knife as each ring passes. You feel sick to your stomach the longer it goes on.

Until finally—

“I was wondering when you’d call.” the younger Fushiguro answers, Yuuji places the phone down on the table and puts it on speaker. “My old man has an offer for your brother.”

“Megumi, Sukuna isn’t exactly the negotiating type.” Yuuji explains. “He wants you and your dad dead, to be honest. That shit you pulled at the jewellery store—”

“Is he listening?” Megumi asks. Yuuji looks up to his brother for permission to confirm or deny his presence. The silence lasts a beat too long, and Megumi figures it out for himself. “I’m with Toji, now.” there is a shuffling sound on the other end as he hands his phone over to his father. A large sigh rattles through the speaker, and then he finally speaks.

“Sukuna.” he starts.

“My brother is right, Zen’in, I don’t negotiate.” Sukuna speaks, announcing his presence to them finally. “There is no benefit to me letting you stake your claim on my territory. We’ve killed a few of your men already for your insolence and disrespect. You’ve no idea the lengths I will go to so that you will understand this threat isn’t empty. We won’t just be killing the small fry next time.”

He looks at Uraume, listening carefully as she warns him not to resort to threats of violence so soon. You look between them both, trying to gauge how he’ll respond. He only sighs, agreeing with her, before asking what the negotiation would entail.

“I want to fuck that little girlfriend of yours.” Toji says.

The room falls silent. Sukuna stares daggers at you for a few minutes as if it’s your fault he said something so outrageous. You look around uncomfortably, seeing everyone’s eyes have fallen on you.

You feel dirty.

You feel like a mere bargaining chip, an object for them to make a decision over.

“Everybody out.” Sukuna says, noticing your distress as you feel compelled to hang your head in shame. “NOW.”

Everyone scurries from the room, the only people that remain are yourself, Sukuna, his brother and Uraume. Your lover slams his palm, hard against the table before yelling down the phone at Toji.

“Are you FUCKING joking?” Sukuna shouts, Uraume tries to calm him down but it does little good. “In what world do you think I’d agree to something so stupid?”

You hear Toji chuckle, like he’s considering how to use his words and what he should say. He knows exactly what he wants to tell him in response, but he’s deciding if he wants to rile Sukuna up further or get straight to the point.

“I’ve heard rumours that you use her like a toy.” he starts, a smirk curls on his lip and his scar pulls along with it. You and Sukuna look at each other, wondering who could have found out about your lewd secret. “I’m not… unreasonable. If you comply, I’m willing to come to a binding agreement that we will keep clear of your turf.”

“… Hang up the phone.” Sukuna orders, and Yuuji immediately presses the big red button. Sukuna looks at you, eager to speak. And by his expression, whatever he wants to say seems fuelled by rage. But by a stroke of luck, Uraume intervenes.

“I think you should do it.” she starts. Sukuna directs his angry glare towards her, while you look at her in surprise. “We’ve all heard the rumours, it’s not a secret, Sir. I believe it’s called ‘free use’ yes?”

“Why is that relevant?” you ask.

“Well, you’re used to being used, no? Why is this any different. It would be for Sukuna, for all of us. I’m sure you’d be able to open your legs for a few minutes for the sake of peace.” she speaks, calmly, crossing one leg over the other as she leans back in her seat. You scoff, standing up to argue, but Sukuna splays out his hand and warns you to keep in line. “Sukuna, it’s just sex. You won’t have to pay them off, you won’t have to share your territory that we— that you have worked so hard for. A simple trade.”

He sighs as he looks between you both.

“It’s not that straightforward, at all.” Sukuna tells her. You hope he’ll elaborate but feel a little deflated when he opts to keep quiet instead. You feel comfortable with your so-called arrangement because you’re in love.

At least, that’s what you thought.

“A shame. You continue to be a useless disappointment in this organization.” she tells you. “If it were me, I’d do it.”

“Well, Uraume. It isn’t you. You know why?” you spit back, shoving by Sukuna with the intention of leaving when you’ve said your piece. “Because you are his subordinate. I am his wife.” and with that, you leave.

Uraume is unfazed, however, which would infuriate you more if you were around to see it. Instead you’re leaving with your handbag in tow. You’re stopped, however, when you reach the exit. Sukuna’s men are holding you hostage on his orders. He hasn’t followed you to see if you’re okay. He’s still talking to Yuuji and Uraume as you pace around an empty meeting room.

You’ve always hated this building. Every time you come for a meeting here you’re nauseated by an overwhelming mechanical smell. It’s the office supplies, you assume. The copy machines and printers whir all day and night, the perfect operation taking place to disguise Sukuna’s general misdeeds.

Around twenty minutes later, you’re no longer alone.

Sukuna enters the room and shuts the door behind himself. Your eyes water as you instantly read his expression. You know there’s another way, but he’s obviously made his decision. Uraume’s influence played a part, you don’t doubt.

“I don’t want to. I love you…” you cry. “She’s trying to—”

“Enough.” he silences you, curling his finger. A simple instruction for you to follow him. “I haven’t decided yet, come along.”

He brings you back to the meeting room where you were sitting earlier. He commands Uraume and Yuuji to leave, and they do, Yuuji leaves his phone behind so Sukuna can call Megumi’s phone again.

“I don’t want to share you.” he confesses, pulling you into his lap as he spins the phone in his hand. Each thud against the desk makes your anxiety spike. “Uraume is right, though. It’s a tempting offer for the sake of a few measly minutes.”

“I don’t want to fuck him, Sukuna.” you pout. “I can’t believe you’re even considering it! What if he’s lying and will keep asking to fuck me? I don’t want everyone to find out about it and think I’m some whore. Do you—” you stop, a large knot gets stuck in your throat as you try to remain composed. You feel sick to your stomach, and you hate that you even have to ask. “Do you even love me anymore… Sukuna…” you ask, lower lip trembling as you speak.

“I do, of course I still love you.” he tries to assure you, but it feels half-hearted at best. “I’d prefer you to make a decision; but I want it to be the right one. And remember, you agreed to let me use you. And I will use you for whatever purpose I desire, if that means letting other men use your cunt for the sake of peace… then…”

“’Kuna…”

“I’m talking now.” he stops you, grabbing your cheeks in his hand and squeezing until your lips pucker. “You better spread those pretty legs nice ‘n wide for daddy, I want you to make me proud.”

He lets go, slowly, and uses a single finger to call Megumi back.

It rings.

And it rings.

And it rings—

“You mull it over?” Toji answers, his cockiness radiating through the phone. “Who am I speaking to? Sukuna?”

“I’m here.” he answers, he bounces his thigh, a silent instruction for you to announce yourself. And, for him, you do. “We’ve thought about it.”

“And?” Toji speaks.

Sukuna looks up at you, expecting you to do the honours of answering. His face is stoic and it makes your heart sink. He really wants you to agree to this. This is the first time since you’ve been with him that’s he’s made you feel like the object you agreed to be, for him. You thought it was out of love. Maybe even respect.

You were a fool to think that, you see that now.

You take a deep breath, and your whole body shakes. Even the little breaths you take to steel yourself warble and you try and gain the confidence to tell Toji that you agree.

Sukuna agrees, you don’t.

“We’re not interested.” you tell him. Sukuna glares at you, and you swear you see flames licking through his pupils. You try to stand up, but you’re trapped. He holds you, tight, and you worry about what you’ve let yourself in for. “Sukuna, get off.” you try to warn him off quietly, but it only increases his grip.

He mutes the call, and fingers sink harshly into the fat of your hips as he lifts you up. You land on the large meeting table with a thud as he towers above you with a dangerous glint in his eye.

“You dare disobey me?” he starts. You flinch as he raises his hand, the rings on his fingers twinkle under the fluorescent lights in the room. He doesn’t hit you, and you can’t tell if that’s what he was considering. He’s never struck you before. But, thinking about it, you’ve never defied him before. He balls his hand into a fist, a singular finger breaking free as he points in your face. “I don’t think you understood me before. Did you get confused?” he asks, voice dripping with condescension as his eyes alternate between your shimmering eyes and tremoring lip.

You ignore him, you just stare at him as you wait for him to finish.

“Understand me now. You are mine. Your life, your clothes, the bed you sleep in? Mine. Your body is mine. Your cunt is barely yours, I own her.”

“You said the decision was mine to—”

“I said I want you to make the decision I’m telling you to make. I’m not giving you a choice, I was giving you the power to make the decision yourself. But I see now, you’re too dumb to make the right call without daddy’s help.”

You sniff, picking up the phone to your side and unmuting the call. You’re surprised Toji is still on the other end, perhaps he knew that you’d gone against orders and was waiting to hear your reconsideration. He doesn’t say a word, nor does Sukuna, as you continue to sniffle and gather your bearings.

“T-Toji?” you whimper, and you hear an amused breath on the other end.

“Yes, darlin’, I’m here.” he speaks. His voice is somewhat soothing given the circumstances. Your lovers fiery stare remains on you. He and your very own body are imploring you to make the decision he’s expecting of you. But your heart, your mind, tell you otherwise. If Sukuna kills you, so be it.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to sleep with you, I love Sukuna too m-much.” you whimper, tears cascade down your face as you look at him. Even after this, after how he’s spoken to you and what he’s trying to make you do, you can’t help but love him. Even his face softens as he hears your plea. Your utter devotion to him makes his heart skip a beat.

There may even be a slither of remorse behind his eyes.

“You’re a real good girl, aren’tcha? So loyal… It’s hard to find girls like you.” Toji responds, and it snaps Sukuna out of his daze. The looming anger returns as he realises you’ve ignored direct orders twice now. “Tell ya what… Sukuna, you still there?”

“… I’m here.” he responds, slouching down in the seat he’d been sitting in previously. It’s odd, looking down at him like this. He looks deflated, like he doesn’t know how to handle you. Maybe he does still love you, after all. He doesn’t want to hurt you or kill you, he’s wrestling with it. If you were like his subordinates you’d be dead already.

He doesn’t know what to do with you.

“Princess, would you feel better if Sukuna was there?” he asks. You both look at each other, unsure of what he’s getting at. The idea infuriates Sukuna. Why on earth would he want to sit like some cuck while one of his enemies rails his girlfriend? “I don’t need you to myself, I just want to fuck you.”

“Um… oh.” you speak, the penny finally dropping. “I like that better.” you confess.

“Mm, I’ll bet.” Toji smirks. “Alright, I’ll make arrangements.”

“Go find Yuuji and go home.” Sukuna whispers as Toji continues to speak. He barely looks at you as you slide off the desk. So you don’t even bother saying goodbye. You’re still so fucking angry at him for all of this. But, really, you can’t help but feel like he isn’t pulling the strings here.

Not really.

You find Yuuji outside vaping, and he chokes when he sees you. He desperately attempts to swat the plume of smoke away, but it’s too late. You take the device from his hand and drop it on the ground.

“Enough.” you tell him, crushing it beneath the chunky platform and heel of your boot while looking him dead in the eye. “Stop buying them.”

“Sorry.” he chuckles. “Want me to take you home?”

“Yes,” you sigh. “The long way… if you don’t mind.”

He nods, understandingly.

Maybe you chose the wrong Itadori to fall in love with.

You hadn’t realised how close Toji’s apartment is to yours and Sukuna’s. You never even knew he existed until a few days ago. And yet, now, you’re in the elevator on your way up to the penthouse suite.

The preparation into this night, which you’re sure will amount to a few grunts and thrusts from each of them before they’re panting and bored, has been substantial.

Sukuna agreed to let Toji cover the cost of everything, which surprised you. Sukuna is a proud man, he’s proud of himself and the money he makes. And he’s especially proud of his possessions.

Most of all, you.

You’ve been accompanied by Yuuji and Megumi for the last week everywhere you go. And they’ve bickered about everything.

As you were sitting in the hair salon earlier, Yuuji insisted upon how Sukuna would like your hair to look, whilst Megumi argued about what Toji would prefer.

They argued when they took you clothes shopping about what kind of outfit you should wear. They argued about what colour lingerie you should wear. Hell, they even argued about what perfume would be best.

You didn’t have the energy to intervene, however, not when it feels like your world is crumbling around you. You’ve lost Sukuna, you think. You aren’t sure how or when it happened, but you don’t see love in his eyes anymore. And it’s a fool’s gambit to try and force that love back.

Now, you’re just a toy he’s grown tired of.

The elevator stops with a ding as you reach the top. Your stomach is doing somersaults, and you’re a little taken aback as Sukuna takes your hand in his. The reassuring squeeze he offers calms you immensely as he leads you out directly into the apartment.

“Welcome.” Megumi greets you both. He gestures to a bottle champagne and three pre-poured flutes filled with the gorgeous, bubbly liquid. You don’t notice until you get closer that there’s even strawberries drowning in the glasses. “Make yourselves at home, he won’t be long.” Megumi speaks, gesturing to the modern staircase that leads upstairs.

And with that, he leaves. He enters the elevator and waves as the doors shut, taking him all of the way to the ground floor. You can’t help but wonder where he’s going. Maybe, despite all of the bickering, he and Yuuji are planning to go out and have fun together while their bosses are occupied.

You feel sick.

Everyone’s going to find out about this. Everyone is going to have you down as a slut who trades her body for the sake of gang disputes. The naïve nature within you is telling you that this is a one time thing. That you made the choice and you only made it because there is something so alluring about Toji.

But, really, after this… you fear that you may be better off dead.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Toji speaks as he announces himself, slowly descending the stairs as he drinks you in. His shirt is open, revealing his glorious body beneath. Each move he makes is teasing, only subtly showing off his musculature that glistens beneath. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.” he tells you.

His hand settles on your hip as he kisses your cheek. It’s gentle, yet forceful, and it lasts a beat longer than you had expected. The feeling of his lips is cemented against your face, and it takes every ounce of willpower that you have to not hold your cheek longingly.

“Glad you could make it, both of you.” Toji expresses, looking at Sukuna briefly before focusing on you again. He can’t get enough of you. He can’t stop ogling your perfect body in the skintight, chocolate coloured dress you’re wearing. The way your breasts slightly spill over the bust, the way the plunge shows the perfect amount of cleavage, the way a huge slit down the side perfectly showcases one of your legs and teases the treasure at the apex of your thighs.

He picks up two glasses, handing them to you and Sukuna, before grabbing his own.

“To peace.” he smirks. Sukuna chuckles and repeats his sentiment, though you’re silent. You aren’t exactly proud of yourself for doing this for the sake of peace.

But at the very least, you might have a little fun. You take a small sip, while Sukuna and Toji’s glasses are bare. Toji tops them up, and they chat as if they’re old friends.

“I’m sure you didn’t invite us over just to make nice, Zen’in.” Sukuna comments, and Toji laughs but nods. Sukuna sets down his champagne flute, tilting your head up by your chin with two dominant fingers. “She won’t object to anything. Isn’t that right, princess?” he asks, and you nod.

Toji finishes his drink again, circling around you both to stand behind you. Sukuna sits down, already pouring his third drink of the evening as he watches how you choose to behave. You’re not going to defy again, though. Not when you agreed of your own accord.

Your gaze narrows as your eyelids become heavy from Toji’s presence behind you. He softly gropes and manhandles every inch of your body. And even the areas you wouldn’t normally consider sensitive have you shuddering under his touch.

He attacks your exposed thigh, dragging the back of his nails upwards towards your pussy as his teeth lightly graze your pulse point. You emit a vociferous moan as his fingers splay outward, his digits barely breaching the material of your dress and yet somehow stimulating your immediately drenched cunt.

“I think she likes me.” he sighs against your skin, maintaining complete eye contact with Sukuna as he feels you up. “This dress was made for you, baby.” he tells you, kissing softly behind your ear.

“Look,” Sukuna starts, standing up as he looms above you. He pulls down the bust, revealing the black mesh bra underneath. Your nipples are barely covered, perfectly visible to all eyes in the room. He cups your breasts, and his thumbs repeatedly swipe over the raised buds. “They’re so hard, princess. Is this exciting you?” he asks.

You nod, dumbly. He captures your lips in a deep kiss and you moan into it. Toji reaches forwards over your shoulder, grabbing a handful of your tit as he squeezes the flesh and lightly flicks the nipple. His other hand settles in the curve of your hip, and you yelp slightly into Sukuna’s mouth as he pulls you backwards against his body.

“Feel how hard you’re makin’ me already, darlin’?” he asks, sharp canines nipping lightly against your bare neck as he pants shallowly against your skin. “Haven’t even touched your pussy yet and I’m aching. Haven’t even seen your fuckin’ panties.”

“Strip her, go on.” Sukuna orders. He backs away as he allows Toji to move you wherever he desires.

You gasp as you feel him move you with ease until your bent over the countertop, your face turns to the side to face Sukuna and the bucket of champagne. You’re distracted by the water droplets slowly traversing down until you hear Toji gnarl against the nape of your neck.

You can’t help but whimper when you feel him repeatedly kiss your bare skin until he reaches the zip of your dress. Sukuna stares into your eyes. Watery, eager eyes that are still focused on him without him even touching you. The red irises that own you and your every move, Toji was right, you are a good loyal girl.

Toji takes the zip between his teeth and pulls downward until the dress shucks from your body, it starts to pool at your feet, but still clings to your waist. Sukuna helps yank it downwards, while Toji lands a harsh strike against your supple rear. He whistles at the sight of your flesh jiggling, repeating the action on the opposite cheek just to see it again.

“Do you know how to use that mouth, princess?” Toji asks, and you nod.

“She knows how to talk shit with it.” Sukuna informs him, and Toji smirks. “But she gives good head, too. Get on your knees.” Sukuna tells you.

And you drop like a stone in front of Toji, you’re sure your knees will be red raw from the uncomfortable landing. You watch Toji with complete focus as he unbuckles his belt. Your eyes stay on his, getting the perfect view of his defined abs and large pecs as you stare up at him. The metal of his belt echoes through the room as he throws it in Sukuna’s direction.

You’re awestruck when Toji’s length is revealed. He’s beautiful. You don’t even realise you’re drooling until the bubbly liquid drips down and splats against your hand. He’s huge. Sukuna is too, but Toji might have him slightly bested. His cock curves upwards, and you can’t help squirm as you think about it hitting all of the right spots inside of you.

His pubic hair is trimmed perfectly. You wonder if he usually keeps himself groomed or if he only did it for this occasion. His tip is gorgeous. A slightly more blush pink in comparison to the rest of his cock. And it’s oozing. It’s shimmering with pre, the tip is completely covered and some of his length below is coated too.

“I’m gonna kill you if you keep staring at his cock like that, princess.” Sukuna warns you. You look at him, worry stabbing through your eyes before Toji grabs your jaw and forces you to focus on him again. He bends down, his face dangerously close to yours.

“He might kill you later, but I’m gonna kill you now if you don’t hurry and put that pretty mouth to work.” he snarls. You nod, widening your mouth to accommodate his girth. He groans, passionately, as his tip hits against your restrictive throat. “Fuuuuuck, good girl.”

You hold his hips as you attempt to take him deeper and deeper into your mouth. Your jaw already hurts, you feel like you might need the ability to unhinge it like a snake just to take him. It’s a similar experience with Sukuna, though he doesn’t make you suck him off often. He prefers your cunt, he doesn’t like to waste time on foreplay normally.

Only if he’s particularly stressed.

“You’re right, she’s a good little cocksucker.” he tells Sukuna as he praises you. He lightly combs his fingers through your hair with one hand before he forcefully shoves you to take his full length. And you cry out, you sob, and he slightly pulls out before shoving back in. “Are you gonna sit and watch me face fuck your toy?” Toji asks, earning a scoff from Sukuna.

He bends down, picking up the belt Toji discarded as he approaches. “Watch.” he orders. You gasp as Toji sets you free so that you’re true lover can take over. He wraps Toji’s belt around your neck but doesn’t completely fasten it, giving them both the freedom to tug and choke you into submission if needs be.

Sukuna removes his own belt, handing it to Toji to do with whatever he pleases. You whimper as he pulls your wrists behind your back, tying them together with the uncomfortable leather binding.

He pulls out his cock, slapping you lightly across the face with it as you wait patiently with your tongue hanging out. You mewl at he taps his tip against your tastebuds, the taste of his pre instantly permeates your senses.

Two hands settle on either side of your skull as he sinks his cock into your drooling mouth. He throws his head back, groaning as he slots in comfortably. He wastes no time, thrusting into your mouth again and again until you’re sputtering and sobbing.

“She cries easily, huh?” Toji drawls as he strokes himself.

Sukuna nods, forcing you down all of the way to the base until you’re choking. You can’t even steady yourself anymore with your wrists being bound. You can’t breathe and you can’t push away. He pinches your nose when you remember you can breathe through it, suffocating you completely.

“Aw, what’s wrong darlin’? Not gonna break so soon, are ya?” Toji asks, grabbing the makeshift collar and leash around your neck as he softly pulls. But he lets go as Sukuna frees you from his malicious clutches.

They both laugh as you cough and sputter, collapsing into a heap on the ground as you try and get your breath back.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like it?” Sukuna asks. He picks you up with ease, and you’re soon bent over the counter again. But, this time, your feet don’t touch the ground. You’re left there, powerless to their touch with your ass perfectly raised while your feet and legs dangle helplessly over the edge.

Toji spreads your ass apart, and the stickiness sounding through the room is deafening. He sneers when it hits his ears. “She’s lying.” he spanks you, hard. And then his fingers toy between your pussy lips, making a complete and utter mess of your panties. “Do you like old men picking on you, hm? You must do. Can you feel how sloppy this cunt is, princess?” he asks.

You whimper out apologies, though they don’t seem to be interested. Toji picks you back up, throwing you over his shoulder as he carries you towards the stairs. Sukuna follows, a wicked grin on his face as he observes your tear-stricken face.

“Does she like anal?” Toji wonders.

“She likes whatever I tell her to like.” Sukuna laughs. “Would you like that, baby? Should we use both of your pretty holes?”

“Can’t wait to tear these fuckin’ panties off ya.” Toji explains. “Dunno why you bothered coming here with clothes on. Should have come bare, with a bow on your head.”

You enter Toji’s bedroom. And it’s gorgeous. It’s so sleek and stunning and there’s even a fireplace crackling away. The atmosphere is romantic, but this situation is hardly that.

Sukuna strokes your cheek, a subtle check to make sure you’re okay as he looks into your eyes. You nod, discreetly, before he slips his thumb between your teeth. You bite down, softly, and he can’t help but smile.

“Think this is the quietest she’s ever been,” Sukuna starts. He massages his thumb into your tongue, and you can’t help but instinctively suck. “Bein’ so good for daddy tonight.” he praises you.

“Daddy, huh?” Toji smirks, taking two fistfuls of your panties between his hands and tears them apart carelessly. “Hope you’ll call me that, sweetheart.”

You look to Sukuna for permission, and he nods. “Just this once.”

“Real pretty girl when you’re suckin’ on somethin’.” Toji comments. He sits on the bed beside you, lifting you up abruptly to sit on his lap. He unhooks your bra and Sukuna seamlessly breaks the straps between heavy fists, ripping it quickly from your body without undoing your bindings. “Suck ‘em while I play with this sweet little cunt.” Toji groans against you as he pulls your back flush against his chest.

Sukuna lightly slaps your tits before walking away. You watch him as he takes a seat in the corner of the room, and he’s become exactly what he hadn’t wanted to. He looks unfazed, though. He seems to be enjoying it if anything. He pulls a cigar from his inner breast pocket along with a lighter, he rests his ankle on his knee as he watches Toji toy with you.

“Watch him, want him to see how good I make you feel.” Toji whispers. He presses two fingers into your mouth slowly. The metal of his rings clang against your teeth, but you don’t care. You wish you could hold his hands as you suckle and lap at his digits. Though you’re broken from your efforts as he starts to circle your clit. “Mmm, such a messy pussy.” he comments.

You wriggle and squirm even with such little pressure applied to your clit. He runs his fingers through your folds, teasing your hole only slightly before he massages your swollen clit again and again.

“—addy!” you whine, unable to sit still as he torments you.

“Hear that? She called me daddy.” Toji chortles, looking at Sukuna. He smirks, but again seems more unfazed than anything. You almost screech around his fingers as he finally inserts his other digits inside of you. As if they weren’t already thick, more metallic rings seem determined to push your pussy to the limit. “You’re gonna make a mess f’me. Alright? Don’t fight me.”

He inserts a third finger between your lips, your mouth contorts and stretches uncomfortably, and still, you suck.

He digs around inside of you like he’s searching for something in particular. And when your legs begin to jolt and quiver, he deduces he’s found it quick enough. His ministrations are almost evil as he alternates between hard and slow fingering. It’s so intense, so excruciating that you can barely concentrate on his fingers in your mouth.

“Can’t see your face, baby. You still with us?” he asks, and you can only offer a barely intelligible response. Sukuna leans forward in his chair as he smokes, uncaring for where he flicks the ash. It’s the last thing on Toji’s mind, too. Especially when you’re already losing consciousness like this. “They’re just fingers, darlin’. Gonna go stupid for my cock if you can’t even handle this.” he laughs.

“Slap her cunt.” Sukuna tells him. And soon enough Toji is landing a hard enough spank to your puffy clit. You mewl, so he repeats it. Again and again. Harder and harder. “Finger her, I’ll do it.”

Toji puts his fingers back inside of your tight walls and finds that spot again. Sukuna lords above you, cigar resting between the gentle bite of his teeth as he spanks your cunt hard. It makes you dizzy, almost delirious. The conflicting feelings of pain and pleasure make your eyes water.

“Crying again.” he says as he spanks your pussy again. “Who knew two cocks would make you so obedient and submissive?”

“And we haven’t even fucked her yet.” Toji reminds him, and he smirks. “I should have invaded your turf a long time ago if I knew it would get us here.”

“Hm,” Sukuna hums. Your breath hitches, and he raises an eyebrow in suspicion. “She’s going to cum. Is she getting tight?”

“Like she’s gonna break my fingers.” Toji smirks. And with a few more spanks against your clit as Toji continuously batters his fingers into your g-spot, you’re cumming harder than you ever have in your life. Sukuna doesn’t move away as he feels you douse him with the thick stream shooting from your cunt. “Oh fuck. You’re a little squirter, huh. Or a big squirter, look at the fuckin’ mess you made of us, dirty girl. Told ya you would.” he teases you, not letting up on your insides as he tries to draw every last drop of your arousal from you.

It's not like it’s the first time you’ve squirted.

But you’ve never squirted that much before.

Your mouth is free as Toji pulls out his fingers, and you feel a chill as he wipes your saliva against the column of your spine. You’re surprised when you feel him undo the belt keeping your wrists together. And you’re even more surprised as he helps you straddle him properly.

He squeezes your ass as you begin to rut your hips against his cock, the tip catches against your hole as he holds cups your cheek and offers you a showstopping, tongue tangling kiss. You yelp as Sukuna yanks your hair until your vision is his face at an almost upside down angle. He spits in your mouth, crudely, before releasing your hair.

You don’t bother swallowing it as Toji brings you back to him and locks his lips with yours. He couldn’t care less that Sukuna had spat in your mouth. You’d already sucked his cock, what did it matter to him?

“You’re so well trained, princess.” he smirks. He stands up, and you instantly wrap your legs around his waist. He places you flat against the bed, nibbling on your collarbone before he nips and kisses downward. Further and further and further. “Let daddy taste you.” he demands, and you nod.

Sukuna holds your underarms and pulls you until your head droops backward, lolling over the edge of the mattress.

You wince as he slots his cock between your lips again, and he loosens the tightness of the belt still around your neck. The slight choking feeling is replaced with his hand, intent on feeling your throat bulge from the broadness of his cock.

Your legs cramp around Toji’s head as he gets to work feasting on your folds. If not for Sukuna’s length stuffing your throat, you’d be screaming at the way he suctions his lips around your clit. He licks and sucks again and again until your mind goes blank.

“That’s a good toy,” Sukuna chuckles darkly. “Stop thinking, now, we’ll do that for you.”

Toji can’t get enough of your taste. He can’t help but stroke himself as he pleasures you, and he grunts again and again against your heat. The fingers on his free hand sink into your doughy thighs. He’s doing all he can do to make sure you stay put. And he wants his face to be suffocated by your cunt.

Sukuna pulls out, determined not to cum this way. He’ll only cum if he’s doing so directly into your womb. He drops to his knees, helping you up a little so you can look down at the man about to give you your second orgasm of the evening. Your head sags against Sukuna’s broad shoulder, but you manage to look through barely open eyelids to see raven locks shaking and swaying as he lashes his tongue against your clit.

“’m gonna c-cum, daddy… fuck.” you mutter, unsure if you’re referring to Sukuna or Toji. Neither of them seem to care, though, they’re more focused on your wobbly thighs and spasming cunt. “Ngghh—!” you wail.

Toji slurps up your mess as you squirt all over his face. He laughs, scar pulling deliciously as he tries to catch your essence in his wide, smiling mouth. He sticks his tongue out before attaching his lips directly against the source again.

And even he’s panting when you’re finished. Completely satisfied from this alone.

Though his eyes and mind are full of desire as he fantasises about how close he is to feeling you wrapped around him.

“I want her pussy.” Toji insists, and Sukuna shrugs his shoulders.

Sukuna scoops you into his arms, and the two of them help position your near lifeless body between them. Though your pseudo-husband is the first to shove his cock into your drooling slot. Toji scowls, prepared to pull you away from him if needs be.

“I said—”

“And?” Sukuna responds. “Fuck her pussy, then.”

Toji is frozen, unsure of what he means. But they keep eye contact as Sukuna fully sheathes himself to the hilt. Toji’s gaze only falters when he hears you moan from the stretch. You look up at him, your sweet doe eyes absolutely sodden with tears. And still, you bite your lip as you lose yourself to the bliss of being an object.

“Oh, princess,” Toji smirks, kissing the tip of your nose before he lines his cock up with your hole. “Gonna have to break this little pussy, ‘cause your daddy’s so selfish.” he tells you.

He hisses as he breaches inside of you, and your head falls forward to rest on his chest. They both hush you and coo sweetly as their cocks tear you apart. You aren’t sure which of them he was calling selfish, but really, it’s both.

They could have taken turns if they both wanted you this way.

But they were hellbent on double stuffing you.

Their hips move in tandem, neither of them giving you a single moment to catch your breath as they bully their cocks into you again and again. You’re screaming out moans as they pummel your insides. You’re bound to be aching and bruised tomorrow. You don’t care, though, not right now. And they certainly don’t. Not when your tight little hole feels so Goddamn perfect.

“Fuck— fuck,” Toji grunts. “Don’t wanna pull out.”

“D—on’t.” you squeak out, and they both let out a little laugh each at your weak request.

“She’s a little cum slut, can’t get enough. Fill her up, fuck if I care. Want this little pussy bred, baby? Hm? Want your daddy’s to fuck you full’a kids?” Sukuna teases. And you nod, it’s weak, pathetic, but determined. “Goooood girl, ‘m close.”

“I’m close as well, I’m gonna fuckin’ lose it.” Toji announces, his thrusts becoming sloppier and more staggered.

The change in pace has you clenching, the third and final nail in your coffin as your pussy begins to gush for them both. They’re both a little embarrassed, flushing red in the face as your tightening hole leads to both of their mutual demise.

“That’s it, take it, little slut.” Sukuna commands as he empties his balls inside of you. Toji is no better, the obscene names seem like second nature to them both.

“Fuck, look at her stomach.” Toji snickers. Sukuna looks down to see your tummy swollen with their cocks and cum.

They both pull out, wholly beguiled as your body collapses onto the bed in a heap. You’re practically asleep as they position you onto your stomach and split your legs apart to see how their sperm leaks out of your twitching cunt.

“I want another go.” Toji smirks, unable to pull his eyes away from your glittering slit.

“Let her rest a little.” Sukuna tells him. “I’m not done with her, either.”

You’re tired.

You’re so tired of coming to these fucking meetings.

Sukuna walks through the building with you close by. His arm around you, protectively. Somehow, you think the encounter with his rival has made him love you more. He’s been clingier, lately, which isn’t like him. He never wants to let you out of his sight, or his grasp.

He’s been using you more too.

It’s like how things were in the beginning again.

You’re sure everyone knows what happened. Eyes are on you, and their full of judgement. It hurts, of course, but there’s nothing to be done. Sukuna was right: you agreed. You did it for him and yet out of the two men who were supposed to deal with this amongst themselves, you’re the only one paying the price.

Nobody cares if their boss had a threesome.

Everyone cares if his girlfriend got used like a slut though.

Mostly, you can’t bring yourself to care. As you sit down beside Sukuna, his hand rests on your thigh while you scan everyone’s shame-filled faces. You’d challenge any of them to care what others think of them after the night you had.

It was mind blowing.

To be dominated thoroughly by the two biggest men you’ve ever met like that is a feeling you can’t begin to describe. To feel so small and worthless in comparison to them. For your body to be used in whatever manner they see fit and for them to still allow you to cum despite your purpose being for their enjoyment…

You haven’t stopped thinking about it.

About them.

About him.

Sukuna’s hand leaves your thigh as he addresses the room. Explaining how Toji miraculously decided to back off after a firm warning. No one believes it, but everyone is happy enough. But there’s always going to be issues and problems when you’re involved in illegal activity. So despite your nose being buried in your phone, you can’t say you’re surprised when you hear Sukuna move onto the next issue.

Uraume sees you smirking as your fingers tap away at your keyboard. And it makes her smirk, too.

Toji insisted that you put your number in his phone when you spent the night. Sukuna was using the bathroom, and he forced his phone into your shaky fingers. You were panicking, but you typed fast.

You’ve been texting non-stop ever since.

Uraume thinks you’re a naïve fool.

She knows exactly what you’re doing because this is what she had envisioned from the very start. She orchestrated everything. She invited Toji’s foot soldiers to start operating their business on Sukuna’s turf; just like she is the one who informed Sukuna of the invasion with such haste and loyalty.

She is the one who hinted at where they might find you that day you were shopping with Yuuji. And she is the one who let slip to Toji what your arrangement with Sukuna is.

Sukuna respects Uraume, but he doesn’t give her nearly enough credit.

She has managed perfectly to drive a wedge between you that neither of you even know is there yet. His lack of respect for your body has driven you into the willing arms of another man. Only through texting, for now, but before long that won’t be enough for you. Sukuna’s jealousy and possessiveness have made him love you more, the scales have tipped the other way and it is all to benefit Uraume.

Sukuna will find out, she’ll make sure of that.

And whether he kills you or casts you aside, it matters not to her. Because his heart will be broken either way; and she will be there to pick up the pieces. Sukuna hates how jealous you are of Uraume. But neither of you have a single solitary clue that she’s thinking all of this through right now.

Uraume feels a little bad for you, your intuition is keen. But Sukuna will never suspect a thing. You’re just insecure, he thinks. But Uraume applauds you for having your guard up about her.

You were right to worry.

© 2023 rinhaler

[whorhees]

Ghost From Your Past {Creed III} Pt. II

Adonis x wife! Oc x onesided! Dame

Summary: Jade and Dame hang out one on one since he’s been out. Jade is trying to avoid dwelling on the past but it’s so hard not too

Authors note: I have no clue what rode I want to travel down with these two. I have so many ideas but oh my god I’m trying to decide what’s right.

“Hey”

Adonis looked up at the girl standing in front of his desk, a finger pressed in the middle of it. “What happened last night? Did Dame win?” Adonis took a shaky look up at her, unsure of what to say. “Uh…Yeah. He did” Jade smiled as she pulled up a seat. “He’s so amazing, ugh I just know he’s gonna flaunt it when we hang out later” Adonis nodded his head slowly. He really didn’t have the heart to break it to her.

“Why don’t you like talking to me anymore?” Jade tilts her head as her finger circled his desk. “We use to talk all the time” Adonis scoffed. “You mean I use to talk all the time? You never talked” “That doesn’t mean I didn’t listen or studied you” Adonis picked his head up to stare into her green eyes. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Jade flinched at his harsh language. “It means…I can tell when something is on your mind…” Jade reached into her bag and pulled out her yellow pen.

“Remember how I use to draw on your arm to relax your mind?” Adonis nodded and extended out his hand, unclenching his hand as jade gently grabbed his arm. Her thumb ran on the crease bicep and arm, tapping the pen on her desk. “You don’t have to tell me now, but you gotta tell me something” Jade began to outline something on his forearm. “So?”

“I’m sorry…”

Jade didn’t want to get out of bed, she wanted to hide from him and her obligations. She scrolled through her phone, her friends all texting her simultaneously.

Sierra🌸

Yo, did you see ykw?

Sev 🎈

Yo nigga came around askin bout you

Sekani 🎧

Bro is that really Damian???

Jade threw her phone back against the pillow, groaning. “Ugh…” She sat up and stretched, turning to look at the bright blue sky. She had things to do, she can’t just hide from the past in her room. Sudden vibration was felt on her bed, and without a second thought, she reached for her phone and answered.

“Hey”

“Hey Jade”

She paused, cursing herself mentally for not checking the caller ID. “Who dis?” Jade stood up and walked out toward her window. Her hip cocked to the side as she stared out at the city below.

“Oh, it’s uh me. Damian?”

Oh.

“Oh!” Jade laughed awkwardly. “How did you get my number?”

“I asked Seven for it when I met back up with him”

Of course, Seven did. He never respected her wishes once she took off. “Ah. Well, it’s good that you have it now. How are you Dami?” She could hear him chuckle through the phone.

“I’m good peaches. Listen, is there a chance for us to hang out together? Diamond and Precious again?” Jade sucks her teeth, rubbing the side of her neck.

“If you don’t mind coming along to pick up the twins with me”

“Nah! Of course, I don’t mind!” Jade smiles and walked into her closet. “Where do you want me to pick you up at?”

“No, I’ll come to you. I’ll be there in twenty” Dame hung up, and Jade placed her phone on the seat in her closet. It shouldn’t be a big deal, he’s an old friend. She went through all her clothes, pulling out her black tracksuit. She walks out of her closet and threw the tracksuit on her bed. It was her favorite one that Adonis had bought her, it had his first name embroidered in cursive small while the butt of the pants had his last name bedazzled in huge letters.

She grabbed her towel and ran into the bathroom to get a quick shower.

~

“Okay, that’s it…” Jade grabbed her clip and pinned up her braids halfway. Nothing too much, she still looked great. She grabbed her purse and walked up out of her room. She could hear the knocking from downstairs. Jade finally stood at the door, opening it to reveal Damian.

“Jesus, I was out there for five minutes” Jade rolled her eyes and moved the man down the steps. “Not even. Come on, I gotta pick the kids from school” “Oh, I get to run errands with you now?” Dame chuckled as Jade locked the front door behind her. She walked down the steps to her car, turning to the man who still stood at the top of the steps. “You comin'?”

“…Yeah” Jade unlocked her car door and climbed into her truck. “Damn, you sittin real pretty up there” Dame got into the passenger seat. “I thought you would have a butler driving you around” “Nah, I like doing my own things too much.” Dame nodded as they finally pulled out of the gates house.

“Are you still adjusting to change?” Jade asked, side-eying the man in the passenger seat. “Yeah, especially between us three you know?” Dame lets out a sigh as he looked at all of the mansions passing by. “Listen, I appreciate you visiting me for the time that you did while I was gone” Jade stops at a red light. “I thought…I thought it was really fucked up what the court did to you…”

“Twenty years?!” She stood up with tears in her eyes, and her father had to pull her back down before she busted out in tears again.

“You know what’s funny? I wanted to become a lawyer because of you…but when I did study, and try, I could never. I was never smart, like…” Jade laughs as she turns once the light turned green. “I could never pass the bar test. I tried sooo many times” Dame stared at her as she rambled on. “Hold on…You went to law school?”

“Yeah..? I mean the modeling thing was a way for me to pay for everything. But it kinda took off so, I guess I shifted focus after my third attempt at the exam” Jade puts on her blinker and turns into the circle of the school where all the parents were lined up in the area for their kids. “Wow, I…” Dame was at a loss for words, things he didn’t know about the girl. “I appreciate it. I’ll pay you back”

“By?”

Dame grins, placing his hand on her arm. “By winning the belt. Like I told you I would” Jade pulled up at the front of the loop, unlocking the doors for Honey and Blue to climb in. “Dame…I’m just worried for you” She turns in her seat towards him. “You know, we’re getting old. And, fighting like you use to-“ “I fight the same.” He interrupted, turning his head towards the window. “Take hits hard, Punch harder” The twins came running to the car, Blue helping his sister get in before he got in himself.

“Hey! How was your day babies?” Jade smiled looking at the visor mirror at her children. “Good, honey had a good day” Blue smiled, and soon turned to look at the man in the passenger seat. “Do you want me to drop you off at the gym?” Jade asked as she pulled out of the school circle. “Yeah, I promised him I’d be there at a certain time”

Jade began driving to the gym, the rest of the ride was in silence for the most part. “Oh uh, Adonis is having this party and it’s going to have our old friend Bianca presenting a new song. You down to come?” She turns onto the busy street, the gym was right up ahead. “Of course! What, I gotta wear something nice?” Jade laughed and nodded. “If you don’t have nice clothes, I can get you some if you want” She pulled into the gym parking lot.

Dame grabbed his bag from between his legs, gazing over at Jade once again. “You’ve always been a sweetheart. Look out for yourself, and your mini-mes” He climbed out of the car and closed the door. She watched him enter the gym and sighed. She turned around to look at her kids, Blue had an irritated look on his face. “Mom.” “I know Blue, just…” Jade sighs as she pulled out of the parking lot. “Just give him a chance, he’s nice”

“Does Dad really like him?” Blue asked, he had slight annoyance in his voice. “Yeah,” Jade answers quickly. “They were…are! Best friends. Like how Nathan is your best friend” Blue didn’t say much after that, leaning on his sister’s shoulder. Jade tried her best to be transparent with her kids, but it’s difficult when she tries to bury a past of bad choices that are coming to light. She blinks, did she call dame a bad choice?

To her, he was never a bad choice. She loved him deeply, she still does. But it’s different, she’s married, a mother. But…

She isn’t ready to cross that road

[whorhees]

Ghost from your past {Creed III}

Adonis x wife! oc x onesided! Dame

Description: Spoilers for Creed 3. Jade, Adonis, and Dame were all friends when they were teenagers. However, things changed when they all grew apart. Adonis and Jade were able to rekindle their love for each other and even start a family, they get revisited by a ghost that they’ve been trying to forget about.

Authors note: I’m mentally ill for these men so I wrote more self indulgent shit. I’m gonna see how many chapters I can string out, it’s pretty weird that I’m going in reverse anyways but who cares.

{face claim @/aerincreer on Instagram}

Jade sat in her window, staring out at the street.

It was about nine pm, and nothing good happens on the streets of LA past eight. But she was waiting for something, more like someone.

Just then, the lights of a car slowly pulled into view and stopped in front of her house. She grins, leaving her window seat to go downstairs. She tip-toed past her father sleeping on the couch and walked out the front door. She had to push open her gate so it wouldn’t make a loud noise if she punched in the code. Afterward, she ran up to the car and leaned in the roll-down window.

“What you sneakin' around for shawty?” Dame grins as he stared at the light skin girl. “I was just comin' by and seein if you were up. Don’t you got class in the morning?” “Both of y’all got class in the morning” She props her arm up on the window, glancing over at Adonis. He was always nervous to talk to her, even after all these years. “Hey Donnie, why so quiet?” The boy cleared his throat, shaking his head. “That’s funny coming from you. Didn’t you just start learning how to talk?”

Jade rolled her eyes. “Yeah, six years ago. Shut up. Where y’all rolling off to?” “My match,” Dame says proudly, tapping the bag that Adonis had on his lap. “I’m ready to win baby” “Ooh! Can I come? Please?” Jade smiles, leaning towards the back seat. “You said one day I can see your boxing matches, come on Dame!” “Nah Shawty” Jade frowns, her bottom lips forming into a pout. “Why not? C'mon, you promised!” “I know I did. I keep my promises baby, You’ll see me. Check it” Dame fully turns towards her, placing his hand on top of hers.

“You’ll see me, my face plastered everywhere. My name on them announcement posters like Mike Tyson, and, you’ll be there front row when I beat his ass. You and Donnie” Jade’s smile began to grow on her face. Her head cocked to the side, “You better not be lying. Because I still think it’s unfair that I can’t see you fight” Jade backed away from the car, “I’ll see you guys tomorrow”

“Bet. The same spot as always” He nodded, putting the car in drive. “Now sneak back into your castle Rapunzel” Jade flipped Dame off before sneaking back into the gates, locking them behind her.

Adonis looked at Dame, nearly having stars in his eyes. “..Cause one day, I’m gonna save you” He pulled away from Jade’s house and went into the main road. “You like her?” Adonis asked, staring out the rearview mirror. “…Something like that.” Dame turns to his friend and grinned. “When I make it, I’ll do my thing with you, bro. Scoop out some ladies, then settle down with her.

I have it allll planned out”

“Come on Honey and Blue” Jade walked out with dry towels as the twins climbed out of the pool. She promised them that on the first warm day, they could do so, but it was drawing close to the sun setting. “Your dad is going to be home soon” Blue removes his goggles. “Will I get to show him my picture I made today?” “Of course, after you take a bath” Blue grins and ran into the house to a bathroom. Jade turns to her daughter, quiet like always. She signs to her.

‘What’s wrong?’

Honey glanced at her, shaking her head. She moved closer to her mother and leaned into her. Now she got it, she missed Adonis. That’s all. “Don’t worry, he’ll be home soon” Jade picks up the little girl and took her to the bathroom.

Hours passed and Adonis wasn’t home, it was weird. He would usually call if he was going to be at the gym late. She sat on the couch with the twins, watching Blue’s favorite Tv show while honey curled up next to her. The front door finally opened and Jade stood up. “I’ll be back, Blue watch your sister” “Okay mama”

Jade walked down the steps to the front door, her arms crossed. “And where were you?” Adonis turns towards her, a smile on his face. “Baby-“ “I called you multiple times Adonis. You had me worried sick!” Jade playfully smacked his arm. “You aren’t gonna believe who I ran into” Jade tilts her head, her eyebrows knitted together with confusion. “Who?”

“Man…This place is nice…” Jade peered passed her husband, her arms dropping to her side and her eyes widened. “What’s up lil lady?” “Dame…?” He smiled, walking passed Adonis. “At least someone remembered me first. No bullshit” He held his arms out, looking at the woman. “What? No hug for me?” Jade had conflict in her eyes. “Yeah, of course!” She hugged the man, it was strange. Seeing him after all these years.

“And who are these little rascals?” Jade’s eyes snapped open and she pulled back from the hug. She turned around and stared at the twins who stood there, Honey held her brother’s hand who greeted the stranger with a hard unwelcoming stare. “Oh, Dame. These are the twins, Honey and Blue” “Twins…y’all had twins?” Dame crouched down to the height of the children, extending his hand. “Im Uncle Dame”

Blue looked at his parents, his glare didn’t falter. “You’ll have to forgive them. The twins aren’t too fond of strangers” Dame chuckled and stood back. “It’s cool, I would be lookin at a nigga weird if someone I aint know was in my house” Jade glanced at Adonis before walking over to the twins. “It’s bedtime babies, I’ll be up soon okay?” Jade moved Blue’s face gently to look at her. “Okay?”

“…okay” Blue took Honey’s hand and lead her to their shared bedroom.

“How is it possible that they both like you and Adonis? That’s just crazy” Dame turned back to the couple that stared awkwardly at him. “Dame, how have you been? Would you like some dinner?” “Oh please, I would love to” Dame took off his jacket and placed it on the coat rack near the door. “I’ve been cool, Just got out. Tryin' to get my PO off my back” “That’s good…” Jade led the two men to the kitchen, and the chef was finishing up the meal. “Yeah, how have you been Jade?”

“I’ve been okay” Jade moved to put the plates on the table for the three of them. “Got your modeling career off the ground? I had all your shoots when I was in the pin” Jade sat beside her husband. “Did you? I always look at my early work and cringe a bit” “Nah, you still look as good as the last time I saw you” Dame watched as the chef poured the food onto his plate. “Private chef, glass floors…yall really went all Hollywood huh” Adonis chuckled and reached for his fork. “Yeah, I guess you could say that”

“No really, you guys don’t come around the hood no more.” Jade sighed as she picked with her food. “Nothing is for us there anymore. Times changed Dami” Dame smiled, pointing his fork at the girl. “Not long enough if you still callin' me Dami. It’s fine”

It was a long awkward silence, mainly on Jade and Adonis’s part. They didn’t know what to say to the man, he felt like a stranger again. The boy they grew up with, someone they just locked away and tried to forget about…he’s here in their house. “So, what do you plan on doing now that you’re out?” “I want to get back in the game” Jade rose her eyebrow. “The game…As in boxing?” Dame smiled. “Yeah, Adonis promised to put me on”

Jade side-eyes her husband quickly. “Did he…” “I told him I’ll see what I can do” Adonis corrected them, stuffing his face full of food. “Okay,” Jade pushed her plate away. She suddenly lost her appetite but she decided to look at the two men. “You know you can always come to us if you need something” “You don’t need to worry about me, Jade. I’ll get it all together” Jade stood up and gave Dame another hug before going upstairs to check on the kids.

~

Jade sat on the edge of the bed biting her thumb, she couldn’t sleep. She was on edge, her heart ridden with guilt. The door creaked open and she turned her head, Adonis stood in the doorway. “Hey,” He came over and sat beside her, leaning his head on her shoulder. “God I feel so horrible” She mutters quietly. “I stopped writing him a few years ago around the time me and you were getting together, I just couldn’t-“ “Hey, Hey” He grabbed her shoulders, making Jade look at him.

“It’s not your fault…You did more than me” Adonis kissed her forehead. “I never even got any of his letters.” Jade took a deep breath and nodded. “Alright…What did you promise him?” Adonis rubbed the back of his head. “Dame wants a shot in the world league to get the belt” “What?” Jade said astonishingly. “We’re getting old, even you are retired! Dame wouldn’t even have a shot against half those young guys now” “Way to have faith in him” Adonis chuckled. “Faith? I’m being real.” “The man said he kept himself in shape, so we can see”

Jade fell backward on their bed, sighing. “Just…Don’t do anything you’ll regret. You…We don’t owe him that much just because we knew him” Adonis stared at his wife as she pulled the blanket on herself. “At least, that’s what I’m trying to tell myself. I’m gonna come by the gym tomorrow to see so myself” Adonis kissed her forehead, stroking her face. “It’s going to be okay…I’m going to check on the kids” Jade snuggled deeper into the blanket. “Mhm…Okay”

Jade tried to fall into a deep sleep, but her thoughts couldn’t help but linger on her old friend. I don't owe him anything, she tried to convince herself. He made that decision by himself, she reminded. But god, it didn’t help her from feeling less bad.

[quozacheese]

what if könig is just an eldritch being underneath that hood

[bubbl3sworld]

That’s hot