I am in a TON of fandoms, but the ones I mainly plan to write for are JJK and the creepypasta fandom. If I have a new obsession you’ll probably see me splurge on that for a little while, but these two topics are my mains ^^
Constructive criticism is always open, and I am forever grateful to those with good intentions and who wish to help. I’ve been writing for years but I haven’t started publishing until recently, so I’m still figuring out how tumblr works and all its knick-knacks.
!!! 𝙸 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚗-𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜 (𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝/𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢) or if the character is stated as aged up, 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊 𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊. 𝙳𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚜; 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘. !!!
Requests are always open, and I will try my best to get back to you guys as soon as I can 💜
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Masterlist, anons, and my tags coming soon..
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Extra extra! ⋆˚꩜｡⋆
─⋅⋆⁺𖤐. My pronouns are she/her, I am a college student (otherwise I’d be a bed rotter and write all day), a lover of music and all animals.
─⋅⋆⁺𖤐. I am always open to learning more about anything and everything, and I am no veteran. I am always open to comments about mistakes or errors, interesting little facts, and lore that I didn’t know surrounding the characters I love!
─⋅⋆⁺𖤐. My page isn’t strictly NSFW, but all NSFW will be in the labels of my posts/ in my tags. I write 16+ for comfort or angst, but NSFW is strictly 18+ (MDNI). I write for nasty, down bad shit, so be warned.
─⋅⋆⁺𖤐. I am not the owner of any art or special fonts! All rights to their original owners ^>^
I remember I read a fic a long ass time ago where reader tried her best to look past EJ’s cannibalism and couldn’t.
Slowly their relationship decayed and he would break down in front of her after returning from a hunt (guilt complex), but she had become numb to it and would deadass just walk around him to clean up the blood on the floor.
Jack had to make the decision to stop coming home to her, and just vanished one day because he loved her too much to scare her.
I think about it a lot like ME PERSONALLY. Maybe I’m crazy or maybe I’m just correct. But ME. IN MY HUMBLE OPINION. PERSONALLY.
That’s my baby daddy these civilians mean nothing to me. FUCK these hoes and FUCK their mamas.
You’d have to pull me off his body with a crane. Surgically removed even. Skin to skin balls to the wall they’d have to use telekinesis I’m so seriously. Latched on like a famished leech. 18th century plague doctor typa attachment. Readers fumble in that fic shaped me into who I am. Generational debt was burdened upon her blood line I can feel it.
Like does Gordon Ramsey fear the heat of a stove? Did Socrates tremble before the pen? Did Alexander Hamilton fail to write the 51 papers?
IF YOU CANT DRIBBLE GET THE FUCKKKKK OFF COURT AND PASS THE BALL SO A REAL SHOOTER CAN SHOOT.
Geto Suguru who likes to do self-care plus is a homebody
Times with just you and your husband were usually short-lived. He had girls to raise, a whole cult to lead, and then himself to take care of.
So of course, when you came into his life in the most erratic of ways, you did everything you could to be independent. You didn’t want to be a burden, and you demonstrated that through the first few months of your relationship; making dinner for the girls + making food for school, taking care of the house as well as errands (alongside keeping up with your own job), and simply being there for him when he needed it most. That being not judging him for his job once he told you the truth: that he was a ‘monk’ who actually killed non-sorcerers (like yourself) after leading them to believe he had good intentions.
“Well.. I’m sure you have a reason for it, no? You’re not a fool.”
He knew he’d have to wife you up then and there.
That was a few years ago. Currently, his girls (classed as both of your girls now) were starting high school. They were staying over at their friend’s house for a sleepover, something you hadn’t heard the end of for the whole week leading to the weekend, and the house was.. quiet. Not in a bad way, just an unusual peace you and your husband reveled in.
When Suguru first mentioned a surprise that he had planned for you that night, you almost expected roses leading to a bed with him in nothing but a robe. But you were shocked when you found he had set out a whole plan of care for the two of you.
Once you strolled back into the bathroom after wishing the girls goodbye, the dim lighting (curtesy of small candles) of your shared bathroom surprised you. To your surprise, you found an already warm and bubbly bath, with multiple little bottles set out along the marble countertop.
“Smells good, no?”
Your husband murmured as he leant over the bathroom countertop, carefully smoothing out a charcoal mask over his face. He paused, purple hues flitting over to you, before he smiled.
He didn’t wanna go out. Didn’t wanna rail you (yet). Didn’t wanna invite anyone over. He simply wanted to spend time with his wife, taking care of you both in the ways you deserved.
✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦
Guys I’m so sorry I’ve been off writing, the block is so getting to me💔
✦ . Note: Got it out as quickly as I could, hope you enjoy! In my mind, Jack is a confident, talkative guy when he's drunk, so take that how you will, lol.
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As the bottle whipped around on the coffee table, you quickly realized you were neither drunk nor high enough to deal with the embarrassment you were about to face.
It wobbled, catching on an ashtray on the edge of the space, before it slowed from one face, to another, then—
Jack.
You would’ve thought a gaggle of crows had just found their way into the living room at the sound that erupted from the corner of the room.
Natalie and Toby lost it.
Natalie slapped the back of Jack’s head with a loud smack while Toby howled, kicking his leg higher over Jack’s thigh as if he needed the extra support to keep from falling over laughing. Jack didn’t look the least bit impressed. He sat there between them on the loveseat pushed into the corner, his absent sockets pointed blankly at the bottle, its tip completely motionless and aimed right at him.
You felt a pit form deep in your stomach.
Being locked in a closet with the resident cannibal suddenly felt a lot less like a fun party game and a lot more like a very bad idea.
People started whooping and cheering, especially Toby and Natalie, who were still losing their minds. Jack slowly stood up, shrugging both of them off like they weighed nothing. They tumbled dramatically into the arms of the loveseat, still cracking up and clutching their ribs as they reached for each other.
“Good luck, big guy,” Natalie wheezed, wiping tears from her good eye. “You’re gonna die in there.”
Toby pointed at you with one shaky hand, laughing so hard he could hardly sit up right. “Don’t let him eat you!”
You glanced around the room, hoping for even a scrap of mercy, but everyone else was either grimacing in sympathy or grinning like this was the funniest thing they’d seen all night. Jeff and Ben looked especially pleased with themselves.
Jack rounded the coffee table without so much as a word. His tall frame cast a long shadow over you as he came to a stop right in front, staring down with his blank gaze. The black voids of his eyes seemed to swallow the light from the lights overhead. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.
Until, “C’mon.”
You nodded quickly and pushed yourself up from the floor, legs a little unsteady. Jack turned without another word and started down the hallway. You followed a few steps behind him, fingers picking nervously at the hem of your shirt. The moment you left the living room, you heard Jeff yell over the noise, “Ben. Music.”
The music rushed in seconds later—loud, gritty rock blasting through the busted speakers twice as loud as before, the bass rattling the old floorboards under your feet.
The walk down the hall felt longer than it should have. Jack’s broad shoulders took up most of the space, his steps quiet and even like a cat. When he reached the closet door, he opened it and stepped aside.
You stopped a few feet away, looking up at him. The overhead light in the hallway cast strange shadows over his face, making the black eyesockets look even deeper.
Jack gave a nod toward the inside of the closet. One of his ears twitched against his head as he spoke, “After you.”
You swallowed, nodded back, and stepped past him. Reaching up, you tugged the pull chain. The bare bulb clicked on overhead with a hum, washing the small space in weak yellow light.
It was smaller than you remembered. Way smaller. The coats hanging on the rod ruffled against your shoulders as soon as you stepped in, and the stacks of old boxes and junk left barely enough room to stand.
Behind you, Jack had to duck. He placed one large hand on the top of the doorframe and bent down to fit through, his frame nearly filling the entire doorway before he stepped fully inside. The door pulled shut behind him.
The music outside dulled to a rumbling, muffled thump.
Now it was just the two of you.
The closet felt even tighter with Jack in it. He had to keep his head slightly lowered so it wouldn’t hit the hanging rod, his shoulders almost touching both walls. You stood with your side pressed against the coats and your back shoved against the wall, your heart beating fast as you looked up at him.
He was tall—always had been—but in the cramped little closet he seemed enormous. The light overhead cast a sickly yellow glow over him, highlighting every unsettling detail. His muted gray skin, almost ashen in places, stretched tight over sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw. Pointed ears poked up through messy dark hair, occasionally flicking and twitching once he straightened as much as the low ceiling would allow. You’d occasionally catch the gleam of his sharp teeth between his lips or the flash of his claws when he moved.
He looked… bigger in here. Like the walls had shrunk just to make him seem more imposing.
And then there were his eyes.
Or rather, the places where his eyes should have been. Nothing but deep, endless black voids stared back at you. In the dim light, they looked infinite—like if you leaned in too close, you might fall forever into that darkness and never get out. It was unnerving. And strangely hard to look away from. Like all the awe and horror of a black hole swallowing a planet.
He was dressed simply in baggy black sweatpants and an oversized blue shirt that still somehow looked tight across his broad shoulders and chest. You think he tried to dress as normally as possible to offset everything else that was jarring about him… or maybe this was just all that fit his size.
You swallowed, pressing your back a little more into the adjacent wall.
“…Are you comfortable?” You fished for something to talk about.
Jack grunted, “Mhm.”
That was it.
You racked your brain for something—anything—to say, your fingers twisting together nervously.
“So… uh, how’s your night been going?” you tried.
“Fun.”
You nodded awkwardly. “The party got pretty wild after that fight, huh?”
He gave a nod.
You waited. Nothing else came. You think you could die.
You tried once more, voice a little more chipper. “You, um… you like playing these kinds of parties usually, or…?”
“Sure.”
You let out a small, nervous laugh and looked down at your hands. Talking to Jack had never been easy, but this felt like pulling teeth. The seven minutes had barely started, and the silence already felt suffocating. Jack remained perfectly still, towering over you, content to simply exist while you slowly unraveled under the weight of this encounter.
“So… what have you—”
“Calm down,” Jack cut in.
You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
He let out a chuckle, the sound surprisingly warm. “Your heartbeat. It’s pounding so loud it’s giving me a headache. It’s gonna explode if you keep that up.”
Your face burned. You pressed a hand to your chest without thinking, feeling the frantic thud against your palm. The embarrassment made it worse.
“I—I can’t just make it stop,” you sounded exasperated.
“Yes, you can,” Jack replied simply. “You’re just not trying.”
You rolled your eyes, letting out a short laugh. “Fuck off. Quit with the weird body shit.”
Jack tilted his head, looking at your sideways. Then, in a dry, surprisingly sarcastic tone, he said, “Oh, sorry. Didn’t realize the doctor had to cut it with the ‘weird body shit.’ How many times have you come down to my room after a mission asking for painkillers again? Oh yeah… a lot.”
You stared at him, genuinely surprised. A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it.
“Wait… was that sarcasm? From you?”
Jack’s shoulders moved in a small shrug, the corners of his mouth pushing up just a bit.
“I have layers,” he said flatly.
“I didn’t know you could be funny.”
Jack hummed. “There’s a lot you don’t know.”
You shrug, picking at your fingers as you looked at the ground. “Maybe it’s because you’re always so quiet. People can get intimidated.”
“People are usually scared of me. Easier to stay quiet.”
The words were simple, matter-of-fact, but they landed with a strange weight in your chest that made you look back up at him.
“I’m not scared of you,” you said after a beat. It wasn’t entirely true, but it wasn’t entirely false either.
“You’re a terrible liar,” he chuckled.
You laughed despite yourself, the sound a little nervous but genuine. “Okay, maybe a little. But not… not like that. Not the way people usually are.”
He didn’t respond right away. The music outside pulsed dully through the walls, the bass vibrating faintly under your feet. Jack shifted his stance, trying to get a little more comfortable in the tiny space, and ended up closer to you than before. The warmth coming off him was noticeable.
“You’re shaking a bit,” he said quietly.
You hadn’t even noticed. You crossed your arms over your chest and tried to play it off. “It’s cold in here.” But that was a lie. If anything, it was just below sweltering.
“Semantics.” Jack hummed, clearly not believing you. But he didn’t push. Instead, he leaned one shoulder against the wall, giving you a little more room—or at least trying to.
It got quiet again.
For nearly a full minute, the only sounds were the muffled thump of music outside and the occasional creak of the old floorboards whenever one of you shifted. Your mind wandered to the living room—wondering what kind of shit was unfolding now, who was winning at whatever stupid game they’d moved on to, whether Toby and Natalie were still laughing their heads off about you and Jack being stuck in here together or if someone else had voiced their opinions on it.
Then Jack spoke very matter-of-factly. “See? There it goes.”
You blinked. “What?”
“Your heart,” he said. “It’s calm now. You did it.”
You let out a small breath, almost laughing. “Ah… I didn’t really try to do it, though. It just… happened on its own.”
Jack huffed, he almost sounded amused. “Semantics.”
You rolled your eyes. “You can’t just say ‘semantics’ every time I make a point.”
“I can,” he replied, completely deadpan. “And I will.”
“Jack.”
“Semantics.”
“Jack.”
“Semantics.”
“This is very demeaning, y’know.”
“Semantics.”
You laughed at him. You were about to tease him again when Jack suddenly let out a chuckle—wait, a laugh? Not the short, dry sound he usually made with little amusement, but something warmer that bubbled up and out of his chest. His mouth curved into a wide, toothy grin, his sharp teeth gleaming like little pearls. His eyelids squeezed shut over his sockets as he laughed, and you found the sight so odd, like pulling a curtain over some void and trying to pretend it wasn’t there.
The sight caught you completely off guard. You’d never seen him smile like that—so open and genuine, almost boyish. It made something flutter oddly in your chest.
You laughed with him before you could stop yourself, surprised and delighted all at once. “What? What’s so funny?”
Jack just shook his head, still smiling big. “Nothing. You’re just… funny.”
You stared at him for a second, still processing the expression on his face. Then the question slipped out before you could think better of it.
“Jack… are you drunk?”
It was quiet again for a beat, until Jack let out a deep chuckle. The sound started delighted but quickly turned sheepish when you asked.
“No way,” you gawked, eyes wide.
Jack shrugged one broad shoulder. “Is it so obvious?”
You shook your head, still smiling. “No, it’s just… funny. This is probably the most I’ve ever heard you talk. And you’re being sarcastic? I thought, either that or you’re tripping.”
He laughed again and you couldn’t help but laugh with him, a little stunned. You’d never seen him like this.
“I barely even saw you drink tonight,” you added, tilting your head. “How did you manage that?”
Jack didn’t answer right away. Instead, that smile on his face shifted from one cheek to the other as he looked down at you. Something about the way he was watching you made your stomach flip with nerves again.
Then, without a word, he lifted his hands.
You watched, frozen, as his large gray hands curled under the hem of his baggy shirt. He slowly pulled it up, just high enough to expose his midsection. Your eyes widened.
God, he was built. Thick, solid muscle sat under muted gray skin, abs clearly defined and right above a deep v-line etched into his just-visible pelvis. A dark trail of hair disappeared down into the waistband of his sweatpants. You felt a little dizzy just looking at him.
But then your gaze caught on something much brighter.
Tucked neatly into the waistband of his sweatpants, wrapped all the way around his torso like some ridiculous colorful bandolier, were about two handfuls of little 99 brand alcohol shooters. Tiny bottles in every color—cherry red, lime green, coconut, orange, grape—all strapped against his skin, hidden right under his shirt.
You gawked at it.
Jack glanced down at himself, then back at you, still holding his shirt up. He must have noticed you staring at the colorful little bottles strapped around his waist, because he let out a low huff of a laugh and explained, “Toby and Nat ransacked a gas station right before the party started. They stole a whole bunch of these and hid them on me. Said it was the best way to keep them from getting passed around.”
You blinked, connecting the dots. “So that’s why you three have been glued together all night.
Jack gave a small nod. “They keep sneaking me into corners or bedrooms so nobody gets nosy and asks for any. Works pretty well.”
That also explained why Toby and Natalie had been so cuddly and hysterical—they were definitely beyond wasted by now.
“There were a lot more two hours ago,” Jack added, almost wistful.
Your eyes kept drifting between the little shooters and the hard planes of his torso, the contrast between the silly colorful bottles and his gray, muscled skin making your brain fizzle out a little.
Jack huffed. “Your heart’s loud again.”
You startled, pressing a hand to your chest like that would somehow quiet it. “Sorry. I’m trying.”
He reached down and plucked one of the shooters from his waistband—a bright cherry red one. The tiny bottle looked comically small in his large, clawed hand. He held it out toward you.
You waved him off. “I’ve had enough tonight, really.”
Jack’s mouth curved into a small, toothy smile. “As your doctor,” he said, deadpan, “it’s in your best interest that you drink this.”
You let out a surprised laugh. “As my doctor?”
A low growl rumbled in his chest, all gravely, and dark, and way more effective than it had any right to be. Every hair on your body stood on end.
“Drink it,” he said, quieter this time, but no less daunting.
You swallowed, took the little bottle from his hand, and twisted the cap off. It snapped open with a tiny clicks. You brought it to your lips and downed it in one go.
It burned.
God, it burned—like liquid fire sliding down your throat, sharp and sweet and way too strong. You winced, your eyes watering as the intense wave of alcohol hit your system. You hissed sharply as it went down, immediately tossing the empty shooter to the floor. “Jesus Christ, Jack—that tastes like rubbing alcohol.”
Jack laughed, then reached down and plucked a coconut-flavored one from his waistband, twisted the cap off, and downed it in one smooth motion. His pointed ears pressed back against his head as he swallowed, and then—to your viewing pleasure—three slick, dark tongues slipped out from between his sharp teeth. They curled around his lips, cleaning what he missed before disappearing again.
You stared, a little dazed.
The words left your mouth before your brain could convince yourself that you shouldn’t say anything.
“…Do things taste better with three tongues?”
Jack paused, considering the question like it was a serious inquiry. Then he shrugged one broad shoulder.
“It feels more intense,” he said plainly. “Like the taste is tripled. Overwhelms your senses more.”
Your heart skipped a beat in your chest.
Jack’s head tilted, his ears twitching a couple times. He must have heard it, because his gaze stayed fixed on you for a long second.
“…Can I taste yours?” he asked, just barely grumbling.
You blinked. “I already drank it all.”
Jack’s mouth curved into a wonky, toothy grin. The realization hit you just as the alcohol did.
Oh.
The buzz finally crashed over you in a warm, dizzy wave. Your heartbeat suddenly felt loud in your own ears, muffled like the music outside. You wondered if this was what Jack always heard when he was around people—that constant, frantic drumming. It made you wonder what else he could hear.
He shifted his weight onto the leg closest to you, leaning in until the space between you felt almost nonexistent. His shadow fell over you immediately like a stormcloud.
“You can taste mine too,” he purred.
You opened your mouth to say something—“Um—”—but your foot caught the edge of a box next to you. You stumbled, your balance completely gone.
Jack moved faster than you could see.
One strong arm hooked under your side and hauled you upright before you could even gasp, pulling you flush against his chest. Your hands instinctively grabbed onto his arms, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt.
“Sorry—” you started, breathless.
Jack just grumbled. His hands settled heavy on your hips, holding you steady as he leaned down over you, his face hovering just above yours. The closeness made your heart stutter all over again.
You looked up at him, still gripping his arms. “I’m not a good kisser,” you whispered, pulling uselessly at straws to not make this seem awkward.
Jack’s response was immediate and blunt.
“Shut up,” he muttered. “Open your mouth.”
The command sent a shiver down your spine. You tilted your face up obediently, lips parting.
Jack leaned in closer. His own lips parted, and three slick, warm tongues slid out from between his sharp teeth. They brushed your lips first—tasting the area—before one of them pressed forward and licked into your lips and across your tongue.
Then he kissed you.
It was overwhelming.
The three tongues moved with a mind of their own, sliding against yours, curling around it, exploring every inch of your mouth like they were starving for the taste of you. One licked along the roof of your mouth while another tangled with your tongue, the third teasing the space inbetween. The sensation was too much and not enough all at once, your hands moving up his arms to his shoulders to pull him closer.
A soft, surprised sound escaped you, muffled against his mouth. Jack answered with a low rumble in his chest, one hand sliding up your back to keep you pressed close while the other stayed firm on your hip.
He kissed like he did everything else—completely consuming.
You tasted coconut.
Jack pressed you back until your shoulder blades met the wall, one large hand planting beside your head while the other gripped your hip and pulled your lower body forward. The angle made your back arch slightly toward him. Then his hips rolled forward, and you felt the unmistakable, heavy shape of him pressing against your hip through his sweatpants.
You gasped sharply into his mouth and pushed weakly at his chest. “Sorry—” he slurred through a mouthful of you.
But Jack only tightened his grip on your hip and tugged you closer, grinding you against him with all the lack of resistance he had. His three tongues never stopped moving, overwhelming as they curled around yours and licked along the roof of your mouth, teasing the inside of your cheeks. You tried to kiss him back the best you could, but it was hard to keep up. Your breathing quickly turned shallow, little gasps and whimpers slipping out between the messy slide of tongues.
You’d never seen Jack like this.
He was usually so quiet, so reserved and mysterious. But right now he was surprisingly blunt, almost greedy with the things he was saying. This was probably the most you’d ever heard him talk, and you couldn’t get enough of it. The low growls, the occasional muttered curse, the way his voice dropped when he felt you react to him… it was doing dangerous things to your buzzed head.
You found yourself getting lost in those endless black voids where his eyes should be. The anxiety and embarrassment that had been clawing at your chest slowly melted away, like he was draining it out of you with every pass of his tongues and every roll of his hips.
Jack pulled back just enough to speak against your lips.
“Slow your breathing down,” he murmured, almost teasing you. One of his tongues slid across your bottom lip. “Still nervous?”
You let out a shaky breath, fingers curling tighter into his shirt.
“A little,” you admitted. Then, quieter, “Don’t stop.”
Jack made a deep, pleased sound in the back of his throat. His hand on your hip squeezed harder as he leaned back in, tongues sliding back into your mouth with renewed hunger. His hips pressed forward again, letting you feel just how hard he was against you. His lips eventually left yours, trailing slowly across your cheek, then down to your jaw. When they reached your neck, he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss there before dragging one of his tongues along your skin. The sensation made you shiver.
His hand left the wall and came up to the back of your head, his fingers threading into your hair as he firmly tilted your head to the side, giving himself more room. He licked wet, warm stripes up the side of your neck, then sucked just below your ear.
You gasped, your hands flying up to grip his shoulders. A nervous flutter shot through your chest as the reality of who he was hit you again.
“…Jack,” you breathed, half-joking but not entirely, “are you gonna eat me?”
He paused, his lips still pressed against your neck, before he begins chuckling against you.
“If you’ll let me,” he murmured against your skin, his breath causing goosebumps to rise across your shoulders. Your knees went weak instantly. A rush of heat flooded through you so fast it made you dizzy.
Jack must have felt it, because he straightened up, pulling back just enough to look down at you. One of his hands stayed on your hip, steadying you.
“You have no idea how brilliant your anatomy is,” he said plainly, as if he was just stating a fact. “I don’t mean to be crude… but your structure is perfect. I could map every inch of you with my eyes closed.”
You let out a startled laugh, your cheeks burning. The words were grotesque and strangely flattering at the same time.
“You can’t even see anyway,” you pointed out, still laughing a little. “Doesn’t that already mean you’re doing it with your eyes closed?”
“Kinda. It’s more like I’m looking through layers of thick film. Everything’s… foggy. I don’t understand it any better than you do. I stopped questioning how my body works a long time ago.”
You grinned, feeling bolder. “I don’t think you could actually do it without seeing. So what if you went to Yale, I’m still not that impressed with you.”
Jack’s hand lifted from the wall and reached above his head, his fingers finding the dangling pull chain of the overhead bulb.
You glanced up. “What are you doing?”
“So you know I’m not cheating,” he said simply.
He gave the chain a tug.
Click.
The light went out.
The closet plunged into near-total darkness, save for the thin sliver of hallway light bleeding in from under the door. For a second, your eyes struggled to adjust. And then you saw him.
In the dark, Jack was… horrifying.
The little light from beneath the door only barely outlined his silhouette, but it was enough. He looked like something that had crawled out of the woods at night—like something that you’d see in a horror movie. You understood his reputation, the stories you’ve heard from others about the things they witnessed the demon do, but you’d never faced the reality of it until now—never gotten a full picture of what he really was. His gray skin seemed to drink in what little light there was. The sharp points of his ears angled and swiveled to bumps and creaks all around. His claws curled at his sides, clenching the air as his shoulders slumped to account for the little space, his frame hanging over you. And those empty black sockets… they looked like holes punched straight through the sky. Bottomless. Ancient. You think they’d drop off like a cliff if you leaned any closer.
If you were anyone else, anywhere else—especially in the woods at night—you would’ve screamed and ran.
But you weren’t. Instead, you found yourself leaning closer.
Jack stepped in, pulling you against him with one arm around your waist. His mouth found your neck again, hot and wet as he kissed and licked along the flushed skin.
Then he began to map you. His fingers and lips moved carefully along your skin, until he pressed a kiss just beneath your ear.
“This is your Sternocleidomastoid,” he murmured against your skin, His clawed fingers traced the muscle on the other side of your neck, following the muscles shape. “Runs from here… to here.”
He dragged his mouth lower, his lips peppering your collarbone as his fingers followed.
“Clavicle,” he said, pressing lightly on the bone. “Deltoid…” His hand slid over your shoulder, squeezing the thick muscle there. “You hold so much tension right here.”
You shivered, little gasps and sighs as he massaged and traced areas. He had to maneuver you a bit, tugging you closer to his chest as he leaned down further. His fingers trailed down your side, his digits finding their way under your shirt until you felt them along your goosebumped skin. “External oblique…” His hand slid behind your back. “Latissimus dorsi…” Another kiss, lower this time, his teeth nipping as he moved. “You’re so well-built. Everything fits together so nicely.”
Jack’s hand slid down your arm until he caught your wrist. He lifted it and pressed a kiss to the thin skin on the inside, right where your pulse beat frantically.
“Right here,” he kissed it once more. “This vein runs straight to your heart.”
You thought it embarrassing how much you were shivering.
Then he moved his head lower, trailing his mouth down to your chest. He kissed you through your shirt, before slipping his hand from your back to your abdomen under your shirt. You felt shaky and exposed and way too vulnerable.
Jack’s claws curled and pressed in just a fraction at one specific point on your side, the sharp tips teetering on the idea of pressing further.
“This is your spleen,” he said with a little smile in his voice. “If I pressed any harder… I could puncture it. You’d bleed out quickly internally. It’d be so messy.”
He let the words settle in your head.
“Isn’t that interesting?” he whispered. “One little slip… and it could all be over.”
Anxiety twisted sharply in your stomach. But underneath it, something much darker and hotter stirred. Excitement. A sick, dizzy kind of thrill that made your thighs press together.
Jack noticed, because why-fucking-wouldn’t he? His claws dragged down your skin as his hand dipped lower, slipping toward the waistband of your pants. You grabbed his shoulders tightly.
“Wait—Jack, we don’t have much time,” you warned, looking to the door. “It’s gotta be almost seven minutes.”
He stopped for a second, only to chuckle to himself and lean back in, pushing a kiss against your jaw. Then, “I don’t think you really care,” he smiled. “Your body sure doesn’t.”
You whined as Jack’s hands roamed down your hips and around to your lower back, pulling you closer with a coaxing tug that said ‘I wasn’t really asking’. The heat of his palms bled through your clothes, making your skin prickle and scorch in spots.
“Shit,” you cursed under your breath, your nerves spiking to an all time high. “We can’t do this here—”
Jack just grinned at you. “It’s not me you’re gonna have to worry about getting us caught.”
You didn’t have time to ask what he meant.
His hands slid down and grabbed your ass, squeezing firmly. You squeaked, your hips jerking forward as you gripped the front of his shirt like a vice. Jack let out a satisfied noise and moved you exactly how he wanted—strong enough that you couldn’t have resisted even if you tried.
He spun you slightly, pressing your back more firmly against the wall as his fingers worked open the button and zipper of your jeans. The fabric gave way easily under his hands, the hem of your underwear peaking through the now-open folds. With one smooth tug, he shoved your jeans down your hips, letting them bunch around your thighs. The cool air hit your exposed skin and you shivered, trying to catch the breath that was so suddenly knocked out of you. Jack stood as straight as he could and examined his meal.
“Ah… fuck—just be fast, please,” you hissed.
Jack stood as tall as the low ceiling would allow, looking down at you by the bridge of his nose. And as if you couldn’t feel any smaller, he chuckled at you.
“You sure did give in quickly,” he hummed with satisfaction.
Embarrassment flooded your face. You squirmed against the wall, refusing to meet the place where his eyes should be. “Shut up and get on with it,” you grumbled, heat crawling up your neck.
Jack leaned in closer, planting one large hand on the wall beside your head. His other hand trailed down your side, then to your hip, before his fingertips drug over your stomach until they pressed firmly just above your pelvis. You tensed. Your hips tilted forward instinctively, fighting against the awkward bunch of your jeans still caught around your thighs.
His hand continued lower, stopping just above your clit, his palm hovering over the damp fabric of your panties. He leaned down until his mouth brushed your ear. “You’re in no place to get bossy right now,” he whispered, his breath tickling your ear.
Then he pressed one thick finger between your folds, right over your soaked panties. The fabric clung to you, and the moment his finger slid along your slit, it came away slick with your arousal. Jack kissed the edge of your jaw, peppering your skin, before pulling back just enough to look down between your bodies. A pleased sound escaped him.
“Well… this is a nice surprise,” and you could practically hear how pleased he was with himself.
You groaned in embarrassment and wrapped your arms tightly around his broad shoulders, burying your burning face into the side of his neck instead of letting him see you. His shirt smelled so strongly of his warm, crisp scent that it made you dizzy, but you’d rather hide from his taunting than pretend like it wasn’t turning you on something terrible. He could at least whisper it in your ear seductively, like a gentleman.
Jack’s finger continued rubbing exploratory circles over your clit, testing different pressures and angles to see how your body reacted. Every time he found a spot that made your hips roll or your breath punch out of you, he lingered there.
“You’re so sensitive,” he murmured, trying to sound plain, but the thrill in his voice gave away how much he was enjoying this. “Look at you… getting even wetter every time I touch you.”
“Shut up,” you whined, the words muffled against his shoulder.
“But I like it,” he hummed softly. “I like how your body tells me what you won’t.”
“Because you’d tease me,” you tried not to sound as pathetic as you felt.
Jack’s voice felt like somebody dragging a hot brand across your skin. “But you’d enjoy it, wouldn’t you?”
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The words got stuck somewhere between your pride and the heat scorching low in your belly.
Jack made a hum of acknowledgement, like he’d expected exactly that. His finger slipped beneath the edge of your panties, tugging the damp fabric to the side and exposing you to the air. You gripped him tighter, fearing if you’d let go you’d fall off the earth somehow.
He teased you—because why-fucking-wouldn’t he—dragging the pad of his finger along your folds, then higher up your inner thigh, then back again. But all so slow. He was enjoying how you tried (and failed) to stay still and not look desperate, your hips following wherever you felt his warm digits.
You pinched his shoulder in frustration.
Jack pinched you back, right on your upper thigh, “Impatient.”
“We don’t have time,” you nearly growled.
“Alright, alright,” he cooed.
Just as Jack’s fingers started honing toward your entrance, right when you thought he was finally going to give you what you wanted, you heard it. Heavy footsteps thumping down the hallway toward the two of you.
Your eyes flew open. Panic shot through you like ice water being poured over your head. You shoved at his chest, stumbling frantically, “Jack— I told you—”
But he didn’t stop.
Jack straightened up slightly, looking down at you like he always fucking did. His face was unreadable, but the corner of his mouth pulled up like he was amused. You tried to push his hand away, but he simply pressed forward, two thick fingers now sliding through your soaked folds and teasing at your entrance again.
“Jack—” you whisper-yelled, thinking maybe he thought you were still playing around, “we’re going to get caught—”
The footsteps grew louder, right outside the door now. Voices and laughter followed. But Jack brought his free hand up to his mouth in a little “shhh” motion, his pointer finger pressing to his lips. Then, without missing a beat, he reached beside him with that same hand and cracked the closet door open just an inch, enough for his face and upper torso to be visible while the rest of you stayed hidden against the wall and him.
Natalie and Toby’s voices burst through immediately.
“J!” Natalie called, clearly still drunk and delighted if the swimminess of her voice was any idea. “Time’s uuuup.”
Toby was laughing so hard he could barely speak, although nothing was really happening at the moment to warrant all the hysterics. “Is the poor thing still—HA—alive?”
But even still, Jack didn’t stop.
The tip of one thick finger pushed against your entrance, and before you could make a move to stop him, it pushed slowly into your aching cunt, stretching you open as you stood there, trapped between the wall and his body. You slapped a hand over your mouth instantly, eyes wide with panic and overwhelming pleasure as he sank the finger deeper, curling it lazily against your walls.
“Yeah,” Jack answered them, his voice back to its monotonous tone. “Alive. Barely.”
You clapped your hand over your mouth as his finger pumped in and out slowly, slick sounds barely masked by the loud music still blasting from the living room and their talking. Your knees trembled. Jack shifted his weight, pressing you harder against the wall to keep you upright while he casually chatted with his friends. You could see him trying to hold back a smile.
You couldn’t see Nat and Toby, but you assumed they were cheesing and standing on their tip-toes to try and get a view over Jack’s shoulder. “You didn’t actually bite ‘em, did you?”
Jack’s thumb found your clit just as a second finger tried to push in to join the first, the large digits catching on your entrance. It took shifting your hips, but they both pushed in. You could feel yourself clenching around him, having to bite down on your own hand to stay quiet.
“Not yet,” Jack finally grinned, his sharp teeth peeking out just as he curled his knuckles and massaged the inner wall of your cunt. “You shouldn’t eat big meals all at once.”
Toby wheezed with laughter. “You’re so w-weird, man. Hurry up and come out, we’re gonna d-do another round soon.”
Jack shifted his arm closer to your pelvis, the palm of his hand finding a home snug against your clit as he rubbed, curling his fingers just enough inside you to make small noises fight to escape.
“We’ll be out in a second,” Jack grinned. “We’re chatting.” The word alone sounded weird coming from his mouth, and Natalie sure didn’t miss it.
Natalie let out a loud, obnoxious laugh and slapped the wall on the other side of your head, making you jump. Jack acted like it was him adjusting, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His fingers kept moving between your legs, massaging your soaked cunt as your slick dripped down over his knuckles. Your panties were absolutely ruined and you knew it.
He ignored her hysterics, turning his attention to Toby instead. “Hey. Remember those cases of beer you two stole? They’re still upstairs. Don’t forget them.”
It was like a starter pistol. Toby and Natalie immediately perked up.
Natalie cackled. “Jack, you’re a fucking genius. We’ll start another game! Take your time in there, you twoooo.”
Jack gave a small nod. “Start without us. We’ll be there soon.”
You heard their footsteps retreating down the hall, loud and clumsy with excitement, and maybe the sound of them shoving each other against the walls as they left. The second they were far enough away, Jack pulled the closet door shut, plunging you both back into near-darkness.
You immediately yanked your hand off your mouth.
“You asshole,” you hissed, smacking his chest. “I told you—I fucking told you—”
Jack just laughed, punctuating it as he curled his fingers deeper inside you. He bumped them, circling that perfect spot that made the words fizzle from your mouth.
“Did you hear that?” he leaned down next to your ear again. “They said we could take all the time we need.”
You gawked up at him, jaw dropping open in disbelief, but any protest died the moment he thrust his fingers harder, curling them just right until you felt a deep pressure in your gut. Your knees buckled. You tried to cover your mouth again, but the demon pulled your hand away.
“Jack—” you whimpered, pressing your head back against the wall to try and get some air.
He hummed in satisfaction, watching as he pumped his knuckles in and out, and in and out. “That’s what I thought,” he whispered, nipping at your earlobe.
Just when you were about to give in, when your nerves finally melted under the heat of his touch, Jack easily pulled his fingers out of you.
You gawked at him, all breathless and frustrated. “You’re such an asshole.”
He just kept grinning. “For somebody who keeps saying we shouldn’t be doing this… you sure do get upset when I stop giving you what you want.”
Your face burned with embarrassment. Before you could snap back at him, his hands moved to your jeans, still bunched around your thighs. He tugged them down with ease, and you helped him by shimmying and kicking them off when they caught around your sneakers. They landed in a heap somewhere beside you. Then his thumbs hooked into the waistband of your panties. He snapped the thin fabric against your hip, making you hiss, before dragging them down your legs. You started babbling nervously, words tumbling out without thought.
“Jack—wait, this is—this is bad—we’re gonna get caught, someone’s gonna come back and—oh my god—”
Either he didn’t hear you or he didn’t care. Your panties slid down your thighs and pooled at your ankles. You managed to kick one foot free, but the other stayed tangled as Jack placed one large hand on the inside of your thigh and pushed your legs further apart. You tried not to shiver—out of nervousness or excitement, you weren’t sure—but you gripped the bottom of your shirt like it could somehow hide you. You felt so unbearably exposed, just standing there half-naked like there weren’t people just feet away outside.
“You smell so fucking good,” he murmured. “So sweet.”
“Jack…”
“I’ve wanted to taste you for a long time,” he admitted. “Now I finally get to.”
Jack dropped to his knees in front of you.
The floorboards creaked under his weight, and you felt it in your bones—that heavy, solid presence suddenly lower, looking up at you from the most beautiful angle you think you’d ever seen. It was a terrifyingly beautiful sight. He was so tall that even on his knees he took up most of the space, his broad shoulders sitting at your waist-height. His large hands came up to grip your thighs, thumbs rubbing from your hips down toward your knees, coaxing your legs further apart. You felt like you could crawl up the wall from pure nervousness as he leaned in closer.
He started soft.
Warm lips pressed to your hip, then lower to your pelvis, peppering slow, open-mouthed kisses across every inch of soft skin he could reach. His breath was hot against you. When he finally settled fully between your thighs, his face hovered right in front of your cunt. You could feel him grinning—you could feel it.
You reached down with shaky hands, grabbing fistfuls of his messy hair to steady yourself. “Jack… please be easy,” you whispered.
He tilted his head up. “What are you so afraid of?” His lips brushed your inner thigh as he spoke, and you had to swallow your nerves.
“Your teeth…”
Jack pulled back just enough to show them off—the sharp, gleaming points smiling up at you. Then, just to be funny, he snapped his teeth together right in front of your cunt, the clack making you jump.
He chuckled. “You’re alright. I won’t hurt you.”
Before you could say anything else, Jack leaned in fully. He pressed a soft kiss just above your clit, his nose brushing against your skin. Then his mouth disappeared between your legs.
“I won’t hurt you a bit.”
The first touch of his tongue made you melt.
One thick, warm, wet tongue pushed slowly between your folds, dragging up through your slick heat and soaking in the taste. The feeling was overwhelming—hotter and more intense than you expected. He groaned at the first taste, the vibration rolling straight through your core as he licked again, like he was tasting something he’d been starving for.
Your grip tightened in his hair, a broken whimper slipping from your lips as your head fell back against the wall.
Jack’s hands slid around the backs of your thighs, gripping firmly as he angled your hips forward, opening you up even more for him. He pressed his face deeper between your legs and licked a broad stripe through your folds, dragging the flat of his warm tongue right over your clit.
It felt like a thick, wet tentacle sliding against you, like it had a mind of its own. His spit coated your cunt in a ridiculous amount, dripping down your thighs and making everything messy and obscene. For someone so stoic and quiet in his everyday, Jack was suddenly a mouthful of grunts and hungry groans against your skin. His pointed ears fluttered against the sides of his head with every lick, and his claws tugged and gripped against your thighs like he couldn’t pull you close enough.
You felt your resolve completely dissolve.
Your bones went soft, your legs relaxing as you started grinding against his tongue, chasing the pleasure with desperate rolls of your hips. Jack groaned deeply in response like he was approving the movements.
“Mhhm…” you whimpered, trying to curb your embarrassment to let him hear you. “Feels so good, Jack… feels really good—”
He made an appreciative sound and nudged the tip of his tongue against your entrance. It took some effort, but his fingers had done most of the hard work of stretching you, so your eyes rolled deliciously as his tongue breached your entrance and nudged its way inside your cunt. His tongue was longer and thicker than his fingers had been. It slid into your soaked heat with ease, warm and gummy from how wet you already were, reaching deeper than anything had before. You whined loudly, your hips jerking as he began to fuck you with it with thrusts that curled and stroked inside you.
Jack groaned as your hands gripped his messy hair, his eyelids slowly closing over those dark abysses you keep getting lost in.
But Jack was completely lost in you—eating you like a starving man, grunting and growling against your cunt while his claws dug into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you open for his mouth. Every time you clenched around his tongue he made a pleased noise and pushed even deeper than before.
You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but the words died on your tongue the moment you felt it. A second tongue nudged insistently against your full entrance, probing and pushing alongside the first. It tried to slip in, but the angle was tight. You shifted your hips, trying to help, but Jack made an impatient growl and moved.
One of his large hands slid down the back of your thigh, hooked under your knee, and lifted it smoothly. He pushed your leg up and outward, spreading you open even wider before resting your knee over his shoulder. The new position left you imbalanced, and you had to halfway hold onto the wall and him for support.
But that was all the room he needed.
The second tongue nestled in alongside the first with a lewd plunge. You groaned loudly, your head falling to your shoulder as you felt too dazed to stand up straight. Two thick, warm tongues filled your cunt, pushing and pulling, curling and stroking against your walls in a messy, uncoordinated rhythm that somehow felt even better because of it.
“Fuck—Jack—” you whimpered, your voice breaking on every word.
He groaned in response, letting you know it felt good for him too. His claws dug into the soft flesh of your thigh as he held your leg in place beside his head. The sensation was insane. You felt so impossibly full, every inch of your cunt being claimed by him. Spit and your own wetness dripped down your thighs and his chin as his tongues worked deeper, twisting and exploring like they were trying to map every part of you from the inside.
You felt it before you could even process it—before you’d even had time to process the second one—a third tongue slipped from between his lips, sliding wetly between the other two. It nudged right up against your swollen clit, pressing and rubbing torturously well.
A violent shiver ripped through you. Your hands flew from his hair to his ears, your fingers curling around the pointed tips to get some semblance of stability.
Jack shuddered. His whole body jolted like he’d been shocked. His ears pinned flat against his head for a second before flicking wildly under your touch. The reaction was so sudden and strong that you both froze for half a heartbeat.
Then, cautiously, you started rubbing them.
Your thumbs stroked over the sensitive tips and along the soft lobes, gently feeling his cat-like ears. He tried his best to keep licking you, but kept getting caught on stiff moans.
“Jack…” you gasped. “Umm… Does that feel good?”
He nodded against you, jaw and chin bumping messily into your soaked folds. He was taking deep, loud breaths through his nose, exhaling against you. Then the most unexpected sound rumbled out of his chest.
A low, rumbling purr.
At first you thought it was just your own nerves buzzing in your head, but no—you could feel it. The vibration rolled through his chest and straight into your bones, all warm and constant, making your toes curl and your eyes flutter shut.
“Oh my god—” you moaned, your mouth falling open as the sensations intensified. It felt obscene, like his entire body was vibrating against your most sensitive places and melting your mind.
Jack was losing himself, too. His purring grew louder, deeper, as you kept stroking and rubbing his ears. His tongues moved with renewed hunger—two thrusting and curling inside you while the third flicked and sucked messily at your clit. It seemed as if he was wholly content on drowning himself in you.
You were babbling now, open-mouthed and shameless. “Fuck—Jack, that feels—hah—oh god—I can’t—please—”
The pressure built fast—too fast. A sudden, overwhelming wave of bliss crashed over you, pulling a sharp gasp from your throat.
“Jack—Jack, I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered, scrambling to hold him tighter.
His eyelids fluttered open halfway, empty eyesockets staring up at you while you trembled. You got lost staring into them, your head spinning to a heap of mush as you felt pleasure running your veins. That look alone pushed you over the edge.
You came so miserably hard.
Your whole body seized up, thighs shaking violently around his head as pleasure ripped through you in crashing waves. You clenched desperately around his tongues, moaning loud and shamelessly as your orgasm flooded his mouth. Jack groaned at the beginning of the taste, your slick flooding his senses so quickly it made him just as delirious as you.
His tongues stiffened inside you, pressing and nudging firmly against your rapidly clenching walls, milking every last pulse of pleasure as he sucked greedily on your clit. His nose stayed crammed tight against you, his lips sealing around you as he swallowed again and again, drinking everything you so graciously were giving him.
You were loud at first—broken moans and desperate praises spilling from your lips without filter. But as the peak began to fade, it melted into soft, mewled whines and shaky groans. Your orgasm turned into a rippling, lingering current deep in your gut, sending aftershocks through your body that made your legs twitch and your hips jerk weakly against his face.
With some effort, Jack began to tug his tongues from your body one at a time, the thick muscles sliding out of you, and a mess of slick followed. Jack made sure to lick it all up, his tongues running through your folds once more, savoring every twitch and flutter like he couldn’t bear to pull away.
You gasped sharply, everything suddenly feeling way too oversensitive.
“Jack—wait, it’s too much,” your voice was hoarse. “Too sensitive—”
He made a reluctant sound but slowly retreated, his tongues slipping back into his mouth like it pained him to do so. He sat back on his knees, looking up at you. His chin and mouth were glistening with a messy mix of his spit and your slick, and those black voids stared at you with unmistakable longing.
The moment he pulled away, the leg you still had planted on the floor buckled. You slid down the wall with a surprised yelp, landing in a boneless heap in front of him. Your ankle was still hooked over his shoulder, leaving you sprawled and openly exposed across his lap.
Jack caught you instantly though, his strong hands bracing your waist so you didn’t hit the floor too hard. You panted quickly, your chest billowing up and down as you tried to catch your breath. It felt like your whole body was buzzing.
Before you could even try to sit up, Jack gripped the ankle resting on his shoulder and tugged upward. You were pulled further down until your ass rested on top of his knees, your shoulders braced against the baseboards behind you. You felt like you were folded in half. You tried to scramble upright, feeling awkward, but Jack was already catching your other leg—the one with your panties still dangling uselessly from the ankle—and lifted it smoothly onto his opposite shoulder.
“More,” he grumbled.
Your stomach flipped with panic.
“No, no, no—wait, I need a minute,” you babbled through deep breaths of air, throwing your hands up. “I can’t—you’re too much, I need to breathe—just for a second—”
But he wasn’t listening. His focus had narrowed completely. Those endless black sockets were fixed between your legs with single-minded hunger.
“I’m sorry,” was all the response you got.
“Jack—”
He handled you like you weighed nothing.
His hands gripped your hips firmly and pulled your lower half upward in one smooth motion. Your knees hooked over his broad shoulders as your head and shoulder blades slid and landed against the floor. Your body folded almost in half, completely upside down, your shirt riding up to expose your stomach and chest. His large arms wrapped around your torso, strong hands gripping the soft flesh of your sides, holding you securely in place so you couldn’t even squirm out of it if you wanted to.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured again, but there was no real remorse in it. If anything, he just sounded excited. “You just taste so fucking good… I need you to cum again. Just a little more. Then I’ll be done.”
Your head was already spinning from the rush of blood, so you had no fight in your body or your words. You gripped his arms tightly, trying to brace yourself.
“Let’s just go to my room,” you fussed, trying to get him to just take a second. “It’s way too cramped in here, we can’t—”
But every protest died on your tongue the instant you felt it.
A familiar sensation dragged up through your soaked folds in a broad, wet lick. Your legs fell open limply over his shoulders as a broken moan wailed from your throat. The new angle gave him the perfect access, angling you however he wanted.
“Oh god…”
Jack moaned as he licked again, savoring every inch of you like he couldn’t get enough. His arms tightened around your torso, pulling your hips up and against his hungry mouth.
“Fuck…” he rasped against your cunt. “Do you even know… mhnnn… how good you taste?”
Jack’s eyelids fluttered shut again, the black voids disappearing as he focused entirely on you.
Then you saw it—the absolute horror and fascination of his other two tongues slipping out from between his lips to join the one. They were sickly blue-black, glistening and drooling with spit, long and monstrously thick. They dangled for a moment before curling forward, licking up the insides of your thighs until they finally converged, forking together right at your entrance.
Through a mouthful of his own tongues, Jack mumbled against your cunt, “Jus’ hang on to me.”
You dug your nails into his forearms, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps as the three tips pressed against your pulsing entrance at once. Your hips jerked, thighs instinctively trying to clamp shut around his head, but Jack held you firmly in place. It took a little work—a slight shift of your hips, a change of the angle—but eventually, the three tongues wiggled their way inside you together.
The stretch was impossible.
You let out a keening moan as your walls were forced open wider than they’d ever been, the bulbous, wet muscles filling you as completely as they could reach. No inch of room was left untouched. The sensation of burning was so intensely good that your mind went fuzzy at the edges. Your body went limp and mushy in his hold, your legs shaking helplessly over his shoulders as he sank all three tongues as deep as they could go.
Jack groaned loudly into you, the sound vibrating through your core as he began to move them, greedy thrusts and curls that rubbed against every sensitive spot inside you at once. Spit and your own arousal dripped messily down your ass and stomach as he practically fucked you with them.
You could barely think. All you could do was cling to his arms, your mouth open in a silent cry as he devoured you from the inside out, purring and growling enough to cause concern that he might actually be eating you.
And as if it couldn’t get any worse—or wonderfully better—Jack shifted one of his arms from your torso up to between your legs. His thumb found your throbbing clit and began rubbing slow circles over it, smearing your own wetness across the sensitive bud.
The shock of pleasure was devastating.
Your back arched hard off his lap, spine curving sharply as a silent cry tore through you. Your hands flew up above your head, palms slapping against the wall behind you for any kind of leverage. You tried to speak—tried to moan his name, to beg, to curse—but nothing came out. All the air had been punched out of your lungs. The only sounds your body could produce were the wet, filthy squelches of your cunt accommodating its intruder. You bucked your hips desperately, riding his face as much as your weak, trembling legs would allow. Every thrust of his tongues and stroke of his thumb sent white-hot sparks shooting up your spine. Your thighs shook violently over his shoulders, muscles twitching uncontrollably as you ground yourself against his mouth and tongue like you’d lost all semblance of control.
Jack’s purring grew louder, deeper, the constant rumble vibrating straight into your cunt and making your eyes roll back. He was completely lost in you, this newfound, insatiable hunger dampening his mind until all he could do was eat. You couldn’t even form words anymore. Couldn’t even think anymore.
You felt it building again—that familiar coil tightening deep in your core, winding tighter and tighter with every thrust of his tongues and stroke of his thumb.
“Ja… Ja—ck… Jaahh—” you tried to warn him, but your voice was just as useless as the rest of your body. Your hand slapped weakly at his arm, your fingers grappling desperately as panic rose.
But Jack didn’t stop. Of course he didn’t. If anything, he doubled down. Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes, spilling over and running down your flushed cheeks as the pleasure became almost too much. You managed one shaky, broken whimper of his name right before you felt it.
Little sharp pinpricks.
Your eyes flew open through the tears. Jack had pulled back just enough for you to see his face. His lips were pulled back in a growl, sharp teeth fully exposed and pressed right against your slick, sensitive folds. Not breaking skin, not hurting you, but just resting there, a deadly reminder of exactly what he was.
You almost found it shameful how quickly that ruined you.
Your eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering uselessly as your vision blurred. You saw his face, then the ceiling, then the back of your eyelids—and then white.
“I’m cumming—fuck, I’m cumming—” you blabbed, trying ridiculously hard to say nearly nothing. “Jack—I’m—oh god—”
This one slammed into you harder than the last.
Your whole body seized up, back arching violently as you came with a silent, open-mouthed cry. Your cunt clenched hard around his invading tongues, pulsing and gushing around them as wave after wave crashed through you. Tears streamed down your face pathetically.
Jack growled louder against you, the sound feral and satisfied as he drank down every drop you gave him. His tongues kept working you through it, thrusting and curling relentlessly gathering everything they could.
“Jaaaaack—” you mewled.
He finally pulled his tongues out of you with a wet pop sound, leaving you clenching around nothing. He was panting hard against your cunt, his breath hot and ragged as he licked slowly through your folds, then across your trembling thighs, cleaning every trace of your release like he couldn’t help himself.
Your legs slipped weakly from his shoulders, falling limply around his hips. For a long moment, the only sounds in the tiny closet were your shared heavy breathing and the distant thump of music as you tried to calm yourselves. Jack looked down at you, his face glistening with your slick. He stayed quiet, just watching you with those endless black sockets while you tried to remember how to breathe.
When your breathing finally evened out a little, he asked softly, “Are you alright?”
You managed a small, shaky nod.
Jack carefully helped you sit up, guiding your back against the wall. “Can you stand?”
You tried shifting your weight, but your legs felt like jelly. You shook your head, embarrassed.
He let out a low chuckle. “It’s alright.”
Jack moved your legs gently off his lap so he could stand. He turned and rummaged through the hanging coats until he found one that looked soft and long enough. Without an explanation, he draped it over your mostly naked body, wrapping it around you like a blanket. Before you could even thank him, he leaned down and scooped you up into his arms. One arm hooked under your knees, the other supporting your back as he held you securely against his chest. He bent down just enough to snag your discarded jeans off the floor.
You clutched the coat tighter around yourself. “Jack, I can’t go out there like this…”
He chuckled again, the sound warm in his chest. “Toby and Nat have everyone occupied by now. No one’s gonna notice.” He pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head. “Besides… I think a nice bath in my room could do you some good.”
You hesitated for half a second, then nodded, too tired and floaty in the head to argue.
Jack cracked the closet door open, listening for a moment, his ears swiveling around. When the coast seemed clear, he slipped out with you cradled against him, your arms grabbing around his neck. You both moved quickly down the opposite end of the hall, away from the noise of the party. Laughter and shouting echoed from the living room as you snuck up the stairs like two stowaways.
He never let his grip loosen on you for a second.
Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated!
CW: Explicit sexual content, cunnilingus, pet play / puppy play kink, collar kink, rough sex, overstimulation, degradation, praise, violence, blood, physical fight, insults, petty crime, obsessive behavior, emotional distress, emotional manipulation, moral ambiguity, featuring appearances by Tim, Brian, Ben, Jeff, and Jack
Summary: After days of uneasy silence, Toby reappears. The pull between you only grows stronger, even as the dangers of his world loom larger than ever.
Wordcount: 14k
Part 1: HERE
Part 2: HERE
The last three days had been a special kind of hell.
You hadn’t seen Toby since the night he left your house, the words “I kill people” still hanging in the air between you. You’d told him you needed time. That you couldn’t just… process something like that in one breath and move on. He’d nodded, and then disappeared.
No texts - you didn’t even have his number. No surprise visits to the gas station. Nothing but radio silence and the gnawing, contradictory ache in your chest that grew worse every hour. Part of you had been terrified his friends had finally scared him off for good. Another, quieter, more shameful part had almost hoped they had. Because if he stayed away, you wouldn’t have to decide what it said about you that you still wanted him.
You were still shaken from that night at the store. The way the dark-haired man had leaned over the counter, venom dripping from every word as he called you a whore. The cold disgust in the blond one’s eyes. The casual entitlement as they stole from you and spat on your floor like they owned the place - and owned Toby by extension. It had been disgusting. Infuriating.
And somehow, it had only made you miss your thief more.
You stood in front of your mirror, finishing up for your night shift. You’d brushed your hair until it fell in loose, shining waves, added a little extra mascara and gloss, just enough to feel like you had some control over something. Your work polo clung to your chest, the top two buttons undone against the stupid humidity. Denim shorts sat low on your hips, frayed hems brushing your thighs. When you turned slightly to check yourself, your eyes caught on the faint yellowish-green marks still blooming across your neck and collarbones.
Little reminders of Toby’s mouth. Of how desperately he’d sucked and bitten while he fucked you like he was trying to crawl inside your skin and stay there.
Your fingers traced one of the bruises. A slow, conflicted breath left you.
You missed him. God, you missed him. But every time the warmth flared in your chest, something colder followed right behind it - images of blood on his hands, of the casual way he’d admitted what he did, of the heavy weapons you now knew he carried. You’d asked for time. You’d meant it.
And yet… after meeting his so-called friends, that need for distance had started to feel thinner. More like a polite lie you were telling yourself because the truth - that you were already in too deep - scared you more than the blood ever could.
A sharp tink against the window made you jump.
Then another. And another.
Rocks. Definitely rocks.
Your heart slammed against your ribs as you crossed to the window and peered out into the growing dusk. There, half-hidden by the treeline at the edge of your yard, stood Toby.
Same dark navy hoodie. Bandana pulled down around his neck. Messy brown hair sticking up in every direction. Even from here you could see that crooked, mischievous grin splitting his scarred face. He waved, quick, almost shy, like he hadn’t dropped a bomb on your life and then vanished for three days.
Your stomach flipped violently. Relief, sharp and stupid and dangerous, flooded through you so fast it made your eyes sting. He came back. He actually came back.
But right behind it came the colder wave: the knowledge of what he was. What he did. What those hatchets you hadn’t even seen yet had already done.
You bit down hard on the smile threatening to break across your face. You couldn’t quite kill it.
Toby’s head twitched sharply to the side with that familiar little crack, and his grin widened. He waved again, slower this time, like he was making sure you saw him.
You didn’t even think about it. You turned away from the window, heart hammering, and headed straight for the front door. Your feet padded quickly across the floorboards as you unlocked it and stepped out onto the porch, the warm evening air wrapping around your legs.
Toby straightened up from where he’d been leaning against a tree, shoulders rolling with a restless hitch. He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, then pulled them out again, fingers twitching. Another sharp tic jerked his neck sideways as he took a few uneven steps closer, stopping at the edge of your yard like he wasn’t sure if he was welcome yet.
For a long second the two of you just stared at each other.
Then Toby’s scarred mouth curved into that sheepish, hopeful little smile that made your chest ache.
“H-hey,” he called, the stammer cutting through like always. “Missed you.”
You couldn’t hold it back.
The second your feet hit the porch steps, you were moving - half-running down them, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might crack your ribs. Toby’s dark eyes widened the instant he realized you weren’t stopping. His scarred mouth parted in surprise, shoulders hitching sharply as you practically threw yourself at him.
Your arms looped around his neck, pulling him down as you buried your face against the warm skin of his throat. He smelled like pine, smoke, and that faint metallic edge that always seemed to cling to him. You breathed him in like you’d been drowning for three days.
Toby froze for half a second, completely caught off guard, like he’d shown up fully expecting you to slam the door in his face. Then his arms came around you - careful at first, almost hesitant - before they tightened. He lifted you just enough that your toes barely brushed the grass, scarred hands splaying wide across your lower back, pressing you flush against his hoodie.
“Fuck… I’m so happy to see you, Toby,” you muttered into his neck, voice cracking a little.
Toby let out a low, rough hum that vibrated against your cheek. His head twitched hard to the side with a soft crack, but he didn’t pull away. Instead he turned his face into your hair and breathed you in just as deeply, like he’d been starving for it too.
For a long moment neither of you moved. Just held on in the quiet dusk, his restless body twitching against yours every few seconds.
Eventually you forced yourself to loosen your grip, sliding back down until your feet touched the ground again. You kept one hand on his chest, reluctant to let go completely.
“Come inside,” you said softly.
Toby nodded, that crooked, boyish grin flickering back across his face as he followed you up the steps. But the second you turned toward the door, your eyes dropped - and that’s when you saw them.
Two twin hatchets hung from his belt, strapped securely to his hips. The blades were dark, well-worn, edges catching the fading light with a dull, wicked gleam. They looked heavy.
Your blood turned to ice in your veins. It felt surreal - seeing the actual weapons, the ones that had chopped a man to pieces right outside your store. You swallowed hard and kept walking, but your eyes kept flicking back to them, unable to look away for long.
Inside, you led him straight to the living room. The door clicked shut behind you, the sound loud in the quiet house. Toby hovered near the entrance for a second, hands twitching at his sides, before he stepped further in. His gaze was already dragging over you - taking in the tight polo, the short denim shorts, the faint hickeys still visible on your neck.
You couldn’t stop staring at the hatchets.
He finally noticed. His head gave a sharp, involuntary jerk to the left, neck cracking. He glanced down at his hips, then back up at you, something almost sheepish crossing his scarred features.
“…Got a j-job later,” he muttered. “Just… wanted to see y-you ffff-first.”
You nodded, trying your best to keep your face neutral even as your stomach twisted. “Okay.”
Toby took you in again - eyes roaming over your body, lingering on your thighs, your chest, the makeup you’d put on for work - before they settled on your face. He smiled a little, small and lost, like he still couldn’t quite believe you’d hugged him instead of screaming.
You shifted your weight, suddenly nervous again.
“I wanted to talk to you,” you said, chewing the inside of your cheek. “But I didn’t have your number or anything… I had no way to reach you.”
Toby’s brows furrowed slightly, another quick tic rolling through his shoulder. He tilted his head, waiting.
You took a breath.
“Do you… know what happened? At the store the other night?”
He looked genuinely confused. His dark eyes blinked once, then twice, head twitching to the side again with a soft crack.
“…What h-happened?” he asked, voice slow and uncertain. He had no idea.
Your stomach sank. Of course he didn’t.
Those assholes had gone behind Toby’s back, terrorized you at your job, and hadn’t even bothered to tell him. The realization burned hot in your chest as you stood there in your living room, staring at him.
You took a slow breath, trying to keep your voice steady.
“Sit down, Toby.”
He blinked at you, dark eyes wide and uncertain, head jerking sharply to the side with a loud crack. For a second he just stood there, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then he obeyed, lowering himself onto the edge of your couch, shoulders hunched and restless. His hands immediately started fidgeting in his lap, fingers twisting together.
You sat down beside him, close enough that your bare thigh brushed his jeans. Your knee bounced with agitation as you turned to face him.
“Those two guys you were with the night you stole the Snickers… they showed up at the store a couple nights ago,” you started, voice tight. “While I was working alone.”
Toby’s shoulders hitched violently. His neck snapped to the left again, harder this time. “Wait–w-what? Did they–h-hurt you? Wha–”
You kept going, the words spilling out faster now.
“They just showed up. The dark-haired one - big guy, flannel - he started hitting on me in this really gross, sleazy way. Called me sweetheart, gorgeous… then it got nasty fast.” You looked down at your hands, sighing. “He threatened me. Told me to stay the fuck away from you. Called me a whore, said I was dragging you down, making you sloppy. The taller one - the blonde guy with the serious face - he didn’t say much at first, but then he called me a… a dog-fucking bitch. They stole cigarettes and liquor right in front of me, spat on the floor, and basically told me if I didn’t back off, things would get messy.”
You looked up at Toby.
His reaction was immediate.
The tics slammed into him like a storm. His head jerked hard to the side - crack - then again, shoulders rolling and hitching so aggressively his whole upper body twitched. His dark eyes went wide with disbelief, mouth opening and closing like he couldn’t find words fast enough.
“I–I didn’t–fuck,” he stammered, voice cracking. “I h-had no idea. None. I swear to fucking G-God I didn’t know they–shit–”
He buried his face in his hands, elbows on his knees, fingers digging into his messy hair. Another violent full-body tic rolled through him, making his shoulders jerk upward hard enough that you heard his neck crack again.
“Those guys… that was T-Tim and Brian,” he muttered through his hands, voice muffled and raw. “They’re… they’re my friends. They were just l-looking out for m-me, but they had no right–no ffff-fucking right to do that t-t-to you.”
You swallowed, heart still racing.
“What even is the deal here, Toby?” you asked quietly. “Are you guys in a gang or something?”
Toby let out a loud, frustrated groan. He shoved himself up off the couch and started pacing, uneven steps carrying him back and forth across your living room. His hands flexed at his sides, opening and closing, the twin hatchets at his hips swaying with every restless movement.
“It’s… it’s c-complicated,” he muttered, head twitching sharply. “We’re not–I mean, it’s not l-like a gang gang, but… something like that, I g-guess. We do jobs. And we’ve buh-been doing t-them together for a l-l-long time. They think I’m g-gonna fuck everything up w-with you.”
He stopped pacing for a second, turning to look at you. His scarred face was twisted with guilt, eyes restless and bright with frustration.
“I’m so f-fucking sorry,” he said, voice rough and earnest. “I never wanted them a-a-a-anywhere near you. I told Tim to suh-stay out of it. I–I really like y-you. Like, a lot. More than I p-probably should. And they k-know that. That’s why they d-did it.”
He took a shaky step closer, shoulders hitching again as he looked down at you on the couch.
“I’ll t-talk to them. Make sure they never ffff-fucking bother you a-a-again. I promise.”
It was really starting to piss you off.
The way those two had strutted into your store like they owned Toby’s choices - owned you - like he was some dumb kid who needed to be kept on a leash. It made your blood boil. Toby wasn’t their property. He wasn’t a problem to be managed. He was… Toby. Restless and scarred and terrifyingly honest and yours, at least for right now.
You reached over and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tight between both of yours. His fingers twitched once, then curled around yours almost desperately, palm warm and rough.
“I hate how they talked to me,” you said, voice low but fierce. “Like they were so much better than you. Like they could just walk in, threaten me, and decide who you’re allowed to see. It was disgusting. Do they always act like that? Like they’re in charge of you?”
Toby looked down at your interlocked hands, his thumb brushing absently over your knuckles. His head gave a quick, sharp tic to the side before he shrugged, a little lost.
“They can be a lot,” he muttered. “But… we’ve buh-been through a lot t-together. They’ve got their reasons. Tim especially. It’s not–it’s not personal with you. They’re just…”
He trailed off, shoulders hitching hard.
You wanted to scream.
It was so obvious: Toby took it. He shut up, he let them scold him and boss him around because that’s what he was used to. And it made something protective and angry twist deep in your chest. He deserved better than being treated like the unstable attack dog of the group.
“God, I just want to slap Tim so fucking hard,” you burst out, the words tumbling faster. “Punch him right in his smug fucking face. Kick his ass. Tell him to mind his own goddamn business and stop treating you like a stupid kid who can’t make his own choices. I’m serious, Toby. The way he leaned over the counter and spat on my floor? I wanted to throw the register at his head.”
Toby stared at you for a second… then let out a short, surprised laugh. His shoulders shook with it, another violent tic jerking his neck sideways.
You weren’t done.
“And if I ever see him again, I’m borrowing these,” you said, reaching down and tapping one of the hatchet handles at his hip. “Just for a minute. I’ll be quick.”
Toby laughed harder - genuine, breathless laughter that made his whole body twitch. He collapsed back onto the couch beside you, leaning heavily over you as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His messy hair tickled your cheek, his breath warm against your skin, still shaking with quiet chuckles.
“F-fuck… you’re crazy,” he mumbled into your neck, voice muffled and warm. You could feel him smiling against you. “You’d actually try it, w-wouldn’t you?”
You wrapped your arms around him tightly, hugging him close. One hand slid up to thread through his messy brown hair, holding him there. You laughed too, the sound mixing with his, but underneath it you still felt that heavy twist of frustration and worry.
“Yeah, well… someone has to stand up for you,” you said softly, pressing your cheek to the top of his head. “Since you won’t do it yourself.”
Toby’s arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer until you were half in his lap. He leaned further into you, scarred face hidden against your throat. You hugged him a little tighter, fingers tracing one of the scars at the back of his neck.
You kept one hand buried in his messy brown hair, petting him slowly, fingers dragging through the strands and scratching lightly at his scalp. Toby melted under the touch with a low, broken hum, pressing even closer. His shoulders hitched hard once, twice, but he stayed curled against you like he never wanted to move again.
Then his mouth found your throat.
Warm, scarred lips brushed over the fading hickeys he’d left days ago, followed by slow, open-mouthed kisses that made your breath catch. He worked his way lower, kissing and licking across your collarbones, sucking gently on the sensitive skin just above the neckline of your polo. Every press of his mouth sent little sparks racing down your spine.
You hummed softly, tilting your head to give him better access. When he lifted his face again, you caught his jaw in your hand and pulled him up into a proper kiss.
It started sweet - almost careful - but within seconds it turned hungry. Toby groaned into your mouth as your tongues slid together, his hands roaming greedily over your waist and hips. You made out like that on the couch for a long minute, slow and deep and messy, the wet sounds of lips and tongues filling the quiet living room.
You broke just enough to speak, still holding his jaw firmly in your palm, thumb stroking over the thick scar on his cheek.
“You’re strong,” you whispered against his lips. “You’re capable. You’re not gonna take shit from anyone anymore. Not Tim. Not Brian. Not anybody. Got it?”
Toby’s dark eyes were glassy, breathing ragged. He nodded fast, another sharp tic jerking his head to the side with a soft crack. His hands tightened on your waist, fingers digging into your sides, then sliding down to grip your bare thighs right under the hem of your denim shorts.
“Y-yeah,” he breathed. “I g-got it.”
He leaned in again, chasing your mouth desperately. You let him kiss you, deep and filthy, before pulling back once more. Your thumb traced his bottom lip as you looked him dead in the eyes.
“And no one is allowed to insult us like that again,” you said, voice low and serious. “No one calls me a whore. No one calls you a dog. Especially not them.”
Toby nodded again, almost frantically, eyes locked on yours with that intense, obsessive shine you were starting to crave.
“I k-know,” he rasped. “I won’t let them. Never a-again.”
He stayed like that for a second, before gently pushing you off his lap and slowly sliding down off the couch. He settled on his knees between your spread thighs, right in front of you, hands resting on your legs. The twin hatchets at his hips shifted with the movement, handles bumping against the couch.
Toby looked up at you through his messy bangs, almost shy for a moment, cheeks faintly flushed under the scars. His fingers moved to the button of your denim shorts, popping it open with careful hands. He dragged the zipper down slowly, eyes flicking back up to your face like he was waiting for permission.
Then, voice barely above a whisper and a little timid, he admitted:
“But just so y-you know– I d-don’t mind being your dog…”
The words hit you like a spark straight to your core.
Heat flooded between your thighs instantly. You felt yourself get wet - soaked, really - just from the shy, honest way he said it. Your breath hitched, thighs pressing together slightly around his shoulders as fresh arousal throbbed through you.
His dark eyes darkened further, a crooked little smile tugging at his scarred mouth as he watched your face. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts and panties, ready to pull them down, waiting for you to tell him what you wanted.
You couldn’t help the wicked little smile that spread across your face at his shy confession.
“Oh yeah?” you teased, voice low and sweet as you looked down at him kneeling between your thighs. “You wanna be my little puppy? My personal pet?”
Toby groaned loud and broken, the sound vibrating against your skin. His head jerked sharply to the side with a crack, and he nodded so frantically it looked like it hurt.
“F-fuck yes,” he rasped, fingers already yanking desperately at your denim shorts and panties. “Please–I wanna be yours. Your g-good boy. Your ffff-fucking pet–”
You lifted your hips just enough to help him, and he practically ripped the fabric down your legs in one rough tug, tossing your shorts and soaked panties somewhere behind him. The cool air hit your wet pussy and you shivered.
You threaded your fingers through his messy hair again, tugging lightly.
“Maybe I should get you a collar then,” you purred, watching his reaction. “A nice one. So everyone knows who you belong to.”
Toby actually shook. A full-body tremor rolled through him, shoulders hitching violently as another loud crack sounded from his neck. His dark eyes were blown wide, pupils swallowing almost all the color.
“Yes–please,” he begged, voice wrecked. He spread your thighs wider with both scarred hands, pushing them apart until you were completely open for him. “Put me on a l-leash. I’m yours–I’m f-fucking yours–”
He leaned in immediately and pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss right against your dripping pussy, like he couldn’t wait another second. His lips dragged slowly up your slick folds before he sucked gently on your clit, moaning loud and shameless into your cunt.
You moaned right back, back arching off the couch as you grabbed a tight fistful of his hair.
“Fuck–Toby,” you gasped, a breathless little giggle slipping out. “I will. I’ll collar you and leash you if you eat this pussy like a good boy.”
He whimpered against you, the sound muffled and desperate. One of his hands was already palming himself roughly through his jeans, grinding the heel of his palm against his obvious hard-on while his tongue licked a long, sloppy stripe from your entrance up to your clit.
Then he really went down on you.
Toby devoured you like a man starved. There was nothing shy or hesitant about it now. He buried his face between your thighs, nose pressing against your clit as his tongue shoved inside you, fucking in and out with wet, obscene sounds. He groaned and whimpered the whole time, the vibrations shooting straight through your core.
He licked broad and messy, dragging his tongue everywhere - lapping up every drop of your arousal. Then he focused on your clit, sucking it hard between his lips while his tongue flicked fast and relentless against the sensitive bud. Your hips jerked, but he held you down with those strong hands, fingers digging bruises into your thighs as he kept you spread open for him.
“F-fuuuck, you taste so good,” he slurred against your pussy, voice thick and muffled. “So fucking w-wet–all for me–”
He spit directly on your clit, watching it glisten for half a second before diving back in, sucking and licking with renewed hunger. His head twitched hard against your thigh and the tic made him grind his face harder into you, nose rubbing perfect circles on your swollen clit while his tongue pushed deep again.
You were soaking his chin, his mouth, dripping down onto the couch, but Toby didn’t care. He was lost in it - moaning, slurping, eating you out with filthy, eager sounds that filled the entire living room. Every few seconds his shoulders hitched or his neck jerked, but it only made him more frantic, like the tics fed into his desperation.
He pulled back just enough to look up at you, lips shiny and swollen, chin glistening with your slick.
“C-call me your good p-puppy again,” he begged hoarsely, voice cracking. “Please–”
You tightened your grip in his hair and yanked him back down.
“Good boy,” you moaned, thighs trembling around his head. “Such a good little puppy. Eating my pussy so fucking well–”
Toby whimpered loudly and doubled down, sucking your clit hard while two thick fingers suddenly pushed inside you, curling instantly against that perfect spot. He pumped them fast, fucking you with his fingers while his mouth worked your clit without mercy.
The wet squelching sounds were downright pornographic. Your hips bucked against his face, grinding shamelessly as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly. He was palming himself harder now, hips twitching like he was barely holding it together, but he refused to stop until you came.
You were so close already - thighs shaking, stomach tightening, moans spilling louder and louder.
“Toby–fuck–don’t stop, I’m gonna–”
He moaned desperately into your cunt and sucked harder, fingers curling and thrusting perfectly, and that was it.
Your orgasm crashed over you hard. You cried out, back arching violently as your pussy clenched around his fingers, gushing against his tongue. Toby kept licking and sucking you through it, drinking down every drop like he was addicted, whimpering and groaning the whole time while his own hips jerked against his hand.
He didn’t stop even when you started twitching from overstimulation - only slowing his tongue into long, lazy licks to clean you up, savoring every last bit of you.
When you finally sagged back against the couch, panting and trembling, Toby rested his scarred cheek against your inner thigh, looking up at you with glassy, adoring eyes and a shiny, fucked-out grin.
His voice was hoarse, wrecked, and completely sincere when he whispered:
“…Can I a-actually have a c-collar?”
You let out a soft, surprised laugh, still catching your breath as you looked down at him kneeling there like the most eager puppy in the world.
“You’re serious?” you teased, grinning. “Alright, puppy. I’ll get you a collar. A nice one. Maybe even with your name on it.”
Toby’s whole face lit up, dark eyes sparkling with pure, unfiltered delight. He nodded fast, another sharp tic jerking his head to the side with a loud crack.
“Yes–fuck yes, puh-please,” he breathed.
You stroked his hair once more, then gently pushed at his shoulders.
“Sit on the couch, baby.”
He obeyed instantly. First he unclipped the twin hatchets from his belt and set them carefully on the floor with a heavy thunk, then dropped onto the couch, legs spread wide. His hands flexed restlessly on his thighs as he watched you stand up.
You moved between his knees and helped him shove his jeans and boxers down his hips. His thick cock sprang free, already rock-hard and flushed dark, curving slightly upward with a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip. You wrapped your hand around him, giving a few slow, firm strokes while you leaned in and kissed him deeply.
Toby moaned into your mouth, hips twitching up into your fist. You spit directly onto his cock, letting the warm saliva drip down his length before you stroked it in, spreading it nice and slick. Your thumb swirled over the sensitive head on every upstroke, squeezing just how you knew he liked. All the while your tongues slid together, wet and hungry.
“Such a good boy,” you whispered against his lips, jerking him a little faster. “So hard for me already.”
He whimpered, scarred hands grabbing at your waist, pulling you closer.
You finally climbed onto his lap, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips. You reached down, lined his cock up with your soaked entrance, and slowly sank down.
The stretch was overwhelming.
A broken moan tore from your throat as his thick length pushed inside you inch by inch, splitting you open so perfectly it made your eyes flutter. He was so deep like this - filling you completely, pressing right against that spot that made your eyes roll back. Your pussy fluttered and clenched around him, dripping down his shaft as you bottomed out with a shaky gasp.
“F-fuuuck–” Toby groaned, head falling back against the couch cushions. His neck cracked sharply to the side, but he didn’t seem to notice. His hands immediately grabbed two big handfuls of your ass, squeezing hard as he pulled you down even tighter against him. “So tight–so fucking wet, o-oh my God–”
You braced your hands on his chest and started riding him.
Slow at first, rolling your hips in deep, grinding circles so you could feel every thick inch of him dragging inside you. Your tits bounced under your polo with every movement. Toby’s eyes were glued to where your bodies joined, watching his cock disappear into your dripping pussy over and over with pure awe on his face.
Then you picked up the pace.
You bounced on his cock harder, faster, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the living room. Every time you dropped down, his hips bucked up to meet you, driving himself even deeper.
“Fuck, Toby–you feel so good,” you moaned, nails digging into his scarred shoulders. “Such a big fucking dick. Stretching me so full–”
Toby let out a wrecked, stuttering moan, head lolling back against the cushions again. His mouth hung open, eyes half-lidded and glassy as he panted.
“Y-yours–it’s a-all yours,” he rasped, voice cracking. His hands gripped your ass tighter, fingers bruising as he started actively pulling you down onto him with every bounce. “Ride me–fuck, r-ride your puppy–please–”
You leaned forward, bracing one hand on the back of the couch so you could fuck him even harder. Your moans mixed with his, loud and desperate, absolutely filthy. Every slap of your ass against his thighs sent jolts of pleasure through you. His cock hit that perfect spot on every downstroke, making your eyes roll back.
“That’s it, puppy,” you panted, grinding down hard on his cock. “Take this pussy. You’re doing so good for me–such a good boy–”
Toby’s head snapped to the side with another violent tic, but his grip on your ass never loosened. He was thrusting up frantically now, meeting every bounce, chasing his pleasure with shameless desperation. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His moans were getting louder, more broken, the stammer falling apart completely.
“I– I’m gonna–fuck, I’m s-so close a-already–” he whined, sounding almost embarrassed at how fast he was losing it.
You rode him faster, clenching around his throbbing cock on every stroke.
“Cum for me, puppy,” you moaned right against his ear, biting his scarred neck. “Fill me up. Be a good boy and cum deep inside me–”
That did it.
Toby’s whole body seized. His head slammed back against the couch, neck cracking loudly as his hips stuttered up hard. A loud, shattered moan ripped out of him as he came - thick, hot ropes of cum flooding deep inside your pussy. Pulse after pulse, so much it immediately started leaking out around his cock, dripping down his balls and onto the couch. His hands kept your ass pinned down tight against him, holding you there while he emptied himself completely, twitching and groaning through every spurt.
“F-fuuuck–thank you–thank you–” he whimpered, voice hoarse and wrecked, still cumming.
You kept rolling your hips slowly, milking him through it until he was trembling and oversensitive beneath you, breathing hard against your neck.
You stayed like that for a long moment, still straddling his lap, his softening cock buried deep inside you as the aftershocks slowly faded. Your forehead rested against his, both of you breathing hard, skin slick with sweat.
Eventually you lifted yourself off him with a soft, wet sound. A thick gush of his cum followed, running down your inner thighs as you shifted to sit beside him on the couch. You leaned heavily against his side, cheek pressed to his shoulder.
Toby immediately threw his arm around you, pulling you closer. His chest was still heaving, breath ragged as he tried to come down. For a while you just sat there in comfortable silence, your hand gently petting his bare thigh, fingers tracing old scars and fresh bruises.
Then reality started creeping back in.
You tilted your head to look up at him. “What are you gonna do about Tim and Brian?”
Toby’s shoulders hitched hard. He stared at the ceiling for a second, neck cracking sharply to the side.
“I’m gonna t-talk to them,” he muttered. “As soon as I get h-home from this job tuh-tonight. They had n-no right to go a-a-a-after you like that. I’m done letting them p-pull that shit.”
You nodded slowly, still stroking his thigh. “You all live together?”
“Yeah,” he said, a little too quickly. His fingers twitched against your shoulder. He clearly didn’t want to talk about it. “We do.”
You let it drop for now.
The silence stretched again. Your eyes drifted down to the twin hatchets lying on the floor. The reality of what he was about to go do - of what those weapons were for - hit you like a truck. Your stomach twisted with guilt and unease.
“…Who’s the job tonight?” you asked quietly, voice small. “Is it… someone innocent? I feel really fucked up about this, Toby. Knowing you’re gonna take a life.”
Toby squeezed your shoulder gently, thumb rubbing slow circles over your polo. He turned his head to look at you, dark eyes serious despite the post-sex haze.
“It’s not innocent,” he said. “My b-boss marks the targets. People who n-need to be e-eliminated. This guy… he deserves it. Trust me.”
It still felt so strange hearing him talk about it so casually - like murder was just another shift at the gas station. You swallowed hard and nodded, even though part of you still felt morally sick.
Curiosity got the better of you.
You leaned forward and reached down, carefully picking up one of the hatchets from the floor. It was surprisingly heavy in your hand, the wooden handle smooth from years of use, the blade dark and wickedly sharp. You slid it free from its holder, turning it slowly, feeling the weight and balance. The edge gleamed even in the low lamplight.
Toby watched you the entire time, one hand gently petting your hair, brushing it back from your face.
You ran your thumb carefully along the flat of the blade, careful not to cut yourself.
“…How does it feel?” you asked softly. “When you use it.”
Toby was quiet for a moment, head twitching once, twice. His scarred fingers kept stroking through your hair.
“It feels…” He exhaled slowly. “Like the m-most natural t-thing in the world.”
A shiver ran down your spine - cold and electric at the same time. The words should have terrified you. Instead, something darker, something thrilling twisted low in your belly. You stared at the hatchet in your hands, heart beating faster.
Toby’s arm tightened around you, pulling you closer again. His voice dropped, rough and honest.
“You don’t have t-to like it,” he murmured against your hair. “But it’s w-who I am.”
You set the hatchet back down carefully, the heavy thunk sounding final on the floorboards. Your hand returned to his thigh, but your mind was spinning - fear, arousal, affection, and that strange new thrill all tangled together.
You hummed softly, still leaning against him. “It’s… really hard to grasp all of this.”
Toby nodded, his head twitching sharply to the side with a quiet crack. “I know,” he murmured. “It’s a lot.”
You sat there for another moment, then sighed and slowly pushed yourself up off the couch. “I need to put on new panties. I’ll be right back.”
You hurried down the short hallway to your bedroom, thighs still slick with his cum. In the bathroom you quickly wiped yourself clean, tossed the messy tissue, and slipped on a fresh pair of panties. When you came back into the living room, Toby had already pulled his jeans and boxers back up. He was sitting on the couch again, absently toying with one of your throw pillows, flipping it over in his hands like he didn’t know what else to do with them.
His dark eyes immediately dropped to your bare legs as you walked in. He stared openly, hungrily, tracking every step until you bent down to grab your denim shorts from the floor. You shot him a little smile over your shoulder as you tugged them back on.
He smiled back - that crooked, scarred, boyish grin that made your chest feel warm.
You buttoned your shorts and laughed under your breath. “Okay, I have something to tell you.”
Toby tilted his head, still smiling. “What?”
You chewed your lip for a second, suddenly a little shy. “When Tim and Brian came into the store… I kind of freaked out and told them you were my boyfriend. I said we were together and happy and everything. It just kind of slipped out.”
Toby went completely still.
For a long second he just stared at you, dark eyes wide, mouth slightly parted like he couldn’t process what you’d said. His shoulders hitched hard once, twice. Then his whole face lit up with pure, stunned disbelief and joy.
“…You did?” he asked, voice cracking.
You nodded, grinning.
He stood up so fast it was almost comical, crossing the two steps between you in one restless stride. His hands grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against him.
“Like… this m-means we’re boyfriend and g-girlfriend?” he asked, almost breathless, head twitching sharply to the side.
You giggled and gave his chest a light push, cheeks burning. “No. I mean, I don’t know… maybe? I was just pissed off at them and it came out.”
Toby didn’t care about the technicalities.
He grinned huge and wrapped his arms around you tightly, burying his face in your hair as he hugged you. His body was still twitching with restless energy, but he held you so close you could feel his heart hammering against your chest.
You laughed into his hoodie, wrapping your arms around his waist and squeezing him back just as hard. “I seriously need to get your number though. You’re out here calling yourself my boyfriend and I don’t even have you in my phone.”
Toby pulled back just enough to look at you, still smiling like an idiot. “Yeah. Fuck yeah.”
You both fished your phones out. He handed you his - an older cracked model with a completely shattered screen - and you saved your contact under:
“your owner 🖤”
When you handed it back, Toby’s face went bright red. He stared at the screen for a second, then let out a short, choppy laugh and immediately started typing in your phone. He saved himself under:
“boyfriend 🪓”
You burst out laughing when you saw it. “Cheesy.”
“Shut up,” he muttered, but he was grinning as he pulled you in again.
You kissed him - slow and sweet at first, then deeper, tongues brushing lazily. His hands stayed on your waist, thumbs stroking your sides while his shoulders hitched every few seconds. When you finally pulled back, you were both a little breathless again.
Toby rested his forehead against yours, still smiling like he couldn’t believe any of this was real.
He reluctantly pulled away from you, bending down to grab the twin hatchets from the floor. He clipped them back onto his belt with practiced, efficient movements, the heavy weapons settling against his hips like they belonged there. The sight still sent a strange little jolt through you - part fear, part that dark thrill you were starting to get used to.
Your phone pinged loudly in your hand.
You glanced at the screen. It was Andy, as usual:
yo u late asf
got a surprise for u when u get here lol
hurry up
“Shit,” you muttered, shoving the phone into your back pocket. “I’m late for work.”
Toby straightened up, adjusting the hatchets one last time. A crooked little grin tugged at his scarred mouth.
“Same,” he said, voice low and amused, like the idea of his own “job” was just another casual errand.
You almost shuddered at the reminder - the casual way he was about to go out and kill someone - but you swallowed it down and forced a small smile instead. He didn’t need to see you freaking out right before he left.
He stepped close again, one hand cupping the side of your neck as he leaned in. The kiss was slow and deep, a little desperate at the edges, like he was trying to take as much of you with him as possible. You kissed him back just as hard, fingers gripping the front of his hoodie.
When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing a little heavier.
You walked him to the front door together, the warm night air brushing over your skin as you stepped outside. Toby lingered on the porch for a second, hands twitching at his sides, head giving a quick, sharp tic to the left with a soft crack.
“Be s-safe at work,” he muttered, eyes flicking over your face.
“You too,” you replied softly, even though the words felt heavy and wrong in your mouth.
He gave you one last crooked smile, then turned and disappeared into the treeline with that familiar uneven walk, shoulders hitching every few steps until the shadows swallowed him.
You stood on the porch for a moment longer, heart doing something complicated in your chest, before you locked the door and headed off toward the gas station.
You pushed open the door to the Stop & Gas, the little bell jingling above you. Andy was already slouched in the chair behind the counter, buzzcut freshly faded, tattoos shifting on his arms as he scrolled through his phone with one hand and casually hit his vape with the other. The “NO SMOKING” sign hanging right above his head looked almost comical.
You smirked, raising your eyebrows at him as you walked in. “Really, dude? With the security cameras rolling?”
Andy glanced up, that lazy, shit-eating grin spreading across his face. He took another slow drag and blew the sweet-smelling vapor toward the ceiling. “You’re never gonna believe what happened.”
You dropped your bag behind the counter and leaned against it, arms crossed. “Hit me.”
He sat up a little straighter, clearly excited to tell the story. “Management called me right before the shift. Said the cameras are completely dead again. Just pure static on every feed. They tried resetting them a bunch of times but nothing worked, so they finally came and took them all down. Apparently it’s happened before at a couple other stores around here too. Something about the woods being so close, interference or whatever.”
You raised your brows. “That’s… odd.”
Andy shrugged, taking another hit from his vape. “Probably some cheap-ass system. Good for me though. Side hustle just got a whole lot easier without Big Brother watching.” He winked.
You hummed, forcing a little chuckle. “Yeah, convenient.”
You shook it off and changed the subject. “So what’s this surprise you texted me about?”
Andy’s grin widened. He clapped his hands together once and reached under the counter, pulling out a greasy paper bag and two big Styrofoam cups. “I hoped you were hungry. Burgers and shakes, just like I promised.”
You actually squealed, eyes lighting up. “No way!”
You gave him a quick side hug, squeezing his shoulder as you snatched the bag. The smell of greasy fast food hit you and your stomach growled instantly. You ripped it open, unwrapping one of the burgers and taking a huge bite.
“Oh my God,” you moaned around the food, slapping the counter with your free hand. “This is so good.”
Andy laughed, already digging into his own burger. “Being an accessory to my business finally paying off, huh?”
“Best perk yet,” you mumbled through a mouthful of fries, wiggling your eyebrows.
The two of you leaned against the counter, eating like animals while the store stayed quiet around you. Andy launched into his usual small talk between bites.
“Got a date tomorrow night,” he said proudly, wiping sauce off his chin. “Some girl I met when I was DJing last weekend. She’s so bad, bro. Tatted, thick, just how I like ‘em.”
You snorted, dipping a fry into your shake. “Nice. Just don’t do that thing where you get too high and start telling conspiracy theories about the government putting trackers in vaccines again. Last date ended with her blocking you before dessert, remember?”
Andy groaned dramatically. “That was one time! I’m on my best behavior this go-around, swear.”
You grinned, licking ketchup off your thumb. “Mhm. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
He took another massive bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully for a second before perking up. “Oh, speaking of DJing, I got another gig next weekend. It’s a bigger spot than usual, you should come through.”
Your eyebrows lifted. “For real? Yeah, I’m down.”
“Bet,” Andy said, looking genuinely pleased. “You can bring whoever. Or just come solo and I’ll buy you a drink after my set.”
You laughed softly. “Alright, text me the info and I’ll try to make it.”
“Sweet.” He bumped your shoulder with his own, grinning.
You kept shit-talking and teasing him while you both ate sloppily, grease and salt all over your fingers. At one point you leaned back against the counter, licking salt off your thumb, and smirked.
“God, this hits different after some good dick.”
Andy choked on his shake, eyes going wide. He let out a loud laugh, coughing a little. “No way–wait, for real?”
You just gave him a look, mouth still full of burger, eyebrows raised.
He gasped, pointing at you with a fry. “It’s the Tourette’s dude, isn’t it? Bandana guy? Fuck was his name again… Toby?”
You tried and failed to hide your grin, chewing slowly.
Andy threw his head back and laughed harder. “Holy shit, that explains why you were so fucking late tonight. You nasty little freak.”
You shoved his shoulder, laughing with him. “Shut up and eat your burger.”
But you couldn’t stop smiling. Even with everything else going on, sitting here with Andy, stuffing your face and talking shit, felt almost normal.
Almost.
Toby’s boots crunched heavily over the damp leaves and pine needles as he made his way back through the woods, twin hatchets dripping at his hips. The job had been clean. Too clean. The journalist barely had time to look up before the first hatchet buried itself in his skull. Middle-aged, nosy piece of shit who’d been digging into old disappearances and proxy activity. Easy target. Toby hadn’t even broken a sweat.
But now?
Now he was practically shaking.
His shoulders hitched violently with every other step, neck cracking sharply to the side again and again - crack, crack, crack - as rage boiled hotter in his chest. The walk back to the old house felt longer than usual, every rustle in the trees feeding the storm building inside him.
They’d gone to your fucking job.
Tim and Brian had walked into the Stop & Gas, leaned over the counter, and terrorized you. And they hadn’t said a single fucking word to him about it.
Not one.
He should’ve known. They’d gone behind his back. Again.
“F-fucking assholes,” Toby growled under his breath. His fingers flexed hard around the handles of the hatchets, knuckles white. Another full-body tic slammed through him so hard he nearly stumbled, head jerking violently to the left.
The more he pictured it - you standing behind that counter, alone, while those jerks crowded you and tried to scare you off - the worse it got. You’d hugged him tonight. Kissed him. Called him your boyfriend in front of them. Let him fuck you on your couch and promised him a collar.
And they tried to take that from him.
By the time the rundown house came into view through the trees, Toby was vibrating with fury. His breath came fast and uneven, scarred face twisted into something ugly. The porch light was on. The truck was parked out front.
They were home.
Good.
The front door slammed open with enough force to rattle the old windows in their frames.
Toby stormed inside, boots tracking dirt and a few specks of blood across the floor. The house was dead quiet - it was well past midnight, the kind of heavy silence that usually meant everyone had crashed after a long day. But Toby didn’t give a single fuck.
He marched straight into the living room, shoulders hitching violently, neck cracking hard to the left every few steps. The only light came from the low glow of the TV, which had long since gone to a screensaver. On the couch, Ben was curled up in a tight ball, messy blonde hair sticking up in every direction, one arm dangling off the edge with his laptop still open on the cushion beside him. He’d clearly fallen asleep mid-work, earbuds still half in his ears.
Toby didn’t even glance at him.
He walked right up to the staircase railing and started slamming his fist against the old wooden banister as hard as he could - BANG BANG BANG BANG - the sound echoing through the entire house like gunshots.
“TIM!” he roared, voice raw and furious. “BRIAN! Get the fuck down here! NOW!”
CRACK. His neck jerked violently to the side.
BANG BANG BANG.
“TIM! BRIAN!”
Ben jolted awake with a terrified gasp, nearly falling off the couch. His eyes flew open wide, one hand dramatically clutching his chest like he was having a heart attack.
“Dude–what the fuck?!” Ben wheezed, voice hoarse with sleep, scrambling to sit up. He yanked one earbud out, blinking rapidly as he tried to make sense of the chaos. “Toby, holy shit–are you trying to give me a fucking heart attack?!”
Toby ignored him completely. He kept slamming his fist against the railing, the old wood groaning under the assault.
“TIM! Get your a-ass down here ruh-right fucking now!” His voice cracked with the volume, another violent tic making his whole upper body jerk. “B-BRIAN! BOTH OF YOU!”
Ben rubbed his eyes, looking equal parts annoyed and concerned. “Jesus Christ, man… what the hell is going on? Did someone die or–”
“TIM!” Toby bellowed again, louder this time, fist still hammering the banister. BANG BANG BANG. “BRIAN! I know you’re ffffff-fucking home!”
Heavy footsteps started thundering from upstairs. Doors creaked open. The house was no longer quiet.
Toby’s chest heaved, eyes burning with barely-contained rage.
Tim was the first one down the stairs.
He came stomping down in nothing but an old t-shirt and boxers, hair messy, eyes bleary and bloodshot. The sharp smell of whisky rolled off him in waves. He took one look at Toby standing there vibrating with rage, hatchets still at his hips, blood on his clothes, and lost it.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Tim bellowed, voice hoarse from sleep and alcohol. “It’s the middle of the goddamn night–”
He didn’t even finish the sentence. As soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs he shoved Toby hard in the chest with both hands.
Toby stumbled back a couple steps, then exploded.
He shoved Tim back just as violently, nearly knocking the bigger man off his feet. “You went to her fuh-fucking J-JOB!” Toby screamed, voice cracking and manic, spit flying. His head jerked sharply to the side - CRACK-CRACK - shoulders hitching so hard it looked painful. “You t-threatened her! Ttried to scare her off like I’m s-some fucking p-pet you c-can control!”
His tics were completely out of control now. Every other word was punctuated by a violent twitch or jerk, neck snapping, shoulders rolling, eyes wild.
Tim’s face twisted with anger. “She’s a goddamn liability–”
That was all it took.
Toby swung first.
His fist connected hard with Tim’s jaw, the crack echoing through the living room. Tim roared and tackled him, and just like that they were fighting - brutal, ugly, no-holds-barred. Fists flying, elbows, knees. Toby was smaller but faster and absolutely manic, landing punches with reckless speed.
Ben was wide awake now, curled up tight against the back of the couch, eyes huge.
“Dude– what the FUCK?!” Ben shouted, voice cracking with disbelief. “Are you two serious right now?! Stop!”
They didn’t stop.
Toby managed to duck under one of Tim’s haymakers, drove his shoulder into the bigger man’s gut, and took him down hard onto the floor. They crashed into the coffee table, sending empty beer bottles flying. Toby got on top, straddling Tim’s chest and raining down punches, screaming the whole time.
Brian appeared at the bottom, shirt and boxers, holding a pistol in a tight grip. His eyes widened at the scene.
“Stop it! Both of you–NOW!” he yelled, voice cold and sharp.
They ignored him.
Brian moved forward, trying to grab Toby by the back of his hoodie to yank him off. In one lightning-fast, practiced motion, Toby twisted, snatched the gun right out of Brian’s hand, and–
Tim grabbed Toby’s leg and yanked hard.
Toby lost his balance. The gun flew from his grip, skidding across the wooden floor with a loud scrape before sliding to a stop right beside the couch.
Ben’s eyes went comically wide. Without thinking, he lunged forward and snatched the pistol off the floor, holding it awkwardly with both hands like it might bite him.
“Jesus Christ–okay, everyone just chill the fuck out!” Ben shouted, voice pitching higher than usual as he pointed the gun vaguely in their direction. “I swear to God I will shoot someone if you don’t stop!”
Brian stood frozen a few feet away, empty hands raised slightly, staring at the absolute disaster his housemates had become.
Tim roared and flipped them, using his size and weight to slam Toby onto his back. He managed to get on top, straddling him, and started swinging with everything he had - heavy, brutal punches that cracked against Toby’s jaw, cheek, ribs. Each hit landed with a sickening thud.
“You stupid–little–fuck!” Tim snarled between punches, whisky breath hot and furious. “Always making shit worse!”
Toby thrashed underneath him, tics going completely haywire. His head snapped violently side to side - CRACK-CRACK-CRACK - shoulders jerking so hard it looked like he was seizing. Blood was already pouring from his split lip and a cut above his eye.
“Get the f-fuck off me!” Toby screamed. “She’s mine–you don’t fucking t-touch her–I’ll k-kill you–I’ll fucking kill you!”
Brian moved carefully toward the couch, one hand out. “Ben. Give me the gun. Now.”
Ben was curled against the back cushions, eyes huge, hands shaking as he clutched the pistol like it was a live grenade. “N-no! Fuck no, you’re all insane!”
“Give me the fucking gun, Ben!” Brian snapped, agitation bleeding into his voice.
“I’ll shoot! I swear I’ll shoot someone!” Ben’s voice cracked as he waved the gun nervously. Then, in pure panic, he started screaming at the top of his lungs. “JEFF! JEFF! Get down here! JEFF!!”
The fight on the floor only got uglier. Tim and Toby were screaming at each other between punches - raw insults, old grudges, and years of buried resentment exploding all at once.
“You think you can just have a normal life with that gas station slut?!” Tim roared, slamming his fist hard into Toby’s ribs.
“She’s not a s-slut–fuck you!” Toby howled, thrashing beneath him. “She’s better than all of us! And I’m not l-like you, Tim! I don’t destroy e-everything I fffff-fucking touch!”
The words hit Tim like a slap to the face, cracking something ugly and deeply buried inside him.
His face twisted with pure rage, eyes bloodshot and wild. “The fuck did you just say?!” he bellowed, voice cracking with fury. He swung harder, fists raining down heavier than before - brutal, uncontrolled punches that cracked against Toby’s jaw and cheek with sickening force. “I’ll fucking kill you, you ungrateful little shit!”
Toby snarled and bucked wildly, trying to throw him off as blood flew from his split lip.
Brian yelled again, louder this time, “Ben, just hand it over before someone actually dies!”
More heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs.
But before Jeff could even reach the bottom, Toby twisted with a feral, twitchy burst of strength. He got one arm free, yanked one of the hatchets from its holder at his hip in a lightning-fast motion, and–
THUNK.
The blade buried deep into the side of Tim’s thigh.
Tim’s scream ripped through the house, raw and agonized. Blood immediately started squirting from the wound in thick, rhythmic pulses, soaking Toby’s hoodie and the floorboards beneath them.
“FUCK–YOU LITTLE PSYCHO!” Tim howled, clutching his leg.
Ben screamed at the top of his lungs, high-pitched and terrified, scrambling further back on the couch.
Jeff finally appeared at the bottom of the stairs, messy black hair loose, eyes wide with surprise. A slow, amused grin spread across his scarred face as he took in the absolute bloodbath unfolding in the living room.
“Well damn,” Jeff drawled, sounding way too entertained. “The fuck’s going on here?”
In the chaos, Brian lunged forward and ripped the gun out of Ben’s shaking hands. He spun, aimed at Toby’s shoulder, and pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space.
Toby jerked hard as the bullet slammed into his left shoulder, a spray of blood exploding outward. The impact knocked him off Tim and sent him sprawling sideways onto the floor with a choked grunt. His hatchet clattered beside him, still slick with Tim’s blood.
The living room fell into a stunned, ringing silence for half a second - broken only by Tim’s pained groaning and the wet sound of blood pooling on the floor.
Toby lay on his back, chest heaving, blood pouring steadily from the bullet wound in his shoulder and the gashes on his face. There was no pain - there never was - but his dark eyes still burned with raw fury as violent tics tore through him. His shoulders hitched sharply, neck cracking hard.
Brian just stood there, gun still raised, breathing hard.
Tim clutched his mangled thigh, cursing weakly through gritted teeth as blood kept pumping out between his fingers.
Jeff sauntered over to the couch like he was watching a mildly entertaining bar fight instead of a bloodbath in his own living room. He dropped down heavily beside Ben, slinging one arm around the smaller guy’s shoulders and giving the side of his head a couple of playful taps.
“Aww, you yelled for me like a little bitch,” Jeff teased, voice raspy with amusement. “That was cute, Ben. Real damsel-in-distress.”
Ben was trembling hard, eyes glued to the growing pool of blood spreading out from Tim’s thigh. He barely registered Jeff’s teasing, just shook harder and muttered, “There’s so much fucking blood, bro…”
Tim was still on the floor, face pale and shiny with sweat, hands clamped uselessly around the deep gash in his leg. Blood kept squirting between his fingers in weaker pulses now. “Brian!” he yelled, voice cracking. “Get the fuck over here and help me–I’m gonna bleed out, you asshole!”
Then he turned his glare on Toby, teeth bared. “And you–you fucking psycho! I should’ve put you down years ago!”
Toby just lay on his back a few feet away, chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven breaths. Blood soaked his hoodie from the fresh bullet wound in his left shoulder and dripped from his busted face. His dark eyes stared at the ceiling, jaw tight. He didn’t say a word. His shoulders hitched violently every few seconds, neck cracking sharply, but otherwise he ignored everyone.
Brian stalked over to Toby, towering above him, face twisted with fury. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he shouted, voice loud and disrespectful, like a pissed-off older brother scolding a bratty kid. “You stab Tim in the fucking leg?! Over some random pussy?! You’ve lost your goddamn mind, Toby! I told you this bitch was trouble–”
Toby didn’t even look at him. Just kept breathing, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth, eyes distant and burning.
“Brian!” Tim shouted again, weaker this time, skin turning a sickly grey. “I’m serious–I’m gonna pass out, man–”
Brian dragged a hand down his face and let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Fuck. I’ll get Jack.” He yanked open the basement door and bellowed down the stairs, “Jack! Get up here! We need medical, now! Tim’s bleeding everywhere!”
Heavy footsteps started climbing from the basement.
Jeff leaned back against the couch, casually toying with his lighter, flicking it open and closed with a soft metallic click. He pulled a cigarette from behind his ear, lit it, and took a long drag, watching the mess on the floor with mild amusement.
His gaze drifted down to Tim’s leg, where blood was still pumping hot and dark between his fingers, soaking through his boxers and spreading fast across the old wood.
Jeff squinted at it like he was mildly impressed.
“Huh,” he said, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth. “Looks like Twitch might’ve nicked an artery.”
Tim gave a harsh, pissed-off grunt, face pale and twisted with pain, like Jeff had just pointed out the sky was blue. “No fucking shit,” he snarled through gritted teeth, clamping both hands harder over the wound.
Jeff snorted.
Then he leaned slightly toward Ben, his voice dropping lower. “So,” he asked, eyes still glinting with amusement, “what the hell were they fighting about this time?”
Ben swallowed hard, still shaking, eyes flicking nervously between the gun in Brian’s hand and the chaos on the floor. “I-I don’t really know… Something about Toby having a girl. Tim did something behind his back. Called her names or whatever. Just your typical proxy bullshit, I guess.”
Jeff hummed, the corner of his scarred mouth twitching into a smirk as he took another drag. His eyes stayed locked on Tim’s paling face.
“Figures,” he muttered, flicking ash onto the floor. “Toby finally gets some pussy and the whole house tries to burn down.”
Tim let out another weak, pissed-off groan. Brian stood between them like a tired referee who’d already given up.
The basement door creaked wider as Jack emerged, carrying a large black emergency kit, moving with that same calm, clinical detachment he always had. His void-black eyes swept across the destroyed living room - blood everywhere, overturned furniture, Toby on the floor, Tim bleeding out, Brian standing there fuming, Ben curled up on the couch, and Jeff casually smoking.
Jack took it all in with mild, awkward politeness, as if he’d just walked into a slightly messy dinner party.
He crouched down beside Toby first, gloved hands already reaching for the bullet wound in his shoulder.
Tim immediately lost what little patience he had left. “Jack! What the fuck are you doing?! I’m the one bleeding out over here, you stupid fuck!”
Brian snapped right after him, voice sharp. “Toby’s not the emergency, Jack. Get over here!”
Jack paused, blinking slowly. He gave Toby’s arm a gentle, almost apologetic tap with two fingers.
“My apologies,” he said in that smooth, formal tone, clearly not very sorry at all. “I will return shortly.”
He moved over to Tim, opening the kit with practiced efficiency. He pressed a thick wad of gauze hard against the hatchet wound, trying to stem the arterial bleeding. Tim hissed and groaned through gritted teeth, face ghostly pale and slick with sweat. Jack packed more padding into the gash, working quickly and methodically.
“He is losing too much blood," Jack stated calmly, glancing up at Brian. “We need to get him downstairs to the infirmary. Now.”
Brian nodded, jaw tight. Together they hauled Tim up - one arm over each of their shoulders. Tim’s head lolled, legs dragging uselessly as they half-carried, half-dragged him toward the basement door, leaving a thick trail of blood across the floorboards. The sound of his weak cursing faded down the stairs.
Jeff stretched lazily on the couch, arms raised high above his head, then gave Ben a light shove with his shoulder.
“Welp. I need to run an errand,” he said casually, the smirk never leaving his face. “You need anything while I’m out?”
Ben let out a shaky, hysterical little laugh, still trembling. “Yeah. Everything. I need a new fucking life after this shit.”
Jeff barked out a raspy laugh and clapped Ben on the back as he stood up. “See ya later, drama queen.”
He paused near the door, glancing back at Toby still lying on the floor, bleeding from his shoulder and face, staring blankly up at the ceiling. “Hey, Tobes. Good job, man. Real nice swing on that hatchet.”
Toby didn’t respond. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. Another violent tic jerked his neck to the side with a loud crack, but his eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, dark and unfocused, blood slowly pooling beneath him.
Jeff just chuckled to himself and headed out, the front door slamming behind him.
The house fell into a strange, heavy quiet. Ben hugged his knees on the couch, still shaken. Toby remained on the floor, bleeding quietly, the rage from earlier slowly draining out of him and leaving only exhaustion in its wake.
You knelt on the scuffed tile floor, stacking cans of energy drinks into the cooler with slow, methodical movements. Your denim shorts had ridden up high on your thighs from the position, and your hair kept falling into your face no matter how many times you shoved it back. The leftover taste of burger and strawberry shake still lingered on your tongue, and for a little while, things had felt almost normal.
Andy was slouched behind the counter, legs kicked up on the register, casually vaping thick clouds of sweet-smelling vapor while he scrolled through his phone. Every now and then he’d chuckle at whatever video he was watching, the sound lazy and warm in the quiet store.
The meal had been great. The shift had been surprisingly chill so far. You felt full, a little greasy, and more satisfied than you had any right to be.
But you couldn’t stop worrying about Toby.
Your mind kept drifting back to him - the way he’d looked when he left your house, hatchets back on his hips, that restless fire in his eyes. Had he confronted Tim and Brian yet? Was he okay? Did it turn into a screaming match? A fight? Something worse?
You glanced at your phone for the hundredth time, screen lighting up your face. No new messages.
You sighed heavily, shoulders slumping as you shoved another four-pack of Monster into place with more force than necessary. The worry gnawed at the pit of your stomach. What if they’d hurt him? What if he’d hurt them? What if he was bleeding somewhere right now and you had no way to reach him?
“Everything good over there?” Andy called out, not even looking up from his phone. “You’ve been sighing like a Victorian widow for the last twenty minutes.”
You forced a small laugh, sitting back on your heels and wiping your hands on your shorts. “Yeah… just thinking.”
Andy finally glanced over, one eyebrow raised. “About Bandana Boy?”
You didn’t answer right away. Instead you grabbed another case of drinks and started stacking again, the cans clinking together loudly in the quiet store. Your shorts rode even higher as you stretched, but you didn’t bother fixing them.
“I don’t know,” you muttered eventually. “I’m just… nervous.”
Andy took a long drag from his vape, then exhaled slowly. “Well, if he fucks up and ghosts you, at least you got some bomb dick out of it first, right?”
You snorted despite yourself, shaking your head. “Whatever, dude.”
But the worry didn’t leave. Not even a little.
The bell above the door jingled.
You were still on your knees, ass up, reaching deep into the bottom shelf to stack the last row of energy drinks when you felt the shift in the air. The store suddenly felt smaller.
You glanced over your shoulder and froze.
Holy shit.
The guy who just walked in was tall - stupidly tall, easily 6’4”, with a lean, wiry build that somehow looked both graceful and dangerous, like a coiled blade. Long, messy black hair cascaded past his shoulders, shiny and slightly tangled, half of it tucked lazily behind one ear.
His face… God. Even with the scars, he was undeniably handsome. Sharp jawline, high cheekbones, dark hooded eyes that seemed to drink in everything at once. The two thin, pale scars running from the corners of his mouth up toward his cheeks were clearly self-inflicted - precise lines he must have carved into himself a long time ago. Though fully healed, they were still visibly intentional. Pale skin, full lips, and that lazy, arrogant confidence radiating off him like heat.
He looked like trouble wrapped in pretty violence.
His eyes locked onto you immediately. You were still on all fours in those tiny denim shorts, thighs flexed, polo riding up your back. He didn’t even pretend to be polite - his gaze dragged slowly down your body, lingering on your ass, your legs, the curve of your waist, before sliding back up to your face. The corner of his scarred mouth twitched upward into a little crooked, predatory smirk.
Then he looked past you.
“Yo, Andy,” he greeted, voice low and raspy in that rough smoker’s drawl.
Andy looked up from his phone, vape still between his fingers. “Jeff, my guy. What’s good?”
You pushed yourself up from the floor, rising fully to your feet as you brushed the dust off your knees, heart beating a little faster than it should. So this was another one of Andy’s shady clients. Great.
Jeff leaned one elbow on the counter, long fingers drumming slowly.
“Need more than usual tonight, bro. Like… a lot more. That fire shit you hooked me up with last time? Gimme two of those and a couple eight-balls on top. I’m tryna stay faded for a minute.”
Andy nodded like it was the most normal request in the world. He took one last quick hit from his vape, blowing the sweet-smelling cloud toward the ceiling.
“Bet. Lemme run to the back real quick and grab it. Don’t touch the register, okay?” He shot you a quick wink as he stood up. “Back in a sec.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
Now it was just you and Jeff.
The silence stretched, thick and electric. He stayed leaning against the counter, staring at you openly. His eyes traced every inch of you like he was already imagining what you’d look like bent over the counter.
You popped your gum loudly and narrowed your eyes at him.
“Staring is rude, Joker.”
The nickname slipped out before you could stop it.
Jeff let out a low, raspy chuckle that sent an unwilling shiver down your spine. He straightened up to his full intimidating height, rolling his shoulders back so the black hoodie pulled tight across his lean, toned chest. His smile widened, pulling the scars even tighter.
“Joker, huh?” he drawled, voice dripping with amusement. “Cute. Alright then… Harley. Looks like you’re already playing dress-up in those little shorts like you want someone to ruin that pretty outfit.”
You felt heat crawl up your neck, but you refused to look away. Instead you crossed your arms under your chest.
“Harley’s got a man, actually,” you said coolly. “So you can keep your eyes to yourself.”
Jeff’s grin only grew. He stepped around the end of the counter until he was close enough that you could smell faint cigarette smoke and something sharper, like metal and pine. He towered over you, looking down with dark, amused eyes.
“Yeah? And where the fuck is this man?” he asked, voice low. “Because if he had any sense, he wouldn’t let a girl like you work night shifts alone in a shithole like this, looking like a walking wet dream.” He licked his lips. “Bet he doesn’t even fuck you right.”
You tilted your chin up defiantly, refusing to step back even though your pulse was racing.
“He’s busy. And he fucks me just fine, thanks. Better than fine, actually.” Your voice dropped, sharp and sweet. “So stop imagining bending me over the counter, It’s not gonna happen dude.”
Jeff’s eyes darkened with interest. He let out a soft, dangerous laugh and leaned in closer, one hand bracing on the shelf beside your head.
“Damn. Feisty,” he murmured, gaze flicking down to your lips, then lower. “I like that. Bet you’re real loud when you’re pissed off too.” His mouth curved. “Tell you what, baby. I’d have you screaming my name so loud your little boyfriend would hear it from wherever the fuck he is. I don’t do that two-pump-chump shit. I’d ruin you for anyone else.”
The crude words should’ve disgusted you. Instead they hit somewhere low and warm, clashing violently with the fierce loyalty you felt toward Toby. You stepped forward, almost chest-to-chest with him, eyes narrowed.
“You’re wrong,” you said firmly. “My man’s obsessed with me. And he’s armed. So you can take your little fantasy and shove it.”
Jeff didn’t even flinch. The threat of an armed boyfriend barely seemed to register - if anything, it only made his dark eyes gleam with more amusement. For a second, something almost like respect flashed across his face. Then that wicked smirk returned, slower and sharper this time.
“Obsessed, huh?” He tilted his head, long black hair slipping over one shoulder. “Damn. Dangerous word. Guys like that tend to get real fuckin’ crazy when someone else wants what’s theirs.”
The back-room door swung open.
Andy strolled out with a small paper bag, immediately clocking the heavy tension between you two. His eyebrows shot up, grin widening.
“Alright, here we go,” he announced cheerfully, setting the bag on the counter. “That’ll be two-fifty.”
Jeff didn’t blink at the steep price. He looked at you for a moment longer, then casually walked back to the counter. He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a fat roll of cash, thick enough to choke on. He peeled off several bills without counting and dropped them on the counter like it was nothing.
“Keep the change,” he muttered.
Andy quickly counted the money, then grinned. “My favorite kind of customer.”
The two of them fell into easy, lazy bro-talk while Andy double-bagged everything.
“Haven’t heard from Ben in a minute,” Andy said, leaning on the counter. “What’s up with him?”
Jeff shrugged, long black hair shifting over his shoulder. “Busy. You know how he is.”
Andy laughed, shaking his head. “Bro’s my best paying client and I’ve never even seen his face. That’s wild. You gotta drag him out here sometime, man.”
Jeff’s grin widened, the carved lines pulling tight across his cheeks. “Zero chance. Only way to get Ben outta the house is if there’s strippers and free weed involved. Good luck with that.”
Both of them cracked up, laughing in that slow, burnt-out way guys do when they’re talking shit. They bumped fists over the counter, exchanging the usual half-assed “stay safe” and “hit me up if you need more” lines.
Then Jeff turned toward the door.
Before he left, he pulled a crisp fifty from his thick roll, holding it up between two long fingers as he looked straight at you. That smirk spread across his face again, dark eyes dragging over your body one last time.
“You comin’?” he asked teasingly.
You snorted, crossing your arms under your chest and popping your gum loudly. “I don’t sell that kinda service in here. And even if I did? I’m not that cheap.”
Andy just shook his head, rolling his eyes with a helpless laugh like he couldn’t believe the two of you were doing this right in front of him.
Jeff only shrugged, completely unbothered.
“Offer still stands, baby.”
He gave you one final slow once-over - dark, hungry, and way too confident - then pushed the door open. The bell jingled as his tall frame disappeared into the dark parking lot.
The store fell quiet again.
Andy waited until the door fully shut before turning to you, still grinning like an idiot.
“Jesus Christ,” he laughed, dragging a hand over his buzzcut. “What the fuck was that? You two were eye-fucking so hard I thought the shelves were gonna catch fire.”
You let out a shaky breath, cheeks still warm, pulse thrumming.
“Yeah… definitely not, dude.”
Andy barked out a loud laugh, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed. “Bullshit. You were two seconds away from climbing him like a tree.”
“I was not!” you protested immediately, whirling on him. “I’m not interested. I have someone else. Someone I actually like.”
Andy just grinned wider, that shit-eating expression growing. “Mhm. Sure. You’re real popular lately, huh? Collecting men like Pokémon cards.”
You shoved his shoulder hard, laughing despite yourself. “Shut up. That was… I don’t even know what that was. How do you even know that guy?”
Andy shrugged, reaching for his vape again and taking a slow hit. Smoke curled around his face as he exhaled.
“Met his buddy Ben on some online game a while back. Dude orders a stupid amount of weed every week, like clockwork. Never shows his face, always pays through the app. Eventually Ben said his roommate Jeff needed the harder stuff, so I started hooking him up too.” Andy gestured vaguely toward the door. “Jeff’s an even bigger customer now. Pays crazy well, never causes problems, keeps it lowkey. I don’t ask questions.”
You snorted, stacking the last few cans with more force than necessary. “You’ve got some seriously strange connections, you know that?”
Andy grinned, unbothered. “Yeah, well… I’d rather not know what Jeff’s deal is. Dude looks like he skins people for fun on the weekends. As long as he keeps paying cash and not stabbing me, we’re good.”
You shook your head, a little laugh escaping despite the weird knot in your stomach. The way Jeff had looked at you - that smile, the way he’d leaned in and spoken so crudely but confidently - still lingered under your skin like static electricity.
Still… nothing compared to the way Toby looked at you. Nothing even came close.
You pulled out your phone again, checking for messages.
Still nothing.
Andy noticed. “No word from your boyfriend yet?”
You sighed and shoved the phone back into your pocket. “Nope.”
“He’ll text,” Andy said casually, already going back to scrolling on his phone. “Or show up awkward as fuck again. One of the two.”
You rolled your eyes and went back to organizing the shelves, but your mind kept drifting elsewhere.
This night was getting way too complicated.
Extra Scene
The infirmary in the basement was quiet except for the occasional drip of an IV bag.
Toby lay flat on his back on one of the metal cots, staring up at the cracked concrete ceiling. His left shoulder was tightly wrapped in clean white bandages, the fabric already starting to bloom with faint pink where the bullet had torn through. Jack had been thorough - cleaned, stitched, and dressed the wound with the same efficiency he always used. Another set of bandages circled Toby’s ribs and wrapped around his torso where Tim had landed the worst of his punches.
He couldn’t feel any of it.
No pain. Just a heavy, bone-deep exhaustion that made his limbs feel like they were made of wet cement. Every breath was slow. His body twitched randomly - shoulders hitching, neck cracking softly every few minutes - but even the tics felt sluggish tonight.
Across the small room, Tim was out cold on the other cot. His face was pale and slack, mouth slightly open. The thick wrapping around his thigh was already soaked through in places despite Jack’s best work. The hatchet had done real damage - deep muscle, nicked artery. Jack said the leg could be saved, but it was going to be ugly. Tim hadn’t woken up since they’d carried him down here hours ago.
Good, Toby thought bitterly.
Brian sat slumped in the old chair by Jack’s desk, arms crossed over his chest, head nodding forward every so often before he jerked awake again. He refused to leave the two of them alone. Every time Toby so much as shifted, Brian’s eyes would snap open, sharp and wary.
Toby hadn’t slept. Not for a single minute.
He kept replaying the fight on an endless loop in his head - the way Tim had shoved him, the things he’d said about you, the way Toby had finally snapped and buried the hatchet in his leg. The gunshot. The screaming. The blood.
His fingers twitched against the thin sheet covering him. Another violent tic rolled through his shoulders, making the cot creak.
She called me her boyfriend.
The thought cut through the exhaustion like a knife. You’d stood up for him. You’d told Tim and Brian he was yours. You’d let him fuck you on your couch, promised him a collar, kissed him like you meant it.
And they’d tried to take that away from him.
Toby’s dark eyes flicked toward Tim’s unconscious form. His jaw tightened, scarred cheek pulling.
If Tim ever tried that shit again…
He didn’t finish the thought. Instead he turned his head slightly, neck cracking loudly in the quiet room.
Toby lay there for what felt like forever, the weight of exhaustion pressing him into the thin mattress. Eventually, with a slow grunt, he turned his head toward the metal side table. His right arm still worked well enough. He reached over, fingers twitching hard, and grabbed his cracked phone.
The screen lit up his bloody, bandaged face in the dim infirmary light.
He typed slowly, thumbs clumsy and unsteady. The message came out short and sloppy.
to: your owner 🖤
hey
i fought tim and brian
got shot in the sholder
hatchet in tims leg
im okay tho
miss you :)
wish i was in yur bed
He opened the camera, held the phone up with a shaky hand, and snapped a blurry selfie. The flash lit up his swollen eye, split lip, and the thick white bandages covering most of his left shoulder and upper chest. Blood had already seeped through in a few places. He looked like absolute hell.
He hit send anyway.
Then he let the phone drop onto his stomach, staring at the ceiling again. He could almost feel your warmth beside him, your fingers in his hair, the way you’d called him your boyfriend like it was simple. The thought made something tight and aching settle in his chest.
Brian stirred in the chair across the room, eyes cracking open again. He rubbed a hand down his face, voice gravelly with exhaustion.
“Can’t sleep?”
Toby didn’t answer. He just kept staring upward, jaw tight.
Brian sighed heavily. “Why’d you do it, Toby? Seriously. Stabbing Tim in the fucking leg? You could’ve killed him.”
Silence stretched for a long minute, broken only by the soft beep of a monitor and Tim’s shallow breathing on the other cot.
Toby’s neck cracked sharply to the side. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat, cold, and exhausted.
“I’ve had e-enough,” he muttered. “You t-two had no right to go a-after my girl.”
Brian let out a bitter, tired laugh and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Tim was just trying to look out for you. You know how you get when you fixate on something. We don’t want problems.”
Toby’s eyes flicked sideways, glaring at Tim’s unconscious body for a long second before rolling them hard.
He didn’t say anything else.
Brian eventually leaned back in the chair again, eyes heavy. “Get some sleep, Toby. You look like shit.”
Toby didn’t respond. He just turned his head slightly, staring at the faint grey light starting to creep through the small basement window.
Dawn was breaking.
And all he wanted was to be back in your house, curled up in your bed with your fingers in his hair, listening to you call him your good boy instead of lying here bleeding.
CW: Explicit sexual content, cunnilingus, squirting, cum play, rough sex, bj, facesitting, hickeys, overstimulation, degradation, praise, violence, petty crime, obsessive behavior, weed, emotional distress, emotional manipulation, moral ambiguity, featuring appearances by Tim, Brian, Ben, Jeff, and Jack
Summary: Your thief returns, and you find yourself caught in a dangerously addictive, twisted attraction you can't seem to walk away from.
Wordcount: 17k
Part 1: HERE
The living room smelled like weed. The TV threw flickered blue light across the walls, the volume cranked just loud enough to drown out the creak of the old house settling around them.
Toby slouched deeper into the recliner, one leg hooked over the armrest, the other bouncing with that familiar restless rhythm he couldn’t kill even if he tried. His fingers drummed against his thigh in uneven bursts, shoulders giving the occasional sharp hitch that made the hood of his sweatshirt shift. He wasn’t really watching the screen. Jeff and Ben were deep in their usual bullshit - some loud, violent fighting game where pixels bled and cursed in pixelated rage.
Jeff leaned forward on the couch, white tank top showing the patchwork of old scars crawling over his lean, wiry arms. His long black hair was yanked back into a messy little ponytail that was already coming loose, strands sticking to the sweat on his neck. Grey sweats hung low on his hips, legs spread wide. He jammed the controller buttons with vicious little jabs, laughing that rasping laugh every time he landed a combo.
“Gotcha, you fuckin’ whore,” Jeff growled, the corner of his mouth twisting into a sneer.
Ben was practically vibrating next to him, swallowed up in an oversized Snoop Dogg t-shirt that made him look even smaller than he was. His messy blonde hair clung damply to his forehead, eyes narrowed in concentration as he mashed buttons like his life depended on it. “Eat shit, eat shit–YES!” He shot up off the couch the second the round ended, controller still clutched in both hands, bouncing once before flopping back down hard enough to make the cushions groan.
Jeff rolled his eyes and gave Ben a lazy shove with his shoulder. “Rematch, dipshit. I wasn’t even trying that round.”
Toby’s gaze drifted back to the TV without really seeing it. His mind kept looping somewhere else - back to that shitty gas station, the scuffed tile behind the counter, the way your thighs had trembled around his head. The taste of you still lingered like a ghost on his tongue, sweet and addictive, better than any melted Snickers. The memory of your fingers yanking his hair, the sharp little gasp you made when he finally got his mouth on you, the way you’d looked down at him with flushed cheeks and said “eat it” like you owned him… Fuck. It made something hot and restless coil low in his gut all over again.
He wondered if you’d heard about what had happened yet. If you’d seen the note.
A tiny, crooked smile tried to pull at the corner of his scarred mouth before another violent tic snapped his head to the side with a soft crack. He didn’t bother hiding it. Jeff and Ben had seen worse.
The game loaded up again, aggressive music blasting through the cheap speakers. Jeff glanced over at him mid-setup, that careless, lazy, slightly sleazy look sliding across his face like he could smell something off.
“Yo, Twitch. What the fuck’s gotten into you tonight?” Jeff asked, voice drawling, one eyebrow raised. “You’ve been zoning out like a stoned idiot. Somebody suck your dick or somethin’?”
Toby blinked once then shrugged, shoulders rolling hard with another hitch. “N-nothing. Just… thinking.”
Ben adjusted the front of his sweats, then shot Jeff a quick sideways smirk, the kind that said they were both in on the joke. He leaned back, controller loose in his hands for a second. “Yeah, sure. Tobes’ got that dreamy look. Bet he finally got laid and doesn’t know how to act normal about it.”
Jeff barked a short laugh and shoved Ben again, harder this time. “Nah, leave him alone. He’ll tell us when he feels like it… or he won’t.” He paused, then added with a mean little grin, “Either way, I’m sure she was real patient with him. You know… understanding about all the twitching and stuttering and shit.”
Ben grinned wider, clearly enjoying it. “Very understanding,” he echoed, already focused back on the game as the next round started.
Toby didn’t answer. Just let another sharp tic jerk his neck sideways, a soft bitten-off grunt slipping out as his shoulder hitched up toward his ear.
Let them joke. They had no fucking clue.
He could still taste you. Still feel the way your body had shaken against his tongue. Still see the dazed little laugh you’d given him when you handed him fresh Snickers like it was nothing.
And if you’d found his little message out in the lot… well.
He’d be back soon enough.
The loud slam of the front door cut through the chaotic game sounds like a gunshot.
Heavy boots thudded down the short hallway, loud and pissed off. Tim appeared in the living room doorway a second later, shoulders tense under his worn jacket, dark hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it too many times. He took in the scene with one slow sweep - Jeff and Ben still glued to the TV, controllers clicking furiously, the room reeking of smoke and stale junk food - before his eyes landed on Toby.
Toby stayed slouched in the recliner, one leg still hooked over the armrest, but his restless bouncing slowed just a fraction.
Tim held a folded newspaper in one hand, knuckles white around the edge. His face was tight, tired, the kind of disapproving exhaustion that said he’d already dealt with enough bullshit tonight.
“Where the fuck were you last night?” Tim asked, staring straight at Toby.
Toby shrugged, shoulders rolling hard with the motion, another involuntary hitch making his neck snap sideways. “D-don’t know,” he muttered, the stammer thicker than usual. “Out, I g-guess.”
Ben didn’t even glance away from the screen, but his mouth twisted in clear annoyance, fingers tightening on the controller like Tim’s presence was personally ruining his win streak.
Jeff let out a loud, irritated groan and waved one arm in Tim’s direction without looking up. “Move, man. You’re blocking the fucking TV.”
Tim’s jaw flexed. He wasn’t budging. “Shut up.”
Jeff’s head snapped toward him, black hair slipping loose from the messy ponytail. He shook his head slowly, muttering something disgusted and low under his breath - probably calling Tim a controlling asshole or worse - but didn’t push it further. The controller kept clicking in his hands, aggressive and sharp.
Tim ignored him, eyes narrowing back on Toby. “No? You don’t know?” His tone dripped with disbelief, tired and edged with anger. “That’s cute.”
Without another word, he hurled the newspaper at Toby. It unfolded mid-air, pages flapping, and smacked Toby square in the chest before sliding down into his lap.
The headline was impossible to miss even in the flickering TV light:
LOCAL THIEF FOUND HATCHETED OUTSIDE STOP & GAS
“I WILL NOT STEAL AGAIN :)” NOTE LEFT AT SCENE
Toby stared down at the paper, fingers twitching against the newsprint. A slow, crooked smile started to pull at the corner of his mouth, the thick scar on his cheek tugging tight. Another violent tic jerked his shoulder upward, head snapping hard to the left with an audible crack.
The glow from the TV flickered across Tim’s tired face as he stood there, arms still crossed tight over his chest.
“Real interesting detail in the article,” Tim said, voice thick with sarcasm. “Guy got chopped up with hatchets.” He tilted his head, eyes narrowing on Toby. “Hmm. Sounds real fuckin’ familiar, doesn’t it?”
Toby let out a low, choppy chuckle, the sound rough and broken. He stretched lazily in the recliner, arms lifting above his head, shoulders rolling with that restless energy that never quite settled. The newspaper stayed crumpled in his lap. He didn’t deny it, didn’t even try to explain. Just grinned that crooked, scarred half-smile and shrugged like it was nothing.
Jeff paused the game mid-fight, finally interested. “Hey, let me see that shit.” He leaned forward and snatched the newspaper out of Toby’s lap in one quick motion, black hair falling into his eyes as he scanned the headline. A low whistle escaped him. “Damn… Nice job, Tobes.” He laughed, that raspy sound, clearly impressed. “I like the little smiley face. Real classy touch.”
Ben didn’t even turn his head. He just kept staring straight at the paused game screen, jaw tight with irritation. Without a word, he dug into his pocket, pulled out his vape, and took a long, slow hit. Sweet-smelling vapor curled out of his mouth and drifted toward the ceiling as he exhaled, deliberately ignoring the entire scene like it was background noise.
Tim’s expression darkened, jaw clenching as he watched Jeff toss the newspaper back onto Toby’s chest.
“We were literally at that same fucking gas station a couple days ago,” Tim continued, voice rising with frustration. “You went back there, didn’t you? After we told you to lay low. This–” he jabbed a finger toward the paper, “–is reckless as hell. You’re bringing heat on all of us with this petty shit. One body with a cutesy note? People are gonna start paying attention. Cops. Locals. Fucking everybody.”
Toby stayed slouched in the recliner, leg still bouncing in that uneven rhythm. His dark eyes flicked up to Tim, restless and unreadable, but he didn’t say a word. Another violent tic snapped his neck sideways with a soft crack, followed by a small grunt that slipped out from between his lips. He just stared, waiting.
Tim exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly done with the silence.
“Get up,” he ordered. “Now. We need to talk. Privately.”
Toby lingered for another second, fingers twitching against the newspaper in his lap. Then, with a heavy sigh and a series of sharp hitching jerks rolling through his shoulders, he pushed himself out of the recliner. The newspaper fluttered to the floor, forgotten.
He shoved his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie and followed Tim out of the living room without another glance at Jeff or Ben, his uneven walk and constant little tics making his steps sound restless even down the hallway.
Jeff just smirked and unpaused the game like nothing had happened. Ben took another long drag from his vape, eyes never leaving the screen, the cloud of vapor hanging thick in the stale air.
The screen door creaked loudly as Tim stepped out onto the old wooden porch, the night air cold and damp against his skin. He didn’t bother waiting for Toby to follow - he just lit up a cigarette, the flame from his lighter briefly lighting up the deep lines of exhaustion on his face. Toby shuffled out a moment later, shoulders already twitching with those familiar restless jerks, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets.
Tim took a long drag, exhaling smoke into the darkness before turning to face him.
“Explain yourself,” he said flatly, eyes hard.
Toby leaned against the porch railing, one leg bouncing unevenly. He shrugged, head giving a sharp snap to the left with a soft crack. “W-was nearby,” he muttered. “Saw s-some thief rrrr-running out of the store with shit in his jacket. Pissed m-me off.”
Tim stared at him for a long beat, cigarette glowing between his fingers. The silence stretched, thick and accusing.
“You pickpocket shit all the time, Toby,” Tim finally said, voice low and unimpressed. “Hell, you literally stole candy from that exact fucking store a few nights ago. Don’t give me that ‘it pissed me off’ bullshit.”
Toby’s scarred mouth twitched. He looked away, another violent tic rolling through his shoulder as he rolled it hard toward his ear.
Then something clicked behind Tim’s eyes. His gaze sharpened.
“This got anythin’ to do with that girl?” he asked slowly. “The one who came running out after you, yellin’ about the candy?”
Toby froze. For a split second his restless energy seemed to glitch - his dark eyes flicked to the side, guilty, before another tic jerked his head sideways. “N-no,” he stammered quickly, too quickly. “It’s n-not–I didn’t–”
Tim let out a tired, bitter laugh and took another drag of his cigarette. “Jesus Christ. It does.”
Toby shifted his weight, fingers twitching inside his pockets. He tried to play it cool, but the constant little hitches in his shoulders and the way his scarred cheek kept pulling tight gave him away. After a few more seconds of Tim just staring at him, waiting, Toby finally cracked.
“…Maybe I went b-back,” he admitted, voice rough and reluctant. “Had a little… chat.”
Tim dragged a hand down his face, sighing heavily through the smoke. “A chat. Right.” He flicked ash off the porch railing. “This is a bad fuckin’ idea, Toby. You know that, right? We don’t need complications. We don’t need you draggin’ some minimum-wage gas station girl into our shit just because she yelled at you and you thought it was hot.”
He stepped closer, voice dropping into that tired, lecturing tone.
“What, you tryna impress her? Show her you’ll hatchet every thief that walks into her store? That’s not how this works. You’re acting reckless, and it’s gonna bite us all in the ass. Stay away from that type of shit. Stay away from her.”
Toby didn’t answer right away. His head twitched again, a soft grunt slipping out as his neck cracked sideways. He just nodded once, jaw tight.
“I h-heard you,” he muttered finally, pushing off the railing.
He turned and walked back inside, shoulders hitching with every other step. Tim stayed on the porch a moment longer, smoke curling around his face. He exhaled slowly, muttering under his breath.
“…This ain’t gon’ be the end of it.”
He could already feel it in his gut. Toby had that look in his eyes - the restless, obsessive one. And once Toby got fixated on something… or someone… it was damn near impossible to pull him off it.
Especially when that someone had let him get on his knees behind the counter.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like they always did, casting that same sickly yellow glow over the scuffed tile and faded shelves. After three long days of yellow police tape and awkward questioning, the Stop & Gas was finally cleared to reopen. Management decided it was “safest” to keep two employees on shift for a while, so tonight it was you and Andy.
You sat behind the counter on the wobbly stool, one elbow propped up, popping your gum loudly while flipping through your phone. Andy was a few feet away, half-heartedly sorting a shelf of snacks, his buzzcut looking even shorter than usual under the harsh lighting. The tattoos covering both his arms shifted with every movement - full sleeves of cartoonish mushrooms, old-school snakes, and blurry script that disappeared under the rolled-up cuffs of his work polo.
“–so this dumbass kid comes back the next day, right?” Andy was saying, voice casual as he stacked bags of chips. “Swears the molly I sold him was bunk because he didn’t feel shit. Turns out the little idiot took all eight hits at once thinking it’d hit harder. Ended up puking his guts out in my bathroom for six hours straight and crying about his mom. I told him that’s what he gets for being a greedy fuck.”
You laughed, the sound echoing a little in the quiet store. You blew a big pink bubble with your gum, letting it pop loudly before chewing again. “You attract the biggest idiots.”
Andy grinned, running a hand over his buzzcut as he squatted down to sort the lowest shelf. “What can I say? I’m a people person.”
A few minutes later the bell above the door jingled. A burly trucker stepped in, heading straight for the counter. You straightened up, ringing him up for two packs of Marlboros and a Monster.
“Rough night the other day, huh?” the trucker muttered as he counted out cash, clearly wanting to talk about it. “Heard some poor bastard got hacked up right outside.”
“Yeah…” you replied, sliding his smokes across the counter. “Pretty fucked up.”
Andy stood up from the shelf and wandered over, leaning one hip against the counter. His inked arms crossed over his chest, the movement making the snake on his left bicep look like it was slithering. “I was the one clocked in that night, man. Saw the whole damn thing. Dude came out with beer and jerky, next thing you know–hatchets flying. Blood everywhere. Crazy shit.”
The trucker shook his head, whistling low. “Glad it wasn’t me. Y’all be careful out here.”
You handed him his change. “Will do. Drive safe.”
He gave a lazy wave and headed back out into the night, the bell jingling behind him.
The store fell quiet again except for the constant rattle of the cooler. You turned back to Andy, popping another bubble with your gum.
Andy half-sat on the edge of the counter, arms crossed over his chest, that easy, bum-like grin still on his face. “Man, people are gonna be asking about that murder for weeks. Bet we’ll get a bunch of weirdos coming in just to stare at the parking lot.”
You snorted, leaning back on your stool. “Great. Just what I need–true crime tourists while I’m trying to stock the slushie machine.”
Andy laughed, the sound warm and lazy. He reached over and stole a piece of your gum from the pack sitting on the counter, the faded ink on his knuckles catching the light as he unwrapped it with one hand. “Could be worse. At least it’s not boring anymore. Though I still think you should’ve seen the way poor James dropped. Like a sack of potatoes with extra holes.”
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. Andy was a burnout, a part-time dealer, and kind of a mess… but he was friendly, funny, and made the long night shifts feel a lot less lonely. For the first time in days, the heavy knot of unease in your stomach loosened just a little.
The two of you kept the easy rhythm going for a while, trading lazy stories and roasting the occasional weird customer who wandered in. Andy was mid-sentence - something about a guy who tried to pay for a six-pack with a handful of Pokémon cards - when the bell jingled again.
A kid in his early twenties strolled in, baggy jeans sagging low, oversized hoodie, and a backward cap. He spotted Andy immediately and lifted his chin in that universal bro greeting.
“Yo, Andy, my guy,” he said, voice a little too loud for the quiet store. “You got my stuff?”
Andy grinned, already moving. “Yeah, man. Hold up.”
The kid’s eyes flicked over to you behind the counter for a second - quick, curious, a little appreciative as they dragged down your chest - before he wandered off toward the energy drink cooler.
You leaned back on your stool, popping your gum and watching the whole exchange with mild amusement. Andy’s “clients” always seemed to show up exactly when he was working. Never when he was off. Never when you were alone. Convenient as hell. You’d figured out his little side hustle months ago, but you never called him on it. As long as he didn’t get sloppy and get the store shut down, it wasn’t your problem. And honestly? It was kind of funny at this point.
Andy slipped behind the counter next to you, close enough that his arm brushed yours while he pretended to check the register. The kid came back with a Red Bull, set it on the counter, and pulled out a fifty.
“Keep the change, bro,” he said casually.
Andy rang up the drink like it was a totally normal $48 energy drink, then discreetly slid a small, tightly folded baggie across the counter along with the can. The exchange was smooth, practiced. The kid pocketed the baggie without even looking down, grabbed his Red Bull, and bumped fists with Andy over the counter.
“Appreciate you, man. Catch you later.”
“Stay safe out there,” Andy replied with an easy grin.
You gave the kid a little wave and a polite customer-service smile as he headed for the door. The bell jingled again, and he was gone.
The second the door shut, you turned to Andy with a smirk, popping your gum loudly.
“You know,” you said, dragging the words out, “I really should be getting a cut of this. I’m basically an accessory at this point.”
Andy barked out a laugh, leaning his hip against the counter beside you. “Damn, straight to business. Alright, next dinner’s on me. Burgers and shakes, my treat.”
You grinned, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Better be the good burgers, not that greasy shit from the truck stop.”
“Only the best for my favorite partner in crime,” he teased, winking before he wandered back over to the snack shelves to keep half-assedly organizing them.
The two of you fell back into easy shit-talking, voices low and casual under the humming lights, the outside world and its hatchet-wielding psychopaths feeling just a little further away.
At least for now.
Hours crawled by, and just when you’d convinced yourself the night would pass without incident, the bell above the door jingled again, sharp and cheerful as ever, and your stomach dropped.
Fuck.
He, your thief, stepped inside, hands already shoved deep into the pockets of a new dark navy hoodie that actually looked clean for once. Underneath it he wore a pair of old, beat-up jeans riddled with holes that definitely weren’t there for fashion - they looked like they’d been worn for years, frayed and thin at the knees. His messy brown hair still stuck out in those uneven self-cut chunks, but he seemed… more put together. Like he’d actually tried to look decent before coming here. The black bandana was still pulled tight over the lower half of his face, hiding that brutal scar and everything below his dark, restless eyes.
His gaze found you first and his eyes crinkled at the corners, clearly smiling underneath the fabric. Then his eyes slid over to Andy standing behind the counter beside you, and that smile instantly died. The happy glint vanished, replaced by something sharper, colder. His shoulders gave a quick, involuntary hitch.
You straightened up on the stool way too fast, heart suddenly hammering. Without thinking, you reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, smoothing down your messy ponytail like it mattered. You had no idea how the hell you were supposed to act right now.
He moved further into the store with that same awkward, uneven gait - long strides broken by those sharp little jerks. His eyes kept flicking between you and Andy, tense and uncertain.
Andy leaned against the counter, arms loosely crossed, one eyebrow raised in mild amusement as he openly stared at the bandana. “Well this is new,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.
You cleared your throat, forcing a bright, overly cheerful tone. “Hey.”
Your thief blinked at you, dark eyes locking onto yours for a second. “H-hey,” he replied, voice muffled and choppy under the bandana, the familiar stammer cutting through.
The silence that followed was painfully awkward. The fluorescent lights suddenly felt louder. You glanced at Andy, then back at him, then at Andy again, heat crawling up your neck.
“Oh, um… this is my friend, uh–” You froze, realizing with embarrassing clarity that you still didn’t know his name.
Your thief caught on immediately. He gave a small, sharp shrug, one shoulder rolling hard toward his ear as a quick tic made his head snap slightly to the side.
“Toby,” he supplied, voice low.
Andy’s eyebrows shot up, clearly entertained by the whole weird vibe. “Toby,” he repeated, dragging the name out like he was tasting it. “Nice bandana, man.”
Toby didn’t respond to Andy. His restless eyes stayed glued mostly on you, fingers twitching inside his hoodie pockets. Another small hitch rolled through his frame, followed by a soft, bitten-off grunt he tried to swallow.
You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole.
You tried to fill the heavy silence with something, anything.
“So… uh, new hoodie?” you asked, gesturing awkwardly at his chest.
Toby nodded once, shoulders hitching sharply. “Y-yeah.” His eyes crinkled again like he was smiling under the bandana, but he didn’t offer anything else. The conversation died instantly.
You shifted on the stool, chewing your gum a little faster. “Been busy lately?”
Another tic jerked his head to the side with a soft crack. “N-not really.”
God, this was painful. Every attempt at small talk landed like a dead fish on the counter. Andy watched the whole thing for a few more seconds, clearly biting back a smirk, before he finally took pity on you.
“Alright, I’m gonna step out for a smoke,” Andy announced, pushing off the counter. He gave you one last highly amused glance, eyebrows raised like he was saying good luck with whatever the fuck this is, before heading for the door. The bell jingled as he stepped outside.
Through the front glass, you could see him leaning against the wall near the ice machine, already lighting up.
The second the door closed, the tension in the store shifted. Toby seemed to relax - just a little - but there was still a restless edge to him. His dark eyes flicked back to you, more focused now that it was just the two of you again. He took a few slow, uneven steps closer to the counter, fingers twitching at his sides.
“Is that your b-boyfriend?” he asked, voice muffled under the bandana. There was something sharp hiding behind the question.
You let out a surprised laugh, shaking your head immediately. “What? No. God no. Andy’s just my coworker. He’s… Andy. Definitely not my boyfriend.”
Toby’s shoulders loosened visibly. He gave a small nod, the corner of his eyes crinkling again with clear relief. Another quick tic made his right shoulder roll hard toward his ear.
You swallowed and kept going, trying to sound casual. “We’ve gotta work in pairs for a while. Management’s paranoid after… what happened the other night.”
You watched his eyes carefully as you said it, searching for any flicker, any hint of recognition or guilt. But Toby gave you absolutely nothing. His gaze stayed steady on you, dark and restless.
“What h-happened?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. The stammer made the question sound almost innocent.
You hesitated for a second, then told him. Not every brutal detail, but enough - the thief getting hacked up right outside the store, the blood, the note left on the body. You kept your voice low, eyes never leaving his face.
Toby just hummed, a soft, neutral sound from behind the bandana. “Hm.”
That was it. No shock. No real reaction.
His eyes had already drifted lower, slowly dragging over the way your faded polo stretched across your chest, then further down to the curve of your hips and the tight fit of your jeans. He wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it. Another small hitch rolled through his frame as he stared, like he was remembering exactly what you looked like with those jeans around your ankles.
You felt heat creep up your neck again.
Maybe you really had been paranoid this whole time. Of course your twitchy, candy-stealing thief hadn’t murdered anyone. He was weird as hell, sure - restless, scarred, clearly a little unbalanced - but he wasn’t a psycho. He was just… Toby. The same guy who’d come back with melted Snickers and dropped to his knees like you were the best thing he’d ever tasted.
You let out a small, nervous breath and popped your gum again, trying to push the uneasy feeling down.
Toby’s eyes finally dragged back up to your face. He rocked once on his heels, hands still buried in his pockets.
“I was h-hoping you’d give me some m-more to eat,” he said. The words were so blunt, so shamelessly straightforward, that it almost made you laugh.
The confession hung in the air between you - innocent on the surface, but loaded with the memory of him on his knees behind the counter, face buried between your thighs.
You bit your lip, trying to keep a straight face, and nodded once toward the new security camera mounted in the corner near the coolers. “Management put in some new precautions after what happened,” you said. “They’re watching everything now.”
Toby followed your gaze, dark eyes landing on the shiny new camera. When he looked back at you, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes was gone. Pure disappointment flashed across his face, followed by another sharp tic that snapped his head to the side with a soft crack.
You shrugged, giving him an apologetic look. “And my shift still has four more hours anyway.”
He stood there for a moment, fingers twitching inside his hoodie pockets while he thought it over. Then he gave a small, uneven shrug.
“I d-don’t mind,” he muttered. “I can w-wait.”
You raised your eyebrows at him, a surprised little smile tugging at your lips. “What, you’re just inviting yourself over to my place after work or something?”
Toby chuckled softly, the sound muffled and rough. He looked down at the floor awkwardly, fingers fidgeting, before giving another casual shrug like it was no big deal.
You shook your head, warmth blooming in your chest despite everything. “Well, if you don’t mind waiting around…”
“I’ll b-be here when you g-get off,” he answered immediately.
The giddy little rush came back full force. You couldn’t help smiling at him, cheeks feeling warm under the fluorescent lights.
Toby took a few uneven steps closer to the counter, then leaned over it quickly. In one smooth motion he tugged his bandana down, revealing the brutal scar cutting across his cheek and those full, slightly swollen lips. Before you could even think, he cupped the side of your neck with one hand and kissed you.
It was fast, hungry, and way too intense for something that only lasted a couple of seconds. The moment his mouth touched yours, heat shot straight through you. Then, just as quickly, he pulled back and yanked the bandana back up over his face.
He was definitely smiling under the fabric now. You could see it in his eyes.
“See ya l-later,” he mumbled, voice still a little breathless.
He turned and headed for the door just as Andy was stepping back inside. Toby nearly pushed past him without a word, shoulders hitching with every step as he disappeared into the night.
Andy paused in the doorway, watching Toby’s retreating back with raised eyebrows. “Nice meeting you too, dude,” he called out sarcastically. No reply.
The bell jingled as the door swung shut. Andy turned to you, that shit-eating grin already spreading across his face. He leaned against the counter, giving you a long, pointed look.
“What the fuck was that?” he asked, laughing. “Who the fuck are you fucking nowadays?”
You groaned, dropping your head into your hands, elbows on the counter. A helpless little laugh bubbled out of you anyway. “Shut up, it’s not like that.”
It was exactly like that.
“Nah, seriously,” he teased, clearly enjoying himself way too much. “Bandana-wearing dudes with Tourette’s? That’s your type now? Jesus Christ, you work fast.”
You peeked at him through your fingers, still laughing despite the embarrassment burning across your face. “I said shut up.”
Andy just shook his head, still grinning as he went back to half-heartedly organizing the shelf. “This shift just got a lot more interesting.”
You didn’t answer. You just sat there on your wobbly stool, heart racing, already counting down the four hours until your shift ended.
Because Toby was going to be waiting.
And the thought made you stupidly, dangerously excited.
The last few hours of your shift dragged at a snail's pace. By the time you and Andy finally started closing up, you were both dead on your feet. You did a tired, lazy high-five over the counter, the slap echoing in the empty store.
“You want a ride home?” Andy asked, already pulling his keys out of his pocket.
“Nah, I’m good,” you said quickly, forcing a casual shrug. “I’ll just walk. Clears my head.”
Andy gave you a suspicious look but didn’t push it. “Alright. Don’t get murdered.” He shot you one last glance, clearly still thinking about the hatchet-swinging psycho, then headed out a few minutes before you.
You stayed behind for a couple of last-minute things - wiping down the counter, double-checking the register, locking the back room. When everything was finally done, you killed the lights, stepped outside, and locked the front door behind you.
The parking lot was quiet and dark, the new security camera staring blankly down at the pumps. You scanned the area, heart picking up speed with nervous anticipation.
No Toby.
You waited for a minute, then two, shifting your weight from foot to foot. The cold night air nipped at your skin. Disappointment settled heavy in your stomach. Maybe he’d changed his mind. Maybe the whole thing had been some weird one-time adrenaline thing and he’d ghosted.
You muttered a quiet “fuck it” under your breath, slung your bag over your shoulder, and started walking toward your house.
The road was empty, lined with thick trees on both sides. Your sneakers crunched against the gravel shoulder as you walked, the distant hum of the highway barely audible. You tried not to feel stupid, tried not to let the disappointment sink in too deep, but it was hard.
“Never trust men,” you grumbled to yourself, kicking a rock. “They’re all trash. All the fucking same.”
You stopped for a second, dug a cigarette out of your purse, and lit it with slightly shaky hands. The first drag burned nicely as you kept walking, smoke curling into the cold air.
And then–
A pair of hands suddenly grabbed your waist from behind.
“BOO!”
You screamed, loud and sharp, heart slamming against your ribs as pure panic shot through you. You spun around fast, already swinging your purse like a weapon, ready to crack someone in the head.
It was Toby.
He was standing right there, bandana pulled down around his neck, messy brown hair wild, that brutal scar twisting with the huge grin on his face. His dark eyes were gleaming with pure mischievous delight as he laughed - a low, choppy, genuine laugh that made his shoulders hitch hard.
“You asshole!” you squealed, half laughing, half still terrified. You swung your purse at him again, this time lightly, smacking him in the arm. “You fucking scared the shit out of me!”
You barely managed to keep hold of your cigarette, ash tumbling off the end as your hand shook.
Toby didn’t even flinch at the purse hit. He just kept laughing, eyes locked on you like you were the best thing he’d seen all night. Another sharp tic jerked his head to the side with a soft crack, but it didn’t dim the bright, almost boyish grin on his scarred face.
“I t-told you I’d be w-waiting,” he said, voice playful, the stammer cutting through the words in that familiar way.
You stared at him, heart still racing from the scare, adrenaline mixing with that giddy rush that always seemed to hit whenever he showed up. The cigarette smoke curled between you as you tried to catch your breath, a reluctant smile breaking across your face despite yourself.
“You’re such a dick,” you muttered, but there was no heat in it.
Toby just shrugged, still grinning, one shoulder rolling hard toward his ear as another tic rolled through him. He looked stupidly pleased with himself.
And somehow, that made it even harder to stay mad.
You started walking side by side down the dark road, the gravel crunching under your shoes. The night was quiet except for the occasional rustle of wind through the trees. Toby fell into step with you easily, shoulders hitching every few steps.
Without asking, he reached over and plucked the cigarette from between your fingers. He took a deep, slow drag, the cherry glowing bright orange in the darkness, then passed it back to you. You accepted it, still a little dazed by how casually he did it.
The whole situation felt completely bizarre. This was the same guy who had walked into your store and stolen two Snickers like it was nothing. The same guy who brought the melted bars back the next day, dropped to his knees behind the counter, and ate you out like a starving man. And now here you were, casually walking him home like it was a normal Friday night.
You weren’t complaining, though. The dude was one hell of a pussy eater, and he seemed genuinely, almost obsessively into you. That part flattered you more than you wanted to admit.
Still… there was a weird energy rolling off him. Something just slightly off. Like the air around him was heavier than it should be. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up every now and then.
You forced the thought away. The poor guy had Tourette’s and a bad stammer. He’d probably just had a really tough life. That was all.
“So… what’d you do today?” you asked, trying to keep things light as you took another drag from the cigarette.
Toby thought about it for a second, head twitching sharply to the side with a soft crack. Then he answered, completely deadpan:
“Jerked o-off to you.”
You immediately choked on the smoke, coughing hard as your eyes started to water. A surprised laugh burst out of you between coughs. “Jesus Christ, Toby–”
He glanced at you, that sheepish little grin pulling at his scarred lips, making the thick line on his cheek twist. His dark eyes were shining with amusement, but he looked completely serious about the answer.
You wiped at your eyes, still laughing breathlessly. “Okay… and what else did you do? Besides that?”
He shrugged. “Helped muh-my friend f-fix something on h-his truck.”
You hummed, nodding as you passed the cigarette back to him. “Oh, nice. So you’re handy, then?”
Toby took the cigarette, but before bringing it to his lips, he shot you a look. The corner of his mouth twitched up into something almost mischievous.
“You’ll s-see how h-handy I am when we ffff-fuck.”
You burst out laughing again, louder this time, the sound echoing down the empty road. He was way too honest. No filter at all. It was ridiculous and strangely endearing at the same time.
“God, you really just say whatever’s in your head, huh?” you said, shaking your head.
Toby only grinned wider, another sharp hitch jerking his frame as he took another drag. He didn’t deny it.
The two of you kept walking through the darkness, the distant glow of streetlights up ahead barely cutting through the thick trees. Every now and then his shoulder would twitch or his head would snap to the side, but he stayed close to you.
And despite that strange, nagging feeling in the back of your mind… you couldn’t stop smiling.
You finally reached your small rental house at the end of the quiet street. The porch light was still on, casting a warm yellow circle on the front steps.
“This is it,” you said, digging through your bag for your keys. You unlocked the door and stepped inside, Toby following close behind you like a restless shadow.
You flipped on the living room light and gestured around with a small, slightly embarrassed smile. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
It wasn’t much - just a tiny one-bedroom place - but you’d done your best to make it cozy. Soft throw blankets on the couch, a few plants that were somehow still alive, fairy lights strung along the walls, and a couple of cheap but cute prints hanging up. It felt lived-in and warm.
Toby looked around slowly, his dark eyes scanning everything. “Nice,” he muttered, sounding like he actually meant it.
You set your purse down on the little table by the door and kicked off your shoes. “Want a tour?”
He didn’t even hesitate.
“Only of your b-bedroom,” he said, voice rough under the remnants of that crooked grin.
You let out a surprised giggle, heat rushing to your face. This was actually insane. You’d known this guy for like three conversations and one very intense orgasm, and now he was standing in your house asking to see your bedroom.
Still, the giddy flutter in your stomach won out.
“Alright,” you said, biting back a smile. “Follow me.”
You led him down the short hallway, hyper-aware of him right behind you, his uneven steps and occasional quiet grunts filling the silence. When you pushed open the door to your bedroom, the soft glow of the string lights you’d left on this morning welcomed you both.
The bed was still unmade, sheets rumpled from where you’d rolled out of them earlier. A few stuffed animals were scattered near the pillows - a slightly embarrassing touch you hadn’t thought about until right now. Toby didn’t seem to care. His eyes moved over the room: the stuffed animals, the delicate string lights, your slightly messy closet, and then… back to you.
The eye contact was electric. Heavy. Both of you knew exactly what was about to happen.
You suddenly felt shy under the intensity of his stare. You reached up and tucked your hair behind your ear, trying to give yourself something to do with your hands.
“I… probably should shower first,” you said, voice a little breathy. “I had a long shift.”
Toby scratched at the side of his neck, fingers dragging over his skin. He shrugged, another sharp tic jerking his shoulder upward.
“You don’t nuhh-need to.”
You giggled nervously. “Um… really?”
He took a small step closer, dark eyes never leaving yours. His voice came out low, honest, and way too blunt:
“I p-prefer it. I wanna taste you… not soap.”
The rawness of his words hit you like a spark straight to your core. No filter or smooth lines, just pure, unfiltered want. You felt yourself get wet almost instantly, a rush of heat flooding between your thighs.
He took a few slow steps toward you, closing the distance until his tall frame was towering over yours. His hands slid under the hem of your faded “Stop & Gas” polo, rough palms settling warm and possessive against the bare skin of your waist. The simple touch sent a shiver racing up your spine.
You looked up at him, a teasing little smirk playing on your lips. “You’re a little nasty, huh?”
Toby nodded immediately, dark eyes half-lidded and hungry. “Mhm,” he hummed.
You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down closer. He was so much taller than you that you had to stretch a little. “You’re that desperate for my pussy?” you whispered against his mouth, “that you won’t even let me shower first?”
His fingers dug tighter into your waist, gripping hard enough to bruise as he nodded again, eager and shameless. “Yeah… fuck yes.”
Then his lips crashed into yours.
The kiss started slow, almost exploratory - warm and a little clumsy at first, his full bottom lip sliding against yours while the thick scar on his cheek brushed your skin. But it didn’t stay gentle for long. Within seconds it turned hungry and desperate. His tongue pushed into your mouth, tasting you, and you moaned softly into the kiss, fingers threading through his messy brown hair.
He walked you backwards until the backs of your legs hit the edge of the bed. You stumbled slightly and he caught you, pressing his body flush against yours.
“I need y-you so ffff-fucking bad,” he muttered against your lips.
“Yeah?” you breathed, pulling back just enough to look at him. “How bad, baby?”
The little nickname made something break in him. A low, broken groan rumbled in his chest, his hips twitching forward involuntarily.
“Show me,” you whispered.
That was all it took.
Toby’s hands were suddenly everywhere. He nearly ripped your polo up and over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him. With your help, he yanked your jeans open, fingers fumbling with the button and zipper in his haste before shoving the denim roughly down your legs. You kicked them off, leaving you standing there in just your plain bra and matching panties.
He didn’t waste a second.
His mouth latched onto your neck, sucking hard enough to leave dark marks as his hands grabbed two big handfuls of your ass, squeezing and kneading greedily. He was so eager it was almost overwhelming - grinding his clothed cock against your thigh while he kissed and bit down your throat.
With a quick, surprisingly skillful motion, he unhooked your bra and pulled it off, letting your tits spill free. He made a low, desperate sound at the sight before leaning down and taking one nipple into his hot mouth. He sucked hard, moaning loudly around your breast as his tongue swirled over the sensitive bud.
“Fuck–” you gasped, head falling back. “Yeah… just like that.”
He switched to the other tit, sucking and licking, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses and blooming hickies all over your chest. One of his hands stayed on your ass while the other palmed himself roughly through his jeans, stroking the obvious hard bulge as he devoured your tits.
Every moan and whispered “feels so good” that left your lips seemed to push him further. His hips kept twitching, tics rolling through his body, but he never stopped touching you.
You finally pushed him back just enough to sit on the edge of the bed, then lay back fully, spreading your legs for him. Your hand slid down your stomach and dipped between your thighs, rubbing slow circles over your soaked panties. The fabric was already dark with arousal.
Toby dropped to his knees between your legs instantly, like gravity had no say in the matter. He kissed and licked his way down your belly, scarred hands gripping and groping your soft thighs, spreading them wider.
“You hungry?” you asked breathlessly, looking down at him.
He nodded so eagerly it was almost pathetic, eyes wild and dark. “So fuckin’ hungry.”
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and practically tore them down your legs, tossing the ruined fabric aside. The second he had you bare, he spit directly on your already dripping pussy, watching it glisten before diving in.
His mouth was relentless.
He licked broad, messy stripes from your entrance up to your swollen clit, then sucked the sensitive bundle of nerves between his lips, moaning loudly into your cunt like tasting you was the best thing he’d ever experienced. He was loud, sloppy, and completely lost in it - slurping, groaning, tongue fucking into you before circling your clit again with frantic flicks.
“Ffuuuck–” you moaned, back arching off the bed. He was so eager it almost made you cum on the spot.
After a few intense minutes, the pleasure became too much, too fast. You had to push his head away with a shaky hand, chest heaving.
“W-wait–fuck, Toby–”
He pulled back just enough, lips and chin shiny with your slick, looking up at you with dazed, hungry eyes. A string of spit connected his bottom lip to your pussy.
You tried to catch your breath. “Take off your clothes,” you told him, voice hoarse. “I want to see you.”
Toby froze for a second, like the request hadn’t even crossed his mind. His shoulders hitched violently, head snapping to the side with a sharp crack. For the first time all night, a flicker of hesitation crossed his face.
But after a moment, he swallowed hard, fingers moving to the hem of his hoodie.
You wondered why he'd seemed a little unsure, but as soon as he took off his hoodie, you understood.
He was covered in scars. A warzone of old wounds, faded bruises in sickly yellows and purples, and raised white lines that crisscrossed his lean torso like someone had used his body as a cutting board for years. Some looked surgical, jagged and uneven. Others were clearly from blades - deep gouges across his ribs, a nasty puckered one just under his collarbone. His arms were worse: track marks of what looked like self-inflicted cuts along the insides of his wrists and forearms, layered over older burns and what looked like cigarette scars. He was skinny but wired with tight, wiry muscle that flexed under the damage, shoulders and biceps corded from whatever brutal shit he did to stay alive. He looked like he could snap a man in half.
You froze for a second, eyes wide, taking it all in. Toby’s breathing was already ragged, chest rising and falling hard as he watched your face. Another violent tic jerked his head to the side with a soft crack, shoulders hitching hard.
He didn’t say anything. Just shoved his jeans and boxers down in one rough motion, kicking them away. His thighs were just as scarred - knife wounds, deep scrapes, old bullet graze marks. And between them…
His cock was big. Thick, flushed dark, rock-hard and curving slightly upward, the head already slick with pre-cum. He wrapped a scarred hand around it almost absentmindedly, stroking himself slow and tight as he stared at you spread open on the bed, your soaked pussy glistening from his earlier mouth-work.
You swallowed hard. A thousand questions slammed through your head - what the fuck happened to you, who did this, what the hell kind of life leaves a person looking like they lost a war every single day - but you bit them back. You didn’t want to kill the moment. Didn’t want to push too hard when he was already raw and exposed in front of you like this.
Instead, you just shifted your hips, spreading your legs a little wider in invitation, and crooked a finger at him.
Toby was on you instantly.
He crawled up the bed with that restless, twitchy energy, scarred hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave marks as he shoved them apart. His mouth crashed into yours again, messy and desperate, tongue pushing deep while his cock dragged hot and heavy against your slick folds. He ground against you, coating himself in your wetness, groaning brokenly into your mouth every time his hips twitched forward.
“F-fuck… you’re so wet,” he rasped against your lips, voice wrecked with that choppy stammer. Another sharp tic snapped his head to the side, but he didn’t stop, just kept rutting his thick length along your pussy, the head catching on your swollen clit over and over until you were whimpering.
You reached down between you, wrapping your fingers around his cock. You stroked him once, twice, feeling the way he throbbed and leaked in your grip.
Toby’s breath hitched hard. “P-put it in,” he begged, forehead pressed to yours. “Please–I n-need it. Need to f-feel you.”
You lined him up, rubbing his fat tip against your entrance, and he pushed forward the second he felt it. The stretch was intense, slow and burning and perfect, as he sank into you inch by thick inch. He moaned loud and broken, hips jerking with tics even as he tried to go slow for you.
“Shit–so tight,” he growled, voice cracking. His scarred arms braced on either side of your head, muscles trembling as he bottomed out, balls pressed flush against you. He stayed there for a second, buried to the hilt, breathing hard against your neck while his cock pulsed inside you.
Then he started moving.
It wasn’t gentle. Toby fucked like he did everything else - restless and hungry. Deep, punishing thrusts that made your tits bounce and the bed creak. Every slam of his hips was punctuated by little grunts and bitten-off curses, his tics making his rhythm stutter and jerk in the hottest way possible. One moment he was grinding deep and slow, the next he was pounding you so hard your headboard smacked the wall.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, nails digging into his scarred back. He fucked you harder for it, mouth latching onto your neck, sucking fresh marks while he railed you.
“F-feels so good,” he panted, voice muffled against your skin. “Better than I imagined–fuck, you’re s-squeezing me so t-tight–”
You moaned his name, rolling your hips up to meet every thrust, and something in him snapped. Toby sat back on his knees, dragging your ass up onto his thighs so he could watch his thick cock disappear into your dripping pussy over and over. One thumb found your clit, rubbing messy circles while he slammed into you.
You could feel it building fast - that terrifying, overwhelming pressure coiling tight in your core, hotter and sharper than anything you’d ever felt. Every brutal thrust of Toby’s thick cock dragged against that perfect spot inside you, stretching you open, making your walls flutter and clamp down around him. You were soaked, the wet sounds of him slamming into your dripping pussy filling the room, obscene and loud. Your clit throbbed from his earlier thumb-work, oversensitive and aching, every grind sending sparks shooting up your spine.
“Keep–keep going,” you moaned, voice breaking. “Fuck, Toby, feels so good– don’t stop, baby, please–”
Your words seemed to flip a switch in him. Toby growled low in his throat, hands gripping your waist tighter, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he pounded into you even harder. His hips snapped forward with that restless, twitchy rhythm - deep, punishing strokes that made your tits bounce wildly and the bedframe slam against the wall.
Then it hit you.
Your orgasm crashed over you like a freight train. Your back arched hard off the mattress, mouth falling open in a silent, broken moan as pleasure ripped through every nerve. Your pussy clenched violently around his cock, pulsing and gushing, soaking his balls and the sheets beneath you. Toby kept fucking you through it, groaning loud and wrecked, hips stuttering with his own tics but never slowing. The overstimulation made your thighs shake uncontrollably, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.
“F-fuuuck–that’s it,” he rasped, voice choppy and hoarse. “So good–c-cum on my d-dick–”
Before you could even come down, he yanked you up harshly by the waist, pulling you flush against his chest so you were sitting in his lap, chest to chest. His scarred arms banded around your back, holding you there as he kept thrusting up into you, deep and relentless. You could feel every inch of him, every vein, every twitch of his big cock buried inside your spasming cunt.
You kissed him desperately - messy, open-mouthed, tongues sliding and teeth clashing. He tasted like smoke and salt and pure need. You sucked on his neck, right over that thick scar on his collarbone, biting and licking while you bounced a little in his lap, meeting his upward thrusts. Toby moaned loud and broken, head tilting to the side to give you better access, his messy brown hair tickling your cheek.
“God–you’re fucking me so good,” you panted against his skin, lips brushing his ear. “Such a good boy, Toby… my good fucking boy–”
His response was immediate. He squeezed your ass hard with both hands, nails biting into the soft flesh as he nodded frantically against you, hips jerking up harder.
“Y-yeah–yeah I a-am,” he stuttered, voice wrecked and eager, another violent tic snapping his head to the side with a soft crack. “I’m your good b-boy–fuck, I’ll be s-so good for y-you– ”
You kissed him again, deep and filthy, swallowing his moans while he railed you from below. His stamina was insane - sweat slicking his scarred chest, muscles flexing under all those brutal marks, but he showed no sign of slowing down.
“I wanna ride you,” you gasped against his mouth, rolling your hips in a slow circle that made him groan. “Let me ride you, baby.”
Toby let out a broken, desperate sound and nodded so fast it looked like it hurt. He slipped out of you with a wet, filthy pop, his cock slapping wetly against his scarred abs, glistening with your cum. He fell back against the pillows and your scattered stuffed animals, hair wild and sticking to his forehead, lips swollen and shiny, chest heaving. He reached for you immediately, hands grabbing at your hips, pulling you toward him with pure desperation in his dark eyes.
You laughed breathlessly, still trembling from your orgasm. “So fucking eager,” you teased, climbing over him.
You straddled his narrow hips, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of him. Reaching down, you wrapped your fingers around his throbbing cock - still rock-hard, veiny, and dripping - and lined him up. You sank down slowly, inch by thick inch. The new angle was brutal. He was so deep it was almost painful, the fat head of his cock pressing right against your cervix with every tiny shift of your hips.
You breathed heavily, eyes fluttering shut as you tried to adjust, hands braced on his scarred chest. “Fuck… you’re so big,” you whimpered. “So fucking deep like this…”
Toby looked up at you with glassy, half-lidded eyes, cheeks actually flushing a little. “S-sorry,” he muttered sheepishly, but his hands were already gripping your hips hard, trying to pull you down further anyway. His cock twitched inside you, eager and impatient.
You started moving - slow rolls of your hips at first, then building into a steady bounce. Your tits bounced heavily with every drop down onto his cock, nipples hard and sensitive. Toby’s eyes were locked on them, then on your face, then on where your soaked pussy stretched around his thick length, swallowing him over and over.
“You look so pretty under me,” you moaned, leaning forward to suck on his neck again, licking over his scars and biting down gently. “Such a pretty, desperate boy… taking my pussy so well.”
Toby’s breath hitched hard. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, head tilting back into the pillows as a full-body tic rolled through him - shoulders hitching violently, neck cracking. His hands shook as he guided you down harder, thumbs digging into your hip bones.
“F-fuck–keep saying that,” he begged, voice cracking. “Please– I–I wanna buh-be good f-for you–”
You moaned into his ear, grinding your clit against his pelvis on every downstroke, the wet slap of skin on skin getting louder and filthier. His cock dragged perfectly against every sensitive spot inside you, the head kissing your cervix with every bounce, sending sparks of sharp pleasure-pain through your body.
You leaned forward, cupping one of your tits and guiding it to his mouth. “Here, baby.”
He latched on immediately, desperate and starving. His scarred lips wrapped around your nipple, sucking hard, tongue swirling and flicking as wet, obscene slurping sounds filled the room. He moaned loudly into your soft flesh, the vibration shooting straight to your core. His hands stayed glued to your ass, kneading and spreading your cheeks apart as he helped bounce you on his dick, fingers digging in hard enough to leave fresh bruises.
You could feel him tensing underneath you - his scarred abs tightening, thighs trembling, cock swelling even thicker inside your soaked pussy. His groans grew louder, more frantic, muffled by your tit in his mouth.
“You wanna cum?” you purred, voice breathy as you kept riding him. “You wanna fill me up, hm?”
Toby nodded pathetically, mouth still full, eyes glassy and pleading as he looked up at you. He sucked harder, almost whimpering around your nipple, hips jerking up to meet every bounce.
You smiled, wicked and sweet, and sped up. The wet slap of your ass meeting his scarred thighs grew louder, filthier - his heavy balls smacking against you with every rough drop. You rode him harder, faster, tits bouncing in his face as you fucked him straight toward the edge.
That was all it took.
Toby came with a shattered, stuttering moan that vibrated against your breast. His whole body seized up - back arching hard off the bed, shoulders hitching violently with a loud crack as his tics hit him mid-orgasm. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your pussy, pulse after pulse, so much it immediately started leaking out around his cock. His face was pure blissed-out ruin: eyes rolled back, scarred cheeks flushed, mouth slack around your nipple as he shook and groaned through every spurt.
The sight of him like that - so wrecked, so pretty, so completely lost in you - almost pushed you right to the edge again. You moaned loud, grinding down on his pulsing cock to milk every drop.
You finally slowed, both of you panting and drenched in sweat, bodies trembling. Toby’s chest heaved under you, his cock still twitching inside your cum-filled cunt as he tried to catch his breath.
Then, voice hoarse and wrecked, he looked up at you with those dark, obsessive eyes and rasped:
“S-sit on my face.”
It sounded almost like begging.
You let out a soft, surprised giggle and carefully lifted off his cock. The second you did, a thick gush of his cum poured out of you, running down your thighs in messy white streaks. Toby’s eyes tracked it hungrily.
You pushed yourself forward and carefully swung a leg over and straddled his face, thighs framing his head, your dripping, cum-filled pussy hovering just above his mouth. “You’re so fucking filthy,” you laughed breathlessly, looking down at him between your legs.
Toby nodded fast, hands grabbing your ass and yanking you down hard onto his face before you could even finish teasing him.
“I n-need it,” he groaned, voice muffled instantly as he buried his face in your soaked folds. “Need your pussy in my m-mouth–fuck–”
You gasped as his tongue shoved straight into you, licking and sucking his own cum right out of your dripping hole with shameless hunger. He was forceful, almost aggressive - lapping up every drop of his load mixed with your juices, moaning loud and broken. His nose rubbed against your swollen clit while his tongue fucked deep, slurping obscenely, swallowing loudly.
You braced your hands on the headboard, thighs shaking. “Oh my God–Toby… you’re really eating your own cum out of me?” you asked, half-shocked, half-turned on beyond belief.
He made a low, ashamed little noise in the back of his throat, but didn’t stop. If anything, he pulled you down harder, nodding frantically against your pussy as his tongue worked even deeper. His fingers spread your ass open wider so he could devour you completely - sucking on your clit, licking stripes up your folds, pushing his cum back into you with his tongue only to suck it all out again.
He was completely lost in it. Groaning, whimpering, hips twitching uselessly beneath you as he ate you like a man starved. His messy hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, eyes half-lidded in pure bliss as he drowned in the taste of both of you. He alternated between long, messy licks from your entrance all the way up to your swollen clit and harsh suction that made your thighs quake around his head.
You tried to tease him, wanted to call him filthy again, but the words died in your throat. It was too much. The overstimulation, the way his nose ground against your clit, the relentless way he sucked and licked and moaned into your dripping pussy - it all crashed together.
Your second orgasm slammed into you without warning.
“F-fuuuck–Toby!” you screamed, back arching hard as your vision whited out. You grabbed fistfuls of his messy brown hair, yanking him harder against your cunt as your pussy clenched violently around nothing, gushing fresh slick all over his face. Your legs shook uncontrollably, thighs clamping tight around his head while wave after wave ripped through you. For a second you almost blacked out - ears ringing, body seizing, a broken, high-pitched moan tearing out of you that didn’t even sound like your own voice.
Toby just kept going, groaning happily as he drank every drop, tongue working you through it until you were a trembling, oversensitive mess.
You stayed there for a long minute, slumped forward, hands braced on the headboard, chest heaving as you tried to remember how to breathe. Your thighs were still twitching, pussy pulsing with aftershocks. Slowly, carefully, you lifted off his face with a wet sound.
You sat back on your knees beside him, staring down at the absolute wreck you’d made of him.
Toby looked ruined in the best way possible. His face was shiny and slick from nose to chin with your cum and his own spit. His scarred lips were swollen and red, chest rising and falling rapidly, dark eyes glassy and dazed with lust. His messy hair was even wilder, sticking to his forehead with sweat. And when your gaze drifted lower…
He was rock hard again.
His thick cock stood flushed and angry against his scarred abs, twitching visibly, the head glistening with fresh pre-cum. He wrapped one scarred hand around it almost shyly, giving himself a slow, embarrassed stroke while he stared at your naked body like he couldn’t help it. A soft, needy little moan slipped out of him, another violent tic jerking his head to the side with a quiet crack.
Something possessive and filthy twisted in your chest.
“Let me return the favor,” you said, voice hoarse but determined.
You slid down between his spread legs, settling on your stomach. Toby’s breath hitched hard as you wrapped your fingers around his cock, giving it a firm squeeze. It throbbed hot and heavy in your grip.
“Th-thank you–fuck, thank you,” he immediately started babbling, voice wrecked and choppy. One scarred hand gently threaded into your hair, holding you there.
You didn’t tease this time. You leaned down and took him into your mouth in one smooth motion, sucking hard on the head before sinking lower. He was so thick your jaw ached instantly, but you pushed further, spit dripping down his shaft as you worked him deeper.
Toby moaned loud and broken, hips twitching up. “Your m-mouth feels so ffff-fucking good–”
You gave it everything. You bobbed your head fast, sucking noisily, tongue swirling around the thick vein on the underside. You pulled off just long enough to spit messily all over his cock, watching the strings of saliva drip down before you deepthroated him again, nose pressing against his pelvis as you swallowed around him. Your hand stroked what you couldn’t fit, twisting on every upstroke while you hollowed your cheeks.
He was losing his mind above you.
“Shit–shit, you’re so puh-pretty like this,” he panted, voice cracking with every thrust into your throat. “Look so f-fucking good with my d-dick in your mouth–just like that–ahh–!”
You pulled off with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting your swollen lips to his glistening cock, and dropped lower. You sucked one of his heavy balls into your mouth, tongue bathing it while your hand kept stroking his shaft fast and tight. You licked and sucked the other one too, humming around them, feeling them draw up tight.
That did it.
Toby’s whole body seized. His hips jerked, scarred thighs trembling violently as his tics hit him mid-orgasm.
“I’m cumming–f-fuck–!”
Hot, thick ropes of cum flooded your mouth in powerful spurts. You kept cupping his balls gently, stroking him through it as you swallowed every drop - greedy, wet gulps that made him whimper and shake. You took it all until he was twitching and oversensitive, soft broken moans falling from his lips.
You finally pulled off, licking your lips clean as you looked up at him.
Toby was staring down at you like you’d hung the moon, chest heaving, face flushed under all the scars, one hand still loosely tangled in your hair. Another soft tic jerked his shoulder upward as he tried to catch his breath.
“…You’re p-perfect,” he rasped, voice completely wrecked. “C-can we do that again s-sometime?”
You laughed softly, crawling back up his body to kiss him, letting him taste himself on your tongue.
You collapsed beside him, completely spent, limbs heavy and trembling with exhaustion. Your body felt used in the best way possible - thoroughly fucked, aching, and sticky with sweat and cum. You curled into Toby’s side without thinking, pressing your face against his scarred chest, one leg draping lazily over his. He let you. Without hesitation, he shifted and slid his arm under your head like a pillow, pulling you closer so you could settle against him properly. His skin was hot, damp with sweat, and you could feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat under your cheek.
For a long while, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were your slowing breaths and the occasional soft crack of one of his tics. You let your fingers wander mindlessly, tracing the raised edges of a particularly nasty scar along his ribs - long, jagged, like something had tried to carve him open once. Toby hummed low in his throat, a lazy, content sound, and didn’t pull away. If anything, he relaxed further into the mattress, letting you explore the brutal map of his body.
Both of you were covered in marks. Dark hickeys bloomed across his neck and collarbones, matching the ones you could already feel throbbing on your own throat, breasts, and inner thighs. Proof of how desperately you’d wanted each other.
Toby seemed lost in thought, dark eyes half-lidded and distant as he reached out with his free hand and grabbed one of your stuffed animals - a small, worn teddy bear. He turned it over slowly in his fingers, then gently bounced it on his chest. The sight of your twitch thief casually playing with your childhood teddy after railing you senseless almost made you laugh. Almost.
You gathered your courage, voice still hoarse. “Toby… why do you have so many scars?”
He went quiet. The teddy bear paused mid-bounce. For a long moment the only movement was the restless hitch of his shoulder and the soft crack of his neck jerking to the side. Then he spoke.
“I r-really like you,” he said simply. The words came out hesitant, almost shy. “It’s… h-hard for me to talk a-about myself. Most people don’t… s-stick around after they see a-all this.”
You nodded against his chest, still tracing lazy circles over an older burn mark. “I’m not going anywhere right now. You can tell me.”
He exhaled slowly. The teddy bear resumed its gentle bouncing on his sternum.
“I have a… kind of a w-weird job,” he muttered. “I do some s-shady shit… not e-exactly legal.”
You swallowed, glancing up at his face. “Like what?”
Toby thought about it, dark eyes flicking to the side. Another tic rolled through him, head snapping sharply. He bounced the teddy once more, then finally answered.
“Like the thing that h-h-happened at the s-store the other nuh-night.”
Your blood froze.
The lazy, post-sex warmth in your veins turned to ice in a single heartbeat. Your fingers stopped moving on his ribs. The room, which had felt so safe and intimate just seconds ago, suddenly felt too small, too quiet. The distant hum of the fridge in the kitchen seemed deafening.
Oh fuck.
You slowly pushed yourself up onto one elbow, staring down at him. Toby was still lying there, relaxed, one arm tucked behind his head, the other still idly playing with the teddy bear like he hadn’t just admitted to hatcheting a man to death outside your workplace and leaving a smiley-face note.
He glanced at you, eyes half-lidded and almost soft, like he was waiting for you to process it. Another small hitch jerked his shoulder upward.
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out at first. Your mind was spinning - flashes of the blood in the parking lot, the newspaper headline, the way he’d shown up at the store again like nothing happened.
“You…” Your voice cracked. You swallowed hard and tried again. “You’re the one who… killed that guy?”
Toby didn’t deny it. He just shrugged, the motion sharp and restless, and looked back at the teddy bear in his hand.
“He was s-stealing from y-your store,” he said, like that explained everything. “Pissed m-me off. I left a note, felt… dunno, r-romantic.”
Your heart hammered against your ribs. Part of you wanted to scramble off the bed, grab your clothes, run. But another, much more fucked-up part of you stayed exactly where you were.
Toby turned his head to look at you fully, dark eyes searching your face. His voice dropped quieter, almost vulnerable under the stammer.
“I w-wasn’t gonna tell you yet. But… I r-r-really like you. Didn’t want t-to lie.”
He gave the teddy bear one last soft bounce on his chest, then set it gently on the pillow beside him, waiting for whatever you were going to do next.
You’d been right. That nagging unease you’d tried to ignore? It had been screaming at you the whole time.
And the worst part - Toby didn’t even seem to realize how completely fucked this was.
You pulled the sheet around your chest like it could protect you from the surreal horror of this conversation. Your voice came out shaky when you finally spoke.
“That was supposed to be romantic to you? Toby, you murdered a guy. You hacked him to death right outside where I work.”
He flinched at your tone. The soft, dazed look in his dark eyes cracked. His jaw tightened, scarred cheek twitching as he looked away, staring at the string lights on your wall instead of at you. His shoulders hitched hard with a violent tic.
You were shaking now, adrenaline and fear mixing with the leftover ache between your thighs. “What–what the fuck is your job, then? You some kinda hitman? Is this normal for you? You just… go around killing people?”
Toby stayed quiet for a long moment, fingers still loosely holding the little teddy bear. When he spoke, his voice was lower, rougher, the stammer thicker.
“…Something like that, I-I g-guess. I’m good at it.”
You huffed out a bitter, disbelieving laugh and scooted further away from him on the bed, clutching the sheet tighter. “I don’t want anything to do with this. Any of it. This is insane, Toby. You’re insane.”
That one clearly hurt.
His expression crumpled - just for a second - before his face went carefully blank. He sat up slowly, messy brown hair falling into his eyes, the hickeys you’d left all over his scarred neck and chest standing out like accusations in the soft light. He looked… vulnerable. Exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being naked.
“I really l-like you,” he said quietly, almost pleading. “I w-want to keep doing t-this. With y-you.”
You shook your head, throat tight. “I liked you too. A lot. Until… this.”
The silence stretched, heavy and painful. Toby’s restless leg started bouncing under the sheet, another tic snapping his neck sideways.
“You gonna c-call the cops?” he asked. His voice was flat, but you caught the flicker of real worry behind it.
You thought about it. Really thought about it. The phone was on the nightstand. You could reach for it right now. But something stopped you. Maybe it was the way he’d looked at you when he was buried inside you. Maybe it was the fact that, despite everything, he’d only ever been gentle with you. Rough, filthy… but never cruel toward you. And yeah - the sex had been mind-blowing.
Finally, you exhaled shakily. “No. I’m not calling the cops.”
Toby’s shoulders sagged with visible relief. A soft, broken breath left him, and he rubbed a scarred hand over his face.
“My f-friend warned me to s-stay away from you,” he admitted, voice low. “Said it was a buh-bad idea. That I’d b-bring heat on e-everyone. But I didn’t listen. I c-couldn’t.” He looked at you then, dark eyes intense and obsessive even through the hurt. “Is that w-what you want? For m-me to stay a-a-away?”
You had no idea how to answer that.
Part of you wanted to scream yes. Part of you was still stupidly, dangerously drawn to him - the same part that had let him eat his own cum out of you less than an hour ago.
“I… need time to think,” you said eventually, voice small. “This is a lot, Toby. Too much. It’d be best if you left for now.”
He stared at you for a long moment, jaw working. Another violent tic rolled through his shoulders. Then he nodded once, slow and reluctant.
Without another word, he got up. You watched him pull on his clothes - hoodie, jeans, the bandana going back over the lower half of his face. Every movement was sharp, restless, laced with those familiar little hitches and cracks. When he was dressed, he paused by the side of the bed, looking down at you like he was memorizing everything.
“I’ll g-give you time,” he muttered. “But I’m not g-good at staying a-away. Not fuh-from you.”
He leaned down, hesitated, then pressed a quick, rough kiss to your forehead through the bandana. The gesture was strangely tender given everything.
Then he was gone - uneven footsteps down the hall, the soft click of your front door shutting behind him.
You sat there in the quiet of your bedroom, sheets tangled around your naked body, still aching from him, still tasting him on your tongue. The little teddy bear lay abandoned on the pillow where he’d left it.
Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
And deep down, you already knew this wasn’t really over.
Toby’s boots dragged heavy against the warped wooden porch steps, the sky just beginning to bleed a sickly grey over the treeline. Dawn. Barely past six. He’d walked for hours through the woods, boots crunching over damp leaves and old needles, mind looping the same reel on repeat: the way you’d looked riding him, the taste of your cum mixed with his own still ghosting his tongue, the way your face had twisted when he finally told you the truth.
He shoved the front door open with his shoulder. Voices drifted from the kitchen - low, exhausted murmurs.
Shit.
He tried to sneakily slip past the doorway, hood tugged low, bandana still pulled up over the worst of the marks on his throat.
“Toby.”
Brian’s voice cut through the air like a dull knife. Toby almost swore out loud.
He stopped, shoulders hitching hard once, twice, neck cracking sharply to the left with an audible pop. Slowly, he turned and stepped into the kitchen.
Tim was slumped in one of the rickety chairs, jacket off, sleeve rolled high. Fresh blood glistened along a nasty gash on his forearm while Jack leaned over him, black surgical thread and needle moving with precise, almost surgical calm. Brian stood by the counter in his hoodie, mask pushed up just enough to drink from a glass of water, eyes shadowed and tired. Both of them looked like they’d been through hell and back - clothes torn in places, dried blood crusted on fabric, postures heavy with exhaustion.
Toby kept his head angled, trying to keep the side of his neck hidden in shadow.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Brian asked, voice flat.
“Out,” Toby muttered, shoving his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets. Another violent tic jerked his shoulder upward.
Tim’s head snapped up immediately. His eyes - sharp even through the fatigue - zeroed straight in on the dark bruises blooming on Toby’s neck. The hickeys stood out like goddamn neon signs against pale skin.
“You went back to that gas station bitch, didn’t you?” Tim growled, already starting to push up from the chair.
Jack’s gloved hand clamped down on Tim’s wrist with surprising strength, keeping his arm steady. “Do not move,” Jack said evenly, voice calm and formal as always, though his void-black eyes flicked sideways toward Toby. He inhaled once, long and slow. “...Though the smell of intercourse and female saliva is rather difficult to ignore.”
Toby groaned, dragging a scarred hand down his face. “I didn’t–I f-fell. On my neck. Whatever.” The excuse sounded even stupider out loud. His head twitched sharply to the side again.
Tim stared at him, deadpan. “Jack. Medical opinion?”
Jack didn’t even pause his stitching. He glanced at Toby’s neck once more, clinical and detached. “Those are not impact bruises. They are suction marks–commonly referred to as hickeys–consistent with oral activity from a young woman. Judging by the residual scent profile, she is likely in her twenties. Healthy. Recently sexually active.” He tied off the thread with a neat knot. “Quite enthusiastically, I might add.”
Brian made a quiet sound of disgust and took another sip of water, turning slightly away like he didn’t want to look at Toby any longer than necessary.
Toby wanted to smack all three of them. Hard. His fists clenched inside his pockets, shoulders rolling with another restless hitch. “It’s my f-fucking life,” he snapped, voice choppy and rough. “You n-need to mind your own goddamn buh-business, Tim. All of you. Leave me a-alone.”
Tim’s jaw flexed, eyes narrowing dangerously, but Jack’s grip kept him pinned to the chair.
“You’re going to get us all in trouble chasing pussy,” Tim bit out. “Or worse - you’re gonna drag that girl into our shit and then have to clean up the mess when she inevitably freaks out.”
Toby’s head jerked hard to the left with a loud crack. He didn’t answer. Just turned on his heel, uneven gait carrying him out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.
Behind him, he heard Tim mutter something low and pissed. Brian said nothing. Jack simply went back to stitching like nothing had happened.
Toby went upstairs and slammed his bedroom door behind him, leaning back against the wood as another full-body tic rolled through him - shoulders hitching, neck snapping, fingers twitching violently at his sides.
He could still smell you on his skin. Still feel the ghost of your hands in his hair.
And despite everything - despite Tim’s warnings, despite the look on your face when he left - he already knew he’d go back.
Soon.
Brian sat behind the wheel of the old, beat-up truck, engine idling low like a lazy growl. The gas station glowed under its sickly fluorescent lights a short distance away, the new security cameras glinting like accusatory little eyes. He had one gloved hand draped over the steering wheel, the other tapping a slow, irritated rhythm on his thigh.
He exhaled heavily through his nose. “This is a bad idea.”
Tim snorted from the passenger seat, arms crossed tight over his chest, jaw clenched so hard it looked painful. The fresh stitches on his forearm pulled with the motion. “If Toby isn’t gonna behave himself,” he muttered, voice rough with exhaustion and frustration, “then we do it the hard way.”
Brian glanced sideways at him, skeptical eyes narrowing. “And what exactly is the plan here, Tim? Yeah, the kid hatcheting that idiot outside the store was sloppy as hell. We’re cleaning up after it. But let the guy have a goddamn life. You really think scaring off some gas station girl is gonna fix whatever the fuck is going on in his head?”
Tim stared straight ahead through the windshield, expression dark. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this one,” he said quietly. “You know how Toby gets when he fixates. It’s not just pussy. It’s her. He’ll keep going back. Keep killing for her. Keep dragging all of us into the spotlight until the whole damn county’s looking for hatchet-wielding freaks.”
Brian shook his head slowly, gloved fingers tightening on the wheel. “And your brilliant solution is showing up at her job? That seems logical to you?”
Tim didn’t answer right away. He just unbuckled his seatbelt with a sharp click and shoved the truck door open. The night air rushed in.
“Just follow my lead,” he said flatly, stepping out.
Brian sat there for another long second, staring at the dashboard like it might offer him some divine wisdom. He rubbed a hand down his face, muttering under his breath, “We’re all going fuckin’ crazy… God help me.”
Then he killed the engine, climbed out, and slammed the door behind him. His boots crunched against the gravel as he fell into step beside Tim, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. The two of them crossed the lot toward the glowing Stop & Gas like a pair of shadows that had crawled out of the treeline - tired, pissed off, and radiating the kind of quiet menace that made normal people cross the street.
Tim’s eyes were already locked on the front doors.
Whatever he was planning, it was happening now.
You were supposed to be working this shift with Andy, but he’d run out for a “quick deal” and promised he’d be back in no time. So you were stuck alone behind the counter.
You sighed and leaned back on the wobbly stool, the cheap little plastic fan whirring noisily beside the register as it blew lukewarm air across your face. It was stupidly hot tonight, the kind of sticky humidity that made your polo cling to your skin and your shorts ride up your thighs no matter how many times you tugged them down. Your hair was down, messy waves sticking to the back of your neck, and you kept popping your gum out of nervous habit.
Your mind wouldn’t stop spinning.
Toby.
Murderer. Psycho. Hatchet-wielding freak who left smiley-face notes on corpses.
But also… Toby. The twitchy, scarred, shamelessly obsessed guy who’d eaten you out like a man starved, fucked you stupid, then ate his own cum out of you without hesitation. He matched your freak in the most dangerous, exhilarating way possible. No one had ever looked at you the way he did - like you were the only thing in the world worth fixating on.
You didn’t know how the hell you were supposed to feel about any of it.
The bell above the door jingled.
You automatically plastered on your customer-service smile, but it died the second you saw them.
Two men stepped inside. You recognized them immediately - the same ones who’d been waiting in the truck the night Toby stole the Snickers. The dark-haired one was bigger, built like a damn tank, broad shoulders straining against a worn flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Faded jeans, heavy boots, the kind of quiet confidence that screamed trouble. The taller one behind him had dark blonde hair, sharp features, and an expression so serious it looked like he’d never smiled in his life. His jacket and jeans were clean but clearly well-worn, and the way he carried himself made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.
You straightened up fast, heart kicking up a notch. Your gum froze mid-chew.
The dark-haired guy let his eyes drag slowly over you. From your bare legs in those tiny shorts, up to the low collar of your polo, and straight to the cluster of hickeys you’d desperately tried to cover with makeup. A little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He sauntered up to the counter and leaned over it, forearms resting on the scratched surface, close enough that you caught the faint scent of cigarettes and pine.
“Well hey there, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice low and deliberately charming, eyes flicking back down to your neck for a second. “Lookin’ real good tonight.”
The taller one stayed a step behind, silent. His gaze was heavy, unrelenting. When you glanced at him, he didn’t look away. Just stared. Like he was trying to read every thought in your head.
You raised an eyebrow at the “sweetheart,” chewing your gum once before answering in a cool, even tone.
“Can I help you guys with something?”
The bigger guy’s smirk widened just a fraction, like your attitude amused him. He tilted his head slightly, still leaning in.
“Oh, I’m sure we can think of something,” he said smoothly. “We’re just… checking in.”
You nodded slowly, still chewing your gum with loud pops, eyebrows slightly furrowed. “Yeah… checking in. That’s… nice of you, I guess. Everything’s all good here.”
His smirk stayed plastered on his face as he leaned further over the counter, eyes dipping down to your chest and the faint outline of hickeys you hadn’t quite managed to hide. “You sure about that, gorgeous? Working all alone in a shithole like this after what happened the other night… Gotta be scary. Who knows what kind of freaks might come wandering in.”
His tone was dripping with fake concern, the kind that felt way too sleazy. Like he thought flashing a smirk and calling you “gorgeous” would have you melting. You snorted, arms crossing under your chest as you held his gaze.
“Does that line usually work on girls?” you asked, voice flat and unimpressed. “Or do you just like hearing yourself talk?”
He blinked once, clearly caught off guard, but he recovered fast. The smirk sharpened. “Just looking out for a lady. Can’t be too careful these days.”
You gave him the most sarcastic nod you could muster. “Ooooookay, dude. Well, I’m good. Really. Don’t need anyone looking out for me.”
He glanced back at the tall blonde guy standing silently behind him. The other man simply shook his head once, slow and disapproving, eyes never leaving you. Then the dark-haired one turned back, tongue running over his teeth as he let out a low chuckle.
“Damn. You got a mouth on you, huh?” His voice dropped, gaze turning darker. “Wonder what else that pretty mouth can do.”
That was the final straw.
You stood up from the stool, planting both hands firmly on the counter and leaning forward to meet him head-on. “Look,” you said, tone sharp and final, “I’m not interested. At all. And honestly? Both of you look too old for me, so you can take that shit somewhere else.”
The blonde one actually blinked at your bluntness, like he hadn’t expected you to say it out loud.
The dark-haired one clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, the charming mask cracking as clear irritation flashed across his face. His jaw flexed and the easy smirk faded into something colder.
He straightened up slowly, still staring you down like he was sizing up whether you were worth the trouble. The air between you suddenly felt a lot heavier. “You have no idea what the fuck is going on here,” he growled.
You let out a dry, humorless little chuckle and shrugged. “Well, I know you’re friends of Toby.”
Both of them went still. The surprise on their faces was almost satisfying.
The dark-haired one stared at you. “How the hell do you know that?”
You rolled your eyes, attitude flaring. “Do you think I’m stupid? Because all girls are, right?” You gestured toward the parking lot with your chin. “I literally saw you two sitting in the truck the night he stole the Snickers. I’m not blind.”
He hadn’t thought of that. You could see it in the way his jaw flexed.
The blonde one finally spoke, voice low and calm but edged with something colder. “How much do you know?”
You crossed your arms tighter, ignoring the way the other one was still staring at you like he wanted to reach across the counter. You huffed.
“What do you want me to say? That I know who chopped that guy up the other day?” Your tone made it crystal clear - you knew it was Toby. “I get it. You guys are in some kind of gang or whatever. I’ll keep my mouth shut. Just… leave.”
The words hung in the hot, stale air of the store. You were starting to piece it together now. Toby wasn’t just some lone weirdo with a hatchet problem. He was tangled up with these two creepy-ass dudes who clearly thought they could roll up in here, intimidate you, maybe even use you to get under his skin. It was disgusting.
And for the first time since Toby left your house, a small flicker of sympathy twisted in your chest. No wonder he was so restless, so fixated. Living with guys like this?
You just wanted them gone.
The dark-haired one’s eyes bored into you, the fake charm completely gone now. The tall blonde stayed quiet, watching you like he was trying to decide exactly how dangerous you were.
The fan kept whirring uselessly behind the counter. Your gum snapped loudly in the tense silence.
The dark-haired one planted both palms flat on the counter, leaning in so close you could see the faint scar on his jaw and the exhaustion lines carved deep around his eyes.
“We’re not leaving yet,” he said, voice low and edged with steel. “And you need to stay the fuck away from Toby. I mean it. End whatever the hell this is before it gets messy.”
You felt your spine straighten like someone had yanked a wire through it. A challenge. That’s exactly how it landed. No one - especially not some flannel-wearing control freak - got to tell you who you could fuck, date, or even look at.
You leaned forward too, meeting him halfway, gum snapping loud between your teeth. “You don’t get to tell me shit,” you said. “Not you. Not your silent buddy back there. Not anybody. I decide who I spend time with. And right now? I like Toby. A lot.”
His eyes darkened. His jaw flexed hard enough that the muscle jumped. The charming mask was long gone; what was left was raw, agitated aggression rolling off him in waves.
“You think this is a game?” His voice dropped even lower, rougher. “You have no fuckin’ idea what you’re playing with.”
He was getting louder. Meaner. You could see the veins standing out on his forearms where he gripped the counter. Your heart hammered against your ribs, adrenaline flooding your system, but you refused to back down. You stared him dead in the eyes, chin lifted, even as fear prickled cold down your spine.
He suddenly shoved forward, leaning so far over the counter that his face was inches from yours. His breath was hot against your skin.
“Listen here, you little whore,” he snarled, voice venomous and quiet. “You already spread your legs for that twitchy little fucker once. That’s enough. We don’t need some gas-station slut dragging him down, making him sloppy, getting him in trouble. You’ll get him caught - or worse, you’ll get all of us caught. So back the fuck off before I make you.”
For a split second you couldn’t decide whether to reach across the counter and smack him across his smug face or bolt for the back room and lock the door. Your cheeks burned with fury and humiliation. Your hands curled into fists at your sides.
Before you could react, a sharp whistle cut through the tension.
His head snapped toward the other man. The tall blonde hadn’t moved much, but he gave a single, meaningful tilt of his chin toward the shiny new security camera mounted in the corner near the coolers. Its red light blinked steadily. A silent warning: don’t do anything stupid, the cameras are on.
The dark-haired one exhaled hard through his nose, nostrils flaring. He slowly pulled back, but the rage still simmered just under his skin. He ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to rein it in.
You forced a shaky breath out and turned your gaze to the blonde one, eyebrows raised in mocking disbelief. “Wow. Is your friend always this charming? Or does he only pull out the ‘little whore’ routine for special occasions?”
He just stared at you. No expression, no words. Just those cold, unblinking eyes that made your stomach twist. Tough crowd.
You shook your head, letting out a dry, bitter laugh. “You guys aren’t very smart, you know that? Rolling up in here thinking you could intimidate me, maybe fuck me, get some leverage over Toby… Jesus Christ. Pathetic.”
The dark-haired one’s face twisted with barely-contained fury.
You leaned back against the stool, crossing your arms tight under your chest, heart still racing. Then you said it - the one thing you knew would get under their skin.
“Toby’s actually my boyfriend. We’re very happy together.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
The dark-haired one's eyes widened for half a second before narrowing into dangerous slits. His hands clenched so hard on the counter you heard the wood creak.
“And he’s gonna hear all about this little visit,” you added, popping your gum once more for emphasis. “Every single word.”
That did it.
He looked ready to vault over the counter and throttle you. His whole body tensed, shoulders bunching under the flannel, breathing heavy and ragged. The charming, sleazy mask was completely shattered; what was left was pure, protective, territorial rage. He looked like he wanted to burn the whole place down.
That’s when the tall one finally moved. He stepped forward and clamped a firm hand on the other man’s shoulder, pushing him back from the counter with surprising strength. His voice was low, cold, and utterly disgusted.
“Stop wasting time on this dog-fucking bitch.”
The words hit you like a slap across the face. Dog-fucking bitch. Your vision tunneled with red-hot rage. The casual, venomous way he said it - like Toby was nothing more than a mangy stray humping anything that moved - made your stomach twist with pure disgust. These assholes had the nerve to come into your store, call you a whore, and then talk about Toby like he was some filthy animal?
You saw red.
The dark-haired one huffed sharply, rolling his shoulder to shrug the blonde one’s hand off like it was an annoying fly. The fake calm he forced over his features was terrifying in its own way. Without another word, he stepped around the end of the counter like he owned the place, boots heavy on the scuffed tile.
Your heart slammed against your ribs so hard you thought it might crack something. Every instinct screamed at you to back up, to scream, to run - but you locked your knees and stared him down, jaw tight, refusing to flinch. Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms.
He stopped right in front of you, close enough that you could smell the cigarette smoke still clinging to his flannel. He held your gaze the entire time, dark eyes burning with barely-leashed fury. Then, slowly, he reached past you to the cigarette shelves. He snatched two packs of Marlboro Reds, never once looking away from your face. The plastic crinkled loudly in the tense silence.
He turned slightly, still staring, and grabbed a cheap plastic flask of whiskey from the liquor display. The message was crystal clear: We take what we want. And right now, we want you scared.
Your breath came shallow and fast, but you didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just burned holes into him with your eyes.
His mouth twitched into something ugly. He walked past you like you were nothing, heading for the exit. Right before he pushed the door open, he turned his head and spit hard onto the floor near your feet - a thick, contemptuous glob right on your clean tile.
The bell jingled as he stepped out into the night.
The tall blonde lingered for a second longer. He let out a long, exhausted sigh, like this whole thing bored him more than anything. Without looking at you, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a crumpled handful of bills, and tossed them onto the counter. They scattered like dirty leaves. Then he turned and followed the other man out.
The door swung shut behind them.
For a heartbeat, the store was deathly silent except for the useless whir of the fan.
Then the rage exploded.
You stormed out from behind the counter, heart hammering, and shoved the front door open. The humid night air slapped you in the face as you watched them climb into the same beat-up truck from before. You leaned out, spit as hard and aggressively as you could onto the pavement, and screamed at the top of your lungs:
“Go to hell!”
You slammed the door shut, twisted the lock with shaking fingers, and flipped the sign to CLOSED even though your shift wasn’t over. Your legs carried you back behind the counter on autopilot. The second you were out of sight from the windows, your knees buckled.
You sank down onto the stool, elbows on the counter, head in your hands, breathing fast and ragged - hyperventilating. The crumpled bills stared up at you like a sick joke. Two packs of stolen cigarettes. One stolen flask. Spit on your floor. Threats. Insults. The casual way they’d tried to terrorize you.
And the worst part?
It worked. You were terrified.
But underneath the fear, something else was crystallizing, sharp and undeniable.
Toby wasn’t the villain here.
Not really.
Those two - the dark-haired one especially - had walked in like they owned you, owned the store, owned Toby’s choices. They talked about him like he was a problem to be managed. A dog on a leash. They came here to intimidate you, to scare you off, to keep their little crew’s control intact. And they’d done it in the most disgusting, sleazy way possible.
You thought about Toby’s restless tics, the way he’d looked almost shy when he admitted he really liked you, the way he’d played with your stuffed bear after fucking you senseless. He was dangerous, yeah. A murderer. But compared to the cold, calculated cruelty you’d just seen from his so-called friends?
Toby suddenly seemed like the least terrifying thing in this whole fucked-up situation.
You didn’t know what the hell you were going to do.
No use of pronouns, gng I don’t proofread either (don’t judge✌️😦), just a lil scribble
─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─
Thinkin of like puppy boy Yuji in the way that he literally chases and follows anything and everything that you do.
Like I don’t mean this quite in a literal sense like if you threw a ball he’d go after it (maybe if you asked him to), but in a different way.
The first aspect you noticed before the two of you started dating was that he just followed you around everywhere. University, running errands, even around your own damn apartment, he was hit on your feet. Like, to the point where people thought you were dating simply because you’d always be seen together. If there was one, people automatically assumed the other had to be nearby.
It never bothered you, though. Having a cute guy follow you around and yap your ear off? Who would pass that up.
Then, it progressed. If you needed something, he’d physically jump at the prospect of getting it for you. Like if you said you were thirsty? He’s there a second later, giving you cold water and refilling it whenever you wanted. You’re feeling rough and just want some chocolate or sugar? He’s jogging to the nearby gas station to pick sum up.
It then moved up to him doing more than just things for you. Things to you. If you mentioned your feet were sore, he’d crouch down just to massage them. You wanna style your hair for the day? He’s looking up a tutorial on YouTube. He’d do anything to make you comfortable.
It just increased when the two of you started dating, to the point of where you hardly had to lift a finger. He wouldn’t allow it.
“Yuji, babe, I promise I’m capable of refilling the sugar-“
“Nope, too much work, you might break a nail.”
You felt kinda bad, but seeing his eyes light up at the mere idea of helping out and receiving praise from you was enough to quell your worries.
“Baby, I can help sometimes, you know?”
You murmured softly as he rested his head in your lap, looking right at home after massaging your neck. His eyes lift up to yours, bright and adoring as they land on you, his lips subconsciously lifting to a smile.
“I know, you’re very capable. I just feel better, you know.”
He replies simply, like it was nothing, reaching up to kiss your knuckles.
“I’d lift up the whole planet for you if I had to.”
Just a lil Drabble bc he’s been on my mind lately☺️not proofread, something I just pulled outta my ass, use of fem reader but no y/n, also based off of adult Zuko
In honor of the (leaked) Avatar movie:
· · ───•⋅⊰ ꥟ ⊱⋅•─── · ·
It wasn’t often, anymore, that you had to wait for your husband to come home from his endeavors with the Avatar. It times gone past, you used to stay up for hours when you didn’t go along on their little adventures (which you reluctantly settled for, either due to injury or duties in the nation), hoping that your husband would come home alive and with all of his limbs.
And yet, here you are, eyes tired as you leant back on his throne. Your robes wrapped around you, having to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as you were read letters from the workers before you. Toenails painted as your feet were propped on the armrest, you twirled a glob of water from the goblet besides you.
It was a nice day out. You already knew that, because you had been working out in the garden with the gardeners, clipping leaves and trimming the hedges. Once bored, you strolled around on the docks, helping people offload heavy cargo and bringing ships in. You already reorganized the bedroom the first day Zuko had left, already helped out in the kitchen, visited a preschool, practiced anything and everything you could’ve with your water bending.
Damn, how long was this whole mission thing gonna take?
Sure, you had been tired after the whole ‘saving the world x2’ thing, and so had everybody else. So why’d you have to stay home while he went on another trip?
Well technically you didn’t have to.. but the way your husband gave you those stupid ass puppy dog eyes that he rarely used to ask you to take care of the homeland..
You didn’t exactly argue anymore after that.
But now you were so terribly bored. You were always a woman of adventure, and you continued to be even into an adult. You longed for the days with the team, fighting together and using your powers. It was a feeling nothing would ever replace, one that you missed.
Damn that scarred man.
The same man you had fallen in love with on such adventures, whom you had admired as you slept around a campfire in some vast land, the one you comforted whenever he needed it. The same man with an identical scar you had held in the palm of your hand and smoothed your thumb over, hair that you brushed and put up, temper you had calmed, body you had healed with the power at your fingertips.
Who was.. now entering your estate once again.
Shit, what?
His voice reached your ears the second he spoke, but your brain caught up seconds after, then your eyes, and then your lips that curved into a beaming smile.
“You’re back!”
You squealed as you jumped up from the throne, sprinting towards him, sandals clicking as you pushed past the workers and jumped right into his arms. You fully trusted him to catch you.
And of course, he did, spinning you around in a princess twirl, both of your autumn coloured robes fluttering around the two of you.
“My wife,” he murmured affectionately as he set you back up on your feet, kissing your forehead gently.
“Ugh, never leave me out on an adventure again, it was so boring. I don’t know how you can be a leader.” You were already beginning to ramble as he combed your hair behind your ear, his lips forming that beautifully fond smile.
“Would you like me to tell you about said adventure?” He spoke lowly as he put a hand on the small of your back, guiding you out of the throne room, giving a polite smile to the workers that were watching you with wide eyes.
“Duh. Let me hear what I missed out on.” You demanded with a teasing smile, the light dutifully lit back up in your eyes. He wouldn’t have it any other way
· · ───•⋅⊰ ꥟ ⊱⋅•─── · ·
Guys idk WHY I can’t put images at the top of my drafts😭✌️promise I’ll figure it out just deal with the cute lil symbols for now🫶
Twas watching this vid while doomscrolling and saw these two tigers where the girl was begging for the boys attention and couldn’t help but think of Sukuna 😩
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•You’re peacefully cuddling with your boyfriend on a Saturday afternoon, having spent the whole morning with him lazying around and cleaning up tidbits around the house. He was spooning you, large body draped half-way on top of you, legs tangled with each other as you scrolled on his phone together. Until all of a sudden, apparently mister grumpy got uncomfortable, pulling his bicep out from under your head and switching onto his stomach.
• “Uh, excuse you.” You huffed out, brows furrowing as you patiently waited for him to grumble and sigh and come back.
• But he never did.
• “Sukuna.” You mumbled out again, not even hearing a response. You rolled your eyes before forcibly pressing back into him, grabbing his arm that wasn’t holding his phone. “‘Kuna.” You prodded his arm, tipping your head back against his chest.
• He seemed utterly unamused, continuing to scroll on his phone. You scoffed, before letting out a low pitch whine right by his ear, dragging it out for a good 10 seconds.
• He rolled his eyes after a second, before leaning down to nuzzle his nose into your hair, kissing your forehead. You stopped moaning and whining, smiling contentedly as you grasped his arm.
•Until he stopped again.
• “Sukunaaaa”, you whined again, “pay attention to me.” You demanded, pressing back into him more. He only left his chin on your head, letting out a huff in response, causing you to scoff once more.
•The whining continued. Right next to his ear once again, held out longer as you tugged at his arm. So, in response, he once again bowed his head and kissed along the crown of your head, nudging his nose against your skin.
• “Satisfied, brat?” He grumbled, before going back to his original position, causing you to pout with disappointment.
• “No. I was comfortable before you moved. C’mon-“ the wailing continued again, but this time, he didn’t satisfy you.
• His roughened hand reached around to grasp your cheeks between his fingers, squishing them so your lips were pressed together awkwardly. He reached down until his mouth was wide open, wrapping it around one of your cheeks, lightly pressing his teeth into your skin.
• “Hmph.”
• The low grumble caused you to squeak and giggle, squirming in his grasp as you gripped onto his bicep, feeling his teeth press down slightly, only causing you to laugh more.
• “Hey, asshole-!” You snickered, only causing him to mumble something incoherent against your skin, dropping his phone and wrapping his burly arms around you. You’d bear the biting if only to have him wrapped around your finger.
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Literally just some shit I pulled outta my ass and originally I was gonna link the video but I couldn’t find it :( it was so cute tho
•Literally can’t stop thinking about bakery! Sukuna grrr
•I mean like just imagine waking up early at like 7 or sum, suns just rising, it’s already hot out, you’re walking down from your apartment above the bakery, and BOOM. Around 7 foot of muscle with his back to you, shirtless obvi bc it’s Sukuna like nggggh
• And it’s so casual to him, he’s just kneading a big ass hunk of bread, forearms flexing with every fold. It’s warm, because he’s already started the ovens, and he’s quiet as per usual.
•Tattooed shoulders tense slightly as you wrap your arms around him, cheek mushing against the middle of his back, breathing slow and stuffy from just waking up.
•He’s slower now, not in civil terms because he’s an ex boxer, but slower than he was in his prime. It’s obvious in the small grunts he gives when he stretches in bed, rubbing his neck to knead out the knots. The little things you notice in yourself, too.
•He never thought he’d end up so.. domestic, with a lover at his side that he’d call his own. Didn’t think he’d get out the alleyways, away from the women marking up his neck and the drugs he was on, the headaches after another hard night out. But here he is, fucking frosting cherry cupcakes.
•He has little bits of workout parts around the apartment, propping pull-up arms on the doorway of the entrance, his grunts quiet as he practices. Sometimes he’ll do pushups with you on his back while you doodle new sweet treats to make, showing them to him on his breaks.
•Obviously girls (and guys) hit on him, I mean, look at the guy, but all he does is ignore it and slide their box/bag of treats towards them and bid them farewell. Why have them when he has you?
•The two of you first met when his party was throwing a celebration from his most recent win, and their deserts were from the corporation bakery that you worked with. You were delivering for them, carrying these big ass boxes that towered above your head. If he were a better man back then, he would’ve helped. He didn’t.
•You proved to be very capable, as you easily slid the boxes onto a counter, smiling and wiping your forehead as you held out your hand for money. He was head over heels after that.
•He has a surprisingly good sense of taste for new recipes, though I suppose not that surprising for a rich man. He can always tell what needs tweaking, whereas you have already honed that skill from long working in the food industry.
• “Mm. More salt.” “I already added so much.” “More.” Shake shake shake. He’d lick a little off the spatula. “There.”
•He wasn’t always that good, though. When he first started, still roughened from years of fighting, he had no idea what to do in the little space after you had first bought it together. It was still being renovated even after you moved in, something your husband much preferred over baking at the time.
•You were patient with him, though, an aspect he silently loved because he just seemed to fuck everything up. Constantly.
• “No, baby, wide. You have to take it wide then go small.” “Dammit, I am.” You were trying to explain how to ice a cupcake. Simple. But it proved not to be, for the pink-haired man, his hands constantly shaking, going too wide over the cup or too short right in the middle. But you didn’t flinch, just made him ice a bunch of the shit ones you wouldn’t give out for sale.
•He’d prefer to start on the hard stuff, or at least harder for someone without heavy muscle mass, like carrying big bags of ingredients. He’d throw sugar over his shoulders, 50 pounds of mass, and carry two on each like it was no problem. Cutting and kneading huge handfuls of dough without even grunting, easily cleaning out the high ovens and scrubbing them.
•Those same arms can put you in a chokehold, plowing into you from behind and rendering you speechless, calloused fingers pressing into your jaw-
•Yeah. Best baker husband ever, even if he didn’t look like he was made for it.
Guys I’m so down bad since Heian era sukuna got animated hnggg🤤🤤 #needhim12inchesdeep
I’m still so scared to post guys I’m sorry I’m dry rn✌️
i love that so many ppl are asking for loser!vi but like yall she is already a loser in canon. lmsfdoifasd she's so soggy the ENTIRE TIME yall like she literally went on a lesbian bender bc her situationship left dyed her hair black and had a full on crashout that is LOSER BEHAVIOR HAHAHAHAH
i need caitlyn’s fucking kiramountains in my fucking MOUF I NEED THAT WOMAN SO BAD IM GNAWING, CHEWING, AND SWALLOWING THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE I CANT DO THIS
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