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CW: Explicit sexual content, cunnilingus, pet play / puppy play kink, collar kink, rough sex, overstimulation, degradation, praise, violence, blood, physical fight, insults, petty crime, obsessive behavior, emotional distress, emotional manipulation, moral ambiguity, featuring appearances by Tim, Brian, Ben, Jeff, and Jack
Summary: After days of uneasy silence, Toby reappears. The pull between you only grows stronger, even as the dangers of his world loom larger than ever.
Wordcount: 14k
Part 1: HERE
Part 2: HERE
The last three days had been a special kind of hell.
You hadn’t seen Toby since the night he left your house, the words “I kill people” still hanging in the air between you. You’d told him you needed time. That you couldn’t just… process something like that in one breath and move on. He’d nodded, and then disappeared.
No texts - you didn’t even have his number. No surprise visits to the gas station. Nothing but radio silence and the gnawing, contradictory ache in your chest that grew worse every hour. Part of you had been terrified his friends had finally scared him off for good. Another, quieter, more shameful part had almost hoped they had. Because if he stayed away, you wouldn’t have to decide what it said about you that you still wanted him.
You were still shaken from that night at the store. The way the dark-haired man had leaned over the counter, venom dripping from every word as he called you a whore. The cold disgust in the blond one’s eyes. The casual entitlement as they stole from you and spat on your floor like they owned the place - and owned Toby by extension. It had been disgusting. Infuriating.
And somehow, it had only made you miss your thief more.
You stood in front of your mirror, finishing up for your night shift. You’d brushed your hair until it fell in loose, shining waves, added a little extra mascara and gloss, just enough to feel like you had some control over something. Your work polo clung to your chest, the top two buttons undone against the stupid humidity. Denim shorts sat low on your hips, frayed hems brushing your thighs. When you turned slightly to check yourself, your eyes caught on the faint yellowish-green marks still blooming across your neck and collarbones.
Little reminders of Toby’s mouth. Of how desperately he’d sucked and bitten while he fucked you like he was trying to crawl inside your skin and stay there.
Your fingers traced one of the bruises. A slow, conflicted breath left you.
You missed him. God, you missed him. But every time the warmth flared in your chest, something colder followed right behind it - images of blood on his hands, of the casual way he’d admitted what he did, of the heavy weapons you now knew he carried. You’d asked for time. You’d meant it.
And yet… after meeting his so-called friends, that need for distance had started to feel thinner. More like a polite lie you were telling yourself because the truth - that you were already in too deep - scared you more than the blood ever could.
A sharp tink against the window made you jump.
Then another. And another.
Rocks. Definitely rocks.
Your heart slammed against your ribs as you crossed to the window and peered out into the growing dusk. There, half-hidden by the treeline at the edge of your yard, stood Toby.
Same dark navy hoodie. Bandana pulled down around his neck. Messy brown hair sticking up in every direction. Even from here you could see that crooked, mischievous grin splitting his scarred face. He waved, quick, almost shy, like he hadn’t dropped a bomb on your life and then vanished for three days.
Your stomach flipped violently. Relief, sharp and stupid and dangerous, flooded through you so fast it made your eyes sting. He came back. He actually came back.
But right behind it came the colder wave: the knowledge of what he was. What he did. What those hatchets you hadn’t even seen yet had already done.
You bit down hard on the smile threatening to break across your face. You couldn’t quite kill it.
Toby’s head twitched sharply to the side with that familiar little crack, and his grin widened. He waved again, slower this time, like he was making sure you saw him.
You didn’t even think about it. You turned away from the window, heart hammering, and headed straight for the front door. Your feet padded quickly across the floorboards as you unlocked it and stepped out onto the porch, the warm evening air wrapping around your legs.
Toby straightened up from where he’d been leaning against a tree, shoulders rolling with a restless hitch. He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, then pulled them out again, fingers twitching. Another sharp tic jerked his neck sideways as he took a few uneven steps closer, stopping at the edge of your yard like he wasn’t sure if he was welcome yet.
For a long second the two of you just stared at each other.
Then Toby’s scarred mouth curved into that sheepish, hopeful little smile that made your chest ache.
“H-hey,” he called, the stammer cutting through like always. “Missed you.”
You couldn’t hold it back.
The second your feet hit the porch steps, you were moving - half-running down them, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might crack your ribs. Toby’s dark eyes widened the instant he realized you weren’t stopping. His scarred mouth parted in surprise, shoulders hitching sharply as you practically threw yourself at him.
Your arms looped around his neck, pulling him down as you buried your face against the warm skin of his throat. He smelled like pine, smoke, and that faint metallic edge that always seemed to cling to him. You breathed him in like you’d been drowning for three days.
Toby froze for half a second, completely caught off guard, like he’d shown up fully expecting you to slam the door in his face. Then his arms came around you - careful at first, almost hesitant - before they tightened. He lifted you just enough that your toes barely brushed the grass, scarred hands splaying wide across your lower back, pressing you flush against his hoodie.
“Fuck… I’m so happy to see you, Toby,” you muttered into his neck, voice cracking a little.
Toby let out a low, rough hum that vibrated against your cheek. His head twitched hard to the side with a soft crack, but he didn’t pull away. Instead he turned his face into your hair and breathed you in just as deeply, like he’d been starving for it too.
For a long moment neither of you moved. Just held on in the quiet dusk, his restless body twitching against yours every few seconds.
Eventually you forced yourself to loosen your grip, sliding back down until your feet touched the ground again. You kept one hand on his chest, reluctant to let go completely.
“Come inside,” you said softly.
Toby nodded, that crooked, boyish grin flickering back across his face as he followed you up the steps. But the second you turned toward the door, your eyes dropped - and that’s when you saw them.
Two twin hatchets hung from his belt, strapped securely to his hips. The blades were dark, well-worn, edges catching the fading light with a dull, wicked gleam. They looked heavy.
Your blood turned to ice in your veins. It felt surreal - seeing the actual weapons, the ones that had chopped a man to pieces right outside your store. You swallowed hard and kept walking, but your eyes kept flicking back to them, unable to look away for long.
Inside, you led him straight to the living room. The door clicked shut behind you, the sound loud in the quiet house. Toby hovered near the entrance for a second, hands twitching at his sides, before he stepped further in. His gaze was already dragging over you - taking in the tight polo, the short denim shorts, the faint hickeys still visible on your neck.
You couldn’t stop staring at the hatchets.
He finally noticed. His head gave a sharp, involuntary jerk to the left, neck cracking. He glanced down at his hips, then back up at you, something almost sheepish crossing his scarred features.
“…Got a j-job later,” he muttered. “Just… wanted to see y-you ffff-first.”
You nodded, trying your best to keep your face neutral even as your stomach twisted. “Okay.”
Toby took you in again - eyes roaming over your body, lingering on your thighs, your chest, the makeup you’d put on for work - before they settled on your face. He smiled a little, small and lost, like he still couldn’t quite believe you’d hugged him instead of screaming.
You shifted your weight, suddenly nervous again.
“I wanted to talk to you,” you said, chewing the inside of your cheek. “But I didn’t have your number or anything… I had no way to reach you.”
Toby’s brows furrowed slightly, another quick tic rolling through his shoulder. He tilted his head, waiting.
You took a breath.
“Do you… know what happened? At the store the other night?”
He looked genuinely confused. His dark eyes blinked once, then twice, head twitching to the side again with a soft crack.
“…What h-happened?” he asked, voice slow and uncertain. He had no idea.
Your stomach sank. Of course he didn’t.
Those assholes had gone behind Toby’s back, terrorized you at your job, and hadn’t even bothered to tell him. The realization burned hot in your chest as you stood there in your living room, staring at him.
You took a slow breath, trying to keep your voice steady.
“Sit down, Toby.”
He blinked at you, dark eyes wide and uncertain, head jerking sharply to the side with a loud crack. For a second he just stood there, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then he obeyed, lowering himself onto the edge of your couch, shoulders hunched and restless. His hands immediately started fidgeting in his lap, fingers twisting together.
You sat down beside him, close enough that your bare thigh brushed his jeans. Your knee bounced with agitation as you turned to face him.
“Those two guys you were with the night you stole the Snickers… they showed up at the store a couple nights ago,” you started, voice tight. “While I was working alone.”
Toby’s shoulders hitched violently. His neck snapped to the left again, harder this time. “Wait–w-what? Did they–h-hurt you? Wha–”
You kept going, the words spilling out faster now.
“They just showed up. The dark-haired one - big guy, flannel - he started hitting on me in this really gross, sleazy way. Called me sweetheart, gorgeous… then it got nasty fast.” You looked down at your hands, sighing. “He threatened me. Told me to stay the fuck away from you. Called me a whore, said I was dragging you down, making you sloppy. The taller one - the blonde guy with the serious face - he didn’t say much at first, but then he called me a… a dog-fucking bitch. They stole cigarettes and liquor right in front of me, spat on the floor, and basically told me if I didn’t back off, things would get messy.”
You looked up at Toby.
His reaction was immediate.
The tics slammed into him like a storm. His head jerked hard to the side - crack - then again, shoulders rolling and hitching so aggressively his whole upper body twitched. His dark eyes went wide with disbelief, mouth opening and closing like he couldn’t find words fast enough.
“I–I didn’t–fuck,” he stammered, voice cracking. “I h-had no idea. None. I swear to fucking G-God I didn’t know they–shit–”
He buried his face in his hands, elbows on his knees, fingers digging into his messy hair. Another violent full-body tic rolled through him, making his shoulders jerk upward hard enough that you heard his neck crack again.
“Those guys… that was T-Tim and Brian,” he muttered through his hands, voice muffled and raw. “They’re… they’re my friends. They were just l-looking out for m-me, but they had no right–no ffff-fucking right to do that t-t-to you.”
You swallowed, heart still racing.
“What even is the deal here, Toby?” you asked quietly. “Are you guys in a gang or something?”
Toby let out a loud, frustrated groan. He shoved himself up off the couch and started pacing, uneven steps carrying him back and forth across your living room. His hands flexed at his sides, opening and closing, the twin hatchets at his hips swaying with every restless movement.
“It’s… it’s c-complicated,” he muttered, head twitching sharply. “We’re not–I mean, it’s not l-like a gang gang, but… something like that, I g-guess. We do jobs. And we’ve buh-been doing t-them together for a l-l-long time. They think I’m g-gonna fuck everything up w-with you.”
He stopped pacing for a second, turning to look at you. His scarred face was twisted with guilt, eyes restless and bright with frustration.
“I’m so f-fucking sorry,” he said, voice rough and earnest. “I never wanted them a-a-a-anywhere near you. I told Tim to suh-stay out of it. I–I really like y-you. Like, a lot. More than I p-probably should. And they k-know that. That’s why they d-did it.”
He took a shaky step closer, shoulders hitching again as he looked down at you on the couch.
“I’ll t-talk to them. Make sure they never ffff-fucking bother you a-a-again. I promise.”
It was really starting to piss you off.
The way those two had strutted into your store like they owned Toby’s choices - owned you - like he was some dumb kid who needed to be kept on a leash. It made your blood boil. Toby wasn’t their property. He wasn’t a problem to be managed. He was… Toby. Restless and scarred and terrifyingly honest and yours, at least for right now.
You reached over and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tight between both of yours. His fingers twitched once, then curled around yours almost desperately, palm warm and rough.
“I hate how they talked to me,” you said, voice low but fierce. “Like they were so much better than you. Like they could just walk in, threaten me, and decide who you’re allowed to see. It was disgusting. Do they always act like that? Like they’re in charge of you?”
Toby looked down at your interlocked hands, his thumb brushing absently over your knuckles. His head gave a quick, sharp tic to the side before he shrugged, a little lost.
“They can be a lot,” he muttered. “But… we’ve buh-been through a lot t-together. They’ve got their reasons. Tim especially. It’s not–it’s not personal with you. They’re just…”
He trailed off, shoulders hitching hard.
You wanted to scream.
It was so obvious: Toby took it. He shut up, he let them scold him and boss him around because that’s what he was used to. And it made something protective and angry twist deep in your chest. He deserved better than being treated like the unstable attack dog of the group.
“God, I just want to slap Tim so fucking hard,” you burst out, the words tumbling faster. “Punch him right in his smug fucking face. Kick his ass. Tell him to mind his own goddamn business and stop treating you like a stupid kid who can’t make his own choices. I’m serious, Toby. The way he leaned over the counter and spat on my floor? I wanted to throw the register at his head.”
Toby stared at you for a second… then let out a short, surprised laugh. His shoulders shook with it, another violent tic jerking his neck sideways.
You weren’t done.
“And if I ever see him again, I’m borrowing these,” you said, reaching down and tapping one of the hatchet handles at his hip. “Just for a minute. I’ll be quick.”
Toby laughed harder - genuine, breathless laughter that made his whole body twitch. He collapsed back onto the couch beside you, leaning heavily over you as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His messy hair tickled your cheek, his breath warm against your skin, still shaking with quiet chuckles.
“F-fuck… you’re crazy,” he mumbled into your neck, voice muffled and warm. You could feel him smiling against you. “You’d actually try it, w-wouldn’t you?”
You wrapped your arms around him tightly, hugging him close. One hand slid up to thread through his messy brown hair, holding him there. You laughed too, the sound mixing with his, but underneath it you still felt that heavy twist of frustration and worry.
“Yeah, well… someone has to stand up for you,” you said softly, pressing your cheek to the top of his head. “Since you won’t do it yourself.”
Toby’s arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer until you were half in his lap. He leaned further into you, scarred face hidden against your throat. You hugged him a little tighter, fingers tracing one of the scars at the back of his neck.
You kept one hand buried in his messy brown hair, petting him slowly, fingers dragging through the strands and scratching lightly at his scalp. Toby melted under the touch with a low, broken hum, pressing even closer. His shoulders hitched hard once, twice, but he stayed curled against you like he never wanted to move again.
Then his mouth found your throat.
Warm, scarred lips brushed over the fading hickeys he’d left days ago, followed by slow, open-mouthed kisses that made your breath catch. He worked his way lower, kissing and licking across your collarbones, sucking gently on the sensitive skin just above the neckline of your polo. Every press of his mouth sent little sparks racing down your spine.
You hummed softly, tilting your head to give him better access. When he lifted his face again, you caught his jaw in your hand and pulled him up into a proper kiss.
It started sweet - almost careful - but within seconds it turned hungry. Toby groaned into your mouth as your tongues slid together, his hands roaming greedily over your waist and hips. You made out like that on the couch for a long minute, slow and deep and messy, the wet sounds of lips and tongues filling the quiet living room.
You broke just enough to speak, still holding his jaw firmly in your palm, thumb stroking over the thick scar on his cheek.
“You’re strong,” you whispered against his lips. “You’re capable. You’re not gonna take shit from anyone anymore. Not Tim. Not Brian. Not anybody. Got it?”
Toby’s dark eyes were glassy, breathing ragged. He nodded fast, another sharp tic jerking his head to the side with a soft crack. His hands tightened on your waist, fingers digging into your sides, then sliding down to grip your bare thighs right under the hem of your denim shorts.
“Y-yeah,” he breathed. “I g-got it.”
He leaned in again, chasing your mouth desperately. You let him kiss you, deep and filthy, before pulling back once more. Your thumb traced his bottom lip as you looked him dead in the eyes.
“And no one is allowed to insult us like that again,” you said, voice low and serious. “No one calls me a whore. No one calls you a dog. Especially not them.”
Toby nodded again, almost frantically, eyes locked on yours with that intense, obsessive shine you were starting to crave.
“I k-know,” he rasped. “I won’t let them. Never a-again.”
He stayed like that for a second, before gently pushing you off his lap and slowly sliding down off the couch. He settled on his knees between your spread thighs, right in front of you, hands resting on your legs. The twin hatchets at his hips shifted with the movement, handles bumping against the couch.
Toby looked up at you through his messy bangs, almost shy for a moment, cheeks faintly flushed under the scars. His fingers moved to the button of your denim shorts, popping it open with careful hands. He dragged the zipper down slowly, eyes flicking back up to your face like he was waiting for permission.
Then, voice barely above a whisper and a little timid, he admitted:
“But just so y-you know– I d-don’t mind being your dog…”
The words hit you like a spark straight to your core.
Heat flooded between your thighs instantly. You felt yourself get wet - soaked, really - just from the shy, honest way he said it. Your breath hitched, thighs pressing together slightly around his shoulders as fresh arousal throbbed through you.
His dark eyes darkened further, a crooked little smile tugging at his scarred mouth as he watched your face. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts and panties, ready to pull them down, waiting for you to tell him what you wanted.
You couldn’t help the wicked little smile that spread across your face at his shy confession.
“Oh yeah?” you teased, voice low and sweet as you looked down at him kneeling between your thighs. “You wanna be my little puppy? My personal pet?”
Toby groaned loud and broken, the sound vibrating against your skin. His head jerked sharply to the side with a crack, and he nodded so frantically it looked like it hurt.
“F-fuck yes,” he rasped, fingers already yanking desperately at your denim shorts and panties. “Please–I wanna be yours. Your g-good boy. Your ffff-fucking pet–”
You lifted your hips just enough to help him, and he practically ripped the fabric down your legs in one rough tug, tossing your shorts and soaked panties somewhere behind him. The cool air hit your wet pussy and you shivered.
You threaded your fingers through his messy hair again, tugging lightly.
“Maybe I should get you a collar then,” you purred, watching his reaction. “A nice one. So everyone knows who you belong to.”
Toby actually shook. A full-body tremor rolled through him, shoulders hitching violently as another loud crack sounded from his neck. His dark eyes were blown wide, pupils swallowing almost all the color.
“Yes–please,” he begged, voice wrecked. He spread your thighs wider with both scarred hands, pushing them apart until you were completely open for him. “Put me on a l-leash. I’m yours–I’m f-fucking yours–”
He leaned in immediately and pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss right against your dripping pussy, like he couldn’t wait another second. His lips dragged slowly up your slick folds before he sucked gently on your clit, moaning loud and shameless into your cunt.
You moaned right back, back arching off the couch as you grabbed a tight fistful of his hair.
“Fuck–Toby,” you gasped, a breathless little giggle slipping out. “I will. I’ll collar you and leash you if you eat this pussy like a good boy.”
He whimpered against you, the sound muffled and desperate. One of his hands was already palming himself roughly through his jeans, grinding the heel of his palm against his obvious hard-on while his tongue licked a long, sloppy stripe from your entrance up to your clit.
Then he really went down on you.
Toby devoured you like a man starved. There was nothing shy or hesitant about it now. He buried his face between your thighs, nose pressing against your clit as his tongue shoved inside you, fucking in and out with wet, obscene sounds. He groaned and whimpered the whole time, the vibrations shooting straight through your core.
He licked broad and messy, dragging his tongue everywhere - lapping up every drop of your arousal. Then he focused on your clit, sucking it hard between his lips while his tongue flicked fast and relentless against the sensitive bud. Your hips jerked, but he held you down with those strong hands, fingers digging bruises into your thighs as he kept you spread open for him.
“F-fuuuck, you taste so good,” he slurred against your pussy, voice thick and muffled. “So fucking w-wet–all for me–”
He spit directly on your clit, watching it glisten for half a second before diving back in, sucking and licking with renewed hunger. His head twitched hard against your thigh and the tic made him grind his face harder into you, nose rubbing perfect circles on your swollen clit while his tongue pushed deep again.
You were soaking his chin, his mouth, dripping down onto the couch, but Toby didn’t care. He was lost in it - moaning, slurping, eating you out with filthy, eager sounds that filled the entire living room. Every few seconds his shoulders hitched or his neck jerked, but it only made him more frantic, like the tics fed into his desperation.
He pulled back just enough to look up at you, lips shiny and swollen, chin glistening with your slick.
“C-call me your good p-puppy again,” he begged hoarsely, voice cracking. “Please–”
You tightened your grip in his hair and yanked him back down.
“Good boy,” you moaned, thighs trembling around his head. “Such a good little puppy. Eating my pussy so fucking well–”
Toby whimpered loudly and doubled down, sucking your clit hard while two thick fingers suddenly pushed inside you, curling instantly against that perfect spot. He pumped them fast, fucking you with his fingers while his mouth worked your clit without mercy.
The wet squelching sounds were downright pornographic. Your hips bucked against his face, grinding shamelessly as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly. He was palming himself harder now, hips twitching like he was barely holding it together, but he refused to stop until you came.
You were so close already - thighs shaking, stomach tightening, moans spilling louder and louder.
“Toby–fuck–don’t stop, I’m gonna–”
He moaned desperately into your cunt and sucked harder, fingers curling and thrusting perfectly, and that was it.
Your orgasm crashed over you hard. You cried out, back arching violently as your pussy clenched around his fingers, gushing against his tongue. Toby kept licking and sucking you through it, drinking down every drop like he was addicted, whimpering and groaning the whole time while his own hips jerked against his hand.
He didn’t stop even when you started twitching from overstimulation - only slowing his tongue into long, lazy licks to clean you up, savoring every last bit of you.
When you finally sagged back against the couch, panting and trembling, Toby rested his scarred cheek against your inner thigh, looking up at you with glassy, adoring eyes and a shiny, fucked-out grin.
His voice was hoarse, wrecked, and completely sincere when he whispered:
“…Can I a-actually have a c-collar?”
You let out a soft, surprised laugh, still catching your breath as you looked down at him kneeling there like the most eager puppy in the world.
“You’re serious?” you teased, grinning. “Alright, puppy. I’ll get you a collar. A nice one. Maybe even with your name on it.”
Toby’s whole face lit up, dark eyes sparkling with pure, unfiltered delight. He nodded fast, another sharp tic jerking his head to the side with a loud crack.
“Yes–fuck yes, puh-please,” he breathed.
You stroked his hair once more, then gently pushed at his shoulders.
“Sit on the couch, baby.”
He obeyed instantly. First he unclipped the twin hatchets from his belt and set them carefully on the floor with a heavy thunk, then dropped onto the couch, legs spread wide. His hands flexed restlessly on his thighs as he watched you stand up.
You moved between his knees and helped him shove his jeans and boxers down his hips. His thick cock sprang free, already rock-hard and flushed dark, curving slightly upward with a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip. You wrapped your hand around him, giving a few slow, firm strokes while you leaned in and kissed him deeply.
Toby moaned into your mouth, hips twitching up into your fist. You spit directly onto his cock, letting the warm saliva drip down his length before you stroked it in, spreading it nice and slick. Your thumb swirled over the sensitive head on every upstroke, squeezing just how you knew he liked. All the while your tongues slid together, wet and hungry.
“Such a good boy,” you whispered against his lips, jerking him a little faster. “So hard for me already.”
He whimpered, scarred hands grabbing at your waist, pulling you closer.
You finally climbed onto his lap, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips. You reached down, lined his cock up with your soaked entrance, and slowly sank down.
The stretch was overwhelming.
A broken moan tore from your throat as his thick length pushed inside you inch by inch, splitting you open so perfectly it made your eyes flutter. He was so deep like this - filling you completely, pressing right against that spot that made your eyes roll back. Your pussy fluttered and clenched around him, dripping down his shaft as you bottomed out with a shaky gasp.
“F-fuuuck–” Toby groaned, head falling back against the couch cushions. His neck cracked sharply to the side, but he didn’t seem to notice. His hands immediately grabbed two big handfuls of your ass, squeezing hard as he pulled you down even tighter against him. “So tight–so fucking wet, o-oh my God–”
You braced your hands on his chest and started riding him.
Slow at first, rolling your hips in deep, grinding circles so you could feel every thick inch of him dragging inside you. Your tits bounced under your polo with every movement. Toby’s eyes were glued to where your bodies joined, watching his cock disappear into your dripping pussy over and over with pure awe on his face.
Then you picked up the pace.
You bounced on his cock harder, faster, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the living room. Every time you dropped down, his hips bucked up to meet you, driving himself even deeper.
“Fuck, Toby–you feel so good,” you moaned, nails digging into his scarred shoulders. “Such a big fucking dick. Stretching me so full–”
Toby let out a wrecked, stuttering moan, head lolling back against the cushions again. His mouth hung open, eyes half-lidded and glassy as he panted.
“Y-yours–it’s a-all yours,” he rasped, voice cracking. His hands gripped your ass tighter, fingers bruising as he started actively pulling you down onto him with every bounce. “Ride me–fuck, r-ride your puppy–please–”
You leaned forward, bracing one hand on the back of the couch so you could fuck him even harder. Your moans mixed with his, loud and desperate, absolutely filthy. Every slap of your ass against his thighs sent jolts of pleasure through you. His cock hit that perfect spot on every downstroke, making your eyes roll back.
“That’s it, puppy,” you panted, grinding down hard on his cock. “Take this pussy. You’re doing so good for me–such a good boy–”
Toby’s head snapped to the side with another violent tic, but his grip on your ass never loosened. He was thrusting up frantically now, meeting every bounce, chasing his pleasure with shameless desperation. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His moans were getting louder, more broken, the stammer falling apart completely.
“I– I’m gonna–fuck, I’m s-so close a-already–” he whined, sounding almost embarrassed at how fast he was losing it.
You rode him faster, clenching around his throbbing cock on every stroke.
“Cum for me, puppy,” you moaned right against his ear, biting his scarred neck. “Fill me up. Be a good boy and cum deep inside me–”
That did it.
Toby’s whole body seized. His head slammed back against the couch, neck cracking loudly as his hips stuttered up hard. A loud, shattered moan ripped out of him as he came - thick, hot ropes of cum flooding deep inside your pussy. Pulse after pulse, so much it immediately started leaking out around his cock, dripping down his balls and onto the couch. His hands kept your ass pinned down tight against him, holding you there while he emptied himself completely, twitching and groaning through every spurt.
“F-fuuuck–thank you–thank you–” he whimpered, voice hoarse and wrecked, still cumming.
You kept rolling your hips slowly, milking him through it until he was trembling and oversensitive beneath you, breathing hard against your neck.
You stayed like that for a long moment, still straddling his lap, his softening cock buried deep inside you as the aftershocks slowly faded. Your forehead rested against his, both of you breathing hard, skin slick with sweat.
Eventually you lifted yourself off him with a soft, wet sound. A thick gush of his cum followed, running down your inner thighs as you shifted to sit beside him on the couch. You leaned heavily against his side, cheek pressed to his shoulder.
Toby immediately threw his arm around you, pulling you closer. His chest was still heaving, breath ragged as he tried to come down. For a while you just sat there in comfortable silence, your hand gently petting his bare thigh, fingers tracing old scars and fresh bruises.
Then reality started creeping back in.
You tilted your head to look up at him. “What are you gonna do about Tim and Brian?”
Toby’s shoulders hitched hard. He stared at the ceiling for a second, neck cracking sharply to the side.
“I’m gonna t-talk to them,” he muttered. “As soon as I get h-home from this job tuh-tonight. They had n-no right to go a-a-a-after you like that. I’m done letting them p-pull that shit.”
You nodded slowly, still stroking his thigh. “You all live together?”
“Yeah,” he said, a little too quickly. His fingers twitched against your shoulder. He clearly didn’t want to talk about it. “We do.”
You let it drop for now.
The silence stretched again. Your eyes drifted down to the twin hatchets lying on the floor. The reality of what he was about to go do - of what those weapons were for - hit you like a truck. Your stomach twisted with guilt and unease.
“…Who’s the job tonight?” you asked quietly, voice small. “Is it… someone innocent? I feel really fucked up about this, Toby. Knowing you’re gonna take a life.”
Toby squeezed your shoulder gently, thumb rubbing slow circles over your polo. He turned his head to look at you, dark eyes serious despite the post-sex haze.
“It’s not innocent,” he said. “My b-boss marks the targets. People who n-need to be e-eliminated. This guy… he deserves it. Trust me.”
It still felt so strange hearing him talk about it so casually - like murder was just another shift at the gas station. You swallowed hard and nodded, even though part of you still felt morally sick.
Curiosity got the better of you.
You leaned forward and reached down, carefully picking up one of the hatchets from the floor. It was surprisingly heavy in your hand, the wooden handle smooth from years of use, the blade dark and wickedly sharp. You slid it free from its holder, turning it slowly, feeling the weight and balance. The edge gleamed even in the low lamplight.
Toby watched you the entire time, one hand gently petting your hair, brushing it back from your face.
You ran your thumb carefully along the flat of the blade, careful not to cut yourself.
“…How does it feel?” you asked softly. “When you use it.”
Toby was quiet for a moment, head twitching once, twice. His scarred fingers kept stroking through your hair.
“It feels…” He exhaled slowly. “Like the m-most natural t-thing in the world.”
A shiver ran down your spine - cold and electric at the same time. The words should have terrified you. Instead, something darker, something thrilling twisted low in your belly. You stared at the hatchet in your hands, heart beating faster.
Toby’s arm tightened around you, pulling you closer again. His voice dropped, rough and honest.
“You don’t have t-to like it,” he murmured against your hair. “But it’s w-who I am.”
You set the hatchet back down carefully, the heavy thunk sounding final on the floorboards. Your hand returned to his thigh, but your mind was spinning - fear, arousal, affection, and that strange new thrill all tangled together.
You hummed softly, still leaning against him. “It’s… really hard to grasp all of this.”
Toby nodded, his head twitching sharply to the side with a quiet crack. “I know,” he murmured. “It’s a lot.”
You sat there for another moment, then sighed and slowly pushed yourself up off the couch. “I need to put on new panties. I’ll be right back.”
You hurried down the short hallway to your bedroom, thighs still slick with his cum. In the bathroom you quickly wiped yourself clean, tossed the messy tissue, and slipped on a fresh pair of panties. When you came back into the living room, Toby had already pulled his jeans and boxers back up. He was sitting on the couch again, absently toying with one of your throw pillows, flipping it over in his hands like he didn’t know what else to do with them.
His dark eyes immediately dropped to your bare legs as you walked in. He stared openly, hungrily, tracking every step until you bent down to grab your denim shorts from the floor. You shot him a little smile over your shoulder as you tugged them back on.
He smiled back - that crooked, scarred, boyish grin that made your chest feel warm.
You buttoned your shorts and laughed under your breath. “Okay, I have something to tell you.”
Toby tilted his head, still smiling. “What?”
You chewed your lip for a second, suddenly a little shy. “When Tim and Brian came into the store… I kind of freaked out and told them you were my boyfriend. I said we were together and happy and everything. It just kind of slipped out.”
Toby went completely still.
For a long second he just stared at you, dark eyes wide, mouth slightly parted like he couldn’t process what you’d said. His shoulders hitched hard once, twice. Then his whole face lit up with pure, stunned disbelief and joy.
“…You did?” he asked, voice cracking.
You nodded, grinning.
He stood up so fast it was almost comical, crossing the two steps between you in one restless stride. His hands grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against him.
“Like… this m-means we’re boyfriend and g-girlfriend?” he asked, almost breathless, head twitching sharply to the side.
You giggled and gave his chest a light push, cheeks burning. “No. I mean, I don’t know… maybe? I was just pissed off at them and it came out.”
Toby didn’t care about the technicalities.
He grinned huge and wrapped his arms around you tightly, burying his face in your hair as he hugged you. His body was still twitching with restless energy, but he held you so close you could feel his heart hammering against your chest.
You laughed into his hoodie, wrapping your arms around his waist and squeezing him back just as hard. “I seriously need to get your number though. You’re out here calling yourself my boyfriend and I don’t even have you in my phone.”
Toby pulled back just enough to look at you, still smiling like an idiot. “Yeah. Fuck yeah.”
You both fished your phones out. He handed you his - an older cracked model with a completely shattered screen - and you saved your contact under:
“your owner 🖤”
When you handed it back, Toby’s face went bright red. He stared at the screen for a second, then let out a short, choppy laugh and immediately started typing in your phone. He saved himself under:
“boyfriend 🪓”
You burst out laughing when you saw it. “Cheesy.”
“Shut up,” he muttered, but he was grinning as he pulled you in again.
You kissed him - slow and sweet at first, then deeper, tongues brushing lazily. His hands stayed on your waist, thumbs stroking your sides while his shoulders hitched every few seconds. When you finally pulled back, you were both a little breathless again.
Toby rested his forehead against yours, still smiling like he couldn’t believe any of this was real.
He reluctantly pulled away from you, bending down to grab the twin hatchets from the floor. He clipped them back onto his belt with practiced, efficient movements, the heavy weapons settling against his hips like they belonged there. The sight still sent a strange little jolt through you - part fear, part that dark thrill you were starting to get used to.
Your phone pinged loudly in your hand.
You glanced at the screen. It was Andy, as usual:
yo u late asf
got a surprise for u when u get here lol
hurry up
“Shit,” you muttered, shoving the phone into your back pocket. “I’m late for work.”
Toby straightened up, adjusting the hatchets one last time. A crooked little grin tugged at his scarred mouth.
“Same,” he said, voice low and amused, like the idea of his own “job” was just another casual errand.
You almost shuddered at the reminder - the casual way he was about to go out and kill someone - but you swallowed it down and forced a small smile instead. He didn’t need to see you freaking out right before he left.
He stepped close again, one hand cupping the side of your neck as he leaned in. The kiss was slow and deep, a little desperate at the edges, like he was trying to take as much of you with him as possible. You kissed him back just as hard, fingers gripping the front of his hoodie.
When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing a little heavier.
You walked him to the front door together, the warm night air brushing over your skin as you stepped outside. Toby lingered on the porch for a second, hands twitching at his sides, head giving a quick, sharp tic to the left with a soft crack.
“Be s-safe at work,” he muttered, eyes flicking over your face.
“You too,” you replied softly, even though the words felt heavy and wrong in your mouth.
He gave you one last crooked smile, then turned and disappeared into the treeline with that familiar uneven walk, shoulders hitching every few steps until the shadows swallowed him.
You stood on the porch for a moment longer, heart doing something complicated in your chest, before you locked the door and headed off toward the gas station.
You pushed open the door to the Stop & Gas, the little bell jingling above you. Andy was already slouched in the chair behind the counter, buzzcut freshly faded, tattoos shifting on his arms as he scrolled through his phone with one hand and casually hit his vape with the other. The “NO SMOKING” sign hanging right above his head looked almost comical.
You smirked, raising your eyebrows at him as you walked in. “Really, dude? With the security cameras rolling?”
Andy glanced up, that lazy, shit-eating grin spreading across his face. He took another slow drag and blew the sweet-smelling vapor toward the ceiling. “You’re never gonna believe what happened.”
You dropped your bag behind the counter and leaned against it, arms crossed. “Hit me.”
He sat up a little straighter, clearly excited to tell the story. “Management called me right before the shift. Said the cameras are completely dead again. Just pure static on every feed. They tried resetting them a bunch of times but nothing worked, so they finally came and took them all down. Apparently it’s happened before at a couple other stores around here too. Something about the woods being so close, interference or whatever.”
You raised your brows. “That’s… odd.”
Andy shrugged, taking another hit from his vape. “Probably some cheap-ass system. Good for me though. Side hustle just got a whole lot easier without Big Brother watching.” He winked.
You hummed, forcing a little chuckle. “Yeah, convenient.”
You shook it off and changed the subject. “So what’s this surprise you texted me about?”
Andy’s grin widened. He clapped his hands together once and reached under the counter, pulling out a greasy paper bag and two big Styrofoam cups. “I hoped you were hungry. Burgers and shakes, just like I promised.”
You actually squealed, eyes lighting up. “No way!”
You gave him a quick side hug, squeezing his shoulder as you snatched the bag. The smell of greasy fast food hit you and your stomach growled instantly. You ripped it open, unwrapping one of the burgers and taking a huge bite.
“Oh my God,” you moaned around the food, slapping the counter with your free hand. “This is so good.”
Andy laughed, already digging into his own burger. “Being an accessory to my business finally paying off, huh?”
“Best perk yet,” you mumbled through a mouthful of fries, wiggling your eyebrows.
The two of you leaned against the counter, eating like animals while the store stayed quiet around you. Andy launched into his usual small talk between bites.
“Got a date tomorrow night,” he said proudly, wiping sauce off his chin. “Some girl I met when I was DJing last weekend. She’s so bad, bro. Tatted, thick, just how I like ‘em.”
You snorted, dipping a fry into your shake. “Nice. Just don’t do that thing where you get too high and start telling conspiracy theories about the government putting trackers in vaccines again. Last date ended with her blocking you before dessert, remember?”
Andy groaned dramatically. “That was one time! I’m on my best behavior this go-around, swear.”
You grinned, licking ketchup off your thumb. “Mhm. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
He took another massive bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully for a second before perking up. “Oh, speaking of DJing, I got another gig next weekend. It’s a bigger spot than usual, you should come through.”
Your eyebrows lifted. “For real? Yeah, I’m down.”
“Bet,” Andy said, looking genuinely pleased. “You can bring whoever. Or just come solo and I’ll buy you a drink after my set.”
You laughed softly. “Alright, text me the info and I’ll try to make it.”
“Sweet.” He bumped your shoulder with his own, grinning.
You kept shit-talking and teasing him while you both ate sloppily, grease and salt all over your fingers. At one point you leaned back against the counter, licking salt off your thumb, and smirked.
“God, this hits different after some good dick.”
Andy choked on his shake, eyes going wide. He let out a loud laugh, coughing a little. “No way–wait, for real?”
You just gave him a look, mouth still full of burger, eyebrows raised.
He gasped, pointing at you with a fry. “It’s the Tourette’s dude, isn’t it? Bandana guy? Fuck was his name again… Toby?”
You tried and failed to hide your grin, chewing slowly.
Andy threw his head back and laughed harder. “Holy shit, that explains why you were so fucking late tonight. You nasty little freak.”
You shoved his shoulder, laughing with him. “Shut up and eat your burger.”
But you couldn’t stop smiling. Even with everything else going on, sitting here with Andy, stuffing your face and talking shit, felt almost normal.
Almost.
Toby’s boots crunched heavily over the damp leaves and pine needles as he made his way back through the woods, twin hatchets dripping at his hips. The job had been clean. Too clean. The journalist barely had time to look up before the first hatchet buried itself in his skull. Middle-aged, nosy piece of shit who’d been digging into old disappearances and proxy activity. Easy target. Toby hadn’t even broken a sweat.
But now?
Now he was practically shaking.
His shoulders hitched violently with every other step, neck cracking sharply to the side again and again - crack, crack, crack - as rage boiled hotter in his chest. The walk back to the old house felt longer than usual, every rustle in the trees feeding the storm building inside him.
They’d gone to your fucking job.
Tim and Brian had walked into the Stop & Gas, leaned over the counter, and terrorized you. And they hadn’t said a single fucking word to him about it.
Not one.
He should’ve known. They’d gone behind his back. Again.
“F-fucking assholes,” Toby growled under his breath. His fingers flexed hard around the handles of the hatchets, knuckles white. Another full-body tic slammed through him so hard he nearly stumbled, head jerking violently to the left.
The more he pictured it - you standing behind that counter, alone, while those jerks crowded you and tried to scare you off - the worse it got. You’d hugged him tonight. Kissed him. Called him your boyfriend in front of them. Let him fuck you on your couch and promised him a collar.
And they tried to take that from him.
By the time the rundown house came into view through the trees, Toby was vibrating with fury. His breath came fast and uneven, scarred face twisted into something ugly. The porch light was on. The truck was parked out front.
They were home.
Good.
The front door slammed open with enough force to rattle the old windows in their frames.
Toby stormed inside, boots tracking dirt and a few specks of blood across the floor. The house was dead quiet - it was well past midnight, the kind of heavy silence that usually meant everyone had crashed after a long day. But Toby didn’t give a single fuck.
He marched straight into the living room, shoulders hitching violently, neck cracking hard to the left every few steps. The only light came from the low glow of the TV, which had long since gone to a screensaver. On the couch, Ben was curled up in a tight ball, messy blonde hair sticking up in every direction, one arm dangling off the edge with his laptop still open on the cushion beside him. He’d clearly fallen asleep mid-work, earbuds still half in his ears.
Toby didn’t even glance at him.
He walked right up to the staircase railing and started slamming his fist against the old wooden banister as hard as he could - BANG BANG BANG BANG - the sound echoing through the entire house like gunshots.
“TIM!” he roared, voice raw and furious. “BRIAN! Get the fuck down here! NOW!”
CRACK. His neck jerked violently to the side.
BANG BANG BANG.
“TIM! BRIAN!”
Ben jolted awake with a terrified gasp, nearly falling off the couch. His eyes flew open wide, one hand dramatically clutching his chest like he was having a heart attack.
“Dude–what the fuck?!” Ben wheezed, voice hoarse with sleep, scrambling to sit up. He yanked one earbud out, blinking rapidly as he tried to make sense of the chaos. “Toby, holy shit–are you trying to give me a fucking heart attack?!”
Toby ignored him completely. He kept slamming his fist against the railing, the old wood groaning under the assault.
“TIM! Get your a-ass down here ruh-right fucking now!” His voice cracked with the volume, another violent tic making his whole upper body jerk. “B-BRIAN! BOTH OF YOU!”
Ben rubbed his eyes, looking equal parts annoyed and concerned. “Jesus Christ, man… what the hell is going on? Did someone die or–”
“TIM!” Toby bellowed again, louder this time, fist still hammering the banister. BANG BANG BANG. “BRIAN! I know you’re ffffff-fucking home!”
Heavy footsteps started thundering from upstairs. Doors creaked open. The house was no longer quiet.
Toby’s chest heaved, eyes burning with barely-contained rage.
Tim was the first one down the stairs.
He came stomping down in nothing but an old t-shirt and boxers, hair messy, eyes bleary and bloodshot. The sharp smell of whisky rolled off him in waves. He took one look at Toby standing there vibrating with rage, hatchets still at his hips, blood on his clothes, and lost it.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Tim bellowed, voice hoarse from sleep and alcohol. “It’s the middle of the goddamn night–”
He didn’t even finish the sentence. As soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs he shoved Toby hard in the chest with both hands.
Toby stumbled back a couple steps, then exploded.
He shoved Tim back just as violently, nearly knocking the bigger man off his feet. “You went to her fuh-fucking J-JOB!” Toby screamed, voice cracking and manic, spit flying. His head jerked sharply to the side - CRACK-CRACK - shoulders hitching so hard it looked painful. “You t-threatened her! Ttried to scare her off like I’m s-some fucking p-pet you c-can control!”
His tics were completely out of control now. Every other word was punctuated by a violent twitch or jerk, neck snapping, shoulders rolling, eyes wild.
Tim’s face twisted with anger. “She’s a goddamn liability–”
That was all it took.
Toby swung first.
His fist connected hard with Tim’s jaw, the crack echoing through the living room. Tim roared and tackled him, and just like that they were fighting - brutal, ugly, no-holds-barred. Fists flying, elbows, knees. Toby was smaller but faster and absolutely manic, landing punches with reckless speed.
Ben was wide awake now, curled up tight against the back of the couch, eyes huge.
“Dude– what the FUCK?!” Ben shouted, voice cracking with disbelief. “Are you two serious right now?! Stop!”
They didn’t stop.
Toby managed to duck under one of Tim’s haymakers, drove his shoulder into the bigger man’s gut, and took him down hard onto the floor. They crashed into the coffee table, sending empty beer bottles flying. Toby got on top, straddling Tim’s chest and raining down punches, screaming the whole time.
Brian appeared at the bottom, shirt and boxers, holding a pistol in a tight grip. His eyes widened at the scene.
“Stop it! Both of you–NOW!” he yelled, voice cold and sharp.
They ignored him.
Brian moved forward, trying to grab Toby by the back of his hoodie to yank him off. In one lightning-fast, practiced motion, Toby twisted, snatched the gun right out of Brian’s hand, and–
Tim grabbed Toby’s leg and yanked hard.
Toby lost his balance. The gun flew from his grip, skidding across the wooden floor with a loud scrape before sliding to a stop right beside the couch.
Ben’s eyes went comically wide. Without thinking, he lunged forward and snatched the pistol off the floor, holding it awkwardly with both hands like it might bite him.
“Jesus Christ–okay, everyone just chill the fuck out!” Ben shouted, voice pitching higher than usual as he pointed the gun vaguely in their direction. “I swear to God I will shoot someone if you don’t stop!”
Brian stood frozen a few feet away, empty hands raised slightly, staring at the absolute disaster his housemates had become.
Tim roared and flipped them, using his size and weight to slam Toby onto his back. He managed to get on top, straddling him, and started swinging with everything he had - heavy, brutal punches that cracked against Toby’s jaw, cheek, ribs. Each hit landed with a sickening thud.
“You stupid–little–fuck!” Tim snarled between punches, whisky breath hot and furious. “Always making shit worse!”
Toby thrashed underneath him, tics going completely haywire. His head snapped violently side to side - CRACK-CRACK-CRACK - shoulders jerking so hard it looked like he was seizing. Blood was already pouring from his split lip and a cut above his eye.
“Get the f-fuck off me!” Toby screamed. “She’s mine–you don’t fucking t-touch her–I’ll k-kill you–I’ll fucking kill you!”
Brian moved carefully toward the couch, one hand out. “Ben. Give me the gun. Now.”
Ben was curled against the back cushions, eyes huge, hands shaking as he clutched the pistol like it was a live grenade. “N-no! Fuck no, you’re all insane!”
“Give me the fucking gun, Ben!” Brian snapped, agitation bleeding into his voice.
“I’ll shoot! I swear I’ll shoot someone!” Ben’s voice cracked as he waved the gun nervously. Then, in pure panic, he started screaming at the top of his lungs. “JEFF! JEFF! Get down here! JEFF!!”
The fight on the floor only got uglier. Tim and Toby were screaming at each other between punches - raw insults, old grudges, and years of buried resentment exploding all at once.
“You think you can just have a normal life with that gas station slut?!” Tim roared, slamming his fist hard into Toby’s ribs.
“She’s not a s-slut–fuck you!” Toby howled, thrashing beneath him. “She’s better than all of us! And I’m not l-like you, Tim! I don’t destroy e-everything I fffff-fucking touch!”
The words hit Tim like a slap to the face, cracking something ugly and deeply buried inside him.
His face twisted with pure rage, eyes bloodshot and wild. “The fuck did you just say?!” he bellowed, voice cracking with fury. He swung harder, fists raining down heavier than before - brutal, uncontrolled punches that cracked against Toby’s jaw and cheek with sickening force. “I’ll fucking kill you, you ungrateful little shit!”
Toby snarled and bucked wildly, trying to throw him off as blood flew from his split lip.
Brian yelled again, louder this time, “Ben, just hand it over before someone actually dies!”
More heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs.
But before Jeff could even reach the bottom, Toby twisted with a feral, twitchy burst of strength. He got one arm free, yanked one of the hatchets from its holder at his hip in a lightning-fast motion, and–
THUNK.
The blade buried deep into the side of Tim’s thigh.
Tim’s scream ripped through the house, raw and agonized. Blood immediately started squirting from the wound in thick, rhythmic pulses, soaking Toby’s hoodie and the floorboards beneath them.
“FUCK–YOU LITTLE PSYCHO!” Tim howled, clutching his leg.
Ben screamed at the top of his lungs, high-pitched and terrified, scrambling further back on the couch.
Jeff finally appeared at the bottom of the stairs, messy black hair loose, eyes wide with surprise. A slow, amused grin spread across his scarred face as he took in the absolute bloodbath unfolding in the living room.
“Well damn,” Jeff drawled, sounding way too entertained. “The fuck’s going on here?”
In the chaos, Brian lunged forward and ripped the gun out of Ben’s shaking hands. He spun, aimed at Toby’s shoulder, and pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space.
Toby jerked hard as the bullet slammed into his left shoulder, a spray of blood exploding outward. The impact knocked him off Tim and sent him sprawling sideways onto the floor with a choked grunt. His hatchet clattered beside him, still slick with Tim’s blood.
The living room fell into a stunned, ringing silence for half a second - broken only by Tim’s pained groaning and the wet sound of blood pooling on the floor.
Toby lay on his back, chest heaving, blood pouring steadily from the bullet wound in his shoulder and the gashes on his face. There was no pain - there never was - but his dark eyes still burned with raw fury as violent tics tore through him. His shoulders hitched sharply, neck cracking hard.
Brian just stood there, gun still raised, breathing hard.
Tim clutched his mangled thigh, cursing weakly through gritted teeth as blood kept pumping out between his fingers.
Jeff sauntered over to the couch like he was watching a mildly entertaining bar fight instead of a bloodbath in his own living room. He dropped down heavily beside Ben, slinging one arm around the smaller guy’s shoulders and giving the side of his head a couple of playful taps.
“Aww, you yelled for me like a little bitch,” Jeff teased, voice raspy with amusement. “That was cute, Ben. Real damsel-in-distress.”
Ben was trembling hard, eyes glued to the growing pool of blood spreading out from Tim’s thigh. He barely registered Jeff’s teasing, just shook harder and muttered, “There’s so much fucking blood, bro…”
Tim was still on the floor, face pale and shiny with sweat, hands clamped uselessly around the deep gash in his leg. Blood kept squirting between his fingers in weaker pulses now. “Brian!” he yelled, voice cracking. “Get the fuck over here and help me–I’m gonna bleed out, you asshole!”
Then he turned his glare on Toby, teeth bared. “And you–you fucking psycho! I should’ve put you down years ago!”
Toby just lay on his back a few feet away, chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven breaths. Blood soaked his hoodie from the fresh bullet wound in his left shoulder and dripped from his busted face. His dark eyes stared at the ceiling, jaw tight. He didn’t say a word. His shoulders hitched violently every few seconds, neck cracking sharply, but otherwise he ignored everyone.
Brian stalked over to Toby, towering above him, face twisted with fury. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he shouted, voice loud and disrespectful, like a pissed-off older brother scolding a bratty kid. “You stab Tim in the fucking leg?! Over some random pussy?! You’ve lost your goddamn mind, Toby! I told you this bitch was trouble–”
Toby didn’t even look at him. Just kept breathing, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth, eyes distant and burning.
“Brian!” Tim shouted again, weaker this time, skin turning a sickly grey. “I’m serious–I’m gonna pass out, man–”
Brian dragged a hand down his face and let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Fuck. I’ll get Jack.” He yanked open the basement door and bellowed down the stairs, “Jack! Get up here! We need medical, now! Tim’s bleeding everywhere!”
Heavy footsteps started climbing from the basement.
Jeff leaned back against the couch, casually toying with his lighter, flicking it open and closed with a soft metallic click. He pulled a cigarette from behind his ear, lit it, and took a long drag, watching the mess on the floor with mild amusement.
His gaze drifted down to Tim’s leg, where blood was still pumping hot and dark between his fingers, soaking through his boxers and spreading fast across the old wood.
Jeff squinted at it like he was mildly impressed.
“Huh,” he said, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth. “Looks like Twitch might’ve nicked an artery.”
Tim gave a harsh, pissed-off grunt, face pale and twisted with pain, like Jeff had just pointed out the sky was blue. “No fucking shit,” he snarled through gritted teeth, clamping both hands harder over the wound.
Jeff snorted.
Then he leaned slightly toward Ben, his voice dropping lower. “So,” he asked, eyes still glinting with amusement, “what the hell were they fighting about this time?”
Ben swallowed hard, still shaking, eyes flicking nervously between the gun in Brian’s hand and the chaos on the floor. “I-I don’t really know… Something about Toby having a girl. Tim did something behind his back. Called her names or whatever. Just your typical proxy bullshit, I guess.”
Jeff hummed, the corner of his scarred mouth twitching into a smirk as he took another drag. His eyes stayed locked on Tim’s paling face.
“Figures,” he muttered, flicking ash onto the floor. “Toby finally gets some pussy and the whole house tries to burn down.”
Tim let out another weak, pissed-off groan. Brian stood between them like a tired referee who’d already given up.
The basement door creaked wider as Jack emerged, carrying a large black emergency kit, moving with that same calm, clinical detachment he always had. His void-black eyes swept across the destroyed living room - blood everywhere, overturned furniture, Toby on the floor, Tim bleeding out, Brian standing there fuming, Ben curled up on the couch, and Jeff casually smoking.
Jack took it all in with mild, awkward politeness, as if he’d just walked into a slightly messy dinner party.
He crouched down beside Toby first, gloved hands already reaching for the bullet wound in his shoulder.
Tim immediately lost what little patience he had left. “Jack! What the fuck are you doing?! I’m the one bleeding out over here, you stupid fuck!”
Brian snapped right after him, voice sharp. “Toby’s not the emergency, Jack. Get over here!”
Jack paused, blinking slowly. He gave Toby’s arm a gentle, almost apologetic tap with two fingers.
“My apologies,” he said in that smooth, formal tone, clearly not very sorry at all. “I will return shortly.”
He moved over to Tim, opening the kit with practiced efficiency. He pressed a thick wad of gauze hard against the hatchet wound, trying to stem the arterial bleeding. Tim hissed and groaned through gritted teeth, face ghostly pale and slick with sweat. Jack packed more padding into the gash, working quickly and methodically.
“He is losing too much blood," Jack stated calmly, glancing up at Brian. “We need to get him downstairs to the infirmary. Now.”
Brian nodded, jaw tight. Together they hauled Tim up - one arm over each of their shoulders. Tim’s head lolled, legs dragging uselessly as they half-carried, half-dragged him toward the basement door, leaving a thick trail of blood across the floorboards. The sound of his weak cursing faded down the stairs.
Jeff stretched lazily on the couch, arms raised high above his head, then gave Ben a light shove with his shoulder.
“Welp. I need to run an errand,” he said casually, the smirk never leaving his face. “You need anything while I’m out?”
Ben let out a shaky, hysterical little laugh, still trembling. “Yeah. Everything. I need a new fucking life after this shit.”
Jeff barked out a raspy laugh and clapped Ben on the back as he stood up. “See ya later, drama queen.”
He paused near the door, glancing back at Toby still lying on the floor, bleeding from his shoulder and face, staring blankly up at the ceiling. “Hey, Tobes. Good job, man. Real nice swing on that hatchet.”
Toby didn’t respond. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. Another violent tic jerked his neck to the side with a loud crack, but his eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, dark and unfocused, blood slowly pooling beneath him.
Jeff just chuckled to himself and headed out, the front door slamming behind him.
The house fell into a strange, heavy quiet. Ben hugged his knees on the couch, still shaken. Toby remained on the floor, bleeding quietly, the rage from earlier slowly draining out of him and leaving only exhaustion in its wake.
You knelt on the scuffed tile floor, stacking cans of energy drinks into the cooler with slow, methodical movements. Your denim shorts had ridden up high on your thighs from the position, and your hair kept falling into your face no matter how many times you shoved it back. The leftover taste of burger and strawberry shake still lingered on your tongue, and for a little while, things had felt almost normal.
Andy was slouched behind the counter, legs kicked up on the register, casually vaping thick clouds of sweet-smelling vapor while he scrolled through his phone. Every now and then he’d chuckle at whatever video he was watching, the sound lazy and warm in the quiet store.
The meal had been great. The shift had been surprisingly chill so far. You felt full, a little greasy, and more satisfied than you had any right to be.
But you couldn’t stop worrying about Toby.
Your mind kept drifting back to him - the way he’d looked when he left your house, hatchets back on his hips, that restless fire in his eyes. Had he confronted Tim and Brian yet? Was he okay? Did it turn into a screaming match? A fight? Something worse?
You glanced at your phone for the hundredth time, screen lighting up your face. No new messages.
You sighed heavily, shoulders slumping as you shoved another four-pack of Monster into place with more force than necessary. The worry gnawed at the pit of your stomach. What if they’d hurt him? What if he’d hurt them? What if he was bleeding somewhere right now and you had no way to reach him?
“Everything good over there?” Andy called out, not even looking up from his phone. “You’ve been sighing like a Victorian widow for the last twenty minutes.”
You forced a small laugh, sitting back on your heels and wiping your hands on your shorts. “Yeah… just thinking.”
Andy finally glanced over, one eyebrow raised. “About Bandana Boy?”
You didn’t answer right away. Instead you grabbed another case of drinks and started stacking again, the cans clinking together loudly in the quiet store. Your shorts rode even higher as you stretched, but you didn’t bother fixing them.
“I don’t know,” you muttered eventually. “I’m just… nervous.”
Andy took a long drag from his vape, then exhaled slowly. “Well, if he fucks up and ghosts you, at least you got some bomb dick out of it first, right?”
You snorted despite yourself, shaking your head. “Whatever, dude.”
But the worry didn’t leave. Not even a little.
The bell above the door jingled.
You were still on your knees, ass up, reaching deep into the bottom shelf to stack the last row of energy drinks when you felt the shift in the air. The store suddenly felt smaller.
You glanced over your shoulder and froze.
Holy shit.
The guy who just walked in was tall - stupidly tall, easily 6’4”, with a lean, wiry build that somehow looked both graceful and dangerous, like a coiled blade. Long, messy black hair cascaded past his shoulders, shiny and slightly tangled, half of it tucked lazily behind one ear.
His face… God. Even with the scars, he was undeniably handsome. Sharp jawline, high cheekbones, dark hooded eyes that seemed to drink in everything at once. The two thin, pale scars running from the corners of his mouth up toward his cheeks were clearly self-inflicted - precise lines he must have carved into himself a long time ago. Though fully healed, they were still visibly intentional. Pale skin, full lips, and that lazy, arrogant confidence radiating off him like heat.
He looked like trouble wrapped in pretty violence.
His eyes locked onto you immediately. You were still on all fours in those tiny denim shorts, thighs flexed, polo riding up your back. He didn’t even pretend to be polite - his gaze dragged slowly down your body, lingering on your ass, your legs, the curve of your waist, before sliding back up to your face. The corner of his scarred mouth twitched upward into a little crooked, predatory smirk.
Then he looked past you.
“Yo, Andy,” he greeted, voice low and raspy in that rough smoker’s drawl.
Andy looked up from his phone, vape still between his fingers. “Jeff, my guy. What’s good?”
You pushed yourself up from the floor, rising fully to your feet as you brushed the dust off your knees, heart beating a little faster than it should. So this was another one of Andy’s shady clients. Great.
Jeff leaned one elbow on the counter, long fingers drumming slowly.
“Need more than usual tonight, bro. Like… a lot more. That fire shit you hooked me up with last time? Gimme two of those and a couple eight-balls on top. I’m tryna stay faded for a minute.”
Andy nodded like it was the most normal request in the world. He took one last quick hit from his vape, blowing the sweet-smelling cloud toward the ceiling.
“Bet. Lemme run to the back real quick and grab it. Don’t touch the register, okay?” He shot you a quick wink as he stood up. “Back in a sec.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
Now it was just you and Jeff.
The silence stretched, thick and electric. He stayed leaning against the counter, staring at you openly. His eyes traced every inch of you like he was already imagining what you’d look like bent over the counter.
You popped your gum loudly and narrowed your eyes at him.
“Staring is rude, Joker.”
The nickname slipped out before you could stop it.
Jeff let out a low, raspy chuckle that sent an unwilling shiver down your spine. He straightened up to his full intimidating height, rolling his shoulders back so the black hoodie pulled tight across his lean, toned chest. His smile widened, pulling the scars even tighter.
“Joker, huh?” he drawled, voice dripping with amusement. “Cute. Alright then… Harley. Looks like you’re already playing dress-up in those little shorts like you want someone to ruin that pretty outfit.”
You felt heat crawl up your neck, but you refused to look away. Instead you crossed your arms under your chest.
“Harley’s got a man, actually,” you said coolly. “So you can keep your eyes to yourself.”
Jeff’s grin only grew. He stepped around the end of the counter until he was close enough that you could smell faint cigarette smoke and something sharper, like metal and pine. He towered over you, looking down with dark, amused eyes.
“Yeah? And where the fuck is this man?” he asked, voice low. “Because if he had any sense, he wouldn’t let a girl like you work night shifts alone in a shithole like this, looking like a walking wet dream.” He licked his lips. “Bet he doesn’t even fuck you right.”
You tilted your chin up defiantly, refusing to step back even though your pulse was racing.
“He’s busy. And he fucks me just fine, thanks. Better than fine, actually.” Your voice dropped, sharp and sweet. “So stop imagining bending me over the counter, It’s not gonna happen dude.”
Jeff’s eyes darkened with interest. He let out a soft, dangerous laugh and leaned in closer, one hand bracing on the shelf beside your head.
“Damn. Feisty,” he murmured, gaze flicking down to your lips, then lower. “I like that. Bet you’re real loud when you’re pissed off too.” His mouth curved. “Tell you what, baby. I’d have you screaming my name so loud your little boyfriend would hear it from wherever the fuck he is. I don’t do that two-pump-chump shit. I’d ruin you for anyone else.”
The crude words should’ve disgusted you. Instead they hit somewhere low and warm, clashing violently with the fierce loyalty you felt toward Toby. You stepped forward, almost chest-to-chest with him, eyes narrowed.
“You’re wrong,” you said firmly. “My man’s obsessed with me. And he’s armed. So you can take your little fantasy and shove it.”
Jeff didn’t even flinch. The threat of an armed boyfriend barely seemed to register - if anything, it only made his dark eyes gleam with more amusement. For a second, something almost like respect flashed across his face. Then that wicked smirk returned, slower and sharper this time.
“Obsessed, huh?” He tilted his head, long black hair slipping over one shoulder. “Damn. Dangerous word. Guys like that tend to get real fuckin’ crazy when someone else wants what’s theirs.”
The back-room door swung open.
Andy strolled out with a small paper bag, immediately clocking the heavy tension between you two. His eyebrows shot up, grin widening.
“Alright, here we go,” he announced cheerfully, setting the bag on the counter. “That’ll be two-fifty.”
Jeff didn’t blink at the steep price. He looked at you for a moment longer, then casually walked back to the counter. He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a fat roll of cash, thick enough to choke on. He peeled off several bills without counting and dropped them on the counter like it was nothing.
“Keep the change,” he muttered.
Andy quickly counted the money, then grinned. “My favorite kind of customer.”
The two of them fell into easy, lazy bro-talk while Andy double-bagged everything.
“Haven’t heard from Ben in a minute,” Andy said, leaning on the counter. “What’s up with him?”
Jeff shrugged, long black hair shifting over his shoulder. “Busy. You know how he is.”
Andy laughed, shaking his head. “Bro’s my best paying client and I’ve never even seen his face. That’s wild. You gotta drag him out here sometime, man.”
Jeff’s grin widened, the carved lines pulling tight across his cheeks. “Zero chance. Only way to get Ben outta the house is if there’s strippers and free weed involved. Good luck with that.”
Both of them cracked up, laughing in that slow, burnt-out way guys do when they’re talking shit. They bumped fists over the counter, exchanging the usual half-assed “stay safe” and “hit me up if you need more” lines.
Then Jeff turned toward the door.
Before he left, he pulled a crisp fifty from his thick roll, holding it up between two long fingers as he looked straight at you. That smirk spread across his face again, dark eyes dragging over your body one last time.
“You comin’?” he asked teasingly.
You snorted, crossing your arms under your chest and popping your gum loudly. “I don’t sell that kinda service in here. And even if I did? I’m not that cheap.”
Andy just shook his head, rolling his eyes with a helpless laugh like he couldn’t believe the two of you were doing this right in front of him.
Jeff only shrugged, completely unbothered.
“Offer still stands, baby.”
He gave you one final slow once-over - dark, hungry, and way too confident - then pushed the door open. The bell jingled as his tall frame disappeared into the dark parking lot.
The store fell quiet again.
Andy waited until the door fully shut before turning to you, still grinning like an idiot.
“Jesus Christ,” he laughed, dragging a hand over his buzzcut. “What the fuck was that? You two were eye-fucking so hard I thought the shelves were gonna catch fire.”
You let out a shaky breath, cheeks still warm, pulse thrumming.
“Yeah… definitely not, dude.”
Andy barked out a loud laugh, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed. “Bullshit. You were two seconds away from climbing him like a tree.”
“I was not!” you protested immediately, whirling on him. “I’m not interested. I have someone else. Someone I actually like.”
Andy just grinned wider, that shit-eating expression growing. “Mhm. Sure. You’re real popular lately, huh? Collecting men like Pokémon cards.”
You shoved his shoulder hard, laughing despite yourself. “Shut up. That was… I don’t even know what that was. How do you even know that guy?”
Andy shrugged, reaching for his vape again and taking a slow hit. Smoke curled around his face as he exhaled.
“Met his buddy Ben on some online game a while back. Dude orders a stupid amount of weed every week, like clockwork. Never shows his face, always pays through the app. Eventually Ben said his roommate Jeff needed the harder stuff, so I started hooking him up too.” Andy gestured vaguely toward the door. “Jeff’s an even bigger customer now. Pays crazy well, never causes problems, keeps it lowkey. I don’t ask questions.”
You snorted, stacking the last few cans with more force than necessary. “You’ve got some seriously strange connections, you know that?”
Andy grinned, unbothered. “Yeah, well… I’d rather not know what Jeff’s deal is. Dude looks like he skins people for fun on the weekends. As long as he keeps paying cash and not stabbing me, we’re good.”
You shook your head, a little laugh escaping despite the weird knot in your stomach. The way Jeff had looked at you - that smile, the way he’d leaned in and spoken so crudely but confidently - still lingered under your skin like static electricity.
Still… nothing compared to the way Toby looked at you. Nothing even came close.
You pulled out your phone again, checking for messages.
Still nothing.
Andy noticed. “No word from your boyfriend yet?”
You sighed and shoved the phone back into your pocket. “Nope.”
“He’ll text,” Andy said casually, already going back to scrolling on his phone. “Or show up awkward as fuck again. One of the two.”
You rolled your eyes and went back to organizing the shelves, but your mind kept drifting elsewhere.
This night was getting way too complicated.
Extra Scene
The infirmary in the basement was quiet except for the occasional drip of an IV bag.
Toby lay flat on his back on one of the metal cots, staring up at the cracked concrete ceiling. His left shoulder was tightly wrapped in clean white bandages, the fabric already starting to bloom with faint pink where the bullet had torn through. Jack had been thorough - cleaned, stitched, and dressed the wound with the same efficiency he always used. Another set of bandages circled Toby’s ribs and wrapped around his torso where Tim had landed the worst of his punches.
He couldn’t feel any of it.
No pain. Just a heavy, bone-deep exhaustion that made his limbs feel like they were made of wet cement. Every breath was slow. His body twitched randomly - shoulders hitching, neck cracking softly every few minutes - but even the tics felt sluggish tonight.
Across the small room, Tim was out cold on the other cot. His face was pale and slack, mouth slightly open. The thick wrapping around his thigh was already soaked through in places despite Jack’s best work. The hatchet had done real damage - deep muscle, nicked artery. Jack said the leg could be saved, but it was going to be ugly. Tim hadn’t woken up since they’d carried him down here hours ago.
Good, Toby thought bitterly.
Brian sat slumped in the old chair by Jack’s desk, arms crossed over his chest, head nodding forward every so often before he jerked awake again. He refused to leave the two of them alone. Every time Toby so much as shifted, Brian’s eyes would snap open, sharp and wary.
Toby hadn’t slept. Not for a single minute.
He kept replaying the fight on an endless loop in his head - the way Tim had shoved him, the things he’d said about you, the way Toby had finally snapped and buried the hatchet in his leg. The gunshot. The screaming. The blood.
His fingers twitched against the thin sheet covering him. Another violent tic rolled through his shoulders, making the cot creak.
She called me her boyfriend.
The thought cut through the exhaustion like a knife. You’d stood up for him. You’d told Tim and Brian he was yours. You’d let him fuck you on your couch, promised him a collar, kissed him like you meant it.
And they’d tried to take that away from him.
Toby’s dark eyes flicked toward Tim’s unconscious form. His jaw tightened, scarred cheek pulling.
If Tim ever tried that shit again…
He didn’t finish the thought. Instead he turned his head slightly, neck cracking loudly in the quiet room.
Toby lay there for what felt like forever, the weight of exhaustion pressing him into the thin mattress. Eventually, with a slow grunt, he turned his head toward the metal side table. His right arm still worked well enough. He reached over, fingers twitching hard, and grabbed his cracked phone.
The screen lit up his bloody, bandaged face in the dim infirmary light.
He typed slowly, thumbs clumsy and unsteady. The message came out short and sloppy.
to: your owner 🖤
hey
i fought tim and brian
got shot in the sholder
hatchet in tims leg
im okay tho
miss you :)
wish i was in yur bed
He opened the camera, held the phone up with a shaky hand, and snapped a blurry selfie. The flash lit up his swollen eye, split lip, and the thick white bandages covering most of his left shoulder and upper chest. Blood had already seeped through in a few places. He looked like absolute hell.
He hit send anyway.
Then he let the phone drop onto his stomach, staring at the ceiling again. He could almost feel your warmth beside him, your fingers in his hair, the way you’d called him your boyfriend like it was simple. The thought made something tight and aching settle in his chest.
Brian stirred in the chair across the room, eyes cracking open again. He rubbed a hand down his face, voice gravelly with exhaustion.
“Can’t sleep?”
Toby didn’t answer. He just kept staring upward, jaw tight.
Brian sighed heavily. “Why’d you do it, Toby? Seriously. Stabbing Tim in the fucking leg? You could’ve killed him.”
Silence stretched for a long minute, broken only by the soft beep of a monitor and Tim’s shallow breathing on the other cot.
Toby’s neck cracked sharply to the side. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat, cold, and exhausted.
“I’ve had e-enough,” he muttered. “You t-two had no right to go a-after my girl.”
Brian let out a bitter, tired laugh and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Tim was just trying to look out for you. You know how you get when you fixate on something. We don’t want problems.”
Toby’s eyes flicked sideways, glaring at Tim’s unconscious body for a long second before rolling them hard.
He didn’t say anything else.
Brian eventually leaned back in the chair again, eyes heavy. “Get some sleep, Toby. You look like shit.”
Toby didn’t respond. He just turned his head slightly, staring at the faint grey light starting to creep through the small basement window.
Dawn was breaking.
And all he wanted was to be back in your house, curled up in your bed with your fingers in his hair, listening to you call him your good boy instead of lying here bleeding.
"Grace Ryland is Rocky's dog" is such a funny fucking dynamic when you think about it
Eridians are further behind than humans technologically right? They dont have computers, relativity, quantum mechanics, etc. In fact, Eridians probably dont even know about the Big Bang because their atmosphere would filter out most of the cosmic microwave background radiation we use to detect it. On a human timeline, theyre anywhere between like early-mid 20th century. Rocky's basically a cosmonaut.
So the human civilization is pretty advanced from Rocky's perspective. Rationally he understands this. On a conceptual level he knows this to be true.
But at the same time... imagine youre one of the first ever cosmonauts to make it into space. Then you meet a 10 year old alien dog who cant do 2+2 without pulling out its calculator. It forgets everything constantly and has to keep notes everywhere, like it basically lives in Memento (2000). Also if it doesnt nap constantly it gets even stupider. And you somehow has to reconcile this with the fact that this dog has a better understanding of physics than your entire civilization does. Like the dog knows how the universe started.
This isnt better from Grace's perspective btw. Eridians never developed computers, so all their ship systems are steered using basically the manual labor of 24 Eridians. Also theres no radiation shielding on their ship. Actually im pretty sure half the reason why Rocky is always busy fixing shit is because the radiation keeps frying all the onboard electronics, so hes always building and fixing and replacing components
Like imagine being a modern day sailor navigating the Pacific with GPS and strong hulls to protect against the raging ocean. And from portside you see like an honest to god viking ship. Except its made of some high tech carbon fiber material. But like, its still very definitely a viking ship. You can clearly see there's 24 oars along the hull where sailors are supposed to use to manually row their ship. Also the ship is leaking and theres like one little dude on board whos skittering around patching the holes constantly. Also this little dude is blind and doesnt know about water. Thats how insane Eridians look being an interstellar species without computers or radiation shielding.
Both of them thinks the other one is the completely ridiculous and absurd one and theyre both totally amazed at how far the other has come in spite of it
You're sick. You recognise the symptoms from your crew, you have radiation poisoning. The astrophages that were protecting you and powering the ship are gone. You couldn't find the leak in time to stop it. And now you're dying out here in space, alone.
The life support systems on the ship are shutting down. Everything is shutting down. Your planet will die– your entire star system will die. They'll never know how close you came to saving them.
You think about Grace. Is his ship dying too? Or is he on his way home, none the wiser to your fate?
Maybe you're fighting until the end, or maybe you've 'made peace' with it.
And then you hear knocking, on the outside of your ship. Furious, desperate banging on the window. Your friend, your lab partner, your first contact, has come back to save you.
Previous Parts: Part 1 Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 , Part 6
Warnings : NSFW, Also weird ritual sex dont at me lol, AFAB reader, Violence, PTSD, Trauma, slowish burn, general dark themes, sexual themes, body horror, ritual cannibalism depression and generally canon typical themes and warnings for the universe.
Summary:
Two years and twenty-one days.
That’s how long you have been in service to the Operator. As one of his chosen, you struggle with the loss of the life you had before. All your dreams and hopes, gone to this endless service, with too many bad decisions buried in your past to ever go back. It’s all your fault, really. Playing both sides of life, supernatural and mundane, never expecting you’d have to pay the piper. Who knew bringing a lover back from the dead would have consequences?
Now you have too many problems, and too much power, to ever be free. Witch or demon (you don’t really know what you are), with your memories all jumbled in that thick slop you call a brain. And one head proxy is both the bane of your existence and the object of all your desires.
Not that you can admit that. Especially when Tobias seems to know you better than you know yourself.
‘I don’t get it,’ Lauren was scratching her head.
‘Suppose it’s a good thing you don’t have to,’ Kate snorted. ‘Leave the brain stuff to Nettles, pretty thing.’
Lauren sighed, leaning back from the round kitchen table they were all standing over. Toby had thrown schematics of the building in question roughly over the table.
Three entry points. For three teams. It was the only way to effectively cover such a large building. Tim and Brian would secure the lower floors. Remove cameras, take out certain guards. Kate and Lauren would get in and wipe the data drives with Ben’s help. That was the second most important part of the mission. You and Tobias were to find out where the church was, a hidden chapel—the most important part of the whole operation. The reason why you were risking going into the heart of enemy territory to begin with.
Brian had tracked down a priest working for the Initiative. A priest called Douglas Jones. A pious man. He had been of the cloth for 50 years. According to his peers, he had no equal. A shame he had chosen this side. This hill to die on.
But Reverend Douglas Jones would die tonight on that hill by your hand. Tobias had gotten the map for you. Gotten the supplies you had asked for. You knew he was confused—that he didn’t quite understand what you were doing—but he had not questioned you. Looking around the group, eyes flickered to yours and then away. You realised that the group’s dynamic had shifted. An unspoken type of agreement had settled upon the group.
‘I need your blood. All of you,’ you spoke suddenly, fighting the urge to bite at the long nails of your sweaty hands.
‘Hell no, I wouldn’t,’ Jeff snorted from the hallway. Typical. Always not in the conversation but content to butt in.
‘Good thing I wasn’t asking you.’ You didn’t bother looking back. Instead, you took in the faces before you. Brian was not fazed, shrugging his shoulders as he took the vial from your outstretched hand. Lauren looked like she was going to be sick. Tim grumbled, cigarette flaring as he rummaged through his pockets for his carving knife. Kate was the first to have her vial filled.
‘Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?’ She tossed the bottle to you.
Tobias flipped open his pocket knife.
‘No, not you... I will need you for something else.’ You tried to keep the nerves out of your voice. You need not have tried. Toby knew your feelings from just a quick glance at your eyes. He nodded, knife going back in his chest pocket.
Jack sniffed the air as you stepped into the room. A certain wicked smile crept over his face as he stared at you through bleeding sockets.
‘Don’t you start on me.’ Your voice held a sharp tone of warning, but that never stopped Jack before.
‘I don’t need to.’ Jack stretched his arms over his head. The thin fabric of his shirt rode up to expose mottled black-and-blue skin that seemed to crawl with colour.
‘It was only a matter of time, really. Nature taking its course. Who are we, mere creatures of instinct, to fight against such a superior outer will?’
You shook your head. Jack smiled a moment longer before sobering.
‘Are you sure it will work?’
‘As sure as I can be with anything. Stolas did promise.’
Jack scratched his chin, absently looking at the details of your face.
‘You trust them now?’
‘They got what they wanted in the end. And it seems this would benefit them as much as it benefits us.’
‘Well, I suppose I cannot argue with that. Trusting a demon to work in their own benefit is a wise assumption to make.’
‘Stolas had no reason to lie to me. If they wanted to lay a trap, they simply would have let us fight this group blind and then pick off the survivors afterwards. They want something more. This way.... I do their dirty work and their hands stay clean.’
‘So... give me the plan.’ Jack stretched again, circling around to your side, eyeing your fingers as they smoothed the schematics.
‘This priest... he is connected to all of them. Has seen all of them. That provides me with a connection to them. If you can call in some favours on your end, I can locate them by the end of the night, and your people can take a cut of the names. We could have them dead by daylight.’
‘Hmmm... that would make the community happy... Zalgo and some others have been on my back for a while asking for information. If I can give them more... I’ll be in your debt, Nettles.’
‘We can discuss debt later, if we get out of this in one piece. Call your people.’
Jack laughed, cocking his head to look at you through his empty sockets. ‘Did Tobias fuck part of his arrogant, autarchic nature into you?’
‘Stop it, Jack.’ Your face heated, as Jack huffed through his laugh. He enjoyed too much seeing you squirm. He always had been so sure that things would end up the way they had. Some part of you wondered how much he had heard from the demonic grapevine, long before Tobias had ever dragged your sorry ass here.
In the end, it didn’t matter.
‘Alright then... we have a deal.’
You looked at Jack a long moment. Something clicked in the back of your mind, as you looked down the expanse of his greyish skin, eyes black and somehow owl-like.
‘You and I are kin, you know?’
Jack had once spoken those words to you..... in the depths of your depression when you had first come to this life — unwilling to eat unless Tobias came to force whatever food he had scrounged from the kitchen down your throat. He had always won in those fights. Even though you hadn’t needed to eat, he did it to make you feel normal. That’s what Toby had always said to you. Only Jack had visited you during your isolation. The only two living souls to see you like that. Jack and Tobias.
At the time, you had thought he was being hyperbolic. Both demons. Bound by the same affliction.
Jack watched the wheels of your mind turn. He smiled wide again, as he saw comprehension in your mind dawn.
‘You are theirs too? Why did you never say anything?’ You cocked your head, asking the question even though the answer seemed irrelevant now.
‘You can bring someone to bed, but you can’t make them sleep. I did tell you. You understood what your fractured mind could handle at the time.’ Jack shrugged. ‘Acceptance comes in time. It can’t be forced.’
The building was as hectic as you had expected it to be. A huge mega-corporation, with floors for every occasion. A true hidden powerhouse of industry, hidden from the common man that ruled them from above. You wondered how many times you had passed this building and had not thought to look up. To think about how many powerful people had incestuously crammed themselves into one business, one church, one building, one circle of power. The world suddenly felt too small. Like a room filled with the worst type of people.
The type of people who created wars for young men and women to go die in. Pretending to be each other’s enemies, playing for the TV cameras on today’s reality TV show episode of USA vs. Russia. And then, not only a year later, the same powerful ‘enemies’ would drink the same wine, fuck each other’s sons and daughters, go to the same private schools in Switzerland, visit the same art galleries that you and Otis had struggled to be a part of. The type of people to tear apart families, send children into foster care from good families like Sally’s, sold only to be abused. To deny healthcare and pile up the debts onto families like Tobias’s.
They didn’t really deserve any mercy, did they? Not when you put it like that in your mind. It helped you come to peace with what you had accepted you had to do.
In some way, they had made you this predator. They couldn’t complain when you finally did what was in your nature—what you had been forced into a cage to do. When a hungry animal breaks free, you can’t blame it for who it kills to satisfy its hunger.
And you were hungry. Hungry for safety. Hungry for peace. Hungry for power. To determine your own path. You had that power to control that. Some people never got that. No matter the price you had had to pay to receive that power, whether from Stolas or the Operator, it was yours now.
And no one would take anything away from you again. No one would ever threaten your Tobias. Ever.
Tobias’s phone beeped. His hand reached into his pocket as you clicked the elevator up to the fifth floor.
‘The two other teams are in place.’
‘No sign they were spotted?’
‘None that we could tell... b-but I have a bad feeling...’
You sighed, biting your lip. The fluorescent light of the elevator irritated your skin and eyes. Even under the dark shades, your eyes struggled not to blink.
You had to lock in. Number one: you needed to move through the party on the fifth floor without being seen. It was some after-party for some fashion show. But it would lead you to your secondary objective.
Find Vivian Strauss.
The elevator dinged. The doors opened, lights and pounding music assaulting your senses. Your heightened senses screamed at you to deafen your ears to the screeching bass.
‘The fuck is this shit...?’
Toby had obviously not expected to find a party in full swing.
‘They think they are untouchable... even when they are at war.’ You looked back at him over your shoulder.
‘That, and they had to spend the indulgence money somewhere...’ Toby laughed, his hand brushing against your waist. As he moved past you, his lips tickled the shell of your ear.
‘Stay close to me,’ his breath warmed your hairline, and you fought the tinge of need that suddenly overtook your mind.
Bodies swayed as you pushed past on your way to the upper floors. No one paid you any mind. Most of these rich nepo babies were strung out on whatever drugs they had taken earlier in the night. From the corner of your eye, you spotted Carmine on a couch on a veranda. She didn’t see you.
Good. But your luck was about to run out. A scratching sensation met your mind, like the nails of a wraith trying to gain access. This felt all too familiar. Even with Stolas’s protection and Diana Trivia’s wards, you were tired and spiritually exposed. Not to mention the air was thick with smog.
You fought the frantic feeling in your chest. Your lungs recognised the toxin. Weaker than before, but it made your vision spin. You could feel the claws of something in your mind, pulling you from this reality.
At first, it came slowly. Your hands pulled above your head on the dance floor. Your vision merging, your eyes showing you flashes of being on the dance floor, the Fleur club, and the subway—the one you were on with Toby weeks ago. A hand on your face, pulling you close. You look up, seeing Tobias. His eyes are warm but dull. He leans down to kiss you. But something’s wrong. Your hand feels like it’s shackled above you. Like it’s been cuffed to something unseen. You feel Tobias draw closer. He smells of pine and dirt—but not of brown scotch tape. You jerk your head, pulling away. It’s not him. You know it deep in your gut.
The scene shifts. Helen holding out his hand, between lurching lights and the rabid hands of the dance floor. He draws close, pulling at your clothes, but you push past him. Something was desperate to keep you here.
You hear your mom’s voice behind you. You keep moving forward. You hear your dad’s laugh beside you. You walk past the sound. Kalliyan’s face appears in the crowd, crying, hand reaching for you like a child to their mother. You looked away. You felt as if you were coming in and out of reality. You train your eyes on Tobias’s large back. Whatever was attacking you appeared not to faze him. Just as he turned to look at you, your vision flashed dark.
You were suddenly in a bright living room. Pastel green walls adorned with little Victorian golden and pink flower motifs—like the ones you had cut out of magazines as a child, imagining your dream house while moving from one dirty motel to a run-down apartment until the rent was inevitably raised and your family had to once again pack up and move. The smell of baked bread met your senses, and you looked down to see you were carrying buns out of the oven. Child’s laughter sounded behind you, and you looked to see two children. The boy, whose blond curls framed his face, reached out to touch the curlers in your hair. His eyes looked like Lyra’s. The older girl looked like a clone of Toby, minus the pain in his eye. She looked up as the door swung open.
Your breath caught in your throat as Tobias walked into the room. It was him. And yet it wasn’t. His face was unmarred by his numerous scars, skin clean, hair clean-cut and slicked back. His body filled out a three-piece business suit, but he looked no less muscled than before. It felt surreal as he greeted the children—your children—clean of any demonic blood or proxy sickness, and turned to you.
‘Hey, baby.’ He smelled clean and crisp as he kissed your cheek. His hands stroked your back, and for a moment your stomach lurched. You caressed this other Toby’s face, looking into his puppy-dog eyes. They were his but bright and unburdened. So they were not your Toby’s.
‘I missed you, love,’ this Toby nuzzled your neck, sighing into the bear hug he was giving you. His hands were soft....
This would never be your world. Never be your house. Never be your children. Never be your Toby. Never be your life. And it was time to finally hammer that final nail into this coffin. To accept this.
You dug your claws into this Tobias’s heart. His eyes widened. The moment dragged. It pulled at your heart. And then it snapped. It dissolved, melted away like wax. A distant scream sounded as the world melted away, and the club assaulted your senses once more.
The first thing you noticed as you came to was the callused hand encircling your wrist. You looked down, eyes blinking. Toby’s hand—your real Toby—was leading you through the crowd without a word.
‘Back with me?’
You nodded.
‘Good, because I have found our meal ticket. S—see there?’ Toby gestured with a flick of his other hand. Your eyes followed the movement to a guard in a yellow suit. He looked around for a moment before boarding an inconspicuous elevator.
You nodded, shaking yourself free from the wisps of illusions still trying to find purchase in your now steel resolve. Pulling a bottle from your pocket, you uncorked it with your teeth. You knocked back the bottle, drinking deep. When it was half empty, you handed the rest to Tobias. He drank it without a word.
Vivian looked up to see the man in the yellow suit enter her office.
‘Ah, Marcus, did you bring what I needed?’
‘Yes, here are the dossiers—’
Marcus stalled. A sickening sing of metal, of a hatchet careening through the air, sounded throughout the large office. One of his hands jerked, as if about to touch where his skull was now dripping blood. The trickle was slow at first. Marcus’s eyes darted and then dulled. Vivian’s mouth fell open, as if shocked still by what she was witnessing.
The blood spurted out in waves, as Marcus’s dull body thudded to the floor. Silence spread throughout the room. Vivian’s own shocked reflection showed in the spreading blood seeping into the white marble floor. Then Vivian started screaming. She tried to run towards the man, pushing herself away from her windowed desk, only to be stopped in fear at the stomp of combat boots.
Tobias came into the light. His neck cracked as he stalked forward. Vivian’s body stilled as she watched him move towards the dead pile of man on the floor. She whimpered as she watched Toby kick the body. When Marcus didn’t move, Toby grunted in approval. You sauntered around them both, as Toby pulled his hatchet from the man’s skull — as easily as if it were cotton candy stuck in his teeth.
‘I... I... know you.’ Vivian looked at you, a dawning horror gracing her sweet features.
‘You do?’ You cocked your head mockingly. ‘Then you know what I am here for?’
She thought for a moment. You could smell her fear, sense how close she was to the edge.
‘To—to kill me?’
‘T—t—k—k—kill me?’ Toby parroted her words back to her, mocking her with every syllable.
Vivian fought a shake in her body, fear tinged with anger.
‘No... I am here to make you an offer.’
‘An offer? I... what would you have to offer me?’ Indignation coloured her tone, making you laugh.
‘Pride won’t get you anywhere with me, Vivian. What do you think you have to gain from antagonising me? You say you know me. Know my past. So you must know I started off in this world trapped. I was alone. Had no choice, no hope. I was in hell, looking at heaven. Fed on scraps that fell from the gutter. What do you think someone like that would do to get to where I am now?’
She trembled. Her hand went to the gun on her desk. You didn’t stop her.
‘I offer you a gift. Survival. Two hundred and three people tonight will die. They will not be offered such a mercy. But you have... Will you waste it? Make it 204?’
‘I cou—could shoot you!’ Vivian swung up her weak arms, gun lopsided in her fingers. It didn’t take a genius to see the movement was horribly unpractised. Her hand trembled, as her index finger struggled around the trigger.
The lights dimmed. Tobias crossed his arms, leaning against the wall.
‘Do it.’ Your voice was calm.
‘What?’
‘Do it. You won’t get another chance.’
The girl fought herself. ‘I will do it! I swear.’
You took a step forward. ‘Oh, I hope you do. Otherwise you prove to me that you are worthless. Not worth the air you breathe, if you can’t step up and fight back against me.’
You took another step. And another. Some part of you wondered if she really couldn’t do it. Was she so weak? Had you misjudged her?
And then a bullet rang out. It hit you in the chest. Victory.
You kept walking towards her. Her eyes widened as she stared at where the bullet had kissed your body, at where it had exited your body and hit the white marble of the office wall.
Her hands trembled again. The gun threatened to fall. A second shot rang through the air. And another. And another. Seven shots. Fourteen clicks. It was like a music box breaking. Click, click, click. Her finger kept pushing the trigger, but the gun was useless.
Her eyes watched as the potion did its work, your skin knitting back together, just as quickly as the hot metal had torn the skin, muscles, and bone.
Your clawed hand grasped her face, and for the first time she caught a glimpse of your eyes past the dark glasses. She screamed. It was like a pig’s squeal trying to mimic a lion, but it had no bite. Tears sprang from her eyes, coating her cheeks as the gun clattered to the floor.
‘I... I accept... don’t kill me or my younger brother... he’s... he’s innocent... please.’
‘Hush... we were all innocents once. That never stopped the devil.’
Vivian’s legs shook. She looked like she had pissed herself.
‘But you have done well... here... let me kiss you.’
You bit down on her neck. The poison from your bite infected her veins. Her body rattled with pain, only to be replaced by a floating sensation. As you pulled back, you felt the slight tinge of a connection between you being born. Like a mother and a daughter. From the way the black veins of her body pulsed, the demonic taint had taken root deep in her body. While the marks would fade... that taint would remain. She would never escape you. Your wants would be her wants. When you felt pain, she would feel it too. Unless you wished it, she would feel this suffocating bond till the end of her days.
And through her, any of her company—her family’s legacy—would be under your control. Collateral and insurance. After killing so many powerful people in one night, the Operator would need control over the people installed after.
‘Where is the priest, Vivian?’
‘The 14th floor. In the secret chapel.. take my key on the desk...the elevator wont work otherwise....’ Her eyes were still glassy.
‘Thank you.’ You kissed her forehead and let go of her body. She dropped to the floor with a painful thump. Her legs attempted to stand. They failed.
‘Ben?’ Tobias’s voice rang out through the room.
‘Yes, boss?’ Ben’s voice rang out from Vivian’s computer behind her.
‘Make sure this one isn’t touched.’
‘Aye aye, Captain.’
Tobias was at your side in an instant. His rough thumb swiped over your lower lip, wiping the thin blood away. Removing Vivian’s blood from your mouth. When it was all gone, Toby straightened, looking finally satisfied.
You ran. Frantically, you rushed through the door. The beauty of the high-rise chapel was almost lost on you. Bright stained glass and the stillness of God. Funny—he had so many peaceful houses like this and he paid taxes in none of them.’
‘What is it, child?’ A concerned voice met your eyes. You turned, faux tears in your eyes, as you stumbled towards the priest. His face was kindly. Older than you had thought he would be. His hair had not seen colour in a decade.
‘Oh, Father... help me, please.’
‘Oh, child, what’s the matter? What on earth has caused you this distress?’
‘I have to protect my home. I have to get home. But they just keep coming...’
‘Who keeps coming?’ The preacher looked at you with genuine concern. You rubbed your Diana Trivia amulet in a counterclockwise motion, beginning the binding.
‘The—the demons! The demons!’
‘Demons are not real, child. They are parables, warnings not to fall into sin—’
A bang sounded from the side door. Father Jones whipped his head around to look. His eyes searched the darkness and found nothing.
‘Then what am I?’ You dropped the pretence as your binding spell completed. You took off your glasses, revealing your eyes as the father turned his gaze back to you. His eyes widened in horror, but he found himself unable to move. Out from the darkness, Tobias came. Father Jones looked at the goggled man behind him and the demonic witch in front of him. Realisation dawned on his face too late.
‘You are one of them...’
You nodded your head. ‘For what it’s worth, Father... I don’t envy what you are about to go through.’
Father Jones tried to reach for his cross but found his hands locked to his side.
‘You need not do this, child.’
‘Oh, but that’s where you are wrong, Father.’
You nodded to Tobias. With a jolt, a hatchet lodged in the preacher’s leg. He screamed out in pain, but you paid him no mind. Toby hauled the screaming priest after you as you walked to the church altar. Considering the space, your dark tendrils split from your back. They writhed, shaking the area around you before thrashing the contents of the altar onto the floor. The Bible got shredded, paper pieces lined in gold leaf floating in the air.
‘You... you will burn in hell for this.’
‘Such limited imagination, Father,’ you spoke, nodding to Tobias. He hauled the immobile man onto the altar and stepped back.
Grimacing, you reached into your mouth. Finding one of your sharper back fangs, you pulled it from your gums. The taste of blood met your mouth, quickly replaced by an aching sensation as your mouth replaced the lost tooth by pushing another through the gap you had just made. You jammed the tooth through the palm of your hand. And then, through the other.
With the gaping holes showing to the whole world, you raised your left hand to the priest’s lips.
‘This is my body. This is my blood. Happy are they who come to my supper.’
Jones tried to fight the liquid entering his mouth. But he could not. All he could do was whimper.
‘God... do you not love me? Do not forsake me... not after it all...’
Your snakes jolted into his stomach. Jones screamed—a guttural, high sound that assaulted your ears. He watched in unfiltered horror as you took a bite of his flesh, feeling all of his emotions, his memories, like they were your own.
‘Oh, Father, God loves you,’ Jones screamed, stomach flayed open, held open by your tendrils and snakes made of smoke. ‘But not enough to save you.’
It was fitting. No one came to save you when you were crying as a child. No one came to save you when you had been taken. No one. No one was coming. No one was coming to save anyone.
You felt the information flow from the dying priest into your mind. Drinking deep of the blood that was given to you, you allowed it to flow into the others connected to you—Kate, Tim, Brian, Lauren. You could feel them register the information, the names, almost in shock. That was all they needed to get to work.
Looking over to Tobias, there was something akin to worship in his eyes as he watched you upon the altar. You beckoned him to come to you. Leaning down from where you sat on the altar, you took Toby’s lips and bit down. He shivered, tasting blood, and from your bond you could tell in this moment he wished he could feel pain. He wanted anything you would give him.
Panting, you parted and knew he had all of you. You knew how well he had known you, all this time. From the very beginning, he had seen you. He had always been there. Because he was like you. The last little steel of your past resolve gave way to fire, flooding you with elation and self-revulsion all in a single stroke.
Hands shaking, you had dropped all pretence. You didn’t speak. You knew you didn’t have to explain.
To anyone else you could have argued that you wished to kill people who made life harder for them—that you were doing the world a favour. But you both knew that wasn’t true, not wholly. You killed for the chance to be safe, to stay alive, for the information that the Operator needed. And that some part of you wanted to be powerful. To be dominant rather than dominated. It was the reason you had so enjoyed torturing Jeff. You had always chosen predators because you wanted to feel their fear. Their surprise. To feel their power drain away from them at the realisation that they were not the only predators out there. That in this world there was always a bigger shark waiting for them to let their guard down. What was the old proverb....Fiú an fheithid is lú i mbaol a bheatha, troidfidh sí? Even the smallest creature, when its life is in danger, will fight? You both had been a small creatures once. Never again.
Feeling Toby’s warmth on your chest, you turned. Glistening brown, almost black eyes stared back; the warmth of his musk was a welcome contrast to the turning iron in the air. Your hand reached up to his smile. The blood on your fingers smeared his lips. His hands snaked around your neck, your waist.
He looked at the blood pooling around your feet. He hoisted you further onto the slab table, the cold biting into your semi exposed skin. His eyes seared you with need. Your senses were overwhelmed by him.
‘You’re my favourite person, ya know?’ His eyes never left you as he leaned in. ‘Unlike them, I am here. I won’t leave. I will follow you down this path.’
Not needing to answer, you pressed against his chest, kissing his neck in response. You hear his moan, his back arching against the palm of your hand. The ache began building up your spine, down your fingers, churning knots in your stomach. As the proxies began to eliminate those you had offered up in sacrifice, you had much more pressing worries on your mind. You had done your part. Now... now you needed him.
You wanted him now. Needed him. Pulling at his belt, you feel him smile against your lips. His breath hastens as Tobias pulls back, taking in your bloody visage with dilated pupils. As you pulled off his jacket, you felt your body reacting to it all—the kill, the adrenaline running through your veins. Your spectral snakes screaming with contentment. Fog mired your thoughts as you took in his body. His toned, scarred chest screaming to be touched.
You reached across the altar, wet with the blood of the priest. Your fingers soak up the blood. With Toby watching, you snaked them across you clitoris, the lubrication thrilling your already electrified senses. His eyes darken at your actions. You hear a groan slip from his lips, the sound of a belt unbuckling.
Slipping you fingers deeper into your core, you beckon Tobias to close the space between you. You feel the jolt of heat as his arms wrap around you.
‘Show me how you want me’ he whispers into the nape of your neck. You bite your lip, heat pounding in your head, removing any logical thought. Grasping his waist , you roughly flip him onto his back. Straddling his waist, you slowly tease him with a rock of your body. The dull stained glass light does nothing to hide his growing grin.
Your eyes glance momentarily to the corpse a few inches away but you am too far gone to care in any meaningful way.
Turning your head, you stare into Toby’s waiting eyes.
Tipping you fingers to his chin, you adjust his face to face yours.
‘Do not take your eyes off me’
You pulled off your clothes in one motion, feeling his excitement grow on the inside of your leg. You sink slowly onto his member, moaning in relief at the feeling of fullness. Feeling him go to buck up to meet you, you lightly curl your fingers around his throat. You feel his pulse, his laughter shaking through your skin, as he pumps into you. With every micro touch or change in your grip around his neck, he takes notice and direction from the squeeze of your hand.
You feel your pace quicken, the burn between your legs almost becoming uncomfortably unbearable.
His hands slide to your clitoris, his gaze red with desire as you ride him. You jolt when he reaches the most sensitive part, unable to stop a strangled cry fleeing my lips. You feel your vision begin to fade, your pace breakneck as you mindlessly chase you release. It was almost embarrassing how close you were. As you feel yourself coming closer, the world swirls. One moment you are on the altar, the next, you are flipped onto the ground.
Toby leans over you, eye maddened, sweat dripping from his brow. Your hand grips tighter on his neck, as you feel the rush of his hips pounding up to meet your frenzied thrusts. Again and again and again.
Your breath catches in your throat, unable to think, as you struggle on you back with the new stimulation.
‘Toby...I ..I close....Love...you-’ Toby loses all control at your ramblings, pushing you closer to your release with his sloppy thrusts.
Your muscles clench, your release shooting through nerve and bone alike. Your grip tightens around his neck. In the midst of your euphoria, you feel teeth sink into your skin, as he cries out, his thrusts becoming uneven and feral. For a moment you lose the ability to see, you vision going white.
‘M-M- Mine... You belong to me’ you sigh.
Toby chokes and gasps, hips stuttering, as you feel his seed fill you up , the warmth spreading within you. His teeth sink deeper into your skin and somehow it feels necessary. Right, even, His hips rock and jolt, riding himself to insanity as he prolongs his pleasure through you.
A whine sounds from his throat, as Toby is finally spent. He drops roughly into your body but you can’t seem to find it in you to care. His heaviness does more to sooth you than anything else in this chapel ever could. You feel his rough pants on your skin, as he lazily kisses down your face. Sweat drops cool between your bodies. Toby cursed as his phone rings. You barely register him slowly pulling himself from your core.
You dislike the emptiness you feel from the withdrawal. You catch your breath, enjoying the warmth that spread out between your legs. At first your mind panics when you come back to your senses, at the thought you were naked and fucked out of your wits in enemy territory.
But as you receive reports of successful assassinations, you relax back into your pleasure filled haze. There were no enemies here anymore. None that could stand against you now.
Art Link : https://www.behance.net/gallery/221270019/Here-Lies-Ethel-Cain?tracking_source=search_projects|ethel+cain&l=19
I've begun to work on something and I'm curious what people might think of this preview I've got worked out. This is my own particularly insane take on a fandom classic. This will be a toby fic for those who are curious, I wanted to test the waters first.
People who work the night shift, not because it’s the only time they can work for one reason or another, but by choice and preference are strange. You would know. Considering, well, you’re one of them. Strangeness tended to follow you around like an echo, or maybe you were the echo that followed it around. It was hard to determine. All this to say, the job listing was not the most insane one you’d responded to.
“WANTED: CLEANER/MAID/JANITOR”
Clean and sanitize communal areas; ensure organized and well kept
Dust, clean, wash, wax and polish floors, walls, windows and furniture, vacuum and steam carpets, wash curtains, regularly throughout the entire building
Operate janitorial equipment such as auto scrubbers, polishers, vacuums, shampooers, steam cleaners, etc.
Ensure all waste is disposed of in the proper manner and dispose of trash to the appropriate containers.
Inspect the outside of the building to ensure the areas are safe and maintained.
Maintain the cleanliness of ornamental areas adjacent to the building(s).
Ensure adjacent walkways are free of snow and ice and other hazards.
Perform ground maintenance to adjacent walkways and ornamental areas (cut and trim grass areas, weed all flower and shrub beds, etc.).
Requisition and maintain an inventory of cleaning supplies, materials, tools and equipment.
Ensure the building is secure in accordance with the Provided Plan and Guidelines.
Perform all duties in a timely and consistent manner.
Accepted applicant will be provided with personal lodging and all required amenities. Pay: $50/hr.
This was undoubtedly a very, very, sketchy job listing. The pay however was double what the best legit offers might have, and over triple your last gig. You were never working a minimum wage job again. But you had just left your previous job and not many places were willing to hire you due to circumstances at the time. You had an excellent reference, he just tended to be difficult for people to contact. Maybe you should have just asked Ahti for the reference letter instead of a number to call. Regardless, it was not the worst job you’d taken.
The actual interview process had been surprisingly professional if you ignored the faint buzz of static that persisted through the office the entire meeting. The actual lodgings were quite nice if you did say so yourself. The building, you suspected, was a hotel at some point, or maybe it was just a manor with far too many rooms. The room you had been given, you suspected, had once been the head servant’s quarters, maybe a butler or a maid. It wasn’t fancy but it was spacious and functional, and allowed easy access to all the winding servant corridors throughout the mansion. You had been warned that rooms didn’t always stay in the same place, but the layout of the tunnels seemed mostly stationary.
The house was an old creature, she purred at your caress as you promised to take care of her if she you. The faceless man, your boss now you supposed, seemed a little surprised at how easily she took to you. But he supposes he should have expected it with a history such as your own. It hadn’t been his idea to hire help, rather the solution to an ongoing dispute amongst a number of the house’s residents, it was beginning to impact their work and after one of them had been locked out of the house by the house itself for a week he finally intervened. The tall man, if you could call it a man, did not particularly care what its people did out of their assigned jobs, the mansion was just a place for them to congregate or plan, mostly just to sleep. He had not intended to hire help, it was only when the digital ghost came to him with news that someone, foolishly, responded to a job listing for such a thing that he caved.
The ghost had cackled about how he didn’t think any human would be that stupid frankly. You were not, to be clear, stupid. It’s simply that between working the night shift at another haunted children’s restaurant or god forbid, seeing if The Foundation was hiring again, you would take the sketchy hotel in the middle of the woods. You could handle yourself fine, if anyone was going to be an axe murderer, it would be the nightshift janitor after all.
all works related to some form of published and copyrighted media showcased on this blog are fanworks and i do not own the source material that being said do not copy, modify, translate, claim, or repost my work to any other social media platform, same goes with using it for asmr audios, please do not use my work or i can and will reformat your anatomy
Going through old drafts (because I'm trying to find something) I haven't touched since 2023 and I feel like I'm having a stroke. When did I write this. Why was I so against naming documents. What is happening.
what's really special about his dark materials is that there are so many heroes in the story who are trying to fulfil a prodigious goal, or are motivated by a higher power, but the most important change is brought about by a little girl with a wicked ability to lie, a boy who hates fighting and a random physicist who climbs trees and whose main power lies in her use of words
summary: with nowhere else to turn, you find yourself paired up for a potions assignment with none other than sebek zigvolt. you're bad at alchemy, he's bad at feelings. stupidity ensues.
word count: 8.1k
warnings: sebek is stupid, hurt/comfort-ish; mildly steamy at times maybe. reader is yuu. too lazy to properly replace em dashes btw
a/n: can we as an internet collective start writing cringe songfics again bc those were my life. anyways this fic came to me in a prophetic vision when listening to my yuu playlist. don't ask how sebek won the bidding war for this bc i couldn't tell you. enjoy! (be nice this is my first fic and i gave up toward the end </3)
You're pretty sure Professor Crewel is out to get you.
Which would be a shame, really, because somewhere in between the unruly sparks and explosions that would leave you with half an eyebrow if you weren't too careful, you had actually come to like his class. History had been too much of a struggle to pick up---because, let's be honest, you're way overdue for a 'twisted wonderland history for dummies' crash course---and flying? Forget it.
Except maybe the class didn't seem to like you nearly as much.
Because with one casual flick of the wrist from your stupidly well-dressed professor, you were faced with the ONE thing that could dash your fragile, naively misplaced dreams of surviving until the weekend could take you into its loving arms.
Partner. Project.
Your forehead meets the cool surface of your desk just as the first collective shouts of protests echo through the classroom. Maybe it'll work out, you think, until you finally find the courage to pick your head up and scope out a potential partner and find that your choices are woefully limited.
Ace, the smug bastard, is halfway out of his chair and already linking his arm around Epel's with the lack of shame only someone like him could flaunt. You almost feel bad for the poor Pomefiore student, but you couldn't blame Ace for finding what looks to be the easy way out. Potions were kind of their thing.
And Deuce.. well, at least he has the decency to meet your gaze and shoot you an apologetic look while he's on his way out the door with Jack. Traitor.
Fine. That's cool, really. You need to branch out, anyway. It could be a good bonding opportunity, right? A chance for you to meet some new people, learn some new faces. Even if you really like the old ones. It's whatever.
The problem, you're starting to realize, is that everyone else seems to have already made their choice.
And you, squinting in barely concealed desperation through the sea of moving students, land on what looks like the one person you can see that isn't already paired up.
Oh, no.
There, sitting ram-rod straight with what looks to be like all of his muscles fully tensed in a way that cannot be natural, is Sebek Zigvolt.
Briefly, you consider just marching up to Professor Crewel and lying straight through your teeth. No, Professor, I really couldn't find a partner. Would your grade like it? Not in the slightest---you like the class, but that doesn't mean you're particularly good at it---BUT, your grade for your sanity? That alone might make it a worthy trade-off.
But all it takes is one second.
You glance back for one second while you're in the middle of shoving your textbook back into your bag to walk up to Crewel and do just that, when you catch the almost imperceptible flicker of his eye. And with a sudden lurch of pity you realize Sebek's waiting, with his hands clenched tight against his lap and a small frown tugging at the corner of his lips, for a partner.
Sebek Zigvolt is loud. He's boisterous, and critical, and always has something to say about the way you hold yourself, or dress, or speak, or even exist. In fact, you're pretty sure your eardrums are still ringing from the start of class, when Ace had unfortunately bumped into his shoulder on the way inside, and you don't think you've even heard Sebek refer to you as anything besides 'human'.
But the Sebek you're looking at now, silently nestled between the rows of people chattering excitedly, looks vaguely resigned. Like he knows the outcome already, and you know---oh, you know. It sounds stupid. It probably is, and if you ever voice the thought out loud you're pretty sure your friends would march you straight into the nurse's infirmary to check for potential head injuries, but you can't help but think he looks meek.
Apparently, it also only takes you one second to change your mind and march straight across the classroom with a vengeance, slamming your palms down flat on Sebek's desk with a little too much force than was necessary.
"Let's be partners," you insist, scrounging up as much willpower as you can to fix him with a glare so determined that you dare him to refuse. Because you know that if you don't, you'll crack with even the first hint of a refusal and resign yourself to twice the work just like that.
The quiet look of surprise that paints his face morphs into confusion, then, with a furrow of his brow, into offense. It looks a little too practiced to be natural, you think. Especially with the way he doesn't seem to even have a retort to back it up, mouth opening and closing and entirely uncooperative with the alarms you assume are going off inside his head at the thought of a mere, magic-less human making demands of him.
Then, after a few seconds, he sits up even straighter with resolve, and the smug, competitive smirk that spreads across his face is kind of maybe starting to make you regret this entire thing.
"Very well."
His response is surprisingly... cordial for what you were expecting. Maybe you'd just caught him off guard with the whole super loud proclamation in front of basically half the class thing. Or maybe this won't be so bad.
"Of course you would want to partner with someone as skilled with alchemy as I. But do not expect me to pull your weight for you, human."
Internally, you sigh and curse yourself and your stupid, bleeding heart.
"Are you stupid?" Is the first thing out of Ace's mouth when you see him the next day in the cafeteria. "Dude, he's gonna eat you alive. Do any of us look like we have premature funeral money?"
"Shut. Up." You hiss through gritted teeth, about two seconds from sinking as low as you could into your blazer in embarrassment. "I didn't have a choice, obviously!"
Deuce, looking like he'd much rather be anywhere but here, pats your shoulder in the most useless reassuring gesture you've ever seen.
"Well, at least he usually gets pretty high marks, right? Maybe it'll help your grade. That's a plus, right?"
"Oh, sure," Ace rolls his eyes, pointing his fork in your direction. "Is that before or after our oh-so-genius prefect gets roped into shining Malleus's boots--GAH!"
Thank god for Deuce and his inability to pull his punches.
With some time to finally think for yourself (you've long since learned to tune out the sounds of your friends' fighting), you couldn't deny they were kind of right. Sure, every encounter you've had thus-far with the fae first year had been civil at best, but at some point he had evolved into a tentative inclusion to your little group of ragtag mages. It wouldn't be that hard to get on his good side and snag a few extra points for yourself on the way, would it?
A loud slam against the table reverberates to your right, jolting you out of your thoughts with all the grace of a rather angry elephant. The thin blanket of surprise that falls over the table is enough to pause the two still-squabbling Heartslabyul students, and you swear there's an audible creak coming from your neck when you slowly turn to glance in the direction of the noise.
Ah. It's no surprise really, only one person could be responsible, but that doesn't mean it's not a shock to the three of you to see Sebek stiffly sliding into the chair next to you as if he was forced (the truth might've been closer than you expected, if that familiar snicker around the corner were anything to go off of). It wasn't the first time he'd hung around the edges of your lively bunch, but he was usually more of an exasperated observer than any real participant in your shenanigans.
He clears his throat, stiffly nodding in your direction in greeting before turning his focus back to his plate. Was that steak and yogurt? On second thought, maybe you didn't want to know. At least he doesn't notice the scathing glare you send across the table to Ace, who's not doing the best job at stifling a cackle behind his glove. Does he want to ruin your chances of finishing this project alive?
"Heyyyy, Sebek," is your awful attempt at making conversation, but the awkwardness that hangs in the air and the drawn out confusion that tinges your words isn't lost on you. Thank the seven that Grim is off pestering who-knows-who for their extra food, or he'd be writing checks that you couldn't cash and causing damages that you couldn't socially afford.
You practically rush out an invitation to Ramshackle in the poor man's direction, barely stopping for breath throughout and drooping closer and closer toward the table as your lungs deflated. Just bite the bullet and get it done.
He pauses, hunched over his plate with his fork half-way raised to his lips. It's all you can do to hope that he heard you the first time, because you really didn't have the dignity to repeat your blunder a second time in front of the prying eyes across from you.
"Hm."
Only a grunt of affirmation in response. But hey, that's all you needed, right? Bite the bullet. Survive.
Then, his lips parted as if he were busy mulling over something to add, you realize Ace's earlier words might have actually been a warning with some merit. He has fangs. How hadn't you noticed them before?
Bite the bullet? More like bite the human if you were unlucky. You'd never realized just how primed Sebek was built to rip you to shreds if he wanted, and now you were experiencing everything up close as if for the first time. Just sitting down next to you, he practically towered over the table, and even all of the regality the Diasomnia dorm uniform had---and buckles, why so many buckles?---seemed to stretch against the just-barely visible strain of corded muscle where his sleeve ended.
And then he leans closer.
This is it. You're going to die, right in front of your sad, half-eaten poor excuse of a sandwich. His mouth closes, then opens again, and it's like staring down the maw of a monster ready to swallow you whole. You've half a mind to just offer up your jugular and make things easy and quick when he finally speaks, entirely too loudly for being this close and looking like it's a physical pain not to say anything.
"Your uniform is buttoned up entirely wrong. It is utterly embarrassing."
This time, even Deuce can't contain his surprised bark of laughter.
Neither of them see it coming when you promptly throw your half-empty cup their way, either.
Sebek doesn't do group projects.
Why should he? It's much easier to handle things on his own, to glide through his courses without the added dead weight holding him down. He knows he's good, because he's worked to be good. Every moment that he'd studied until the brink of exhaustion, every hour spent ignoring the ever-increasing soreness spreading through his body like the plague as he leveraged swing against swing against the battered training dummy in the dorm that had seen much better centuries days.
So it's a surprise, even to him, when he finds himself staring down the magic-less prefect of Ramshackle on the opposite end of his desk, glaring at him with all the defiance of a baby fawn.
If things went his way, he was content to simply wait for his chance to be dismissed; Crewel had long-since given up on forcing him into assigned groups, especially after the last attempt had resulted in his largest cauldron cleanly broken in half in a scuffle that Sebek had not started but quickly put an end to. It would've been a much better usage of his time to take care of everything himself, without worrying about moving parts and lower intellect.
But pride is a traitorous, fickle thing.
He has to swallow down his own croak of surprise when he agrees, his tongue falling vice to his constant issue of speaking before he even has the chance to think. With two simple words of agreement, he's sealed his fate. Sebek was the source of many forms of irritation, he'd been informed of such, but he was never one to go back on his word. It would reflect oh-so-poorly on those that he aspired to rise to the height of.
He's not sure, even hours later when he's retreated back to the familiar stone walls of the dorm he called his home, why he said yes. Every possible explanation seems to float just out of reach in his mind no matter how desperately he reaches, like lily pads on water. He's self-aware enough to realize why it benefits him, of course, to show off the superior intellect of Briar Valley to the inferior. Ego boosts were something he coveted amidst the competitive sea of students around him regardless of whence it came.
For a fleeting moment, he considers that maybe it's because of your circumstances. That he'd taken pity on you. Clueless, confused, clumsy you and the benevolent knight who'd ignored your shortcomings and risen to the occasion to puff out his chest and prove himself.
It all begins to sound eerily like a fairytale he'd heard a few times in his youth.
The wood of the common-room table cracks under his clenched grip.
"---so nice that you're starting to make some friends, you know! Really, I'd been starting to worry about your reclusive habits. Constant stress isn't good for you."
Lilia's excited rambling brings him back to the situation at hand, and he can't help the exasperated sigh that pushes past his lips and the embarrassed fluster that begins to grow under his collar.
"It's just a project," Sebek mumbles, uncharacteristically quiet under the scrutiny of the older fae. Was it truly such a big deal?
"Oh, don't be so shy, young man!" He's not. "Have you thought about what you're going to bring? It's important to be a good guest, you know." He hasn't. "Don't worry, dear boy. I know the perfect treats to make." He's worrying. That's the worst idea he's ever heard.
It's a practical project in alchemy, yet it feels like he's about to be sent off as an ambassador with a peace offering to bridge the gap between two warring kingdoms.
Honestly, that would probably be less stressful than what he's doing now, which was desperately trying to thwart Lilia's assassination attempt in the form of scones.
Crewel would have a lot of questions for him if you died on him halfway through the project, that's all.
All things considered, you really thought things were going to be worse.
The first day was a little awkward, sure, but you hadn't quite expected to open the door and see Sebek dumping half of the contents of a picnic basket into your shrubbery (favors courtesy of Lilia, he'd explained, and added that he added some things that were actually edible.)
It turns out that for all of his bravado, Sebek was strangely palatable when you were alone.
He's still rigid in his own way, but he'd slowly been warming up to your presence the longer you'd worked. Like domesticating a wild animal, you'd noted to yourself one day in amusement. He didn't tense up anymore when you'd leaned over his shoulder to peer at his notes, and similarly, you'd stopped bracing for sudden death when he'd scoff and (rather gently) nudge you back with a firm finger to the forehead when you insisted on watching the portable cauldron up close.
At least, that's how it was most of the time.
The project called for two components: a demonstration, and a written portion explaining the historical evolution of the concoction you had chosen. You'd hoped to gain some brownie points with him when you'd suggested at the start that you cover something that involved a few ingredients from Briar Valley; to your credit, it had the intended effect, and you'd watched in a strangely endeared state as he rambled about your options for about fifteen minutes. It was a win-win situation for you, he'd probably end up doing most of the work in his eagerness and you'd get the chance to consult with some of the most seemingly-untouchable persons on campus when you finally convinced him to ask the heads of Diasomnia for their input.
But any progress you'd made with warming up to the half-fae seemed to backslide as soon as you'd end up anywhere near his dorm members. You distinctly remember waving to his housewarden, who you'd actually had quite a few pleasant conversations with around Ramshackle (unbeknownst to Sebek, of course, who would probably have burst more than a few blood vessels with the knowledge), and then being promptly picked up and moved so that Sebek could place himself in-between you two. Like you were someone to be wary of.
It kinda stung, if you were honest. You were no stranger, but you couldn't say that you didn't quite understand. The hierarchy in Diasomnia was much, much different than the rest of campus; even what they sought to emulate, the spirit of nobility, set a precedent even without the crown prince of Briar Valley's presence. He had expectations to meet, with or without you there, and it was a rough reminder of the fact that this whole thing, whatever you could even call it, was temporary.
He didn't seem to question it when you, voice strained, asked if you could work on the next few sessions at Ramshackle, instead.
"Wait, there's a difference between crushed and powdered? Seriously?"
Lord Malleus preserve him, you were even more hopeless than he thought.
Not that he truly minded in most cases. You were formidably skilled in the writing portion, he had to admit, and he wouldn't admit how he'd puff his chest out and basically preen when you'd look so impressed when he supplemented the most basic of arcane knowledge.
But when it came to the actual alchemical demonstration? It was all he could do to keep you from blowing up Ramshackle every time his back was turned.
"Yes," Sebek pinches the bridge of his nose and tries not to sound too exasperated---he still couldn't get that kicked puppy look you gave him the first time out of his head. "Powdered is more potent in smaller quantities. Refined. Crushed is what we nee-"
He barely has time to react before he looks over from where he'd been so dutifully preparing the proper protective gear and sees an entire. vial. of powdered mugwort tip into the cauldron; he's bounding over with a shout of your name---not 'human', not 'prefect'----before either of you can even properly process what's about to happen, hands landing on your shoulders to whirl you around and press you firmly into the broad groove of his chest.
Just a single moment later, a loud pop echoes through your living room.
You're almost afraid to look up and see the damage, eyes squeezed shut and nestled so securely into his taller frame that you're starting to wonder, in the midst of your adrenaline, how you've ever felt safe anywhere else. But you need to breathe eventually, and the booming slam of Sebek's heart against his ribcage echoes so concerningly in your ears that you're expecting to pull back and see something you're not prepared for.
And you're right, you weren't. In a way that's so entirely unexpected and raw that even years of preparation wouldn't have mattered.
Because when you start to pull back, eyes wide and frantic and the ghost of a loud and worried exclamation on your tongue, Sebek is already looking at you.
The fallout didn't look too bad, leaving just a light sheen of pink powder covering his face from where he'd taken the brunt of the damage. An easy enough fix, with a wet rag or two and a much-needed lecture on ingredient safety.
But the lecture never comes. It's like a fragile moment suspended in time, and he looks just as worried as you do. Hunched over, so unlike his rigid and proud posture he's seemed to have perfected, round pupils searching every inch of you for even the slightest bit of injury--
Wait, round?
You exhale, heart fluttering halfway up your throat.
Sebek's pupils, usually narrowed into perceptive, slightly intimidating slits, are dilated.
You're still forcing your brain to restart and swallowing down the lump in your throat when he finally deems you unharmed, and his exhale of relief blows a small puff of powder onto your own nose. His grip on your shoulders finally relents, but his hands don't move from their perch as he all but deflates, pressing his forehead against your shoulder as he attempts to match your stuttered breathing. That'll stain, you think, desperate to face anything but this moment, so intense that you think you'd much rather be choking on the powder than the uncertainty of it all.
"... Sebek, I'm sorr-"
"Don't."
That shuts you up real quickly.
It doesn't seem like he really knows what to say, either, because you wait and wait and yet.. nothing. Neither of you are really sure how to progress from here, so you find a moment in the silence to tilt your head and study him.
For the second time in his presence, you truly think you're dying.
But for some reason, dying feels much different this time around.
"Sebek," you whisper, and you realize that your fists are still clenched between you two, trembling. Was that from fear, or something else? You're not quite sure when the line started to blur this much. The huff he gives you in response isn't much help, either.
So you steel yourself, uncurling your shaky fingers and letting them find rest on the folded fabric of the front of his uniform, clutching him like a lifeline even after the imminent danger has come to pass.
"I think it really brings out your eyebrows."
A beat passes.
"What?"
And just like that, the moment eases, tension broken like a stone through the surface of a pond. He pulls back and rises, giving you an unobstructed view of the furrow between his brows and the utterly lost expression on his face. You don't offer him much in explanation, just that utterly infuriating grin that spreads across your face so easily that for once he doesn't object to his own wandering gaze down to your lips.
"The pink." You hum, and your eyes are flitting over his face like you're appraising him and sevens why is it so hot in here. All at once, all too quickly your hands are on him, gently brushing the excess powder off of his cheeks with a cupping motion that's entirely too intimate for his poor heart that's damn near bursting. "It goes well with green."
He tries, he really does, not to think about it. Not to think about how strangely affectionate your gaze is, not to think about the way you're the one cradling him so carefully as if he hadn't just proved to you just what he was capable of. If he doesn't think about that, then maybe he won't have to think about the way he's curled over you still, heaving adrenaline and labored breathing intermingling with yours in the pocket of space between your lips that's both too small and not small enough.
Sebek's one weakness is not thinking. It makes him rash, it rubs people the wrong way, it gets him into trouble. He knows that. He knows you've come to know that, along with the rest of him.
That's probably why neither of you are too surprised when he breathes your name out in a whisper, and in the next moment his lips are on yours.
He's wondering how he's lasted this long without it.
You're wondering if Malleus would smite you if he knew what you've made of his retainer.
Preparations for the project had continued, as life did, but there was something simmering under the surface. And it wasn't that cursed cauldron.
Sebek found himself tagging along with your group more, under the pretense of 'assessing your threat to Lord Malleus' (he'd dropped that excuse by the third time he'd fallen into step with you all in the hallway). Ace and Deuce were still sending you sympathetic looks when he wasn't looking, but even they could tell that apparently an unlikely partnership had blossomed there. Ace had even grumbled into your ear one day, a reddened welt in the shape of a palm barely visible under the painted heart on his face, asking how the hell your group was working out and his wasn't. He wasn't too satisfied when you laughed and rolled your eyes, flicking him in the forehead to earn your personal space back.
That truth was for you two alone.
But honestly? You weren't even sure what this 'truth' was.
The day of that little pink mishap had definitely opened some doors you didn't even know were there, but you never officially agreed to anything. And you certainly didn't let anything on in public.
Which is fine. You get it.
Sebek has his duties and expectations. In fact, it almost seems like he's doubled down on them since then, and you didn't miss the way his eyes seemed to silently search for yours in a room as if he couldn't rest until he'd found you. He wouldn't falter or move from his vigilant perch, but you could never miss the subtle upwards curve of his lip when your eyes would meet, one fang barely peeking through.
So yeah, you figured from the start that whatever you had would probably be better off if you didn't show it in public.
But did he really have to act like you couldn't even be friends?
If things looked awkward between the two of you in the beginning, they must look absolutely abhorrent now. At least you were both on equally floundering terms at the start; you had the excuse of time and unfamiliarity. Now, weeks later, he couldn't even sit next to you without seeming like he'd combust any second. It would be kind of endearing, if he had any shame about tracking you down in the hallway only thirty minutes later and dragging you into a hidden alcove behind a tapestry nearby.
You'd come to learn quite quickly that pretty much everything you'd thought about Sebek in the beginning was true, in a roundabout way. For one, you're worried he might actually swallow you whole one of these days.
That kiss you shared, all relief and trouble breathing and slightly tasting of herbs, was the first of many that night. And almost every day after. He was insatiable when it came to you, finding every opportunity to steal you away in the quiet moments and attack your lips with the same vigor he used in every inch of his training. It was a part of his training, he considered, to familiarize himself with every physical and emotional inch of you.
It wasn't the first time you'd found yourself in this specific situation, either, cornered up against the wall with smooth, cold stone on your back and the only-mildly-warmer press of Sebek's chest flat against yours to cage you in and shield you from view. Not that that had ever been a problem in the past; nobody quite seemed to know of this spot, and you're sure he probably had some elaborate fake argument ready to bark out at the slightest threat of discovery if someone found you two alone.
You didn't mind, you'd tell yourself. It was hard to, anyway, with how reverent he'd gaze down at you every time, pupils blown wide and a violent shudder jolting down his spine and arching him further into you when you'd so little as run your fingertips through his wildly styled hair.
You had him in the moments in-between, like the comfort of whistling air through the rickety window panes of your own dilapidated dorm. He would choose you each time he had a passing moment, and that was enough. You were sure of it.
Later, your hands accidentally brush together while you're all walking together to the school store. Sebek recoils like he's been burned, making a show of brushing off his gloves on the neatly ironed sleeves of his uniform. The heat that blooms through your face, this time, is from embarrassment.
"You want to.. set me up?" You squint, pointedly tilting your head from where you lay across the couch.
You'd been deep in thought, staring up at the ceiling beams, when you'd been interrupted by the very unceremonious entrance of Ace and Deuce; in itself this wasn't unusual, but you were pretty surprised to see that they'd even managed to drag Epel and Jack into whatever they were planning, too. Even Grim was there, although he didn't seem to be paying much attention to the situation at hand, busying himself with scooping out the last traces of tuna from the can he'd clearly been bribed with.
Deuce nods. Jack pretends he's not invested.
Ace and Epel practically yank you off the couch in their exasperation. You pretend not to notice the smidge of pink dust that flies into the air from the upholstery.
"Dude, it's getting embarrassing at this point," Ace groans, abruptly dropping your arm and sending you a none-too-sheepish grin when it thuds loudly against the floor. "It's clear you've got a thing for him, and it's making me super nauseous seeing it, so.."
"Waitwaitwait- What?" You don't even bother to move from the floor, flat on your back and glancing up at the group behind you. "For who?
Upside-down-Epel fixes you with a glare, leaning over you with such vigor it looks more like he's about to begrudgingly spill the secrets of the universe to you.
"Quit 'yer bellyachin', ain't it obvious? You're head over heels for the big croco-fuck, ain'tcha?"
You freeze, and although you must look like a limp, lifeless fish, you manage to flop yourself upright into a sitting position from the floor. They're going to help you confess... to Sebek? Awesome. Totally figured it out, way to go detective team.
"Guys," you start, an exasperated protest on the tip of your tongue, when Deuce crouches by your side, brows slotted together in concern.
"He looks at you a lot, you know. When you're not looking. I think he likes you too."
You're too wrapped up in wondering when the hell Deuce suddenly became a romance sap to dwell on the fact they think you're moping because of some silly, unspoken crush (even if it's technically partly true), and Deuce must see the absolute confusion on your face, because he awkwardly rubs the back of his head and nods towards the others.
"At least, that's what Jack says. I don't know."
The wolf beastman bristles at that, ignoring the embarrassed fluster of his face with a loud clear of his throat.
"There's a campus event coming up," he offers, clearly taking pity on you. "You probably wouldn't have heard of it yet, but it's an open festival that the school hosts. Very... popular with young couples."
Huh. That actually didn't sound like an awful idea.
"Plus, if it turns out your feelings are horribly misguided and he's absolutely repulsed by the thought of you liking him, you can just say you meant it in like a friend group way," Ace's words of support are anything but, and you throw your hands up in protest. "What? Just covering your bases, you know you were thinking it."
Running a hand down your face, you groan and lean back onto the couch. They had a point, as much as the risk of it buzzed through your nerves just thinking about it. It was a pretty solid plan; they could feel like they've put all the pieces of the puzzle together, and you could finally figure out what the hell was even going on between you two.
"Fine," you sigh, standing up for the first time since this impromptu meeting started.
Grim offers to help set the mood.
You make a deal with Ace the same night to keep Grim as far away as possible. He is not, as he claims, a 'true romance expert'.
In hindsight, you probably should have chosen a better time.
But you don't really do well under social pressure, and the four pairs of thumbs ups just barely hidden around the corner were enough to encourage you to just get this over with so you could go home and take a break for the first time in a week.
Morning classes had just let out for the day, which gave you about ten minutes of time to guarantee that you'd find him before he found you, and he'd pull you aside so desperately that you'd forget about this whole thing and just let him.
No. You wouldn't let that happen, not with how much energy you've spent worrying about the same thing over and over again. How you'd practically been brooding like a Victorian-era widow every night at the uncertainty of it all, pacing back and forth to the point you think you've worn down the floorboards in certain spots.
You've worked yourself up so much that as soon as you see that familiar envoy of black-and-green uniforms you don't even think before you spring into action. You march your way up, right up to the literal prince of the fae (Around the corner, Ace hesitantly has the headmage on speed dial, just in case) and tell him, very bluntly, that you need to borrow one of his retainers.
Malleus tilts his head in appraisal, eyes sparkling with amusement.
You wait one second. Three. You're not reduced to ash yet, so you guess that's permission enough. Sebek doesn't even have the time to blubber out the usual loud proclamation in the prince's defense before you've got his arm in a vice grip, dragging him a little ways away. Out of the corner of your eye, you can barely see Lilia ushering the two remaining students out of the area with a knowing grin.
"HUMAN! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF TH-" "WILLYOUGOTOTHEFESTIVALWITHME-"
You pause. Because now you're 'human', again. Of course you are. This isn't the privacy of your dorm, after all.
He pauses. Clearly, he hadn't expected that to be what was so urgently in need of attention. It looks like someone's frozen him in time, fist raised in indignation and only half-heartedly clenched in the air.
There's an awkward cough around the corner. You wince.
Just like that, it's like life is breathed into the air again, for better or worse.
"That silly festival," he starts off, slow and stilted, as if trying to regain his footing with the conversation, although it's hard to miss how he spits the word out with a venom that has you reeling back in shock. "Is nothing more than one of mankind's excuses to slack off."
Yet you push through, willing the ice currently forming in your veins to melt just enough that you didn't feel like you were actively decomposing. That's fine. With everything else that came with him, you understand---or maybe it's because you don't understand, that you try so hard to see his point of view. That lingering, festering feeling that even within your most personal of relationships you're still an outsider to this world who could never hope to understand something as silly as love.
"I just thought that if," you exhale, hoping he doesn't quite notice the shakiness of it, "if you end up going, that you might want to see some of it together."
You don't see the twitch of his gloved fingers itching to clasp yours. You don't notice the way his bottom lip pales with the pressure of his teeth, dangerously close to splitting skin with the pressure.
What you do end up seeing is the way his gaze falters, flickering behind you and back, where you know he knows that there's people waiting.
And ultimately, all he knows how to do is save face.
"As if I'd want anything to do with pointless human indulgence."
Anything to do with you. That's what you take away from this. That even now, he's posturing for an imaginary audience that may or may not be there.
Maybe it's the fact that it's in public. Or maybe you're done pretending that you understand. You don't know, but there's a lot of things these days that you're not quite sure of anymore.
Sebek, still standing rooted to the same spot he was when you'd silently turned heel and left mere minutes ago, is one of them.
"Honestly, Sebek. I really thought you were getting better at this friend thing." Lilia sighs, shaking his head as if this were as casual a disappointment as a vending machine getting stuck and stealing a favorite candy bar.
Somehow, that makes Sebek want to stand up even straighter, and he's already standing at precise attention in the middle of the Diasomnia common room. Although no one's quite looking directly at him---Malleus had wandered off not too shortly after their return, and Silver... well, Silver was asleep on the couch, like always---he still somehow feels like he's under extreme scrutiny. Perhaps it's the lingering sting of the hurt in your gaze earlier; it had settled into the backs of his eyelids like an insistent pain, as if his subconscious wasn't willing to let him forget.
"I am." He croaks, although his voice wavers even in his own defense. "The prefect and I are not friends." As if that admission makes it any better.
"You're not?" Lilia's response is oddly casual for the revelation, although the hum of consideration that soon follows reveals why---he'd assumed the opposite. "Did they not like the gifts you brought? I knew you'd need a little extra nudge, of course, but I didn't think I'd have to hold your hand the entire way!"
Sebek had grown used to the amused, vaguely condescending croon of Lilia's voice in moments like these, but that doesn't help the way it settles deep into his bones like poison eating away at him from the inside. How did he even begin to clear this up in a way that didn't make him sound like the worst person ever?
Sevens, what is he even thinking for? He knows he is, right now. He wouldn't allow himself the luxury of being vague, not when he'd been anything but in his very public rejection of you.
"You misunderstand," He pauses, his throat so dry that even swallowing seems to hurt in the moment. It's a struggle, to find a way to define it in a way that doesn't feel vile, to put a name to it so openly. He didn't have the right to do so, not now. "We are... courting?"
Sebek's defensive tone fizzles out.
The resounding SMACK that permeates the air brings it right back.
Sebek didn't even see him rise, but there in front of him stood Silver with a hand still raised, his long-time rival. The one person that he'd never been able to see eye-to-eye with. The fact that the very thing they're agreeing on right now is the fact that he's very much fucked things up scares him with the severity of it all.
He doesn't even find it in himself to retaliate, doesn't press the smooth coldness of his glove against his still-stinging cheek to soothe the pain. He just.. stares. For once, he's speechless.
"You should go fix that." Is all Silver loftily offers as explanation, and it's so oddly out of place and fitting for the situation at hand considering how much fire he'd met him with just a moment before that Sebek doesn't even have the words to argue, just turns and leaves the room in a daze to figure out how to do just that.
Silver's asleep on the couch again before Lilia can get a word in afterwards.
"Ah, young love is so fickle."
It's oddly peaceful at Ramshackle, if you don't count the endless stream of notifications blowing up your phone. Or the howling wind and rain outside. Or Grim's loud snoring drifting down the stairs.
You hadn't looked back when you'd given up and went home just a few hours earlier. Hadn't spared a word to your friends, the masterminds of it all, despite how desperately they had clamored over each other to ask you a million questions and assure you, probably, that they thought it would've gone so much better than it had.
You weren't mad. At least, not at them. You just couldn't find the energy to do much else except wrap yourself up on the couch and stare blankly into the fireplace, so you hadn't quite opened up any of their text messages yet. Maybe that's a tomorrow morning thing.
That is, if you've made sense of anything at all by then. You kind of expected to cry, or scream, or throw things, or lash out. Anything that manifested as physical proof of the aching hurt that spread throughout your rib cage and settled against your lungs with constricting fury. And yet? Nothing. You were exhausted, crushed by the weight of being proven right.
It'll probably hit you like a truck later, you're vaguely aware. But nothing quite feels real at the moment, something you're willing to take advantage of for the time being until you inevitably blow all your thaumarks on ice cream and chips tomorrow.
Then, barely audible through the sounds of the storm just past your door, you hear a knock. Unobtrusive and strangely patient for this weather at first, but quickly ramping up with a frantic intensity that has you sighing and getting up from your current love (the couch) to go begrudgingly answer the door, still wrapped up in the biggest and least-scratchiest blanket you have.
You don't really know who you're expecting to see when you open the door. Maybe Ace, who'd never met a social cue in his life that he couldn't ignore, or Jack, who'd given you the idea of the festival in the first place and probably felt responsible for how sideways it went.
Certainly not a very disheveled, soaked down to the bone Sebek Zigvolt, fist still raised in the air and somehow looking very, very surprised and relieved to see that you are, in fact, still here at Ramshackle. That you hadn't magically found a way to return home out of sheer retaliation against his utter stupidity.
You don't even have the time to retreat further into the blanket still wrapped around you before he's practically launching himself at your feet. It's nothing like what you're used to, nothing like the usual selfish sprawl of his fingers against the warmth of your skin. He's firm, unrelenting in his grip as if to prove you're actually in front of him, you're real, even as you squirm in his hold.
"Sebek, you're freezing!" And it really wasn't an exaggeration. He's dripping water all over your floor, all over you, yet he seems to be preoccupied with little more than smushing his face as far into the side of your neck as he can go before he's able to merge with you entirely. You start to backtrack, leading him with you and closer to the fire little by little. Still, he does little to help you out in the transport, and it's a struggle to all but drag the man.
"I'm sorry." He hisses through clenched teeth, eyes screwed shut, but you know the exact moment he opens them; you can feel the damp flutter of his eyelashes against your neck before he pulls away and looks at you with the most pleading look you've ever seen on him. Like he's waiting for you to tell him to leave, to never return, and he'd do it in a heartbeat if it made you happy. Even if he had to claw his own fingers raw through the dirt to follow through with what his mind couldn't bear to.
This is not the look of the rigid knight with something to prove. This, it hits you like a stake to the heart, is the face of a desperate man with something, finally, in his life that he risks losing before he's even had it.
Once again, it's his eyes that clue you in to a very important realization.
Sebek, you realize, the man who just marched his way over to your dorm in the middle of a thunderstorm without so much as thinking of casting a wind-blocking spell, the one currently sapping all your warmth from you in his insistence to be close to you, the one that stood outside your door in the rain for who knows how long,
is a crocodilic fae.
At the time, you'd been vaguely aware of the similarities. Taken by the novelty of the little things, like the way the only accessible stripe of skin peeking out from his glove was always just-barely cooler in temperature when you'd wrap your fingers around his wrist. Laughter bubbling up through your chest when he'd seem to nuzzle his cheek against yours like he hadn't realized he'd been leaning into your warmth, or the coy smile pulled taut against your lips with each gentle scrape of his fangs over your skin.
Now, it takes all you have not to succumb to your weak knees when you realize just how cold the rain had left him, and how he hadn't spared it so much as a thought in his effort to get to you. Even now, when it looks like it's taking all of his willpower just to keep his arms wrapped firmly around you, he powers through it in silence like there's no question of it being any other way.
There's a soft mutter of protest from him when you finally managed to wrestle him in front of the fire, but he doesn't fight you on the way you wrap your now-slightly-damp blanket around the two of you and guide him to his knees next to you.
"You hurt me," you whisper, smoothing a hand over his forehead to properly see him through the wet strands plastered flush against his skin. With his hair like this, he looked younger. Boyish and walking into this just as blind as you were.
"I know." Sebek croaks, leaning into your touch like it could give him all the answers, like it was the only thing that could help him think clearly.
"I don't expect to be first," and maybe the bitter cold seeping into your bones is finally starting to get to you, mixing with the deep pit of dread in your stomach that had been crashing over you in waves all night, because when you speak you can't even begin to slow the quiet sobs that trickle out after. "I just wanted to be an option."
Somehow, something inside of him is still barely held together enough to break at the tremor in your voice.
"You," he gasps for air, cradling the back of your head with icy fingertips that shake just enough to match how you sound, "are the only option."
You're not quite sure where the sobs racking your chest end and his begin, and you're definitely not sure of just when you'd somehow fallen asleep leaning against each other on a heap in the floor, all tangled limbs and fabric and desperate hearts.
When you wake in the morning, you've somehow made it onto the couch; you're pressed between him and the cushions, Sebek's back turned toward the direction of the door as if he had taken it upon himself to be your only line of defense while you slept.
The next day, you're deep in a heated discussion with your friends about the ethics of bribing ancient spirits to write essays for you when two powerful hands land firm against your shoulders. You don't even need to crane your head up to see who it is, posture relaxing with ease and leaning readily back into the touch.
There's a brief flash of light green on the edge of your vision, and a slightly stiff, but lingering kiss pressed just underneath your ear.
Ace shrieks. You're pretty sure you hear glass shattering.
Yeah, you'd definitely have to thank Professor Crewel later.
couple of extra low-quality gifs from one of my favorite '90s anime :D
just felt like messing around in this style! it's fun to get in there and just really scrunge it all up. >:D there's a lot of mistakes still, but uhhh something something it's about the ✨journey✨
