heyy i love ur writings! I was thinking, if u could write some headcanons of the guys being with a reader who has a bit of an attitude problem/ is bratty. thank u if u write this and i hope you’ll have a great day/night!!<3
Ooooh cute, yess let's do it 🤭 Both sfw and nsfw included!
Creeps With a Bratty S/O
Toby
You absolutely live to comment on his clothes. He wears the same hoodie half the time, the sleeves fraying, a faint smell of pine clinging to it. You’ll grin and go, “Wow, so this is your fancy going-out look?” just to watch his jaw tic and his mouth twitch like he’s holding back a retort.
He’ll groan, shove his hands in his pockets, and mutter, “Sh-shut up… you’re–nghh–you’re such a pain,” before sitting next to you on the couch anyway.
Sometimes you’ll tug on his hood and pull it over his face when he’s talking, just to be irritating. He’ll sigh dramatically, peel it back, and say, “You’re so ch-childish,” before grabbing you and dragging you into his lap.
You love to poke at him physically too - tapping his twitching shoulder or gently flicking the tip of his ear when you walk past. He reacts with an exaggerated sigh or will grab your wrist and hold it still for an uncomfortable amount of time until you squirm.
If you steal his mouth guard or goggles, you better be ready to be chased. He doesn’t run fast at first - lets you think you’re getting away - then catches you in one sudden burst of speed, hauling you back with an arm around your waist.
His favorite counterattack is the “headlock hug.” If you’re mouthing off too much, he’ll wrap an arm around your neck from behind, pull you into his chest, and refuse to let you go until you admit you like him. Sometimes he’ll drop his weight onto you on the couch so you’re stuck under him.
He gets quiet when you needle him too far, but it’s never a leave-the-room quiet - it’s a “I’m thinking about how I’m going to get you back” quiet. He’s not above “accidentally” spilling cold water on your shirt or turning the shower to freezing when you’re in there.
Despite the constant back-and-forth, he’s ridiculously protective. He might roll his eyes when you’re snarky to other people, but his hand always finds yours or your lower back like he’s making sure you don’t get too far from him.
NSFW
Your mouth doesn’t stop in bed, and Toby secretly lives for it. You’ll smirk and go, “Is that all you’ve got?” when he’s just starting to pick up pace, and it makes something in him snap.
The retaliation is instant - he’ll flip you onto your stomach or back, pinning you with his weight so you can’t move, leaning in close to growl, “S-say that again, slut.” His stutter hits harder when he’s worked up, and you can feel it in every syllable against your ear.
Loves using his headlock hold here too - your neck caught snug in his arm while he pounds into you from behind, his other hand gripping your hip tight. It’s possessive but playful, his low laugh in your ear when you gasp.
If you try to grind on him just to tease, he’ll grab your thighs and hold you still while he moves exactly how he wants, refusing to give you what you’re begging for until you ask nicely.
If you push him too far, he gets creative - tying your wrists with his hoodie strings so you can’t touch him while he works you over, forcing you to admit you were wrong before he lets you move.
Finishing on you is another way he “wins” an argument - pulling out to come on your stomach, chest, or thighs while muttering something like, “Told you I’d… ahh–shut you up.”
Occasionally he’ll get really quiet right before making you come, just staring down at you with that twitch in his jaw, as if he’s soaking in the fact that the same mouth that runs all day is too busy moaning his name.
Jack
You take full advantage of the fact that Jack doesn’t raise his voice often. You’ll toss little digs at him while he’s working just to bug him.
He never takes the bait right away. He’ll pause, tilt his head toward you in that slow, unnerving way, and say something like, “Careful. You’re forgetting who you’re talking to.” It’s not loud, but it always makes your stomach flip.
You’ve made a habit of moving things around his workspace - slightly shifting a scalpel, turning a jar so the label faces the wall - just to watch him notice.
When you’re too smug about it, he has a habit of stepping close and just standing there in your space until you lose focus. That quiet stare gets you every time.
Even when he’s irritated, he still keeps a veneer of politeness. If you’re walking somewhere together after a verbal spar, he’ll still hold a door open for you - though there’s a little extra firmness in the way he guides you through with his hand on your back.
He’s patient, but he remembers. The more you needle him, the more you can expect him to bide his time until the perfect moment to remind you who’s in control.
NSFW
Brattiness with Jack doesn’t get an immediate reaction in bed, it gets stored. You can see it in the way he moves slower, more deliberate, letting the tension build until you’re the one getting impatient.
If you push him with comments like, “You’re too slow” or “Is that all you’ve got?”, he doesn’t speed up - he stops entirely, pulling out of you to sit back and let you squirm. “Ask me nicely,” he’ll say in that maddeningly calm voice.
When you refuse, he takes his time - using his hands, his mouth, working you just close enough to the edge before pulling back again. He’ll keep you there until you’re flushed, breathing hard, and begging for it.
He’s a master of restraint - pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while the other traces maddeningly slow circles over your clit, applying just enough pressure to make you whine.
If your attitude is especially bad, he’ll control the pace entirely - deep, slow thrusts that drag over every sensitive spot, keeping you right at that point where you need more but can’t quite get there. “Patience,” he’ll murmur, voice low against your ear.
When he decides to give in, it’s overwhelming. His composure never slips, but the rhythm turns precise and unyielding, his hips snapping harder as he holds your jaw so you can’t turn away from him.
Jack doesn’t need to raise his voice to be filthy. He’ll murmur things like, “You think you can keep that mouth running now?” or “All that attitude, and look at you now.”
When you come, he makes sure it’s on his terms - either when he’s buried deep inside you or when his fingers are curled just right, dragging it out until your bratty edge is gone and you’re pliant under him.
He’ll clean you up afterwards like you’re something precious, but his voice will carry a faint smirk when he says, “Better behaved already.”
Tim/Masky
You poke at his bad habits constantly, especially his smoking. “You smell like a gas station parking lot,” you’ll say as you wave away the smoke.
He’ll just take another slow drag, exhale in your direction, and smirk. “You like it,” he’ll say, knowing full well you’ll roll your eyes.
Your favorite game is swiping his lighter and holding it hostage. You’ll keep it in your pocket until he gets up and physically comes to retrieve it. Sometimes he’ll pat you down with zero shame until he finds it.
If you mouth off while he’s trying to focus, or even relax, he’ll lean in close, rest his hands heavy on your shoulders, and say in a low voice, “Keep talking, see where it gets you.”
Tim’s not one to hold back when you’re bratting. He’ll pick you up and carry you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing, tossing you onto the couch or bed and pinning you there until you quit struggling.
He’s sarcastic and direct - no sugarcoating. If you’re making a scene, he’ll mutter something like, “You really want an audience for this?” in that deep, gravelly tone that always gets under your skin.
When your brattiness crosses the line, it stops being fun. Tim’s temper is quick to spark and slow to fade, and when you hit that nerve, he gets sharp. His jaw will tense, eyes narrowing, and his voice will drop an octave.
He’s not above walking out mid-argument if you push too far, slamming a door on his way to cool off. It’s not silent treatment, he’ll come back, but you know the moment he hits that point because the sarcasm disappears.
Sometimes the anger isn’t explosive - it’s a steady simmer. He’ll still do small acts of care even while he’s pissed, like setting a drink on the counter for you without a word, but his body language stays closed-off until he’s ready to talk.
When you know you’ve gone too far, apologizing is the fastest way to pull him back. He won’t admit it outright, but hearing you soften your tone gets him to unclench. Then, maybe, the next round of brattiness will stick to the playful kind.
NSFW
If your attitude’s bad in bed, he doesn’t slow down or tease, he takes control. The second you talk back, you’re on your back with his hand around your throat, his weight pinning you down.
Rough is his default when you’re bratty - messy kisses that leave your lips swollen, teeth grazing your skin just enough to sting.
He’s a grabber. Thighs, hips, wrists - he holds you where he wants you, making it clear you’re not dictating the pace.
If you start with “Is that all you’ve got?”, his answer is usually a sharp slap to your ass before he fucks into you hard enough to knock the wind out of you. “Still talking?” he’ll rasp against your ear.
Tim has a filthy way of degrading when you push him - things like, “You sound better with my cock in your mouth” or “Funny how quiet you get when I’m inside you.”
He’s not afraid to manhandle you mid-act - flipping you over, yanking you up by the hips so you’re on your knees, his chest against your back while he pounds into you.
Loves pulling your hair when you’re mouthy, forcing your head back so you have to look at him while he works you over.
If you’re being especially defiant, he’ll edge you on purpose - getting you right to the brink before pulling away and making you beg. Sometimes he’ll make you say you were wrong before he lets you come.
When he's done with you, he smirks and says, “Better mood now?” knowing damn well you’ll be bratting again tomorrow.
Brian/Hoodie
Your favorite thing to do is try to break his focus. If he’s working on gear, cleaning his gun, or editing footage, you’ll poke at him with sarcastic commentary: “Wow, you’re still at that? Did you get slower overnight?”
Most of the time, he doesn’t answer right away. He’ll glance at you, then go right back to what he was doing. That non-reaction is almost worse than an argument.
You’ve learned that if you stand in his way while he’s busy, he’ll just pick you up and move you - no words or struggle, just calm manhandling like you weigh nothing.
He’s the king of quiet retaliation. If you hide his tools or mess with his things, you’ll find something of yours just slightly out of reach later - your phone on top of a cabinet, your shoes missing when you’re about to go out.
When you’re bratting in public, he leans close, voice low enough only you can hear, and says something like, “I’ll deal with you later.” That alone is enough to make you think twice… sometimes.
When you push too far, he doesn’t raise his voice, he gets cold. His body language shifts, his jaw sets, and he looks at you like he’s running through every possible way to shut you down.
If it’s bad enough, he’ll stop talking to you completely for a while - partly to give you the silent treatment, partly because he knows anything he says while irritated will come out harsher than he means.
The moment you realize he’s genuinely irritated is when he calls you by your actual name instead of the teasing nicknames he usually uses. That’s your signal that you’ve crossed into dangerous territory.
NSFW
When you’re bratty in bed, he doesn’t match your volume - he matches it with control. He’ll slow the pace to something torturously steady, forcing you to feel every inch without letting you get close to release.
If you start mouthing off - “You’re gonna have to try harder than that” - he’ll pause entirely, leaning over you to murmur, “You think I’m here to impress you?” before pulling out and leaving you aching.
He’s calculated in how he shuts you up. One of his favorite moves is pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while the other works you over - slow circles on your clit, fingers curling inside you - keeping you on the edge until your bratty replies turn to desperate pleas.
If you’ve been especially difficult, he’ll make you ride him while he keeps his hands on your hips, setting the pace himself and not letting you speed up no matter how badly you want to. “You want more? Ask like you mean it.”
He’s not loud, but the few things he says hit hard - “You’re so much easier to deal with like this”, or “Not so mouthy now, are you?” whispered right against your ear while he drives into you.
When he decides you’ve learned your lesson, the control drops - he’ll flip you onto your stomach, push your knees apart, and fuck you deep and relentless until you’re gripping the sheets.
Finishing inside you is his preferred way of “marking” you after a bratty streak, his hand pressing into your lower back to keep you in place as he groans low in his throat.
His smirk says everything when he comments, “Guess I found the off switch.”
Ben
Your dynamic with Ben is pure chaos. You throw jabs, he throws them back instantly, no hesitation. Half the time it’s about his video games - “Wow, you’re trash at your own game” - but you’ll find ways to make fun of him for anything.
You love to hide his vape or controller. He’ll search for about five seconds before tackling you onto the couch and pinning you with his full weight until you give it back.
Physical bratting is a thing too - you’ll swipe his headset off, mess up his hair, or block the TV screen until he shoves you over with his foot.
Ben’s not above public brat matches. If you roast him around others, he’ll immediately return fire with something twice as embarrassing. He’s not trying to hurt your feelings, just make sure everyone knows he’s winning.
He has a habit of getting right up in your space when you’re getting cocky - leaning in until you’re chest to chest, looking down at you with a smirk and saying, “You done yet?”
If you’re sitting somewhere and ignoring him in favor of your phone, he’ll start poking you repeatedly in the side, tilting his head innocently when you glare at him. “What? I’m bored.”
He’s petty as hell in small ways - if you steal his hoodie, he’ll change the Netflix password so you can’t watch your shows until you give it back.
When you push him too far, he doubles down. His voice gets sharper, and he’ll stand toe-to-toe with you, smirking like he’s daring you to escalate. That’s usually when things tip over into steamy territory fast.
NSFW
Sex with Ben after you’ve been bratting is messy. It usually starts with him pushing you down onto the bed or couch mid-argument, kissing you hard enough to shut you up.
If you keep talking, he’ll shove two fingers into your mouth, telling you, “Keep that mouth busy.”
Loves making it a competition. If you try to get him off first, he’ll change position just to throw you off balance. “Nah, you’re not winning this one.”
If you’re especially defiant, he’ll push you onto your stomach, straddle your thighs, and fuck into you fast while one hand pins your wrists behind your back.
Dirty talk is constant - half insults, half praise. “God, you’re so fucking annoying… but you feel so good”, or “All that attitude and you still take me so well.”
Sometimes he’ll get really mean with the edging - pulling out when you’re seconds from release, grinning at how wrecked you look. “Beg for it, then maybe I’ll let you finish.”
When he’s close, he’ll grip your hips hard enough to bruise, slamming into you with enough force to make the headboard rattle.
He’ll hand you your underwear afterwards and say, “So… round two when you get your voice back?” knowing you’ll start bratting again as soon as you can.
Jeff
You throw your jabs freely with Jeff and he never lets one slide. If you say, “You don’t scare me,” his grin gets sharper and he’ll fire back, “That’s ‘cause you’re too dumb to know better.”
Loves to crowd your space when you’re mouthing off. He’ll lean against the wall right in front of you, knife flipping lazily in his hand, smirk widening as he watches your eyes follow the blade.
If you snatch something from him - a snack, his hoodie, his knife - he’ll chase you down with zero hesitation, grabbing you by the waist and hauling you back until you’re caught between him and the nearest wall.
He likes showing you off in his own twisted way - if you sass him in front of people, he’ll throw an arm over your shoulder or hook a finger in your belt loop, smirking at anyone watching like you’re a prize he’s letting them see.
Will absolutely steal bites of your food without asking. If you complain, he’ll open his mouth wide with an obnoxious “ahhh” just to irritate you.
If you cross into “too far” territory, his whole energy changes. The joking stops, his eyes get flat, and he’ll get right in your face with a quiet, “Wanna try that again?” The air gets heavy real fast in those moments.
He doesn’t hide his irritation, but he doesn’t storm off either - he stays close, almost too close, as if daring you to make it worse. Sometimes he’ll hover behind you in total silence, and the tension alone will make you trip over your own words.
He has no problem manhandling you into place when he’s done with your games - shoving you onto the couch, pressing you back against the wall, or catching your chin in his fingers and tilting your head up so you have to look at him.
NSFW
Brattiness in bed is like lighting a fuse with Jeff - it burns fast and ends in something explosive. You tell him he’s “all talk,” and the next thing you know you’re on your back, his knife pressed flat against your throat while he grins down at you.
He’s the king of verbal degradation when you push him. “All that mouth and this is how you end up? Figures.”
Loves pushing your legs apart with his knee, dragging the blunt edge of his knife down your chest just to watch you shiver.
If you sass him mid-act - “That’s it?” - he’ll respond by pounding into you harder, making the headboard slam, his hand around your throat to keep your eyes on him.
Likes flipping you into different positions without warning - on your stomach, on your knees, flat on your back - moving you around like he’s proving a point.
If you’re especially mouthy, he’ll push you to the edge and then stop completely, leaning back to watch you squirm. “Beg for it like you mean it, and maybe I’ll finish what I started.”
Finishing is always a statement. Sometimes it’s deep inside, sometimes across your chest or stomach, but it’s always paired with something cocky like, “Now tell me I’m all talk again.”
And if you do start again, he’s more than happy to go for another round - sometimes dragging you back down before you’ve even gotten fully dressed, just to prove he’s still in charge.
follower! bishops with an s/o that was apart of their cult but now runs a tea shop in the lambs cult?
Narinder
"Huh, so this is how my consort wastes the immortal life I've given them...by running a cutesy little tea shop in the cult of my traitorous vessel.."
"Good to see you, darling. Care for some chamomile tea?"
"....yes, I suppose I could indulge in some."
Narinder never thought this is what you've been up to after all this time: sitting in a cozy tent and selling specialty teas to followers who spent their hard-earned coin on refreshing drinks.
He thought you'd use your immortality necklace as a means of travelling the world and spreading his word after he was banished.
But nope. You settled down here with goals to live a comfortable life.
Although you didn't let him forget his cruelty to the other followers and Lamb..
"You wouldn't make me pay, would you?"
"I should charge you double...considering you threatened to kill all of us and Lamb once they've done your bidding." You reminded him, causing him to tense up.
"..I would have spared you-"
"Of course you say that now."
"S/o, please..I'm...."
"You're.....?"
"...I'm sorry." He finally relents.
".....you'll get this one for free, and maybe next time too if you show these followers more kindness." You kiss him on the cheek, passing a cup of tea into his paws.
He acts all huffy about being humbled by you, but from there on he's a little bit nicer to the other followers.
Leshy
You ran a small tea shop back in Darkwood. There was no ingredient that didn't make the perfect tea: peppermint, camelia, citrus..you name it.
After Leshy went blind, he got accustomed to every kind of smell from your shop. So when he stopped by, he always knew what you were brewing and would request some.
Of course, how could you deny him? Your beloved deserved a nice and calming drink in the chaos of his realm.
Unfortunately some of his fanatics obsessed with destruction began trashing your shop while you were out on a supply run.
You tried chasing them away, but got seriously wounded and had to flee for your life. Soon afterwards, Lamb found you and took you to their cult.
Leshy believed you to be dead.
So imagine his shock when he's indoctrinated and smells those familiar teas, immediately rushing to the source and discovering you're here and alive.
"S/o!! Where have you gone?! I thought I had lost you forever!!"
"It's okay, Leshy. I had to run away, but Lamb found me and saved my life. What ever happened to those raiders, by the way?"
"...I had them hung for your murder."
"....oh. Well, they're better off as bird food anyways. Come and sit, dear. I had to start back at square one, but I have every kind of tea flavor you love."
"Yes, of course....it's so good to hear your voice again, s/o."
"Likewise, Lesh."
Heket
Back in Anura, your tea shop helped her keep followers in line..specifically dissenters.
You used to slip mushrooms into teas and offer it as a "gift" to those who opposed her ruling.
And they'd do anything you wanted. Usually you left that to Heket, but as her consort you're allowed some liberties with brainwashed followers.
While she would make them eat dung or fast for the day, you'd tell them to go out into the world and advertise your tea shop to bring more people into the Anurian cult.
Or you'd make them do stupid things just for laughs.
When you were taken to Lamb's cult, Heket fully believed you were "stolen" and demanded your return, lest she starved their entire cult.
Of course, they don't. And she's killed, revived, defeated, and indoctrinated before she finally gets to see you again, promising they won't separate you anymore.
Obviously she's starving, but she beelines for you instead of the kitchen, wanting to see your face and make sure you were alright.
"Oh, my dearest Heket! How are you?"
"....hungry.....come with..."
You pout at her inability to talk for too long, though you join her for dinner, which she has with tea.
While it doesn't soothe any part of her severed vocal cords, it does help her calm down a lot.
Her only disappointment is that Lamb banned you from selling shroom-laced tea to their followers.
They weren't any fun.
Kallamar
Back in Anchordeep, you ran a small tea shop with drinks that could cure minor ailments, such as the common cold.
However, it often felt like Kallamar owned the shop instead.
You were only allowed to use specific ingredients and he told you to refuse any followers cursed with a sickness that he inflicted as punishment (indicated by a glowing green mark on their forehead).
You felt guilty every time you turned one away, but you had to listen to him..lest he shutdown your business.
It was a pain, and you couldn't take it anymore as you were losing more and more coin.
So when Lamb stopped by, you begged them to take you away from here.
Kallamar wasn't happy about that, putting all his focus into hindering Lamb's progress as he thinks they took you away.
Only when he becomes indoctrinated does he realize how wrong he was...
You had some rather venomous words for him. Words that you've been afraid to speak out loud when he was a godlike bishop.
Now you didn't have to hold back.
"I wanted Lamb to take me away, Kall. You were so controlling...trying to run my shop for me and make me refuse followers whose only crime was catching you on a bad day. You preached about how terrifying the Red Crown was, but honestly I was more afraid of you. I should refuse to serve you any of my healing teas so you know exactly how they felt."
He's 0.01 seconds away from having a breakdown, knowing you're absolutely right. You probably didn't love him anymore-
"...but I don't like watching others suffer when I know I can help them, even if they are scum. And part of me..still loves you. So if you wanna start over, we can. But only if you help me run this shop and listen to me."
"O-Of course! I'd love to assist you!" Kallamar managed to hold back the tears on this one, willing make up for how terrible he's been to you.
He lets you run the show, his only suggestion being that you adorned the shop's entrance with crystals to make it prettier (an idea that you accepted right away, showing you forgave him).
Shamura
They (quite literally) drop by your tea shop a lot, often surprising you.
But you enjoyed their company.
While having a drink, they'd chat with you about the latest knowledge they've discovered, some facts about war and ancient methods of combat, and/or how their day with their siblings went.
They could go on for hours, and you loved hearing it all.
They ensured your shop was well-protected, giving you some scorpions who acted like guard dogs.
When their brain got damaged by Narinder, they often forgot about your shop and stopped visiting as much.
You knew it wasn't their fault. But seeing them slowly start to neglect your feelings to yearn for their traitorous brother 24/7 hurt a lot. He's all they ever talked about anymore whenever they did remember to see you.
Eventually you angrily muttered how much you hated him...which was a huge mistake, as Shamura looked at you with the coldest eyes.
And commanded the scorpions to kill you.
You had to run away and were eventually saved by the Lamb.
With nothing but a small satchel of spare ingredients and tea bags with you, you started a new life in their cult, trying to accept that Shamura was too far gone to be helped.
Yet after they were indoctrinated, they immediately asked where you were and cried as you approached the pillory imprisoning them, believing you had been killed.
You realized they finally remembered you, and you wiped away their tears, offering them their favorite tea to jog their memories.
──────────────────────────────── smokey eyes - lincoln
── .✦ do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. dividers by me.
CONTAINS NSFW, MINORS DNI
✦ . Summary: Beneath late summer nights, Jack always found you. Human and monster, two different worlds separated by a picket fence. But when he didn't return, you set out to look for him. You find him in rut, in pain, in the ache of something like love—and what kind of friend would you be if you refused him?
✦ . Note: Monster fucker nation please stand, this one is for you. Very gross, very scary, but ohhhhhhh so good and yum and UGHHHHH. Feast my children. Don’t tell the others, hurry hurry hurry, we can’t let them know that this is what we’re into.
────────────────────────────────────────────
You always loved June.
It was one of those syrupy summer nights, the air thick and soft, clinging to skin like a second, invisible layer. Cicadas droned lazily from somewhere deep in the woods, their chorus blending with the distant hum of traffic beyond the trees. The sun had long dipped behind the hills, but the heat of the day clung on, reluctant to let the world rest.
Your backyard was a patchwork of dim porch light and moonlight, the fence throwing long shadows across the brittle grass. Beyond the fence stretched the treeline, thick and dark as spilled ink, pulsing with the unseen eyes of the forest.
The fence was old—weather-worn wood, sun-bleached, as tall as your chest, and starting to splinter in spots—but it was your fence. Your spot. The place where every night, like clockwork, you would stand on one side with the glow of your kitchen lights behind you, and he would linger on the other, half-concealed by the darkness of the pines.
You heard the faint scuff of boots on dried leaves, the rustle of branches catching on old denim. You didn’t even have to look. You knew it was him.
“Late again,” you teased, leaning against the picketed wood. Fireflies darted around overhead, slow and golden, tiny lanterns against the night.
Jack shifted closer. Tall, broad-shouldered, the faintest glint of moonlight catching the wet curve of the dark mask he wore, the slits where eyes should have been yawning and black—just two gaping sockets, still managing somehow to see you. The copper tang of dried blood still clung faintly to him, mingling with the loamy smell of the forest and his favorite cologne. All wrapped up in an oversized gray hoodie and old wrangler jeans.
“I had…business,” he rasped, voice rough like something left too long in the dark.
You studied him, heart twisting. Once, things had been different.
You met Jack in college, before everything changed.
He was Eyeless Jack to the world now—a name passed around in hushed rumors and panicked police briefings—but once, he was just Jack. Jack Nyras, pre-med major, scruffy-haired and half-insomniac from too many late-night study sessions. You’d first bumped into him, literally, outside your genetics class when you spilled an entire iced coffee down the front of his hoodie.
Instead of getting mad, he laughed. That laugh, even now, you remembered with a painful fondness: easy, warm, too big for his slight, lanky frame.
After that, you were inseparable. You sat in labs together, sharing notes, studying for hours until your brains turned to mush. Sometimes you’d catch him drawing twisted little sketches of incredibly detailed body parts in the margins of his anatomy book, black ink dripping from his pen like nightmares, doodling hearts and vein patterns and every bone you could think of. He’d grin sheepishly if you pointed it out.
“Just to blow off steam,” he’d told you.
If only it had stayed that way.
But something was off that last semester.
It started with Jenny. A bright-eyed, over-eager girl with too many questions about death, about gods, about what might live on the other side of everything. You’d seen her hanging around Jack, pressing him for his knowledge of anatomy and the occult. You hadn’t thought much of it—she was a weird kid, but who wasn’t in college?
Until the night they took Jack to a ritual.
You hadn’t known where he went, at first. A text left on read. A worried voicemail. Then nothing. You had no clue.
They’d dragged him to an abandoned house on the outskirts of town, where Jenny and her cult had tried to summon a demon—and they’d needed a human sacrifice to open the door. Jack. Your Jack.
They had held him down, cut his eyelids away so he could never look away, and scooped out his eyes with brutal, surgical precision. You would have nightmares about that for years: those empty, bleeding sockets. Then they poured something black and slick, like tar, into the holes—a living thing that pulsed and smoked, thick with hatred.
It was supposed to let a demon pass through him, a doorway wearing a human face. But something went wrong.
Instead of a perfect vessel, Jack became the demon’s prison. The possession took root, warping him, twisting flesh and bone. His skin turned an unnatural gray, hard like stone. The black voids where his eyes once were never stopped weeping that tar-like ichor. Needle-sharp teeth split his mouth, rabid and hungry.
Jack was the only one to survive, if you could call it surviving.
When he came to you after, it was in the dead of night, half-collapsed against your back porch door, trying to hold his guts inside his ribs with clawed, shaking hands. He was weeping. You’d never heard a sound like it, the noise of someone whose soul had been torn in half.
“Don’t look at me,” he begged, voice raw, inhuman already. “Please.”
But you did. You looked. You saw him for what he had become, and refused to turn away.
You kept him alive those first weeks, when he didn’t know what to eat, didn’t understand the pull inside him. You watched him break down on your kitchen floor, apologizing over and over. You helped him find ways to stay hidden, to scavenge what he needed to keep from losing his mind completely.
When Slenderman came for him—a towering, impossible shape between your backyard trees one night—you thought you’d lose Jack for good. But even that faceless horror couldn’t break the bond you’d built. Jack still came back, slipping from his grip in brief windows, always returning to the same spot at the back fence, where your world met the dark.
You wondered if part of him fought that puppet-string control just to see you again.
The truth was, you had every reason to fear him. You’d seen the news reports, the evidence photos, the torn bodies left in his wake. The world would call you naive, maybe even insane. But you knew him. You’d seen him laugh over spilled coffee. You’d watched him hold a scared freshman’s hand in a bio lab when they passed out during a dissection.
That Jack was still there, tangled in the ruin.
So you never turned him away. Even now, years later, you stood by your back fence on humid summer nights, waiting for the quiet scuff of his boots through the weeds. You told him about your boring, safe life—air conditioners and late shifts and microwave dinners—and he told you, in broken pieces, about the horrors he couldn’t help but feed on.
And despite all of it, despite the monsters clawing at his mind, you stayed. Because sometimes being a friend wasn’t bright or easy. Sometimes it was raw and heavy and stubborn, refusing to let go of someone even when the world said you should.
If you wanted, you could forget that night he’d stumbled from the woods, half-monster and half your friend. You could pretend this fence was a line dividing your worlds.
But you didn’t.
Because he was Jack. A biology major, obsessed with genetics and a little too competitive at beer pong. Now, the woods had become his kingdom, the darkness his only safe harbor. But some things hadn’t changed: the way he still leaned forward a little when you spoke, or how he listened more than he talked.
“Rough night?” you asked gently.
He tilted his head, a gesture oddly canine in its curiosity, “Rougher for them.”
You sighed, but there was no real fear in it. If there was one truth in your world, it was that he’d never hurt you.
“I had a pretty boring day,” you offered, voice light, trying to balance out the shadows in his. “Work was slow. Mrs. Carter’s cat had kittens, I saw them in her yard. Oh—and I got a sunburn.”
His head dipped, as if acknowledging the small tragedies of a normal human life. “Show me,” he said quietly.
You laughed, brushing your sleeve up to reveal pink skin. “See? Totally my fault. I fell asleep in the hammock.”
He reached forward, clawed hand resting on top of the fence, close but not quite touching. “You should be careful,” he murmured. “The sun can be quite dangerous this time of year.”
That startled a laugh out of you—a small, real sound. “Wow, Jack, you going to lecture me on skin cancer now?”
A faint, rasping chuckle answered, like dry leaves scraping together.
You both fell into silence, the comfortable kind. The night seemed to wrap around you, humming with late-summer heat, thick with scents of honeysuckle and crushed grass. Somewhere far off, an owl called.
You studied him across the fence, trying to read the shape of him. You could still see the slope of his shoulders, the faint twitch in his jaw when he was worried. The eyeless mask made him look monstrous—but you’d stopped seeing it that way long ago. Nowadays, you were just upset you couldn’t see his cute smile.
“Jack,” you said after a while, softer now, “are you…okay?”
His shoulders rose and fell. A sigh? Maybe.
“I don’t know if I even remember what ‘okay’ feels like,” he murmured. “But… this. Talking to you. It helps.”
Your heart pinched, warm and a little sad. “Then I’m not going anywhere.”
You saw him shift closer, a whisper of movement, enough that the shadows seemed to lean toward you. You swallowed, wishing you could reach over the fence and touch him, just once. Instead you let your fingers curl against the peeling paint. “I’m glad you still come back,” you smiled. He just nodded.
“You should go inside soon,” he rasped. “It’s too warm to sleep, but… safer. You should eat some dinner.”
“Will you stay out here a while?” you asked.
He dipped his chin, the faintest promise. “Yeah. I’ll keep watch.”
It was nothing, and it was everything.
Crickets sang to fill the hush that followed.
You stepped a little closer, pressing your palm to the wood between you, pretending you could feel his heartbeat through the fence. If he even still had one.
“Same time tomorrow?” you asked, trying to smile.
He nodded once again, a barely-there motion. “Same time.”
“Goodnight, Jack,” you said softly.
“Goodnight,” he answered, voice steady, a vow carried on the warm summer air.
And then, like a dream dissolving, he stepped back into the gloom of the pines. You caught one last glimpse of his silhouette before the night swallowed him whole.
The fence was still warm under your hand, the cicadas still singing. You exhaled, steadying herself, knowing that tomorrow he’d be there again—your friend in the woods, monster and boy, killer and companion.
And you would be there too, waiting for him.
── .✦
The day crawled by, the hours sticky and dull. You’d scrubbed your kitchen counters twice, answered a handful of emails for work you barely remembered, and even tried to read a book on the back steps—but the words blurred in the heavy evening heat.
All you could think about was Jack.
Ever since that night, years ago, your days felt incomplete until you met him at the fence. Those small conversations, traded across weather-ruined ply-wood, had become your strange ritual, your fragile thread of normal.
Tonight was no different. As the sun began to drop, you practically inhaled your dinner—pasta gone rubbery from the microwave, but you didn’t even taste it—swallowing mouthfuls so fast you nearly choked. Then you ran a hand through your hair, smoothed the wrinkles from your shirt, and stepped outside.
The air was still and damp, the kind that made your arms itch. The cicadas thrummed their endless song, hiding the hush of the woods. You leaned on the fence, peering into the tree line.
Nothing.
You waited, shifting your weight from foot to foot, hoping you’d see the pale glint of his mask moving between the trunks. But the woods stayed silent, the sky growing darker by the minute.
Maybe something came up. Maybe Slenderman needed him. Maybe he was hunting. He was usually late anyway.
You tried to reason with yourself, but the night stretched on, thick and empty, until the mosquitoes started biting and you had no choice but to go inside.
The next night, you came out early, practically running through the kitchen just to get to the fence faster. But again—nothing. The woods felt wrong, like a silent accusation, each leaf unmoving in the hot breeze.
The third night, you could barely stand to eat. You pushed your food around the plate, your stomach a hard knot, fingers picking at the torn edge of your thumbnail until it bled. The skin around your cuticles was raw from worry, your breathing shallow and thin.
Three days, you thought, three days is too long.
He had never gone three days without showing up, not since that night you saved him from bleeding out in your basement.
A cold panic clawed at your throat. You pictured him cornered somewhere, wounded, or worse—devoured by whatever lived inside him. You pictured Slenderman tearing him apart like a dog with a ragdoll, or the police finally catching him, gunning him down before he could explain he was more victim than monster.
Your fork clattered to the plate. You couldn’t take it.
You stood so fast your chair scraped a painful shriek across the floor. You grabbed your flashlight, heart pounding against your ribs like it wanted out, and stalked out into the night.
The fence gate to the woods creaked open, a hesitant protest that felt far too loud. The path beyond was half-eaten by weeds and dark as ink, but you forced yourself through, lungs full of warm, wet air that smelled like dirt and dying leaves.
If Jack wasn’t coming to you—then you would go to him.
You stepped across the fence line, your safe little world snapping shut behind you like a broken jaw, and let the darkness swallow you whole.
── .✦
The woods closed in around you the moment you crossed the fence line, swallowing up the distant hum of the highway and the yellow glow of your back porch light. Out here, everything was shadow layered on shadow, the air thick enough to choke.
You stepped carefully, branches scratching your shins, the beam of your flashlight bouncing across the undergrowth. Every so often you caught a flash of color—a scrap of paper, a mushroom cap, a piece of trash—and your heart would leap in false hope, only to crash back down when it wasn’t him.
Where are you, Jack?
You tried to keep your breathing quiet, tried not to think about the thousands of unseen things rustling in the tall grass. Your imagination filled the darkness with monsters: faceless giants and hollow-eyed shapes, hands reaching.
A branch snapped somewhere ahead, sharp and loud. You flinched, heart hammering up into your throat. Your flashlight jerked wildly, sending yellow arcs of light through the undergrowth.
“Jack?” you called, voice soft and strangled.
No answer. Only the startled flutter of birds erupting from the canopy, taking to the sky in a rush of frantic wings. You staggered back, hand clamped over your chest, adrenaline scalding through you.
You swept the beam of the flashlight across the trees, willing him to be there—a dark mask, a familiar slouch, anything—but the woods only gave you more silence.
Panic built behind your ribs like a scream. You tried to swallow it down.
“Jack?” you called again, a little louder this time, your voice carrying through the trees.
Nothing.
The darkness pressed in. Every stick crack, every scuttle of an animal felt like claws reaching for you. You forced yourself forward, one step at a time, your sneakers sinking into damp earth.
You called again, and again, each time a little braver, though the sound of your own voice nearly terrified you more than the silence did.
“Jack,” you pleaded, “if you can hear me… please answer.”
The flashlight beam wobbled as you clenched your shaking hand around it. The woods felt too big, swallowing your words whole. You had no idea how deep Jack had gone, or if he was even alive, or if you’d ever find him again.
But you had to try.
You would keep going. Even if it meant walking straight into a nightmare, you would keep looking for him, because Jack had never left you alone, even at his worst.
And you refused to leave him alone now.
You kept walking.
The night felt endless, the same dark trees repeating over and over until your legs burned and your feet throbbed inside your sneakers. Branches snagged at your sleeves, tearing tiny holes you barely registered. Bugs droned in the heavy air, the only thing keeping you company.
You lost track of how long you’d been out there—forty minutes, an hour, maybe more. Every step felt like you were sinking deeper into something that didn’t want you there.
Then your flashlight caught a rounded shape in the dirt.
You froze, breath stuttering, and dropped to your knees. The beam landed on it properly this time, and your heart broke in a single, sharp crack.
Jack’s mask.
It lay half-buried under leaves and mud, one side split down the cheek like something had struck it hard, the once-smooth paint now chipped and stained. It looked wrong, abandoned, like a piece of him torn away, like it had been sitting here for a couple of days.
“No,” you whispered, fingers trembling as you picked it up. It was heavier than you expected, damp with rain and sweat, smelling faintly of earth and blood.
“Jack!” you shouted, panic swallowing every scrap of caution you had left. “Jack! Where are you?”
Your voice rang off the trees, harsh and desperate.
Nothing answered.
You shoved the mask under your arm and pushed onward, scanning the cliff runoffs and dry creekbeds where you knew animals liked to hide, searching the tangled roots along the old trails, calling his name again and again.
“Jack! Please—answer me!”
The woods felt different now. As you climbed another steep rise, lungs burning, you realized it had gotten… quiet.
Way too quiet.
The cicadas were gone. No crickets. No night birds. Nothing.
Like the entire forest had been smothered under a heavy, waiting hush.
Your footsteps sounded painfully loud, each broken twig echoing off the trunks around you. You forced yourself to keep moving, scanning every hollow, every patch of shadow for a flash of gray skin or those ink-black tears—anything to prove he was still here.
But the silence felt absolute.
Crushing.
Wrong.
You swallowed, hard, the edges of the quiet closing around you until it felt like the woods themselves were holding their breath.
The stillness was so heavy it pressed on your eardrums, leaving you dizzy and unsteady. You clutched the broken mask tighter to your chest, heart hammering, flashlight flicking from one twisted branch to another.
That was when you heard it.
A wet, tearing sound, slick and raw, like someone wringing out a soaked rag. Then another noise—a sharp pop, like cartilage snapping.
Your stomach lurched.
You turned your flashlight toward the sound, its pale circle shaking so badly it barely held focus. You swallowed, took a single step, then another, trying not to crack any twigs, the silence around you making every breath sound huge.
You crept forward, through brambles that snagged your jeans, and finally reached the thick trunk of a pine tree. Its bark was rough against your palm as you steadied yourself, heart about to pound out of your chest.
The noises were louder here—slurping, chewing, flesh pulling away from bone.
You squeezed your eyes shut for a heartbeat, steeling yourself, then leaned to peek around the tree.
The sight made your legs go out from under you.
Jack was crouched low, his claws sunk deep in something—someone—sprawled in the mud. His face was buried in the corpse’s stomach, his mask gone, the ruined hollow of his sockets pressed to ruined flesh as he tore through it with those glinting, animal-sharp teeth.
Wet, black gore streaked his chin. Strings of it dripped from his mouth as he devoured what was left of the person’s organs.
He looked monstrous, more beast than man, moving in a brutal, mindless rhythm that made bile rise in your throat.
A scream clawed its way up before you could stop it, raw and terrified, tearing itself from your lungs.
The flashlight fell from your hands, clattering against a rock. Jack’s broken mask slipped after it, landing in the dirt.
Your knees buckled and you crashed to the ground, hands braced in the leaves as you gasped, the scream still echoing through the dead, silent woods.
Jack’s head snapped up, raw and slick with gore, strands of dark tissue clinging to his torn lips. For a moment, he just stared—or aimed those hollow sockets at you, emptier than any night you’d ever seen.
Then he let out a sound.
It was a low, throaty grunt, bubbling through whatever remained of the man’s organs, followed by a choked, strangled whine.
He shoved the corpse aside in a jerking, hungry motion, the wet smack of it hitting the ground making you flinch. Jack’s claws scraped through the dirt as he pushed upright, swaying on his feet. The moon caught the raw gleam of his teeth, stained black-red and sharp as glass. The front of his gray hoodie was stained dark, blood covering his chest and collar.
He took a staggering step toward you, hunched, moving in fits and starts—a predator not quite remembering how to use its limbs.
“J—Jack,” you stammered, voice cracking under the weight of your own terror.
Another grunt, this one higher, confused, almost hurt. But he kept coming, head tilted like he was trying to place you, thick lines of blood still running from his mouth.
You scrambled to your feet, hands scraping against sticks and dirt. Your flashlight lay where it had fallen, but you didn’t dare grab it—the thought of wasting a single second made your heart seize.
You ran.
Your legs barely worked at first, a jolt of panic burning through them so violently you stumbled. Behind you, Jack howled—a horrible, broken sound, like a wolf choking on its own kill—and then he charged.
You heard him crashing through the brush, smashing into trees hard enough to shake the branches overhead, snarling and sobbing all at once.
Your lungs tore with each gulp of damp air, your feet tangling in vines and roots. The world blurred, branches whipping your face and arms, your pulse a screaming rhythm in your ears.
You glanced over your shoulder—mistake.
Jack was close, horrifyingly close, lurching forward on all fours at times, then staggering upright, drool and blood flinging off his chin with every strangled cry.
The sound of him was horrible, like a nightmare given voice: gasping, wet snarls, a boy’s whimper trapped in a monster’s throat.
You pushed harder, legs on fire, tripping through a creek bed and nearly going down. Behind you, Jack crashed in after, water splashing like a thunderclap. He slammed against the bank and scrabbled up again, claws raking mud, his body moving with a terrifying, unstoppable hunger.
The night around you felt like it shrank, every tree too close, every shadow reaching. You could hear him breathing—wet, ragged, sharp—right behind you, the animal panic of a predator whose prey was slipping away.
Tears spilled hot down your cheeks, half from terror, half from heartbreak. Jack. Your Jack. Reduced to this. Hunting you like he didn’t even know your name.
He wailed again, an echoing, desperate sound that sent a fresh spike of adrenaline through your spine.
You scrambled up a hill, nails tearing into the dirt for grip, and felt him slam into the slope behind you, sending rocks and dead leaves skittering down around your heels. He tripped on a root, crashing to his knees with a scream of frustration, but he was already dragging himself up, unstoppable.
You felt pathetic, small and breakable, every instinct screaming to run run run run—
But there was nowhere to go, nowhere safe. The forest was a cage, and Jack was filling every inch of it, his cries ripping through the dark, hunting you down with mindless, monstrous determination.
You ran anyway, because you had to.
And behind you, he followed—crashing, wailing, unstoppable.
It only took one misstep of your foot, one trip—a rush of air and the thunder of clawed feet, and then he crashed into you with the force of a falling tree.
You hit the ground hard, the breath punched out of your lungs, dirt grinding into your palms. Before you could even scream, Jack was on top of you, pinning you to the forest floor with all his unnatural weight.
He snarled inches from your face, the sound raw and animal, splattering you with thick, foul-smelling gore. Blood dripped from his wide lips, fat droplets falling onto your cheek, sliding warm and sticky into your hair. You noticed it then, the absolute richness of his smell. Like his cologne, but so stout and thick you could’ve choked on it.
You froze, terror swallowing you whole, every muscle locked in place. His claws curled into the ground beside your head, framing you like steel traps.
“Jack,” you choked out, your voice breaking under the fear, “Jack, it’s me—please, please, it’s me!”
He leaned closer, so close you could smell rotted copper and damp earth on his breath. His hollow sockets flared wide, a horrible, empty focus. Another snarl tore out of him, spraying more blood across your face. Even the tips of his pointed ears were speckled with the stuff.
You raised your hands, palms open, pressing against the dampened fabric of his hoodie, feeling the quivering, rigid muscles beneath.
“Jack—Jack, please,” you sobbed, “you know me—it’s me, it’s me—”
Something in him stuttered.
The endless growling broke off, replaced by a high, confused whine. His head twitched, tilting to one side, like a dog trying to understand a new word.
His breath hitched, and then he bent down, nosing against your cheek, sucking in deep, shaky lungfuls of your scent.
His three black tongues emerged, slick and twitching, and began to sweep over your face in long, wet strokes, gathering up the blood he’d splattered there. It was revolting—warm, sticky, and far too intimate—and you flinched as he moved lower, tongues pressing to your neck, tasting, cleaning.
He breathed you in so desperately you thought he might inhale your entire soul. His chest heaved against your hands, shuddering with each inhale.
“Ssr—” he tried, voice grinding out of a throat that sounded half broken, “Mmn—Hah—”
You could hear it, buried in the monstrous ruin of his voice, “So-Sorr-ey—Mmn-sorr—Mnn-Miss yewhh—”
He kept trying to form the words, but they came out in garbled sobs and animal rasping, drool and blood dripping onto your skin.
You couldn’t move. You couldn’t even breathe.
His tongues kept working, lapping gently at your throat, tasting, nuzzling, his claws scraping at the dirt on either side of your head. A pitiful whimper rattled through him every time he pulled away and tried to speak again.
It was like being pinned by a hurricane—something impossibly powerful and terrifying, but also heartbreakingly confused, lost, wanting only you.
You stared up at the empty sockets inches from your eyes, mind screaming, every nerve alight with raw, animal terror.
Jack’s blood-slick mouth hovered above you, trying so hard to shape human words, but all that came was a broken, hopeless cry.
Your heart pounded so hard you thought it might crack your ribs. Jack’s weight felt endless on top of you, a monstrous, crushing presence that smelled of blood and rot and something older, darker.
But… this was Jack.
You tried to remember that—your Jack, even buried in this nightmare. You preached about loving him and being there for him no matter what, but as soon as you’re faced with a horror, what did you do? Stupid.
You drew in a weary, shaking breath and reached up, fingers threading through the wild, tangled strands of his dark hair. The roots were tacky with drying blood, but you ignored it, combing gently, soothing.
He whimpered against your throat, the monstrous rumble of his chest vibrating against yours. His tongues tried to drag across your cheeks again, desperate and sloppy, but you pushed him back with a shaking hand, steadying him.
“Stop—hey, it’s okay,” you tried again, voice firm but soft, like talking to a wounded animal.
He froze, breathing you in so deeply it hurt to hear, then slowly lowered his head until his brow touched yours. The blood was sticky between you, but the contact steadied him, just a little. You’d never have thought touching him, seeing him without his mask for the first time in months would’ve been like this. Fate has a weird way of working things out.
You kept your hand moving through his hair, gentle, grounding, and after another moment he shifted, claws pulling out of the dirt beside your head and instead curling around you, wrapping you in a terrifying, protective cage.
His hands—bloodied and sharp and so wrong—trembled as they ghosted under your shirt, rough against your waist, pulling you closer, pressing your ribs against his chest.
His entire body shook as he settled, breath ragged and uneven, the smell of iron so strong you wanted to gag. Still, you stayed, letting him hold you, even when every terrified instinct screamed to run.
Moonlight spilled through a break in the canopy, falling on the two of you in a cold, pale wash. It caught the gore still clinging to his jaw, the unnatural gray of his ruined skin, the inky stain of his hollow eyes.
Jack clung tighter, claws pricking your sides, breathing hard against your neck, confused sounds still rumbling in the back of his throat.
He didn’t understand. You could feel it in the frantic rhythm of his touch—he didn’t know why his body felt so raw, so starving, so desperate.
Jack stayed wrapped around you, claws trembling against your back, his breathing raw and frantic. His face was buried at your neck, those horrible tongues twitching against your skin, tasting you over and over as if it was the only thing keeping him sane.
Your head spun. He was so strong—you could feel it in every twitch of those monstrous hands, how easily he could have broken you. But he didn’t.
He was shaking, whimpering, lost.
“Jack,” you tried, voice cracking, “what is this? What’s happening to you?”
He made a mangled sound, low in his chest, trying to force words through a throat that wasn’t made for them anymore.
“Ca-c-can’t—” he rasped, wet and torn. “Can’t… s-stop.”
You swallowed, panic still clawing at your ribs. His claws flexed under your shirt, not hurting, but clutching at you like a lifeline.
“Can’t stop what?” you asked, heart hammering, “Hurting? Hunting?”
He shook his head, a violent, jerky movement against your neck, a fresh whimper breaking free.
“Smh-smell… y-you…” he gasped, voice breaking. “C-c-can’t… st-stop.”
Your mind was spinning, trying to piece it together. You thought of how he’d tracked you down, how he couldn’t stop licking you, couldn’t get enough of your scent, the way he was holding you now like he needed you to keep breathing.
Your stomach dropped.
Was this… heat? The word felt alien, but close. Or something like it. He was… an animal, twisted by what they’d done to him. Maybe his body had gone feral in more ways than just hunger.
“Jack,” you whispered, dread crawling up your spine, “are you… in some kind of… rut?”
He went still, pressed against you. A miserable, pained whimper came out, low and helpless.
“Dha-d-don’t… know,” he stuttered, voice thick with something raw and pathetic. “I… s-smell… yo-ou… need…”
It made your head swim. Of course he didn’t know. How could he? No one ever taught a monster about instincts like this.
His claws scrabbled at your back again, then curled around your waist, pulling you even tighter. His face pressed into your collarbone, those tongues working against your throat like he was trying to memorize you.
It was terrifying. It was heartbreaking.
“It’s okay, Jack,” you whispered again, voice catching, “I’m here. I’m right here.”
Jack trembled against you, his claws flexing and unflexing along your ribs, scraping your skin just enough to sting. His entire body was rigid, shaking, the way a bowstring might before it finally snapped.
A raw, pained groan crawled up his ruined throat, and then—he moved.
He shifted, his hips dragging against yours, grinding down, slow and clumsy, a desperate friction that made your blood run cold and your spine bow off the ground. He did it again, harder, a broken sob rattling out of him. He was hard, and so painfully, terrifyingly big.
It was so wrong—but so heartbreakingly human in a twisted way.
He didn’t know what he was doing. You could feel it in how he shook, how his claws fluttered against your skin like he was afraid to hurt you. But some dark, feral instinct had its claws in him now, and it wouldn’t let go.
“J-Jack—” you stammered, terror slicing through you like a blade, “Jack, wait—wait, please—”
He didn’t seem to hear you. Or maybe he couldn’t.
He only whimpered, grinding down again, more frantic, his entire body surging with confused, alien need. The weight of him pinned you, crushing you into the damp earth, making it impossible to squirm away.
Your words turned to babbling, desperate, tears spilling from your eyes.
“Jack, please, wait, j-just—just hold on—you don’t have to—!”
But he needed to.
His tongue, the longest of the three, licked up the side of your neck, tasting your tears, and his whole body shuddered in something close to ecstasy.
You were perfect—you smelled so good, so alive, so his.
Jack keened against you, hips ramming forward again against the center of your thighs, a hopeless rhythm he didn’t understand, only that it made the gnawing ache inside ease for the briefest second. You grunted with every press, legs clamping to close around his hips, but it was no use.
His claws roved under your shirt, skittering against your bare skin, so hot and feverish it felt like they might burn you.
You tried to hold on to him, hands bracing against his chest, trying to reason with him, but he was gone to you—lost to instincts so deep and cruel they drowned out everything else.
“P-please, Jack,” you cried, voice catching on a sob, “I know you’re in there—I know you’re in there, please just—”
He didn’t answer.
He buried his face in your neck, inhaling with a desperate, shaking gasp, then ground into you again, a brutal, guttural snarl tearing from his chest.
There was hunger, yes—but not for organs, not this time. It was a hunger that was aching, tearing him apart in places he didn’t even have names for anymore.
He needed you. And he couldn’t stop.
The heat in his body was a firestorm, swallowing everything that made sense, leaving only need. You smelled so good—the salt of your skin, the sweet tang of your fear, the soft, warm human scent that had always belonged to you.
His claws scraped against your ribs as he ground down, again and again, unable to stop, each movement more desperate than the last. A whine rattled out of him, high and pained, like it physically hurt to be this close and not inside you somehow. You matched his whines, your thighs shaking with how his cock rubbed against your cunt through layers of thick clothing.
Your hands clutched at his hair, pulling, nails digging into his scalp. You were crying, babbling, your voice cracking with half-formed pleas—but you weren’t fighting him, you didn’t think you could anyhow.
He latched onto that with something feral, something primal. You wanted him, some buried part of you did, or at least you weren’t kicking him off, and that was enough to break what was left of his reason.
His tongues flicked over your neck, tasting sweat and tears and heat, making him snarl in frustrated ecstasy. The sound vibrated through your chest, and you arched up against him without meaning to, hips meeting his with a helpless grind that made his claws clench hard enough to bruise.
The world was spinning, dizzy and molten, your voice cracking again as you gasped, “J-Jack—”
He couldn’t stop.
“Mhnn—M’sorry—”
He bit you.
His jaws snapped down on your shoulder, too hard, the sharp points of his monstrous teeth tearing straight through the thin cotton of your shirt and sinking into flesh.
You screamed—a sound tangled between pain and something far, far darker, some twisted surge of relief that made you go limp under him.
He tasted your blood, hot and coppery, and moaned against you, rutting his hips so hard you could barely breathe.
Your head fell back, tears streaming, your body alight with panic and arousal and a hundred things you couldn’t name.
“Ah—Fuck—!” you sobbed, hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer even as you trembled from the agony of his bite.
He whined around the mouthful of your skin, drool and blood spilling down your shoulder, tongues fluttering against the broken flesh. His claws skittered under your back, catching on the fabric, desperate to feel you, to anchor himself before he tore you apart completely.
The smell of you, the taste, the way you moved against him—it was too much. It was everything.
Jack’s grinding grew more frantic, more nasty, sloppy and desperate, like an animal starved of touch for centuries, driven by something so foreign he couldn’t even name it.
You moved with him, rutting up to meet his rhythm, your voice breaking into half-sobbed moans as you clutched him closer, dizzy from pain and heat and the horrible, unbearable need radiating off of him.
It was messy, violent, a collision of instincts and terror and some warped, twisted need to save him.
It built like a storm, each frantic thrust of his hips dragging you closer to a precipice you couldn’t see, didn’t even know it was there until you felt the coil in your stomach. Jack was panting, growling, his claws scoring lines onto your ribs and back and all over as he rutted against you, mindless and unstoppable.
You were barely breathing, the pain in your shoulder mixing with something hot and carnal that had your hips moving up to meet his every time, your voice caught in your throat in sobs and broken cries. Your thighs feel open, legs coming around his broad hips to wrap around him, locking your feet together at the base of his back.
The smell of blood, sweat, the damp soil—it all blurred around you, your entire world narrowed to the way his hips slid against yours, his length pressed against your aching clit.
Jack’s tongues lashed against your skin, tasting you, claiming you, his breath so ragged it rattled his chest. His hips stuttered, harder, faster, his growl climbing into something high and keening—
You felt the tension snap inside you like a frayed wire, every nerve flaring white-hot as you choked on a sob, your hips jerking up, caught in that same unstoppable rhythm.
Your orgasm crashed through you, messy and raw, pain and pleasure and terror all tangled together until you didn’t know what you were feeling except that you couldn’t handle the pressure any longer.
He felt it too.
Jack’s whole body went rigid, a strangled, animalistic cry bursting out of him as he ground down hard, shoving you into the dirt so rough your bones ached. He shuddered, every muscle seizing, the heat of him smothering you as he came, mindlessly rutting through the last frantic pulses until his hips slowed to stutters.
For a long moment, there was only panting—his huge body draped over yours, twitching, shaking.
The forest was silent except for your breathing, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, the coppery sting of blood sharp under your nose.
Jack went still, finally, the frantic, feral madness draining out of him all at once like a burst dam. He slumped against you, heavy and limp, rasping out broken, rattling breaths.
You felt his face move against your neck, those horrible tongues twitching sluggishly, no longer hungry, just back to cleaning the blood that trickled from your bite.
A low, almost human voice crawled out of him, helpless and raw.
“C-cou-couldn’t—” he tried to say, and choked on a sob, “couldn’t s-stop…”
Your shaking hands found his hair again, combing through the blood-matted strands. Your voice was thin, ruined from crying, but you managed to get words past your cracked lips.
“I-I know,” you whispered, “Jack, I know…”
He let out a hoarse, broken whine, pressing his face harder into your throat. The pressure of his claws, still tucked under your shirt, turned gentle, almost soothing, stroking your bare skin in a clumsy mimic of affection.
The blind, animalistic need had quieted, leaving something raw and battered in its place.
He was Jack again, for now—shaky and confused and so, so sorry.
“D-didn’t… want to… h-hurt…” he stammered, one of his tongues licking a stripe up your jaw as if trying to apologize, “you smelled so-soo good…”
You swallowed hard, blinking against the tears.
“It’s okay,” you whined, voice paper-thin, “it’s… it’s okay. We’ll… we’ll figure it out.”
He let out a low, pitiful whimper and curled tighter around you, as if even after all that, he couldn’t bear to let you go.
You felt the heat of him, the ragged exhaustion, the sloppy, dazed nuzzles as he licked at the bite he’d left on your shoulder.
But then—you felt it.
Hard. Still hard.
Thick and throbbing, pressed against the curve of your hip, pulsing with a need that clearly hadn’t burned itself out yet. The realization shot a cold spear of panic through your gut, even as your mind reeled from the aftershocks of what you’d already survived.
“Jack,” you breathed, voice breaking, “wait—”
But he was moving again. A slow, rolling grind against you, the heavy ridge of him rutting over your thigh. You flinched, a fresh spike of sensitivity bursting through your half-numb body.
He whined—higher, clearer, more Jack than the animal—but still desperate.
“C-can’t stop…” he stammered, his voice raw and torn, but understandable now, “please… I need… more…”
Your heart lurched, hammering so hard you thought it might crack your ribs. You put your hands against his chest, trying to push him back.
“J-Jack—wait—just—just hold on a second—”
But he didn’t. Couldn’t.
He loomed up over you, gray skin catching in a shaft of moonlight, eyes still hollow and leaking that inky blackness, but somehow so full of you, focused only on you.
A clumsy claw caught the hem of your shirt, tugging, tearing the cotton easily as if it were paper. Another hand fumbled at your waistband, his movements frantic, awkward, scraping your skin as he tried to pull your pants down. He tore his claw through your shirt, ripping the fabric in half, shoving it off your chest. The air was warm, but your flesh still crawled with goosebumps, crossing your arms across your bra.
“J-Jack—” you pleaded, voice cracking, “slow down—”
He shook his head, a course growl pulling out of his ruined throat, all three tongues lolling and quivering as he nosed at your bare shoulder, inhaling you like your scent was the sweetest perfume known to man.
“Sm-mells so… g-good…” he slurred, breath shivering across your damp skin, “It hurts… I need…”
He sat up off of you onto his knees and tugged harder, practically ripping your pants down your hips, dragging the fabric across your thighs and off your ankles, leaving you shivering in the warm night air, half-covered in blood and dirt and his own desperate scent.
Your head spun, panic and some horrible spark of want twisting in your belly.
His claws raked down your sides, leaving angry red lines in their wake, but his grip gentled near your hips, as if trying, clumsily, to be careful with you.
“Please,” he whispered, voice cracking around the word like glass, “I need it…”
You barely had time to catch your breath before he was tearing at what was left of your clothes, his claws hooking into your panties and ripping them in a single, impatient pull. The elastic snapped, leaving you bare beneath him, the humid night air kissing every inch of your trembling skin.
Jack leaned back, just enough to see you fully—the sight of you exposed made him snarl, low and guttural, his hips twitching in a spasm of aching need.
You gasped when he tore at your bra, the clasps giving way to those claws so easily, leaving you naked, splayed out beneath him in the mud and leaves. His tongues ran over his lips, shivering in the night air, and he lowered his face to your chest, sniffing so deep it made your skin prickle.
Jack shifted above you, still breathing in those ragged, animal-edged huffs of air. His claws twitched at the edge of his hoodie, scrabbling almost clumsily as he started trying to yank it off, frustration roughening his voice.
“Too… h-hot,” he snarled, voice breaking as he tried to pull the oversized fabric over his shoulders, “can’t—too tight—”
It was ridiculous, in a way—the thing was big on him, he had to roll up the sleeves for crying out loud, but with the way his body strained and trembled now, even that roomy cloth felt suffocating.
You watched, dazed and shaking, as he finally managed to drag it over his head, the hood catching for a second on his head before he ripped it free with a growl.
The air hit his skin and he shivered, shoulders rolling. His body was… terrifying, and yet so painfully, heartbreakingly familiar.
His skin, that strange ashy blue-gray, gleamed with sweat, muscles standing out in sharp, tense lines. Broad shoulders, roped with lean, powerful definition, his chest heaving, his ribs showing the slightest hollow from days of half-starved hunting. Scars ran across him in jagged, uneven tracks, some healed rough, others still pink and new.
The moonlight skimmed over his abdomen, tracing hard-cut muscle under a shimmer of sweat, each breath flexing the taut cords of his stomach. His hips were narrow, but thick with power, and every line of him looked made for violence—but somehow so vulnerable in this raw, exposed moment. But the pièce de résistance was the trail of hair that started under his belly button and traveled down to somewhere unknown beneath his waistband.
He tossed the hoodie aside and leaned back over you, hair matted and damp around his forehead, claws spreading on either side of your waist as he growled, breath ghosting over your chest.
“Hold on now, w-wait—” you stammered, but the words barely left your lips before his mouth was on you.
He licked a broad, hungry stripe up the slope of your breast, then latched on, three tongues working over your nipple at once—hot, slick, inhuman. You cried out, body arching up, nails digging into his shoulders as the wet heat sent a jolt of electricity through you.
He moaned at the taste of you, his voice raw and desperate, his hands splaying out over your hips to pin you down as he moved lower, lower still, dragging those horrible, clever tongues across every inch of you.
When he settled between your thighs, you tried to close them—but his claws kept you open, spreading you wide, your body so exposed you could hardly stand it. You leaned up onto your elbows, fingers digging into the grass.
Jack paused for just a second, panting, his face hovering over your slick, his tongues twitching with anticipation. He let out a broken, hungry little whimper. Was he… was he fucking drooling?
“P-pretty…” he slurred, the syllables barely holding together, “so… pretty…”
And then he lunged, mouth burying itself against you with no finesse, no mercy.
You screamed, your back bowing off the ground as those three tongues moved with wild, sloppy desperation, lapping at you like he was starving. It was too much—the rough flicks, the obscene wetness, the teeth scraping gently at sensitive skin, sending shockwaves of pleasure and terror straight through your core.
You gasped, hips jerking, the spark of pleasure sharp as lightning through your belly. Jack let out a deep, satisfied growl at the reaction, circling your clit with the tip of one of his tongues, soft at first, then firmer, more insistent, making your muscles clench under him.
You fisted his hair, gasping, voice cracking as you tried to guide him, tried to survive the hurricane of sensation.
The second tongue joined the first, working in a counter-rhythm, stroking and licking at you until you were shaking again, barely able to think. He was playing with you—greedy and clumsy, but somehow still so achingly precise, watching you break apart under every drag of his tongues.
“J-Jack—oh my god—slow—please—!”
He didn’t slow. Couldn’t.
He added another.
His monstrous hands pinned your thighs even wider, his growls vibrating right through you, and he sucked at your clit with all three tongues, so intense you almost blacked out, eyes rolling far beyond the back of your head.
“Fuckk—y-you—taste—” he babbled into you, lost in it, “so fucking good.”
You felt his hips rutt against the ground while he devoured you, grinding for relief even as he tore every ounce of yours from you with terrifying devotion.
It was savage. Beautiful.
You were helpless, caught under him, trembling as the pleasure built again and again, nowhere to go, nothing to do but cling to him and pray you survived.
And Jack—he just kept going, lost in you, a monster starved for more than flesh.
Then, with a hungry deliberation, he shifted, tongues drawing lower, to the dripping entrance of your core. One slick tongue traced around the tight ring of muscle, circling, then gently pushed inside—the stretch was strange, hot, noticeable, and you cried out, fisting the dirt, hips rolling helplessly.
Jack shuddered like he could feel it, letting out a sound halfway between a moan and a growl that vibrated against your cunt.
Then a second tongue slid in next to the first, thicker, the two of them twisting, writhing, pressing against places inside you that made your toes curl and your spine curl off the forest floor.
“F-fuck—Jack—!” you sobbed, barely holding on.
He whined, eager, desperate to please, and a third tongue pushed at your entrance, stretching you even more, making you feel so full and so impossibly overwhelmed. He fed them in deeper, deeper still, moving them in slow, obscene thrusts as your body fluttered helplessly around them.
His claws dug into your hips, holding you steady, and he watched you break apart, those empty sockets somehow burning with a savage, possessive adoration.
“Cant stop—I can’t—” he stammered, voice shaking as much as you were, “So warm—”
The tongues twisted inside you, slick and hot and everywhere, while the tip of one still worked your clit in perfect, punishing circles—until your mind was nothing but static. You could feel your restraint dissolve, feel every muscle coming unbound with every pass of the muscles roiling around inside your gummy walls. All you could do was hiccup through tears that spilt down your cheeks, hands lost between fisting the grass and Jack’s messy hair.
He wouldn’t make you decide for long.
Jack finally slowed, his three tongues pulsing one last time inside you before starting to pull free—inch by inch, painfully slow, the writhing muscle dragging slick and hot against your walls.
You cried out, hands scrabbling through the dirt, thighs shivering so hard they nearly clamped shut around his head. Jack lifted, and the sight of him made your stomach twist—his face was covered in you, slick and glistening all the way to the hollows of his cheeks, dripping down the edges of his jaw.
He panted, claws still gripping your hips, and then—almost absently—he used those tongues to clean himself. They swept up over his chin, lapping across his cheeks, curling to drag away every trace of you with obscene thoroughness.
The longest tongue curled all the way up to the corner of his eye socket, slicking away a streak of blood, while the others worked over his lips and down to his throat, catching every drop.
It was monstrous, horrifying—but something about it was also devoted, his noises soft and grateful as he tasted you over and over again.
When he was finished, his face shone faintly in the moonlight, wiped clean by nothing but his own inhuman hunger, and he looked down at you with those hollow, endless sockets, panting, starved, still wanting.
“Taste so… mhnn—so go-good—” he stammered, voice breaking apart, almost overwhelmed himself.
Then, shaking, he leaned back on his haunches, claws fumbling at the button of his jeans, breath coming out in deep, stripped huffs. The denim was already soaked with sweat and stained with little flecks of gore, clinging to his muscled thighs.
“C-can’t—too tight—need…” he growled, frustrated, claws almost tearing the button clean off before he finally managed to wrench it open and shove the jeans down.
The second they fell, your breath hitched. You felt your stomach roll over on itself.
His cock was monstrous, huge even by impossible standards, flushed a dark bruised-blue that almost glowed in the slivered moonlight. Thick ridges ran along the underside, pulsing faintly, and the head was slick and shiny, drooling a bead of clear precum that dripped to the dirt below. Veins wrapped around the shaft like dark ropes, throbbing with each frantic beat of his inhuman heart.
It was obscene, the sheer size of it, the way it twitched and jumped with the smallest movement of his hips. Your body tensed, terrified and aching all at once, while Jack looked down at you with those endless, hungry sockets, a guttural, whiny sound escaping his throat. A noise a dog would make if you held food above its head.
“Sweet girl,” he rasped, voice shaking, “Want—hnn—want inside… please… pl-please.”
He was so hard he looked in pain, the length of him bobbing forward, heavy, glistening, terrifyingly perfect in its brutality. One clawed hand wrapped around the base, a poor attempt to steady himself as he leaned over you, every muscle in his lean, powerful frame quivering with raw, feral need.
You could barely breathe, heart hammering against your ribs, as Jack loomed over you—huge, starved, and desperate to make you his.
A wave of terror slammed into you, cutting through every dazed, sweet ache in your body. Your instincts screamed run, and before you could even think, you rolled over onto your stomach, dirt scraping your skin, legs wobbling as you tried to get your knees under you.
You were so weak, so shaky from everything he’d already done to you, but you managed to crawl forward, dragging yourself clumsy and frantic through the leaves. No fucking way were you going to take that thing.
“Jack, no—” you gasped, voice breaking.
But he snarled behind you, a sound so deep and hungry it rattled your bones.
“Don’t run…” he growled, words wet and cracked, “…don’t run, pretty girl…”
You made it only a few feet before his claws closed around your calf, the rough grip tearing a desperate cry from your lungs. Jack hauled you backward with terrifying ease, your fingernails clawing at the dirt as he dragged you until you were flush against him, your back pressed to the heat of his bare chest, his hips crowding up behind you.
He leaned over, breath scalding against your ear, and you felt the monstrous weight of his cock slide along the curve of your ass, so heavy and thick it made your whole body clench up.
It rested there, pulsing hot against your skin, smearing precum over your lower back and leaving your mind reeling with just how deep he was going to go.
“Don’t run…” Jack repeated, lower, almost a begging whimper tangled with the snarl, “n-need you…need all of you…”
He ground forward, letting the head of his cock catch between your cheeks, then angling his hips, slid his length between your thighs, pressing against your entrance just enough for you to feel the impossible stretch waiting.
Your breath came in sharp, terrified gasps, the world a dizzy blur as his claws dug into your hips, holding you pinned, his voice breaking as he panted into your hair.
“P-pretty…don’t run…gonna make you f-full…so full…”
The sheer heat of him, the solid, inhuman girth twitching and drooling against you, made your head spin. Your heart thundered like prey under a predator’s paw—helpless, trembling, trapped.
You tried to squirm again—a panicked, half-blind attempt to drag yourself away, the leaves and damp earth clinging to your elbows. But Jack’s low, animal snarl made your heart stop, vibrating through your ribs like thunder.
“Don’t,” he rasped, breath raw and uneven, “don’t run—gonna take you—”
His hips rolled, the bulging head of his cock catching against your clit, making you yelp and arch from the sudden jolt of raw, overwhelming pleasure. He dragged it up and down your slit, soaking you with slick precum, smearing it across your folds until you were trembling so hard you could hardly breathe.
Then he shifted, the tip nudging against your entrance, parting you, teasing just enough to send another bolt of fear straight through your spine.
You tried to move again, legs kicking weakly—but that only seemed to annoy him. A harsh growl ripped out of Jack’s throat, and before you could even scream, he slammed both hands onto your back, claws spreading wide across your shoulder blades and pinning you flat against the earth.
He pushed, his massive weight bearing down, forcing your spine into a sharp arch so your ass was high in the air and your chest crushed to the dirt. It was a humiliating, bestial pose—your body forced to submit, trembling, fully exposed.
“Stay,” he snarled, voice cracking around a broken whimper, “stay still—don’t squirm…”
You felt the head of his cock pressing again, harder this time, nudging into you with enough force to steal your breath, the tight muscle of your cunt burning already. You could barely process the stretch, barely believe it would fit, your walls already fighting the impossible intrusion.
Jack’s hips flexed, and the head started to push in, painfully slow, prying you open one quivering inch at a time.
“F-fuck—so tight—so…warm…” he stammered, panting above you, his claws tightening on your shoulders until they dug sharp enough to sting.
The pain was blinding, a burn that radiated through your hips and made tears prick your eyes. Your body shook, helpless, every muscle trying to clamp down and push him out—but he wouldn’t stop.
Jack rocked his hips forward, the head bobbing deeper, pulling out a fraction only to shove in again, each movement nudging him further and further inside until your walls were clinging to the first few inches of that monstrous, ridged length.
Your mind blurred, terror and overstimulation crashing together, as the stretch split you wider and wider—and Jack’s heavy breaths grew more desperate, his voice breaking into wild, devoted praise.
“Yeah—so good—so good—take me—need you t-to take all of me…”
And you realized, in that moment of absolute terror and helplessness, that he meant to fill every aching, breaking inch of you, no matter how much it hurt.
“Oh fuck— Oh, God—wait, Jack—”
Jack’s rhythm grew steadier, more determined, as he worked deeper—each push splitting you a fraction more, the obscene stretch lighting up every nerve in your body. Your breath came in ragged, sobbing pants, eyes screwed shut against the tears as your walls spasmed helplessly around him.
He was relentless, hips rocking, drawing out and then pushing a little deeper each time, forcing your body to mold around him. You could barely process how much was already inside—it felt like too much, so impossibly full, and still he hadn’t bottomed out.
“Hold on—hold on—just wait,” you hiccuped, reaching your arms behind you to plant against his hips, trying to stop him from going any further. You could already feel him bumping against your cervix, drooling tip nudging the deepest parts inside of you.
“Almost, pretty girl—almost there,” Jack rasped, voice wet and fractured.
You choked out a half-formed plea again, but it was lost in the dark as he pressed closer, his sweaty chest crushing against your back. He shifted his claws from your shoulders to dig into the dirt on either side of your head, caging you, pinning you, leaving you nowhere to go as you trembled under him.
And then—with a low, guttural growl—he leaned down and bit into the other side of your shoulder, teeth tearing your skin, white-hot agony blinding you. He locked his jaw tight.
Your scream broke the night, ripping from your throat, echoing through the trees. You pressed your forehead to the ground, heaving and panting into the grass.
In that moment of your rawest, most helpless pain, Jack shoved forward, burying the final brutal inches in one unforgiving thrust. The monstrous cock slammed home, hilting inside you so deep you could barely comprehend it, your body jolting forward from the force as if he meant to split you in two.
Your walls convulsed, spasming wildly around his impossible girth, every nerve alight with pain and pressure and a sick, brutal pleasure that made your head spin.
Jack’s breath rattled against your neck, hot and frantic, his tongues slipping out to lap at the blood welling from his bite as he held himself buried to the hilt, trembling over you like a beast barely chained.
“So—so warm,” he whined against your torn shoulder, voice shaking, “Feels so g-good, baby. So tight—”
And you felt everything inside you go tight and molten and unbearably full, helpless under the weight of him, pinned in a way you could never escape, your body forced to take every impossible inch.
You felt him shift—a subtle grind of his hips, the head of that monstrous cock grinding even deeper, making you jolt with a strangled cry. He couldn’t even wait until you got adjusted.
He let out a wet, shattered moan. “G-gonna move—can’t—can’t stop—hold still—”
And then he pulled back. Slowly at first, dragging that inhuman length from your spasming, quivering walls until only the tip was left stretching you wide, and for a heartbeat you thought he might let you rest.
But then he slammed back in, the force of it making your eyes roll up, punching the air out of your lungs in a weak sob.
“F-fuck—so—tight—” Jack stammered, voice raw, animalistic, clawed hands braced on either side of your head as he started to fuck down into you.
Each thrust was brutal, making you lurch forward, the wet slap of his hips against your ass echoing through the dead-silent woods. He was so deep, so thick, dragging against spots inside you that left your mind spinning, the pain a white-hot brand with every punishing push.
You tried to crawl away again—an instinct, a desperate, animal attempt to survive—but Jack caught you by the hips and slammed you back against him, snarling in your ear, “Don’t run—don’t you run from me. You’re mine—mine—”
His claws dug into your sides, angling you up so every thrust hit a new nerve deep inside, making your stomach tighten painfully around him. You could barely breathe, your body forced to take it over and over as he fucked into you like a starved animal.
Jack’s moans started to crumble, breaking apart into sharp whimpers and cries, his teeth dragging over the bite-mark on your shoulder, licking the blood and sweat. You felt him trembling, desperate, the force behind his thrusts growing frantic and messy, cock twitching with every pull out.
He couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop.
And under the moonlight, pressed into the dirt with his massive length tearing you open over and over, you realized neither could you.
It hurt. God, it hurt—but something in the pain had started to shift, twisting deep in your belly until it burned into something hotter, something needier. Each time Jack slammed forward, your cunt clenched, not just from the brutal stretch but from a raw, wicked spark that left you reeling.
You couldn’t help it—your hips began to rock back to meet him, your battered body chasing the next drag of that searing cock as it raked through your oversensitive walls.
Jack stuttered for a second, stunned, a growling noise pulling out of his throat as he realized you were pushing back. That you wanted more.
“Yeah, yeah—sweet girl—” he stammered, voice breaking, “feel so—so good—”
Your hands scrambled backward, clinging to the thick muscle of his arms, then up to dig your fingers into his shoulders, nails dragging across hot, sweaty skin. He was burning behind you, feverish, the broad line of his chest flexing with every ragged breath.
“Jack,” you gasped, voice catching, “t-touch me—please—Jack, please—”
That was all it took.
He let out a deep, snarling whimper, the sound rolling through his chest and into you, and then he was moving even harder, rutting into you with sloppy, frantic thrusts that made your thighs spasm and your vision blur.
His claws scraped the earth beside you as he tried to keep from ripping you apart, every thrust wet and obscene—slick squelching, drool dripping from his mouths down onto your back, strings of precum and slick soaking your thighs as his jeans pooled around his knees.
The raw, nasty sounds of him splitting you open filled the air, sticky and wet and feral, each thrust making you clench tighter, wanting more, more, no matter how much it hurt.
Jack’s hips smacked against your ass again and again, leaving stinging bruises, and still you pushed back, desperate to meet every brutal stroke. Your hands clung to him like a lifeline, nails raking across his skin, your body screaming for more even as it trembled under the onslaught.
Jack’s tongues slipped out again, drooling, laving down your spine, tasting your sweat, your skin, your pain—unable to stop devouring you in every way.
“Don’t—don’t stop—” you choked out, and he let out a hoarse, shattered laugh that broke halfway to a growl.
“Can’t—never—never stopping,” he gasped, rutting forward until your knees buckled, forcing you to collapse under him, pinned to the dirt by his weight and the vicious, monstrous cock ripping you apart.
It was filthy, raw, a primal mess of slick and sweat and drool and blood, and neither of you could seem to get enough.
Jack’s thrusts slowed momentarily, a slurred, choked sound catching on his tongues as he pulled out, dragging that massive length from your trembling, ruined body inch by inch. You gasped, nearly sobbing, empty in a way that made your insides clench desperately around nothing.
But before you could catch your breath, Jack’s claws wrapped around your hips, hauling you over like you weighed nothing, flipping you onto your back. The warm night air bit into your sweat-slicked skin, making you groan—then his shadow fell over you, huge and monstrous, his eyes boring down like twin bottomless holes.
You reached up, arms instinctively curling around his shoulders, holding onto the thick, corded muscle under his burning skin. His lean, powerful torso flexed with every breath, still dripping with sweat.
He lined up again, the fat head of his cock dragging through your slick folds, and you both moaned, bodies shaking with raw, hungry need.
“Jack,” you whimpered, voice small and cracked, “fuck me, c’mon—”
“Gonna—gonna put it back in, pretty—so warm—so good—” he rasped, leaning over you, three tongues lapping from his mouth and twitching as he stared down, almost mesmerized.
Then he pushed.
It was every bit as brutal, every bit as overwhelming as the first time, the massive length stretching you to your limit and then beyond, the head forcing your walls open until you thought you’d break.
Your back arched, a scream caught in your throat—but it didn’t get out, because Jack was already sinking deeper, deeper still, until you felt a tight, blunt pressure so far inside you that it made your vision white out.
His eyes went wide, hollow sockets somehow hungry, staring right at your stomach.
“Look,” he panted, a grin tearing across his blood-streaked lips, “look at you—”
You followed his gaze, and nearly broke—a distinct bulge pressing up under the roundness of your belly, obscene and impossible, shifting every time he moved.
“Oh my god—Jack—” you cried, eyes glassy, “that’s—fuck—”
“Inside,” he growled, voice reverent and broken, his claw pressing right against that bulge. You felt it, felt the way it shifted with the head of his cock, and a raw, helpless sob tore out of you.
“Can you feel me?” he crooned, barely human, claws stroking your hips, pressing harder against the bump in your stomach. “Can you feel me all the way here?—S-so deep, pretty girl—mine—”
You shook, nodding, tears slipping from your lashes as the pleasure spiked unbearably.
“Yes—yes, Jack—yours—yours—”
He let out a hoarse, ecstatic snarl and started pounding into you again, faster, harder, the force of each thrust making that stomach bulge jump under his hand. You wrapped your arms tighter around his shoulders, gripping for dear life as he rutted you into the dirt, tongues lapping at your face and neck, worshipping you. Each thrust knocked his cock against your g-spot.
“Never gonna—hah—let go—” he grunted between sloppy, punishing thrusts, “gonna fill you—make you full—of my babies—”
You couldn’t even answer, your body was on fire, arching and breaking under him, every nerve screaming for more as the woods spun around you.
It came faster than you could even register.
You couldn’t take any more—each brutal, slamming thrust was a lightning strike, fire rolling through your veins until everything inside you clenched, burned, and finally broke.
Your back arched hard off the ground, arms locked around Jack’s shoulders, mouth open in a silent cry as a devastating orgasm ripped through you.
“Jack—!”
Your walls squeezed him so tight he nearly lost his mind, your core fluttering and gripping him in pulsing waves, slick and scorching. Jack’s claws immediately wrapped around your back, holding you close against him as if he could fuse your bodies together.
He let out a strangled, desperate growl, eyes locked on you, breathing so ragged it almost didn’t sound human. Something in him seemed to snap—a feral instinct flooding through every monstrous inch of him.
“Pretty—so good—” he babbled, voice raw and cracking, “mine—mine—mine—”
Then he lurched down, seizing your mouth with a ferocity that stunned you.
His tongues plunged inside all at once, stretching your lips wide, thick and powerful as they explored every inch of your mouth. One curled under your tongue, another ran across your teeth, the third so deep it made you gag, stealing your breath.
You choked on the sheer overwhelming invasion, tears spilling down your cheeks, but couldn’t pull away—Jack’s hands were iron around your waist, crushing you to him, the feverish heat of him radiating through your trembling body.
His tongues moved with a filthy rhythm, tasting you, claiming you, drool mixing with your tears until everything was slick and desperate. He moaned right into your throat, rutting his hips hard against you while his tongues tangled deeper, worshipping you like you were air, water, salvation.
Your climax was still crashing through you, making your legs weak and shaky as you tried to breathe through the frantic kiss—but Jack wouldn’t let go, wouldn’t stop, lost in that blinding animal need to own you completely.
Your lungs burned as his tongues kept invading, every inch of you claimed and devoured. The taste of him—coppery, inhuman, mixed with the salt of your own tears—filled your senses until you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.
His cock was still pounding into you with a punishing rhythm, the tip punching so deep inside you that your stomach bulged again and again. Every thrust made your sensitive walls clench helplessly, overstimulated, still pulsing.
Jack moaned into your mouth, frantic, tongues twisting and licking and fucking into you while he fucked harder, losing any semblance of control. His claws dug into your hips, pinning you in place, pace stuttering as he chased the final edge.
“M’gonna—” he gasped, voice barely even a voice, just a devastating, hungry snarl against your lips, “gonna fill you—make you—mine—!”
You felt him tense, the length of him swelling impossibly inside you—then he buried himself to the hilt, the head smashing up against your cervix, and roared.
Hot, thick cum poured into you in heavy pulses, stretching you so full you could feel every gush, every wave crashing deep inside. Jack’s whole body shook above you, tongues still gagging your mouth, drool and tears mixing on your face as he pumped you full.
Your walls fluttered again, clamping down on him instinctively, milking every drop until he finally slowed, breathing ragged and wild.
He collapsed against you, still inside, still impossibly hard, arms curling around you protectively like he’d never let you go. His tongues finally pulled free of your mouth, leaving you gasping for air, lips bruised and slick with spit.
Jack buried his face against your neck, panting, lost and shaking, whispering in a hoarse, cracked growl, “Mine…always mine…”
You thought—prayed—he was done, but then you felt it: a new pressure, deep in your gut, stretching you wider from the inside.
Your eyes flew wide, panic spiking again.
“J-Jack? What’s happening?” you rasped, voice shaking, but he only whined into your neck, his hips rocking against yours, grinding in short, desperate ruts.
You felt it swelling—something solid, something burning, growing right at the base of him.
Oh god.
You tried to move, to shift, but his claws curled around your hips, locking you down hard.
“Stay,” he snarled, voice a warped echo against your throat, “don’t run.”
You gasped as that thick knot stretched you, forcing you even wider, burning with a brutal, almost cruel fullness. Your walls spasmed helplessly, trying to reject it, but Jack was stronger—so much stronger—and he held you down while he forced the growing bulb past the tightest part of your entrance.
It finally popped inside with a wet, obscene sound, lodging deep against your cunt, locking you to him.
You screamed, back arching off the ground, mind breaking under the sheer bruising invasion.
Jack moaned—moaned—a weary, needy cry, shoving his face against yours as if to soothe you.
“Can’t—can’t let go—” he babbled, voice dripping hunger and desperation, “mine—mine—stay—stay here—”
He ground his knot deeper, each tiny thrust making it swell even bigger until you felt like you’d burst. The fullness was blinding, overwhelming, his cock jerking and twitching inside you as another pulse of hot cum flooded you, trapped by the knot, locked away.
Your hips shook, pinned, no escape as Jack licked and bit at your neck, rutting slow, greedy circles against you even with the knot sealing you tight.
“Don’t—don’t run, sweet girl,” he panted, voice trembling, “can’t…can’t let you go…”
You felt every throb, every pulse, the unbearable stretch, your whole body trembling and on the verge of breaking apart under him.
Jack was still, but you could feel him trembling—muscles locked tight, claws flexing against your hips as though afraid you might vanish if he let go for even a second.
You squirmed, a whimper tearing from your throat as the knot shifted painfully, the pressure pressing right up against your cervix.
“Jack,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, “Jack, it’s too much—”
He whined, the sound broken and needy, burying his face against your cheek, tongues tracing clumsy, comforting patterns over your sweaty skin.
“Can’t—can’t let go yet,” he slurred, voice ragged and half-human, “feels too good—can’t—”
You felt him try to rut again, short, choppy motions that only made the knot grind harshly against every raw, sensitive part of you. A shocked moan escaped your lips, your body arching under him, pleasure and pain blurring together until you couldn’t separate them. You slammed your fist against his shoulder.
“Shh,” he crooned, breath hot against your face, “s’okay—s’good—so warm—so warm inside—”
His hips stuttered, forcing the knot to jerk inside you, and you could swear you felt another faint gush of heat flood your battered, filled-up core.
Your walls fluttered around him helplessly, milking every drop.
Jack whimpered again, as if even he couldn’t stand the feeling, and wrapped his arms fully around your waist, drawing you up against him until your chests were smashed together. You could feel his heart hammering through your skin, a wild, frantic rhythm that matched your own.
“Don’t leave me,” he begged, voice warbled and broken, “please—pretty please—don’t leave—”
You could barely breathe, dizzy from being stretched and locked in place, but you nodded, trembling, stroking through his sweat-slicked hair.
“I’m here,” you whispered, voice cracking, “Jack, I’m here, I’m not leaving.”
He made a sound like a sob—part growl, part weep—and curled around you, knot twitching inside you, sealing you so perfectly you could feel every tremor of his body through the hot, thick lock of him.
And there, under the hush of the woods and the silver light of the moon, you stayed tangled together, your breath mixing, no escape, no space left between you.
── .✦
The woods felt endless, but you clung to him like an anchor, your hands tangled in his hair, your cheek pressed against the rough planes of his shoulder. His knot still held you in place, keeping every inch of him buried deep, a constant, heavy pressure that refused to ease for what felt like an eternity.
Neither of you could move much, so you talked, your voices small and exhausted under the wide, quiet dark.
“Where…where did you go, Jack?” you asked, trying to steady your breathing as another aftershock rolled through you.
He rumbled softly, claws smoothing along your spine. “Didn’t know,” he rasped, sounding like himself again, raw and worn-out. “Felt…wrong. Everything was red. Loud. Inside my head.”
You nodded, heart twisting. “I thought you were dead,” you admitted, a tear slipping out, catching on the blood drying across your cheek. “When you didn’t come, I— I thought—”
His arms tightened around you, a protective squeeze. “Not dead,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours, “I couldn’t control much, but… I knew I had to stay away. Knew if I saw you I would hurt you.”
You sniffled, breathing in the rich, earthy scent of him, still faintly metallic from all the blood. It was terrible—but it was him, and that was enough.
“I came looking,” you whispered, voice breaking, “I couldn’t just sit there, Jack, I— I needed you to come back.”
A pained groan rattled in his chest, his claws dragging up to cradle your face as best he could. “Pretty girl,” he rasped, almost gentle, “mine…always mine. M’so sorry…”
You felt him shift, hips jerking, the knot giving a final, deep pulse inside you. It made you cry out softly, but then you felt it: the swelling finally, blessedly going down. Inch by inch, the brutal stretch began to ease, and you could feel the heavy, wet fullness slipping from your body with a messy, shuddering slide.
Jack grunted as the knot popped free, and you whimpered at the sudden emptiness, legs trembling uncontrollably.
For a moment you just lay there, both of you breathing hard, staring at each other. Then Jack leaned down, pressing a surprisingly sweet kiss to your cheek before sitting up, guiding you carefully.
“Come,” he murmured, voice steadier now, “let’s—let’s go.”
You nodded weakly, your body aching and filthy, but still reaching for him.
Jack helped you with fumbling claws, reached for your jeans with shaky claws to help tug your them back onto your ankles and into place, grimacing at the mud-smeared fabric. He growled under his breath, pulling your ruined panties out of the way and scowling at the torn, limp scraps.
“Shit,” you laughed weakly, voice hoarse and a little hysterical, “Jack, those were my favorite pair.”
He shot you a look through his hollow sockets, a low, embarrassed huff.
“And my bra?” you added, smirking despite the soreness. “Guess that’s toast too.”
Jack shifted, claws fumbling with the remains of your bra, what was left of the cups shredded and hanging from one strap. “Didn’t—” he rasped, voice cracking, “didn’t mean to.”
You snorted, half delirious, letting him help pull your dirty t-shirt back down over your shoulders, trying to keep what modesty you had left.
“Yeah, well,” you sighed, “you owe me a shopping trip.”
A surprised sound rumbled from him—almost a laugh—before he bent to fix his own jeans, dragging them back up around his hips, claws clumsy from lingering adrenaline. He tried to tug his hoodie over his head, only to growl when it stuck to his sweaty back, the sleeves twisted.
“Hot,” he grunted, voice frustrated, trying to shrug out of it. “Too…tight.”
You had to bite your lip to keep from giggling as you watched him wrestle with the oversized, shredded hoodie, muscles flexing and straining as sweat dripped down the lean, scarred lines of his back and chest.
“Jack,” you teased softly, “you’re gonna rip that too.”
He shot you a sulky look, then finally tossed the hoodie aside, leaving his bare skin gleaming under the moonlight.
You spotted his mask in the dirt, cracked and stained, and you picked it up with a shaky hand.
“Here,” you whispered, offering it to him.
He stared at it, hollow eye sockets softening, then took it gently from you. Jack sighed, then leaned down and scooped you into his arms like you weighed no more than a feather.
You couldn’t help a startled little laugh, clinging to his neck. “Jack—!”
“My sweet girl,” he repeated, voice quieter now, more sure. “Taking you home.”
Your heart ached at that—so familiar, so safe despite everything.
He turned, stepping carefully through the underbrush, still clutching you close as if you’d vanish if he let go. You rested your head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed, hearing only the rhythmic pounding of his heart and the slow, steady steps through the woods.
The broken flashlight swung from his claw, the cracked mask tucked into the crook of his elbow, a battered promise that somehow, the two of you had survived one more night together.
The night air clung to your skin as Jack stepped carefully along the familiar path, carrying you easily in his arms. When you saw the glow of your porch lights through the trees, you almost sobbed with relief, clinging to him tighter—and he just kept walking, carrying you still. You could see the silhouette of your fence ahead, the place where, for so many nights, you’d waited on one side while he stayed on the other, the fragile, invisible line you’d both respected all this time.
But now—
Jack shifted you in his hold, reaching out with one clawed hand to unlatch the fence gate. It creaked open, spilling a pool of soft porch light across the grass. And just like that, he stepped through, crossing the boundary he’d never dared to cross before. It was almost ceremonial, the moment so huge it stole your breath.
He came through, you thought in a daze. He finally came through.
He didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate, just carried you straight toward the back door, nudging it open with his shoulder. The house was cool inside, smelling of candle wax and lemon dish soap—so normal, so safe compared to the horror outside. The floorboards were faintly warm from the day’s sun, and the air conditioners hummed, washing over your sticky, bruised skin.
Jack set you down gently, claws steady even if you could feel him trembling. Then, without a word, he guided you to the bathroom, flipping on the light with an awkward flick of his elbow. You winced at the sudden brightness.
You didn’t even have to ask, he handled everything. Undressing you again, running warm water over your washcloth, holding you tight. He knelt in front of you, running the damp cloth across your arms, your belly, carefully dabbing away the drying blood and mess between your legs. His gray skin was flushed darker in patches, his eye sockets soft around the edges, hollow but somehow tender.
“Stay still,” he mumbled, voice low and rough, so much clearer now.
You let him clean you, trembling, heart pounding at every careful sweep of the cloth. He undressed too, cleaning the still bloodied and slick-stained parts of his body, running the rag over his jaw and neck. When he was done, you leaned against him, boneless and trusting, letting him gather you back up into his arms.
This time he carried you to your room, the house dim and quiet except for the chirping bugs outside. He paused at the foot of your bed, as if making sure you really wanted him there, the question unspoken.
You reached up and cupped his jaw. “Jack… just get in,” you whispered.
His shoulders slumped in relief, and he eased you down onto the mattress, then crawled in after you—still completely naked, still warm with the sticky night air and smelling of earth and moonlight and something feral you couldn’t name.
The sheets tangled around you both as he curled protectively against your back, claws twitching, breath tickling your ear. You could feel every line of his strong, scarred body pressed to yours, his skin so hot it almost burned.
He buried his face against your shoulder, exhaling shakily. “No more gate,” he rasped, like it was a confession. “No more fence.”
You nodded, tears pricking your eyes. “No more fence,” you agreed, voice soft and breaking.
Jack’s breathing slowed at your back, his chin nestled against the crook of your shoulder as if he might melt right into you. The cicadas outside carried on their summer song, but your room felt impossibly calm, impossibly still.
He shifted, clawed fingers brushing across your ribs, a hesitant stroke. “…Missed you,” he rasped, the words broken but more human than you’d heard in days.
You swallowed hard, reaching down to lace your fingers with his. “I missed you too. I was so worried.”
A pained noise rattled out of him, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh. “Didn’t…know where I was,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “Felt…wrong. Everything smelled and looked wrong.”
You turned in his arms, close enough to see the faint scars along his lips, the smear of blood he’d missed near one temple. “Like…a haze?”
He nodded stiffly. “A dream. A bad dream.” His claws flexed in yours. “Couldn’t…stop. Needed—Need you.”
Your heart pinched at that, at how raw he sounded. You reached to smooth his damp hair away from his forehead. “That’s why you didn’t come to the fence?”
“Didn’t want you to see,” he rasped, ashamed, looking away for a second. “Didn’t…trust myself.”
You hugged him tighter, pressing your forehead against his. “Jack, I came looking for you. I wanted to see you. Even if you were… messed up.”
His body shuddered, swallowing a rough, pained sound. “Came…through the gate,” he mumbled, voice almost childlike, like he couldn’t believe it himself.
You smiled, despite everything. “Yeah. You finally crossed my fence.”
A huff of air against your cheek—maybe the closest Jack could get to a laugh. Then he shifted closer, pressing his hips into yours. You could still feel the heavy weight of him, even now, half-hard where he lay against you.
“Still…feel it,” he admitted, cheeks darkening, as if shy.
You gave a nervous little laugh, brushing your fingers through his sweaty hair. “Yeah, I can tell.”
He ducked his head, almost hiding against your neck, mumbling something soft.
“What, baby?” you asked, gentle.
His voice was so raw it cracked in the middle. “…Never gonna leave again.”
Your chest went tight, tears pricking your eyes. You cupped the side of his face. “Good,” you whispered, letting him hear how much you meant it. “Good, Jack. I’m not leaving, either.”
He exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for years, then buried his face against your shoulder again, arms banding around your waist. The two of you lay tangled together in the sticky summer night, hearts pounding, no fences, no gates, no walls left between you.
── .✦
You woke slowly, warmth and stickiness pulling at your senses before your mind could even register what time it was. The curtains glowed with that syrupy gold of a sunrise, a hint of last night still vibrating in the walls.
But what really forced you awake was the strange, achingly sweet pull deep between your legs—a wet, rhythmic swirl that nearly made you arch right out of the bed.
Your eyes shot open, breath lodging in your throat, and you gasped as you fumbled the sheets off your chest—only to see a dark, familiar shadow moving below the covers, a low, wet slurping sound vibrating straight through your bones.
“J-Jack—” you whimpered, voice a strangled mess as you dug trembling fingers into the sheets.
The shape below the blanket shifted, and then a sudden, precise flick of a tongue against your clit made your vision explode in white. You barely managed to shove your hands down to find his hair, grabbing at the strands, when your body snapped—the orgasm crashing over you so hard your knees tried to slam together, your hips twisting helplessly.
Jack didn’t even stop, if anything, his hands pinned your thighs down harder, clawed fingertips dimpling your soft skin as he let you ride the crest of that wave. You were writhing, shaking, trying to push him away, but he only rumbled deep in his chest—a possessive growl that left your body going limp.
When he finally surfaced, crawling up over your body, the blanket fell away to show his face—drool smeared his chin, along with your slick, and all three of his tongues curled out to lap at the air before sliding back behind sharp teeth.
He was panting, like he’d been starved all night.
“J-Jack,” you tried to breathe, grabbing his shoulders as he hovered over you, “didn’t we… didn’t we handle this last night?”
A pitiful, rough whine left him, one of his hands curling against the pillow beside your head. “Not enough,” he croaked, voice shredded, raw. “Need…more.”
His hips dipped against yours, and you felt the hard, achingly hot length of him, smearing against your thigh. A tremor shot through you, panic mixing with want.
“Jack, please—”
“Need you,” he repeated, lower this time, a snarl clawing through his words as his claws scraped the bedding beside your head, inches from your skin. “More.”
His body pressed you down into the mattress, wild, unstoppable, like the night had barely scratched the surface of what he needed.
Your breath caught in your throat, tangled between fear and something so shamefully eager you could hardly stand it. Jack loomed over you, the heat rolling off his body, eyes like pits of pitch and night, starved even after everything.
He lowered his head, nosing along your jaw, breathing you in like you were the only thing left on earth that could save him. “Pretty,” he rasped, tongues flicking out to taste the salt of your sweat, “smell so good…can’t stop…”
His hips rolled against yours again, grinding, thick and hard, and you felt him shiver all the way down to the bones. His claws dug into the sheets beside your ribs, trying to hold himself back, but you knew there was no holding him back.
A flicker of sunlight broke through the curtains then, kissing the two of you in the warm glow—him hunched over you like a beast out of a half-forgotten dream, you trembling and wide-eyed, your hands knotted in his hair.
You swallowed, voice breaking as you dared to smile through the haze.
“Then don’t stop,” you whispered, and you meant it—even if you were terrified, even if everything hurt and burned and ached, you still meant it.
His head bowed, shoulders heaving, and a relieved, broken sound fell from him, more human than you’d heard yet. He pressed his forehead to yours, panting, clutching you like you were the last tether to what was left of him.
And then he surged forward, capturing your lips, those monstrous tongues wrapping around yours, and in that feral, messy kiss you felt every unspoken word he couldn’t form—how he loved you, how he’d always come back, how he could never leave you again.
The world outside kept turning—birdsong and heat, soft light and the creak of old wood—but you were wrapped in him, in that terrifying, impossible devotion.
There was no fence anymore. No boundary.
Just the two of you, locked together, in all the ruin and the tenderness you’d built. Your Jack.
Thanks for reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated!
──────────────────────────────── smokey eyes - lincoln
── .✦ do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. dividers by me.
CONTAINS NSFW, MINORS DNI
✦ . Summary: Beneath late summer nights, Jack always found you. Human and monster, two different worlds separated by a picket fence. But when he didn't return, you set out to look for him. You find him in rut, in pain, in the ache of something like love—and what kind of friend would you be if you refused him?
✦ . Note: Monster fucker nation please stand, this one is for you. Very gross, very scary, but ohhhhhhh so good and yum and UGHHHHH. Feast my children. Don’t tell the others, hurry hurry hurry, we can’t let them know that this is what we’re into.
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You always loved June.
It was one of those syrupy summer nights, the air thick and soft, clinging to skin like a second, invisible layer. Cicadas droned lazily from somewhere deep in the woods, their chorus blending with the distant hum of traffic beyond the trees. The sun had long dipped behind the hills, but the heat of the day clung on, reluctant to let the world rest.
Your backyard was a patchwork of dim porch light and moonlight, the fence throwing long shadows across the brittle grass. Beyond the fence stretched the treeline, thick and dark as spilled ink, pulsing with the unseen eyes of the forest.
The fence was old—weather-worn wood, sun-bleached, as tall as your chest, and starting to splinter in spots—but it was your fence. Your spot. The place where every night, like clockwork, you would stand on one side with the glow of your kitchen lights behind you, and he would linger on the other, half-concealed by the darkness of the pines.
You heard the faint scuff of boots on dried leaves, the rustle of branches catching on old denim. You didn’t even have to look. You knew it was him.
“Late again,” you teased, leaning against the picketed wood. Fireflies darted around overhead, slow and golden, tiny lanterns against the night.
Jack shifted closer. Tall, broad-shouldered, the faintest glint of moonlight catching the wet curve of the dark mask he wore, the slits where eyes should have been yawning and black—just two gaping sockets, still managing somehow to see you. The copper tang of dried blood still clung faintly to him, mingling with the loamy smell of the forest and his favorite cologne. All wrapped up in an oversized gray hoodie and old wrangler jeans.
“I had…business,” he rasped, voice rough like something left too long in the dark.
You studied him, heart twisting. Once, things had been different.
You met Jack in college, before everything changed.
He was Eyeless Jack to the world now—a name passed around in hushed rumors and panicked police briefings—but once, he was just Jack. Jack Nyras, pre-med major, scruffy-haired and half-insomniac from too many late-night study sessions. You’d first bumped into him, literally, outside your genetics class when you spilled an entire iced coffee down the front of his hoodie.
Instead of getting mad, he laughed. That laugh, even now, you remembered with a painful fondness: easy, warm, too big for his slight, lanky frame.
After that, you were inseparable. You sat in labs together, sharing notes, studying for hours until your brains turned to mush. Sometimes you’d catch him drawing twisted little sketches of incredibly detailed body parts in the margins of his anatomy book, black ink dripping from his pen like nightmares, doodling hearts and vein patterns and every bone you could think of. He’d grin sheepishly if you pointed it out.
“Just to blow off steam,” he’d told you.
If only it had stayed that way.
But something was off that last semester.
It started with Jenny. A bright-eyed, over-eager girl with too many questions about death, about gods, about what might live on the other side of everything. You’d seen her hanging around Jack, pressing him for his knowledge of anatomy and the occult. You hadn’t thought much of it—she was a weird kid, but who wasn’t in college?
Until the night they took Jack to a ritual.
You hadn’t known where he went, at first. A text left on read. A worried voicemail. Then nothing. You had no clue.
They’d dragged him to an abandoned house on the outskirts of town, where Jenny and her cult had tried to summon a demon—and they’d needed a human sacrifice to open the door. Jack. Your Jack.
They had held him down, cut his eyelids away so he could never look away, and scooped out his eyes with brutal, surgical precision. You would have nightmares about that for years: those empty, bleeding sockets. Then they poured something black and slick, like tar, into the holes—a living thing that pulsed and smoked, thick with hatred.
It was supposed to let a demon pass through him, a doorway wearing a human face. But something went wrong.
Instead of a perfect vessel, Jack became the demon’s prison. The possession took root, warping him, twisting flesh and bone. His skin turned an unnatural gray, hard like stone. The black voids where his eyes once were never stopped weeping that tar-like ichor. Needle-sharp teeth split his mouth, rabid and hungry.
Jack was the only one to survive, if you could call it surviving.
When he came to you after, it was in the dead of night, half-collapsed against your back porch door, trying to hold his guts inside his ribs with clawed, shaking hands. He was weeping. You’d never heard a sound like it, the noise of someone whose soul had been torn in half.
“Don’t look at me,” he begged, voice raw, inhuman already. “Please.”
But you did. You looked. You saw him for what he had become, and refused to turn away.
You kept him alive those first weeks, when he didn’t know what to eat, didn’t understand the pull inside him. You watched him break down on your kitchen floor, apologizing over and over. You helped him find ways to stay hidden, to scavenge what he needed to keep from losing his mind completely.
When Slenderman came for him—a towering, impossible shape between your backyard trees one night—you thought you’d lose Jack for good. But even that faceless horror couldn’t break the bond you’d built. Jack still came back, slipping from his grip in brief windows, always returning to the same spot at the back fence, where your world met the dark.
You wondered if part of him fought that puppet-string control just to see you again.
The truth was, you had every reason to fear him. You’d seen the news reports, the evidence photos, the torn bodies left in his wake. The world would call you naive, maybe even insane. But you knew him. You’d seen him laugh over spilled coffee. You’d watched him hold a scared freshman’s hand in a bio lab when they passed out during a dissection.
That Jack was still there, tangled in the ruin.
So you never turned him away. Even now, years later, you stood by your back fence on humid summer nights, waiting for the quiet scuff of his boots through the weeds. You told him about your boring, safe life—air conditioners and late shifts and microwave dinners—and he told you, in broken pieces, about the horrors he couldn’t help but feed on.
And despite all of it, despite the monsters clawing at his mind, you stayed. Because sometimes being a friend wasn’t bright or easy. Sometimes it was raw and heavy and stubborn, refusing to let go of someone even when the world said you should.
If you wanted, you could forget that night he’d stumbled from the woods, half-monster and half your friend. You could pretend this fence was a line dividing your worlds.
But you didn’t.
Because he was Jack. A biology major, obsessed with genetics and a little too competitive at beer pong. Now, the woods had become his kingdom, the darkness his only safe harbor. But some things hadn’t changed: the way he still leaned forward a little when you spoke, or how he listened more than he talked.
“Rough night?” you asked gently.
He tilted his head, a gesture oddly canine in its curiosity, “Rougher for them.”
You sighed, but there was no real fear in it. If there was one truth in your world, it was that he’d never hurt you.
“I had a pretty boring day,” you offered, voice light, trying to balance out the shadows in his. “Work was slow. Mrs. Carter’s cat had kittens, I saw them in her yard. Oh—and I got a sunburn.”
His head dipped, as if acknowledging the small tragedies of a normal human life. “Show me,” he said quietly.
You laughed, brushing your sleeve up to reveal pink skin. “See? Totally my fault. I fell asleep in the hammock.”
He reached forward, clawed hand resting on top of the fence, close but not quite touching. “You should be careful,” he murmured. “The sun can be quite dangerous this time of year.”
That startled a laugh out of you—a small, real sound. “Wow, Jack, you going to lecture me on skin cancer now?”
A faint, rasping chuckle answered, like dry leaves scraping together.
You both fell into silence, the comfortable kind. The night seemed to wrap around you, humming with late-summer heat, thick with scents of honeysuckle and crushed grass. Somewhere far off, an owl called.
You studied him across the fence, trying to read the shape of him. You could still see the slope of his shoulders, the faint twitch in his jaw when he was worried. The eyeless mask made him look monstrous—but you’d stopped seeing it that way long ago. Nowadays, you were just upset you couldn’t see his cute smile.
“Jack,” you said after a while, softer now, “are you…okay?”
His shoulders rose and fell. A sigh? Maybe.
“I don’t know if I even remember what ‘okay’ feels like,” he murmured. “But… this. Talking to you. It helps.”
Your heart pinched, warm and a little sad. “Then I’m not going anywhere.”
You saw him shift closer, a whisper of movement, enough that the shadows seemed to lean toward you. You swallowed, wishing you could reach over the fence and touch him, just once. Instead you let your fingers curl against the peeling paint. “I’m glad you still come back,” you smiled. He just nodded.
“You should go inside soon,” he rasped. “It’s too warm to sleep, but… safer. You should eat some dinner.”
“Will you stay out here a while?” you asked.
He dipped his chin, the faintest promise. “Yeah. I’ll keep watch.”
It was nothing, and it was everything.
Crickets sang to fill the hush that followed.
You stepped a little closer, pressing your palm to the wood between you, pretending you could feel his heartbeat through the fence. If he even still had one.
“Same time tomorrow?” you asked, trying to smile.
He nodded once again, a barely-there motion. “Same time.”
“Goodnight, Jack,” you said softly.
“Goodnight,” he answered, voice steady, a vow carried on the warm summer air.
And then, like a dream dissolving, he stepped back into the gloom of the pines. You caught one last glimpse of his silhouette before the night swallowed him whole.
The fence was still warm under your hand, the cicadas still singing. You exhaled, steadying herself, knowing that tomorrow he’d be there again—your friend in the woods, monster and boy, killer and companion.
And you would be there too, waiting for him.
── .✦
The day crawled by, the hours sticky and dull. You’d scrubbed your kitchen counters twice, answered a handful of emails for work you barely remembered, and even tried to read a book on the back steps—but the words blurred in the heavy evening heat.
All you could think about was Jack.
Ever since that night, years ago, your days felt incomplete until you met him at the fence. Those small conversations, traded across weather-ruined ply-wood, had become your strange ritual, your fragile thread of normal.
Tonight was no different. As the sun began to drop, you practically inhaled your dinner—pasta gone rubbery from the microwave, but you didn’t even taste it—swallowing mouthfuls so fast you nearly choked. Then you ran a hand through your hair, smoothed the wrinkles from your shirt, and stepped outside.
The air was still and damp, the kind that made your arms itch. The cicadas thrummed their endless song, hiding the hush of the woods. You leaned on the fence, peering into the tree line.
Nothing.
You waited, shifting your weight from foot to foot, hoping you’d see the pale glint of his mask moving between the trunks. But the woods stayed silent, the sky growing darker by the minute.
Maybe something came up. Maybe Slenderman needed him. Maybe he was hunting. He was usually late anyway.
You tried to reason with yourself, but the night stretched on, thick and empty, until the mosquitoes started biting and you had no choice but to go inside.
The next night, you came out early, practically running through the kitchen just to get to the fence faster. But again—nothing. The woods felt wrong, like a silent accusation, each leaf unmoving in the hot breeze.
The third night, you could barely stand to eat. You pushed your food around the plate, your stomach a hard knot, fingers picking at the torn edge of your thumbnail until it bled. The skin around your cuticles was raw from worry, your breathing shallow and thin.
Three days, you thought, three days is too long.
He had never gone three days without showing up, not since that night you saved him from bleeding out in your basement.
A cold panic clawed at your throat. You pictured him cornered somewhere, wounded, or worse—devoured by whatever lived inside him. You pictured Slenderman tearing him apart like a dog with a ragdoll, or the police finally catching him, gunning him down before he could explain he was more victim than monster.
Your fork clattered to the plate. You couldn’t take it.
You stood so fast your chair scraped a painful shriek across the floor. You grabbed your flashlight, heart pounding against your ribs like it wanted out, and stalked out into the night.
The fence gate to the woods creaked open, a hesitant protest that felt far too loud. The path beyond was half-eaten by weeds and dark as ink, but you forced yourself through, lungs full of warm, wet air that smelled like dirt and dying leaves.
If Jack wasn’t coming to you—then you would go to him.
You stepped across the fence line, your safe little world snapping shut behind you like a broken jaw, and let the darkness swallow you whole.
── .✦
The woods closed in around you the moment you crossed the fence line, swallowing up the distant hum of the highway and the yellow glow of your back porch light. Out here, everything was shadow layered on shadow, the air thick enough to choke.
You stepped carefully, branches scratching your shins, the beam of your flashlight bouncing across the undergrowth. Every so often you caught a flash of color—a scrap of paper, a mushroom cap, a piece of trash—and your heart would leap in false hope, only to crash back down when it wasn’t him.
Where are you, Jack?
You tried to keep your breathing quiet, tried not to think about the thousands of unseen things rustling in the tall grass. Your imagination filled the darkness with monsters: faceless giants and hollow-eyed shapes, hands reaching.
A branch snapped somewhere ahead, sharp and loud. You flinched, heart hammering up into your throat. Your flashlight jerked wildly, sending yellow arcs of light through the undergrowth.
“Jack?” you called, voice soft and strangled.
No answer. Only the startled flutter of birds erupting from the canopy, taking to the sky in a rush of frantic wings. You staggered back, hand clamped over your chest, adrenaline scalding through you.
You swept the beam of the flashlight across the trees, willing him to be there—a dark mask, a familiar slouch, anything—but the woods only gave you more silence.
Panic built behind your ribs like a scream. You tried to swallow it down.
“Jack?” you called again, a little louder this time, your voice carrying through the trees.
Nothing.
The darkness pressed in. Every stick crack, every scuttle of an animal felt like claws reaching for you. You forced yourself forward, one step at a time, your sneakers sinking into damp earth.
You called again, and again, each time a little braver, though the sound of your own voice nearly terrified you more than the silence did.
“Jack,” you pleaded, “if you can hear me… please answer.”
The flashlight beam wobbled as you clenched your shaking hand around it. The woods felt too big, swallowing your words whole. You had no idea how deep Jack had gone, or if he was even alive, or if you’d ever find him again.
But you had to try.
You would keep going. Even if it meant walking straight into a nightmare, you would keep looking for him, because Jack had never left you alone, even at his worst.
And you refused to leave him alone now.
You kept walking.
The night felt endless, the same dark trees repeating over and over until your legs burned and your feet throbbed inside your sneakers. Branches snagged at your sleeves, tearing tiny holes you barely registered. Bugs droned in the heavy air, the only thing keeping you company.
You lost track of how long you’d been out there—forty minutes, an hour, maybe more. Every step felt like you were sinking deeper into something that didn’t want you there.
Then your flashlight caught a rounded shape in the dirt.
You froze, breath stuttering, and dropped to your knees. The beam landed on it properly this time, and your heart broke in a single, sharp crack.
Jack’s mask.
It lay half-buried under leaves and mud, one side split down the cheek like something had struck it hard, the once-smooth paint now chipped and stained. It looked wrong, abandoned, like a piece of him torn away, like it had been sitting here for a couple of days.
“No,” you whispered, fingers trembling as you picked it up. It was heavier than you expected, damp with rain and sweat, smelling faintly of earth and blood.
“Jack!” you shouted, panic swallowing every scrap of caution you had left. “Jack! Where are you?”
Your voice rang off the trees, harsh and desperate.
Nothing answered.
You shoved the mask under your arm and pushed onward, scanning the cliff runoffs and dry creekbeds where you knew animals liked to hide, searching the tangled roots along the old trails, calling his name again and again.
“Jack! Please—answer me!”
The woods felt different now. As you climbed another steep rise, lungs burning, you realized it had gotten… quiet.
Way too quiet.
The cicadas were gone. No crickets. No night birds. Nothing.
Like the entire forest had been smothered under a heavy, waiting hush.
Your footsteps sounded painfully loud, each broken twig echoing off the trunks around you. You forced yourself to keep moving, scanning every hollow, every patch of shadow for a flash of gray skin or those ink-black tears—anything to prove he was still here.
But the silence felt absolute.
Crushing.
Wrong.
You swallowed, hard, the edges of the quiet closing around you until it felt like the woods themselves were holding their breath.
The stillness was so heavy it pressed on your eardrums, leaving you dizzy and unsteady. You clutched the broken mask tighter to your chest, heart hammering, flashlight flicking from one twisted branch to another.
That was when you heard it.
A wet, tearing sound, slick and raw, like someone wringing out a soaked rag. Then another noise—a sharp pop, like cartilage snapping.
Your stomach lurched.
You turned your flashlight toward the sound, its pale circle shaking so badly it barely held focus. You swallowed, took a single step, then another, trying not to crack any twigs, the silence around you making every breath sound huge.
You crept forward, through brambles that snagged your jeans, and finally reached the thick trunk of a pine tree. Its bark was rough against your palm as you steadied yourself, heart about to pound out of your chest.
The noises were louder here—slurping, chewing, flesh pulling away from bone.
You squeezed your eyes shut for a heartbeat, steeling yourself, then leaned to peek around the tree.
The sight made your legs go out from under you.
Jack was crouched low, his claws sunk deep in something—someone—sprawled in the mud. His face was buried in the corpse’s stomach, his mask gone, the ruined hollow of his sockets pressed to ruined flesh as he tore through it with those glinting, animal-sharp teeth.
Wet, black gore streaked his chin. Strings of it dripped from his mouth as he devoured what was left of the person’s organs.
He looked monstrous, more beast than man, moving in a brutal, mindless rhythm that made bile rise in your throat.
A scream clawed its way up before you could stop it, raw and terrified, tearing itself from your lungs.
The flashlight fell from your hands, clattering against a rock. Jack’s broken mask slipped after it, landing in the dirt.
Your knees buckled and you crashed to the ground, hands braced in the leaves as you gasped, the scream still echoing through the dead, silent woods.
Jack’s head snapped up, raw and slick with gore, strands of dark tissue clinging to his torn lips. For a moment, he just stared—or aimed those hollow sockets at you, emptier than any night you’d ever seen.
Then he let out a sound.
It was a low, throaty grunt, bubbling through whatever remained of the man’s organs, followed by a choked, strangled whine.
He shoved the corpse aside in a jerking, hungry motion, the wet smack of it hitting the ground making you flinch. Jack’s claws scraped through the dirt as he pushed upright, swaying on his feet. The moon caught the raw gleam of his teeth, stained black-red and sharp as glass. The front of his gray hoodie was stained dark, blood covering his chest and collar.
He took a staggering step toward you, hunched, moving in fits and starts—a predator not quite remembering how to use its limbs.
“J—Jack,” you stammered, voice cracking under the weight of your own terror.
Another grunt, this one higher, confused, almost hurt. But he kept coming, head tilted like he was trying to place you, thick lines of blood still running from his mouth.
You scrambled to your feet, hands scraping against sticks and dirt. Your flashlight lay where it had fallen, but you didn’t dare grab it—the thought of wasting a single second made your heart seize.
You ran.
Your legs barely worked at first, a jolt of panic burning through them so violently you stumbled. Behind you, Jack howled—a horrible, broken sound, like a wolf choking on its own kill—and then he charged.
You heard him crashing through the brush, smashing into trees hard enough to shake the branches overhead, snarling and sobbing all at once.
Your lungs tore with each gulp of damp air, your feet tangling in vines and roots. The world blurred, branches whipping your face and arms, your pulse a screaming rhythm in your ears.
You glanced over your shoulder—mistake.
Jack was close, horrifyingly close, lurching forward on all fours at times, then staggering upright, drool and blood flinging off his chin with every strangled cry.
The sound of him was horrible, like a nightmare given voice: gasping, wet snarls, a boy’s whimper trapped in a monster’s throat.
You pushed harder, legs on fire, tripping through a creek bed and nearly going down. Behind you, Jack crashed in after, water splashing like a thunderclap. He slammed against the bank and scrabbled up again, claws raking mud, his body moving with a terrifying, unstoppable hunger.
The night around you felt like it shrank, every tree too close, every shadow reaching. You could hear him breathing—wet, ragged, sharp—right behind you, the animal panic of a predator whose prey was slipping away.
Tears spilled hot down your cheeks, half from terror, half from heartbreak. Jack. Your Jack. Reduced to this. Hunting you like he didn’t even know your name.
He wailed again, an echoing, desperate sound that sent a fresh spike of adrenaline through your spine.
You scrambled up a hill, nails tearing into the dirt for grip, and felt him slam into the slope behind you, sending rocks and dead leaves skittering down around your heels. He tripped on a root, crashing to his knees with a scream of frustration, but he was already dragging himself up, unstoppable.
You felt pathetic, small and breakable, every instinct screaming to run run run run—
But there was nowhere to go, nowhere safe. The forest was a cage, and Jack was filling every inch of it, his cries ripping through the dark, hunting you down with mindless, monstrous determination.
You ran anyway, because you had to.
And behind you, he followed—crashing, wailing, unstoppable.
It only took one misstep of your foot, one trip—a rush of air and the thunder of clawed feet, and then he crashed into you with the force of a falling tree.
You hit the ground hard, the breath punched out of your lungs, dirt grinding into your palms. Before you could even scream, Jack was on top of you, pinning you to the forest floor with all his unnatural weight.
He snarled inches from your face, the sound raw and animal, splattering you with thick, foul-smelling gore. Blood dripped from his wide lips, fat droplets falling onto your cheek, sliding warm and sticky into your hair. You noticed it then, the absolute richness of his smell. Like his cologne, but so stout and thick you could’ve choked on it.
You froze, terror swallowing you whole, every muscle locked in place. His claws curled into the ground beside your head, framing you like steel traps.
“Jack,” you choked out, your voice breaking under the fear, “Jack, it’s me—please, please, it’s me!”
He leaned closer, so close you could smell rotted copper and damp earth on his breath. His hollow sockets flared wide, a horrible, empty focus. Another snarl tore out of him, spraying more blood across your face. Even the tips of his pointed ears were speckled with the stuff.
You raised your hands, palms open, pressing against the dampened fabric of his hoodie, feeling the quivering, rigid muscles beneath.
“Jack—Jack, please,” you sobbed, “you know me—it’s me, it’s me—”
Something in him stuttered.
The endless growling broke off, replaced by a high, confused whine. His head twitched, tilting to one side, like a dog trying to understand a new word.
His breath hitched, and then he bent down, nosing against your cheek, sucking in deep, shaky lungfuls of your scent.
His three black tongues emerged, slick and twitching, and began to sweep over your face in long, wet strokes, gathering up the blood he’d splattered there. It was revolting—warm, sticky, and far too intimate—and you flinched as he moved lower, tongues pressing to your neck, tasting, cleaning.
He breathed you in so desperately you thought he might inhale your entire soul. His chest heaved against your hands, shuddering with each inhale.
“Ssr—” he tried, voice grinding out of a throat that sounded half broken, “Mmn—Hah—”
You could hear it, buried in the monstrous ruin of his voice, “So-Sorr-ey—Mmn-sorr—Mnn-Miss yewhh—”
He kept trying to form the words, but they came out in garbled sobs and animal rasping, drool and blood dripping onto your skin.
You couldn’t move. You couldn’t even breathe.
His tongues kept working, lapping gently at your throat, tasting, nuzzling, his claws scraping at the dirt on either side of your head. A pitiful whimper rattled through him every time he pulled away and tried to speak again.
It was like being pinned by a hurricane—something impossibly powerful and terrifying, but also heartbreakingly confused, lost, wanting only you.
You stared up at the empty sockets inches from your eyes, mind screaming, every nerve alight with raw, animal terror.
Jack’s blood-slick mouth hovered above you, trying so hard to shape human words, but all that came was a broken, hopeless cry.
Your heart pounded so hard you thought it might crack your ribs. Jack’s weight felt endless on top of you, a monstrous, crushing presence that smelled of blood and rot and something older, darker.
But… this was Jack.
You tried to remember that—your Jack, even buried in this nightmare. You preached about loving him and being there for him no matter what, but as soon as you’re faced with a horror, what did you do? Stupid.
You drew in a weary, shaking breath and reached up, fingers threading through the wild, tangled strands of his dark hair. The roots were tacky with drying blood, but you ignored it, combing gently, soothing.
He whimpered against your throat, the monstrous rumble of his chest vibrating against yours. His tongues tried to drag across your cheeks again, desperate and sloppy, but you pushed him back with a shaking hand, steadying him.
“Stop—hey, it’s okay,” you tried again, voice firm but soft, like talking to a wounded animal.
He froze, breathing you in so deeply it hurt to hear, then slowly lowered his head until his brow touched yours. The blood was sticky between you, but the contact steadied him, just a little. You’d never have thought touching him, seeing him without his mask for the first time in months would’ve been like this. Fate has a weird way of working things out.
You kept your hand moving through his hair, gentle, grounding, and after another moment he shifted, claws pulling out of the dirt beside your head and instead curling around you, wrapping you in a terrifying, protective cage.
His hands—bloodied and sharp and so wrong—trembled as they ghosted under your shirt, rough against your waist, pulling you closer, pressing your ribs against his chest.
His entire body shook as he settled, breath ragged and uneven, the smell of iron so strong you wanted to gag. Still, you stayed, letting him hold you, even when every terrified instinct screamed to run.
Moonlight spilled through a break in the canopy, falling on the two of you in a cold, pale wash. It caught the gore still clinging to his jaw, the unnatural gray of his ruined skin, the inky stain of his hollow eyes.
Jack clung tighter, claws pricking your sides, breathing hard against your neck, confused sounds still rumbling in the back of his throat.
He didn’t understand. You could feel it in the frantic rhythm of his touch—he didn’t know why his body felt so raw, so starving, so desperate.
Jack stayed wrapped around you, claws trembling against your back, his breathing raw and frantic. His face was buried at your neck, those horrible tongues twitching against your skin, tasting you over and over as if it was the only thing keeping him sane.
Your head spun. He was so strong—you could feel it in every twitch of those monstrous hands, how easily he could have broken you. But he didn’t.
He was shaking, whimpering, lost.
“Jack,” you tried, voice cracking, “what is this? What’s happening to you?”
He made a mangled sound, low in his chest, trying to force words through a throat that wasn’t made for them anymore.
“Ca-c-can’t—” he rasped, wet and torn. “Can’t… s-stop.”
You swallowed, panic still clawing at your ribs. His claws flexed under your shirt, not hurting, but clutching at you like a lifeline.
“Can’t stop what?” you asked, heart hammering, “Hurting? Hunting?”
He shook his head, a violent, jerky movement against your neck, a fresh whimper breaking free.
“Smh-smell… y-you…” he gasped, voice breaking. “C-c-can’t… st-stop.”
Your mind was spinning, trying to piece it together. You thought of how he’d tracked you down, how he couldn’t stop licking you, couldn’t get enough of your scent, the way he was holding you now like he needed you to keep breathing.
Your stomach dropped.
Was this… heat? The word felt alien, but close. Or something like it. He was… an animal, twisted by what they’d done to him. Maybe his body had gone feral in more ways than just hunger.
“Jack,” you whispered, dread crawling up your spine, “are you… in some kind of… rut?”
He went still, pressed against you. A miserable, pained whimper came out, low and helpless.
“Dha-d-don’t… know,” he stuttered, voice thick with something raw and pathetic. “I… s-smell… yo-ou… need…”
It made your head swim. Of course he didn’t know. How could he? No one ever taught a monster about instincts like this.
His claws scrabbled at your back again, then curled around your waist, pulling you even tighter. His face pressed into your collarbone, those tongues working against your throat like he was trying to memorize you.
It was terrifying. It was heartbreaking.
“It’s okay, Jack,” you whispered again, voice catching, “I’m here. I’m right here.”
Jack trembled against you, his claws flexing and unflexing along your ribs, scraping your skin just enough to sting. His entire body was rigid, shaking, the way a bowstring might before it finally snapped.
A raw, pained groan crawled up his ruined throat, and then—he moved.
He shifted, his hips dragging against yours, grinding down, slow and clumsy, a desperate friction that made your blood run cold and your spine bow off the ground. He did it again, harder, a broken sob rattling out of him. He was hard, and so painfully, terrifyingly big.
It was so wrong—but so heartbreakingly human in a twisted way.
He didn’t know what he was doing. You could feel it in how he shook, how his claws fluttered against your skin like he was afraid to hurt you. But some dark, feral instinct had its claws in him now, and it wouldn’t let go.
“J-Jack—” you stammered, terror slicing through you like a blade, “Jack, wait—wait, please—”
He didn’t seem to hear you. Or maybe he couldn’t.
He only whimpered, grinding down again, more frantic, his entire body surging with confused, alien need. The weight of him pinned you, crushing you into the damp earth, making it impossible to squirm away.
Your words turned to babbling, desperate, tears spilling from your eyes.
“Jack, please, wait, j-just—just hold on—you don’t have to—!”
But he needed to.
His tongue, the longest of the three, licked up the side of your neck, tasting your tears, and his whole body shuddered in something close to ecstasy.
You were perfect—you smelled so good, so alive, so his.
Jack keened against you, hips ramming forward again against the center of your thighs, a hopeless rhythm he didn’t understand, only that it made the gnawing ache inside ease for the briefest second. You grunted with every press, legs clamping to close around his hips, but it was no use.
His claws roved under your shirt, skittering against your bare skin, so hot and feverish it felt like they might burn you.
You tried to hold on to him, hands bracing against his chest, trying to reason with him, but he was gone to you—lost to instincts so deep and cruel they drowned out everything else.
“P-please, Jack,” you cried, voice catching on a sob, “I know you’re in there—I know you’re in there, please just—”
He didn’t answer.
He buried his face in your neck, inhaling with a desperate, shaking gasp, then ground into you again, a brutal, guttural snarl tearing from his chest.
There was hunger, yes—but not for organs, not this time. It was a hunger that was aching, tearing him apart in places he didn’t even have names for anymore.
He needed you. And he couldn’t stop.
The heat in his body was a firestorm, swallowing everything that made sense, leaving only need. You smelled so good—the salt of your skin, the sweet tang of your fear, the soft, warm human scent that had always belonged to you.
His claws scraped against your ribs as he ground down, again and again, unable to stop, each movement more desperate than the last. A whine rattled out of him, high and pained, like it physically hurt to be this close and not inside you somehow. You matched his whines, your thighs shaking with how his cock rubbed against your cunt through layers of thick clothing.
Your hands clutched at his hair, pulling, nails digging into his scalp. You were crying, babbling, your voice cracking with half-formed pleas—but you weren’t fighting him, you didn’t think you could anyhow.
He latched onto that with something feral, something primal. You wanted him, some buried part of you did, or at least you weren’t kicking him off, and that was enough to break what was left of his reason.
His tongues flicked over your neck, tasting sweat and tears and heat, making him snarl in frustrated ecstasy. The sound vibrated through your chest, and you arched up against him without meaning to, hips meeting his with a helpless grind that made his claws clench hard enough to bruise.
The world was spinning, dizzy and molten, your voice cracking again as you gasped, “J-Jack—”
He couldn’t stop.
“Mhnn—M’sorry—”
He bit you.
His jaws snapped down on your shoulder, too hard, the sharp points of his monstrous teeth tearing straight through the thin cotton of your shirt and sinking into flesh.
You screamed—a sound tangled between pain and something far, far darker, some twisted surge of relief that made you go limp under him.
He tasted your blood, hot and coppery, and moaned against you, rutting his hips so hard you could barely breathe.
Your head fell back, tears streaming, your body alight with panic and arousal and a hundred things you couldn’t name.
“Ah—Fuck—!” you sobbed, hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer even as you trembled from the agony of his bite.
He whined around the mouthful of your skin, drool and blood spilling down your shoulder, tongues fluttering against the broken flesh. His claws skittered under your back, catching on the fabric, desperate to feel you, to anchor himself before he tore you apart completely.
The smell of you, the taste, the way you moved against him—it was too much. It was everything.
Jack’s grinding grew more frantic, more nasty, sloppy and desperate, like an animal starved of touch for centuries, driven by something so foreign he couldn’t even name it.
You moved with him, rutting up to meet his rhythm, your voice breaking into half-sobbed moans as you clutched him closer, dizzy from pain and heat and the horrible, unbearable need radiating off of him.
It was messy, violent, a collision of instincts and terror and some warped, twisted need to save him.
It built like a storm, each frantic thrust of his hips dragging you closer to a precipice you couldn’t see, didn’t even know it was there until you felt the coil in your stomach. Jack was panting, growling, his claws scoring lines onto your ribs and back and all over as he rutted against you, mindless and unstoppable.
You were barely breathing, the pain in your shoulder mixing with something hot and carnal that had your hips moving up to meet his every time, your voice caught in your throat in sobs and broken cries. Your thighs feel open, legs coming around his broad hips to wrap around him, locking your feet together at the base of his back.
The smell of blood, sweat, the damp soil—it all blurred around you, your entire world narrowed to the way his hips slid against yours, his length pressed against your aching clit.
Jack’s tongues lashed against your skin, tasting you, claiming you, his breath so ragged it rattled his chest. His hips stuttered, harder, faster, his growl climbing into something high and keening—
You felt the tension snap inside you like a frayed wire, every nerve flaring white-hot as you choked on a sob, your hips jerking up, caught in that same unstoppable rhythm.
Your orgasm crashed through you, messy and raw, pain and pleasure and terror all tangled together until you didn’t know what you were feeling except that you couldn’t handle the pressure any longer.
He felt it too.
Jack’s whole body went rigid, a strangled, animalistic cry bursting out of him as he ground down hard, shoving you into the dirt so rough your bones ached. He shuddered, every muscle seizing, the heat of him smothering you as he came, mindlessly rutting through the last frantic pulses until his hips slowed to stutters.
For a long moment, there was only panting—his huge body draped over yours, twitching, shaking.
The forest was silent except for your breathing, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, the coppery sting of blood sharp under your nose.
Jack went still, finally, the frantic, feral madness draining out of him all at once like a burst dam. He slumped against you, heavy and limp, rasping out broken, rattling breaths.
You felt his face move against your neck, those horrible tongues twitching sluggishly, no longer hungry, just back to cleaning the blood that trickled from your bite.
A low, almost human voice crawled out of him, helpless and raw.
“C-cou-couldn’t—” he tried to say, and choked on a sob, “couldn’t s-stop…”
Your shaking hands found his hair again, combing through the blood-matted strands. Your voice was thin, ruined from crying, but you managed to get words past your cracked lips.
“I-I know,” you whispered, “Jack, I know…”
He let out a hoarse, broken whine, pressing his face harder into your throat. The pressure of his claws, still tucked under your shirt, turned gentle, almost soothing, stroking your bare skin in a clumsy mimic of affection.
The blind, animalistic need had quieted, leaving something raw and battered in its place.
He was Jack again, for now—shaky and confused and so, so sorry.
“D-didn’t… want to… h-hurt…” he stammered, one of his tongues licking a stripe up your jaw as if trying to apologize, “you smelled so-soo good…”
You swallowed hard, blinking against the tears.
“It’s okay,” you whined, voice paper-thin, “it’s… it’s okay. We’ll… we’ll figure it out.”
He let out a low, pitiful whimper and curled tighter around you, as if even after all that, he couldn’t bear to let you go.
You felt the heat of him, the ragged exhaustion, the sloppy, dazed nuzzles as he licked at the bite he’d left on your shoulder.
But then—you felt it.
Hard. Still hard.
Thick and throbbing, pressed against the curve of your hip, pulsing with a need that clearly hadn’t burned itself out yet. The realization shot a cold spear of panic through your gut, even as your mind reeled from the aftershocks of what you’d already survived.
“Jack,” you breathed, voice breaking, “wait—”
But he was moving again. A slow, rolling grind against you, the heavy ridge of him rutting over your thigh. You flinched, a fresh spike of sensitivity bursting through your half-numb body.
He whined—higher, clearer, more Jack than the animal—but still desperate.
“C-can’t stop…” he stammered, his voice raw and torn, but understandable now, “please… I need… more…”
Your heart lurched, hammering so hard you thought it might crack your ribs. You put your hands against his chest, trying to push him back.
“J-Jack—wait—just—just hold on a second—”
But he didn’t. Couldn’t.
He loomed up over you, gray skin catching in a shaft of moonlight, eyes still hollow and leaking that inky blackness, but somehow so full of you, focused only on you.
A clumsy claw caught the hem of your shirt, tugging, tearing the cotton easily as if it were paper. Another hand fumbled at your waistband, his movements frantic, awkward, scraping your skin as he tried to pull your pants down. He tore his claw through your shirt, ripping the fabric in half, shoving it off your chest. The air was warm, but your flesh still crawled with goosebumps, crossing your arms across your bra.
“J-Jack—” you pleaded, voice cracking, “slow down—”
He shook his head, a course growl pulling out of his ruined throat, all three tongues lolling and quivering as he nosed at your bare shoulder, inhaling you like your scent was the sweetest perfume known to man.
“Sm-mells so… g-good…” he slurred, breath shivering across your damp skin, “It hurts… I need…”
He sat up off of you onto his knees and tugged harder, practically ripping your pants down your hips, dragging the fabric across your thighs and off your ankles, leaving you shivering in the warm night air, half-covered in blood and dirt and his own desperate scent.
Your head spun, panic and some horrible spark of want twisting in your belly.
His claws raked down your sides, leaving angry red lines in their wake, but his grip gentled near your hips, as if trying, clumsily, to be careful with you.
“Please,” he whispered, voice cracking around the word like glass, “I need it…”
You barely had time to catch your breath before he was tearing at what was left of your clothes, his claws hooking into your panties and ripping them in a single, impatient pull. The elastic snapped, leaving you bare beneath him, the humid night air kissing every inch of your trembling skin.
Jack leaned back, just enough to see you fully—the sight of you exposed made him snarl, low and guttural, his hips twitching in a spasm of aching need.
You gasped when he tore at your bra, the clasps giving way to those claws so easily, leaving you naked, splayed out beneath him in the mud and leaves. His tongues ran over his lips, shivering in the night air, and he lowered his face to your chest, sniffing so deep it made your skin prickle.
Jack shifted above you, still breathing in those ragged, animal-edged huffs of air. His claws twitched at the edge of his hoodie, scrabbling almost clumsily as he started trying to yank it off, frustration roughening his voice.
“Too… h-hot,” he snarled, voice breaking as he tried to pull the oversized fabric over his shoulders, “can’t—too tight—”
It was ridiculous, in a way—the thing was big on him, he had to roll up the sleeves for crying out loud, but with the way his body strained and trembled now, even that roomy cloth felt suffocating.
You watched, dazed and shaking, as he finally managed to drag it over his head, the hood catching for a second on his head before he ripped it free with a growl.
The air hit his skin and he shivered, shoulders rolling. His body was… terrifying, and yet so painfully, heartbreakingly familiar.
His skin, that strange ashy blue-gray, gleamed with sweat, muscles standing out in sharp, tense lines. Broad shoulders, roped with lean, powerful definition, his chest heaving, his ribs showing the slightest hollow from days of half-starved hunting. Scars ran across him in jagged, uneven tracks, some healed rough, others still pink and new.
The moonlight skimmed over his abdomen, tracing hard-cut muscle under a shimmer of sweat, each breath flexing the taut cords of his stomach. His hips were narrow, but thick with power, and every line of him looked made for violence—but somehow so vulnerable in this raw, exposed moment. But the pièce de résistance was the trail of hair that started under his belly button and traveled down to somewhere unknown beneath his waistband.
He tossed the hoodie aside and leaned back over you, hair matted and damp around his forehead, claws spreading on either side of your waist as he growled, breath ghosting over your chest.
“Hold on now, w-wait—” you stammered, but the words barely left your lips before his mouth was on you.
He licked a broad, hungry stripe up the slope of your breast, then latched on, three tongues working over your nipple at once—hot, slick, inhuman. You cried out, body arching up, nails digging into his shoulders as the wet heat sent a jolt of electricity through you.
He moaned at the taste of you, his voice raw and desperate, his hands splaying out over your hips to pin you down as he moved lower, lower still, dragging those horrible, clever tongues across every inch of you.
When he settled between your thighs, you tried to close them—but his claws kept you open, spreading you wide, your body so exposed you could hardly stand it. You leaned up onto your elbows, fingers digging into the grass.
Jack paused for just a second, panting, his face hovering over your slick, his tongues twitching with anticipation. He let out a broken, hungry little whimper. Was he… was he fucking drooling?
“P-pretty…” he slurred, the syllables barely holding together, “so… pretty…”
And then he lunged, mouth burying itself against you with no finesse, no mercy.
You screamed, your back bowing off the ground as those three tongues moved with wild, sloppy desperation, lapping at you like he was starving. It was too much—the rough flicks, the obscene wetness, the teeth scraping gently at sensitive skin, sending shockwaves of pleasure and terror straight through your core.
You gasped, hips jerking, the spark of pleasure sharp as lightning through your belly. Jack let out a deep, satisfied growl at the reaction, circling your clit with the tip of one of his tongues, soft at first, then firmer, more insistent, making your muscles clench under him.
You fisted his hair, gasping, voice cracking as you tried to guide him, tried to survive the hurricane of sensation.
The second tongue joined the first, working in a counter-rhythm, stroking and licking at you until you were shaking again, barely able to think. He was playing with you—greedy and clumsy, but somehow still so achingly precise, watching you break apart under every drag of his tongues.
“J-Jack—oh my god—slow—please—!”
He didn’t slow. Couldn’t.
He added another.
His monstrous hands pinned your thighs even wider, his growls vibrating right through you, and he sucked at your clit with all three tongues, so intense you almost blacked out, eyes rolling far beyond the back of your head.
“Fuckk—y-you—taste—” he babbled into you, lost in it, “so fucking good.”
You felt his hips rutt against the ground while he devoured you, grinding for relief even as he tore every ounce of yours from you with terrifying devotion.
It was savage. Beautiful.
You were helpless, caught under him, trembling as the pleasure built again and again, nowhere to go, nothing to do but cling to him and pray you survived.
And Jack—he just kept going, lost in you, a monster starved for more than flesh.
Then, with a hungry deliberation, he shifted, tongues drawing lower, to the dripping entrance of your core. One slick tongue traced around the tight ring of muscle, circling, then gently pushed inside—the stretch was strange, hot, noticeable, and you cried out, fisting the dirt, hips rolling helplessly.
Jack shuddered like he could feel it, letting out a sound halfway between a moan and a growl that vibrated against your cunt.
Then a second tongue slid in next to the first, thicker, the two of them twisting, writhing, pressing against places inside you that made your toes curl and your spine curl off the forest floor.
“F-fuck—Jack—!” you sobbed, barely holding on.
He whined, eager, desperate to please, and a third tongue pushed at your entrance, stretching you even more, making you feel so full and so impossibly overwhelmed. He fed them in deeper, deeper still, moving them in slow, obscene thrusts as your body fluttered helplessly around them.
His claws dug into your hips, holding you steady, and he watched you break apart, those empty sockets somehow burning with a savage, possessive adoration.
“Cant stop—I can’t—” he stammered, voice shaking as much as you were, “So warm—”
The tongues twisted inside you, slick and hot and everywhere, while the tip of one still worked your clit in perfect, punishing circles—until your mind was nothing but static. You could feel your restraint dissolve, feel every muscle coming unbound with every pass of the muscles roiling around inside your gummy walls. All you could do was hiccup through tears that spilt down your cheeks, hands lost between fisting the grass and Jack’s messy hair.
He wouldn’t make you decide for long.
Jack finally slowed, his three tongues pulsing one last time inside you before starting to pull free—inch by inch, painfully slow, the writhing muscle dragging slick and hot against your walls.
You cried out, hands scrabbling through the dirt, thighs shivering so hard they nearly clamped shut around his head. Jack lifted, and the sight of him made your stomach twist—his face was covered in you, slick and glistening all the way to the hollows of his cheeks, dripping down the edges of his jaw.
He panted, claws still gripping your hips, and then—almost absently—he used those tongues to clean himself. They swept up over his chin, lapping across his cheeks, curling to drag away every trace of you with obscene thoroughness.
The longest tongue curled all the way up to the corner of his eye socket, slicking away a streak of blood, while the others worked over his lips and down to his throat, catching every drop.
It was monstrous, horrifying—but something about it was also devoted, his noises soft and grateful as he tasted you over and over again.
When he was finished, his face shone faintly in the moonlight, wiped clean by nothing but his own inhuman hunger, and he looked down at you with those hollow, endless sockets, panting, starved, still wanting.
“Taste so… mhnn—so go-good—” he stammered, voice breaking apart, almost overwhelmed himself.
Then, shaking, he leaned back on his haunches, claws fumbling at the button of his jeans, breath coming out in deep, stripped huffs. The denim was already soaked with sweat and stained with little flecks of gore, clinging to his muscled thighs.
“C-can’t—too tight—need…” he growled, frustrated, claws almost tearing the button clean off before he finally managed to wrench it open and shove the jeans down.
The second they fell, your breath hitched. You felt your stomach roll over on itself.
His cock was monstrous, huge even by impossible standards, flushed a dark bruised-blue that almost glowed in the slivered moonlight. Thick ridges ran along the underside, pulsing faintly, and the head was slick and shiny, drooling a bead of clear precum that dripped to the dirt below. Veins wrapped around the shaft like dark ropes, throbbing with each frantic beat of his inhuman heart.
It was obscene, the sheer size of it, the way it twitched and jumped with the smallest movement of his hips. Your body tensed, terrified and aching all at once, while Jack looked down at you with those endless, hungry sockets, a guttural, whiny sound escaping his throat. A noise a dog would make if you held food above its head.
“Sweet girl,” he rasped, voice shaking, “Want—hnn—want inside… please… pl-please.”
He was so hard he looked in pain, the length of him bobbing forward, heavy, glistening, terrifyingly perfect in its brutality. One clawed hand wrapped around the base, a poor attempt to steady himself as he leaned over you, every muscle in his lean, powerful frame quivering with raw, feral need.
You could barely breathe, heart hammering against your ribs, as Jack loomed over you—huge, starved, and desperate to make you his.
A wave of terror slammed into you, cutting through every dazed, sweet ache in your body. Your instincts screamed run, and before you could even think, you rolled over onto your stomach, dirt scraping your skin, legs wobbling as you tried to get your knees under you.
You were so weak, so shaky from everything he’d already done to you, but you managed to crawl forward, dragging yourself clumsy and frantic through the leaves. No fucking way were you going to take that thing.
“Jack, no—” you gasped, voice breaking.
But he snarled behind you, a sound so deep and hungry it rattled your bones.
“Don’t run…” he growled, words wet and cracked, “…don’t run, pretty girl…”
You made it only a few feet before his claws closed around your calf, the rough grip tearing a desperate cry from your lungs. Jack hauled you backward with terrifying ease, your fingernails clawing at the dirt as he dragged you until you were flush against him, your back pressed to the heat of his bare chest, his hips crowding up behind you.
He leaned over, breath scalding against your ear, and you felt the monstrous weight of his cock slide along the curve of your ass, so heavy and thick it made your whole body clench up.
It rested there, pulsing hot against your skin, smearing precum over your lower back and leaving your mind reeling with just how deep he was going to go.
“Don’t run…” Jack repeated, lower, almost a begging whimper tangled with the snarl, “n-need you…need all of you…”
He ground forward, letting the head of his cock catch between your cheeks, then angling his hips, slid his length between your thighs, pressing against your entrance just enough for you to feel the impossible stretch waiting.
Your breath came in sharp, terrified gasps, the world a dizzy blur as his claws dug into your hips, holding you pinned, his voice breaking as he panted into your hair.
“P-pretty…don’t run…gonna make you f-full…so full…”
The sheer heat of him, the solid, inhuman girth twitching and drooling against you, made your head spin. Your heart thundered like prey under a predator’s paw—helpless, trembling, trapped.
You tried to squirm again—a panicked, half-blind attempt to drag yourself away, the leaves and damp earth clinging to your elbows. But Jack’s low, animal snarl made your heart stop, vibrating through your ribs like thunder.
“Don’t,” he rasped, breath raw and uneven, “don’t run—gonna take you—”
His hips rolled, the bulging head of his cock catching against your clit, making you yelp and arch from the sudden jolt of raw, overwhelming pleasure. He dragged it up and down your slit, soaking you with slick precum, smearing it across your folds until you were trembling so hard you could hardly breathe.
Then he shifted, the tip nudging against your entrance, parting you, teasing just enough to send another bolt of fear straight through your spine.
You tried to move again, legs kicking weakly—but that only seemed to annoy him. A harsh growl ripped out of Jack’s throat, and before you could even scream, he slammed both hands onto your back, claws spreading wide across your shoulder blades and pinning you flat against the earth.
He pushed, his massive weight bearing down, forcing your spine into a sharp arch so your ass was high in the air and your chest crushed to the dirt. It was a humiliating, bestial pose—your body forced to submit, trembling, fully exposed.
“Stay,” he snarled, voice cracking around a broken whimper, “stay still—don’t squirm…”
You felt the head of his cock pressing again, harder this time, nudging into you with enough force to steal your breath, the tight muscle of your cunt burning already. You could barely process the stretch, barely believe it would fit, your walls already fighting the impossible intrusion.
Jack’s hips flexed, and the head started to push in, painfully slow, prying you open one quivering inch at a time.
“F-fuck—so tight—so…warm…” he stammered, panting above you, his claws tightening on your shoulders until they dug sharp enough to sting.
The pain was blinding, a burn that radiated through your hips and made tears prick your eyes. Your body shook, helpless, every muscle trying to clamp down and push him out—but he wouldn’t stop.
Jack rocked his hips forward, the head bobbing deeper, pulling out a fraction only to shove in again, each movement nudging him further and further inside until your walls were clinging to the first few inches of that monstrous, ridged length.
Your mind blurred, terror and overstimulation crashing together, as the stretch split you wider and wider—and Jack’s heavy breaths grew more desperate, his voice breaking into wild, devoted praise.
“Yeah—so good—so good—take me—need you t-to take all of me…”
And you realized, in that moment of absolute terror and helplessness, that he meant to fill every aching, breaking inch of you, no matter how much it hurt.
“Oh fuck— Oh, God—wait, Jack—”
Jack’s rhythm grew steadier, more determined, as he worked deeper—each push splitting you a fraction more, the obscene stretch lighting up every nerve in your body. Your breath came in ragged, sobbing pants, eyes screwed shut against the tears as your walls spasmed helplessly around him.
He was relentless, hips rocking, drawing out and then pushing a little deeper each time, forcing your body to mold around him. You could barely process how much was already inside—it felt like too much, so impossibly full, and still he hadn’t bottomed out.
“Hold on—hold on—just wait,” you hiccuped, reaching your arms behind you to plant against his hips, trying to stop him from going any further. You could already feel him bumping against your cervix, drooling tip nudging the deepest parts inside of you.
“Almost, pretty girl—almost there,” Jack rasped, voice wet and fractured.
You choked out a half-formed plea again, but it was lost in the dark as he pressed closer, his sweaty chest crushing against your back. He shifted his claws from your shoulders to dig into the dirt on either side of your head, caging you, pinning you, leaving you nowhere to go as you trembled under him.
And then—with a low, guttural growl—he leaned down and bit into the other side of your shoulder, teeth tearing your skin, white-hot agony blinding you. He locked his jaw tight.
Your scream broke the night, ripping from your throat, echoing through the trees. You pressed your forehead to the ground, heaving and panting into the grass.
In that moment of your rawest, most helpless pain, Jack shoved forward, burying the final brutal inches in one unforgiving thrust. The monstrous cock slammed home, hilting inside you so deep you could barely comprehend it, your body jolting forward from the force as if he meant to split you in two.
Your walls convulsed, spasming wildly around his impossible girth, every nerve alight with pain and pressure and a sick, brutal pleasure that made your head spin.
Jack’s breath rattled against your neck, hot and frantic, his tongues slipping out to lap at the blood welling from his bite as he held himself buried to the hilt, trembling over you like a beast barely chained.
“So—so warm,” he whined against your torn shoulder, voice shaking, “Feels so g-good, baby. So tight—”
And you felt everything inside you go tight and molten and unbearably full, helpless under the weight of him, pinned in a way you could never escape, your body forced to take every impossible inch.
You felt him shift—a subtle grind of his hips, the head of that monstrous cock grinding even deeper, making you jolt with a strangled cry. He couldn’t even wait until you got adjusted.
He let out a wet, shattered moan. “G-gonna move—can’t—can’t stop—hold still—”
And then he pulled back. Slowly at first, dragging that inhuman length from your spasming, quivering walls until only the tip was left stretching you wide, and for a heartbeat you thought he might let you rest.
But then he slammed back in, the force of it making your eyes roll up, punching the air out of your lungs in a weak sob.
“F-fuck—so—tight—” Jack stammered, voice raw, animalistic, clawed hands braced on either side of your head as he started to fuck down into you.
Each thrust was brutal, making you lurch forward, the wet slap of his hips against your ass echoing through the dead-silent woods. He was so deep, so thick, dragging against spots inside you that left your mind spinning, the pain a white-hot brand with every punishing push.
You tried to crawl away again—an instinct, a desperate, animal attempt to survive—but Jack caught you by the hips and slammed you back against him, snarling in your ear, “Don’t run—don’t you run from me. You’re mine—mine—”
His claws dug into your sides, angling you up so every thrust hit a new nerve deep inside, making your stomach tighten painfully around him. You could barely breathe, your body forced to take it over and over as he fucked into you like a starved animal.
Jack’s moans started to crumble, breaking apart into sharp whimpers and cries, his teeth dragging over the bite-mark on your shoulder, licking the blood and sweat. You felt him trembling, desperate, the force behind his thrusts growing frantic and messy, cock twitching with every pull out.
He couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop.
And under the moonlight, pressed into the dirt with his massive length tearing you open over and over, you realized neither could you.
It hurt. God, it hurt—but something in the pain had started to shift, twisting deep in your belly until it burned into something hotter, something needier. Each time Jack slammed forward, your cunt clenched, not just from the brutal stretch but from a raw, wicked spark that left you reeling.
You couldn’t help it—your hips began to rock back to meet him, your battered body chasing the next drag of that searing cock as it raked through your oversensitive walls.
Jack stuttered for a second, stunned, a growling noise pulling out of his throat as he realized you were pushing back. That you wanted more.
“Yeah, yeah—sweet girl—” he stammered, voice breaking, “feel so—so good—”
Your hands scrambled backward, clinging to the thick muscle of his arms, then up to dig your fingers into his shoulders, nails dragging across hot, sweaty skin. He was burning behind you, feverish, the broad line of his chest flexing with every ragged breath.
“Jack,” you gasped, voice catching, “t-touch me—please—Jack, please—”
That was all it took.
He let out a deep, snarling whimper, the sound rolling through his chest and into you, and then he was moving even harder, rutting into you with sloppy, frantic thrusts that made your thighs spasm and your vision blur.
His claws scraped the earth beside you as he tried to keep from ripping you apart, every thrust wet and obscene—slick squelching, drool dripping from his mouths down onto your back, strings of precum and slick soaking your thighs as his jeans pooled around his knees.
The raw, nasty sounds of him splitting you open filled the air, sticky and wet and feral, each thrust making you clench tighter, wanting more, more, no matter how much it hurt.
Jack’s hips smacked against your ass again and again, leaving stinging bruises, and still you pushed back, desperate to meet every brutal stroke. Your hands clung to him like a lifeline, nails raking across his skin, your body screaming for more even as it trembled under the onslaught.
Jack’s tongues slipped out again, drooling, laving down your spine, tasting your sweat, your skin, your pain—unable to stop devouring you in every way.
“Don’t—don’t stop—” you choked out, and he let out a hoarse, shattered laugh that broke halfway to a growl.
“Can’t—never—never stopping,” he gasped, rutting forward until your knees buckled, forcing you to collapse under him, pinned to the dirt by his weight and the vicious, monstrous cock ripping you apart.
It was filthy, raw, a primal mess of slick and sweat and drool and blood, and neither of you could seem to get enough.
Jack’s thrusts slowed momentarily, a slurred, choked sound catching on his tongues as he pulled out, dragging that massive length from your trembling, ruined body inch by inch. You gasped, nearly sobbing, empty in a way that made your insides clench desperately around nothing.
But before you could catch your breath, Jack’s claws wrapped around your hips, hauling you over like you weighed nothing, flipping you onto your back. The warm night air bit into your sweat-slicked skin, making you groan—then his shadow fell over you, huge and monstrous, his eyes boring down like twin bottomless holes.
You reached up, arms instinctively curling around his shoulders, holding onto the thick, corded muscle under his burning skin. His lean, powerful torso flexed with every breath, still dripping with sweat.
He lined up again, the fat head of his cock dragging through your slick folds, and you both moaned, bodies shaking with raw, hungry need.
“Jack,” you whimpered, voice small and cracked, “fuck me, c’mon—”
“Gonna—gonna put it back in, pretty—so warm—so good—” he rasped, leaning over you, three tongues lapping from his mouth and twitching as he stared down, almost mesmerized.
Then he pushed.
It was every bit as brutal, every bit as overwhelming as the first time, the massive length stretching you to your limit and then beyond, the head forcing your walls open until you thought you’d break.
Your back arched, a scream caught in your throat—but it didn’t get out, because Jack was already sinking deeper, deeper still, until you felt a tight, blunt pressure so far inside you that it made your vision white out.
His eyes went wide, hollow sockets somehow hungry, staring right at your stomach.
“Look,” he panted, a grin tearing across his blood-streaked lips, “look at you—”
You followed his gaze, and nearly broke—a distinct bulge pressing up under the roundness of your belly, obscene and impossible, shifting every time he moved.
“Oh my god—Jack—” you cried, eyes glassy, “that’s—fuck—”
“Inside,” he growled, voice reverent and broken, his claw pressing right against that bulge. You felt it, felt the way it shifted with the head of his cock, and a raw, helpless sob tore out of you.
“Can you feel me?” he crooned, barely human, claws stroking your hips, pressing harder against the bump in your stomach. “Can you feel me all the way here?—S-so deep, pretty girl—mine—”
You shook, nodding, tears slipping from your lashes as the pleasure spiked unbearably.
“Yes—yes, Jack—yours—yours—”
He let out a hoarse, ecstatic snarl and started pounding into you again, faster, harder, the force of each thrust making that stomach bulge jump under his hand. You wrapped your arms tighter around his shoulders, gripping for dear life as he rutted you into the dirt, tongues lapping at your face and neck, worshipping you. Each thrust knocked his cock against your g-spot.
“Never gonna—hah—let go—” he grunted between sloppy, punishing thrusts, “gonna fill you—make you full—of my babies—”
You couldn’t even answer, your body was on fire, arching and breaking under him, every nerve screaming for more as the woods spun around you.
It came faster than you could even register.
You couldn’t take any more—each brutal, slamming thrust was a lightning strike, fire rolling through your veins until everything inside you clenched, burned, and finally broke.
Your back arched hard off the ground, arms locked around Jack’s shoulders, mouth open in a silent cry as a devastating orgasm ripped through you.
“Jack—!”
Your walls squeezed him so tight he nearly lost his mind, your core fluttering and gripping him in pulsing waves, slick and scorching. Jack’s claws immediately wrapped around your back, holding you close against him as if he could fuse your bodies together.
He let out a strangled, desperate growl, eyes locked on you, breathing so ragged it almost didn’t sound human. Something in him seemed to snap—a feral instinct flooding through every monstrous inch of him.
“Pretty—so good—” he babbled, voice raw and cracking, “mine—mine—mine—”
Then he lurched down, seizing your mouth with a ferocity that stunned you.
His tongues plunged inside all at once, stretching your lips wide, thick and powerful as they explored every inch of your mouth. One curled under your tongue, another ran across your teeth, the third so deep it made you gag, stealing your breath.
You choked on the sheer overwhelming invasion, tears spilling down your cheeks, but couldn’t pull away—Jack’s hands were iron around your waist, crushing you to him, the feverish heat of him radiating through your trembling body.
His tongues moved with a filthy rhythm, tasting you, claiming you, drool mixing with your tears until everything was slick and desperate. He moaned right into your throat, rutting his hips hard against you while his tongues tangled deeper, worshipping you like you were air, water, salvation.
Your climax was still crashing through you, making your legs weak and shaky as you tried to breathe through the frantic kiss—but Jack wouldn’t let go, wouldn’t stop, lost in that blinding animal need to own you completely.
Your lungs burned as his tongues kept invading, every inch of you claimed and devoured. The taste of him—coppery, inhuman, mixed with the salt of your own tears—filled your senses until you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.
His cock was still pounding into you with a punishing rhythm, the tip punching so deep inside you that your stomach bulged again and again. Every thrust made your sensitive walls clench helplessly, overstimulated, still pulsing.
Jack moaned into your mouth, frantic, tongues twisting and licking and fucking into you while he fucked harder, losing any semblance of control. His claws dug into your hips, pinning you in place, pace stuttering as he chased the final edge.
“M’gonna—” he gasped, voice barely even a voice, just a devastating, hungry snarl against your lips, “gonna fill you—make you—mine—!”
You felt him tense, the length of him swelling impossibly inside you—then he buried himself to the hilt, the head smashing up against your cervix, and roared.
Hot, thick cum poured into you in heavy pulses, stretching you so full you could feel every gush, every wave crashing deep inside. Jack’s whole body shook above you, tongues still gagging your mouth, drool and tears mixing on your face as he pumped you full.
Your walls fluttered again, clamping down on him instinctively, milking every drop until he finally slowed, breathing ragged and wild.
He collapsed against you, still inside, still impossibly hard, arms curling around you protectively like he’d never let you go. His tongues finally pulled free of your mouth, leaving you gasping for air, lips bruised and slick with spit.
Jack buried his face against your neck, panting, lost and shaking, whispering in a hoarse, cracked growl, “Mine…always mine…”
You thought—prayed—he was done, but then you felt it: a new pressure, deep in your gut, stretching you wider from the inside.
Your eyes flew wide, panic spiking again.
“J-Jack? What’s happening?” you rasped, voice shaking, but he only whined into your neck, his hips rocking against yours, grinding in short, desperate ruts.
You felt it swelling—something solid, something burning, growing right at the base of him.
Oh god.
You tried to move, to shift, but his claws curled around your hips, locking you down hard.
“Stay,” he snarled, voice a warped echo against your throat, “don’t run.”
You gasped as that thick knot stretched you, forcing you even wider, burning with a brutal, almost cruel fullness. Your walls spasmed helplessly, trying to reject it, but Jack was stronger—so much stronger—and he held you down while he forced the growing bulb past the tightest part of your entrance.
It finally popped inside with a wet, obscene sound, lodging deep against your cunt, locking you to him.
You screamed, back arching off the ground, mind breaking under the sheer bruising invasion.
Jack moaned—moaned—a weary, needy cry, shoving his face against yours as if to soothe you.
“Can’t—can’t let go—” he babbled, voice dripping hunger and desperation, “mine—mine—stay—stay here—”
He ground his knot deeper, each tiny thrust making it swell even bigger until you felt like you’d burst. The fullness was blinding, overwhelming, his cock jerking and twitching inside you as another pulse of hot cum flooded you, trapped by the knot, locked away.
Your hips shook, pinned, no escape as Jack licked and bit at your neck, rutting slow, greedy circles against you even with the knot sealing you tight.
“Don’t—don’t run, sweet girl,” he panted, voice trembling, “can’t…can’t let you go…”
You felt every throb, every pulse, the unbearable stretch, your whole body trembling and on the verge of breaking apart under him.
Jack was still, but you could feel him trembling—muscles locked tight, claws flexing against your hips as though afraid you might vanish if he let go for even a second.
You squirmed, a whimper tearing from your throat as the knot shifted painfully, the pressure pressing right up against your cervix.
“Jack,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, “Jack, it’s too much—”
He whined, the sound broken and needy, burying his face against your cheek, tongues tracing clumsy, comforting patterns over your sweaty skin.
“Can’t—can’t let go yet,” he slurred, voice ragged and half-human, “feels too good—can’t—”
You felt him try to rut again, short, choppy motions that only made the knot grind harshly against every raw, sensitive part of you. A shocked moan escaped your lips, your body arching under him, pleasure and pain blurring together until you couldn’t separate them. You slammed your fist against his shoulder.
“Shh,” he crooned, breath hot against your face, “s’okay—s’good—so warm—so warm inside—”
His hips stuttered, forcing the knot to jerk inside you, and you could swear you felt another faint gush of heat flood your battered, filled-up core.
Your walls fluttered around him helplessly, milking every drop.
Jack whimpered again, as if even he couldn’t stand the feeling, and wrapped his arms fully around your waist, drawing you up against him until your chests were smashed together. You could feel his heart hammering through your skin, a wild, frantic rhythm that matched your own.
“Don’t leave me,” he begged, voice warbled and broken, “please—pretty please—don’t leave—”
You could barely breathe, dizzy from being stretched and locked in place, but you nodded, trembling, stroking through his sweat-slicked hair.
“I’m here,” you whispered, voice cracking, “Jack, I’m here, I’m not leaving.”
He made a sound like a sob—part growl, part weep—and curled around you, knot twitching inside you, sealing you so perfectly you could feel every tremor of his body through the hot, thick lock of him.
And there, under the hush of the woods and the silver light of the moon, you stayed tangled together, your breath mixing, no escape, no space left between you.
── .✦
The woods felt endless, but you clung to him like an anchor, your hands tangled in his hair, your cheek pressed against the rough planes of his shoulder. His knot still held you in place, keeping every inch of him buried deep, a constant, heavy pressure that refused to ease for what felt like an eternity.
Neither of you could move much, so you talked, your voices small and exhausted under the wide, quiet dark.
“Where…where did you go, Jack?” you asked, trying to steady your breathing as another aftershock rolled through you.
He rumbled softly, claws smoothing along your spine. “Didn’t know,” he rasped, sounding like himself again, raw and worn-out. “Felt…wrong. Everything was red. Loud. Inside my head.”
You nodded, heart twisting. “I thought you were dead,” you admitted, a tear slipping out, catching on the blood drying across your cheek. “When you didn’t come, I— I thought—”
His arms tightened around you, a protective squeeze. “Not dead,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours, “I couldn’t control much, but… I knew I had to stay away. Knew if I saw you I would hurt you.”
You sniffled, breathing in the rich, earthy scent of him, still faintly metallic from all the blood. It was terrible—but it was him, and that was enough.
“I came looking,” you whispered, voice breaking, “I couldn’t just sit there, Jack, I— I needed you to come back.”
A pained groan rattled in his chest, his claws dragging up to cradle your face as best he could. “Pretty girl,” he rasped, almost gentle, “mine…always mine. M’so sorry…”
You felt him shift, hips jerking, the knot giving a final, deep pulse inside you. It made you cry out softly, but then you felt it: the swelling finally, blessedly going down. Inch by inch, the brutal stretch began to ease, and you could feel the heavy, wet fullness slipping from your body with a messy, shuddering slide.
Jack grunted as the knot popped free, and you whimpered at the sudden emptiness, legs trembling uncontrollably.
For a moment you just lay there, both of you breathing hard, staring at each other. Then Jack leaned down, pressing a surprisingly sweet kiss to your cheek before sitting up, guiding you carefully.
“Come,” he murmured, voice steadier now, “let’s—let’s go.”
You nodded weakly, your body aching and filthy, but still reaching for him.
Jack helped you with fumbling claws, reached for your jeans with shaky claws to help tug your them back onto your ankles and into place, grimacing at the mud-smeared fabric. He growled under his breath, pulling your ruined panties out of the way and scowling at the torn, limp scraps.
“Shit,” you laughed weakly, voice hoarse and a little hysterical, “Jack, those were my favorite pair.”
He shot you a look through his hollow sockets, a low, embarrassed huff.
“And my bra?” you added, smirking despite the soreness. “Guess that’s toast too.”
Jack shifted, claws fumbling with the remains of your bra, what was left of the cups shredded and hanging from one strap. “Didn’t—” he rasped, voice cracking, “didn’t mean to.”
You snorted, half delirious, letting him help pull your dirty t-shirt back down over your shoulders, trying to keep what modesty you had left.
“Yeah, well,” you sighed, “you owe me a shopping trip.”
A surprised sound rumbled from him—almost a laugh—before he bent to fix his own jeans, dragging them back up around his hips, claws clumsy from lingering adrenaline. He tried to tug his hoodie over his head, only to growl when it stuck to his sweaty back, the sleeves twisted.
“Hot,” he grunted, voice frustrated, trying to shrug out of it. “Too…tight.”
You had to bite your lip to keep from giggling as you watched him wrestle with the oversized, shredded hoodie, muscles flexing and straining as sweat dripped down the lean, scarred lines of his back and chest.
“Jack,” you teased softly, “you’re gonna rip that too.”
He shot you a sulky look, then finally tossed the hoodie aside, leaving his bare skin gleaming under the moonlight.
You spotted his mask in the dirt, cracked and stained, and you picked it up with a shaky hand.
“Here,” you whispered, offering it to him.
He stared at it, hollow eye sockets softening, then took it gently from you. Jack sighed, then leaned down and scooped you into his arms like you weighed no more than a feather.
You couldn’t help a startled little laugh, clinging to his neck. “Jack—!”
“My sweet girl,” he repeated, voice quieter now, more sure. “Taking you home.”
Your heart ached at that—so familiar, so safe despite everything.
He turned, stepping carefully through the underbrush, still clutching you close as if you’d vanish if he let go. You rested your head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed, hearing only the rhythmic pounding of his heart and the slow, steady steps through the woods.
The broken flashlight swung from his claw, the cracked mask tucked into the crook of his elbow, a battered promise that somehow, the two of you had survived one more night together.
The night air clung to your skin as Jack stepped carefully along the familiar path, carrying you easily in his arms. When you saw the glow of your porch lights through the trees, you almost sobbed with relief, clinging to him tighter—and he just kept walking, carrying you still. You could see the silhouette of your fence ahead, the place where, for so many nights, you’d waited on one side while he stayed on the other, the fragile, invisible line you’d both respected all this time.
But now—
Jack shifted you in his hold, reaching out with one clawed hand to unlatch the fence gate. It creaked open, spilling a pool of soft porch light across the grass. And just like that, he stepped through, crossing the boundary he’d never dared to cross before. It was almost ceremonial, the moment so huge it stole your breath.
He came through, you thought in a daze. He finally came through.
He didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate, just carried you straight toward the back door, nudging it open with his shoulder. The house was cool inside, smelling of candle wax and lemon dish soap—so normal, so safe compared to the horror outside. The floorboards were faintly warm from the day’s sun, and the air conditioners hummed, washing over your sticky, bruised skin.
Jack set you down gently, claws steady even if you could feel him trembling. Then, without a word, he guided you to the bathroom, flipping on the light with an awkward flick of his elbow. You winced at the sudden brightness.
You didn’t even have to ask, he handled everything. Undressing you again, running warm water over your washcloth, holding you tight. He knelt in front of you, running the damp cloth across your arms, your belly, carefully dabbing away the drying blood and mess between your legs. His gray skin was flushed darker in patches, his eye sockets soft around the edges, hollow but somehow tender.
“Stay still,” he mumbled, voice low and rough, so much clearer now.
You let him clean you, trembling, heart pounding at every careful sweep of the cloth. He undressed too, cleaning the still bloodied and slick-stained parts of his body, running the rag over his jaw and neck. When he was done, you leaned against him, boneless and trusting, letting him gather you back up into his arms.
This time he carried you to your room, the house dim and quiet except for the chirping bugs outside. He paused at the foot of your bed, as if making sure you really wanted him there, the question unspoken.
You reached up and cupped his jaw. “Jack… just get in,” you whispered.
His shoulders slumped in relief, and he eased you down onto the mattress, then crawled in after you—still completely naked, still warm with the sticky night air and smelling of earth and moonlight and something feral you couldn’t name.
The sheets tangled around you both as he curled protectively against your back, claws twitching, breath tickling your ear. You could feel every line of his strong, scarred body pressed to yours, his skin so hot it almost burned.
He buried his face against your shoulder, exhaling shakily. “No more gate,” he rasped, like it was a confession. “No more fence.”
You nodded, tears pricking your eyes. “No more fence,” you agreed, voice soft and breaking.
Jack’s breathing slowed at your back, his chin nestled against the crook of your shoulder as if he might melt right into you. The cicadas outside carried on their summer song, but your room felt impossibly calm, impossibly still.
He shifted, clawed fingers brushing across your ribs, a hesitant stroke. “…Missed you,” he rasped, the words broken but more human than you’d heard in days.
You swallowed hard, reaching down to lace your fingers with his. “I missed you too. I was so worried.”
A pained noise rattled out of him, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh. “Didn’t…know where I was,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “Felt…wrong. Everything smelled and looked wrong.”
You turned in his arms, close enough to see the faint scars along his lips, the smear of blood he’d missed near one temple. “Like…a haze?”
He nodded stiffly. “A dream. A bad dream.” His claws flexed in yours. “Couldn’t…stop. Needed—Need you.”
Your heart pinched at that, at how raw he sounded. You reached to smooth his damp hair away from his forehead. “That’s why you didn’t come to the fence?”
“Didn’t want you to see,” he rasped, ashamed, looking away for a second. “Didn’t…trust myself.”
You hugged him tighter, pressing your forehead against his. “Jack, I came looking for you. I wanted to see you. Even if you were… messed up.”
His body shuddered, swallowing a rough, pained sound. “Came…through the gate,” he mumbled, voice almost childlike, like he couldn’t believe it himself.
You smiled, despite everything. “Yeah. You finally crossed my fence.”
A huff of air against your cheek—maybe the closest Jack could get to a laugh. Then he shifted closer, pressing his hips into yours. You could still feel the heavy weight of him, even now, half-hard where he lay against you.
“Still…feel it,” he admitted, cheeks darkening, as if shy.
You gave a nervous little laugh, brushing your fingers through his sweaty hair. “Yeah, I can tell.”
He ducked his head, almost hiding against your neck, mumbling something soft.
“What, baby?” you asked, gentle.
His voice was so raw it cracked in the middle. “…Never gonna leave again.”
Your chest went tight, tears pricking your eyes. You cupped the side of his face. “Good,” you whispered, letting him hear how much you meant it. “Good, Jack. I’m not leaving, either.”
He exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for years, then buried his face against your shoulder again, arms banding around your waist. The two of you lay tangled together in the sticky summer night, hearts pounding, no fences, no gates, no walls left between you.
── .✦
You woke slowly, warmth and stickiness pulling at your senses before your mind could even register what time it was. The curtains glowed with that syrupy gold of a sunrise, a hint of last night still vibrating in the walls.
But what really forced you awake was the strange, achingly sweet pull deep between your legs—a wet, rhythmic swirl that nearly made you arch right out of the bed.
Your eyes shot open, breath lodging in your throat, and you gasped as you fumbled the sheets off your chest—only to see a dark, familiar shadow moving below the covers, a low, wet slurping sound vibrating straight through your bones.
“J-Jack—” you whimpered, voice a strangled mess as you dug trembling fingers into the sheets.
The shape below the blanket shifted, and then a sudden, precise flick of a tongue against your clit made your vision explode in white. You barely managed to shove your hands down to find his hair, grabbing at the strands, when your body snapped—the orgasm crashing over you so hard your knees tried to slam together, your hips twisting helplessly.
Jack didn’t even stop, if anything, his hands pinned your thighs down harder, clawed fingertips dimpling your soft skin as he let you ride the crest of that wave. You were writhing, shaking, trying to push him away, but he only rumbled deep in his chest—a possessive growl that left your body going limp.
When he finally surfaced, crawling up over your body, the blanket fell away to show his face—drool smeared his chin, along with your slick, and all three of his tongues curled out to lap at the air before sliding back behind sharp teeth.
He was panting, like he’d been starved all night.
“J-Jack,” you tried to breathe, grabbing his shoulders as he hovered over you, “didn’t we… didn’t we handle this last night?”
A pitiful, rough whine left him, one of his hands curling against the pillow beside your head. “Not enough,” he croaked, voice shredded, raw. “Need…more.”
His hips dipped against yours, and you felt the hard, achingly hot length of him, smearing against your thigh. A tremor shot through you, panic mixing with want.
“Jack, please—”
“Need you,” he repeated, lower this time, a snarl clawing through his words as his claws scraped the bedding beside your head, inches from your skin. “More.”
His body pressed you down into the mattress, wild, unstoppable, like the night had barely scratched the surface of what he needed.
Your breath caught in your throat, tangled between fear and something so shamefully eager you could hardly stand it. Jack loomed over you, the heat rolling off his body, eyes like pits of pitch and night, starved even after everything.
He lowered his head, nosing along your jaw, breathing you in like you were the only thing left on earth that could save him. “Pretty,” he rasped, tongues flicking out to taste the salt of your sweat, “smell so good…can’t stop…”
His hips rolled against yours again, grinding, thick and hard, and you felt him shiver all the way down to the bones. His claws dug into the sheets beside your ribs, trying to hold himself back, but you knew there was no holding him back.
A flicker of sunlight broke through the curtains then, kissing the two of you in the warm glow—him hunched over you like a beast out of a half-forgotten dream, you trembling and wide-eyed, your hands knotted in his hair.
You swallowed, voice breaking as you dared to smile through the haze.
“Then don’t stop,” you whispered, and you meant it—even if you were terrified, even if everything hurt and burned and ached, you still meant it.
His head bowed, shoulders heaving, and a relieved, broken sound fell from him, more human than you’d heard yet. He pressed his forehead to yours, panting, clutching you like you were the last tether to what was left of him.
And then he surged forward, capturing your lips, those monstrous tongues wrapping around yours, and in that feral, messy kiss you felt every unspoken word he couldn’t form—how he loved you, how he’d always come back, how he could never leave you again.
The world outside kept turning—birdsong and heat, soft light and the creak of old wood—but you were wrapped in him, in that terrifying, impossible devotion.
There was no fence anymore. No boundary.
Just the two of you, locked together, in all the ruin and the tenderness you’d built. Your Jack.
Thanks for reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated!
smut minors DNI 18+ TW: stripper!dom!reader, exhibitionism, cucking lowkey, toby's a cute little virgin, creampie, masky and hoodie are assholes but get humbled so its okay
“Stop shaking kid you’re gonna be fine.”
Masky’s voice was rough as he inhaled his cigarette, glaring at the ‘smoking prohibited’ sign. Toby crossed his arms, rolling his eyes. “Y-You know I can’t help it,” He argued. He sat in between Hoodie and Masky, a small center stage in front of them. Toby was turning twenty two in human years, the brunette a few years away from being frozen in time. Proxies didn’t get much time off, if any. If they did it was heavily monitored and limited. Whether or not Masky would admit it though, he went out of his way to get Toby the ultimate birthday surprise. The Operator favored Toby over the others, the little ticking time bomb his not so subtle favorite. So Masky arranged a private dance with an experienced stripper, one that Ben had used before as well as Jeff. That way Toby wouldn’t be self conscious about his appearance if it were to escalate.
Masky was ninety percent sure the kid was a virgin, no matter what he told them. It wasn’t like Toby had unlimited options so Masky wasn’t judging, but he wanted to assist for the kids birthday. So here they sat, in the private room of a club. A body guard stood outside, one Ben paid lots of crypto to keep quiet about anything that happens inside of the velvet walls. Hoodie sat silently, his mind spinning with the sick things he’d rather do to you than just watch. But he would settle for now and let Toby have his moment. Toby sat anxiously, excitement and nervousness coursing through his veins. The three men were waiting patiently, their hungry gazes flickering to the door as it opened.
You were a seasoned stripper, to put it lightly. You had seen it all, heard it all, done it all. It was hard work, but staying loyal and quiet got you the best clientele. Ben Drowned was one of your favorite little pets, the blonde randomly sending you wads of cash for existing sometimes. So when he asked you for a favor, you knew you wouldn’t mind helping him out. You knew all sorts of weirdos lived out there, murderous immortals the least of your problems. Fluffing your hair you walked down the mysterious long hallway, the dim purple led lights the only lighting provided. You passed by many rooms, ignoring the sounds of moans and laughter. You took a deep breath as you nodded to your body guard, shoving off your fur coat and handing it to him for safe keeping. You despised leaving with a cum drenched coat. You opened the door, painting on a smile as you met the gaze of three hungry men. The longer you looked at them the more this was making sense, each of them more different than the last.
The one thing that was consistent though? The mask that hid their real faces. Your body guard closed the door behind you, trapping you with three mysterious buyers. "I heard it's somebodies birthday. Whose my lucky boy?" You asked. The one in the middle awkwardly squirmed in his seat. You grinned at the sight of his nervousness. "You must be Toby," You say, walking over to him. The clicking of your heels bounced off of the velvet walls, the three men mesmerized by you. "T-That I a-am," He sputtered. You found his stuttering adorable, causing you to lean over. You planted your hands on his knees, your breast falling out of your top as you leaned over him. "Tell me what you want me to do birthday boy," You purred seductively. Your touch seemed to make him visibly flustered, his hands shaky. "A d-d-dance would be nice," He concluded. You took a hint, noting his vibration seemed to be from your touch. You stepped onto the small stage, gripping the pole as you had many times before. You did a simple twirl, before doing the same chorography you had done dozens of time before. It was the perfect sequence. It showed just enough od your tits and ass without taking them fully out. "Cmon prude lose the panties," The hooded man grumbled, who you figured to be Hoodie. You shot him a nasty look, before returning your lustful gaze to Toby.
A cough interrupted the trance you and Toby were under, your gaze flickering over to him. He had already lit another cigarette, his mask off and beside him. Masky. You mentally scoffed at their rudeness, keeping in mind they named themselves Masky and Hoodie, they weren't all that. You played with the hems of your panties, relishing in the sight of Toby refraining from drooling. "Lose the top already," Masky huffed. Toby elbowed him, shooting him a dirty look. "D-Dude shut up," He argued. Masky rolled his eyes, taking another hit of his cigarette. "She's a stripper not an onlyfans model, we paid for tits, I wanna see some tits," He debated. The two began to bicker, arguing about respecting you. Hoodie sat their silently, his ominous gaze never straying from you.
"S-She's a p-p-person Masky!"
"Kid we paid for a service i'm just simply asking for the service."
In a swift motion you took a step down from the stage, placing your sharp six inch heel in between Masky's legs. It was mere centimeters away from his crotch, the proxies face paling at the sight. "Enough. Dipshit one and two, go over there," You ordered. You gestured your head to the right, signaling for them to move. Masky scoffed, rolling his eyes. You leaned over, grabbing the cigarette from his lips and placing it between your own. Confidently you leaned back, watching his lips part ever so slightly in surprise. "Now doggy," You barked. Masky tried to act like he wasn't intimidated, moving over to sit beside Hoodie. You inhaled the cigarette, plopping down beside Toby. "You want me to touch you baby?" You whispered, exhaling the smoke through your nose. Toby was mesmerized by you, your dominance only adding to your seductive aura. He nodded sheepishly, afraid to meet your gaze. You lifted his orange goggles off of his eyes, before tilting his chin upwards. "Words Tobias," You cooed. Toby swallowed, sputtering out consent. You grinned, your gaze briefly flickering over to the other two men. "You both have permission to watch and touch yourselves but if you interfere I won't hesitate to kick you out," You spat.
The proxies were not used to being bossed around by anyone besides their supernatural boss. You were ethereal, drop dead gorgeous, and your dominance only added to that. Masky's face turned a tint of pink, while Hoodie was suddenly thankful he hadn't removed his mask no matter how hot it was under there. You took one last hit of the cigarette before carelessly throwing it at the two proxies. You hadn't bothered to see where it had landed, your attention turning back to Toby. "Your friends are assholes, but I like you cutie," You purred. You maintained eye contact with his puppy dog eyes, pulling down his face mask. The gash in his cheek didn't bother you, considering you had seen Jeff before. You pressed your lips against his, Toby melting under your touch. He didn't have much experience kissing, but your lips were patient and kind, allowing him to catch up with you. You smelled delicious, your vanilla perfume flooding his nostrils. Gently you placed your hand on his knee, creeping upwards towards his thigh. "Can I taste you?" You purred. His pupils were blown with lust. "B-But aren't you tasting me r-r-right now?" Toby stuttered.
You grinned as you looked down at the noticeable tent that had formed in his pants. Toby realized what you meant, his face flushing red. "O-Oh. Y-y-yes please," He pleaded. You crawled down onto the floor, helping the brunette pull down his pants and boxers. You glanced over at the other two proxies, who were silently watching in awe. Their cocks were hard as well, begging to be let out of their pants. Toby's cock was hard and erect, the tip already leaking precum. You licked your lips as you licked up the underside of it. "I need you to be as loud as you can baby, let everyone know how good I make you feel," You ordered. Toby tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, watching as you fully placed his cock in your mouth. You lowered your head onto his shaft, before beginning to bob your head up and down. Toby's whimpers were so pathetic it was making you horny, your slick beginning to rub on your inner thighs. You kitten licked his tip, swirling your tongue around his slit playfully. HIs hand involuntarily found your hair, unsurely pulling at the locs. You could see Masky and Hoodie out of the corner of your eye, both of their cocks in their hands.
You took Toby deeper, feeding off of the sound of the brunettes moans. You forced your jaw to go slack, taking him to the base. Your nose brushed against his bush, the proxy beneath you trembling in pleasure. You could tell he was getting close to the edge, his cock starting to twitch in your mouth. You quickly pulled off of him, causing him to audibly whine. "Why?" Toby whispered, causing you to grin as you wiped the saliva off of your lips. You crawled on top of him, undoing your top and tossing it to Masky. You shot him a devious smirk before properly straddling Toby. "I wanna feel all of you baby," You purred, running your hands down his chest. You pulled your panties to the side, rubbing your slick up and down his aching cock. "You feel how wet you've made me?" You asked. Toby nodded, practically drooling as he looked down at your dripping cunt. "You've been so good for me. You deserve a reward, don't you birthday boy?" You asked teasingly. Toby babbled pleas of agreement, causing you to glance over at Hoodie and Masky. Both of them were edging themselves at this point, a cocky smile crossing your lips. "See boys? This is what you get when you're a good boy," You laughed, before lifting yourself and guiding Toby's cock inside of you.
You sank lower on his cock, tilting your head back in pleasure. He stretched your walls more then you had anticipated, your unholy sounds genuine. Anxiously Toby grabbed your hips, watching you sink lower and lower until you finally made it to the base. You both sighed in relief, your eyes meeting his. You propped yourself up on his shoulders, using him for support as you began to bounce on his cock. "Fucking hell Toby," You whined, the sound of his name falling off of your lips causing the brunette to lose all composure. His primal instincts kicked in, his hips fucking upwards to match your pace. "That's it baby, such a fast learner," You praised. You could hear Hoodie grunting, Masky biting his lip in an attempt to muffle his own sinful noises. Toby's cock brushed against your g spot perfectly, as if his cock was made for you. Your gummy walls were clinging to him, the brunette losing himself in the pleasure as he fucked you. "You f-f-feel so good," Toby sputtered. You grinned as you grabbed his face and forced him to look up at you. "So do you cutie," You purred.
You pressed your lips against his, both of you groaning into each others mouths as you rode his cock. Meanwhile Hoodie and Masky were panting messes, Masky's orgasm coming first. He rutted his hips up into his hand, obsessed with imagining you riding him instead of Toby. Hoodie was trying to hold on, watching as you slid your hand down to your clit. Drawing the slow circles gave that extra stimulation you needed, your moans growing louder. You nibbled on Toby's bottom lip, your eyes fluttering open. "Cum with me Toby. Cum deep inside of me birthday boy," You encouraged, your walls squeezing him tighter. Toby gripped your hips harder, fucking up into you one last time as he experienced pure euphoria. You cursed as you came right after him, his warm seed flooding your cunt. You both sat intertwined for a moment, panting in unison. You glanced over at Hoodie, who had yet to finish. Masky sat silently, his hand covered in white ropes. You slowly climbed off of Toby, shooting daggers at Hoodie. "You're lucky I feel like being nice," You hummed.
Confidently you sat on the stage in front of Hoodie, spreading your legs. It gave Hoodie the perfect view of your puffy red cunt. Toby's seed began to spill out of your abused pussy, dripping out of you. You smirked as Hoodie's eyes widened under his mask.
sum: after a particularly irritating mission, you decide to yap about it and complain the entire time masky drives you home. instead of having the patience to let it go, he decides you need a more hands on lesson to simmer down as The Operators newest proxy
tw: SMUT MINORS DNI 18+. new proxy reader x leader proxy masky (duh). SLAPPING (just once tho), oxygen deprivation, leather kink (maybe?), maskys an aggressive taunting dirty dog, orgasm denial
a/n: me returning after disappearing for almost a year with this fic😵💫
“I’m just fucking saying if boss man is gonna send us to a shit hole with two pistols and an axe, least he could do was send us home in a decent car.”
Masky leaned his elbow against the car door as he drove, trying to have as much patience as possible. You were the newest proxy, still had some spunk in you. He knew that. That’s why The Operator had sent you two on a duo mission together without Hoodie or Toby. You talked. A lot. So much so Masky never thought he was going to get your voice out of his head. He often wondered if you just spoke every thought you ever had aloud. One gloved hand drives the car with the steering wheel, while the other holds his head up, a cigarette lazily hanging from his lips. You were a handful and Masky didn’t have a clue on how to handle you.
“I’m serious like I don’t even know car models or anything but this thing has to be from the 50’s with how much rust it’s covered in,” You continue, angrily shifting uncomfortably in your seat. “Oh and on top of that there’s no AC since it’s so ancient so we have to crack the windows to not burn to death. And i’m just letting you know now I don’t do bugs,” You rambled.
“Uh huh.”
You cross your legs and arms defensively
“Like I get we’re tasked to go and murder people and woohoo but he could at least give us decent accommodations starting with giving us decent fucking cars to drive home with. Cause now we’re gonna be stuck with it. Jeff won’t steal it, Ben doesn’t need to drive, and EJ will pretend it doesn’t exist,” You persist, counting off the list on your fingers. “Oh Toby’s going to think we’re a laughing stock once we pull up in this, the kid will laugh at anything. And Hoodie? That sick bastard is gonna pity us. PITY us,” You continued. Masky side eyed you for that one, his mask discarded on the dashboard.
“Let’s be real for a second if there’s a pervert looking down on us there’s something clearly wrong and it’s all The Operator’s fault for sticking us with this awful piece of scrap metal,” You babbled. Masky’s patience was thinning. But surely this had to be the end of your ranting, right? What else could possibly be said? He didn’t mind others venting in his proximity. As long as they didn’t expect advice from him or anything. But Masky couldn’t figure out if you were talking to yourself or him or both. “Oh and the mission??? That was the stupidest shit we’ve done yet. Like what do you mean we’re stealing organs from a hospital? Can Jack suddenly not hunt? He looks fine to me. He’s a 6’3 demon hybrid with the intelligence of Albert Einstein, he doesn’t need us doordashing for him,” You say bitterly, groaning in annoyance as you try to adjust the seat.
“Oh and another thing-”
That did it.
Your voice goes flat when Masky stops the car suddenly. You were on a backroad so you supposed it didn’t matter, but what on earth could he be doing? Masky threw his cigarette aggressively into the woods, stomping around to your side of the car. He opened your car door, the metal opening with a creak. He went to undo your seatbelt, only to realize you weren’t wearing one. Of course you weren’t, stupid kid. With a smooth motion he picked you up like a sack of potatoes, ignoring your vulgar insults as he opened the backseat door, throwing you down on the scrappy leather. He put one gloved hand over your mouth, towering over you. “Listen kid i’m going to only tell you this once. Everything you’re bitching about is the stuff we get to put up with for the rest of eternity. You think this mission sucked? That every other mission is gonna be fun and rainbows? They’re not,” Masky grunts. He fully crawls on top of you, your eyes wide as you look up at him. Your hands instinctively grab his jacket as he holds his hand over your mouth. “Stealing organs is easy compared to torturing random people, never knowing if they’re telling the truth and still having to kill them in the end. One time Toby had to shoot a nosy kid who saw us unloading a body. You think being a proxy is going to be fun?” Masky seethed, the gory memories flashing through his mind. He was glad Tim didn’t take his meds, you needed to be put in your place by Masky.
“In my opinion? You need to shut the fuck up and do what you’re told without question. Because if the Operator gets word of your big mouth, his static becomes more painful than anything else you could imagine. Don’t compare yourself to Jeff and his loose lipped ass. He’s not a proxy, you are. Now just do everyone a favor and shut up,” Masky grunts. He slowly moves his gloved hand, hoping his words had seeped in.
“You can’t seriously-”
SMACK.
The feeling of Masky’s gloved hand colliding with your cheek echoed through out the car. What Masky couldn’t understand though, was the low whimper that escaped your lips. For the first time since he had pinned you, he looked at you. Really looked at you. Your flash was flushed, chest heaving, pupils blown as you swallowed. There’s no way. There’s no way you were turned on. That’s when Masky noticed how close his crotch was to your groin, your skirt riding up your thighs as your hips bucked towards him. His eyes widen for a second before he realizes. “Oh I see. You’re just sexually frustrated. How pathetic. You haven’t found a fuck buddy yet? Can’t be hard, with a mansion full of mostly men,” Masky asks, raising an eyebrow. You shake your head no, the sadistic proxy on top of you grinning. “Well i’ll be damned. I’ll take care of your problem just this once brat, I won’t become fuck buddies with another proxy, too messy,” He says. You gasped as he cups your panties, a low whistle escaping him, “And apparently, so are you.”
His gloved hand rubbed against your folds through your panties, the fabric soaked. You had only been around for a few months, were you really this touch deprived already? Masky smirked at his own cocky thought as he rubbed agonizingly slow circles around your clothed clit. You let out a moan, bucking your hips upwards and towards his hand. “Well look at that, the big bad new proxy has finally shut up. Good, not another word from you,” Masky orders, his tone leaving no room for argument. You whined as he continued to tease you, your eyes fluttering shut as you sought out more friction. You deserved this. You deserved to be teased until you were shaking, all because of your big fat mouth. Masky didn’t stop until you squirmed, a dangerous smile crossing his lips. “You’re lucky i’m feeling generous princess. Normally i’d make filthy girls like you suck me off until you passout, but i’m feeling extra nice,” He chuckled darkly. He began to undo his belt, your mouth practically salivating. Fuck, you really were this touch deprived already. Three months had done you in and now you were opening your legs wide in the backseat of a filthy car on the side of the road.
Once fully exposed Masky pumps his cock a few times, pushing your panties to the side. He had to admit it had been almost a year since he had found time to get laid and the sight of your slick was almost enough to make him lose composure. “Such a pretty pussy,” He praises, nudging his head at your entrance. You grip his jacket as he sinks in, almost having forgotten what a cock inside of you felt like. You let out a whine, Masky’s gloved hand returning to your lips. “What’d I say princess? Now be quiet and take it,” He groans, slightly losing his intimidating composure as he bottoms out. His thrusts are slow at first, testing the waters with your body. “You take me well,” Masky praises, grinning to himself as you moan into his gloved hand. The oxygen deprivation was making you light headed but with each thrust against your g spot, you decided that didn’t really matter. Your moans and groans were muffled, the sound of skin against skin flooding the cars interior. Masky had left your door open on purpose, knowing the humiliation you’d feel on the slight chance of anyone hearing you. He figured you needed that sensation, just to ensure you were knocked down a few pegs.
Masky’s thrust became harder as his other hand dug into your waist, holding you still. “Such a squirmer. Don’t run away now, your body is begging for this,” Masky chuckles before slamming into you harder, grunting as your walls clench around him. You could feel a sensation you hadn’t felt in a long time, your body teetering on the edge of euphoria. You held onto the wrist connecting to the hand that covered your mouth, your head spinning as you try to remember to breathe out of your nose. Masky grins ferally as he feels you close to your orgasm. Without warning he pulls out and jerks off, cumming on your pussy. His warm seed drips down your folds, the lead proxy’s face full of contentment. You whine at the loss of friction, your body squirming. Masky grins a sadistic smile as he looks at you. “Only good girls get to cum. Bad girls like you are don’t get to,” He huffs. He puts himself back in his jeans, lazily reaching into the glove box upfront and cleaning you up. You were so desperate you even tried to grind against the napkins. Dissatisfied, you whined at the loss of Masky removing his hand from your mouth.
“You’re a fucking asshole,” You complain, nose scrunched up and eyebrows furrowed. Just as you’re about to elaborate as a large moth flies into the car, making you practically scream as you throw yourself at Masky. The older proxy chuckled, wrapping one arm around you as the large moth flew around. You were gonna be a fun one.
can u PRETTY PLEASE WITH A CHERRY ON TOP make mateo manta p links :3
MATEO MANTA P!LINKS // NSFW/SMUT
A/N: I really wanna hug this guy,,, as a bigger person projecting, I know his cuddles would be amazing, HE'S LITERALLY A BLANKET I need him so baddddd :,( I tried my best to find links with people with chubbier builds, but these accounts I follow aren't too friendly with that, but the search will continue in future posts I PROMISE!!! I love another fellow animal lover <3
Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, AFAB reader, switch reader and Mateo, p in v, riding, dry humping, super vanilla, nipple play, handjobs, blowjobs, teasing, edging, cunnilingus, face sitting, creampies. Let me know if anything is/was missed, as well for broken links!
Mateo doing nothing but muttering as he fucked you.
Watching you ride his cock made Mateo lose his mind beneath you.
Mateo's lips simply can't leave your nipples.
You and Maeto getting cozy in bed.
Gently teasing Mateo while sucking him off.
Mateo squirming beneath your touch is something you will always love.
Mateo loves getting off to your pretty cries as you ride him.
TW: Overstimulation, sexual torture, vibrator, feet?
A/N: In my brain, Jack can't become overstimulated. He just... rages.
𐚁₊⊹
Jack regretted his decision from the moment he made it.
It was his own fault, curiosity tugging at his interests to land him tied to his own desk chair, heaving for breath.
The demon was more of a traditional fucker, using his own devices to make you both feel good. He deemed his claws, tongues, and dick good enough to please you, so why would you need more?
So, when your mysterious toy appeared as he was kissing along your neck, he should’ve known better than to ask. Should've known better than to question what could be so good about a buzzing little wand.
But now here he was, claws tearing into the leather of his chair as you sat on his desk, pushing your foot against the vibrator strapped to his cock. The rumbling was driving him insane, feet digging into the hardwood as he hissed, the rope you had found tied surprisingly well against his limbs.
“Fuckin’ turn it off…” He snapped, hips digging up into your foot as you pressed harder, his length aching and sensitive to the touch. You smiled, your legs straightening to push up, and the demon’s hitched whine sent chills through your body. Strings of cum decorated his lower abdomen, staining the waistband of his jeans tugged around his thighs. "I get it- my turn now-" He jumbled, clenching his jaw. He had already come more than he wanted to, balls aching and cock swelling with sensitivity, the toy relentless.
Shaking your head, you smiled, pressing your toes down to get a better press on the toy. "Every time we have sex, I always end up crying because of how rough you are. I think this is a good repayment." You chirped back, your other foot pressed on his knee to widen his legs, shifting him further into his desk chair. The demon growled, eye sockets tensing and squinting with every jerk of his cock.
Jack kicked his feet, trying to angle his hips away but could not. The vibrator was tugging at some guttural feeling, some instinctual reaction he knew he wouldn't be able to handle, especially you. "Y/N-" He groaned, head falling back against the back of the chair as you slid your foot up and down his length, stimulating his cock to push precum from the tip. The toy was achingly sweet, the demon feeling his grasp on himself slipping the more it strained him. He was going to cum again, and he didn't know if he could restrain anymore.
You watched carefully, his cock twitching and writhing as he whined, Jack's claws tearing shreds of leather from his armrests as he felt his cock pulse, head shooting up. "Y/N-" He snapped. He was so close, the toy making him reach orgasm a lot faster than usual, but it messed with his senses, messed with his urges. He didn't know what was happening, but the sensations in his gut told him the frequent cumming was tricking his brain into a forced rut.
His brain repeated the same sentence... 'Grab them, fuck them, eat them, breed them, take them...'
Strings of cum were whipping from his cock, the tip red and angry as he gnashed his teeth, sharp tips cutting into his lip. Jack felt like he couldn't breathe, his senses becoming too full and stimulated as he watched your face, vision swirling between clear and unfocused.
That's when he lost it, your little smile flipping the internal switch he was so desperately holding onto, letting himself fall apart.
His jaw went loose, the demon's shoulder craning in and jerking his body, growls and whimpers echoing from his throat. "Fuck..." He snapped, the thick black substance leaking from his eye sockets doubling, dribbling down his cheeks and onto his shirt, dripping from his chin.
You kept your foot still, the vibrator continuously rumbling and jerking his cock, but it was almost like he couldn't feel it anymore. His attention was too focused on his slack jaw, his mouth hanging open as you watched his sharp teeth gleam, seemingly extending and contorting in his mouth, desperate for something to latch onto. Likewise, with his claws, the nails well-torn through the leather and desperately grasping in your direction, digging at the rope snugged onto his wrists.
"Jack...?" You questioned, letting your foot slip from the toy and onto his legs, leaning forward. Your boyfriend looked dazed, body aching and twitching as the toy rumbled, thighs clenching with every shock. The demon urged you to take the bait when his tongues finally slipped from his lips, lulling and slithering against his jaw, collecting the black liquid dripping onto his clothes. You watched, leaning closer and closer, curiosity tugging you in.
You felt the warm claws gripped around your throat before you heard the rope snap, the demon's body propelling on top of yours and shoving your back down into the desk, the wood cracking. "Jack!" You shrieked, pressing your hands against his face as his mock tears dripped onto your face, running down your cheeks. The demon just laughed, sharp teeth gleaming as he snapped, nipping at your skin. "What? Little thing doesn't want to play anymore?" His chest heaved, panting against your skin as his fangs gleamed, hungry and ready.
His voice sounded deeper too, more grumbled and primal, possessive. His claws sunk into your skin, their length doubled as his hand wrapped around the entirety of your neck, a gasp ringing from your lips before abruptly snapping off. "So cruel..." Jack tsked, pursing his lips as he ran a digit down to your jaw, pressing against your flushed skin. "You were so mean to me..."
Apologies rang, desperate hands pushing against his chest as the vibrator was long forgotten on the floor, the toy still buzzing as you felt a swelled cock rutting against your clothed crotch. "My turn." He chuckled, leaning down towards your face to swipe one of his tongues along the side of your face, circling your ear and sending chills. You whined; legs forced to separate as you glanced down, the base of Jack's length already swelling. A forced rut. The ribbed cock, red and angry, hanging heavy between his legs was evidence of that.
"Fuck." You whimpered, watching the length bob and grind against you, your thighs aching and abdomen fluttering with every press of his hips. Something about ruts just made Jack so much bigger, his body converting into this thing like he really was becoming a demon. You'd done it now for sure.
"Open up, little thing," Jack growled, jaw hanging open as his tongues swirled together, pressing against your lips and forcing their way into the warmth of your mouth, aiming to fill your throat. You gagged, whining when you felt your pants forcefully shagged off of your thighs, the demon humming his eagerness into your mouth.
see now this is a tough one. I am a big poly!ticcijack truther because like. those are my boyfriends. I want them both don’t make me choose :/
but logistically, Toby and Jack would both be fucking nightmares in a poly relationship. Toby is a violently jealous fuck, and Jack is one territorial bastard. They probably only agreed to it because this was the only way for them to get their hands on you.
But it is… Not healthy lmfao. Constant fighting. Toby probably tries to kill Jack a few times in an attempt to eliminate the competition. Jack probably knocks him out so that he can whisk you off on a date without Toby throwing a bitch fit about it. It’ll become a common reoccurrence to come home and find the two of them at each other’s throats - Toby with his hatchets in hand, Jack two seconds away from tearing Toby’s heart out with his bare hands.
It’s just like, constant soothing and conflict resolution on your part. Both of them always trying to sabotage the other.
“I’m your fa-favourite, right? I know you luh-love me more.”
“I love both of you.”
“Okay, but if you ha-had to pick-“
or:
“It baffles me how you just put up with his immaturity.”
“Jack, you literally knocked him out cold this morning.”
“He deserved it.”
so like. yeah they’re down*. (asterisk meaning VERY begrudgingly.)
as for the other creeps, I see Brian being down. He’s probably the least jealous out of everyone.
(tumblr’s glitching blah blah blah you get it we’ve been down this road)
anyway this is hot as FUCK. started salivating thinking about it tbfh. LMAOOOOO OKAY
so like walk with me - Toby was probably only really planning on popping in once, grabbing a few mags and then using those as jerk off material for a few months at least. He’s a simple man, he really doesn’t need much, he could beat off to a simple nip slip tbh
but then he sees you behind the counter. young and cute, nothing like the sleazy old man he would’ve expected to be working here. sat behind the counter with your legs kicked up on the desk as you scroll through your phone in boredom, you look like sin. Too fucking sweet to be surrounded by nudie mags and porno dvds. He nearly turns on his heel and fuckin beelines it out of there bc he’s not at all prepared for this - but then you catch his gaze.
So he awkwardly clears his throat, gives you a curt nod and scurries over to the magazine rack with stiff shoulders and his heart in his fucking throat. digging his nails into his palm to dry and suppress a fit of tics but it doesn’t work so he’s left with joints twitching and jerking because he can feel your eyes on him and it’s stressing him the FUCK out lmao. he just came to buy some porn man he didn’t sign up for having to interact with a cute girl!! that’s like so unfair!
doesn’t make eye contact with you the entire time he’s paying, and his hands are shaking so much that he drops all the coins in his wallet and has to pick em all up off the ground while stammering out pathetic little apologizes (so fucking pathetic I want to put him in a blender I love him so much) while you just watch on - pleasantly amused. Because this was a nice change. Most of your customers were gross old men or incels that just ogled your tits the entire time and tried to hit on you. This guy was struggling to even breathe the same air as you right now.
He’s red as a tomato when he finally pays and snatches the magazines from you so quick you can’t even say goodbye before he’s nearly fucking sprinting out of the establishment LOLLLL
Hightails it to his truck, all twitchy and so fucking hot under his collar he barely even gets the door fully closed before he’s slumping into his seat and bringing a hand down to cup the bulge in his jeans. He’s praying you didn’t see it, but he’s been hard since your sweet soft voice asked him if he was ready to check out.
Beats one out obv, bc he’d probably get into a fucking car crash if he didn’t with how fogged up his mind was. One hand stroking his cock, the other one thumbing through the mags he just bought - trying to imagine that all those models were you instead. What you looked like under those clothes of yours, what face you’d make as he all but folded you in half
Ruins one mag by nutting on it mere minutes after buying it lmfao. Good :) An excuse to come back and buy another one :)
He becomes a regular customer. Like way too often lmfao. To the point where you’re wondering how one guy could need so many playboy mags. He never gets better with you, staying as that same twitchy blushing mess that you’d met the first day. He doesn’t talk much, and when he does it’s so quiet you have to strain to hear him. Mumbled out stuttered words, his gaze flicking all over the place as he forces them out. Like being around you was slowly choking him out.
It wasn’t, it was just that being around you made all the blood in his body rush right down to his dick - not leaving much left to power his body to do other things. Like act normal lmfao.
You get curious. Doesn’t help that you think he’s just so cute. A little pervy, obviously, but downright adorable with the way he acted like he’d never spoken to a woman in his life. So you start doing your own imagining. What he gets up to, what kind of place he lives in, how he interacts with other people, what he looked like when he was getting an eyeful of those mags you sold him. You’d bet big money he’d get just as red as when he was with you. All twitchy and gasping for air, face crinkled up with glassy eyes.
It’s a bad idea, but one day you follow him. Going through the motions of the same old routine - greeting him only to get a weak little nod in response, taking the cash out of his shaky fingers, watching him scamper out of the building like he had just committed a crime. You just can’t help yourself. He always looked so eager to leave, and you wanted to know why. Was it just because he was that socially awkward? Or did he have… Other matters to attend to?
You weren’t blind, you’d noticed his hard on quite a few times while cashing him out. You’d just never mentioned it because you were pretty sure he’d pop a major artery and pass the fuck out right in front of you if you did. But you knew. Had seen him not so discreetly trying to adjust his pants while you thumbed through the bills he gave you way slower than you needed to. Just to keep him here longer. Just to make him sweat.
You wait a minute before slipping out of the store behind him. Flipping the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’ and locking up early. It’s not difficult to spot him, already halfway down the street, speedwalking like a madman towards some old beat up truck. You watch as he unlocks it then slips inside - and through the windshield you can see it when he just absolutely slumps into the seat. His whole body going more relaxed than you’d ever seen him.
You notice his hands reach down, but you can’t see much else. Didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was doing though. And that’s fucking bold. Right here on a public street? In a truck with no tints, no less. It probably should’ve turned you off completely, probably should’ve had you thinking he was a fucking creep you should stay far away from.
…But it didn’t.
It only spurred you on more. Made you into the creep in the situation, watching this guy jerk off in his truck from a few feet away. You don’t even realize you’re moving until you’re finding yourself walking right up to his windowsill - eyes going wide at the sight you’ve found.
One magazine open and abandoned on the passenger’s seat, his pants tugged down just enough to get his cock out. Which, he was furiously stroking like a man on a damn mission. Like he’d burst into flames if he didn’t get his rocks off. Face all scrunched, head tilted back as he gasped for air - precum dribbling down onto his knuckles.
And it’s exactly what you’d been hoping to see.
You don’t really think it through before you knock on his window, maybe you should’ve - because honestly you could’ve fucking killed him. It looks like you shocked him into having a damn stroke. You’d swear his ass left the seat with how violently he jolted. Limbs flailing, eyes straight up bugging out of his skull - looking like he could damn near cry as he hastily tried to shove his still hard cock back into his boxers while staring at you like you’d just killed a man in front of him.
You just giggle softly, and motion for him to roll the window down. This time he nearly does pass out. Because you’re smiling? You’re not disgusted? You just caught him in the middle of absolute depravity and you’re smiling at him??? It takes a few moments for your actions to compute in his head, before he reaches over with his clean hand and rolls the window down like you’d asked.
He’s too stunned he can’t even speak. Can’t even attempt to defend himself.
Good thing you don’t want him toooooooo ;)
“Need help?” You ask him softly, leaning up against the door of his truck, and he’s struggling to breathe. You’re looking at him, lips curved into an intoxicating little smirk, pupils wide as your eyes flicker between his face and the barely covered bulge in his jeans.
He blinks a few times, mouth gaping like a fish out of water because… what? He’s hallucinating right? Did he actually pass out somewhere along the way beforehand, and now he was dreaming? Because there’s just no way. There’s no way you’re offering what he thinks you’re offering.
“..Huh?” He manages to choke out, beginning to feel lightheaded - because he’s just now learning that he hasn’t taken a single breath since you showed up.
“Can’t be fun, gettin’ off like this.” You murmur back out to him, leaning your elbows against his windowsill. “You’ve spent a fortune on those mags. Dont’cha want more?” You meet his eyes for a split second before he’s looking away again. “I could give you more.”
It takes a second, because at first he thinks you’re fucking with him. It sure seems like a joke, having someone as beautiful as you offering up something so lewd. But you don’t laugh, You don’t snicker or point fingers, you just stay as you are - leaned up against his truck, the desire in your gaze so potent it makes his skin itch.
So, he finds himself nodding, almost on autopilot. The throbbing in his jeans making it hard to think rationally. Besides, this was definitely a once in a lifetime experience. If he shooed you away he’s be kicking himself for ages. You were the object of his fantasies after all. You were what he had been cumming to for weeks on end. Not the magazines he was buying. You.
“If… If you’re o-offering.”
That’s all it takes. You’re pulling open the door of his truck so quick it makes him gasp softly, crawling onto his lap even quicker. Sat on top of him, so close he’s breaking into a nervous sweat - his abandoned cock twitching beneath you. And got you can feel him now. So hard, big enough it makes your hips jolt instinctively. You should’ve guessed it. It’s always the quiet ones.
“Shouldn’t you tell me your name?” You ask him softly, hands already going down to where his cock strains against his boxers - tugging him free in an action that makes him let out a hiss through his teeth. You had been right. He’s even cuter like this. “Seen you so many times and you’ve never told me.”
“Toby.” He gasps out, his skin flushes and so hot to the touch as he watches you reach down to pull your own jeans down. Hindered a little by the confined space, but you still get them off - kicking them off of your ankles and throwing them into his backseat. “I-I’m Toby.”
“Toby?” You ask softly, watching him with rapt attending as you bring your hips down, your cunt only covered by your panties, grinding right up against his bare skin. He looks like he could die. “That’s cute. Is it short for somethin’?”
“T-T-“ He can barely even get his lips formed around his own name for fuck’s sake, but you can’t really blame him. None of this feels real. Not your heat, not your touch. Not the slickness of your pussy when you tug your panties to the side. He was sure that any minute now, he be gasping awake in his room - drenched in a cold sweat. “Tobias. It’s sh-short for Tobias.”
“Tobias. I like that.” You grind your bare cunt against his cock, shivering at the feeling of his hardness sliding between your slick folds. “Sounds real formal.”
From there it just progresses and progresses. Almost too fast for Toby to even keep up with, but he’s shocked back to reality real quick when you line him up with your leaking cunt. He can’t help but gasp, teeth gritting so hard he may just crack a tooth and you haven’t even gotten him inside you yet. “This is what you wanted, right Toby?” You ask him softly as you lower yourself down. “This what you’ve been fantasizing about?”
“Y-Yeah- Yeah, fuck-“ He can’t help it when his hands fly upwards, fingers sinking into the soft flesh of your hips. “Please- Please-“
“Had a feeling you’d be the type to beg.” And then you’re sinking down lower, taking him inch by inch, almost caught off guard by the stretch he gives you. Filling you up so good it should be a crime, a dick this perfect hidden within the jeans of someone so unapproachable.
It’s not long until you’re setting a rhythm. Not long until his truck is filled with the filthy sound of skin on skin. The freshly bought magazines on the passenger seat forgotten - abandoned in favour of something real. So wet you’re soaking the front of his jeans, so tight he’s gasping out a moan ever time you drop your hips down. He can barely even breathe, barely even think - but that was alright, he didn’t need to. All he needed to focus on was the feeling of your pussy wrapping around him like a glove. Like you were made for it. Like you had been waiting for it.
Fucking him like your life depended on it. For all you knew the entire truck was shaking, but you didn’t care. Not now. Not when he was nestled so perfectly inside you, nudging up against your g-spot with each stroke in.
You would’ve liked to last longer, but you just can’t. Especially not when he starts bucking his hips up to meet yours -fingernails digging deep into your skin as he leans forwards. Face buried in your tits, panting and huffing against your skin, downright whorish groans slipping from between his lips. He had needed this, you could tell. And well, so did you.
Your orgasm hits you hard, clamping down around him so tight that the grip on your hips nearly breaks skin. Strained whines muffled against your chest, drool and tears wetting the fabric of your shirt. You’re barely able to move, all but convulsing on top of him, but he fucks you straight through it. Iron grip on you as he fucks up into your wetness, begging you so desperately all the while. “P-Please- Please, can I- I’m gonna- Fuck- Pussy’s so tight. Please, baby-“ Incoherent. Just a babbling mess that’s drooling all over you - and it’s so cute. So cute, you’d have to be a much stronger woman not to give in.
“Yeah- Yeah, give it to me.” Choked out, eyes foggy as he fucks into your twitching cunt, fingernails scratching against your skin. You feel his thrusts grow more desperate, feel his hips jerk and his cock twitch inside you. Then, he’s cumming with a strangled groan - bringing his face further into your chest, clinging onto you like he’d die if he ever let go.
And well, you might’ve just lost your most loyal customer.
Good thing you’ve gotten something much better in return.
imagine giving Toby, Brian, or Tim a bikini car wash while they’re squatting in an abandoned house somewhere. like in the middle of a neighborhood during a mission
ALL THREE! AT ONCE! I’m going the… Oblivious ass reader route. Maybe reader knows what she’s doing… Maybe she doesn’t… Regardless, they’re interested
Toby has an aneurysm. It had been a normal day, just lazing around the abandoned house while waiting until nightfall. It was boring, monotonous, and so he found himself meandering into the living room to try and bug Brian and Tim as a means for entertainment.
He gets so much more than that.
Finding Brian perched at the window with his camcorder in hand, he’s immediately interested. Is the target outside? Or had someone found out they were here?
Fortunately not. Unfortunately, the sight he is greeted with through the window pane nearly makes him lightheaded.
It’s… You. Across the street, in the driveway directly parallel to the house they were staying in - dressed in nothing but a skimpy little bikini that just barely covered up the most private bits of your body. You’ve got a hose in hand, a bucket of soap and sponges next to your feet, body bent over hood of your car to spray suds off of the windshield. A pair of ripped denim shorts hang off of your hips, the strings of your bikini bottom poking up over the waistband
It’s like something straight out of one of playboy mags he keeps stashed until his bed back at the cabin.
He’s not subtle, he doesn’t know how to be when graced with a sight like this. His face goes red so quick it’s almost concerning, the flush creeping all the way up to his ears as he takes a step closer to the window - the heat of his breath fogging up the glass as drool pools in the back of his mouth, a few drops seeping out of the gash in his cheek.
“H-Holy shit..” He’s muttering out in awe, his eyes darting over every inch of your form. The way your muscles shift under your skin when you stretch, the droplets of water rolling down your back, down your chest, leaving you glistening under the hot afternoon sun
“Right?” Brian’s humming back to him, not looking away for a second - his gaze staying locked on you through the lens of his camera. “She’s been doin’ this for like an hour now. I’m startin’ to think she knows we’re here.”
“N-No one knows we’re he-here.”
“Yeah? Then she’s just got her tits out for fun then?”
Brian’s been watching you since you first scampered out into your front yard. Got every detail in grainy recording as you stripped off your t-shirt and filled up your soap bucket with the hose. Zooming in on all the best parts. The curve of the underside of your breast, peeking out of your one-size-too-small bikini, the way the hem of your shirts digs into the meat of your ass, the long plane of those smooth legs.
He’s like a director, and you’re his star - whether you know it or not. It was just impossible for him not to jump at the opportunity.
Those two watch from the window like two drooling dogs, Toby having to tear himself away after a bit to scurry off to the bathroom because you strip your shorts off and he’s two seconds away from creaming his pants
Tim, sits on the porch. He doesn’t hide the fact that he’s watching you, because he’s convinced that’s the entire reason you’re doing this all. Putting on such a display, just for your own amusement? He doubted it. You wanted eyes on you.
So he’s plants himself on the porch step, pulls out a pack of smokes, and lights one up as his eyes trail up and down your body. God, this was a treat. Like some higher power was giving them all a little gift for all of the hardships they’d went through.
He doesn’t try to hide his gaze. He waits. Waits for you to notice him - wants to see if you’ll shy away, or if you’ll do exactly what he thinks you will.
And you do.
You catch his gaze when you turn around, and don’t shy away. You let it linger. Let a little smile curve your lips before you reach a hand up and give him a little wave. He knew what that was. You were beckoning him.
“Putting on quite the show.” He’d call over to you, ashing his cigarette onto the dirt below him, his eyes flashing when you just shrug and let out a little giggle.
“Needed to give this thing a wash.” You pat the hood of your car. “And it’s just too hot out.” It’s barely a believable excuse. Tim raises an eyebrow and lets out a disbelieving snort.
“Sure is.” He calls back to you, leaning forwards and resting his elbows on his knees. “Why don’t you come over here? Cool down a little.”
“Oh, I dunno, mister… I’m not one to hang out with strangers.”
“Oh, but you’ll get half naked for them?”
You end up going over. The car never finishes getting washed.
Summary: No matter what you do, you just always find yourself crawling back to him - just the way he likes it.
CW: 18+ content, explicit sexual content, toxic relationships, dealer!Toby, drugging, recreational drug use, drugs other than weed lol, intoxication, dubcon, wet and messy, biting and marking, unsafe sex, creampie, power dynamics, dom/sub undertones, masochistic tendencies, lowkey sadism, dacryphilia, free use if you squint, hair pulling, overstimulation, codependency, established relationship, but its horrible, ‘i can make him worse’ fr fr, Toby’s an asshole, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms (female), lowkey hurt no comfort, like a sprinkle of angst, they’re horrible for each other
Reminder to separate reality from fiction! Acts written here aren’t meant to be encouraged or romanticized - be kind to yourself!
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NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!
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You can’t even count the amount of times you’ve found yourself in this exact same situation.
Sprawled out on Toby’s bed, hair fanned out in a halo around your head, limbs feeling light and loose as your hazy eyes stare up at the ceiling. Stripped out of your hoodie because you had started to sweat, one of Toby’s old t-shirts and a pair of sweats hanging loosely off of your body.
You can hear him beside you, sitting on the floor, back rested up against his bed as he packs another bowl for himself - glass clinking as he taps the side of it with his lighter. You had tried to keep up with him, you always do, and that’s a common mistake you always make. You’d think you would’ve learned by now. Toby lived for this shit. Breathed in more weed smoke than pure oxygen, fully functional on an amount that had you near brainless. You’re hazy, loose, body somehow feeling both light and heavy at the same time as you sink into his sheets - counting each crack in the ceiling to give your mind something to focus on.
You had met him months ago, and it had started out as innocently as it could with the nature of your relationship. Your old dealer stopped selling, and the dispensary shit was too expensive for you to justify. You needed something good, but also affordable. That’s where Toby came in. Introduced by a friend of a friend of a friend, you didn’t know anything about him when you first met up - but you also didn’t need to. This wasn’t a friendship, this was a transactional relationship. Meeting for mere moments at a time, counting the bills you gave him before slipping a little plastic baggie into your coat pocket. He didn’t say much, didn’t linger. Just gave you what you needed, then gave you a slight wave before disappearing off again.
And it went on like that for a while. Meeting up with him every week, handing him cash, getting a nice chunk of kush in exchange.
Until one day, he offered more.
“Got some new shit.” He muttered after stuffing your cash into his back pocket. “You can try it, i-if you want.”
“I don’t have any more money.” You had told him. “I only brought enough to cover my pickup.”
“No charge. I-It’s on me.” He had smiled at you, eyes crinkling at the corners as he tilted his head to the side. “Least I could do. Y-You’re a loyal customer.”
And that, was the catalyst. You had accepted his offer. Let him lead you away to some shitty, beaten down apartment not too far from your meetup spot. You let him smoke you out, let him pack you bowl after bowl, clouding the air of his room with smoke so thick it made your eyes burn. Watched him grow looser, lighter, as you did the exact same. Got so giggly and pliant, eyes drooping as your lips wrapped loosely around a joint you definitely didn’t need.
You let him get closer. Let him join you on the bed. Let him fuck you. You wondered if that was his entire plan, when he invited you over. But, the weed was good and the sex was even better, so there were no complaints on your end as your body arched into his - skin slick with sweat as his hips met yours.
After that, it became a common occurrence. You didn’t even pay anymore. Not in the traditional sense. You just showed up, looked cute as he fed you drugs, then spread your legs when he asked for it. Degrading? Definitely. Demoralizing? Probably. But he felt so good that you couldn’t bring yourself to think too deep into it.
So you kept coming back. Over and over and over again. That’s why you were here right now - not because he had asked you, but because you had knocked on his door. “Feelin’ it?” His voice is thickened by smoke when he speaks to you next, tilting his head back to look at you before he breathes out a thick cloud.
“Yeah.” You breathe back out, lazily directing your gaze back over to him. Breathing heavy, skin feeling tingly. “Shits strong.”
“You-You would think that.” Toby rolls his eyes, setting his bong on the ground next to him before swivelling his body around - peering up at you from the floor as he rests his arms on the mattress. “Fuckin’ lightweight. You’d th-think your tolerance woulda gone up by now.” His eyes are fixated on you, the sight of you nearly limp, just absolutely sinking into his sheets. He smirks to himself, reaching up to pull his goggles out of his hair and set them on the ground as well. “How many t-times have I smoked you out now?”
“I dunno.” You giggle back to him, before hauling your weighted body onto your side so that you can look at him better. “A bunch.”
“D-Don’t even know?” Toby raises an eyebrow, his eyes glazed over as he gazes up at you. “Weed’s fuckin’ with y-your head, darlin’. I oughta cut you off.”
“You won’t” Your tone is light, but you say it as a certainty.
And you’re right.
“Yeah, I won’t.” Toby hums back to you, his lip stretched into a sickly amused little smile. Words dripping with that honey sweet cockiness that made your knees weak every time. Voice as thick and rich as molasses, sticking to your ears and coating your every thought. “Why w-would I? Losing what? A couple grams of profit just to ha-have this dumb little doll in my bed?” You narrow your eyes at him, and his grin only widens. “That’s a-a win in my books.”
“You’re horrible.” You scoff, eyebrows wrinkling together. And he is, he’s the worst, but that hadn’t stopped you from getting close. Hadn’t stopped you from seeking him out.
“You love it.” You did. You didn’t even have to say it. He could see it in your foggy eyes, that infatuation that ran deep. And was it cruel, that he indulged you? Was it sick of him to keep feeding you substances that got you loopy, just because he liked to watch your inhibitions crumble away? Probably, but he’d have to be a much better man to care. “You should let me give you mo-more.”
“More?” You scoff. “Toby, if I smoke any more I’m probably gonna green out.”
“Not weed.” Toby snickers softly, raising an eyebrow as he fishes around in the pocket of his hoodie. “I sell o-other shit, you know. Expensive shit.” He lifts his hand, producing a dime bag containing a few pills you don’t recognize. “Bet they’d do you re-real good right now.”
And you’re definitely intrigued, but not enough to not ask questions.
“What is it?” You inch a little closer, your body sliding against his sheets as you creep over to the edge of the bed. He can see the curiosity in your eyes, and he knows he’s got you. That’s where it always starts, after all.
“Does it ma-matter?” He opens the baggie, eyes on you the entire time he drops two pills onto his palm. “It’ll make you feel g-good. Just trust me.”
“Trust you?” You raise an eyebrow, eyes flickering between the pills and his face. “You know you’re not exactly a trustworthy person, right?”
“And yet you keep c-coming back.” He snorts, his gaze leaving yours to pinch one of the pills between his fingers. “Watch.” He pops the pill in his mouth and swallows it. No hesitation, no fear. Not even needing water. Just throwing it back like it was nothing more than a vitamin, his confidence making your heart leap. “My shits clean, you know th-that. Wouldn’t give you anything I wouldn’t take myself.”
It’s a sound argument, for you at least. If it were dangerous, he wouldn’t have swallowed it so confidently. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have even offered to you.
“What’s it gonna do?” And yet you’re leaning forwards, making your intentions clear as your eyes stay fixed on the little pill still resting in his palm.
He doesn’t answer directly, just picks the pill up then leans towards you. His free hand cupping your jaw, squeezing it with a pressure that leaves you with no choice but to part your lips.
“Already t-told you.” He murmurs back to you. “Make you f-feel good.”
And like always, you let him. Part your lips, stick your tongue out, let him place the pill upon it. Feeling it dissolve a little when it hits your saliva, before you close your mouth and swallow it back. Trusting him, like you always do - even when you definitely shouldn’t. “Atta girl.” His fingers trail down your jawline, his touch just barely there - ghosting over your skin before he tucks a a few strands of hair behind your ear. “You just ss-swallowed $50, by the way.” He chuckles softly. “You should feel lucky you’re g-gettin’ freebies just because I like you.”
“You like me?” You ask softly, too high to even notice the shift as Toby moves towards you - oblivious until he’s lying right next to you. “Or do you just like what I give you?”
“What you give m-me?” Toby snorts softly, before reaching out to grasp your waits softly - tugging your pliant body right up close to his. “Don’t go treatin’ me l-like a charity case now.” Fingers digging into your skin, slipping under your shirt to feel it bare. “It’s real e-easy to find a junkie slut, you know.” Hands skirting under your clothes like he had the right, because he did. Because this body was his, just as much as it was yours. “I like you. Pretty little thing. So easy and ss-sweet for me.”
You can’t even refute him, because you knew he was right. You were easy. You had been easy. Letting him fuck you the first time he brought you home, letting him fuck you up time and time again. Just like you were right now.
Tilting your head to the side when he nudges his face into your neck, eyes fluttering when his lips part again your skin. Licking, biting, teeth sinking in deep. Breathing ragged and uneven, already panting against you and he’s barely even done anything yet. Pulling you in closer, flush against him - one hand snaking up to grasp at your tits as his leg lifts to hook over yours. And you’re melting. Brain fuzzy, body feeling gooey has his hands roam your skin. It feels right, just the slightest touches sending your nerves into a frenzy.
You can’t think, but that’s alright, thats how he liked you. Barely even able to speak, just murmuring out soft little whimpers and moans as he left his mark on you. The air is just as hazy as your mind is, the scent of smoke swirling together with his cologne to leave you even dizzier than you already are. And so, it’s not long until you’re sinking into the feeling completely.
Hands coming up to lazily snake into his hair, tugging on it gently as pulling his head upwards so that you can slot your lips with his. Slick, messy, uncoordinated - perfect. A one track mind, hellbent on getting you bare for him again as he panted into your mouth, drool seeping from off of his tongue and onto yours, tainted with the chemical taste of whatever the fuck you had just taken. Pulling you in like he was trying to consume you, and maybe he was. He knew you’d let him if that was his intent.
You don’t remember getting your shirt off, don’t remember getting his off, and you barely even register it when he rolls you both over so that his body’s pinning you to the sheets. But soon enough, you’re chest to chest, bare skin against bare skin, sweat mixing with his as he sinks his teeth into your neck. “So f-fuckin’ pretty.” Murmured against your skin, greedy hands already slipping down your abdomen to tug at the waistband of your sweats. “You’re mine, right?”
Probably? Maybe? You didn’t really know what Toby was to you. Probably just a drug in itself.
And yet,
“Yeah.” You gasp out, hips bucking towards his touch. An invitation for more. To strip you completely like he had done so many times. “I’m yours.”
“Damn right, you are.” He sounds ecstatic when he says it, feral in a way that should probably scare you and yet it doesn’t. Slurred and sloppy, hazy and unrestrained - you love him like this. Just as much as an enabler as he was. Dragging each other down, and having a damn good time while doing it. “No one else could m-make you feel like this, right?” Your pants come off in a swift move, somehow co-ordinated though his limbs felt heavy. Your panties follow suit rather quickly, and yet you don’t even squirm - worse, you let your thighs fall open on instinct. “You need me, right? You n-need me.” He’s downright begging you, his voice quivering on the edges of his words as he nuzzles against your jaw - so hot you can feel it radiating off of him, feeling absolutely smothered as he presses against you more. Fingers swiping against your slick, you’re reeling from how quickly you’ve found yourself here. How easily he’s slipped himself between your thighs once more - like that was where he belonged.
“Yeah, I need you.” Your chest heaving against his, feeling the vibrations fizzle through you as he lets out a soft hum. Lips parting to lick the sweat off of your skin, his thumb lazily playing with your clit as you squirmed so pathetically against him. He knew how you liked it. Slow and steady, the drugs always got you so sensitive so you could barely even handle more. And though he loved turning you into a teary, overstimulated mess, being gentle is what had you sticking around. Knowing he’d take care of you. That he’d never give you more than you could take - in every sense of the word. “Fuck- Toby,” Hips bucking up towards him, just feeling yourself grow wetter as he rolled your clit under the pad of his finger, pleasure sparking up your spine and making you shiver. “I need you-“ Meaning it more this time, moaning it out desperately, pulling on his hair so tightly you know he’d be wincing if he could feel it.
“Yeah, I-I know you do.” He’s gentle as he slips a finger inside you, shoulders jerking when he feels how wet you are already. How your tight heat wrapped around one digit like you were just made to take him. “That’s why you keep coming back, r-right?” He’s pumping it into you slowly, teeth dragging against your skin all the while. Biting a path from your jaw to your collarbone, making sure you bruise. Wanting you to see it all the next day, when you were sober. A reminder of who you gave yourself to. Who you really belonged to at the end of the day. “Can’t-Can’t live without this. Without me.” Crooking his finger just right, having memorized the placement of your g-spot ages ago now. Moaning into your shoulder right along with you when you absolutely crumble beneath him, relishing in the way your cunt clenches around him in reward for his efforts. “Mine. You a-always will be.”
It almost sounds like a threat, and maybe it was. Maybe you should know better, than to keep adding ruin to the wreckage every single time you walked up the pathway to his house. But you didn’t. He had wiped your rationality clean. Made ordinary life seem boring. Sobriety was no longer a goal, or an escape. It was a way to get away from him, and you didn’t want that. You don’t think you ever would. “You l-look best like this, you know?” As he’s slipping in another finger, lifting his head to watch your face as he stretches you open. “Falling apart f-for me. Don’t gotta think about nothin’ b-but my touch.” Eyes glinting in the low lighting of his bedroom he scissors them open wide, watching with keen interest as your brows pinch together - your body twitching and trembling beneath him. Moans growing shakier, hips jumping every time his fingers sunk into you. Responding to him so perfectly, just as you always did, Like you were made for him. “Feels good t-to let go, hm?”
It did, it always did, especially when you knew he’d be the one there to catch you. Giving in was scary, but not whilst lying beneath him. You knew that no matter how messy, or incoherent, or downright pathetic you got - he wouldn’t shun you. He’d just offer you the same old smile, and call you beautiful, just like he always did.
That’s what made him dangerous. His unwavering acceptance of your flaws, because he had no room to judge. He was so much worse.
When a third finger nudges in next to the other two, your hands are flying upwards - a desperate, gargled cry ripping from your lungs as the burn of the stretch finally beared its fangs. Making your thighs tremble and your stomach twist, nails sinking deep into his shoulders as tears spring to your eyes. It’s almost too much - almost. Toby knew your body’s limits, knew how much you could take. He’d never push you, just shush you softly and coax you into relaxation when you tried to fight it. It was so easy to listen to him, even as your brain melted into a puddle of mush, dripping out of your ears and onto his bedsheets. “Th-That’s it, you got it.” Slick gushing all over his fingers, soaking the digits on every press in. Feeling how your body just opened up for him, your cunt stretching open for him like an offering, dripping out the sweetest essence like a precursor to the main event. “You he-hear that?” He had one hand on your hip, holding you down as his fingers fucked into you. Letting your upper body writhe and spasm, but keeping your pussy right where he wanted it - right in the palm of his hand. “Pussy’s ss-so fuckin’ wet for me.” His gaze near feral as he gazed down at you, at how your expression contorted, drool pooling in the corners of your lips. “Shes’s b-beggin’ for my cock, baby.”
His words have a visceral effect on you, your face crumpling, gasping for breath as your cunt squeezes around his fingers. You can feel it when it throbs around him, feel that familiar heat brewing low in your gut. So easily brought out when it was stoked by him.
“Toby-“ If you had an ounce of rational thought left, you’d probably cringe at how desperately pathetic your voice sounded wrapped around his name. Shame isn’t in your books right now though, not as you start rocking your hips back to meet his movements, not as that sweet pleasure tied a noose around your throat and pulled you under. “Toby-“ Again, you choke it out. Like it’s the only word you know, like it’s a prayer and he’s the god you’re pleading to. Over and over again, drooling out his name as you fell to pieces beneath him.
“There you go.” He feels it when you cum, shudders when your pussy clenches around his fingers so desperately. Sucking the digits in like you still needed more, and he was more than happy to give it to you. “S-So pretty when you cum.” He fucks you through it, smiling to himself as he watches you through hazy vision - squirming and sniffling beneath him. Hips bucking and limbs twitching when it got to be too much, and yet he takes you further. Rubbing the pads of his fingers up against your g-spot just to hear how your voice cracked and quivered because of it. “You want m-more, right?” Still keeping his fingers inside you, his whole body tingling in euphoria at just how easy it was to turn you into a pile of tears. It never got old. He didn’t think it ever would. “I know my fingers aren’t enough. Y-You want my cock, right?” Curling them, making all of the air in your lungs leave in a wheeze. “Tell me.”
“Please, Toby.” You’re so fucked out already that you have no choice but to bed. Mindless as you plead for it, your vision swimming with tears as you try to blink them away to look at him. When you do, you’re falling all over again. Because he’s looking down at you like you’re some kind of goddess. Pupils blown right out, chest heaving, his shaggy hair matted to his forehead with sweat. He’s gorgeous, and that wan’t just the drugs talking, you were sure of it. “Need- Need it.” Your nails scratch up his back when you drag him in close, your bottom lip quivering as hot tears leave tracks down your cheeks. “Please- Please fuck me.”
“Oh, darlin’,” His smile is sickly sweet. Almost uncanny, like he was masking the true extend of his depravity beneath it. Through your watery vision, all you see is fondness. “Now, h-how am I supposed to say no to that?”
He doesn’t make you wait, probably because he’s just itching to get as close you you as possible. He’s been hard for a while now, since he first climbed onto the bed with you. Aching in his boxers, throbbing with need just for you. Fueled by desire, heightened by the stimulants floating around in his bloodstream. “I’ll fuck you.” He hums as he unbuttons his jeans - hasty, desperate, like he can’t bear another moment not being inside you. “I-I’ll fuck you good. I always do, hm?”
”Yeah.” You tug him in when he kicks his jeans off, barely even letting his get his underwear pulled down before your legs are wrapping around his waist and drawing him in. Ankles locking around his back already, trapping him right where he wanted him to be most. “Please- Please..” Scratching at his skin, hips kicking upwards when you feel him slide his cock through your slick folds. So ready for him that it makes his breath catch in his throat. “Fuck, Toby-“ You know you’re being pathetic, desperate pleas babbled out to him as drool seeps out of the corners of your mouth. Begging like he wasn’t quite literally rutting up against your cunt, twitching beneath his cock like your body was beckoning him to just sink right in.
“Shhh..” He chuckles softly, one hand slipping up to cup your tit as the other one reaches down to get himself lined up properly. His gaze flickering like a candle in the wind as he watched you jolt just from the feeling of him merely pressing against you. “D-Don’t gotta keep begging. I’m right here.”
He accentuates his words with a gentle nudge inwards, proving his point as his cock slipped into your heat so perfectly. Not even an ounce of discomfort because he had already stretched you open good, just that mind numbing satisfaction as his body slotted into yours like a puzzle piece fitting into place. “See?” His free hand smooths up your side, finding a home gripping your waist as the other one toys with your breast. Kneading it gently as he sunk in more and more, giving you inch after inch until you were trembling beneath him. Crying out to him, not sure exactly what you were begging for. “That’s b-better, right?”
Undeniably. He doesn’t really expect you to answer, so when all he gets is a pathetic little whimper in reply he just grins - gazing down at you through the hair falling in front of his eyes. So fond, so lovestruck, if only you were coherent enough to notice. “You a-always get like this.” He murmurs softly, nails biting into your skin as he slowly starts rocking his hips - his shoulders tensing up at the feeling of your cunt wrapping around him so deliciously. Like a glove. Like you were made to take him, and him only. “Get s-so fuckin’ d-dumb. Can’t even t-talk.”
Leaning down, his nose brushes against you, right in your face as you gasp your air. And now, all you can smell is him. All you can feel is him. All you can hear is him, gravelly groans slipping out between each breathy word. “S’it because you’re s-so fucked up?” He rasps out to you, not quickening his pace but driving into you deeper. Making you take all of it. Pulling you back to meet him until his cock was fully enveloped in your welcoming body. “Or do you j-just love my cock that much?”
You can't tell if that question is rhetorical, your mind so hazy that you can’t focus on anything but the feeling of his length sliding against your twitching walls. Sinking in nice and deep, the head giving your cervix a kiss every time he bottomed out. It left you near delirious, scrambling to grapple at him like he was the only thing grounding you to reality. Your movements are unconscious, rolling your hips back to get more an more of him, hiccuping out watery moans as your head lols against the pillow.
And to his question, you answer;
”I-I love you-“ Not his cock, not the way he fucks you - him. Him and his flaws. Him and how horrible he was beneath that candy coating he wrapped himself in. Your eyes are squeezed shut, so you don’t see it when his eyes widen, but you feel it when he falters. Hips stuttering a little, his grip on you tightening to a bruising degree. Not stopping, but close to it as he stared down at you in a mixture of disbelief and awe. But, he shakes it off rather quickly.
”Oh, baby,” And then his arm is slipping underneath your back, pulling your body up and close to his chest, cradling you as his hips rocked into yours. “N-No you don’t.” There’s not room for argument in his words, no sadness, no strain. Just cold honesty, like he knew you from the inside out. Like he had a better grasp on your thoughts than you did.
And honestly? Right now, he did.
”I do.” You insist through tears and choked out moans, pressing up into his hold like you were trying to crawl under his skin. Your face burrowing into the crook of his neck as your tears wet his skin- stubble tickling your cheek. “I do- I do-“
”You th-think you do.” Toby corrects you softly, on hand reaching up to card through your hair. He mirrors your actions, his head tilting down to rest against your shoulder. “But you don’t. Th-That’s just the drugs talkin’, darlin’.” Murmuring out the sweetest refusals even as he took you apart, keeping his movements nice and steady even as you clung to him so desperately. “And that's alright. That’s ha-half the reason I give ‘em to you.”
You can barely even hear him. You can feel the vibrations rumble through his chest with every word he speaks, can just barely make out the garbled gibberish that your known language has turned into. But the impact is lost on you.
But just as Toby said - that was alright. “Just- Don’t g-gotta think about that shit, yeah? Just let me have you.”
Easy. You had surrendered yourself to him the moment you stepped through his door. Drove in the final nail when you slipped into his bed like it was your own. And now, as you trembled in his arms, you were exactly what he wanted you to be. His, unequivocally. Crying out his name, clinging onto his body, nails sinking into and marking up his skin. Labels and such weren’t needed when he could see it with his own eyes, your dedication to him. Just handing yourself over, even if he definitely didn’t deserve it. “That’s it.” Hips snapping into yours, shivering as he felt your slick gush out around him and soak his pelvis. “Just t-take it.”
Your body cried for him, how was he supposed to ever abstain? “S-So good- Always feel so good for me.” He had you slotted snug against him, like your bodies were two parts of the same whole. Slick skin sliding against his, your tits smushed up against his chest as his hands slipped down to gasp at your ass. Using the grip as leverage as to pull you back to meet him. Snapping his hips into yours, driving his cock into you as the pace picked up. Like he was trying to fuck every pesky little thought right out of you. Wanting you mindless, unable to to think of the intricacies of who he was to you.
Right now, he was pleasure incarnate, and that’s all he needed to be.
Fucking into you until you were drooling against his shoulder, until there was nothing you were capable of besides moaning out his name with a broken voice. Legs around his hips, ankles locked behind his back, your pussy damn near squeezing the life out of him as he took you higher, and higher. “Hah- Fuck-“ Harder, deeper, the sound of skin on skin filling the smoky air. The scent of sex clinging to each heavy particle. “Gonna cum again, a-aren’t you?”
Words lost on you, all you can do is vehemently nod, sniffling against his skin as your fingers clawed upwards to snake into his hair. Grasping at the strands for dear life, getting them curled around your knuckles in a nice firm grip. “Yeah? G-Give it to me. Let me feel it.” It’s as if he held a key that unlocked the ecstasy within you, because his words ring in your ears like a beckoning call that your body just can’t deny. His voice, raspy and wrecked, breathed right out next to your ear, that's all it takes. One, two more thrusts and he’s got you crumbling to pieces again,melting into a puddle of pleasure that seeped through the gaps between his fingers. “C-Christ-“
Unknown or not, the effect you had on him was just as potent. You buckled him. Left him breathless not just from the feeling of your pussy milking his cock, but from the sight of you. Flushed, shaky, jaw gone slack and eyes so hazy and far away - like he had transported you to an entirely different world. “Perfect.” He barely even registers the word he breathes out, but he means it all the same. That’s what you were to him, indisputably. “Fuckin’-“ He just barely clinging to coherency, his whole body trembling as his hips twitch and his thrusts get sloppier. “Too good- You-You’re too good-“ And he means it, in more ways than one.
He doesn’t last long after that, can’t. Barely getting a few more pumps in before his body’s going rigid - teeth sinking deep into your shoulder to muffle the broken groan that leaves him when he presses in deep for the final time. Not asking, because he knew you’d let him. Spilling into you with a warmth that makes you shudder, marking you as his from the inside out for the nth time over.
Then, he slumps. Body going limp. Just barely refraining from crushing you as his arms curl around your torso - pressing you into the bed as he gasps out wheezing breaths against your neck. Sweat dripping from his hair onto your skin, still trembling like a leaf even as his heart beat slowly came back down to a normal pace. “See?” He’s murmuring against you when he finally finds his choice again, still not moving, just holding you close. Because he knows that this is the only time he’s really allowed to. “T-Told you it’d make you feel good.”
”Nah.” You hum back to him as your eyes finally flutter back open, your hands idly smoothing down his back as you gaze focuses on the ceiling once more. Back to counting each and every crack. “That was all you.”
He tries to hide it. Keeps his face buried in your neck to keep it out of your view, but you feel his lips curl into a soft little smile against your neck. More than that, you feel his heat speed up a bit again where it beats against your chest.
”Yeah?” His voice is softer now, murmured out tiredly in a breath that tickles your skin and raises goosebumps on your arms. “Sounds l-like I gotta find a better supplier then.”
And you could try and unpack it all. Try to pull his head up and look him in the eyes, searching for the answer for every single question you have about him.
But, you're too tired for that.
And so, you just laugh.
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Heyyyyyy lol. This ones for all the anons creaming over dealer!Toby in my inbox lmfao.
Sorry i got angsty??? Idk thats just where it took me, regardless I hope you enjoyed lmfao
This is a commission! Pronouns + names have been changed for your viewing pleasure! If you’re interested in something like this for yourself, hit me up once my commissions are open again!
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WC: 6.7k
Summary: Toby’s taken one of his fellow proxies under his wing. Looks to him like she needs a lot more training.
- commission prompt: toby x proxy!reader hatefuck situation. coworkers at best enemies at worst. have toby hold a hatchet to the readers neck during the act
CW: 18+ content, explicit sexual content, CNC, noncon elements, threats and violence, rough handling, semi-clothed sex, outdoor sex, semi-public sex, degradation, definitely toxic relationship, unsafe sex, creampie, sadism + masochism, power dynamics, lowkey dom/sub undertones, mocking, hatefucking lollll, toby and reader hate eachother and then fuck about it
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NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!
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Being a proxy is already a tough job.
Late nights, long hours, an erratic schedule, and a complete lack of free will. It’s the type of profession that no one would willingly choose to be a part of, if they could help it. And, if they were roped into it somehow, it would be a constant day to day battle of just trying to make ends meet whilst being pushed and pulled around by an entity beyond your comprehension.
It’s not something easy by any means, but most find ways to make the strenuous lifestyle a little bit easier to bear. Little victories. Glimpses of sunshine through the fog.
For a proxy like you, finding respite amongst the complete gorefest that was day to day life used to be an easy task. It was easy when you first began - staying far away from all of the other monsters you shared an occupation with. Keeping close to yourself and no one else, it was a breeze to mindlessly drag your feet through the day, just to curl up in bed and do it all over again when the sun rose.
It was glamorous. It wasn’t luxury. But, it was tolerable.
Or, at least it used to be.
Two weeks into being a proxy, your little bubble of solitude was broken. Violently popped by a force so obnoxious, so erratic, that you found herself scrunching your nose up in distaste before the perpetrator even opened their mouth for an introduction.
”H-hey.” He had approached her while you were sat outside your cabin, sewing up a ripped patch in the pair of jeans she was wearing. Now more patches than untainted material, something the man had raised a judging eyebrow at on first glance. “You’re a b-bit of a recluse, aren’t ya’?”
What an amazing first impression.
You could still remember what he had looked like when you first laid eyes on him up close. Shaggy, messy brown hair pushed off of his forehead by a pair of cracked orange goggles. What looked to be a mouth guard hung around his neck, leaving his face completely bare for her viewing. Scarred horribly, like somebody had thrown him through a woodchipper and tugged him back out. A slash in his eyebrow, a crooked nose that looked as if it never healed properly from a fracture. But, the cherry on top was definitely the gash tearing through the left half of his face.
Staring at the corner of his lips and stretching up towards his cheekbone, it was a gnarly sight. Flesh torn from gums to reveal a row of chipped back molars - visibly not properly taken care of, the skin around it jagged and torn.
“What do you want?” Were the first words you had ever spoke to him, each letter packed with as much annoyance as you could muster up.
You knew who he was. Everyone did. Toby rogers. The boss’s golden boy. Some six foot tank of a man who could take the hardest hits, and deal back even more lethal ones in return. He got the hardest missions, had the largest kill count under his belt, and - he had let it get to his head. Leaning into the fact that he was a chosen favourite by some eldritch entity like it was a blessing, not an absolutely abhorrent title to uphold.
You didn’t like him. Hadn’t even met him before you came up with that conclusion. You had seen him work before, trailing behind him, Tim, and Brian when you were still a greenie, learning from them before you went on your own missions. Watched how apathetically he sliced down victims, listened to that wheezing laughter he’d let out as blood dripped onto the lenses of his goggles.
Took note of the way he talked to people. So cocky and apathetic. Completely detached from the lifestyle he lived - like it was all just a game.
Like it was all effortlessly easy.
You hated him for it. Wanted nothing to do with him because of it. And yet here he was, standing in front of you, gazing down at you with that same arrogant twinkle in his eye that made your skin crawl.
”I-It’s not what I want.” Toby had laughed, taking a step closer. “It’s w-what the boss wants.” He lifted his foot to nudge your hand with his muddy boot, knocking the sewing needle you were holding into the dirt. “Better re-results. You’re slow, a-and you suck.” He spoke so bluntly it made your blood boil in your veins, teeth grit as you looked up at him with narrowed green eyes. “Couple other reasons but I d-don’t feel like listing them all. Long story short, you-you’re working with me now.” His lips twitched up into a sinister smile. “You know, someone wh-who actually knows what they’re doing?”
The words he spoke were horrid already, but the knowing look of amusement he paired them with was worse. Like he was aware he had just walked up to you and presented your very worst nightmare all wrapped up in a bloody orange bow. There was nothing more that you’d rather do than shoo Toby away and tell him to simply ‘fuck off’ and find someone else to bother, but if what he said was true, and this was actually an order from Slender themself, then there was no point in fighting. Everyone knew that orders from the boss were non-negotiable, no matter how difficult (or annoying) they were.
And so, that was how it began.
Every single day, whether you liked it or not, you were forced into being Toby’s tag along partner. Accompanying him on missions, having him glued to your side and muttering insults under his breath as you tried to mind your own business. Toby was inescapable. A constant force that persisted even when you wanted him around the least.
It was a constant war whenever you were around each other. Who could deal the worst insults, who could stun the other one into silence from the absolute absurdity of their actions. Both forced into a partnership that neither wanted.
You, were more accustomed to working on your own. Toby, was more accustomed to working with Tim and Brian - who were used to his antics by now. It was almost laughable how easily he could wriggle his way under your skin, a feat that was difficult for him with the other proxies who knew him better. He was a shit-disturber, a nuisance, someone who poked and prodded just to get reactions for the fun of it. People who were used to his attitude didn’t bat an eye at his antics or abrasive nature - so you were the perfect victim.
Easily annoyed. Even more easily flustered. A toy that he could bat around, one that refused to break no matter how rough he got. It was a perfect arrangement, though some people would definitely beg to differ.
He’d spit out an insult and you would just deal back one that was ten times worse. Trip you up while you’re walking, and you’re picking yourself back up just to elbow him in the rib cage. If only he could feel the pain, but the wheeze he’d let out from being winded was enough to satisfy you.
Toby was insufferable, and he knew it. He was a nuisance at best and an absolute hindrance at worst. Missions together were the worst of it. Barely ever able to get a kill in for yourself before Toby was shoving you out of the way and flinging a hatchet at their skull. The ‘teaching experience’ he had advertised this partnership as was barely anything of the sort - more so just you being forced to sit back and watch as he split open another poor victim’s rib cage. Giggling to himself as he reached into the viscera and pulled out a lung or heart, just to fling it in your direction with a cackle slipping from his lips.
Horrible. He was horrible. That opinion of yours didn’t change in the slightest, even as the weeks ticked on. He was barely even a human at all, more so just a hollow shell filled to the brim with bloodlust and spite.
Someone who abided by Slender's every will because he wanted to, not because he was forced to. It was sickening. A way of life that you could never imagine for yourself. If the day ever came that you followed in Toby’s footsteps, finding a sick pleasure in the blood and gore that coated your clothing, you’d much rather be on the receiving end of his hatchet.
But, that day hadn’t come yet.
It’s a cold winter day - frigid winds, ankle deep snow caked to the soles of her boots and seeping into the gap between your pants and socks. The air is brisk, blooming a rosy tint on your pale cheeks as you trekked through the forest - leaving a trail of footprints for Toby to follow in as he trailed behind her closely. You could feel his gaze on your back, hear the sound of his heavy breathing with each step that he took, smell the acrid scent of cigarette smoke wafting off from the smoke perched between his lips. “Hey…” You heard him call, his voice soft and playful, forcing a tenseness into your muscles. Fingers clenched tight around the strap of the bag draped over your body, your jaw clenched, a shaky breath leaving your lungs before visualizing in the air as a cloud of condensation
”What?” You grit out, her voice dripping with that same distaste that you always wore when she was around Toby. An annoyance that you couldn’t shake.
“Y-You can talk to me you know.” Toby huffed out from behind her, his gaze trained on the back of you as he trudged through the snow in front of him. The way the cold December wind tousled the curly tufts of ginger hair atop your head, how your limbs were so frigid and stiff. From the cold, or from him? It was hard to tell. “You’re m-makin’ this harder on yourself by constantly being b-bitchy with me.”
”I’m not being bitchy.” You snapped back to him, turning your head back towards him for just a moment, only to cut him a deadly glare. “You’re just hellbent on being an asshole. Sorry for not wanting to hold a conversation with a prick like you.”
Toby barks out a harsh laugh, the sound echoing the vacant forest they were both traversing. Not a single soul in sight - not except for the two of them. Just miles and miles of snow and dying wood, not even the howl of a wolf in the distance to break up the silence. Just her, him, and the whistle of the wind between them.
”Harsh.” Toby snorts, one eyebrow raising as his eyes scan the figure before him. You were practically the exact opposite of him. Toby - tall and lean, you - short and stout. He often asked himself how you even managed your way around as a proxy. From his perspective, you looked like a weak link. Someone easily thrown around and tossed to the side. The idea of you actually subduing and killing someone was laughable at best, and he honestly wouldn’t believe it was possible if he hadn’t seen it happen with his own eyes. “Y-Y’know, if it weren’t for me you’d probably be dead.” He mutters. “S-Some useless fuck like you sh-shoulda been dealt with a long time ago.” He takes a drag, the hatches on his belt clinking with each step he took. “I-If I wasn’t nice, and I ss-said no to taking you under my wing - the boss would-woulda just axed you.”
”Begging for a ‘thank you’ makes you sound desperate.” You snort, rolling your eyes as you tug your coat further over yourself. “You’re not a hero, Toby. You never have been. You’ve just deluded yourself into thinking you are.”
The words are harsh enough to cut deep, slicing straight through Toby’s tough exterior to seep straight into his bones. Rising goosebumps on his arms, reigniting the fire of guilt he had (thought he had) snuffed out long ago. Such a chilling read on his entire nature, that he found himself faltering in his steps, his jaw going slack before his cigarette fell from his lips - extinguishing against the snow beneath him with a hiss.
“Yeah, well, you’re not a victim - l-like you seem to think you are.” Toby snaps back, eyeing his fallen smoke for just a second before he lets out a scoff and trudges past it. Just another reason for him to be pissed. It wasn’t easy coming across a cigarette, as a wanted criminal. He’d have to go rummaging through Tim’s bag for the third time this week. “Y-You hate me because you’re just like me. A c-cold hearted killer with bodies upon bodies under your belt.” His fingers twitch as he slowly reaches downwards, before closing around the handle of one of his hatchets. “Cry and m-moan about it all you want, but you can’t hide from the truth. You’re just as bad as me. Maybe even worse, because you re-refuse to accept the reality of it.”
You could feel your eye twitch in annoyance. That familiar, white hot sensation of anger brewing in your stomach and making your limbs tremble. He just forced it out so easily, like you was a marionette on strings and he was the puppet master - tugging and pulling you around until you were cracking from the strain.
And so you just can’t help yourself when you’re stopping in your tracks abruptly, whipping around with a scowl on your lips before you hiss out;
”Can you shut the fuck u-“
The whistle of metal cutting through air stops your sentence short. It happened so fast that you could barely even process it, your eyes not even having the chance to lock onto Toby’s weapon before it was flying straight past your skull - only missing you by a hair before it lodged itself in a tree just a few feet away.
The shock was palpable. Wide eyes and breathing cut off abruptly. Silence so deafening that if you really paid close attention, you may just hear the sound of your heart starting to pound in your chest - slowly coming up to speed with the rest of your body as the realization of what’s just happened washes over you like a bucket of ice water.
Stray auburn hairs sliced at the tip, fallen against the snow beneath your feet. Wood, cracked and splintering around the hatchet newly lodged within the trunk of a tree. Toby’s tool belt, uneven on one side now - starkly missing a weapon.
Finally piecing all of the parts together just makes your blood burn hotter.
And the perpetrator? Well, he’s stood before you as if nothing was amiss. As if he hadn’t just taken a shot at your life. Shoulders lax, eyes playful, carelessly toying with the now empty loop on his belt. Horrible. “Are you fucking insane?” You hiss out, eyes wide and manic - darting between Toby’s face and the weapon that had just barely missed your skull. “What the hell is wrong with you, you psycho?“
”T-Target practice.” Toby snorts, his lips curled up into a sly smile. “Treating you l-like the victim you think you are.” Snow crunches under his boots as he takes a few steps closer to you, the cool breeze whipping through his hair. “You luh-look like one, now that I’ve really got m-my eyes peeled.” Closer. Too close, he approaches. Standing tall before her like a pack wolf, his mouth widening into a toothy grin. “Verängstigtes k-kleines Kaninchen.”
In one quick movement, Toby’s darting a hand out to reach behind you - bruised knuckles grasping the handle of his discarded hatchet once more before he’s ripping it back out of the tree with a firm tug, splintered pieces of wood following it and raining down onto the snowy ground. “Sie glaubt, ss-sie sei so stark.” Toby chuckles softly, leaning his head down lower to encroach further on your space. “So kräftig.” Though her blood was rushing in her ears, you couldn’t find it in yourself to back down. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him watch you shrink. “Aber sie ist nichts weiter als eine k-kleine Maus. Jemand, d-den ich unter meinem Stiefel zerquetschen könnte.”
The fact that you hadn’t a single clue what he was saying, added a strange sort of fear to the interaction that you just couldn’t wrap your head around. Voice low and gravelly, you knew that those words were threats - but what kind of threats? On your life? Your livelihood? Worse? Goosebumps rise on your neck and trickle down your spine, and this time, you know it's not from the cold. But again, to give him that satisfaction? To roll over and lay down like he wanted you to? It wasn’t happening. Over your dead body.
”Yeah, act like I can understand you, dumbass.” You spit out before rolling your eyes and turning on your heel. Partially, to end the interaction sooner. Partially, to escape his paralyzing gaze. Soulless brown eyes, looking damn near black under the overcast sky - scrutinizing you, mocking you, sizing you up. “Don’t fuckin’ pull a stunt like that again. If my blood’s on your hands when you get back, you’ll be in shit and you know it.”
A challenge? Maybe, maybe not. But Toby’s brain viewed it more so as the latter. Weeks of pushing you, weeks of trying to stamp down that nasty attitude of yours, and nothing had worked. Not insults, not humiliation, not even badmouthing you to Slender themself. Was it even really his fault, that he was leaning more towards drastic measures now? Had you not forced it out of him? Goading him with that piercing glare and lips tugged down into a perpetual scowl?
No, it was your fault. Your fault for bringing this out in him.
So when his arms stretch out towards you, one of which wielding his hatchet - that’s your fault too.
You only see a flash of metal and a glimpse of Toby’s sweater sleeve before it happens. Before what happens? Well, your beheading was what you expected - eyes widening at the sight of your fellow proxy’s weapon coming so close to your throat. But, that wasn’t what you were dealt. Because that would be too fast. Too easy. Unfulfilling.
Instead you’re left wheezing for air as the handle of Toby’s hatchet presses firm to your throat from behind, the worn wood digging into your windpipe as he pulls you back to him. You’re gasping when his back meets his chest, frantic hands flying up to claw at the handle of the weapon slowly but surely choking you out. It’s a firm, unrelenting pressure. One that made every single breath a chore. And your attempts to free yourself weren’t doing a thing to help. Nails scratching at Toby’s hands, digging in deep enough to draw blood - but Toby wasn’t phased even a little bit.
Of course he wouldn’t be. His arrogance had some merit to it. “Toby-“ Your voice comes out choked off and hoarse, throat feeling dry and scratchy as you struggle to take in air. “Fuck- Fuck’s wrong with you? Let me go! This- This isn’t funny!”
“O-Oh, it totally is.” Toby’s voice meets her ears as stark contrast to your own. Playful. Composed. Amused as he leans his head down lower, his breath brushing against the shell of your ear as he speaks. “You ss-see what I’m talkin’ about now? You’re pathetic. I’m barely even t-trying and you can’t do a thing to help yourself.” His hands tug the hatchet back further, forcing a strained cough out of your lungs. “Sind Sie w-wirklich so schwach? Oder liegt es daran, dass Sie es tatsächlich mögen?”
He starts to walk backwards, dragging you along with him as you kick your feet and flail your arms. Trying absolutely anything to wriggle free, but not a single thing was working. Not with the beast you had fallen into the clutches of. “H-How’d you even get this far, huh?” Using his hatchet as leverage, he spins you around quick enough that there’s no chance to wiggle away before the handle of his weapon is back to your neck. This time, pinning you completely when your back comes into contact with one of the many trees surrounding the two of you. “You o-obviously don’t fight well, so how’d you even get a kill under your b-belt?”
Face to face with him now, it’s hard for you not to shrink. Purpling lips quivering from the force of your scowl, eyebrows pinched together as you breathe raggedly through her nose. “Did ya’ go all ‘femme fatale’ on them? Wh-Whore yourself out to get their guard lowered, then spill their b-brains when they’re deep up in it?”
”You fucking freak.” You hiss out, trying again to kick at him - this time aiming for his groin - but again, nothing comes of it. God, was he indestructible? “Bet that’s a fantasy of yours isn’t it? You sick fuck.”
Toby cracks a grin, his eyes gleaming with a twisted form of amusement before he lets out a chilling chuckle. It’s menacing. A sound that nothing good could come from, and you knew it.
”C-Caught me.” Toby hums. “Wanna indulge me, hase?” His gaze roams free as his thoughts wander, flicking up and down your body with a scrutinizing gaze before landing back on your face. Your face, pale skin going pink from the lack of circulation - your freckles becoming swallowed up by the flush. “Only, here’s the thing - you w-wouldn’t be winning against me. I th-think you know that already.”
The look in Toby’s eyes is subjugating. Hidden beneath layers and layers of snark and sarcasm, but he’s serious - the glint in his eyes gives him away. If it didn’t, then his unwavering grip sure did. He hadn’t let his hold on you falter for even a second, keeping you pinned to the tree behind you as you watched the display before him with a sickening smirk curving his lips.
And for you, maybe the worst part was that it was equal parts arousing, as it was terrifying. It would be a lie to say you had never thought of Toby in that way, though it was often overshadowed by your complete distaste towards his attitude. You had thought about it a few times, watching Toby’s skin splatter with blood as he hauled off on another victim. A few more times, when you’d catch the way his whole face softened when he let out a genuine laugh.
And you were definitely thinking about it now, with him staring down at you like you were nothing but prey.
”As if.” You snort. “Like you’d even know what to do.” Your eyes flicker up towards his, the fear in your gaze clouded over with that same snark you wore so well. “That’s why you're acting so desperate, right?” Despite the situation, you still find it in yourself to twist your lips into a mocking pout. “Poor guy’s never gotten his dick wet? Gotta put a hatchet to a girl’s throat to actually get some?”
Just like that, you’ve pushed all the wrong buttons. Maybe the right ones actually, depending on how you look at it. Toby’s expression twists, that look of nonchalant amusement melting away for something much darker.
And there's barely even any time for you to think before he’s moving again.
”O-Oh, you’re fuckin’ askin’ for it now.” The hatchet finally leaves your throat, giving you a moment of reprieve to finally take in a few wheezing breaths. It doesn’t leave Toby’s hand though, even as his free hand reaches up to grasp your chin roughly. Out of sight, but barely out of mind. You knew the weapon was just lying in wait. “So eine dumme kleine Schlampe.” He husks out “You’re t-tryin’ to get me riled up on pu-purpose, aren’t you?
”Am not.” You argue back, your stomach flipping when a waver sneaks its way into your words. Just like that, cover blown.
”Are t-too.” Toby snorts, before lifting his arm and lodging his hatchet back in the tree above your head. The sound of wood splintering makes you flinch, but you barely has any time to even think about it before Toby pulls out his ace card. “W-Want me to prove it?”
He asks, but the question seems to just be of courtesy more than anything else. Because before you can think Toby’s free hand is drifting downwards - skirting over the curve of your waist, palm flat against you as he drifts down over your stomach, before finding its destination. Snug between your thighs. The heel of his palm pressing firmly up against your clothed clit as his digits tease your entrance through the thick fabric of your jeans.
The contact has you jolting immediately, mouth dropping open in shock and yet your hips buck towards him. Proving him right, though the words you’d speak would try to refute your own actions. It’s all futile. Toby knows that, and you do too - even if it's buried deep down.
”Fuck off, Toby-“ You grit out, jaw tense as he only presses in closer. A low hum of amusement rumbling from his chest as he adds a little more pressure to his touch. Forcing the crease of your jeans to press roughly up against your clit, sparking an array of tingles down her legs that make your knees feel gooey. You try in earnest to cut him a glare, but it’s a little difficult to be convincing when your expression is buckling just a few seconds later. It’s unavoidable, especially when his palm starts rubbing slow teasing circles against your heat.
If you really wanted to, you could probably shove him off. His guard was down, his hands were free of his weapons. You could easily stun him with a blow to the nose and then sprint off. Every nerve in your body was telling you to do just that, and yet for some reason, you found yourself rooted in place. Slowly but surely melting as the bark pressed into your back. “You’re such a fuckin’ creep.”
”Yeah? A-Am I?” Toby laughs as his other hand finds a home gripping your waist, tugging your hips forwards to meet his movements, forcing even more pressure behind his touch. By this point, the effect is undeniable. You can feel your clit throbbing within the confines of your panties, can feel the flimsy material grow more and more damp with each press of his hand. “Well you’re a Lügnerin.” His head dips down low, stubble scratching at her jawline before he parts his lips - letting his teeth drag against the sensitive flesh. A taunt. “Actin’ like you’re not a-a whore, even though I can smell it on you.” He pinches your skin between his teeth with a sharp nip, making your eyebrows scrunch up. “You’re soaking your panties r-right now, aren’t you? Just from me tossing you a-around a little?”
”Am not.” The lie you spit out is laughable, and it’s fuelled by your pride alone. You know, that if things continue to escalate like they had been, he’ll be finding out about your fallacy soon enough.
”Dirty fuckin’ liar.” Toby husks out against her skin, before pulling his head back. His eyes are dark and predatory as they drop downwards, tracking his own movements as his hand drifts upwards - fingers meeting the cold metal button of your jeans. “Y-You’re just sayin’ that because you want me to find out. Nicht wahr, Hase?”
The button of your jeans is popped, and the zipper is tugged down in quick succession, calloused fingers rough against soft skin when his hand dips below the denim’s hem, wasting no time before he’s cupping your core through your panties. “A-Ah, see?” He gently rubs you through the thin fabric, his smile only widening when he feels the dampness that coats his fingers because of it. “Du bist nur eine dumme Schlampe.”
You’re gasping when Toby’s fingers push the material of your panties to the side, auburn curls falling in front of your eyes as you wriggle in his grip. “D-Don’t act like you don’t want this.” Two fingers dip into your wetness, gathering up all that sweet slick that had accumulated between your folds. “You’re so fuckin’ wet.” He chuckles darkly. “Pussy’s practically beggin’ for it and I’ve barely even done anything.”
His thumb glides against your clit, two fingers teasing your slit but refusing to dip inside. Just to watch you squirm. “C’mon, j-just admit it. Tell me how bad you w-want it.”
Over your dead body.
“Fuck you.” You manage to grit out, eyebrows furrowed as waves of pleasure lick up your spine. But you won’t melt for him, can’t give in to someone like him.
“Ah, alright.” Toby snorts, one eyebrow cocked in amusement as his eyes rave over the pitiful state before him. “B-Be a bitch about it, that’s fine by me.”
In one swift movement his hand slips out of your jeans, and then both hands are on your hips - using his grip to spin you around harshly, pressing the front of your body against the tree you were pinned against. “I-I’ll fuck that attitude outta you, d-don’t you worry.”
The intensity of the situation was increasing exponentially, Toby’s movements growing bolder and bolder as the seconds ticked by. His calloused hands were rough but his actions were rougher - pushing and pulling your body to his will, blunt fingernails scratching at your skin when his fingers hooked under the waistband of your jeans. “Y-You’re so soft.” He hums in appreciation as he tugs the material down your hips, bringing your panties down with it. The cold air surrounding the two of you makes you hiss when it hits your bare cunt. “Aw, you cuh-cold?” Toby snickers. “Keine Sorge, ich w-werde dich aufwärmen.”
“Toby-“ Your words are cut off by a palm pressing to the side of your head, shoving your face against the rough bark of the tree. You sputter for a moment, too stunned to even register the sound of a belt buckle coming undone behind you. “Toby, I’m serious. Get your dirty hands off of me!”
“Y-You’re serious?” Toby chuckles darkly, dark eyes glinting as he raves over the sight before him. His fellow proxy bent over before him, pretty pudgy hips looking like the perfect canvas to leave a collection of bruises on. Your jeans keeping her legs bound at the knees, bare cunt glistening with arousal that told the truth far better than your words did. “Fuh-Funny. So am I.”
With a soft hiss he frees his cock from his boxers, already achingly hard just from batting around this little toy of his. His free hand reaches forwards, harshly gripping your hip and tugging you backwards - making your eyes blow open wide when his length presses up against you from behind. “N-Notice how you’re j-just lettin’ it happen? Die dumme Hure weiß nicht einmal, was sie will.”
He nudges his hips forwards, grinding his cock against your wetness - getting the shaft all nice and coated with your slick as a soft groan rumbles from his chest. “I’ll make the decision f-for you. Aren’t you a lucky thing?”
“T-Toby-“ Your body slumps against the bark, breathing going more ragged each time the head of his dick caught on your entrance. Teasing what was to come. You couldn’t see him, but you could tell he was packing. Just the head causing a stretch that made your stomach flip every time he notched it inside her, only to slip past again. “You- fuck -You can’t-“
“I can’t?” Toby barks out a laugh, his fingers curling deeper into your flesh, watching how it indents from his grip. “From where I-I’m standing, it’s lookin’ like I can.”
Not even given the courtesy of being fingered open a little, your breath catches when you feel the head of his cock press more firmly against you. So much need behind his actions you could practically smell it in the air. “Deep breath, kaninchen.” He murmurs. “This might hurt ya’ a l-little.”
And that’s the only warning he gives you. Because next, he’s nudging his hips forwards - ripping a startled moan from your lungs as his cock bullies its way into her heat. So tight, it makes his teeth grit, eyebrows furrowing and breathing going shallower with each inch he sinks in.
Your legs begin to shake, tears pooling in your eyes as he stuffs you fuller and fuller, to the point where you’re pretty sure he’s going to break you before he even fully sheaths himself. But then, his hips meet yours, right as your ears start to ring. “Hah-“ Toby gasps out, his voice strained. “You-You’re fuckin’ tight. Pussy’s tryna strangle me.”
With another nudge of his hips he gets himself deeper, and your vision starts to blur around the edges. “This cunt was m-made to take me, wasn’t it?”
All he gets in response is a strained whine, but that’s not what he was looking for. Not even close. “Words, slut.” He growls out, using his grip on your hips to keep you pulled back on him - no room to wriggle free. “You were made to take my cock, weren’t you?”
“Fuck off.” You gasp out, the words coming out gargled and breathless. You can barely even think past the feeling of Toby’s cock stretching you open, your inner walls twitching and pulsing around his cock as you struggle to accommodate him. “Cocky bastard.” His hips draw back only minutely, before he’s shoving himself right back in to the hilt - knocking all the air out of your lungs.
“You’re a fuckin’ stubborn bitch, aren’t you?” Toby snaps, releasing your waist with one hand just to reach up above you. In one sharp move he rips his abandoned weapon out of the tree trunk, letting out a soft grunt before he’s raising the metal to your neck. Right under your jawline, the edge of his blade just barely pressing against your skin. An undeniable threat. “How about now? S-Still gonna keep that snark if I lob your pretty head off?”
And then, his hips are moving. His length dragging against your walls on each pull out, just for the head to press against your g-spot on every stroke back in. Harsh, jerky, barely an ounce of care in his actions. His weapon jostling every time his skin smacks against yours, his carelessness only adding to the danger. “C’mon, benimm d-dich wie die Hure, von der ich weiß, dass du sie bist.”
You’re breathing shaky through your nose, your head spinning from a mixture of arousal and unbridled fear - stomach leaping every time the blade of his hatchet presses against your skin just a little too harshly. It’s hard to tell if he’s truly being serious, but your wouldn’t put it past him. If anything, you’re sure he’s done worse. And yet, the pleasure still rears its head, even though it’s bordered by a fear that makes your gut twist. You knew how absolutely pitiful you looked. Could feel the wetness seeping out of you, dirtying both you and Toby - creating a sickening sticky sound every time his hips separated from yours. “Say it. S-Say this sloppy little cunt was made for me.”
“F-Fuck, okay-“ You groan out, eyebrows pinching together as a shiver of pleasure goes down your spine. His cock is throbbing inside you, fucking more slick out of you with each brutal press in. In the otherwise silent forest, the sound of skin on skin is loud. Near deafening every time his hips collide with yours. “This- shit- This pussy was made for you.” You spit out the words like they’re venom on your tongue, barely even able to verbalize them through the gasps and moans leaving your lips. Fingernails gripping the tree trunk before you, you’re ripping bark from the trunk as your fingers scramble to find purchase. Desperate for something to ground you through this brutal onslaught of ecstasy you had been thrown into.
Your skin feels like it’s on fire, despite the frigid air around you. Every nerve in your body set alight, stars dancing behind your eyelids with each stroke Toby was delivering to you. Not a chance of reprieve. No room to breathe. Such an overwhelming sea of pleasure that it’s easy to forget that the person dealing it still has a hatchet to your neck. “Toby, fuck- S’too much-“
”Aw, n-no it’s not.” Toby chuckles softly, his grip only tightening as he fucks into you harder - dark eyes honed in on the sight of your skin rippling every time his hips met yours. On the glistening sheen you were leaving his cock coated in every time he pulled out. “Think I c-can’t feel you tightening up around me?” Despite you abiding to his wishes, he keeps the hatchet nestled right up against your neck. Not enough pressure to break skin, just enough to keep the threat evident. “Feels good, don’t it? Such a slut you’re gonna cum on my cock even though I could kill you in a second?”
“M’not-“ You whine out, but it’s just another lie. You can feel it. Had been able to feel it for a while now. That familiar heat, burning hotter and hotter with each snap of Toby’s hips. Struggling to hold it back, when every press in had him pressed snug up against your g-spot.
”I think you are.” Toby snickers, before finally dropping the hatchet. It hits the snowy ground with a thud, before he’s grabbing your hips with both hands - all restraint gone as he fucks into you with a quicker, faster pace. “C’mon. Give it to me. Y-You’re so close, I can feel it.”
You are. To the point where no amount of willpower could keep your orgasm at bay. Not when Toby was slamming into you like an animal, husky groans slipping out of his lips with each stroke. It only takes a few more before you’re crumpling. Going near limp against the tree as your orgasm hits you like a truck - vision damn near going white as a white hot wave of pleasure washes over you from head to toe. Knees buckling completely, Toby’s firm grip being the only thing keeping you upright as you goes fully pliant in his hold.
So dazed, so fucked out, you barely even hear Toby hiss out a string of curses from behind you, but you feels it when his hips stutter.
Only two more pumps before he’s cumming undone right alongside you - cock still pressed deep when he spills his load. Head dropping down low to rest against your shoulder blades before he’s groaning lowly against your skin. “Hah- Fuck, such a good fuckin’ cunt. T-Tryna milk me dry.”
Trying, or succeeding? Definitely the latter. Because by the time Toby’s pulling out, you’re still stuffed with him - milky white ropes of cum dribbling out of your abused cunt and running down your thighs. Toby lets out an amused hum before reaching down, then he’s scooping it all back up with two fingers and promptly pushing it right back inside you. “Cute.” He snickers. “You made a mess.”
”I made a mess?” You rasp back out, weakly looking over your shoulder to cut him the meanest glare you could muster up. The verdict was, not very convincing, because your face was still flushed with eyes fucked out and hazy.
”Yeah.” Toby chuckles. “Y-You made a mess.” He delivers a sharp slap to one of your ass cheeks before letting out a snort of a laugh. “Don’tcha worry though, th-the boss’ll get a good report from me this time. Looks like you can be useful.”
You rolls your eyes before letting out a shaky breath, trying (and failing) to regulate your heart rate once more.
”Yeah, I guess you can be too.”
—
helloooooo friends! yes yes this was a commission! thank you to the lovely who sent this to me and gave me the permission to post this on my blog <3
as I said up top, my commissions are closed for now, but if you’re interested in something like this for yourself hit me up once they’re open again! I usually take around 5 commissions at a time before I close them for breathing room :)
Originally published on AO3, which you can read here if you’d prefer :)
Tags: Phone Sex, Stalking, Breaking and Entering, Mutual Masturbation, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Choking, Degradation, Obsessive Behavior, German dirty talk, Hide and Seek
Words: 6.3k
Summary: Your friend canceling on you gives you an unexpected treat: a night in to yourself. Your boredom leads you to entertain a stranger that dialed the wrong number. Little do you know, he's watching from your window.
As always:
⋆˙⟡ All canon will be flexible to make way for sexy ⟡˙⋆
Alright so YES this was supposed to be for Toby’s bday and it’s a bit belated… I knew I had to write something for Toby's bday but I was crunched for time so I went for a ghost face-esque sort of theme. A basic idea I know but I kind of love the way it turned out so… slay?
“I can’t make it tonight.” Your friend’s voice rang through the phone’s speaker.
“What? No way.” You said, hanging your keys back up.
“My car won’t start. Fucking battery is busted or something. I’m really sorry. Can we reschedule?” She really did sound sorry. If only she knew how much she didn’t need to be.
“Man, that fucking sucks… No big deal though, we can always hang another day.” You tried to contain your glee, slipping your shoes off.
“Totally! I’ll talk to you later. I gotta get this car shit figured out. Love youuuu, bye.”
“Okay, love you byeeeeeeee.” You hung up quickly.
Immediately after you set down your phone, you did a little happy dance.
Fuck yes!
It was a true rarity for you to have a night in to yourself. You already had the perfect idea. You had a tub of ice cream that was waiting in the fridge and a box of brownie mix that was screaming at you to bake it.
You quickly ran to your room, ditching your going out clothes for a pair of sleep shorts and an old band tee.
This was going to be an awesome night. You already couldn’t wait.
—
Toby watched as you danced around the kitchen, loving how adorable you looked. God, you were the perfect distraction tonight.
He had things he was supposed to be doing of course, but how was he supposed to resist you? You had no blinds on those kitchen windows, and the light from the room pouring out into the darkness of the night attracted his attention. What he saw through the window, though, was far more captivating. He was the moth and you were the flame, an irresistible force pulling him in. Those people he was supposed to murder could die anytime. He had to have you tonight.
His eyes were fixed on you as you twirled around, giving the performance of a lifetime to your cat. He couldn’t help the smile that broke out across his face and the small laugh that escaped him. You were so carefree, all caught up in your own little world. You’d never notice him watching you from the bushes outside your window.
The longer he watched you, the faster he was becoming infatuated with you. Everything about you was drawing him in. He loved the way your shirt was loosely hanging off one shoulder, exposing just the right amount of skin. Your sleep shorts were perfectly hugging your ass, and the way you moved in them around the kitchen got him in a trance.
He felt his jeans grow tighter, his bulge straining against them. His mind was already racing, thinking of all the things he wanted to do to you. He imagined how your body would writhe under him, how your cunt would look stretched around his cock as you arched your back.
He wanted to know how you sounded when you moaned, the way you’d scream his name when you came. Right now, he needed to know what your voice sounded like.
It was time to see how much fun you’d be.
—
“So~ melodramatic but it turns me on. I clo~ose my eyes, it feels just like a movie.” You sang out, using a spoon as an imaginary microphone. “I’m convinced that we don’t make sense but I’d kill-”
Beep! Beep!
“Alright, alright. I heard ya.” You pulled the brownies out, setting them on the counter to cool. Now all you needed to do was find a good movie on Netflix and you’d be so set for tonight. You hummed as you walked to the fridge, ready to pull out that tub of ice cream, when your phone rang.
You looked down at it. It was a number you didn’t recognize. You shrugged and silenced it.
If it’s important they’ll leave a voicemail.
To your surprise, your phone started ringing again. It was the same number.
Well, if it’s a scammer at least they’re persistent.
It’d been a while since you messed with a scammer. At least you’d be able to get a laugh out of being silly with them. If they’re gonna try to waste your time, it’s fair game for you to waste theirs.
You picked up the phone. “Helloooooo~” you answered in a sing-song voice.
“Hello.” A lower, gravely voice rang through the speaker.
“So like… what’s the dealio~?” You held the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you got the ice cream out of the fridge.
He had to contain a giggle. You were already so much fun. He leveled his tone before speaking. “I’m looking for someone but I’m -fuck- not sure if this is the right number.” His neck cracked in tandem with the swear as he spoke. He hoped that hadn’t thrown you off too much.
You straightened up upon hearing that.
Oh shit, this is like a real guy.
You decided to be normal now. “Oh sorry, I thought you were a scammer.” You laughed a little. “Who are you trying to call?”
“Who is this?”
You raised your eyebrow a bit, slightly amused with the oddity of this situation. This was starting to feel a little like a very familiar movie scene. “I don’t think I’m who you’re looking for.” You smiled, scooping out your ice cream. “Good luck though.”
You hung up the phone and set it on the counter, finishing your scooping. Just as you set the ice cream tub back in the freezer you heard your phone ring again.
It was the same number.
You scoffed, wondering why he called again. Yet, you picked up the phone and answered. “Hello?”
“Whoops, I guess my finger slipped.” His voice was almost sultry.
Is he… trying to flirt with me?
It felt like you were jumping the gun a little to think that already but what was with that tone? Plus, he called you again after you already told him he had the wrong number. Either way, you didn’t really mind that he had. It’s not like you had anything better to do. Plus, he had a pretty nice sounding voice, and the way he had just said that was kind of hot. Nonetheless, this was some random guy calling you by mistake.
“Well, I think I’m still not who you’re looking for.”
“Are you sure?”
You walked to the living room with your ice cream, sitting down on the couch. “Oh, I’m pretty sure. I hope you find them though.”
“Wait, don’t hang up so soon.” He said as he followed you to living room, watching the way you froze for a second.
He had an even better view of you at the window beside your couch. Being this close to you, all without you knowing was stirring up his arousal. The darkness completely hid him from your view, not that you were paying much attention anyways.
Your lips curled upward a bit as you answered. “Why not? You lonely?”
So maybe flirting with some random guy who called you by accident wasn’t the best idea but who cares? You don’t know him in real life and it’s not like you’ll ever have to see him. It’s just a little harmless fun. Besides, he started it.
He was loving the banter you two had started up. The tone of your voice, your flirtatiousness, was only serving to tempt him further. “Maybe. You can’t spare a little time and humor me?”
You smiled even more. “Hmmm… I dunno. I’m kinda busy.” You sunk into the couch, resting your back against the cushions while you twirled your hair.
“Just -fuck- answer a question for me.” He bit his lip, annoyed that he couldn’t keep his tics under control while talking to you.
“Let me guess, you wanna know what I’m wearing?” You teased.
He was so amused with your behavior. You were much bolder than he was expecting. He knew you were trying to rile him up, and it was working like a charm. “Yeah? I wouldn’t mind knowing. Tell me.” His voice was low and husky, sending heat between your thighs.
“Hm…. No way~” You said cutely, a big smile on your face.
His laugh sent butterflies swarming in your stomach.
“Aw, playing hard to get? That’s cute.” He said.
Watching your jaw drop had him stifling a growl. He could just imagine that pretty little mouth wrapped around his cock. He was already starting to feel a little impatient, but he wanted to hold out for a bit longer. He wanted to play with you a little more before he pounced. “Tell me your name.”
“Well that wasn’t a question.” You said sarcastically, but your enjoyment was evident in your voice.
“C’mon, I’ll tell you mine.” He coaxed. Of course, he already knew your name though. It wasn’t hard to find your name and phone number, especially since he already knew your address. Really, it was a test of naivety. He was seeing how easily you’d give information to a stranger.
He watched as you took a bite of ice cream before you answered, loving the sight of your mouth sucking it off the spoon.
“Tell me yours then.”
“It’s Toby.” He said easily.
“Hm… Toby, Toby, Toby.” You drew out the -y part on the last one, doing a little experimenting with saying his name.
He’d never loved hearing his name more than just now when it came from your lips. “Mm, careful how you say it now.”
“Why’s that, Toby~?” You said, taking another bite of ice cream before wincing as brain freeze hit you. “Ack-”
“What’s wrong?”
“Ugh, I just got a brain freeze.” You pushed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to alleviate it quickly.
“Eating something cold?” He silently wondered what that felt like, both the pain and the cold.
“Yup, I was just having some ice cream.”
“You have a big sweet tooth or something?”
“Eh, I dunno. I’m just having a little night in to myself and I thought I’d be a little indulgent.”
Crap, probably not the best idea to tell a stranger I’m alone.
“What kind of ice cream is it?”
“Cookie dough~”
“Is that your favorite flavor?” At this point Toby was just having a bit of fun chatting with you, getting you to relax and open up.
You had a thoughtful expression for a moment. “Oh, I dunno. There’s so many ice cream flavors. That’s a really hard question.”
“Well, how about an easier question? What’s your name?”
A smile broke out across your face again. “You really wanna know, huh? It’s a secret.”
“You’re really not gonna tell me? Why? You scared?” His voice was like a caress, just a little breathy and somehow making your heart race.
“Pfft, I’m not scared. It’s just fun to mess with you.”
“That’s fine. Haah… I think it’s sexy when you play hard to get.” His breathing was a little heavier.
You shifted on the couch, feeling the moisture collect in your panties. You questioned if your hearing was off or if he truly sounded like he was having a lot more fun talking to you than you thought. You were probably reading too much into it. There was no way he was… doing something like that.
Your own breathing picked up. You bit your lip, wondering if you should say something. You heard another breathy sound on the line. It sounded almost like a moan.
If he was truly doing what you were thinking he was, that would be really creepy, right? Not… hot at all. You shifted again, feeling the uncomfortable tension building between your thighs.
“Whatcha doing over there?” You asked, a little nervously.
He laughed breathlessly and you pulled your knees up, hiding your face in them.
God, I’ve only heard his voice but why the fuck is he so hot?
“Whatever do you mean?” His panting got a bit louder.
“I mean… um… it- it kind of sounds like you’re doing something… inappropriate…” You said the last word in a tiny voice, not even wanting to say it out loud.
He chuckled again, and you almost couldn’t take it.
He knew he was driving you wild, and it was only serving to make him harder as he freed himself from his boxers. He started to lazily stroke his cock. “Mm… does it?” He let out another breathy sound. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m thinking about you and all the things I wanna do to you.”
Your breath hitched at his confirmation, and it was the last straw. Your hand traveled down between your legs, lightly cupping yourself and adding just a little pressure, just enough to sate your aching clit. “Well, if you are, that’s pretty gross then.”
He bit his lip hard to stifle the growl that erupted from his throat as he watched you touch your cunt while you lied to him. His voice started to sound more ragged, “Yeah? It’s gross? Why aren’t you hanging up then? I bet you’re already wet for me.”
Your breath hitched again, getting just a bit heavier as you started to rub yourself through your sleep shorts. “As if I’m getting turned on by some pervert touching himself while he talks to me.”
He moaned breathily as he watched you start to rub yourself harder, grinding your hips against your hand. He chuckled again, “Mhm… sure you’re not. I guess you’re not rubbing your cute little pussy to the sound of my voice are you?”
A sigh escaped you as you kept grinding against your hand. “I’m not doing anything, but I bet you’re stroking your cock right now.”
This time you heard a low groan emit from the speaker. “And I bet you’re playing with your pussy like a little slut.”
You bit your lip hard to stifle the moan that threatened to escape. This was getting you way more worked up than you’d care to admit. You pulled off your shorts and your panties, discarding them to the side. Settling back down on the couch, you leaned back against the back of it. You spread your legs wide, letting them fall to the sides of you with your knees pulled up to your chest, exposing your cunt fully.
You kept a hard bite on your lip, trying to stifle any sounds as you slipped a finger inside.
Toby groaned again, fisting his cock harder as he watched your finger disappear into your cunt. It was taking everything in him not to just walk up to your door and let himself in. He knew you needed more than just your little fingers to satiate you. You needed something bigger. “What’s the matter, pretty girl? Cat got your tongue? Or are you just too occupied to say anything back?”
You were slowly dipping your finger in and out of your cunt. You were trying to be quiet, but secretly you really wanted him to hear. You wanted him to pick up on your tiny moans and whimpers. “No, I just thought I’d let you sit here and entertain your own fantasies.” You slipped another finger in, picking up the pace. You were so dripping wet your fingers made little sticky wet sounds each time you pushed them inside.
“You think I can’t hear what you’re doing?” His voice was low and breathy, with just a tinge of roughness. “You think I can’t hear you fingerfuck your sloppy cunt?”
“Oh… god…” You moaned as you moved your fingers faster. You put the phone on speaker, setting it down beside you so you could use your other hand to rub your clit.
“Fuck… I wanna be inside you so bad… need to feel that pretty cunt wrapped around my cock…” He groaned as he picked up the pace, trying to match the rhythm of your movements.
“Mm… I wanna feel your cock stretching me open.” You whined, feeling your stomach start to tense as the pleasure built deep inside you.
“God… fuck…” he grit out. “I wanna feel you coming around my cock so bad… I need to feel you come all over my cock.”
Your whines and whimpers were getting more desperate, rubbing your clit faster and pushing your fingers deeper as you imagined him fucking you. You knew it’d feel so fucking good, he’d get deeper than your fingers ever possibly could.
“Are you gonna come? Huh? Are you gonna come just from hearing my voice like the pathetic little slut you are?” His groans were also sounding more desperate. “That’s all it takes for you? All I had to do was call you and you turn into a filthy little whore.”
“You’re the one who couldn’t resist stroking your cock to the thought of fucking me.” You were so fucking close now, just a little more. “You probably called me… fuck….. just for this.”
“I know you’re so fucking close. You wanna come for me? Be a good girl and say my name while you come.”
That was it. “Fuck… Toby…!” You cried out as your cunt started to convulse around your fingers. You kept rubbing your clit, riding the waves of pleasure as you listed to a strangled growl come out of Toby.
It was the final straw for Toby too. “See you soon.” The call ended.
That had shocked you out of your post orgasm haze. Your heart immediately started to race.
What the fuck does that mean?!
You suddenly realized the gravity of the situation. This guy was a complete stranger to you and you just had phone sex with him and told him you wanted him to fuck you.
You started to look around, feeling a little less safe in your home now. You grabbed your panties and shorts, pulling them back on so you could at least go double check all your doors were locked.
You checked the front door, finding it locked. Looking around your windows, you saw nothing as you walked to your back door to make sure it was locked too.
Sure enough, it was also locked.
Maybe you were overreacting. He could’ve just said that as some kind of prank.
Pretty shitty prank.
Just as you felt the coast was clear, you heard some noise coming from the front door, like someone was trying to open it, or pick the lock.
You ran to the door, determined to lock it back if someone picked the lock. Your heart was racing, hoping you’d make it in time.
Just as you reached for the handle, the knob turned, and the door pushed open. You grabbed the door, but just as you did another, much larger hand was placed over yours.
“Toby…?” You trembled as you spoke. Your stomach dropped as his large frame pushed through, entering your home.
He was much taller than you, towering over you as he stepped inside. He had messy brown hair and dark eyes that bore into yours. His eyes were the only thing you could really focus on, the rest of his face was covered by some kind of mouth guard that sort of looked like a muzzle.
You tried to take in as much as you could about his appearance, grasping at straws to try to find something that would help you decipher his motives. There was a pair of orange scratched up goggles on his head and he wore a striped jacket along with jeans. Nothing really jumped out at you until you noticed the hatchet hooked at his hip.
You started to take slow steps backwards as he closed in on you. The only thing that could be heard throughout your empty house was the sound of your own shaky breathing, trembling in fear.
You continued to back up until your back pressed against the wall, looking up into his eyes.
He placed his hands on the wall beside you on each side. “Aw, what’s-” he interrupted himself with a breathy laugh. “What’s wrong, pretty girl?”
He pulled off his mouth guard, revealing the rest of his face. He had a kind of grizzly attractiveness to him, but the most notable feature on his face was a large gash on his right cheek. It was jaggedly scarred up, and deep enough to go all the way through, exposing his teeth.
A wolfish grin spread across his face. “You scared?”
Honestly, you were, but not in the way he was thinking. Much to your displeasure, it was the good kind of fear. The kind that made you feel the need to press your thighs together, wondering what he was going to do with you.
God, I need mental help.
You shouldn’t be finding this hot. You really shouldn’t and you knew that. You should be running away, screaming, something other than standing here getting wetter. You truly pondered where in the evolution process you had failed. Your flight or flight response had suddenly presented you with a third option: fuck.
Your only choice was to bring your hands up to cover your face, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.
He let out a sick sounding giggle when he saw you do that, eating up all your reactions. “Oh no, don’t try to hide from me.” He grabbed your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face. “Don’t tell you’re all shy now. After you just came to my voice.”
Even after he moved your hands you kept your head down, trying to keep your face out of his view.
“Aw, you’re acting so pathetic, baby.” His voice was taunting. “What happened to all that boldness you had on the phone?”
He leaned in close to your ear, letting out a breathy laugh when you shivered. “Tell you what.”
Your whole body was trembling in anticipation.
“Since you wanna hide so bad, I’ll give you ten seconds to hide.”
Much to your displeasure, the idea of playing some kind of twisted hide and seek game with him excited you even more. “What happens if you find me…?” You just had to ask.
“You’ll find out when I find you.” He let go of your wrists.
You immediately broke into a sprint, already hearing him counting.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
You really had no idea where to hide. It was like the adrenaline killed your ability to think. You ended up in your bedroom, and he was already halfway to ten.
Under the bed felt too obvious, not like the closet was any better. Your eyes darted between the two places. You heard Toby call out nine and you yanked the closet door open, getting inside and shutting it just as he got to ten.
Your heart was jumping out of your chest as you heard his footsteps. Your house wasn’t that big, he was clearly just toying with you, taking his sweet time to find you.
The door to your bedroom swung open slowly. You clamped your hand over your mouth to quiet your breathing. Your heartbeat thumped loudly in your ears, loud enough you feared he could hear it.
He appeared in your field of vision through the crack of the door.
“I know you’re in here.” His voice was only slightly menacing.
He dropped down to the floor looking under the bed.
I knew that was a shitty spot.
“Not there? Guess you’re a little -fuck- smarter than I thought.”
You watched as his neck cracked uncontrollably, straightening back up before turning to the closet you were in.
A big sinister looking smile stretched across his face as he slowly approached the closet. Your heart felt like it was going to explode.
“I know where you are…” He said before yanking open the door.
You froze. Partially because there was nowhere to run to, and partially because you weren’t sure you really wanted to.
He bit his lip as he closed in on you. You looked like a bunny hiding in its burrow, eyes wide and heart racing. You couldn’t look more adorable to him. He felt his cock throb in his jeans, a painful reminder that he still hadn’t came yet.
He pressed his body up against yours, pulling your chin up to look at him. “Found you.”
His hands were already all over you, grabbing and squeezing wildly. “A little too -fuck- obvious, don’t you think? It’s like you -fuck- really wanted to be found.” His neck was cracking and twitching uncontrollably even more, like getting him riled up made it worse.
Your lips fell open in a gasp, and he took the opportunity to capture your mouth, instantly pushing his tongue into it. His kiss was desperate, like he was pouring all of his desire into you. He grabbed your waist, roughly pressing your body into his. You gripped at his hoodie, trying to anchor yourself with something as he overtook you.
He released your mouth, his lips traveling down to leave bites and suck dark marks into your neck. He moved his hand from your face down to your waistband, pushing past it and into your panties, instantly feeling how wet you were.
He laughed, pulling away from your neck. “Oh, you’re so worked up. You like this? You like being scared?”
You nodded your head, not having the courage to say it out loud.
Now it was his turn to have wide eyes. He truly hadn’t expected you to agree. You kept proving you were better than he thought. He grabbed you, pulling you out of the closet and pushing you down onto your bed.
His eyes traveled up and down your body, drinking you in. You pressed your thighs together again, trying to sate that ache. The action caught his attention and he smirked, looking up into your eyes. “Oh, you really do like this don’t you?”
He ran his hand down your neck, just a featherlight touch. You shivered as he kept going, down to your collarbone and slowly down the curve of your waist. At this point you were contemplating begging him to just touch you already.
Finally, he hooked his fingers into your waistband, yanking your shorts down and taking your panties with them.
He grabbed your legs, pushing them back to your chest and spreading you wide open. You let out an almost squeak sound in embarrassment.
“There’s that pretty pussy you showed me earlier.” He was staring hard.
“You don’t have to stare… so directly…” You mumbled nervously.
He let go of your legs, looking up at you. “Keep those there.” Just the look in his eyes was enough to keep you in place, but his tone had you set on staying put.
Your legs trembled as he continued to stare, inching his face closer to your cunt. “You’re dripping onto the bed. Fuck… that’s hot.” He said, running his finger up your slit to collect the moisture.
He grabbed your hips and jerked you to the edge on the bed as he sunk to his knees. “Need to feel your cunt coming on my tongue.” He mumbled before pressing his mouth against you.
You couldn’t help but moan out the second he did. He started sucking your clit a little before tracing slow languid strokes up your cunt. You arched off the bed, only for a second before Toby roughly grabbed your hips, holding them down with a bruising force.
You placed your hands over his, grabbing them as a way to ground yourself. He sucked your clit again, starting a slow steady rhythm that had you writhing and whimpering.
“Toby….” You whined.
You felt him chuckle into your cunt, the vibrations intensifying the pleasure even more. He moved his tongue down to your entrance, slowly pressing his tongue inside.
He moved one of his hands down to rub your clit with his thumb and the other he used to hold your hand, lacing your fingers together on top of your hip where he could still hold you down.
He started moving his tongue in and out of your cunt, while keeping pressure on your clit with his thumb. Your orgasm was building rapidly, the combination of every way he was touching you had you clenching around his tongue before you even realized you were that close.
He moaned when you came around his tongue, lapping up every bit of your arousal that flowed out. He kept going, drawing out your orgasm for as long as possible.
You thought that would be enough for him, but he switched the placement of his tongue and hand, slowly pushing a finger into you while he sucked your clit lightly.
Your head was going numb as he stretched you open with his finger, slowly working a second one in and curling them forward. At this point you didn’t even have the capacity to think about how embarrassing the sounds you were making were. You were moaning unabashedly because that was all you were able to do.
He was sloppily dragging his tongue over your clit over and over. Drool poured from the gash on his face, only making your cunt messier. He pumped his fingers in and out of your cunt, making wet noises fill the room from him pressing your g-spot over and over.
You squeezed his hand you were holding hard, a pitiful whimper coming from you as you came again. He moaned on your clit when he felt you squeeze his fingers, which only served to heighten the feeling of your orgasm. Your whole body felt like it was on pins and needles, all stemming from the wet heat of his mouth and fingers torturing your cunt.
He pulled his fingers out slowly, lightly running them over your cunt as he climbed back onto the bed. “You’re so cute~” He cooed. “This time I wanna watch while you come.”
This time…?!
He pushed your shirt up, exposing your chest. He took a nipple in his mouth as he slowly pushed his fingers back in. Your body jolted and trembled, it was like every little touch was sending electric shocks through your body.
He laughed and then said, “Ich könnte dich jetzt sofort brechen.”
You weren’t sure what scared you more, the fact that you had no idea what the fuck he said or the tone he said it in. Either way, it had you tightening around his fingers, eliciting a growl from Toby.
His cock was so painfully hard, screaming at him to claim your pussy already. He was in a battle with himself, he wanted to come so badly, but he was also enraptured watching you come. He just needed one more from you.
He pushed his fingers deep inside you, grinding them against your g-spot, his palm pressing down on your clit. You struggled to keep up when he leaned down and kissed you sloppily. Your whole body was being surrendered to him. He pulled away, loving the way your tongue stayed out a bit even after he pulled away.
He cupped the side of your face, pushing your hair back with his fingers. “Look at that slutty face you’re making. I wish you could see how much of a whore you look like right now.”
You tried to keep your eyes locked with his, failing miserably. Your head felt so fuzzy, the only thing you could focus on was the pleasure building deep in your cunt.
“You want my cock, pretty girl?” He asked.
You instantly responded with an eager nod. “Pathetic…” he said under his breath with a smirk.
His breathing was so ragged. He leaned down close to your ear, his fingers so deep in your cunt as he whispered, “Ich kann fühlen, wie gut sich deine Fotze anfühlt. Ich kann es kaum erwarten, es in dich zu stecken.”
You were so close to coming again, just a little more would tip you over the precipice.
As if he could read your mind, Toby bit your neck, sucking the skin right below the ear, right where he could feel your pulse. Your head went fully blank as you convulsed around his fingers. Your cunt was greedily sucking him in and that was the last straw for him. At this point it would be cruel to not give you what you so desperately need.
He stood up, pulling off his jacket and his shirt. Your eyes ran over his form, taking note of his slender, yet somewhat muscular form. What really stood out to you was the tattoo on his chest, right below his right collarbone. It looked like a scratchy drawn circle with an X through it.
You could practically feel the impatience coming off him in waves. His hatchet made a dull thud on your bedroom floor as it was tossed to the side. He yanked his zipper down, not even bothering to pull his pants off before pulling his throbbing hard cock out. You could hear the way his heavy breathing was shaking, how close he was to losing his restraint, how much he wanted to give into his overwhelming need for you.
He positioned his cock at your entrance, his head falling back in a groan when he ran it up your slit, your cunt coating the tip in your wetness. “Du bist so verdammt nass...es fühlt sich so gut an, dein kleines Fotze gegen mich zu reiben...” He said breathlessly.
“Please…” You whined. Feeling his hard cock press on your clit was too much. You needed him inside you before you went insane.
“Mm… You can ask better than that. C’mon, I know you want this cock. Beg for it. Show me how much you want it.”
You whimpered, already feeling pathetic enough. “Please, Toby… I need it so bad.”
He kept running the tip over your clit, teasing you with the feeling of his hard cock. “Is this what you imagined on the phone? You imagined my thick cock rubbing against your cute little clit and making you feel good? Tell me again what you said you wanted.”
You thought back to your phone call, trying to remember what you said in your cum drunk stupor. You grabbed your legs, pulling them up for him to expose your dripping cunt even more. “I wanna feel your cock stretching me open.”
“That’s a good girl.” He groaned, slowly pushing his cock into you. The gush of your cunt was audible as he filled you completely. He took a deep breath, trying to control himself. He couldn’t break his new toy already. “God…” He harshly sucked in a breath. “Your slutty fucking cunt is gushing.”
You let out a particularly lewd moan, the stretch of his cock was nothing short of pure euphoria. Your eyes rolled back in your head as he started to thrust into you, starting a slow and hard pace.
“Yeah… that’s it. Fuck… Moan and cry and gush all over my cock.” The sounds of your sloppy cunt only amplified as he picked up the pace, hooking his arms behind your shoulders. “God… you’re such a good little cock sleeve. You’re so fucking pathetic, you know that?”
Your wanton eyes met his dark lustful ones. You nodded profusely. “I’m so pathetic…” You whined.
He growled, using one of his hands to pull your mouth open. You were so obedient, giving him no resistance as he spit in your mouth. You swallowed it, still holding his gaze.
“Pretty fucking slut.” He looked absolutely enamored with you at this point. “Du bist so nass, deine Möse fühlt sich so gut an.”
He leaned back, hooking his arms under your legs so he could hold them back himself. He wrapped his hands around your neck, applying just enough pressure to feel your pulse. Your hands scrambled to his shoulders as he started drilling into you.
“Ich werde dich so sehr züchten, dass du nicht mehr klar denken kannst, mein Mädchen.” He grit out. He was getting close, your cunt wrapping around him perfectly. He could hardly take it, the slutty face you were making, the way your tits bounced each time he pounded his cock into you, the way your cunt looked stretched around him. He wasn’t going to last much longer.
His voice was getting breather, whinier almost as he rutted into you like you were his lifeline. “God… you’re such a perfect little slut, so fucking perfect. Ich werde dich zu meiner eigenen kleinen Besitzung machen und dafür sorgen, dass du nie wieder von mir weg willst.”
“So good… fuckkkk… Du wirst mir gehören, ob du willst oder nicht.” His head was scrambled, rapidly switching between English and German as he slammed into your cervix.
His cock felt so good nestled right against your cervix, pressing so deep you were seeing stars. You came hard around his cock, sucking him in.
The feeling of your cunt milking his cock pushed him over the edge. He pressed in deep, filling your cunt with his cum.
He didn’t pull out right away. Your head was spinning, feeling his cock throb inside you with his aftershocks. He captured your lips again, lazily pushing his tongue into your mouth. You were both exhausted. He pulled back, cupping your face like you were the most precious thing in the world. “You’re cute. I wanna keep you.”
He got up, pushing a hand through his hair, looking pensive for a moment. “I gotta go take care of some business though…”
“I’ll be back for you.” He said casually, he picked up his shirt, slipping it back on.
“Hm…?” You tilted your head to the side in confusion, still feeling out of it.
He smiled to himself, not really noting your confusion. “Maybe you should get some things together… probably not coming back for a while.”
You finally realized what he meant. This harmless fun of yours had gone farther than you thought it would.
He headed for your bedroom door, turning back and grabbing his hatchet. “By the way…” He said with a sick little giggle. “Don’t try to run later. I don’t wanna have to use this thing on a pretty girl like you.”
He left, leaving you alone with your thoughts and apparently giving you time to pack. It turned out your night had been more eventful than you planned.
~please remember to distinguish fiction from reality
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