Creepypasta Side Blog

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You were a messenger.

Not by trade but by chance, fate perhaps. A courier for the things that went bump in the night, the job itself is simple enough; bestowed on you by forces your mind couldn’t comprehend. It was early fall, leaves crunching under your soles as you hauled boxes through the door. You had hopped from place to place, not because you were running. Quite the opposite, actually. You were searching.

Searching for excitement. Belonging, something new, with the comfort of a well-loved commodity. Nothing had tied you to any past homes. Friends came and went; the good ones just one call away, so really, what did you have to lose? The days passed slowly as you settled in. Mundane yet enjoyable, but sometimes, there would be… outliers.

Small happenings that made you pause, like how the townspeople close their blinds the minute dusk breaks. The warnings to never look past the fence, nearing the edge of the woods, faded, with missing posters stapled to light poles.

The diner always let you off a bit early to “make it home safe.” There was a heaviness that came with their words, like a teacher who knew all too well what would happen next. Leaning down to lecture a boy who eats too fast, his sandwich in hand.

Naturally, you were curious, but not enough to push beyond surface-level questions. Such as when the fence was even built, or thoughtless jokes. Poking fun at the unspoken curfew everyone seemed to follow. They would answer in that vague way folks do when they want to change the subject. Fast and unassuming. Nothing to worry about. You never pressed. So maybe it was your fault.

Your boots were heavy on your feet, the normally unbothersome leather now bearing the same weight as solid lead. You’d just dragged yourself from the closing shift. Except Lady Luck was not in your favour, as your normal route home had been blocked.

The entire street was closed up due to some big company that bought up a hole in the wall shop, said the people needed more reliable lender firms. A giant fat ass lie, you and everyone in a ten-mile radius knew they were just as sleazy as the last. Loan sharks looking for some sheltered, sad sack to buy in.

Therefore, the most logical solution? Cut through the forest they had warned you about, you had checked the map at least a dozen times now. A dingy, mediocrely printed little thing. Shoved it into your work bag on the first day and have used it ever since. It hadn’t gotten you lost before, so why start now, right?

The path looked clean cut, too, straight through the trees, no twists or turns in sight. You could even see the trail from where you stood.

The barred railing reached across the entire end of town, but not unblemished. Holes ripped through the wire by animals, metal kicked up by misbehaving teens; it was easy enough to just slip past. Hunched over in a half crawl, you stepped over the silent barrier, and when your foot hit soil— something in the static snapped.

You felt it, a shift in the air, like you had been transported somewhere else entirely. The other side of the fence suddenly seemed worlds away; your gut curled in defiance. Every fibre of you screaming to turn back, that being said, your tired arms and aching back won the argument.

Superstitions be damned, you wanted to sleep for the next month and then some. And you’d rather suffer the cold sweat of a creepy forest than the nearly forty-minute walk you’d have to make otherwise. Trudging against the worn-down gravel, the hairs on your neck stood straight up. Whatever caused the initial dread had only worsened as you went.

Your grip on the satchel thrown over your shoulder never wavers. The shadows moved around you, taunting like they were alive. Anxiety gnawing, more and more tense with each passing tree- then, the summit of it.

The first meeting.

The confrontation had stopped you in your tracks, literally. Along the old path, there was supposed to be a clearing. You were expecting it, ready for it. What you were not ready for was the inhuman mass standing dead centre of it. Limbs hanging limply, too long to fit right, adorned in a mock suit and tie. Its fingers were thin, almost needle-like in shape.

The entity’s face paper white, gaunt in some places, a hollow replication of facial features carved onto porcelain canvas. Stature stretching to the tree line and as tall as the sky was vast; it was terrifying. Fear, unlike anything you had ever experienced, had you frozen in sheer panic. You could feel your hands grow clammy. Staring up at something you thought only existed in storybooks or nightmares.

The two of you stood stock still. A staring competition, except your opponent lacked the needed facilities.

This was it.

This was the moment you had gone too far, went against your instincts, and ended up here. This creature, monster, or whatever it was, was going to eat you alive, and it was going to hurt. You had never been particularly religious, but at this exact moment, you were calling on anyone who would listen.

Pleading in your head that death would come swiftly, that the silhouette in front of you, spared you its more sadistic traits. Closing your eyes, you braced. A chase would guarantee nothing but a brutal and gory end, so what was there to do? Other than breathing through your nose and praying that there were good snacks in the afterlife.

There was a pause, nothing but the rapid thumps of your own heartbeat. You heard it before you saw it, a slight rustle of the leaves, the wind colder than it was, debating pros and cons, you blinked and looked up. It loomed over you, not exactly chest to chest, but closer, then it spoke.

Not traditionally, though, more like an echo in your ear. Understanding the words after they’ve been said, but skipping the first part. Hot-lined straight to your head.

It told you the rules, explained hierarchies, and how its workers couldn’t fill certain roles. Too complicated, the risk was higher than the reward. It needed a middleman. Someone neutral to all sides, someone to keep the balance. That someone was you.

A first of your kind, like a boss, trying a new, fun office strategy. If your boss were an omnipotent evil who hired serial killers for day jobs. You agreed with reluctance, shook hands, and sealed the deal. Its palm swallowed yours entirely, then it was gone. The forest felt lighter, just a tad.

You made it home in one piece that night, freshly employed to a second job you didn’t know you were qualified for.

ᯓ★

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You met someone new today.

Well, met is a strong word; you saw someone new today. Almost eight months have passed since the proposal, the spontaneous interview you had in the forest. Surprisingly enough, the whole ordeal you had going on wasn’t half bad.

Your tasks are blunt, unvarnished, a letter at your doorstep in the morning stating what needs to be restocked. Routine scheduled for the first Sunday of every month and the last. Packages with notes attached, written instructions, and an address. It was simple, but simple didn’t mean easy. Residents can get prickly, no trust in outsiders, so they lash out.

You’ve dropped off supplies and sprinted off the steps more times than you can count, lest you get caught by someone not partial to your work. Deliveries are swift and done without fuss or mess. A quick trip to the overpass abridging the highway, a march to the rocky skywalk in the dead of night.

You don’t ask questions, and you don’t poke and prod. It’s not all harsh, though. Some residents treat you with decent manners or politeness. A mutual understanding of just getting the job done. You’re even fond of a certain few. A boy with messy brunette hair and a fabric muzzle, goggles always sat loosely against his curls.

A little erratic at times, but well-meaning all the same. He waves at you if he sees you, and his eyes crinkle when you wave back. Little gestures here and there, never full conversations. Still, even then, they warned you of the woods.

They were all horrors in their own right, you’re sure, but they whispered about him like he was something of myth. Monsters that took on the shape of men.

He moved like smoke, leaving ash in his wake. A born hunter with claws made of black steel. Ink-toned keratin that he used like blades, and strength as they had never seen.

An ancient hunger only satisfied by blood and bone. They told you to never stray from the path. That he feeds under the moon, and amongst the other night crawlers; it was safer to stick to your route—

Snap.

A twig, somewhere past the dark borders of the trail. The sound pulling you out mid inner monologue, head whipping to the side as you stared, scanning between the trees- you caught it. Barely there, but a flicker amidst bark.

You couldn’t see the rest of him, body blending into shade flawlessly; the only thing standing out was his mask. Two voids for eyes, like they devoured any light that came near. Hung heavy over his face and painted matte sapphire. He was tall, nowhere near the entity who had recruited you, but even from where you were, his face was obscured by branches.

His head tilted to the side, observing you. You observed him back. You didn’t know what you were expecting, maybe the second you spotted him, he’d lunge at you; or maybe you wouldn’t see him at all. You’d feel the breeze of his movements, then it’d all go black; this was... not that.

Honestly, you were hoping you’d never face him at all. Now you’re here, separated by a couple of feet at most. Call it human reflex, subconscious courtesy, anything to rationalize the fact that you had picked up your hand and waved at him. No reaction. Dropping your arm back on the box, snuggly tucked against your jacket, you slowly turned and went on your way.

He was unnerving, off-putting in the way he stared you down like prey. It made the hairs on your neck stand up- he didn’t eat you, though, and that was a win in your book.

You thought he was interesting.

He didn’t think of you at all.

ᯓ★

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It had been a full month since you’d seen him last.

Today’s delivery instructions were different; it was a medical supply run. Which in and of itself wasn’t abnormal, what was new was the fact that you had to take it straight to the infirmary. Something about house residents liking to tamper, knowingly or not, with medication. Never going in depth, just enough for you to understand the importance of the task.

Padding your way across the large porch, package by your feet, you knocked. Once, twice, raising your fist yet again before the rickety door swings open. A man with a worn-down tan jacket fills the frame, gloved hand propped against the door like he’s ready to slam it shut.

He takes a second before recognition flickers in his gaze, voice muffled behind a mask, “Medical?” One word, and you nod, the look he gave you after almost looked like pity. You had been inside exactly one time. The mansion was empty, aside from your axe-wielding friend who was stuck on watch outside. You’d made it to the borderline rustic kitchen, placed the box on a table, and left.

This time around, you had to hand-deliver the resources directly to the basement. A makeshift lab under the house, where you assumed the reason they were still functional dwelt. He steps aside, letting you pass. Breeze whistling through the house as you trek down the hall.

The wooden floorboards creak when you pass. Turning the corner, you’re head-to-head with the basement stairs. The steps are decaying, the splint of it starting to moulder. Staves dented and sunken in from wear and tear, groaning from your weight. Your legs stretch with caution, nearing the cement floor- you pause.

Antiseptic, the smell floods your nostrils, so strong it’s nearly dizzying. Mind-numbing buzz of fluorescent lights fills the silence, and the air is stale with a hint of something metallic. There are tools and scribbled charts laid out against the counters lining the room.

An improvised examination table sat in the middle, next to a cart stacked with miscellaneous scalpels and muddy-looking jars.

Your uncertainty bounced off the walls in waves. Just drop the package on the spare table and leave. Swiftly, you set the parcel carefully on the ledge, cardboard slipping off your fingers by an inch before you shoot up. The sharp rustling of metal hooks- twisting around to the back of the lab, you see him.

Broad and towering, he ducks under the frame, frayed curtain pushed to the side. Only halfway through the opening, and it feels like the infirmary has somehow shrunk. His shoulders alone took up the width of the door before straightening. Zeroing in on you, jaw clicking once. His hood was up, in a black sweater on the verge of falling apart.

The sleeves and edges weathered down, his mask not any less uncanny in better lighting. “They told me- it was in the instructions, I-I had to hand deliver it here-“ tripping over your own words in an attempt to explain. Voice quieter than you’d like, shaky at best, while his eyes remain fixed.

He crosses the room in three strides, now a table's length away, head tilting down at the box, then you. “Alright.” The cadence vibrating through the ground, deep and visceral. You felt the base of it in your ribs.

The tone was completely and utterly— neutral?

A singular, honestly, quite flat syllable. No snarling in your face, sinking his allegedly razor-sharp teeth into your throat. You blinked up at him, clearing your throat; “ok, um, thank you. Bye.” Barely audible, but he nods nonetheless. His form was unnaturally still, and you noticed he truly only moved when he chose to. No shifting weight from foot to foot. He doesn’t really readjust either, like a frame taken out of a paused video.

The rest was a blur, basically scampering up the stairs like a fearful hamster and rushing past the doorman on the way out. Mask pushed up, a cigarette hanging loose out of his mouth. He probably assumed you were an inch away from losing your life, and maybe that would have been better. ‘Thank you?’ ‘Bye?’ Who says that?

Your head hits the pillow with a defeated thud, body overflowing with humiliation. This was the least of your problems, surely.

He could have eaten you, nothing more than a limp corpse on the frigid stone floor, so why was it so embarrassing? Perhaps it was because you had been expecting the cannibal equivalent of the boogeyman himself.

To be fair, he probably was, but no one told you how normal he was outside of that. From his perspective, you were a glorified mailman. Shaking like a leaf for no reason as you dropped off Band-Aids and alcohol wipes.

Why did this even matter to you? It was a miracle you’d even survived this long, frenzied psychopaths at every turn. It was morbid and scary- so why was this the thing that stuck? You sighed with aggression into your pillow.

He probably thought you were weird.

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Jack had a predicament.

Recently, he ran into you again. The anxious courier pigeon. That’s what you reminded him of, at least. It had been over a year at this point, dating back to when the operator plucked you from the road like a stray. You made things smoother, and he respected you for that. A meek little thing, he’d seen you interact with the others, heard it through the walls.

You were quick when needed, not talkative but polite, efficient. However, you constantly seemed uneasy when delivering to the lab. The thing was, you did it in a way that came off like you were trying oh so hard not to hurt his feelings.

Small talk, where your hands would tremble passing him an envelope. Looking up to meet his eye (socket), then immediately darting your sight back to the floor.

He hadn’t planned on paying you any mind; you were just another cog in an overworked machine. Jack liked distance, isolation woven into his lifeline. How he lived, how he worked, attachment was fickle at best and dangerous at worst. With the people they were, what they represented, being best friends wasn’t exactly on the table.

Companionship was far and few in between. Indifference was easiest, intimacy out of the question, but you try. Greet him with a smile as if it meant anything, and ask if he was busy, like it mattered. Wished him a good lunch, like you didn’t know, like he wasn’t different. Wasn’t this. Like you weren’t aware of how much brutality it takes for him to have a full stomach.

He knew himself, always aware, even when he wished he wasn’t. He prayed to be numb, wished to be cruel, begged and pleaded to be mindless. He was used to it for the most part, and still. There are moments.

When the night grows cold and unforgiving, when the hunger has finally subsided, what does he have? The crushed remains of someone else’s memories? He resents it, the part of him that wants, and oh does he want. The part that remembers how to hold, remembers the warmth of it. It makes him ill, sick as a dog, while he can taste the bile at the back of his throat.

The transformation had branded him like cattle. A grotesque scar that welted. It was both bleak and rampant. The metallic scent that never seemed to leave his clothes. The guilt that festers in his gut, the wailing that rings in his ears when the sky is still.

Sometimes he feels nothing, sometimes he’s angry, sometimes he sits with the butchered limbs and stares. He’s freezing from the inside out, always cold. Hunger is parasitic, the need to consume, the desperation of it, the shame that follows. The grief that gnaws at him, walking past pictures hung on the wall after he’s done.

They were happy. Closer than close, really. It fractures him. Always an observer but never by choice, he is an outsider with the hands of someone who will know you like no one else. Breaking you open, palms sunk in past your lungs. They cradle your heart, consume you whole as the stars shine brighter than they ever have.

Jack is constantly bathed in carnage, with death painting his palette sweet and bourbon smooth. It coats his teeth like salvation and rots his blood like the plague. When he leans down for the first bite, when the flesh is unmarred. There’s a whisper in that dark that says this is the closest he’ll ever get.

You bid him goodnight on late-night deliveries.

He thinks you’re weird.

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You arrived bright and early, the morning air crisp, new.

Today was going to be a good day; business always seemed to slow on Saturdays, and your shift ended at noon. “Just black coffee- and an orange juice for the lady, a number eight to go,” grunted out and half-heartedly, not even looking up from his menu.

His wife, you assumed, was sitting across from him, picking at her old manicure like she had nowhere to be. They came often, regulars in every sense of the word.

The ink was already staining your hand as you scribbled. Then a quick nod, and you’re sticking the order to the call rack. Shoes clicking against patterned tile, the diner glowed orange. Adorned with windows from wall to wall.

You didn’t hate waking up early, but you definitely didn’t love it either. The sights sure could be nice, though. The sun peaking over the horizon, casting a haze on all the clouds it reached, made you feel cinematic, like a movie star or something.

Armed with freshly brewed coffee in one hand and a juice pitcher in the other, you marched back to the awaiting table. The steam wafting up as you poured, a glass of OJ already sweating onto the napery, “Speedy start today?” Customary small talk, totally easy.

Smoothing hands down your apron, acutely aware of the ticking timer for the to-go order. Your eyes flicked to the old cat clock, hung near the door right above the booth, a rough voice breaking the repetition, “Yeah, I got—“

Ding!

There it was, “Oh my- I’m so sorry, I’ll be right back!” Saved by the bell yet again, when you said regulars, you meant regulars before you. In your humble opinion, talking to people came fairly naturally. It was just something about how stern his stare was, his wife’s judgmental scoff every time you spoke. How they literally never seemed to want to be anywhere near each other.

You had been working hard for a year now, and the couple tucked into the back table had been ordering black coffee and orange juice before college. According to the head waitress, the two started coming in after their first date, a drive-in screening near the big lot of RossWood Inn.

Stumbling through the door, giggling, vibrant turquoise dangling from her ears, the whole nine yards. He romanced her till her head was spinning, high-school sweethearts they called them. Inseparable, all the way up until graduation, that is. He moved away, a sports gig in the city, promised her he’d be home with a shiny ring in no time, and he came home alright.

With some chick on his arm, his girlfriend at the time. They were supposed to move in together- until she got bored. Then guess who came running back. They married, settled down, never had kids, though. They don’t laugh much nowadays. The only similarities were the diner breakfast and those rustic earrings; she still wore them.

They contrasted a bit with her outfit, you think, but it was probably the sentiment more than anything. The greasy combo sat heavy as you tied the bag, kitchen heat making your hair frizz. You looked over, and she sighed something fierce; his eyes never leaving the morning paper. You pray a love that barren would never reach you.

Plastic rustling in your hold, an order handed off, and the door swung shut with a breeze.

Totally easy. Right.

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Pace brisk, you got off later than you initially planned to.

Not that you were mad about it, it just set your plans back a little. You were going to go home, order from the only asian food place in town, kick your feet up and watch TV, maybe pass out on the couch. Too full and super satisfied. An exquisite night.

Your movements were sluggish by the time you got to the steps, a letter sticking out of your rickety mailbox. A job for tomorrow, but that was tomorrow’s problem. The lock clicked shut, and you reached your room in record time. Clothes off, jammys on. Socks thumping against your stairs while you scanned the corridor, landing on the phone book folded neatly against the landline.

The silicone buttons are tacky under your fingers, dial tone crackling to life in your ear,

“This is the MayFlower Express; what are you craving tonight?’

And you ordered exactly what you ordered every other time, salivated just thinking about it. Maybe that was shameful to admit; however, it was you, and it was real. They probably recognized your voice at this point; none of it mattered, all background noise.

Your food would be arriving soon, and all would be right with the world. Time passed quickly as you made work of your chores list; sometimes your weekend job felt surreal. Everything was so mundane, then it just… wasn’t. Even the people you were fond of, you knew they would come home soaked head to toe in blood. The missing posters made you feel a certain way; you knew where they ended up and how they ended up there.

Meeting an untimely demise with the end of a dearest friend’s axe. The same guys who’d laugh at your stupid mail puns, the ones who made silly faces as you waved goodbye. What if you weren’t who you were? If it wasn’t the head of operations you’d run into that night, where would you be? The thought made you shudder; it was conflicting.

You had gotten somewhat close with a handful of them, at least it felt like it; they were kind to you. As kind as they could be anyway, it wasn’t up to them, not really. Bad situations, bad homes, bad people, and can you truthfully expect a wounded dog not to bite?

The devil’s mark seared onto gnarled skin, jaw clamped down before they could ever understand it was wrong. Their sorrow was devastating. They didn’t show it in the way most would, but you could still see it all the same. Perhaps that’s why you tried so hard to make it normal, to tell those same stupid jokes, they laugh like they don’t expect it.

Laugh like they haven’t in ages. Shoulders shaking with something akin to endearment, and all of a sudden, you were looking at someone who never got to grow up.

The doorbell interrupts your train of thought. Your food. Opening your door with the grace of a newborn giraffe, you sighed. Finally. Hands moving swiftly to pull out the array of containers, almost on autopilot, before a soft clatter sounds from your floor. A tiny sticker book.

You knew you ordered from this place too much. Picking it up with little ceremony, the note attached read ‘A gift for our favourite customer !!’ Both honoured and incredibly hurt at the same time, your thumb flicks open the first page. Most of them were mini versions of the dishes, and a flash of red stopped you mid-flip.

Taking up half the page was a medium-sized sticker of Vampified Lo Mein.

The noodles were replaced with a swirled intestine, and the veggies were chopped up  to resemble brain and liver. The light bulb that appeared over your head was comical.

Halloween was overlooked due to your job and responsibilities. Now standing alone in your kitchen, however, an idea sparked.

Was it stupid? Yes. Was it risky? Also yes. Did he scare you? Most definitely, but that’s not what you wanted to focus on. It was all too perfect. The problem? What if he gets offended and eats you as revenge?

You’d like to think you were a pretty self-aware person; on the other hand, did cannibals even get offended? Does he even count as a cannibal? He was technically a demon, and he ate humans, so. He started as a human, though— this was dumb. Your tendency to overthink would be your downfall.

You vaguely heard about what had happened, about the ritual, a sacrifice gone wrong. They told you about it along with another mumbled warning, horrific beyond what you could ever imagine, you’re sure. Either way, you didn’t want to come off as insensitive or way too into it.

What if it was super traumatic to even acknowledge, and that’s why he’s so brooding all the time? Now you’re all in his face like ‘haha, I have a sticker of your most dark and shameful quality.’ Alas, it would be really funny, and there was a chance he’d actually like it.

The most you had ever “talked” was when you’d say goodnight, which he responded to by nodding once. Or the first time you’d met him, and he said, “Alright.” Or when you came to drop off supplies, and he wasn’t there. You’d stand and wait, then say, “Oh, hey. Were you busy? I have the restock.” Where he would promptly, once again, nod.

He never seemed unnecessarily violent or cruel; he didn’t quite come off that way. Not like that meant you were reckless. You knew he was dangerous. And you weren’t naive enough to believe you were special or invincible. At the end of the day, these were people you worked with.

Maybe to some it was pushing the line of too personal, but they had given their lives and arguably, their freedom. Just for a chance at survival. To breathe another day, no matter how gruelling. The least you could do was speak to them like they were still alive. People with birthdays and favourite foods. You’d bet it was lonely to live like that.

So you were going to try.

And if anyone attempted to stop you, they were severely underestimating your need to be liked.

ᯓ★

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You awoke before the sun.

The dawn peaked through your curtains, highlighting the swaying dust motes like snow. A slow dance that you watched in contentment, preparing yourself for the day ahead. Last night, you went back out to grab the letter, finding that the newest assignment lined up with your plans. Perfect.

The job stated that there was a shipment to be collected at the northern border. A trail that dragged along the train tracks. It was a bit of a trek, but not too bad in the grand scheme of things. Walking long distances had become the last of your worries, after all. With the whole, you know, crypted employer thing. So you slipped your big boy boots on and headed to work.

Trudging into the ivory, you sighed. While the task itself was simple enough, it was the trees that annoyed you. The pine always caught in your hair, no matter how low you duck. Snagging your sweater and fraying your sleeves, you hated this forest, truly. Nonetheless, you continued your hike, grumbling to yourself.

With the pine crunching softly under your soles, you ventured into a wide clearing. A train horn resonated through the trees, sending the birds scattering. The ambiance overlapped, and you arrived at your destination. The delivery.

In the centre, sat a small crate. There was twine tied over the sides, looping on the top in a misshapen bow. For carrying purposes, you assumed.

Hands resting in your pockets as you approached, you crouched down. Taking the saved sticker pack from your jacket and peeling one off the parchment. You applied the decal with care, smoothing the edges down onto the wood for good measure. If he ate you in anger after, at least the box would still look nice.  

You hauled the supplies over your back using the make-shift satchel you’d crafted. The splintered oak dug into your back slightly, but you guessed discomfort came with the occupation. Then, you began your journey back to the destination. Home base, if you will.

Technically, you didn’t have a spoken alliance with any of the houses. You were a true neutral to the climate, which is why you’ve made it so far. Some of the proxies were nicer than others, some of them sneered at you from the sidelines- and some of them despised you. Loathed you for tampering, in their words. You didn’t belong in this world, didn’t fit in with the murderers and misfits.

They thought of you as an intruder. Something to be rid of, to slaughter and be done with. To be honest, it kind of hurt your feelings. It’s not like you’ve done anything, and it was their boss who chose you. They act as if you applied for the job of your own free will. It irked you in a way.

You were thrown into this without a choice- like, what were you supposed to do? Say no? Let the all-seeing forest creature absorb you when it gives you an obvious way out? You understood why some of them hated you, but you weren’t immune to the harshness. The clear disdain in their expressions at the mention of you. Still, it was better than being dead, you huffed.

Making peace with your internal monologue, you nudged past the shrubbery. The bundle was neatly packed onto your frame while you marched, before a condescending laugh halted you. Stopped dead in your tracks, you swivelled to find the source. Eyes scanning the bark aimlessly- until you spotted a figure.

A man with glowing yellow sockets, dressed in a dark, long coat. He contrasted with the lively evergreen, sticking out like a sore thumb and radiating malice.

The Puppeteer.

You’d only ever run into him once, and it nearly ended with you losing your life. Out of everyone, he seemed to despise you the most. He couldn’t stand your view on things. Your optimism, your tendency to try and befriend the worst of the worst. You were a pest in his eyes, a bug that didn’t know its place. An unkillable roach.

“Long time no see, courier.”

He spat out each word with venom, wrath already bubbling to the surface while he stepped closer. “This isn’t your neck of the woods, is it? Care to explain why you’re trespassing?” His verbal interrogation had you backing up. Swallowing dryly, you licked your lips. “I was just picking up a package- it was in my instructions.”

Though you knew well enough your answer wouldn’t satisfy him. It didn’t matter what you said; this wasn’t about you.

Scoffing, he cocked his head to the side, gaze boring into you. “Is that right?-” He chuckled humourlessly, speaking through gritted teeth. “You know, you always did get on my nerves. Pretending like this is normal, like you can just squeeze past with a please and thank you-” The disgust in his voice grew, and he closed in on your space.

“It’d be a mercy to kill you now- that dense little brain of yours wouldn’t be able to handle reality. You think this is a game? Some stupid part-time? Walking around like any of your ‘friends’ wouldn’t slit your throat in a fucking heartbeat-”

The pain sears through your arm before you can blink. A hot, prickling agony that spread from your bicep to your throat. His web of strings stretched from his fingertips, the glowing wires piercing your flesh through the sweater.

You choked on the feeling, knees threatening to buckle. This was not how you wanted to spend your shift.

Stumbling forward, you barely caught yourself when you collapsed. The crate slipped off your back, clattering to the dirt with a thud. He jeered violently. “Pathetic. You play pretend as if you fit amongst us, yet you can’t even take a hit? How weak are you? Honestly, you should thank me for ending it so early.” The blood soaked through your sleeve, and tears blurred your vision.

Could you ever catch a break? All you did was follow rules, do your job as you’re told. Your efforts in being cordial were for naught because he seemed set on wiping you clean off the face of the earth. Like seriously? The literal Operator himself was nicer to you; he even had employee benefits and decent pay. This was bullshit.

Your arm jerked up, the limb tugged roughly by Puppeteer’s strings. The cord sank further into your skin, and you muffled a sob. It hurt, it hurt so bad. He was going to rip off your arm, the fear of death making your throat taut.

With scarlet dripping onto the soil, you desperately clawed at the ground. A pitiful attempt in steeling your nerves. A last-ditch effort in calming yourself, even if it proved fruitless. Shutting your lids tight, you braced yourself and when you thought all hope was lost—

A familiar, sharp clink of an axe whizzed through the air.

The hatchet embedded itself into the man's shoulder with a grotesque thunk. Sending him tumbling away from you, his feet tripping as he gathered his bearings. The commotion caused you to jerk back, whipping to the side just in time to see Toby.

In all his double axed, goggle-wearing glory, had come to your aid.

You could cry.

Lunging in front of you, he yanked the weapon from Puppeteer’s body. Your attacker cussed loudly, scrambling off the floor. “This isn’t your fight, Tobias-” And Toby sneered. Hostile as he replied. “That’s f-fucking hilarious coming f-from you, Johnathan.” Readjusting his grip on the handle, he rolled his shoulders back. Standing tall.

“Fuck off, twitch. She doesn’t belong here, and you know it-”

“Yeah? Tell that t-to stickman then. You know what he’ll do to y-you if he finds out you’re f-fucking with orders.”

That seemed to be a threat in itself. The mention of their boss quieted the other man in a flash, and he stuttered mutely for a moment before huffing. “She’s not gonna’ fuck you, twitch.” His comment made the brunette's lip curl into a snarl, his head jolting lightly.

“You’re f-fucking disgusting. J-just because you died a miserable piece of shit, with no one mourning you, doesn’t mean we all have to s-suh-suffer. You know that, r-right?”

People can say what they want about Toby, but when he’s provoked, he knows how to cut and make it sting.

His remark had Puppeteer scowling, and he spun to leave, more irritated than he came. Barking over his shoulder one last time. “She’s not gonna’ last out here.” Though Toby didn’t dignify him with a response.

With the man's shape disappearing into the distance, he finally faced you. Dropping his hatchets to the dirt, he kneeled. “Hey, pidgy- s-sorry I came so late. I didn’t even know you were here.”

The worry- the fondness in his gaze made the dam crumble, and you hiccuped. Pidgy, a stupid nickname he came up with a while ago. It stemmed from messenger pigeon, and right now, it was your lifeline. Something about the endearment in it sliced through the stress, the violence of everything that’d unfolded. You reached for him, and he embraced you without hesitation.

“Man- what the fuck is his problem, Tobes?” Sobbing into his shoulders, he laughed softly at your wording. “No idea, but we g-gotta’ get your shoulder looked at, okay? C’mon, I’ll carry you.” Helping you up, he motioned for you to get onto his back.

“Toby, I still have to bring the supplies-”

“I’ll get the supplies- y-you’re literally bleeding out. P-please just get on.”

His clear exasperation made you grin a little. In a world of people like Puppeteer, there would always be people like Toby. And you thanked the heavens for that.

Awkwardly clutching your wound, you climbed onto him. Letting him hoist you up, snagging the crate by the twine on the way. You breathed out in relief as he started walking, yet concern flooded your mind. “Are you sure I’m not too heavy? The box isn’t that light either-” He cut you off with a snort. “I go out of my way to s-save you, and you’re calling me w-weak? That is s-so low-brow, even for you, pidgy.”

You puffed, of course that’s how he took it.

“That’s not what I meant, dweeb-”

“Dweeb? Wow, maybe I s-should drop you. Make you walk back yourself, since you wanna’ be mean a-about it.”

A beat, then you both burst out giggling. Your friendship with him was born of proximity, but you liked to think that even if you weren’t estranged co-workers, you’d still be close. Sometimes you wouldn’t see him for months, though that didn’t mean anything would change. Two peas in a pod, that was you and him. You just clicked.

He was easy to talk to, as surprising as that may be. You looked forward to your job half the time because you’d inevitably run into him. You’d yap and yap, going back and forth about the dumbest things. When you pictured the words “Best friend,” you pictured Toby.

Sinking into his hold, you sighed. The sound came out sappy, and he already knew what mood you were in. “I know, I k-know, I’m great. A t-total knight in shining armour.” You snickered, “Bro, whatever... thanks for like- not letting me die, though. It would’ve sucked to bleed out in front of an emo with side bangs.” Now that got you a full laugh.

“I’d never let y-you bleed out in front of an emo with side bangs. Unless that emo with front bangs w-was me.”

The silence that followed his joke was stale, and he coughed.

“... Kidding- I’m kidding. I w-wouldn’t, you know that, right? You’re my best friend, I’d never- like, y’know-”

“I know, you loser. You love me too much- besides, who else are you gonna’ gossip with in between being a crazy axe murderer?”

“Ha ha, y-you’re so original, and sooo funny.”

The roll in his eyes told you he was annoyed, but his stupid smile said otherwise. Crooked, it made the gash in his cheek quirk up. And he didn’t deny that he loved you, because the truth was? He did. Loved you lots, actually.

You were one of the only people who treated him like he was normal. Toby couldn’t exactly just go out and make friends, so your presence was always a pleasant one.

Even when he was younger, he was always somewhat isolated. By his family, his peers and seniors. Yet you never acknowledged any of the things he deemed to be flaws as such. They were just a part of him in your eyes, and he could see that every time he talked to you.

It’s a sensitive subject, something he doesn’t bring up often, if at all- but deep down, he thinks Lyra would’ve really liked you.

Somewhere along the way, you began snoring on his shoulder. Drooling a little, though you were almost killed, he couldn’t complain too much. Toby nudged you gently when you arrived at the porch, giving you a slight jostle. “Up and a-adams, we’re here.” Chuckling a little when you stirred, blinking at him like he was an alien.

Your wound wasn’t terribly deep; most of the blood had clotted. However, it was bad enough for your sleeve to be soaked through, and he was not taking any chances. He’d lost too many people to bad accidents for that. You groaned.

“Ugh, my arm hurts.”

“Yeah, well, you did kind of get mauled, so...”

Cringing while he set you down, you stiffly clutched at the gash. When all of a sudden, you remembered your stickers- your plans. “Oh god- oh my fuck.” The outburst had Toby quickly turning to you, already inspecting your arm. Worry staining his features, “What? What’s w-wrong-”

His expression swiftly faded into a deadpan once you floundered. “I put a cannibal sticker thing on the crate- I don’t know- it seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I’m bleeding everywhere. Do you think he’ll be mad?”

“You c-cannot be serious.”

“Tobes, I have never been more serious in my life.”

The look he gave you had you shrinking into your jacket. Okay, maybe it was a stupid idea. Jack was an enigma even amongst the proxies; you genuinely don’t know where you got the audacity to try and pull this off.

“... You don’t think he’ll eat me, do you?”

“Just g-get in the house.”

With that, the two of you crossed the patio. He opened the door on autopilot, ushering you into the foyer and locking the entry behind him. And the second you rounded the corner, you were face-to-face with another resident. The masked man who had let you in last time, this time with less mask. His face was bare, scarred and stern; he reminded you of those outlaws you’d see on comic book covers.

It also looked like he’d kill you for telling him that, and your mouth remained shut.

“Do I even wanna’ ask?” A thick southern drawl coated his almost fatherly disappointment. Toby chimed up from beside you, shrugging. “Puppeteer was lurking like a f-fucking freak near the drop off, got her right in the arm.” The older man’s eyes flickered down to the wound, then to the brunette. Clicking his tongue when he focused back on you.

“That boy ain’t nothin’ but trouble. Next time you go North, take one of us with you. Those bastards won’t quit if it’s just you, understand?” His tone was harsh, yet the offer of a guide warmed you.

It made sense; you were their singular source of outside materials. Still, a part of you chose to believe it was because he cared. Glass half-full and whatnot.

Nodding, you watched as he strode past. Indifferent to the blood. The hand on your non-injured wrist snapped you out of your thoughts, and Toby tugged you down the hall. Package by his side while you walk.

You reached the basement entrance after a short minute, the rickety staircase framed by the doorway. Your companion had lived here for years, and even he seemed tense. While Jack was the main medic of the group, he was never the most approachable. The eyeless man was a step above the rest, a fact that everyone knew by this point.

He was half reaper, half salvation. Playing both roles seamlessly, it’s what gave him his edge. The care he gave wasn’t out of heart, but necessity instead. An obligation, a binding contract.

It’s why they only came to him if absolutely needed. And now, you were going to bother him with a dumb sticker and a wound you’d gotten because you were too friendly. Allegedly.

Toby nudged you ahead, gesturing you down the steps. The worn planks creaking as you descended, and you reached the concrete quickly. There, in the corner, stationed on a desk chair, was Jack. Absently flipping through a scruffy anatomy book, his head tilted up upon your arrival.

The brunette spoke first, clearing his throat. “Got your s-supplies- her arms fucked up, though. We need to p-patch it up.” The “We need you, specifically, to patch it up” went unsaid, but he got the memo.

Rising from his spot, he towered over you as he encroached. Motioning for you to take a seat on the metal table. The surface was cool beneath you, and Toby leaned on the counter across the room. He gave you a subtle thumbs up, cracking a grin to soothe your nerves. The luminescent glare bathed the space beakly, constantly humming like static. It made the lab more eerie than it had to be, but at least you had a friend.

Unfortunately for you, that comfort did not last.

From upstairs, an accented voice yelled for Toby. Informing him that he was required for some task. Something about a new assignment, and he gave you an apologetic shrug. Rushing up the steps and leaving you alone.

With no one to distract you, you were forced to pretend you weren’t aware of every shift Jack made. He moved briskly, exact. Making his way to you stiffly, the cannibal rumbled low in his chest. “You need to remove your coat. I can’t operate like this.” His instructions were easy enough, and you shook off your jacket. The outer layer now removed, he halted. Contemplating before he mumbled.

“I have to cut off the sleeve.”

Well, this sweater had seen better days, you supposed. After you nodded, he got to work. Snipping along the seam at your shoulder, his hands were swift yet careful. He held your arm with a shocking amount of tenderness, as if he didn’t want to hurt you further. The strong alcohol scent made you sniffle, and your gaze drifted to the crate. Your sticker.

Would this be a bad time to bring it up? He didn’t feel that agitated currently, though it was still a risk. A risk that you were willing to take, that is.

You swung your feet lightly while he cleaned the gash, mentally preparing yourself for the conversation. A beat passes, and you craned your neck to him. From this distance, you could observe him up close. And upon doing so, an alarming thought crossed your consciousness.

Jack was kind of... attractive. In a veiled, magnetic way. His presence came off sedative, lulling you into a fuzzier headspace.

He was still intimidating, but watching him be so meticulous about the process was oddly calming. Perhaps it was foolish, yet you couldn’t help placing trust in him. A whisper in the back of your mind that told you that you were in safe hands.

Breaking the silence, you hummed, staring at your shoes. “I found a sticker the other day, it reminded me of you.” Though your comment was lighthearted, he paused as if you’d just delivered grave news. Jack was stunned for a moment; his fingers hovering over the displayed tools. Then he grunted quietly, resuming his objective.

Okay, not a bad reaction. He wasn’t mad, that you could tell.

So you continued, having a one-sided talk with the mysterious medic. “It’s vampified Lo-mein, y’know... ‘cause you eat organs and stuff.” This time, his head lolled a fraction to the side, and you felt his eyes on you. “... I see.” Barely audible, his acknowledgment sparked a reasurrence in you.

“I got it from my take-out order, I actually totally forgot about Halloween- but I thought it was fitting.”

“Mm.”

“The boxes are usually so sad looking- not that I think you’re sad looking. I just wanted to spruce up the packaging a little.”

“Mm.”

The conversation flowed with a shocking amount of ease. It was mostly just you speaking, yet Jack appeared content, indulging in your mindless remarks. His responses were short, small hums and grunts here and there. However, they were existent, and that was enough.

Then he said something that threw you off. In the middle of inspecting the area, he nudged his mask at your other hand. “Your finger.” A plain statement that made you look down.

There, on your ring finger, sat a shallow cut. Scabbed over and barely noticeable, yet he saw it anyway. You tittered dumbly, unsure of what to make of his admission.

“Ah, I guess I scraped it when I fell or something.” Simply put, he took your words as confirmation. Turning to rifle through his tools placed on the cart, he pulled out a small cliche-esk medical-box. A red cross was painted on the lid, and he opened it, picking up a Band-Aid.

You held out your hand mutely, to which he responded by grasping the limb softly. Steadying your wrist as he smoothed the wrapping over your knuckle. Finishing the job, you couldn’t hide the grin that tugged at your lips. The bandage itself was colourful enough, but the part that made you laugh was the design.

A cat with rounded ears and a fluffy tail. Cartoonishly bright.

The quiet giggle halted him, the man going to complete the prior task. However, he seemed almost bashful, answering your unspoken question with a hushed, “I thought you’d rather that one over the others.” Turning your attention to the box’s contents- jumbled adhesives with only a few vivid amongst the beige. Jack had linked your personality to vibrancy.

It was endearing.

Cleaning the damaged skin, he swiped the deep cut with an antiseptic pad. It was cold, then it began to sting. Your reaction was involuntary, a little squeak when you jolted. It had him hesitating for a second, then he muttered. “Apologies, I’ll warn you next time.” And that statement changed your perception of him by a mile.

Again, maybe it was stupid- but perhaps he really was just a guy. Cooped up in his little basement med-bay and introverted. You understood why people were scared of him; it was obvious, logical even. Still, he seemed genuinely thoughtful, not sadistic in the slightest, like you were made to believe. You knew if he wanted to be harsher, he could’ve been. Knew if he was irritated, he would’ve made it clear.

The thing was, he hadn’t, and he wasn’t. The people you’d run into on the clock were way more violent and volatile than Jack. You’d would’ve picked interacting with the cannibal over someone like Puppeteer any day.

He finished tying the bandage over your bicep with little ceremony. Stepping away from you with a slight nod, you hopped off the table. Facing him with a grin, now on your feet. “Thank you, doctor.” You held your hand in the air, pushing your closed knuckles towards him.

A fist bump.

His mask dips down a tad, then back up. For a moment, you thought you blew it- until his knuckles knocked into yours. Lightly, and a little awkwardly, if you had to admit. Jack’s skin was chilled to the touch before he rigidly dropped the contact. It was evident that he hadn’t done anything of the sort in a long while. And you laughed, giving him a mock salute. Grabbing your coat, you spun to leave. Looking at him a final time, cheerful when you exited.

Back upstairs, you felt a sense of accomplishment. That definitely could’ve gone worse, and you gave yourself a pat on the back. Your boots thudded against the floorboards as you entered the foyer- just to immediately slam into another body. The two of you stumble back, unbalanced from the collision.

Blinking as you steady your footing, you looked up to find a man with shaggy, dark hair and a striped nose. Well, he was more clown than man, but same difference. A monochrome colour palette, adorned with layered feathers at his neck.

You don’t know how you missed him; the guy was massive. Tall enough to reach the ceiling, he stared at you in surprise. The paint on his face cracked a tad when his lips quirked up.

“A human..? Oh! I know, I know! You’re the little messenger bird, aren't you?”

Clapping his hands (claws?) manically at his own realization, he hunched over to your level. Cocking his head to the side, “Oh, my. What on earth happened to you, little birdy?” He prodded, glancing at your bandaged shoulder. You gave an unsure chuckle in return.

While he seemed friendly, you could never be too careful around here. “I was grabbing the supplies- um, I don’t know if you know him, but Puppeteer said I was in his territory. He tried to kill me; it was a whole thing.” Explaining your situation defeatedly, he hummed. Theatrically tapping his chin with a pointed nail.

“Puppeteer... Puppeteer- yes! He is such a drag, no? Always down in the dumps, he never laughs, even though I’m so funny. I really should just tear that spine of his out- save us all the trouble.”

Sometimes you forget they’re all psychopaths to a certain degree, and that irony was not lost on you.

You shrugged, nodding. You hoped he saved that murderous intent for people who deserved it, and not for poor mailmen. The clown notices your discomfort after a second, leaning down closer to your face. “Don’t worry, I pinky promise not to shred you to bits. Between us, I think you and your little packages are quite quaint.” The razor-sharp grin he gave you after did not help his statement, but you digress.

Humming while you side-stepped. You were squeezing past him with a tight smile when he stopped you, gasping loudly. “Where are my manners?! Jack, pleased to make your acquaintance.” Bowing dramatically, your eyebrows raised at how much space he truly took up. His shoulders were so broad they nearly blocked the hall, and you stuttered. Wait, Jack?

The obvious confusion in your features made him giggle. Shrill as he straightened up. “There are two Jacks in this house, my dear. The scary one downstairs is eyeless. I come from a music box-” Pushing into your space once more, his tone dropped to a whisper. “It’s where the ‘Laughing’ part of my name comes from, a literal Jack in the Box. Isn’t that fun?” His eyes swirled, sparkling brightly.

LJ’s enthusiasm was appreciated, but you were still slightly fearful when you agreed. Your gaze followed him up when he bounced, excited to have made a new companion, it seemed. The clown waved you off, and you made a very perplexed trek to the front door. How many people even lived here?

Finally, you stepped outside, inhaling deeply. Though your solace was short-lived because a sharp clang sounded from your left. Jumping almost a foot into the air, you whipped to the source- Toby.

Standing to the side of the manor, his hatchet was raised above his head, and he brought it down swiftly. The iron blade connects with a chopped stump, the force shuddering through the patio. Too focused on the task at hand, he failed to notice you. Huffing to himself.

You clutch your jacket closed over your chest as you approach. With the leaves bristling, you call for him when you’re about an arm's length away. “Toby, what are you doing?” Your voice made his head shoot up, and he rubbed his neck, sighing. “G-getting firewood, if I don’t, we’ll freeze later- how’s your arm?” Always a worrywart.

Stretching, you circled his workspace. Sitting on the rusted bench that was off-centre to the porch. “As good as it can be- also, how many roommates do you have, man?” You snickered, reclining while he threw his axe to the dirt. The question had him running a tired palm down his face.

“Way too many, y-you have no idea. Why?”

“Because you never told me there were two Jacks, I got cornered by a clown on the way out- I think he was nice, though. Sorta.”

Toby’s body language shifted at the mention of the other proxy. Suddenly grimmer than you expected, he narrowed his eyes. “Did he s-suh-say something to you? Did h-he try shit?” The concern flooded off of him, and he walked in front of you.

Though you were quick to pacify him. “No, nothing like that, he just asked what happened to my arm. He wasn’t like super weird about it or anything- is he bad?” Mumbling, your answer made his shoulders less tense, and he plopped next to you.

Resting his weight on his knees, he exhaled heavily. “LJ’s u-unpredictable. Sometimes he’s fine, and t-then he’ll flip over the most random s-shit. I- just be careful, okay? I’m not t-trying to bury you, too.” Said with a rawness that fell over you like a blanket. There was a fear there, a grief that drowned his words.

He’d told you about his past a bit ago. Telling you how he grew up, about his mom and his dad. How terrible it was to live in that house, and how much he missed his sister. Under all his aggression, his hostility and humour- there is a boy who is constantly afraid of losing.

The vulnerability had your heart aching, and you scooted closer. Hugging his arm to your chest with your chin on his shoulder. “I’m fine, Tobes. I swear I’m not gonna’ evaporate out of nowhere.” You felt him lean into you, grunting mutely. “I know, it’s just like- y-you shouldn’t even be here. Not s-saying I don’t want you here, it’s just dangerous. We’re not... we’re not good people, pidgy.” His confession was agonizingly soft.

You think the guilt Toby carried must be devastating.

Smushing your cheek into his sweater, you drew in a slow breath. “It wasn’t your fault, and you are good-” He scoffed, yet you continued anyway. “You are. You don’t do this because you like it, or because you want to see people suffer- it’s because you have to. I would know, you’re my best friend. And you tell me everything.” Ending it on a sappy note, it made his lips twitch up despite himself.

“Yeah, I do. Probably w-way too much, actually.”

“Definitely too much, you’re not even cool and mysterious anymore. You spilled all your secrets, negative points to your brooding persona for sure.”

“I am not brooding- and if I was, I’d be s-super cool about it.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Y-yuh huh.”

A moment of nothing but the wind and the faint chirp of sparrows- before you both giggled. Toby appreciated you more than you’d ever know. Always by his side, no matter what, an anchor when he was straying from shore. You made things lighter, easier to bring up. It was nice.

His shoulder was comfortable, and he was warm. Taking a break to rest your eyes when something hard stabbed you in the ass. Jerking in place, Toby looked at you, confused.

You had completely forgotten about your other plan.

Earlier that week, you’d stopped by a pawn shop to pick up some flip phones. While he did have something to contact the other proxies on, he didn’t have a personal device. Something that was simply meant for reaching him. You had taken the initiative, buying one for him and one for you.

As much as you loved the guy, he was still a serial killer. It would not be smart to just have his contact on your work phone. So this was your solution. It’d mean you wouldn’t have to wait months to see him, and you could bother him when you were bored. Like normal folk do.

Sticking your tongue between your teeth in focus, you reached into your back pocket. Digging out the mobile caller and holding it out to him with a grin. Snorting when he squinted at your gift.

“Surprise!”

“Is that a flip phone?”

“No, it’s a sandwich- yes, you loser, it’s a flip phone. So I don’t have to see you bi-monthly like we’re soldiers at war.”

His face was unreadable, then he puffed. Ruffling your hair with a snigger. “Y-you’re an idiot. You didn’t have to spend money; I could’ve figured it out.” You shook your head, disagreeing with fervour. “You know I love you, but you’re super broke, and I don’t need you getting arrested for petty theft.” And his jaw dropped.

“First off, I would not g-get caught-”

“Crazy idea, bring back being grateful.”

Toby’s mouth clamped shut at that, and he pouted. “... Thank you.” Rolling his eyes playfully while you smiled in triumph. “You’re welcome.” Both of you shoved at each other, laughing over the stupid argument.

He walked you home after, making sure you locked the door before he left. Even though you technically came close to dying, it was an overall pretty good day.

Sighing as you sank into the comfort of your own bed, you went over your mental checklist. Give Jack the supplies with the sticker? Success. Give Toby the phone so you could harass him when he worked? Success. It’d been a productive shift, if you do say so yourself.

All you had to worry about now was how to get an over seven-feet-tall cannibal to fall for you.

ᯓ★

➽──────────────❥

Humans were strange.

Maybe not all, but you definitely were. An outlier on Jack’s scale of interactions. You didn’t fit, not really. He struggled to categorize you, struggled to shove you into a box with the rest.

At the beginning, he’d brushed you off. You were simply another worker, another body to carry the burden. And you still were, it’s just that you confused him from time to time. The things you did, the choices you made, were never logical. Your ambition was unfounded, your common sense flawed. He had never entertained the conversations thoroughly, or with unwavering attention-

Yet you seemed unfazed.

It bothered him more than it should have. The cannibal didn’t particularly hate you or anything like that; it was the aftermath that he disliked. For whatever reason, your departures that followed the scheduled drop-offs always left him oddly... empty. An out-of-place ache in his chest that refused to budge. And that feeling only worsened over the months, incessant in staying, no matter how hard he ignored it.

Additionally, your scent was also becoming a problem.

See, Jack’s nose was very, very sensitive. Precise and capable of breaking down smells to each individual note. Which was helpful when he was deciphering how far along a cadaver was in the decomposition process. Useful when he needed to discern what stage an infection had reached- yet currently, it was nothing more than an irritation.

The problem began prior to your most recent visit. Last month, on a Sunday, was the first occurrence. It happened once you’d vacated his lab, and he was alone. Fixed in the spot you stood moments before, he inhaled deeply. Letting the lingering fragrance fill his lungs. Your aroma was unique to you; everyone’s was. A distinct balm that stuck to your skin.

He remained unmoving for at least five minutes straight, and the shameful part was that he wasn’t even aware of it until far too late.

You’d think a being so old would be past embarrassment, but the blue tinge in his ears proved otherwise. Unaccompanied in his med-bay, he chuffed quietly to himself. His claws flexed stiffly as he pretended that it hadn’t occurred.

It was probably because he was hungry, that’s all.

Chalking it up to an unfed stomach, he went hunting. And when he returned, your scent was long gone. So he moved on, not persisting in the thought more than necessary. Returning to his solitary routine, he found peace. (For the most part)

Then you came back.

Injured, you had walked up to him timidly. With Toby at your side, the brunette explained the events that caused your wound. Of course, Jack wasn’t squeamish; he’d seen all there was to see of the mortal vessel. It was the overwhelming amount of your scent that had him reeling. Your flesh and bone, the deep-seated sweetness of it. It made him salivate the second you entered his space.

The odium buried itself in his gut the second after. You’d come to him with trust, with the belief that he was good. That he would help- and he did. Jack helped you with drool collecting on his tongue. Aided you with an appetite behind his molars. Bandaged your wound with starvation gnawing at every fibre in his body. You’d be disgusted if you knew, and you’d be right to.

It’s the reason he failed to understand you. Your motives and goals were a grey area, a desolate patch in his mental diagram. You talked just to talk, brought him stickers as if you were friends. It was strange, and he thought about your perception of the proxies often.

Jack was aware of your relationship with Tobias and the comfort that you brought the boy. He talked about you, brought you up sporadically. Said that you were kind, that you cared more than you should, that he was fond of you. It was clear to him why Toby liked you so much- what puzzled him was why you stuck around.

Everyone in this forsaken mansion was condemned to hell and back. Their hands were stained with more blood than you could possibly imagine. So why?

Why did you stay? Why did you patch up the axe wielder's scrapes when you’d witnessed firsthand what he was capable of? Putting colourful band-aids on the smallest cuts, even when he’d told you himself that he couldn’t feel pain.

You both fascinated and unnerved him. It’s not like you were dim-witted; he knew that you knew what they did. Who they’d become when the static of an order came through. Who they were when dusk settled over the trees.

Such a peculiar creature, he thought.

Organizing the scalpels laid out before him, he arranged them in order of size. Sharpness and use came first, then wear and tear followed. Jack lined up the new shipment you’d delivered, discarding the blunt ones to make room.

All on schedule, he diligently kept at the task until everything was in place. And when his workspace was finally initialized, the cannibal stretched his neck from side to side.

He was hungry again, and his stomach acid demanded something solid. A feeling he’d unfortunately grown used to, he straightened his spine. It was late, and he’d been working down here since early morning. So with his to-do list finished, he decided it was time to feed. But not before noting the date on the calendar.

Jack’s rut was arriving soon.

ᯓ★

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A hitchhiker, from the looks of it.

Dragging duffel bags along the gravel, the man had gotten lost on the trail. Aimlessly finding his way through with a flashlight, he stopped to tie his shoe. Crouching down, he was distracted by the rope, and Jack thought he was broad enough for a full stomach.

Stalking near, his claws flexed, preparing to strike. He lunged from the darkness, piercing his talons into yielding skin. The victim didn’t even have time to scream, his windpipe swiftly bitten off by Jack’s unhinged maw. A clean sever, the tendons and muscles crunched under his canines, and he swallowed. Yet when he was hunched over the corpse, ripping cartilage from bone- he froze.

There, in the centre of the man's chest, was a pendant. A symbol he had fought tooth and nail to forget. It was the crest of an old testament, meant to represent worshippers of death and avarice.

Flashes of the ritual took hold of his mind. The fear of it, the black tar that filled his veins like lava. The agony of being changed.

He was stretched and gutted, mutated into something wrong that night. The transformation had left him in an irreversible state, and when the followers had believed they’d won, he stole their valour in a blink. Blinded by the excruciating hunger, he sank his teeth into every body he could get a hold of. It was nothing short of a massacre. Annihilation at its finest.

When he’d reached the last one standing, the man wailed like a wounded animal. Cursed him, damned him by their god's law. Spoke an incantation that would bring rot to Jack’s malice if he ever consumed devoted flesh.

The memory is as vivid as it is violating.

There were only a select few, a small community of unwell folk. Deranged into believing that greed and carnage would gift them something grand. A purpose larger than life and a way into the heavens. As if worshipping a mortal-consuming demon would ever get them anywhere close. Obviously, they hadn’t done their research- because the ritual had gone to shit.

Jack was supposed to be a vessel, not a host. Yet instead of corrupting his soul and assailing, the entity bound itself.

The black magic had woven into his DNA, making it inseparable from his form. It ruined him, turned him into this. And in return, he had devoured them eyes first. Taking his time to ensure the pain lasted, hunting them down until their temple was barren. He was sure he’d slaughtered them all- so what the fuck was this?

Digging through the body’s pockets, he snagged out an ID. Useless. He moved onto the luggage, and inside, he discovered paperwork. Apparently, the guy wasn’t doing well. Never married, with no kids and no surviving family. Jack worked through the pile with haste, searching to identify whether the cult was an active threat or not. He knew they stuck together in packs, always needing enablers to survive.

No friends either, no contacts or connections. The deceased had gone bankrupt trying to start another commune. Selling pamphlets with a lacklustre regimen, it seemed that the twenty-first century wasn’t a fan of sacrifices. Not outwardly, anyway.

He reclined onto his haunches, sighing. A straggler. While the sight of the emblem had him uneasy, at least the worst of it was over.

Though his relief quickly fled when nausea began punching up his throat.

The gravel trail beneath scraped into his knees through the denim, grating the skin. He could taste the bile, a pungent regurgitation of raw meat and blood. The usual pleasant metallic tang had turned putrid, and he gagged violently. Undeniably sick from the bites he took.

It came in waves, making him sway on the spot. Collapsing forward, his claws dug into silt. Dry heaving as he retched. Jack clumsily stumbled off the half-eaten corpse, dragging himself to rest against a tree nearby. He slumped onto the trunk, gasping weakly while he fought to stay upright.

The bark was abrasive, only worsening his condition. Everything was suddenly too much, and it overwhelmed his senses. The crickets were too loud, the wind too sharp. It hurt.

He shuddered; he hadn’t been ill in decades. His body had become used to the lack of mortal ailments, so the foreign seediness was amplified tenfold. It rattled him from the inside out, blurring his vision and impairing his judgment. He could barely even see in front of him.

With his eyes failing to focus, he swallowed a mouthful of vomit. It was disgusting, and the worst of it had yet to come. Seemingly out of nowhere, despite his unsettled stomach, his mouth had started watering. The drool slipped past his teeth, dripping from his snarl. Jack needed to get rid of the taste, or he’d fucking die here.

The cannibal tried everything he could think of. After crawling up, he supported his weight on the oak. Staggering a bit when he reached blindly for some fruit hanging off the shrubbery. The berries crushed in his hand, and he forced them down.

However, the produce did little to help, not soothing his revulsion in the slightest. Then, he tried shovelling the stained dirt and sand into his gullet. Though that hadn’t worked either. The craving for blood only amplified the longer he went, and his gut felt like it was consuming itself. He was so hungry.

So hungry he couldn’t think. Starved enough to devour anything in his path. And his forehead was damp with cold sweat when he heard it. Heard you.

Stepping out from the greenery, you were none the wiser to your impending doom. The cruel fate that awaited you for simply being in the wrong place at the right time. Your scent called to him like a siren's song, sweet and tempting. It curled into the wind, beckoning him. Acting as a noose around your neck while he closed in.

You held a package under your arm, another delivery to a separate house, he assumed. With your back to him, you readjusted your grip. Whipping around when a deep growl resounded throughout the forest. It tore through the silence. Interrupting the chirp of evening birds and the whistling breeze. It took a moment, but you spotted the disturbance as you glanced up.

Enveloped in shadows, stood Jack. His shoulders were beyond tense, jolting with narrowly contained strength. You could feel his gaze, even blocked by the darkness; it had weight. He surveyed you like prey, his mask sitting limply against his hair. From your spot, you could make out the shape of his jaw. The red that smeared his skin, and the mangled remains behind him. You were no longer staring at a medic.

In that moment, you realized why they’d warned you. Why they drilled the stories and myths into your head, why they were so desperate for you to understand. He wasn’t dangerous because he chose to enact, chose consume and desecrate.

Jack was dangerous because he didn’t.

He wasn’t human, and his harm lay in the lack of decision in that. His appetite wasn’t controllable, a carnal need not even he could govern. It accursed him the same way it accursed you. And now you were stuck in a cage with a beast that hadn’t been fed. The key was out of reach, existing in theory and never in practice.

Sure, you could try to run, but would that really do anything except prolong the chase? Stretch the dread that would cease solely when your rib cage was ripped open. Death had come for you in the shape of talons and grief. Taken form in an amalgamation of empty sockets and puppeted limbs. Driven by hunger and hunger alone. There was no way out.

Face to face with the man, you inhaled shakily. Dropping the box to the ground before relaxing your posture. There was no point in being defensive; he could overpower you in a second. The best bet you had was asking him to be swift, and you went to speak- only to be cut off by a strained rasp.  

“Suh- s-sorry.”

His voice crackled like an old radio. The pitch warbly, baritone so low it sounded as if he was choking on the syllables. It rumbled through the roots. Reverberating up your spine to the base of your skull, along with crystalline fear. You were terrified. Frozen in place, his word was the singular notice you got- and he advanced in a blink.

Lurching over you, your back collided harshly with the uneven soil. The rock was sharp against your skin, piercing your jacket while you trembled. Letting out a stifled sob, you gaped at him wide-eyed. A mute plea for him to end it quickly. Then, his claws sank into your arms, and the pain erupted, burning hot.

Your chest caved up and down in repetition. Hyperventilating as Jack waged war with himself above you. He didn’t want to, god knows he didn’t- but you smelled so good. The wound you’d acquired had yet to heal, and the blood wafting up made him salivate. Acid pooled at the back of his throat, nudging him to lean down.

He buried his nose into your collar, breathing in deeply before licking a stripe up your neck. And when his canines broke flesh, you screeched.

Your hands flew to his sides, desperately clawing at the fabric. It was nothing short of excruciating, the sensation blistering you like frostbite. Your muscles were spasming, contracting viciously from the tear. The grasp on his sweater tightened, and water filled your eyes. Streaking down your cheeks while he groaned.

Lapping at the gash, he gulped down mouthfuls of the thick liquid. You tasted utterly fucking divine. Sugary and euphoric on his palette. He prodded his tongue deeper into the laceration, slurping messily at the sinew. Your blood felt like an elixir, a cure packaged in cords and ligaments- he couldn’t stop. The shame in himself wracked his frame, his gut wrought into shape by disgust, yet he continued anyway.

Black tar poured from under his lids, dripping onto your face, and Jack wailed. Akin to a wounded animal, his anguish seeped into your lungs.

Perhaps it was the blood loss, the pain making your head foggy, but a part of you ached for him. Execrated by a malignity that was never his own, it’d be unfair to loathe him for it. Despise him for a fate that you wouldn’t wish on the already damned.

You think if you’d met under different circumstances, when the air around him had yet to be tainted, he would’ve been kind.

The crescent hung bright over the tree's edge, the glow mingling with the clouds in wisps. It was pretty. An enjoyable view to gaze at in your final hour.

Raising your hand, you cupped his nape. Running your thumb against the edge of his hair. By this point, you’d lost feeling in your neck, your brain failing to send signals to your nerves. The sharp pangs had dulled to a spark that flickered here and there. Your head was pounding when your arm fell to the dirt. Lying limp as he feasted.

Jack hadn’t fully torn off the chunk he’d bitten into. Chewing the frayed muscle that came loose and drinking the blood that spilled instead. Yet the damage had been done, and when he pulled back, it was too late.

It took at least half of your body’s plasma to ease the manifested hunger. Draining almost all your life source to give him clarity. With his voracity finally satiated, he slouched onto his knees, looking down.

Beneath him, you lie pale. Blinking slowly, once, twice, like it took all your strength. His eyes drifted to the injury, the gaping hole left by his teeth. A gnarled thing, the flesh was nearly torn to shreds. It made him sick.

Adrenaline kicking into overdrive, he moved with urgency. Hooking one arm under your knees and the other supporting your back, he hoisted you up. Carrying you, he pushed off his heel. Bolting through the timber faster than he ever had. You were not dying tonight. Not when he could save you, not when he would’ve done anything to go back in time.

He should’ve been stronger, tried harder. Could’ve, should’ve, would’ve- but he hadn’t, and now you were paying the price. Not only were you undeserving, but you were also pertinent to your role. A necessity, one that would not be easily replaced. The system was complicated, tricky to maneuver, and the true neutrality you offered was rare. Jack could not afford to lose you.

His feet struck the earth in desperation, steps thundering and rapid while he rushed to the manor. Luckily, his superhuman strength hastened his journey, and he reached the courtyard before your pulse withered completely. Rushing up the stairs, he slammed open the door. Darting down the hall and passing the living room. Toby saw you first.

The commotion had caused a ruckus, and he’d turned the corner just to witness your body in Jack’s arms. You looked like you were dead. Lips tinted with blue, your arms slack while the cannibal sped into the basement. The second thing he noticed was the clear bite taken out of your throat. The dried salt on your cheeks and blood under your nails. As if you had fought.

He wanted to vomit.

Sprinting after the other man, he borderline crashed into the cellar door. Jack had locked it behind him, and Toby roared. Screaming at the top of his lungs as he pounded his fist against the barrier. “W-WHAT THE FUCK DID Y-YOU DO, EJ?” He rammed his shoulder into the frame, throwing his weight against the wood. It shook the walls, and he grit his teeth.

“Open t-the door— OPEN THE F-FUCKING DOOR.”

The entry creaked loudly with every collision, finally giving way with a resounding final crash. The lock splintered, and he jumped down the staircase two steps at a time, filled with panic. The brunette charged into the lab, skidding to a halt when he spotted you.

Sprawled across the padded metal table, your chest didn’t even appear as if it was moving. He scrambled near, interrupted by Jack’s bark. “Do not move her. She’s lost too much blood- I have to focus-” Toby scoffed, hostile. “A-and who’s fucking fault is that? All s-she ever did was fucking talk to you. S-suh-sick fucking freak.”

“I wasn’t- she ran into me when I was hunting-”

“So you couldn’t hold back? J-just had to eat, right? It just h-had to be her? Out of everyone, it had to be f-fucking her?”

“If I don’t operate now, she will die, Tobias.”

The gravity of the situation shoots him through the chest. His feet were unsteady under him, his hands shaking when he slumped against the counter. Biting his nails until the skin is raw, bleeding while he watched the medic work. This wasn’t happening, it wasn’t.

You were fine. You were fine yesterday. You were fine when you gave him the phone, grinning brighter than the sun.

You were good, wholeheartedly good. So why were you here? In this decrepit basement, bleeding out with your throat shredded. It wasn’t fair. He had so little, wanted so little. You were his best friend, the only person he felt at home with. The only person who didn’t deserve to be on that table.

His head jerked aggressively to the side, teeth grinding so hard they could shatter. In front of him, Jack hurriedly prepared the surgical bed.

Dashing back and forth through the room, his hands flew to the tools. He needed to close the wound and close it fast, hook you up to fluids before you were gone for good. Pressing gauze to the opening, he held it firm, ripping open a sterile needle with his canines.

When the fabric soaked through, it was thrown onto the cement. Landing with a wet smack. And the action was followed by him splashing saline solution haphazardly on the puncture.

The bite hadn’t gone deep enough to pierce your carotid artery. It did, however, cut through the initial layer of muscle. Damage to the STA. He cursed, huffing. While not life-threatening in its current state, you were still at risk for hemorrhaging if not treated correctly.

Your pulse causes the laceration to sputter. Heartbeat pushing the plasma non-stop, and flicking scarlet up his forearms. The skin on your neck had been torn, not sliced. Therefore, he needed to rid the wound of non-viable tissue. Jagged flesh that lacked blood flow would most definitely rot if left alone.

Jack stabilized his grip, focusing on the incision. He glided the scalpel along the tears, cleaning the teeth marks into something neater. Tidier and easier to stitch. Isolating the segment, he switches instruments. Silver nitrate sticks were always stocked due to the proxy's constant recklessness- and they were needed now more than ever.

A pin drop could be heard in that moment. Toby couldn’t move, and his foot tapped rapidly. You needed to live, you had to.

Prepping the area, Jack noted your bleeding had clotted enough to apply petroleum jelly. The moisture from the wound would work as an activator, mixing the chemicals upon impact. After spreading the salve, the caustic pencil hovered over the abrasion. By heaven's name, this was going to work; there was no other option.

The lights buzzed to the thrum of your heart, and he lined up to cauterize the vessel. It sizzled atop the artery, only in contact with your capillary for a few seconds. Then, it was quickly removed when Jack deemed the slit closed. Every muscle in his body pulled tight, his back screaming from being hunched over your form.

Casting the thing aside, he moved on to the external mutilation. A thin needle was pinched between his fingers, the steel cold and sharp. This was going to work.

You weren’t conscious enough to struggle, and he began suturing the gash shut. The non-absorbable thread wove in and out of the wound's edge. A ladder-like pattern, before he snagged the stitching taut. Shutting the gaping brawn in one pull.

Still, he held his breath.

Not progressing with any less urgency, he connected you to the standby cardiac monitor once he’d bandaged your throat. With you attached to an IV drip, his attention strayed to the telemetry. The screen beeped to life, displaying your vitals. The notches dip, rising with your respiratory rate until they read stable, and he collapsed into a chair near your bedside.

A successful hemostasis.

Toby shoved off the counter, approaching the operating table. His trembling hand found yours, and he laced your fingers together. “She’s f-fine, isn’t she?” Muttering, he turned to Jack, the man nodding in response. “She’s stable, she just needs to rest. The parenteral nutrition will keep her levelled for now, but she’ll need food when she wakes up.” Gesturing to the bags hanging next to the monitor as he spoke.

The brunette shifted where he stood, glancing back at your connected palms. He wished you never met any of them. Wished that you could’ve stayed far away from this mess. A victim of circumstance, you didn’t deserve to be hooked up to all these machines. Stuck in a blood-stained basement because you wanted to help, because you were doing your job the way you were supposed to- it wasn’t fair.

You looked so weak, fragile, while you lay unmoving on the cot. The question of ‘what if’ plagued his mind over and over again. What if you hadn’t made it back in time? What if the bite had gone just a little deeper- then what? Would he have to bury you with the rest?

Mourn an unmarked grave, walking past missing posters of you stapled to trees. Fidgeting with the phone you gave him in his pocket when things got hard. Bringing it with him everywhere, knowing there would never be someone on the line.

Pretending you were only a call away, sending voicemails to an unmanned inbox. Always hoping that wherever you were, they laughed at your jokes and let you lean on them the way he did. The way he would.

The idea made his stomach churn, and he exhaled heavily. Shaking his head to rid the thoughts, he gave your hand a squeeze. “I’ll bring y-you the soup you like in the m-morning, pidgy.” Leaning down to press his lips to your damp forehead.

On the sidelines, Jack sat rigidly. The guilt and shame in himself were consuming, gnawing at every fibre of his being. He could still feel your touch on his nape, the aching tenderness in your acceptance. How you embraced him as he stole your youth. Thieving your innocence, your years, and soul under the stars. The forgiveness in how you held him, as if you understood.

As if you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him, not even then.

It drowned him in disgust. In himself, in his lack of control, in the still present hunger that simmered beneath the surface. What a terrible fate you suffered, he thought. Enslaved like them when you had no place amongst sinners. Whatever chivalry between him and Toby was long gone. The bridge burned to ash, a point of no return. It’s not like he could blame the boy, either.

Imprisoned in a cell with too many scratches on the wall to count. Forced to slaughter, to labour, and punish. The role of executioner was played to a T, a script he’d never chosen for himself. You were a window to the outside, the only speck of normalcy he could afford.

Jack had nearly ripped that from him. He could only imagine the fear and grief Tobias felt upon seeing you in that state. The change in his personality, in how he carried himself, was stark when you’d gotten closer. And he’d almost lost it all tonight.

The air was pungent with antiseptic and metal, the stale quiet interrupted by creaks from upstairs here and there. Their shared stillness lasted for another beat before Toby straightened up. Placing your hand down, his back was towards the cannibal, and he stepped to the staircase. Mumbling over his shoulder. “Tell me w-when she’s up.” With that, he trudged up the railing.

In the silence of the lab, Jack stared at your frame. The muted alerts of your vitals rang in his ears, and he ran a claw down his face. Exhausted and numb.

He should have died the night they bound him to the devil.

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Everything hurt.

The analgesic currently flowing through your veins helped, but it hadn’t numbed you completely. Sharp spikes of pain sparked every time you moved, and you sighed. Blinking to life slowly as you propped up onto your elbows. Apparently, you had made it after all.

You sniffled, wincing at the strain on your neck. The cotton sheets under you were scratchy, worn down with use. Rustling while you pushed the blanket off.

Overhead, the constant buzzing lights were nowhere to be found, and the room was lit by a single lamp in the corner. This place was even creepier in the dark. With your vision struggling to adjust, the shadows on the walls moved in your periphery. Swaying in the glow cast by the cool-hued bulb.

Swing your legs over, you paused, feeling a tug on your inner arm. A needle that connected you to the beeping screen. At least you’d been well taken care of. Thinking it over, you were in the middle of deciding whether to pull the thing out yourself or wait for someone to arrive, when a curtain swished behind you.

Emerging from the small room attached to the med-bay, Jack froze upon seeing you. Your eyes met for a moment, and you coughed awkwardly. “... Hi.” Watching him, your gaze followed as he walked to the monitor. Standing at your bedside, he didn’t respond, simply checking the information displayed.

Wow, you’d think for a guy that almost ate you, he’d be a little more talkative. Still, you chose not to prod, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket instead.

Your problem was that you hated silence- well, not hated. It’s just that, right now, it felt like a ton of bricks in your gut. Clearing your throat, you wet your lips. “Did you like my stickers?” That had him stuttering. His movements wavered, and a muted clicking emanated from his chest. He gave you a stiff nod before resuming his focus elsewhere.

It was evident that the whole almost killing you thing got to him. Probably fuelled the never-ending guilt-complex that he definitely had. Which was... not great, for what you were going for. You were supposed to smooth-talk the guy, not activate his hunter instincts and have him avoid you. Call you delusional, but you know what? This was just a hiccup. I mean, who hasn’t been mauled by a love interest, right?

Glancing down, he began peeling off the medical tape at the crook of your arm. The glue left a sticky residue on your skin, and you mumbled. “Are you okay?” Your comment was quiet, almost fond when it left your mouth.

Jack flicked the used bandage into the trash nearby, puffing through his nose. “Yes.” Though it wasn’t as convincing as he’d intended. His voice sounded strained.

The atmosphere was thorny, a tad too bleak for your liking. So, against your better judgment, you shrugged in his direction. “Are you sure? You’re not hungry, are you?” Joking, his head whipped up. Gaze boring into you. Okay, too soon.

He went back to removing the liquid IV, only to hesitate once it was out. The to-be-discarded needle in his hand, and he huffed. Exasperated when he stood to full height. “Why are you doing this?” Accusatory, his mask tilted to the side. And while you couldn’t see his face, you knew he was most likely scowling.

“Doing what-”

“This.”

Frustratedly throwing his claw into the air, he snapped. “You- I nearly ripped out your throat, I almost killed you. You must understand at least that, don’t you?” Tone shaky, clearly vexed by your refusal to acknowledge the fear you should be feeling. “Yeah, but- I don’t know. They... told me about your hunting. I know you get weird if you don’t eat. It’s not that big of a deal-” However, your retort riled him further, and he pinched his nose bridge through the mask.

“Not that big of a deal? Do you even hear yourself?” Laughing humouressly, he continued, snarling. “If I had gotten back even a minute later, you would’ve been a corpse. Food for the maggots outside, nothing but another body to bury- you wouldn’t be here, messenger.” Chest heaving after he finished his tangent, you rose to your feet- tried to, anyway.

Because as you nudged off the mattress, your legs gave out. Sending you straight into the cement, you braced, yet the harsh floor never came. Instead, you were engulfed by something solid. It held you steady, and you opened your eyes.

Jack had caught you, tugging you to his chest to keep you from falling. One hand splayed between your shoulders, the other on your lower back. He felt warm, carefully reclining when he deemed you stable. Palms on either side of you, while he looked you over. “Don’t rush if you wish to move. If you need anything, ask me for it, understood?” The switch in tone made your head spin.

Going from irritated and loud to awfully tender in a second. You supposed that’s why he was the medic, always prioritizing patients and whatnot.

With his arms around you, you became overtly aware of how close he was. Feeling everything there was to feel. The plush of his muscle against your front, the roughness of his calloused skin on yours.

Your panicked inner monologue was cut off by a grunt. “The sutures will rip if you’re reckless, but it shouldn’t scar. I’ll check in a week. I... I hope the pain isn’t unbearable. If it is, I have something you can take to sleep.”

Not quite an apology, yet the care in his words was undeniable. The previous heat of your one-sided argument had faded, and you hummed. “’Kay, thanks for patching me up, doc.” Teasing him, he appeared to have given up in refuting your humour. Not pointing out the fact that you wouldn’t even need to be patched up if it weren’t for him.

Towering over you, his eyes flickered across your face, then to your neck. The edge of his talon grazed the bandage as he leaned in. Observing the gauze, making sure it hadn’t soaked through yet. “Tell me if it hurts, I’ll fix it.” Hushed, the baritone rumbled deep behind his ribs.

He didn’t know why he was holding you. The overwhelming urge to ease your tension was lost on him. An itch he couldn’t scratch. Your scent, combined with your pliancy, had him giving in before he could stop himself.

The change was noticeable, and your cheeks felt hot. “Yeah- okay, um...” Stuttering, Jack was simply examining his work. Looking over the injury just in case. The issue was that you were aggressively attracted to him, and this was not helping. His hand was still resting on the arch of your spine, thumb absently smoothing up and down.

The claw near your collar then strayed upward, tracing along your jaw. Abruptly intimate, it was as if the air around you had shifted. Tightening a fraction and filling your lungs like smoke. The cannibal tilted your chin higher, your gazes locking. “What do you need from me, courier?” His face was inches from yours, and you squirmed slightly. Lids growing heavier by the second—

BEEP BEEP BEEP-

Unfortunately for you, you were very much attached to the monitor. The machine ratted you out and  borderline screeched. Your heart rate was too high, sending the thing into disarray. Alerting everyone in a five-mile radius that you had a case of the butterflies, bad.

You scrambled apart, with Jack rushing to turn off the telemetry. It shut down with a muted click, and he disconnected you soon after, leaving you to stand in silence.

That was... new. Perhaps you were hallucinating, but that felt just a bit too close for professionalism. Opening your mouth, you went to step towards Jack. However, before you could speak, Toby sprinted down the stairs.

His eyes darted between you two, clearly under the assumption that something had gone wrong. He was frantic as he approached you. “Are you- are y-you okay? Does it h-hurt?” Quickly pulling you into his arms, he cradled the back of your head. “Jesus fuck- I thought- I thought you were-” The last part was left unspoken, the fear in his pupils more than enough for you to understand.

Breathing in deep, you relaxed in his hold. While you didn’t hate or blame Jack, it was still scary. It still shook you up, and your body yearned for someone familiar. You didn’t even realize how much it’d affected you until tears began to dot his sweater. Burrowing your face into his shoulder, he gave you a squeeze in response.

“I-I’m here, I’m here. I p-promise.” Toby whispered into your hair. Rocking you lightly back and forth, he glared at Jack over your crown. A sign for the other man to leave, and he followed it swiftly. Striding past the curtain at the back of the room, the drape swung shut behind him.

Jack slumped onto his old cot. Sprawling on his back, he threw an arm over his eyes.

What the actual fuck was wrong with him?

Wires were crossed in his head, corrupting his agency and everything else up there. You were pliant because you were fucking terrified- and he couldn’t even give you that. He took advantage of you in the woods, forcing you to submit with your life on the line. Then, when you woke up, he’d lost himself again. Coercing you into just going along with it when he trapped you in place.

Your heart rate was so high it sent out a goddamn alert. You were so scared, you couldn’t even speak. The way you collapsed into Toby’s arms had him sick. Trembling like a leaf, you clutched onto the poor boy as if you were dying. And he supposed that you were, in a way.

Being stuck down here with him must have been hell for you.

It’d been obvious you were on edge since you woke up. Making jokes to soothe your anxiety, to try and placate him so he wouldn’t hurt you. So he wouldn’t hold you down and do awful things. Tear you limb from limb while you begged for it to end. All because you’d brought him a sticker. He’d witnessed that hesitance and held you anyway.

Caressing your face like some kind of degenerate. Violating you with the same claws that had nearly stopped your heart. You’d gone into shock, not able to express emotion at all until someone else entered. Someone who wasn’t an active trigger, who hadn’t given you trauma beyond repair.

You were the singular person who’d ever gone out of your way to talk to him- and he’d given you fucking PTSD.

His ears picked up the voices rising out of the basement. You and Tobias had left, which meant he could fall apart in peace. Sitting up, he tore off his mask, flinging it to the wall. His claws dragged down his face harshly as he screamed into his palms. Dry heaving while his teeth grind.

The inky tar seeped out in pulses. Dripping between his fingers and onto the concrete. It’d been so long, he should’ve been used to it. Should’ve trained himself well enough not to feel it the way he did. And yet, the question of why wracked him to the marrow.

Why had he been cursed with this fate? Why did he have to live in isolation? Why couldn’t he control himself even if he desperately tried to? Why did he have to want so deeply? It wasn’t fair.

When he’d adjusted the wrapping on your neck, for a godforsaken moment, he had felt less lonely. Your warmth, your closeness felt so tangible. Just out of reach, something he could grab if he tried hard enough. Like if he stretched far enough- it would’ve been his.

But that wasn’t reality, now was it?

Jack hated how badly he’d enjoyed it. How much he’d savoured it as if you weren’t horrified by his touch. He hated how agonizingly he longed for you to search for him, too. For you to look at him the same way you looked at Toby.

Reaching for him because he was safe, because you trusted him. Because, despite all that he had done, he was still someone you loved. Someone you’d fall into blindly because you knew he’d never hurt you.

A wretched envy shrieked from inside his chest. Scratching at his lungs, decaying his heart and rotting him whole. He would’ve given all his prowess, all his strength and agility just for someone to talk to. Bearing the weight of the job, risking death because he was human in exchange for a companion. That’s all he needed, all he asked for. Just one.

Lunging onto his feet, he sank his talons into the wooden desk. Launching it to the floor with an echoing crash. The oak splintered, and he threw a fit like a child. Ransacking his room, he hurled furniture, shouting until his throat was raw. Crying nothing but oil until his face burned and his hands bled. He hated it, despised it. This everlasting solitude that would plague him till the earth spun anew.

He sagged onto the cold floor after his surroundings resembled a war front more than a room. Choking on grief and disgust, Jack curled into himself. Hyperventilating while he wondered what it’d be like to be held dear.

What it’d be like to be loved at all.

ᯓ★

➽──────────────❥

That did not go well.

Toby, being the concerned friend he was, checked you over for a solid twenty minutes. Interrogating you on whether or not Jack had done anything to harm you when you awoke. When you’d said he hadn’t, the boy barely believed you. To which you smacked him on the chest for. Telling him you wouldn’t lie just to save face.

This led to him walking you home like always, dropping you off at your door, and waving you off. However, you didn’t leave the manor until at least an hour after you’d gone upstairs. So, on your way to the bathroom, you walked past the basement. Now, you wouldn’t say you were a psychic or a therapist- but you’d bet it had something to do with the events prior.

Pressing your ear to the locked door, you heard him throwing things around. Utter chaos from the sounds of it, and you sighed. When he had stepped away, he seemed so disgusted. Even with his face covered, his body language was loud and clear. On top of that, you remembered his exasperation from earlier. How aghast he was when you hadn’t screamed in terror.

Jack probably thought you were a hazard.

Someone who didn’t know their place. Poking and prodding where you didn’t belong. You were reckless, causing him problems just because you stupidly assumed it’d be fine. A walking risk.

You collapsed onto your pillows, wiggling your feet to get comfortable. Mumbling to yourself. “This minor setback might be a major setback, guys.” And just as you were about to roll over and call it a day, your phone pinged. With the screen lit up, you craned your neck carefully to skim the notification. The number was unknown, reading-

[ Unknown: Shit is getting crazy icl. Feels like I’m watching Love Island. ]

Assuming it was a wrong number, you decided to reply. Your boredom would be the death of you. You swiped your thumb across the glass, clicking on the message.

[ ⭑.ᐟ : LMFAO I wish. My love life is lowk in shambles bro. Also, this is def not who ur looking for :p” ]

[ Unknown: Nahhh, it for sure is. ]

The second that text loaded, your screen began glitching. Colourful bars filled your tab, and an image popped up. An off-toned character from a video game, with buzzing letters overlayed on top.

<<YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE DONE THAT>>10101010101

Then, a voice resonated out of the speaker- though it wasn’t nearly as creepy as you predicted. Instead of an eerie, ghoulish rasp, he greeted you like a YouTuber. “What’s up, mailman?” Okay, you guessed this wasn’t the weirdest thing you’ve been through. “... Hello?”

“Dude, shit hasn’t been this interesting since Toby got wasted and totally pissed in the sink.”

At the mention of Toby, you immediately knew it was someone from the mansion. Leaning back onto the cushions, you answered leisurely. Out of all the houses, The Operator had a surprisingly decent employee list. Compared to the others, anyway.

“The way I don’t know that means.”

“Brooo, oh my god. Your thing with EJ! The tension has me on the edge of my seat.”

You quirked a brow. First off, how the hell did he know about that? You hadn’t told anybody, and the interactions you’d had with him were lacklustre at best. Not counting the last one. Second, he was talking as if he’d been watching. And now he was contacting you about it. God, when would you rest? Picking at your cuticles, you crossed your ankles.

“I’m sorry- have you been stalking me?”

“What? No- dude. Well, like not stalking-stalking. Your phone's just out when you talk to him, I can’t not. It’s literally my whole thing.”

“That’s creepy. Like so creepy, you realize that, right?”

“Ayo, chill. I’m not creepy- I don’t watch you when you leave. It’s only in the house, and c’mon. You know what I’m talking about- spill the deets!”

Groaning, you thought about how this was definitely a bad idea. Yet your need to talk to somebody about it overruled your logic. “Bro, like I actually don’t even- wait. Who even is this?” A snicker, then he huffed. “Ben, elf guy, yada yada- now, spill.” You rolled your eyes, continuing nonetheless. “Okay, it’s not a big thing- I don’t know. We’ve only talked-”

In the middle of your sentence, a thud sounded from outside your window, and you whipped your head to the side. Ben laughed on the line, “Oh yeah, Jeff followed you home. My fault.” And before you could register his words, a pale hand yanked open the sill latch. The killer had somehow scaled your house, balancing on the ledge just to eavesdrop.

The glass pulled up, allowing space for a man to shove his head in. Long, unbrushed dark hair shagged over his face. A Glasgow smile carved into his cheeks, with scarlet freckling his hoodie.

You screamed.

“Fucking- shut up, shutup-” He scrambled through the opening, jumping to your side and clamping a palm over your mouth. You were both frozen in a stare-off for a beat, then he spoke. “I’m not gonna’ kill you, so stop throwing a fuckin’ fit, ‘kay?” A jagged knife fell from his waistband, falling to the floor with a clang. “... That’s for other stuff- just don’t fucking scream.”

Slowly, he removed his hand. Stepping back, then settling into your window seat and collecting his blade. Your phone chimed in again. “Well, shit. Guess the gangs all here-” Obviously, you were the lord's favourite jester, because just as you thought this was it- a claw shot out from under your bed. Crawling into the light, he stood up.

LJ.

In all his feathered grandeur, he loomed in your cramped bedroom. Sharp grin on full display. “Heyyy.” The clown waved at you before dropping onto your carpet. His legs folded under him. Your life was a joke, and you did one final call. “If anyone else has broken into my house- please just come out now.”

You truly didn’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t for a girl to pop her head in from the window.

Her hair was dyed with pink stripes, faced sliced with a scar to match Jeff’s. “Sorry- it’s just that everyone else was going and I wanted to see.” Cheery, then she climbed in. Plopping next to the other killer. You massaged your temples, exhaling heavily. “Why are you all here?” Aggravated that work was affecting your free time, Ben answered.

“I told you, this is the most interesting thing since that New Year’s bash- okay, I can’t do this over the phone.”

The line cut, and you heard your living room TV switch on. Static, then shuffling, followed by your bedroom door swinging open. And just as he’d stated, an elf. With pointed ears, he was blonde, his eyes blackened. Blood streaking his skin, he looked like a classic horror figure.

The glitch threw himself onto your beanbag, a bag of chips in hand, while he nodded at you.

“Alright, I’m ready. Go.” Munching away, your eye twitched as you took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m going to ask one question, is everyone ready?” Monotone, you deadpanned. The room filled with agreements, muted shifts of fabric, and you sat up. “Why are you in my house?” You claimed to be a patient person, yet sometimes situations really tested that.

Jeff flung his knife into the air, catching it with practice. “My girl likes gossip.” Said with little ceremony, you caught a glimpse of a bracelet dangling on his wrist. A singular ‘R’ charm that flickered in the light. Opening your mouth, you were interrupted by a collective gasp.

“Pause?!-”

“Oh? And you kept it from us?”

“Wait, who- Jeff, tell me-”

“PLEASE- can we just get this over with?”

Your outburst made them turn to you, stunned into silence. One could easily believe you fit in amongst them with the amount of homicide you were thinking about. Taking a moment to collect yourself, you gestured to Ben. “I’m guessing you’ve been running your mouth?” His lips pressed into a thin line, and he shrugged. “I got bored.” Reclining further back when your glare grew in heat.

“Aren’t you guys serial killers?”

“Not all of us, but it’s the same shit. C’monnn, give me something.”

Pinching your nose bridge, you deflated. Fuck it, might as well. “Whatever is said in this room stays in this room- or else I’m calling SWAT and ruining everyone’s day.”

Jeff snorted, and his acknowledgment mingled with the rest. The group listened expectantly when you began recapping the events. Reaching near the end, the girl who’d introduced herself as Nina piped up.

“He made you look at him? Oh my god- wait, I’m actually obsessed-” You replied with a sad puff. Shoulders sagging while you looked up. “It was fine- but like I think he kind of hates me- not hates me. It’s like I make him weird, and every time we talk, something goes wrong. Which makes it so complicated.” She hummed, tapping her lip in thought. “Mm, well, don’t you have to see him in a week anyway?” The remark had you frowning.

“Yeah, but it’ll probably be tense now.”

“Babes, he literally caught you. And it’s not like he said he hated you or anything. I think you should at least try making up- besides, you guys would be so cute.”

“Yeah, if he doesn’t fucking eat her.”

Jeff’s icy tone cut the banter like a dagger through prey. His head cocking to the side while he fidgeted with the knife's handle. “What? We gonna’ act like the guy’s not a headcase and a half? You’re lucky you even got out with your head- we all know he could’ve done worse.” Looking you up and down, he ran his tongue along his teeth. Though Ben was quick to ease the tension.

“Okay, but he didn’t. Also, where have you been? They have so much chemistry that’s literally all we’ve been talking about- and EJ doesn’t tolerate anyone. He held her, bro. That’s insane.”

Defending your budding romance with a passion not even you expected. The glitch emphasized his point by throwing his hands in the air.

Rolling his eyes, Jeff refuted his opinion. “I’m just saying not to be delusional. I mean, he fucking took a chunk outta’ your neck.” Nodding at you, his bluntness made Nina squint. “You’re such a debby downer. They could be soulmates, Jeff. Soulmates. Besides, he patched her up. If he didn’t care, she wouldn’t be here. That has to mean something.” She argued with a pout, and LJ chimed in from his spot on the floor.

“To be fair, she is the messenger. It’s his duty to keep the boss’s plans running smoothly. But wouldn’t it be wonderful if our medic had developed a crush? Oh, the drama, the anguish- I’m getting heart palpitations just thinking about it.” He sighed wistfully, twirling a strand of hair around his finger.

Nina crossed her arms, “I think you should go for it. Just like... bring an extra bag of organs in case he’s hungry.” Adjusting in her seat as you huffed. Ignoring the fact that you had no way to obtain said organs, you also didn’t have a clue how to approach him. Especially after that.

The situation was complex, something you’d never dealt with before, and far out of your comfort zone. You had to be careful.

Playing with the edge of your shirt, you shrugged, tired. “I don’t know- he’s checking me over next week. So I’ll see, I guess.” Your mood was sombre, yet Ben shot up. Snapping in your direction with a newfound determination. “Wait! You’re close with Toby, aren't you? He’s roughed up all the time, and we can get him to ask EJ about you-”

“Absolutely not.”

Your interruption was met with widened stares. The group, taken aback by your raised volume as you continued. “Toby’s weird around Jack right now. He saw me when I was down there, and it shook him up really bad. I don’t wanna’ stress him out more, alright?” The confession had Jeff gawking at you in disbelief. “Wow, he’s even got the whole overprotective act down- ya’ sure he’s not into you?” And the elf gasped, somehow more offended than you.

“Dude. No. That’s basically her brother; they have a whole thing. Oh my god, do you pay attention to anything?”

“They’re literally all over each other every time I see them. It looks like they’re fucking, Ben-”

“You’re actually- I swear you walk around with a blindfold and earplugs, bro. Toby is the overprotective childhood best friend trope, we are the comic relief cast, and EJ is clearly the brooding and damaged love interest. Your stupidity is throwing off the dynamic, Jeff. Lock in.”

Ben was nothing short of appalled, out of breath by the time he finished. Who would’ve known that the computer virus was a die-hard romantic?

Blinking, you shook your head. Focusing back on the conversation at hand. “... Okay. Anyway- please, just keep this to yourselves. It’s messy enough as is, and I have work tomorrow. I need to sleep. You guys can debate my love life another day.” You stated in defeat.

While you were technically using your schedule as an excuse, it was true. It was getting late, the clock reading fifteen-to-one when you glanced over.

If you wanted even a speck of energy for your day job, you’d have to pass out in the next ten minutes. But much to your dismay, the killers lingered for another half hour. Only departing once they’d ransacked your pantry for snacks. A few also insisted that you save their numbers, for “emergencies.” Allegedly.

It was nearly two AM by the time you were alone, and you groaned into your pillow.

Why did finding a boyfriend have to be so hard?

ᯓ★

➽──────────────❥

Hustle and bustle, hustle and bustle. That was the motto.

The glasses clinked as you balanced them on the tray, and you put your best foot forward. The diner was busy, filled with lively conversations. Gold streaming through the windows from the midday sun, music sparking over the old radio's static. It had you squinting when you approached the booth.

After they’d left the night prior, you fell asleep around three in the morning. Not terrible, considering your shift started at noon- but still. The lack of a full night's rest was felt, and your faint eye bags spoke for themselves.

Placing the dishes down on the table, you chatted with guests. Small talk with the patrons had gone smoothly up until this point, so overall, you were pretty content. Your heels scraped on the patterned floors while you made your way back, when the entrance bell rang. Chiming brightly, you turned to the door from behind the counter to see the regulars. The couple.

Turquoise hanging from her ears, she walked ahead of him. Settling down in their usual spot. They appeared to be bickering, the wife clearly upset over something. Emoting enough to cause the husband to huff. It wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary, and you wiped down the surface with a rag. Yet, their argument remained in your peripheral vision.

It made you sad, in all honesty.

Their love story had begun so promisingly, ending in tragedy just because he’d chosen excitement. Your heart hurt on her behalf, dimming your mood a tad. However, you didn’t have much pause to linger on it. The alert for your break was buzzing in your pocket, catching your attention. It was time to take your fifteen.

You stepped out the back. Fishing your phone out of your apron pocket and leaning against the brick. Scrolling through your notifications absent-mindedly, the sound of the alley door made you look up. The wife. She trudged onto the concrete, not sparing you a glance as she passed you by. Leaning on the wall adjacent to you while fixing a cigarette between her lips.

The lighter sparked once, twice, before she inhaled. Defeated when she finally met your gaze. The sky was now overcast, the clouds blanketing the warm glow above. Drifting to suit the mood, it would seem.

The woman tugged her coat tighter around her frame. “What?” Her words were muffled by the smoke, and you stuttered. “Nothing!- Nothing, I just...” The question of what truly happened spun in circles in your head. You didn’t want to come off as nosy or rude, but you wanted to know.

Everything you’d heard about her dull romance had come from others. A game of telephone played by gossiping strangers with too much free time.

Hesitant, you cleared your throat. “I’m sorry if I’m being like- invasive, but... why’d you stay?” Tucking your phone back into your tied pinny, she scoffed. The noise wasn’t offended nor cruel; it came off more tired than anything. As if she’d heard that same phrase over and over again. She took a slow drag. “Always that question, huh?” You went to apologize, only for her to shake her head.

“Mm, it’s alright. I get it. Why would I stay, right? Everyone in town talks about it. My man’s a deadbeat, I know.” Laughing humouressly, with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I loved him. Oh, I loved the bastard somethin’ awful. Waited on him for longer than I should’ve. Believed him when he promised me a ring- but you probably know all that, don’t you?” Her remark had your ears hot, and you nodded.

You felt bad, yet she appeared unbothered. Used to it after the years. “I stay ‘cause it’s been too long. There’s no point in leaving now. He pays the bills, gets me things I want, so I don’t yell at ‘im when he comes home with a hickie. It’s easier that way.” Though her tone was neutral, the stale hurt lay beneath. Worn down from age.

Flicking ash off her cigarette, she simpered. Humming like she was reminiscing. “It’s just how it is, hun. Ain’t no way else about it.” Giving you a once-over, the woman gestured at you. “Now, I don’t wanna’ lecture you, but you stay far away from men like that, understand? Don’t waste your life away settling for someone ‘cause they seem ‘safe’. I’m tellin’ you now, it’s not worth it.”

She took another inhale, the paper burning around the tobacco. Lighting up a muted amber as she continued. “I waited because I didn’t know better. You’re young, you got time. Don’t let yourself become bitter. If you find someone who sends your heart racin’, you chase that bastard to the finish line, ya’ hear?” The words were spoken as both an instruction and a warning. To not lose yourself.

To never sacrifice your joy for the sake of maintaining normalcy.

Finishing the smoke, the filter was crushed beneath her heel. Simply ash on cement when she goes to exit the back lane. Her hand gripped the steel handle, and she faced you one last time. “If it’s right, you’ll know. Real love won’t fade, it’ll stick like a scar- even if you ain’t want it to. Trust me.” A click of the latch, the door swung shut, then shes gone. Leaving you to simmer in your thoughts.

Alone on the street, you sighed. Her phrasing made you think. “Stick like a scar,” huh? If the bandage on your neck was anything to go by, that had to mean something.

If this wasn’t a sign, then what was, right?

With your shift nearing its end, you folded your apron. Placing the bundle on a shelf with the rest. It had been a decent work day, and you checked your surroundings for anything you could’ve forgotten. The kitchen had already been tidied, the counters and floors wiped clean- you straightened your jacket. All you needed to do was clock out, then you’d be free.

Reaching for a pen hung next to the printed schedule, you scribbled onto the paper. Signing off, before you begin your trek home.

The next check-up could not come faster.

ᯓ★

➽──────────────❥

Of course, everything that goes wrong- goes wrong on a Saturday.

In theory, today should have been easy. You were off, your chores were finished, and the only thing planned was a take-out dinner. Yet, fate seemed to love throwing you in the wringer.

It had been almost a full week since you’d seen Jack. While you and the medic hadn’t left off on the greatest of terms, you were optimistic. If you broke it down, the only barrier that technically remained between you was a misunderstanding. You just needed to talk, clear things up, and it’d be fine. Probably.

Hopefully.

However, you couldn’t even mentally prepare for your endeavours because currently? You were a mess. Since you’d woken up, your routine had been in disarray. The neighbour's dog had gotten into the yard, biting and kicking all your plants over. You had to physically go out to lead the puppy back to its owner. Who was not as grateful as he should have been, by the way.

Then, when you thought things could not possibly get any worse, you realized your favourite spot had closed early. Something about a kitchen mishap, which meant you wouldn’t be able to get your usual. Which also meant you’d have to leave the house to get dinner. Sure, you could just suck it up and make instant noodles- but you wanted a treat.

Things have sucked lately, and all you wanted was a good meal. Unfortunately for you, Lady Luck’s help was a one-time get-out-of-jail card. So now you were forced to buckle down and take a journey to the local corner store.

Walking quickly, you shivered a little. Should’ve brought a thicker coat, yet your suffering didn’t last too long. The lights of the mart were only a few steps away, and you sighed upon entering. The in-store heating warmed through the layers, relaxing you as you browsed.

Okay, let’s try... pasta? Maybe a roast on the side with garlic bread. Mumbling to yourself, you plopped a pack of raw brisket into the basket. Collecting the ingredients leisurely as you made your way through the aisles. You threw a bubbly drink in there, too. You deserved something fun after all that. In your opinion, at least.

Check out was a breeze, and you started your march back. The plastic bags rustling in your hold while you stepped, hung at your elbow. You were humming quietly until you caught a glimpse of the hole in a nearby fence. The place that started it all.

It was weird thinking about it now, making you wonder about how different things would be if you had taken another route.

Glancing from the empty sidewalk ahead to the crooked metal, you squinted. Would it be stupid to take a shortcut? It’s not like there was anything that could harm you past that point. As far as you knew, the only creature of the night that lurked these grounds was your boss. Deciding to risk it, you ducked under the wire. Strolling down the trail with your goods.

You could already taste the massive bowl of penne; it was going to be glorious. The imagery had you grinning, and you shifted your grip on the bag. At the mention of food, you hoped Jack was doing okay—

Snap.

A twig, somewhere to your left, had cracked. This could not be happening. Again. Turning cautiously, your eyes widened. Wolves. You’d been so caught up in thinking about supernatural threats that’d you forgotten about how dangerous the woods were. Too absorbed in your bubble to remember the animals that prowled the grounds. Now, standing face to face with the carnivores, you swallowed.

If you ran, they’d chase. If you stayed, they’d attack. Stuck in limbo, cold sweat lined your back. They moved in packs, growling, as they began to circle you. You cursed yourself mentally. Why did you even go this way? It’d gone terribly last time, so why on earth did you think it’d be smart to take the route again?

The one ahead of the group bared its canines, snout in the air. Sniffing like it could trace your blood in the wind.

You blinked once, twice, three times- and then it charged. The rest following suite. They surrounded you while you fought. Wrestling its head away from your face as best as you could, it snapped its teeth. And you weren’t weak, per se, but an animal was an animal. Winning a fight against one wolf would be a miracle. Surviving five is a daydream.

It gnashed in your hold, another one snagging your jacket. They were beginning to grow impatient, closing in on you. Hot breath wafted above you, and it smelled like meat and hunger. You probably struggled for a couple of seconds at most, yet it felt far longer.

The jagged stone stabbed through your coat when you shoved wildly. Out of all ways to die, out of all the near-death encounters you’d had- of course, you’d lose to something mundane. A stray animal attack. Your muscles screamed, burning and straining with all their might. But it wasn’t enough, and even you knew that. A single slip of your arm, before it broke through your restraint.

You closed your lids on instinct, your whole body bearing up in preparation. A ragged huff, and its drool landed on your skin disgustingly—

Then something ripped it clean off of you.

A figure too rapid for you to see, moving like smoke, lightning over ash. It swung the wolf to the dirt by its neck, and the animal landed with a grinding scrape. Snarling only for the beast to snarl back. A show of dominance, predator on predator.

When your sight finally focused, you recognized your saviour in a heartbeat. Recognized him in a heartbeat. Jack, his claws flexing, gnarled and broad with barbarity.

The wolves pounced onto him from behind. Latching onto his shoulder, its tusks sank deep before he seized the head. Talons piercing bone as he launched it aside. Another shot for his throat, and he ducked. Swerving to the left, he grabbed the thing muzzle first, slamming it to the ground and slicing it from head to chest.

Blood from both parties slathered the grounds. He was brutal, not stopping for even a second. Every attack was refuted by a bite with more force. A slash that cut to the artery.

Some scuttered away after realizing the opponent was stronger, and others became mangled in the crossfire. By the end, the cannibal huffed over scarlet-soaked gravel. Wiping the gore from his jaw with the back of his hand before flinging the remains away.

He was panting, sweat soaking his collar, with red splattered on his mask. The thing was half-on, pushed up to reveal his mouth and the tip of his nose. After rolling his shoulders back, swivelled on his heel. Spotting you almost immediately.

The silence stretched on for an uncomfortable amount of time, and just as you gathered yourself up, groceries still in your possession- he borderline folded in half.

Catching himself by sinking his claws into a tree. Even at this distance, you could see the shudders that wracked his frame. The barely contained growl that fought to break free.

Though you weren’t as scared as you thought you’d be. Sure, he’d displayed an insane amount of strength and brutality, but he’d saved you. Jack could’ve left you for dead, yet he didn’t. Getting mauled for your sake in the process.

Lacking fear, it was exchanged for worry instead. With concern taking its place in your gut, you moved closer. Carefully calling out for him. “Jack?” You were quiet when his head shot up. “Get away from me. It’s not safe.” He sneered in response, his body jerking.

It sounded like it was a struggle to even speak, and he collapsed onto the dirt. Heaving on all fours. Alright, perhaps it wasn’t the smart decision- but you couldn’t just leave him there. Especially after he’d put himself at risk for you. The poor guy could barely stand; it’d be wrong to just walk off.

Kneeling in front of him, you tilted your head lower. Trying to catch a better glimpse of him. Now closer, you could see how strained he really was.

The perspiration dripped down the columns of his throat, adams apple bobbing when he swallowed. Jack shoved away from you desperately, and his back collided with the trunk behind him. “Enough. You need to go. Now-” Cutting himself off with an animalistic clicking. The noise erupted from his chest, seeping between his gritted teeth.

In the grand scheme of things, he was probably correct. This was dangerous- the man had almost taken your life last time. However, he still patched you up. Still held you when you’d fallen. Still went out of his way to keep you safe. He was good, even if he didn’t acknowledge it.

Under all the hunger, the aggression and violence, he was well-meaning. You knew he was. So you stayed planted.

This forest was close to the main road, and in this state, you weren’t sure if he could properly get away if someone saw. Making up your mind, you spoke with urgency. “We need to get you somewhere else. People break past the fence all the time; they might see you.” With that, you grabbed his wrist, tugging. Yet Jack was adamant in his refusal.

“Stop thinking about me and worry about yourself for one goddamn second- you won’t survive if I-”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

The outburst stunned him, and your eyes searched his. Begging him to stand. “M-my place isn’t far, it’s a ten-minute walk, but we have to hurry.” The dread was thick in your cadence, and he couldn’t fathom your desperation. Your overwhelming need to get him to safety. You were too kind for your own good, offering sanctuary even if it was at the cost of your own preservation.

This was a beyond foolish idea. Letting you bring him back would only end in disaster. You would be injured and further traumatized at best, and mutilated with a still heart at worst. His self-control was weak, threatening to give in at any moment.

He’d put off hunting because he’d been too caught up in his spiral. Then his rut had hit at full force. And now the scent radiating off you was making his mouth water. This was a bad fucking idea. He couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Can’t—

“Please.”

Your voice shook, the hold on his arm faltering before it was readjusted. You held onto him with both hands, your fingers digging into his blood-soaked sleeve. Too earnest, too genuine as you pleaded. You decayed his fight, chipping at his resolve until it shattered. Jack was at his wits' end when he begrudgingly agreed. Staggering up along with you as he was dragged along the path.

The pair of you reached your doorstep, and after you’d ushered him inside, he dropped onto your couch. Rapidly tapping his foot while you hung your coat.

Jack could smell you everywhere. Your fragrance stained the walls, wafting off the furniture. It was dizzying. Pungent and drowning, it was clear to him that he’d fucked up. It was hard enough to rein it in when you were in the open air. With the space being confined, he’d doomed himself as much as he had you.

He needed to leave. Now.

Pushing off your sofa, he stumbled slightly. You, of course, noticed him in an instant and rushed to his side. Easing him back down with a soft murmur. “You need to rest, you can’t go out like this- I have meat if you’re hungry? I don’t know if you can eat animals, but I can try to-” Your voice was buzzing in his head, the tangent becoming background noise.

It was disgusting, a rotting want that festered behind his ribs. Thrumming through him in pulses as he struggled to keep himself still. You were trying to help. Naive to the vulnerability, the risk you’d put yourself at. He understood that, knew it like scripture- but alas. His grit was wittling by the second, and it’d only be a matter of time before he snapped.

Jack wouldn’t be able to leave without touching you- without bringing harm to you in the process. You cared far too much; you’d try to negotiate. You weren’t aware of the severity at hand. He wasn’t just hungry; the sick urge to claim was now present. The need to possess, to take and breed. It was a part of his biology, something that had changed in his blood the day they’d changed him.

You were so close, settling next to him after placing tea on the coffee table as if it’d help. As if he weren’t drooling at the thought of breaking you open. Both in body and in soul.

“... Jack?” Hesitant, you leaned to the side. Attempting to see his expression. “Are you okay?” He hated how much your concern fuelled his appetite. Innocent, akin to prey, you blinked at him. Confused when he rasped. “You shouldn’t have brought me here.” And your reply had his molars grinding. “I know it’s- weird right now. But you literally can’t even stand. I don’t mind that you’re here. I- I’m not scared of you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

His nails dug into his palms. You were blameless, awfully generous to a beast that craved your essence. Jack cursed himself for letting his hunger get this out of hand. He should’ve hunted prior; at least then he’d have the energy to make a run for the door. The seasonal ruts were destructive on their own, so he couldn’t even comprehend the marks he’d leave on you.

Yet you only instigated the already building heat. Fussing over him, you fidgeted with your thumbs. “Is there anything that would help? It might be stupid- I just think if we get something in your stomach, you’d feel at least a little better.” Like poking a starved bear.

The straw that broke the camel's back was the minute you touched him.

Your palm rested gently on his shoulder, worry written across your features- and he lunged. Pouncing on you, your bodies slammed onto the floor. Causing the cups on the table to clatter. Jack pinned your wrists by your head, panting over you. His mask had slipped off in the rush, his face left bare. The obsidian tar dripped onto your cheeks while his lashes fluttered, and the sight made you gasp.

“You’re beautiful.”

It acted as a sucker punch to his gut, winding him. He snarled, the sound rumbling low. “You’re a fool.” Pained when he dipped his head closer, his nose grazing the uninjured side of your throat. You smelled so good, achingly warm and alive. It had his cock throbbing painfully in his slacks, and he latched onto the skin.

Lavving at the spot, his teeth pierced flesh, making you arch into him. And yet, this felt different than before. Too intimate, he wasn’t biting you to feast- it was like he was trying to infect you. Spreading his hunger like a disease and injecting it into you by blood. Another thing that contrasted with the previous incident was the way he dropped his hips between your thighs.

Spreading your legs to accommodate his mass and grinding onto your core. You whined, breathless. What the hell was happening? Though any logic was quickly dissolved when he began rocking against you. His zipper caught on your clit, the pleasure resetting your brain entirely. Your thighs twitched together, clamping around his body as he groaned.

It felt good, heavenly and mind-numbing. The taste of your blood, combined with the feeling of your clothed cunt sent him reeling. You sounded so pretty, all gasps and hushed moans. It was addictive- he couldn’t stop if he wanted to. Not now, not when you were squirming under him. Not when you’d writhe and shiver from his touch.

He rutted harder, rougher, while your lids drooped. Tongue sliding over the tiny cuts left on your skin, savouring the taste. You were even better than he imagined. Pulling back, he licked across his canines. Breathing heavy, the air was so heated it created foggy puffs with each exhale. A view that had you dripping, Jack looked manic.

His grin stretched up, razor-sharp teeth on display and glimmering in the dim light. He purred, “Sweet meat.” A slow baritone. Leaning down and letting his lips mold to yours. He kissed you deeply, with his tongues exploring every inch of your mouth. He was completely drunk off it. Off you. Too lost to stop and think about the way he’d trapped you in place.

You mewled, and the drag of his bulge over your cunt made you dizzy. The thick outline slotted between your folds through the cotton, pressing against your sensitive clit. He was drowning, vast and ruthless. The cannibal wasn’t even fucking you, and you were already panting. You just couldn’t help it- the authority, the control of it, making your head spin.

Whining into him, he swallowed the sound. Grunting while his hips jolted. The friction was too much, too fast. Jack fucked you through the denim with urgency, refusing to give you reprieve. It’s not like he’d started gently either. The man had jumped from sitting quietly to pouncing on you in a blink. Still, the embers within your core sparked like matches. Setting aflame and devouring your heart's home.

The fury, famine, and fervour were balanced on a pin. Tipping the scales as your release overtook you.

Your orgasm came without mercy, rushing from your head to the tips of your fingers. Making your spine curve while he soiled his jeans. The groan he let out had you twitching. Empty, when you clenched around nothing. Your back felt raw from the constant motion of your bodies, and the afterglow blurred your vision.

“J-Jack-” Yet the shaky call of his name landed on deaf ears, the cannibal flipping you onto your stomach.

He restrained your lower half under his weight, caging you between his heavy thighs. With his stiff cock nudging against your entrance through the fabric; it was obvious to you that he had no plans ending this any time soon. Just what had you gotten yourself into?

Continuing to hump you, Jack’s saliva dribbled down his jaw, and he dropped. His arms bracketed your head while he bit onto your nape, moaning at the taste. The pain was sharp, a repetitive throb that mixed with the heat. You sang from the prickle, “Ah- mmph, s-slow down.” However, it appeared he was in a daze. Dragging his teeth to your shoulder, he sank his canines down.

Orgasm after orgasm, he had you pinned under him for hours. His seed had seeped through his slacks, blending with your slick. You’d lost track of how long it’d been, barely able to keep your eyes open by this point.

Weakly pawing at his bicep, you hiccuped. Eyes rolling back when his engorged cock head ground on your clit once more. You seized violently, skin littered in punctures. The red had stained nearly everything around you. The slow drip of the wounds painted the rug, streaking your frame. It made your living room look like a crime scene.

The clock on the wall read ‘2:48 AM’ when he finally slowed to a halt. Sweat beading down his brow as he reclined. You were lying beneath him in disarray. Hair knotted, with tears streaming along your cheeks. His teeth marks nearly covered the entirety of your upper body.

That was when it dawned on Jack what he’d done.

The evidence was clear as day between your wet thighs. His cum coated your flesh, slobber leaving a shine from your marred shoulders up to your neck. You were wrecked beyond repair. Injured and crying mutely, with your head craned to gaze at him. The lack of focus in your pupils had him fucking nauseous.

He shoved off of you, scrambling to do anything. To help, to aid, to fix this. And when you struggled to roll onto your back, he tasted bile.

You weakly propped yourself onto your elbows, slumped slightly to one side. “It’s okay- it’s okay.” Though it was evident that he disagreed, he hastily crawled forward. His hands shook while he sputtered, “Shit- I-I have to stop the bleeding. Just- just wait- I’ll- Jesus fuck.” Claws hovering over you, desperate yet hesitant.

“My bandages and stuff are upstairs, in my bathroom.” Trying your best to calm him, he hurriedly picked you up. Cradling you in his arms as he rushed the steps. You two rounded into the ensuite washroom, and he placed you on the bathtub ledge.

Darting to the cabinet, he grimaced at his reflection before grabbing the medkit. Yanking the white box open and dabbing the cuts along your collar.

He kneeled in front of you, his breathing unsteady. As much as he wished to flee, he’d done enough damage. The least he could do was make sure you didn’t bleed out. The guilt consumed him with every peel of a Band-Aid, with every pat of gauze on your lacerated throat. And once he was done, the silence was so thick you thought you’d suffocate.

Idly remaining on the tile, his bottom lip wobbled. He was so angry, disgusted- filled with nothing but self-loathing. Jack had no right to cry, no right to grieve. Despite all of it, his body was running on fumes, and he tumbled onto his hands. Head hanging low, an inch above your legs. He let out a choked sob.

The cannibal collapsed onto his haunches, burrowing his face into your knees. His claws pathetically grasping at your calves. Careful not to harm you further.

“I’m sorry- fuck, I’m sorryI’msorry- I didn’t want to. I didn’t- I swear on my life I didn’t. I would never- I wasn’t-” You go to comfort him, your hand a centimetre away from his trembling form, before he jerked away harshly.

Clarity had shot through him like a bullet. What the actual fuck was he doing? Forcing you into such an uncomfortable position. Making you soothe him as if he hadn’t just submitted you to an act so violating it’d haunt you for years.

You were probably so lost, traumatized and afraid. Trying your best not to trigger him into doing anything more. The shock was most likely the only reason you weren’t having a full-blown panic attack right now.

Stumbling back, his expression was bordering on pure devastation. Horrified, when he staggered past the doorway, his gaze fixed on you. “I’m sorry.” His words were heavy, and he left your sight quickly. That was all you got, the singular statement he left you with. You heard your front door slam shut, the force rattling your home as you fell apart.

Jack was right about one thing. You were in shock, and you were definitely on the verge of hyperventilating. It wasn’t that you were traumatized from him, exactly- it was simply that you were beyond overwhelmed.

Everything had happened so fast, you hadn’t had the time to process it. You needed something to ground you, to ease you after your endorphins had peaked. And he had left.

Putting you in isolation at literally the worst moment. If you didn’t call someone, you’d vomit.

While your bedroom was a few steps from your spot, it felt a world away. Your feet lugged against the floor, heavy as lead, and you dove nose-first into your sheets. Fetching your charged flip-phone from under your pillow, you unplugged it. Pressing it to your ear after dialling the only person you could think of.

Toby.

The tone cycled three times, then it clicked. A voice crackling through the other side when you exhaled. “H-hello?” Salt had already brimmed under your lids, and you sadly puffed. “Tobes, please tell me you can come over.” The quake in your words made him straighten up immediately, gathering his coat.

“Yeah- yeah, of course. W-what happened?”

“Like- ugh. Just hurry, please.”

The conversation was swift, and you hung up once he’d told you he’d started walking. Time flies when you’re spiralling on the brink, you suppose- because your bedroom door swung open in a flash.

Toby, out of breath, stood at the entryway. And the second he digested your state, he jumped to your side. Frantically rolling you over while you sniffled. You were pitiful when you reached for him, and he didn’t hesitate to sink into your embrace. His arms slipped under your back, with his body on you like a weighted blanket.

He was attempting to stay calm- but holy shit. The first red flag was that your door was unlocked, the second being the blood on almost everything. Then, when he’d gotten to you, you looked like this.

Mind racing a mile a minute, the brunette mumbled into your hair as you sagged into him. “Talk to me, pidgy. You’re s-scaring me here.” A weak jab at humour, and you sighed. “You have to promise not to freak out.” Quietly, your hands curling around his sweater.

Okay, now he was definitely freaking out. All the signs pointed to an obvious conclusion, one that he prayed wouldn’t be correct. Though he nodded anyway, waiting for you to continue.

“... I ran into Jack, he was sick- I think. I don’t know, I brought him home. I was trying to help and then-” Toby pulled back instantly, cutting in with a disbelieving huff. Eyes wild. “What?” You freeze, backtracking to explain, but he was already set in his wrath. Cupping your face, he stared at you unblinking.

A simmering rage and disgust swam behind his pupils, grip steady. “It’s okay- you’re okay. I’ll take c-care of it, alright? I’ll kill him, I’ll f-fucking kill him- I promise. He’s not gonna’ touch you, I s-swear he’s never gonna’ f-fucking touch you again.” His forehead rested on yours, and you shook your head. Tugging at his sleeve gently,

“No- Toby, it wasn’t like that-”

“Listen, okay? It-it wasn’t your f-fault, you don’t have to lie for him. I’ll take care o-of it, I’ll figure s-suh-something out. You can drop things off outside, I’ll wait for you-”

“Toby.”

You planted your palms against his cheeks firmly. “I know it... seems bad. But I promise he didn’t do anything I didn’t want him to.” The confession made him pause, speculation strong in his gaze. Toby was stagnant for a moment, then he hummed. “... You can tell me anything, you k-know that right?” Still distrustful when you fixed a lock of hair behind his ear.

“I know. If anything ever happened, I’d tell you first.” His narrowed eyes softened a tad at that, and his shoulders eased. “Okay. So, what...?” Waiting for you to explain, the boy dropped his head back onto your collar.

You let your sight drift to the ceiling, exhaling. “It’s- ugh. It’s like every time I see him, something happens, and he runs. None of this is normal, but I still... I don’t know. I still like him, Tobes. And it feels like he either can’t stand being around me or he’s all over me. Everything or nothing- I just want to talk.” Finishing your tangent with a tired shrug, he was at a crossroads.

On one hand, he didn’t like the idea of you getting mixed up with Jack at all. On the other, he knew you too well to ask you not to. You were determined, hard-headed, and way too believing. Seeing the best in everyone, even when you shouldn’t. Toby hated that about you as much as he loved you for it.

Jack was a one-off. Unique in how he carried himself down to the very fabric of his existence. He was hard to read, difficult to understand. A singularity in lifeforms. It’s not that Toby didn’t trust your judgment; it was that he didn’t have complete faith in the cannibal's intentions. He wasn’t even aware the guy was capable of  things like romance, let alone wanting it.

Muttering into the hollow of your shoulder, “Why him?” He sighed, and you lamented for a bit. Playing with the strings of his hoodie, then your voice flooded the fragile silence.

“I thought he was cool when we met- it sounds stupid outloud, I know. But he’s not as bad as everyone says he is, and he saved me. I went to get food earlier, and there were wolves- you should’ve seen him, Toby. He literally threw himself at me to get them off. They bit him everywhere, and he fought them to keep me safe.”

You knew that if he really didn’t care, he would’ve turned a blind eye. It was a hassle, and it’d been apparent he was already in bad shape. Jack had chosen to put himself at risk anyway. Even before that, he’d always done everything with consideration, no matter how little it seemed to be.

Giving you a colourful bandage over a plain one because he thought you’d like it more. Apologizing when he hadn’t warned you of the alcohol swab. Catching you when you tripped. Actively choosing to make things easier for you, just because.

Continuing to spill your heart out, Toby listened intently. “It’s so messy right now, and maybe he never wants to see me again- but I wanna’ fix this. I’ll have to keep interacting with him anyway, I don’t need it to be super tense, you know? And if you were in the woods earlier, you would’ve done the same thing- ‘cause you’re reckless and you don’t think when you panic-”

The mock scold had him snorting mutely, but he remained still nonetheless. “I know you don’t trust him- but if you were cursed, I’d still love you. Even if you got scary sometimes, you’d still be Toby. You’re my best friend, but you literally kill people in cold blood daily. He’s in the same spot, and I can’t hate him for being like you.”

Your confession weighed on him heavily, and he groaned. You were right in a sense; he was technically being hypocritical, it’s just that he’d never done harm to you. Yet he understood that the fact had a high possibility of not ringing true if you hadn’t met him the way you did. If things were different, he could’ve done much worse.

Toby expired begrudgingly, giving you a slight nod. “You h-have the worst taste in men, though. Like, s-shit, you couldn’t have gone for a business guy or s-suh-something?” Teasing, you smacked his arm. “Ew, Tobes. You want me to date a finance bro?”

“God forbid I want y-you to have a stable home life.”

“It wouldn’t be a home in the first place if there weren’t people like you in it.”

You always say sappy things he doesn’t know how to handle. Not meaning you wanted serial killers in your house, but that you didn’t view them as just killers. Your friends- simply individuals who were stuck. While he didn’t exactly agree, you had yelled at him way too many times for him to vocalize that.

With your spirits lightened, you circled your arms around his neck. Rubbing your cheek against his. You reminded him of a cat, and he laughed. The atmosphere was much brighter than when he’d initially arrived, a full minute of solace before he chimed up. “Okay, but let me get t-the whole story. You ran into him, then you took him home and...”

Head lifted by a fraction, the brunette raised his brows once, lips pursed. Squinting at you and insinuating exactly what you thought he was. You rolled your eyes in response, pressing your lips into a line. It was so hard to be serious around Toby at times. The topic wasn’t funny in nature, but his phrasing and mannerisms always got to you.

The guy who ran around like a maniac, hatchets in hand- was the same boy who couldn’t use “sex” in a sentence without giggling.

Who would’ve guessed, huh?

You stifled a snort, tying his sweater’s draw-cords into a bow. “Okay, TMI- but it was kind of crazy, not gonna’ lie. Literally growled when I was on the floor, Tobes. He got... weird after though. I think he thought I wasn’t into it; he patched me up and sprinted. Apologized a bunch, too.” Perplexed as you toyed with the strings further, Toby clicked his tongue.

“Mm, I mean- did y-you guys talk after? Maybe he got freaked out. S’not like he g-gets around.”

“I wanted to, but he ran before I could even say anything. And I’m stopping by tomorrow so he can check the stitches. I just don’t want it to be awkward.”

Catching him up, you laid out the details. Everything from how it started to the things Jack had said prior to the event. You ended the information with a beaten groan, making him chuckle quietly. He still didn’t love the idea of you with EJ, but it wasn’t up to him.

You were your own person, plenty capable of deciding things for yourself. All he could do was stand by your side. Keeping you safe, supporting you to the best of his ability. The conversation stretched on for about another hour before his phone buzzed in his backpocket. An alert that told him he needed to return, and he gave you a sheepish smile. “Duty calls,” you supposed.

Collecting his things, you walked Toby to the front, waving him off. Then you flung your body straight into the shower. The leftover muck of the day felt gross, and a thorough scrub was overdue. Swiftly slathering your frame with soap, the water tinted with red. Washing away all your turmoil down the drain.

You finished your routine efficiently, stepping onto the tile in a towel. In the midst of your skin-care when you heard a clatter from your bedroom. The wooden floors were cold under your feet while you peered from the bathroom door.

The flip phone. Earlier, when you dialled your companion, you’d haphazardly thrown the device onto your nightstand. It appeared that the notification ping had knocked it onto the ground, and you bent to grab it.

[ Incoming Call From: ERROR101001 ] ✚ One New Message :101001011

A couple of years ago, this would’ve unnerved you. However, you’d seen too much, and the caller ID could only belong to one person.

Ben, for whatever reason, had texted you. The guy was nosy, probably contacting you to pry. Your thumb slid across the keyboard, the metal smooth as you read the screen. “DETAILS. DETAILS NOWWW.” Quirking a brow at his message. Toby wouldn’t have said anything, and Jack definitely didn’t- so how the hell did he find out?

⊹₊⟡⋆  . ₊˚ ☎︎₊˚✧ ⊹₊⟡⋆

[ ⭑.ᐟ : Istg if you were listening through my phone, I’ll actually find a way to delete you. ]

[ Elf: NO. Omfg u actually think I’m a freak. Toby came back and didn’t look like he wanted to murder EJ walking past the basement. SPILLLL ]

[ ⭑.ᐟ : You piss me off so bad. GET HOBBIES. ]

[ Elf: Pause- adding you to a gc. Give me a sec ]

He ignored the fact that you hadn’t acknowledged his request in the slightest, and you got another alert. Ben had stayed true to his word, attaching your number to a text chain. A groupchat with four other people. Wow, you wonder who in the world they were.

Giving up, you went back to your bedtime schedule. Sitting at your vanity, and opening your moisturizer. You multitasked, switching between replying and patting the cream onto your cheeks.

[ Clown: Ben told us you had big BIG NEWS !!!!!!! ]

[ Elf: I yapped mb ]

[ ⭑.ᐟ : How r u guys so evil yet so easily bored. Aren’t you supposed to be brooding and scary?? ]

[ Nina <3: Not all the time, and that’s only Jeff :p now tell ussssss plspls ]

[ Stabby: fck u ]

[ ⭑.ᐟ : Okay like. He saved me from a pack of wolves, and I lowk brought him home... ]

[ Elf: AYO???????????? PAUUUSSSEEEE ]

⬩➤ Multiple people are typing...

[ Nina<3: WAITTT ARE YOU SRS??? ]

[ Elf: THE DEETS MAILMAN. ]

[ Stabby: stting up rn wtf  ]

[ ⭑.ᐟ : I already told Toby, but it’s kinda TMI ]

[ Clown: You told Tobias ? I thought you said that he’d be against it ?? :^O ]

[ ⭑.ᐟ : I called him after. I was crashing out icl- it was so messy ]

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ Replying to ⭑.ᐟ - [ Nina<3: Noooo why r u ok :((( ]

[ ⭑.ᐟ : I’m fine <//3 it’s just like ]

[ ⭑.ᐟ : Ugh. ]

[ Elf: I will start seizing rn istg STOP EDGING US BRO ]

[ Elf: Actually 1 sec ]

Elf added “Tobes :)” from your contacts ->

[ Stabby: sht might as well add masky atp ]

[ Elf: That’d be funny asf if he wouldn’t shoot all of us for it. NOW SPILL. ]

[ Tobes :): WHAT THE FUCK. HOW LONG HAVE U BEEN TALKING TO THESE PEOPLE???? ]

[ ⭑.ᐟ : THEY BROKE INTO MY HOUSE ITS NOT MY FAULT. ]

[ Elf: THAT ISNT IMPORTANT EVERYONE STFU ]

[ Stabby: lol ]

[ ⭑.ᐟ : Making it short idc. Okay he saved me and then he came over and we did thingshsgsui ]

[ ⭑.ᐟ : AND THEN HE RAN OFF. IDK IT WAS UGHHHHH. ]

[ Nina<3: Still not over the fact that he saved you T-T omggg I’m screamingg AHHH that’s so goals ]

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ Replying to ⭑.ᐟ - [ Stabby: ej ran? ]

[ ⭑.ᐟ : Yeah. ]

[ Stabby: he prbly has a fcking complex ]

[ Stabby: got too real or smth. doubt its bc of u ]

[ Elf: Hello?? Who even r u rn?? ]

[ Nina<3: Jeff r u possessed ]

[ Stabby: stfu. ]

[ Stabby: im js saying it wdnt b surprising if he got weird ]

[ Stabby: ur a civi. ur soft n the mf eats ppl. he prbly got in his head ab it n fcked off ]

[ Elf: Holy shit. Having a gf gave you a brain. ]

[ Stabby: ill snuff u tf out ]

⬩➤ Multiple people are typing...

⊹₊⟡⋆ . ₊˚ ☎︎₊˚✧ ⊹₊⟡⋆

Despite the forming headache, Jeff’s words stuck with you. You already knew Jack was most likely at odds with himself about everything, but having someone who saw him daily confirm that made it click.

It would’ve been unimaginably lonely to live all your years at a distance. Always being careful because you never knew if ‘too close’ was only an arm's length away. Fearing a snap in physiology that could overtake you at any second, you’d flinch at touch. Craving it to the point of insanity, only to wail and wither as if it had burned you.

Jack kept you at a distance when he could, as a security measure. Not for his peace, but for your safety. Every time he’d crossed that threshold, you had gotten hurt, therefore reinforcing his bias. He left you assuming you wanted him gone. That was his apology; he thought the solitude was what you wished for, what you needed.

A gift to you after all he’d done. Made of sorrow and stitched from ruth.

With newfound clarity, you inhaled deeply. Mentally preparing for tomorrow's climate. It’d be uncomfortable, maybe tense and definitely stressful. Yet it needed to be done, to be said. You were going to talk to him, really talk to him.

No beating around the bush or avoiding the subject. You refused to exist in a limbo for all of the foreseeable future just because of miscommunication.

There was no time like the present.

Or whatever people said.

ᯓ★

➽──────────────❥

You’d been restless since dawn.

Going through the motions on autopilot, you were nervous at best and nauseous at worst. The journey to the manor was done through muscle memory, the ambience settling hushed as you marched. As if the trees were holding their breath.

The sun had set about an hour ago, and by the time you reached the infamous porch, the crickets sang loudly. You closed your eyes at the door, steadying yourself before you knocked. Then your knuckles rapped against the heavy oak, and you heard the lock click from inside. Metal rattling, the door cracked open a sliver, the gap widening when he recognized you.

“Where’s yer’ package?” A cigarette hung from between his teeth, and he gave you a once-over. It wasn’t harsh or suspicious; the man spoke like he was genuinely curious. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him not smoking. The leaves rustled behind you, and you rocked on your heels. “I-uh, I got hurt last time, Jack told me to visit for a check-up.”

“S’that right?”

“Mhm.”

He squinted at you, eyes narrowing for a second, before he stepped aside. However, as you passed him, he tutted. “You eat yet?” The question left you confounded, and you turned to him. Brows raised, “... I had breakfast..?” You replied carefully, unsure of his intentions.

‘Masky’, you were guessing, was the person who’d let you in on most deliveries. He never interacted with you much otherwise, and his abrupt curiosity was jarring. The man appeared decent enough; this was just random. Yet he didn’t stop there. Pausing like he was registering your answer, he shoved his hand into his pocket.

A puff of smoke curled into the air when he pulled out a granola bar.

The wrapper was a little crinkled, and he held it to you. Face still blank while he grunted. “Here.” Masky dropped the snack into your palm, then his fingers went to his lips. Snagging the cigarette. Another cloud of fog wafted out, and your confusion built. Maybe it was dumb, but you asked nonetheless.

“Why are you giving me this?”

“You questionin’ me?”

His glare was sharp, cut-throat like glass- making you shoot up. “No!” Said too quickly, though he remained unbothered. Scowl fading before he gave you a stiff nod. He shifted to the entrance, another figure joining his side. A guy in a muted yellow hoodie, with a knitted black mask tugged down to his neck. The gun-slinger looked over his shoulder, and you felt his gaze on you.

Preparing to leave on what you assumed was a mission, he adjusted the rifle over his body. Rasping, “Don’t die, an’ you better finish that.” Nudging his head at the bar in your hand. Then the pair exited swiftly, the door swinging shut behind them.

They were basically strangers, yet you felt as if you’d been scolded for not taking better care of yourself. The word “Dads” flashed through your mind unconsentually, and you shook it off. Continuing down the hall, the rickety floorboards creaked under your feet.

Your boots dragged with anxiety in every step. This was it; there was no more room for aversion, no more time to waste.

You ran through what you’d say and began your descent. Entering the lab, Jack was exactly where you’d thought he’d be. Nestled in the corner, surrounded by clutter, he busied himself. Glancing up upon your arrival. He stood carefully, evidently tense in your presence. “Your check-up.” It wasn’t a question; he knew why you were here.

Knew that there was a hefty barrier between you two.

An unspoken stalemate, before he gathered his med-kit. Walking over to the medical table, you did the same. Meeting him in the middle. Your heft was braced by your hands when you leaned on the surface, and he started preparing the tools. Lying the needles and sterile gauze on the steel, you puffed through your nose.

His body language was rigid, overly aware of the distance to your form. He worked on the very edge of the counter, his mask tilted to the floor. You couldn’t do this anymore. It had stretched on too long, leaving you stressed for days, nights- months. Every encounter always passed you by, never acknowledged, and you were tired. Over it.

“Why’d you run?”

Three words, yet he froze dead in his tracks. Braced as if you’d shot him. “... It wasn’t safe.” The ‘for you’ was unsaid, then he returned to his task, clearly not intending to expand further. See, you were a pretty level-headed person, but his avoidance struck a nerve. He had left you, abandoned you, always too caught up to hear anything you said. A constant push and pull that exhausted your patience.

If he wasn’t going to address it, you would. “So that’s it? We’re just going to pretend it didn't happen?” An accusation that carried a world of weight, making him drop the instruments. His posture was stiff, fists balled by his side, when he spoke.

“There is nothing I can say to erase what I’ve done, and even if you don’t trust me, I assure you this visit will be swift. I’ll change your wrappings, it won’t take-”

“You’re not listening to me.”

You interrupted him, pushing off the table. “You act like you can’t stand being near me, and then you pin me to the fucking floor. You saved my life, shoved your tongue down my throat and left, Jack.” You threw your arm into the air, exasperated. The hurt in your voice had him gritting his teeth, and he snapped. “You think I don’t know that?-”

Stepping back, he dragged a claw down his face. “You think I wouldn’t give anything to undo what happened that day? Wouldn’t give anything to rid you of the disgusting things I did to you- but I can’t.” Flinging his hand down, his shoulders heaved, lip curling up behind the mask. “I’m not asking you to take it back, I’m asking you to listen.” You argued with frustration. He wasn’t getting the point.

“You’re allergic to me one second- then you’re all over me. You came over, used me just to fucking leave. I just wanted to help-”

“And I told you not to. I warned you. I begged you to stay away, yet you refused. And now you’re stuck in a room with a monster who—”

Jack cut himself off, clamping his jaw shut. He couldn’t bring himself to say it, too cowardly to confess it outloud. Absolutely scum. The cannibal drew an unsteady breath, uttering quietly. “I know what I’ve done. I know you were scared. I know you despise me, and you have every right to. There’s no excuse I could give to make you forget, but I’m- I’m sorry.”

The silence was suffocating, and you swallowed. His guilt must be eating him alive- it wasn’t like that at all. One foot in front of the other, you moved towards him. Holding your hand out when he shuffled away, his back connecting with the wall. “I don’t hate you. I just wanted you to stay.” You dropped your arm and clutched it to your chest. Standing in front of him as the gap tightened between you.

“What are you-?”

“Jack.”

You said his name softly, a singular aching syllable that knocked the air from his lungs. Reaching for his wrist, you tugged it over your heart. Cradling it before lacing your fingers together. “You kissed me until I was dizzy and wouldn’t look at me after. You can’t be surprised I was upset.” You pressed yourself flush, bringing his large palm to cup your face.

Nuzzling into his touch, “I’m not scared of you. I like you, and when you held me, it felt so good.” You mumbled, and his cadence shook. Yet he didn’t recoil. “You don’t know what you’re doing- you have no idea what you’re asking for.”

Deny, deny, deny- still, his pulse quickened nonetheless. You were so close. Eyes swimming with nothing but want.

“I almost killed you- I’m dangerous, why can’t you understand that?” A warning with little grounding, his resolve was splintering like glass, and you could tell. Stretching to his mask, your thumb hooked under the edge of it. Pushing it up gently while you sighed. “You also saved me, again and again. You kept me safe.” He was terribly weak- selfish, a fatal flaw amongst all his mastery.  

“You’ll break. I’ll ruin you- the damage will be irreversible, and I won’t be able to fix you.”

“Then make me someone new.”

The mask clatters to cement, and his lips molded against yours. Claws gliding up your waist while he forced you back. It was a straight zero to one-hundred, and you felt him everywhere. Grabbing at your hips, pulling you deeper into him as your spine collided with the table. The cold steel sent shivers through your body, making you gasp.

With your mouth agape, he took the opportunity. Slipping his tongues past your lips. It was atonement, reverence, and possession in physical form. You ran your hands up his chest, squeezing the muscle. Jack’s brawn had never gone unnoticed, but now you were drowning in it. Given the freedom to touch and taste without obstacles.

He broke the kiss with a huff, a ribbon of saliva glinting between you. “You will bleed, and it will hurt.” Grunting, then he hoisted you onto the counter. The denim of your jeans didn’t stand a chance. His talons snagged the waistband, yanking down and splitting the fabric clean in half. Your pants were at your ankles by the time he dropped to his knees.

The cannibal fell so fast it sounded like it hurt, bone slamming into concrete- yet he didn’t react. Instead, he hauled you forward. Forcing your thighs wide when he tore your panties with his canines. He dove in nose-first, and you screamed.

Slurping lewdly, he was nowhere short of ravenous. Latching onto your clit and swirling into your hole. He didn’t let you adjust or prepare in the slightest. And the groan that reverberated from his ribs had you whining out. Jack was eating you like a madman. Devouring you with an insatiable appetite. “Fuck-” He lapped at your pooling slick.

Your head spun, completely overwhelmed by the pleasure. It was so much, and he wasn’t easing his pace. Tongues thrusting in and out mercilessly of your cunt. They reached deep, worming frantically inside your tunnel while you convulsed. “J-Jack- ah, wait.” You gave his forehead a flimsy shove, tangling your grip in his hair. “Please-”

He responded by swiftly sinking his teeth into your inner thigh. Piercing flesh, the taste that flooded his palette made his lids flutter shut. You were always so sweet, decadent and rich. Something to be served on velvet and gold under mosaics.

The bite marks spilled a dark red. Dripping down your leg, the second he unfastened from you. His claws had punctured skin, and they cut in more and more with each jolt. The pain had you dizzy as your gaze flicked to him. Jack’s muzzle was drenched in your arousal, your blood smearing the metal. He looked every bit of the monster they’d told you about- and your eyes rolled back.

Mewling when his nose knocked against the sensitive bud, your shoulders bowed. “S’too deep- ngh. Please, I can’t-” The tips of his tongues were driving into your cervix, making you see stars. He gulped, “You begged me like a whore, and you will take what I give you.” Snarling, his talons suddenly fastened onto your hips.

Heaving you off the polished surface, he flipped you. Your tits pressing to the metal while he prys you open. The sensation of his tongues at this angle had you choking. “Holy shit- haah-” Gasping for air pitifully. It was humiliating like this.

He had dug his thumbs into your folds, spreading you when he began rocking you onto his mouth. The cannibal was literally fucking you with the muscles. Three inky tendrils that slithered and expanded inside your pussy. They slipped back and forth, making your canal squelch loudly. You were so exposed, borderline put on display by his grip.

Jack was straight up making out with your cunt. Slobbering, licking at every inch of skin you offered. And you wailed upon feeling his incisors puncture the fat of your ass.

A deep wound above his hold on you. Tiny droplets of scarlet bubbled along the pattern, mixing with his spit as he feasted. It was as if he were trying to consume you whole.

Leaving his signature in your flesh, signing his name off by the edge of his canines. A labour under moonlight, in the thrum of flourescents and the heat of fever. If you wanted him, then you’d have him in his entirety. Take and take until there was nothing left of you both- because this wasn’t sex. It was a welded brand that would condemn you as sick as he was.

If you wanted to be remade, then he’d strip your bones clean.

Estacy overspilled in your gut, and you came. “Jack- Jack.” White knuckling the steel ledge. He ran his tongue along his teeth after pulling back, watching you tremble with fascination.

You were bleeding, scraped up from head to toe- yet you had the stupidity to peer at him. Asking for more, like you wouldn’t be torn apart in the process. Like there wasn’t a chance you’d lose your life for the sake of lust. A glutton for punishment. A deer that had skinned its own meat for a starving wolf. Your ankle was caught in a bear trap, and you did nothing but reach for the hunter.

Your release poured out between your shaking legs. Puddling on the floor when he wrapped your hair around his fingers. He ripped you off the table and forced you to your knees. Making you clumsily steady yourself, your palms flat on the cement, before you looked up.

Over you, Jack unfastened his belt. The buckle jostling, clinking mutely- he grunted. “Open, courier.” Grasping your chin, the other tugging down his boxers. He was big. Inhumanly sized, his cock hung heavily in front of you. Flushed at the tip, with a vein running down the underside. He stroked himself once, lining up with your lips, huffing.

You had no idea how the hell that was going to fit. Fear contorting your expression, he settled his free hand on your windpipe. Squeezing faintly as you dropped your jaw.

He was warm against your tongue, and you gave the head a kitten lick. “Look at you, pleading to be debased like some mutt in heat. A brainless pet begging for scraps. You’re pathetic.” Sneering, then he pushed your head forward. His girth was almost painful.

It stretched your mouth to the brink of capacity, making your jaw ache around him. You gagged from the intrusion, and he bucked his hips. Bullying the length further down your throat while tears gathered at your lashes. The cannibal moved his grasp from your neck into your hair. Twisting the strands harshly and yanking at your scalp.

The pace he set was brutal. Mercilessly thrusting without giving you reprieve. He was using you as a sleeve, a toy without thought or agency.

Your hands scrambled for purchase, latching onto the front of his slacks. You choked; he was only about halfway in, and your lungs were already burning. Cheeks stuffed full, his pre-cum bubbled obscenely. Forming a gluey ring around his cock. “Gods-” He droned, letting his head fall back. You stared as he swallowed, his adams apple bobbing.

The view could last you for decades. Sweat beaded down the columns of his throat, shoulders broad and heaving. With his hair in disarray, he was a vision fit for your most debauched fantasies. It had you clenching on nothing, and your thighs twitched. He was so mean, fucking your mouth ruthlessly- wet plaps resonated through the basement.

He gazed at you half-lidded, pulling out, just to slap his dick on your face. Depraved, when you lapped at his balls. He grabbed himself, tapping it across your skin. His seed dribbling onto your features. Arousal and possession curled in his stomach along with disgust. You were being tainted, corrupted by his own hands with a smile.

It was such a wretched, diseased gratification. Satisfying him like rot to maggots. Jack was death with a pulse. A relentless hunger that ruined and devastated. Yet you worshipped him as if he were salvation. Deliverance from something wicked, someone you deemed a saviour. If you were deluded, then he was vile.

Because he let you stay. Let you touch and moan and weep. Allowed you to degrade yourself to this. An animal with a warm mouth and inviting cunt. Grovelling at his feet, crying for his cock like a whore.

Lip curling up cruelly, he taunted you. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Are you proud?” Shoving his boots between your thighs, he jerked your head back. Blood-soaked leather against your throbbing clit while you whined. It had your hips jolting, and your blissed-out expression made him grit his teeth.

“Humping my leg like you can’t help yourself. Stick out your tongue, dog.”

You followed his demand, obediently letting your jaw go slack. Drool gathering in the cavern- he spat harshly into your mouth, and when you swallowed, he scoffed. “I could crush your airways right now, and you’d use your last breath to thank me.” Then he slammed past your lips, immovable snare on your crown. You gagged violently.

Squirming from the pressure on your sopping pussy, and the fullness of your throat. You hiccuped with your nose buried in his happy trail. Salt streaming down your cheeks as he built his rhythm. You went limp, slumping into him with your spine arched. Each thrust had your body lurching in place, causing you to grind onto his boot.

“Fuck. That’s it- hah- keep it in-” Your esophagus was so wet, convulsing tight enough to have him shuddering. Roped muscle tensing when he rutted forward over and over. Brows furrowed in concentration. The pleasure had him fucking high. Submission was trust. Blind faith that he wouldn’t accidentally crack your skull open in the rush.

It was everything he’d ever wanted and everything he despised you for all at once.

Your surrender of mind and body sent him over the edge- and he flooded your mouth. Groaning lowly, while his cum pumped deeper. His grasp finally loosened, allowing you to tumble onto your haunches with a cough. Desperately trying to find your bearings, he tasted like thick syrup. A musky laquer that coated your tongue.

You lapped at his still leaking tip, gulping the leftover arousal. Pornographic, before Jack wrenched you up by the throat. Caging you beneath him after borderline tossing you onto the counter. Your back crashed into the chilled steel, and he threw your jeans to the side. Hiking your legs to your chest- “Wait! I want- I want to see you.” The meek stutter interrupted him, making him freeze.

Lying almost completely bare, you sniffled. Eyes glassy as you gestured to his sweater. “Please?” Beautiful prey, far too docile to be where you were. He reacted by snagging the back of his hood, ripping it over his head briskly. Now uncovered from the hips up, your leer drifted over his torso.

The scars littered his abdomen, tiny healed slashes leading from his Adonis belt to the curve of his pecs. They dotted up his frame, with freckles dispersed along the divots like stone. He was sculpted in the same way as statues in Rome were. Devastingly breathtaking.

He leaned forward, stationing between your legs as his hair shadowed his sockets. The cannibal was pretty. Perspiration dripping down his clenched jaw, lashes fluttering. A sacrilege of the natural law, yet you cradled his face anyway. He always loathed his reflection, couldn’t stand the sight of it- and here you were. Touching him like you wanted to, like he was something radiant.

Too gentle, too fond, you brought him closer. Brushing his nose against yours with intimacy he never deserved. Kissing him softly while he remained unmoving. It was overwhelming, and he flinched away as if you’d burned him. Wrestling your wrists above your head, his grip was bruising when he aligned with your cunt.

Jack paused, chuffing in thought- he grabbed a clean rag. Meant for blotting wounds, it had been cast aside, hanging off the table's ledge until now. He raised it to your lips. “Bite.” A single syllable, and the second your teeth met cotton, he returned his claw down south. Pushing the head inside without warning.

Your spine arched off the metal like you’d been struck by lightning. The bolt seized through your body, weaving into your blood, scorching your marrow, and forcing your ribs open. A harvest of the soul, reanimated like Frankenstein’s monster by Jack’s design alone. There was no going back. You had been altered to the very cell.

Wailing through the fabric, he grunted over you. Slowly feeding his length into your cunt, it was an ungodly stretch. Making you writhe helplessly, it felt like he was tearing you in half. You sobbed, and he sheathed to the hilt. Pitching over, while your vision blurred. He began rocking into you. Shallow thrusts that thumped against your cervix.

You tremored pathetically, you were too full, and you swore he was hitting your lungs. Stuffed to the brim, gorged beyond your limits. You snivelled, your eyes couldn’t focus- you couldn’t even think. Head lolling to the side with your ears packed with cotton. Your limbs went slack, and you jolted with every snap of his hips.

Letting out muffled “Mmph- mmph- mmph-”s. The searing pain had dulled to a simmer. Overtaken by a building decadence. It coiled in your womb. Engulfing you from the bottom of your feet to the base of your skull. He had torn your entrance, and the pale red blended with your slick.

Your ankles hooked behind his back, pressing him flush. You spat out the towel, “Wanna’ kiss- please. Ngh- so d-deep.” Mewling when he grinded into your sweet spot. You were a mess, ruined under him. Hair splayed on the metal with lacerations covering you.

Despicable as it was, the sight had him purring. You were a lamb ripe for the picking, lewd enough to make him salivate. Completely and undeniably his.

The baritone rumbled in his chest, sonorous as he dipped to your face. His mouth slotted against yours, making you moan into him. With his body bent to the new angle, his pelvis mashed into your clit- absolutely mind-numbing. “Ah- Jack.” It was spoken like a prayer, and he burrowed his head into the hollow of your shoulder.

His lust, his need, betrayed his principle. He lapped at your collar, sinking his canines in roughly as you screamed. Bite after bite, tear after tear. Jack was eating you alive, claiming you from the inside out. You wanted this, you begged him for this. So you would reap what you sow.

Releasing your wrists, the purple had already begun blooming. The hues decorating your flesh while he huffed. Driving his shaft balls deep. “Look at me, messenger-” Though your eyes refused to focus, and his patience waned. Running thin- he gripped your jaw. “You can’t even speak, can you? All it takes is my cock for you to become a drooling addict-”

Jack rolled his hips forward, the table creaking from the force. He continued. “Does it excite you knowing I’ve dissected bodies exactly where you are? Does it thrill you that I could snap your neck like nothing? Rip you limb from limb while you scream- does that make you wet?” Pounding into your weeping pussy as he snarled.

He was abusing your hole, splitting you open roughly, and your pupils blew wide. Rolling up into your skull. “Oh- ngh, god-” The cannibal hoisted your leg up, hooking it onto his shoulder before he crowded you. “Letting a monster fill your cunt like some depraved prostitute- pathetic.” His talons wrapped around your neck, pinning you in place.

The pace was unsparing, fucking you with abandon. You pawed at his forearm, and your view was speckled with black. The room had begun spinning. “Jack- can’t breathe. P-please, I can’t-” Yet his palm stayed firm, squeezing your airways without remorse. Your head was buzzing, your lungs burning from the lack of oxygen.

Pleasure and pain, pleasure and pain. You supposed it was inseparable to him, following him like a second skin. From the beginning, you already knew this was a risk. So this must have been fate.

Dying to him the way they’d warned you about. The way he’d promised it would end. A tragedy in the making, bound by grief and longing.

However, there was a whisper that told you he wouldn’t press harder. Maybe you were naive, but something about the anguish in his gaze made you believe it. His hold wasn’t one of malice; it was a test to himself. To prove something unspoken.

Your hand slipped, and you stared up at him. Admiring his features, the ripples of his body that were caused by exertion. Even though you were on the brink of passing out, it was still pleasant.

The deep drags of his cock sent waves of ecstasy through you, and you sighed quietly. “S’good- feels so good.” Slurring with your tongue heavy. You hoped that if this all went down in flames, he would remember you. A fleeting moment in his endless years. A time long ago, when an anxious courier had thought of him as something more.

Then, he suddenly yanked his claws from your throat, and you gasped. Inhaling deeply, he eased his rhythm to a halt. The look on his face was the definition of horrified.

His hand quivered near your neck for a second, then he slammed it onto the table. His nails flaying the steel open in grooves. “Fight.” Sneering, with desperation shaking his voice. Jack bracketed your form, trapping you beneath him when he roared. “Fight. Scream- yell for help-” His tone was exasperated, disgusted by his own actions and your acceptance.

“Hit me- do something- anything. I could have killed you. You would’ve died in this fucking basement under me-”

“I didn’t think you would.”

Reaching up, you cupped his jaw. The lacklustre strength made him sick, and you smoothed your thumb over his skin. “You didn’t think- you bet your life on a concept. Do you have any idea how idiotic that is? If I held on for even a minute longer, your brain would have begun shutting down. I would’ve violated you, then turned you into a fucking corpse.” He spat, lip curling up, and your reply had him scoffing.

“But you didn’t.” You sounded so sure. So absolute in your resolve- in your faith in him. It confused him as much as it angered him.

“You keep trying to convince me you’re this terrible beast, when you’re not. Every time you’ve done something, you break down. I know you’re not cruel. You just pretend you are because you think you have to be.”

He grit his teeth, letting his head sag to avoid your eyes. He stared at the center of your ribs, sockets flickering over the bruises and cuts. “Your belief in me is foolish. You should hate me.” Muttering with disdain, you raised his head, your palms on his cheeks. “But I don’t.” You whispered carefully. Searching his face and far too patient.

“You’ll get hurt.”

“We have Band-Aids.”

“It’ll ruin you. I’ll leave you starved.”

“Then I’ll come to you full.”

Your trust was agonizing. A string garden, woven together with glass thread, and devotion so pure it could only be born of something wrong. He drew a measured breath, resting his forehead on yours. “You make this more difficult than it has to be.” And you hummed, "Not if you stay.” Kissing him slowly, you took your time.

With your lips fitting together, you could pinpoint exactly when he gave in. A jar too full, each colourful marble hits the glass until it stacks to the top. The weight of it makes the container lean toward the edge of the shelf. You ran your fingers through his hair, unravelling the knots. Whining softly when his hips pull back.

Jack rutted into you, the base of him grinding onto your clit. He angled his maw to the right, savouring you without rush. The jar inches closer to the ledge, sliding a fraction. His tempo was painstakingly tender, and the warmth of it drowned you. “Ah- c-can feel you in my stomach.” You clawed at his shoulders, lids drooping.

A muted clink, and the thing sways a bit. He nuzzles your throat, rasping a defeated chuckle. “I should’ve warned you. Forgive me, little dove.” The petname has you swooning, making you cling to him. Pupils dilated when he pecked the corner of your mouth. The glass balances by a hair's breadth.

Your cunt twitches around him, plush and velvet-like. His jaw fell slack as he built speed. Hand sliding into yours before he entwines your fingers on the table. A sharp thrust, and your lips part, forming an O while your spine lifts. It topples over, shattering on the floor with the beads scattering vibrantly. “Please-” Slurring, he soothes you, affection bleeding in.

“I know, I’m here.” His cock pulsed inside your tunnel. Throbbing with need when you clenched down. He hissed, giving your smaller palm a squeeze. His claws were digging into the steel, an attempt not to harm you more than he already had. The metal below you fogged, and you tugged at his scalp. “Ngh- so good. You make me feel so s’good.” Your praise sent him reeling.

The med-bay was silent aside from your hushed moans and the sticky sound of skin on skin. Bodies moving in tandem, he thrusted in again and again. Picking up the pace with a grunt. “You don’t know what you do to me.” Then he hauled you off the surface. Bracing you by the waist, his talons dug into your ass. Reclining to full height when he started bouncing you.

Jack moved you like you were weightless. Unearthly strength that he used to sink you up and down. The added gravity had him knocking into your cervix, forcing pitchy moans to echo off the walls. He panted, “You have no idea how many times- haah fuck- I’ve thought of filling you-” Bucking up into your pussy, you left wet kisses along his jaw.

He was so fucking deep, a dizzying stretch, and your eyes crossed. Repeating his name like scripture while you came. The slick gushed out of you messily, drenching his abs and thighs. “So sensitive.” He cooed, fucking you through your orgasm. Following close behind when he slammed you onto his cock, once, twice more, before he spilled hotly.

Painting your insides white with a groan, he stepped across the room. Tugging you off, then twisting you to face the wall. His length slid back in instantly, and you arched into him. Spine forming a semi-circle as he snapped his hips forward.

The squelch of your cunt was embarrassingly loud, yet it did nothing but fuel his appetence. He grabbed your waist as leverage, jerking your frame to meet his rhythm. The friction of his balls slapping against your puffy bud made you collapse into cement, and you mewled. “Ah- ah- hah-” Drooling with your tongue lolling out of your mouth.

Your feet were lifted off the ground by his hold. On your toes, when he breaches your entrance to the hilt. The impact of his thrusts rippled through you. Pelting into the smooth surface under your palms and rattling the shelves. All his equipment, his tools and apparatus- clanked together. The glass clashing before whipping off the ledge.

The once pristine lab was an utter mess. Claw marks streaked the wall, dented into metal with blood trailing the floors. A ritual sight, where he bound you to him by essence and matter. Drawing release after release, splitting you in half until your pussy took his shape. Until your body would remember him by touch alone.

In the dead of night, when you were blind, lost at sea. When the North Star had failed to guide you, and your heart was shrieking with fear. You would call for—

“Jack!”

A gasp that made him zero in on your connection. His length was drenched, glistening with your arousal. It pumped in and out repeatedly, pummelling past the tight ring of muscle. Your hole had been overstuffed, oozing his seed with every plough. Obscenely pouring down your legs, gathering in a sticky puddle by his boots. He scrunched his lids shut.

Beating your cunt like he was mad at it, he splurted inside you. “Good girl.” Rumbling low enough to send you over the edge. You convulsed, crying out when he stilled. However, your peace was short-lived- because the man immediately spun you around.

Snagging your thigh in a large talon, he hauled the limb up. Hooking your knee over the crook of his elbow, then steadying you by the hip. He nudged in balls deep, and you sobbed. Nerve endings on fire while your other leg was basically dead weight. You scratched at his biceps, leaving shallow streaks. “Too much- I can’t think-”

Your blunt nails dug into grey, and he struck your sweet spot with a sniper's accuracy. Hammering into your bloated tummy over and over. You thought you were going to explode.

It was so much, devouring your senses like a wildfire. Every vein, every ridge, and pulse of his cock dragged against your walls as he continued to plunge. You could feel it all, oversensitive to hell and back. Jack was unyielding, tunnel-visioned on making sure it stuck. The pent-up need had possessed him; he wanted your mind rewritten.

Snarl akin to an animal- he grinded harshly. Baring teeth. “You’re mine.” His claw clamped down hard enough to bruise. “Mine to break-” The lines in his neck tensed, shoulders heaving. “Mine to corrupt-” You shuddered; his engorged cockhead was smearing too deeply. Fitting snug with no room to even breathe. “Mine to breed.” He drove his hips forward, and you saw white.

The cannibal bent had you in tears for hours on hours. Bending you in every position possible, he fucked you in ways you could barely comprehend.

Folding you over the table again, locking you in place with a heavy palm on your spine. He pounded you from the back, leaving welts on the fat of your ass. “Begging for more when you’re bleeding from the stretch. Where’s your dignity, courier?” Kicking your stance wider when you moaned.

He hung you upside down. Tongues expanding, guzzling your squirting cunt. He held you with a hand gripping your thigh and the other on your head. “Don’t pass out- you want to impress me, don’t you? Give me something worth keeping.” Using your throat while you clutched desperately at his legs, your ears ringing.

Then, Jack took you on the floor. Pelvis thwacking against your folds as you hiccuped. “Uh- uh- s’too good- ‘m gonna’ die-” He snickered, cruel and mocking. “What a mouthy lamb, I have.” Spearing you on his girth, you raked your nails down his back. Clawing his flesh, thrashing vigorously. He healed you like a saint and fucked you like the morning star.

You could barely move by the time he was done. Limbs buzzing with exhaustion, and your head heavier than tungsten. He hissed upon slipping out, meticulous of your state. “Apologies, I should have been more wary of your limits.” Mumbling quietly, his arms cocooned your limp form. Uprooting you from the concrete.

He carried you past the curtain near the back of the basement. Padding to the small washroom, you were gently placed on the bathtub's ledge. “I don’t think I can walk.” Teasing him while he stripped both of you. He shook his head in response, guilty. “You will be sore tomorrow, but I have ointments for your wounds.” The shower was turned on, and he helped you in.

It felt good under the spray, the warm water easing the sting. You circled your hold around his middle, and he hummed. Carefully washing the grime from your skin after discarding the old bandages. “Pretty romantic for a guy who supposedly hates touching.” You joked, resting your chin on his pec.

It seemed to fluster him, making his pointed ears tint with blue. “Enough.” An almost-pout, and he grabbed the shower head behind you, rinsing the cuts on your back. If you were a better person, you’d leave it at that. Let the poor man rest after all that turmoil. Alas, you weren’t, so you snorted instead.

“This better mean we’re official- ‘cause I don’t do one-night stands.”

“How you have the energy to be coy is beyond me.”

Monotone, yet the way he kissed your damp forehead after told you enough. He cleaned your bodies swiftly, finishing the task with medical precision. You were dried off with a fluffy towel, he’d left the room to bring you a new one and everything. Then he patched you up as promised. Transporting you between the med-bay and his sleeping area efficiently.

A solid twenty-minutes later, you were settled against his pillows. Watching him rummage around before you reached for him. “Cuddle.” Demanding with grabby hands, he agreed despite himself. “Are you thirsty?” Taking a seat next to you. He’d dressed you in an old T-shirt, covering your bottoms with the smallest pair of boxers he owned.

Low-hanging sweats at his hips, he was bare from the waist up, and you crawled onto him. Perched on his lap. “A little, but you didn’t answer me earlier.” You slumped forward, arms around his neck. It made him sigh. “You’re the strangest human I’ve ever met.” Tracing shapes onto your thighs, his hesitation wasn’t unnoticed.

Even if he was cautious for the rest of your days, there was still a risk. A danger that came with being around him. Though you were insistent on your view of him, refusing to back down.

“You bit me and said I was yours. Specifically, that I was yours to break, yours to breed-” And he threw an arm over his eyes. “Oh, gods.”

Post-nut clarity had hit him, the embarrassment kicking in quickly. You giggled. “No- no, it was hot, I liked it. Jack-” The groan he let out resonated through the entire room, and he dragged his claw over his face. Peering at you from between his fingers. “I got... carried away.” Cringing while you pecked his knuckles.

“Did you mean it? Like- y’know.” His hand descended, then he cupped your cheek. Memorizing your features, the vulnerability in your gaze- he exhaled as if he’d made a life or death decision. “Yes, I did.” A confession that fractured him more than you’d ever know, and you pressed your lips to his. Parting from him after a second.

You were determined to rid him of any excess worry. Your plan of action? Tooth-rotting affection. It was the obvious choice; he was right there. Completely unguarded, appearing very boyfriend material, you couldn’t not.

It started with a kiss to his nose, one to his jaw, then another to his brow. You trailed all over his face, leaving no stone unturned. And when you pulled back, Jack looked dazed. Sockets drooping, with an undeniable amour to his expression. “Mm.” He grumbled mutely, shying away by burrowing his head into your shoulder.

For someone so big, he curled into you like he was tiny. Clinging to you, he slid his palms under your shirt, sniffing a little. The closeness was addictive, and he basked in it.

Enjoying your scent, your warmth and intimacy. One achingly soft- saccharine moment of solace, before you spoke.

“I know you like the way I smell-”

“I beg of you.”

ᯓ★

➽──────────────❥

The aged wood creaked beneath his feet.

After you’d persuaded him to snuggle with you a bit longer, he ascended the lab stairs. Not bothering to throw on a shirt since it was nearly four in the morning.

While the proxies didn’t have good sleeping schedules by any means, they were always cooped up in their rooms. It should’ve been a brisk trip to fetch you water.

Emphasis on should’ve

Because just as he filled the glass, with the tap sputtering to life- a tell-tale snap sounded from behind him. Followed by a bright flash and a hushed “Oh my god.” He turned to see exactly who he thought he’d see. Ben.

Standing in plaid pyjama pants at the kitchen entrance, he had a palm slapped over his mouth, phone in hand. “Is she alive?” He stared at the cannibal with astonishment, flipping the phone around.

There, on the screen, was a picture of Jack. His back was covered in scratches, from the divots of his shoulders to his triceps.

However, much to the other resident’s dismay, he showed no reaction. “She’s fine.” Bluntly stated, before he shut off the faucet. Walking past him, the elf clicked his tongue. “We kinda’ thought it was over for all of us when you were down there- but I mean! Like- shit, congrats.”

Giving him an awkward thumbs up, it was evident that Jack’s presence still had him on edge, and he scurried off in a blink.

Though the interaction had been mundane, expected even, his words stuck. Just what in the world was Ben talking about?

ᯓ★

➽──────────────❥

Earlier ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ -> ->

Approximately 9:45 PM Central Eastern Time.

They had gathered in the main room to lounge. Snacking on whatever they could find and putting on something interesting to watch- when suddenly, a force shuddered the manor. It rattled the ceiling beams, making dust waft into the air.

“The fuck?” Jeff mumbled, mid-chew, with his hand wrist deep in a chip bag. Spinning a blade with the other.

The group brushed it off as house noises, only for another bang to reverberate through the floors. Then another, and another, and another—

Toby, Masky and Hoodie had been sent on a job. So it couldn’t be the brunette trashing a room, Tim testing a new gun, or Brian fixing his truck. The next obvious choice would be LJ, except he was sitting in the love seat. There was no one else, and the boss was definitely not the answer.

The proxies were at a standstill, shooting each other curious looks, before Nina shot up. “Wait! Isn’t the messenger getting a check-up?”

A beat of silence as her words sank in, and the group erupted in scandalized gasps. The snack had fallen from Jeff’s lap, with LJ bordering a screech. “Oh heavens! You don’t think-?”

Ben replied aghast. “I mean, I knew they had tension, but holy shit- the whole house?” His tone made Jeff cackle, and he slammed his knife into the chair’s arm.

“Genuinely praying for her fucking pussy. Have you seen the guy? He’s gonna’ kill ‘er whether he wants to or not at this rate.” Immediately pulling out his phone to text his mysterious lover, Nina's eyes were bright.

“Ugh, their size difference.” Sighing wistfully, she clutched her hands to her chest while Ben scoffed in disbelief. “’Kay, this is great and all- but isn’t she human?-” Getting cut off by a loud crash coming from the basement.

It sounded like EJ and their messenger were either having the most insane sex to ever happen, or you were fighting for your life.

Nina hummed, freezing for a second, then huffing. “... Okay, but he’s in love with her. You literally said that!” To which the elf refuted with a passionate, “Bro- I want them to work. It’s just that EJ’s stroke game is about to collapse our house. Our house, Nina.” Exasperatedly throwing up his hands, she crossed her arms.

“You’re a fake shipper.”

“I am not! I’m literally the only reason you know about them-”

“Shit, what if he actually takes her out? Death by dick is fucked up.”

“Well, I’m choosing to believe our medic is simply a very, very passionate lover—”

➽──────────────❥

➽──────────────❥

Jack was completely and utterly late for dinner.

On top of that, he hadn’t even prepped the baby food this morning before he’d left. Simply throwing the task at you, and then he had somehow lost track of time. Too focused on getting the job done, he’d been shamefully negligent. Not checking the watch you’d painstakingly gifted him. You were also cooking tonight, putting so much effort into your shared routine.

You had told him the night prior that you wanted to try a new dish. Taking his diet into consideration, and adjusting the recipe. A plan in mind to have two separate pots. One for the normal stew, another for him and the children. While the babies could digest animal meat and vegetable produce just fine, he’d found out that human organs kept them fuller.

Their DNA was a split of yours and his. Yet his biology dominated the developmental process, making them grow to crave flesh. It nurtured them better, made them thrive brighter.

In theory, they could live perfectly healthy lives with “normal” nutrition- but you’d refused. Arguing that you wanted them to flourish, have them grow strong just like him.

And he was failing you.

Falling short on his responsibilities and forcing you to pick up his slack. This was unforgivable. He felt ashamed; his loving, far too generous spouse was waiting at home. Yet where was he? Covered in blood and prancing around the woods? Not calling you beforehand, so you’d wonder why your husband was missing?

Shaking his head in disappointment at his actions, he decided that he’d end it early. The killers would have to make do because Jack had places to be.

“EJ, you done with the rest? ‘Cause we gotta’ haul the bodies back-”

“I can’t help you. There’s something urgent I have to take care of.”

Brian stared at him with confusion, squinting. “...More urgent than burying corpses for stick man?” Suspicious, Tim stationed by his side, and the cannibal gave a short reply. “Dire.” His tone was stern, leaving no room for debate. Then he turned on his heel, walking through the bark before disappearing out of sight.

The pair lingered on his now vacant spot, and after a beat, a single question hovered between them.

Since when the hell did Jack have a personal life?

ᯓ★ ִׄ˚ • 𖥔 ࣪˖ ⭑ ₊ ⭒ * . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

A spark of light, flickering amidst the greenery like a beacon.

You had settled down in a cabin far out of town, near the mountainside. The thing had been a fixer-upper, but Jack laboured day in and day out. Reinforcing the walls, laying down sturdy foundations to ensure it’d be a home to keep. Somewhere you’d be safe.

Approaching the porch, he could already smell your hard work. It made his mouth water, and he unlocked the door with a click. Swiftly removing his boots, he padded down the hall, a beeline to the kitchen. Peeling off the scuffed leather gloves along the way. However, the second he stepped into the space, two shapes immediately collided with his legs. He glanced down-

“Bwah bwah!”

The twins.

Fraternal, you’d bear a girl and a boy. Aurora and Theodore. They’d taken after him in skin tone and eye colour, with your features obvious in their visage. A perfect blend. It made his heart ache every time, and he kneeled down. “Yes, I’m here.” Only about a year old, they hadn’t developed their vowel sounds properly. Dubbing him the title of “bwah bwah” while calling you mama. He thinks it’s because they love you more.

Yet he couldn’t blame them; he probably would, too.

From over the kitchen island, you spun to face him, plate in hand. “You’re late, Mr Nyras.” Gorgeous, you were as beautiful as the day he’d met you. Under the warm glow of the lamps, you looked picturesque, like a snapshot from a storybook.

Your cadence may have been laced with feigned frustration, but your grin gave you away. Giggling quietly when he rose, you rushed over, throwing your arms around his neck. “You are so lucky I missed you, or else me and the babies would’ve planned a revolution.” A love-sick mutter into his chest, and he squeezed you. Your feet nearly lifted off the ground.

Aurora tugged at the hem of your shirt, her tiny hand balling into a fist. “Mama.” She flailed her arms in the air, jumping with a gasp, while Theodore gnawed at his pant leg. Their teeth had come in early, small, sharp points that they sank into everything. Reclining slightly, he watched you scoop her up. Cradling the little one close.

She babbled, patting your cheeks excitedly. Always curious about your differences, he’d often find one- or both- touching your face. Wondering why papa looked like them, and you didn’t. Another tug at his jeans, and he followed your motions. Holding the toddler at his hip, you carried them to the table. “How was work?” Teasing him as your hands moved on autopilot.

You placed her in the booster seat when he did the same across from you. “It was alright- I would’ve called you if they hadn’t sent me out. Forgive me.” Soft-spoken, he removed his mask. Tossing it onto an empty chair and pressing a kiss to the boy's head. Jack’s genuine distress made you laugh. “Only if I’m next.” Referring to his affection- and he had never taken a statement more seriously.

Crossing the distance in two strides, he cradled your jaw in his palms. Kissing you slowly, letting you feel it. His longing, fondness and warmth in a physical form. In touch and taste. It lit you from the inside out, then he pulled away.

“Better?”

“Much.”

Though you didn’t step back, not yet. Cupping his nape, you ran your thumb along the sparse hair. Appreciating his gentle expression before pushing up on your toes. You pecked the corner of his mouth, littering his skin in endearment. Exaggerated “mwahs” filled the air, and he huffed. The stony facade had finally slipped.

His smiles were a myth to most people, but you knew better. Reading your lover was a skill, and you were a trained professional. The man’s tells were subtle, almost nonexistent- unless he was here. At home, Jack was basically a domesticated, overgrown cat.

Constantly reaching for you. Either attached to your shadow or sprawled on his back, with the twins piled on him, napping in a sun spot. The purr would echo through the room every time you’d catch him. He’d become more relaxed over the months, yet you still remembered the beginning.

Jack had the attitude of a military sergeant when you were pregnant. From the minute you surprised him with the positive test to your delivery date. The cannibal refused to take any risks, not sparing any detail of scrutiny. He had researched just about everything you could possibly research.

Scouring the internet, finding physical books about moods and hormones. You’d assume he was preparing for war with the number of sleepless nights he had spent in the lab. Even when he couldn’t be there in person, he’d read in between assignments. Stitch proxies up while mumbling to himself, planning what he would need to gather. There was no limit to his precautions, no roof to his worries.

Your pregnancy wasn’t a normal one; his genes made sure of that. The inhuman physiology wasn’t accounted for in previous records, so all his knowledge was educated guesses. That in itself was enough to have his blood pressure rise, and this didn’t even include any signs of discomfort you’d shown.

Heavens forbid you winced during the night. It was as if an alert was hotlined into his brain, making him shoot up. You couldn’t count how many times you’d woken up with him hovering over you. Brows furrowed, he’d check your pulse. Asking you fifteen questions at once and appearing on the brink of explosion. A ball of nothing but tightly wound anxiety.

He treated you like you were made of glass. Every craving was life or death; each request had him dropping any task at hand. The cannibal would throw on a whole disguise, stealing entire carts of food from people in the grocery store parking lot.

The second they looked away, he’d put his strength and agility to use. Sprinting off with the basket in a flash. He’d come home with whatever food you’d mentioned. Pre-cutting mangos into cubes, prepping meals in the fridge so you wouldn’t have to cook. Your lover restocked the pantry with the precision of a top-line chef.

Throughout the nine-months, you still went on dates. Going for walks if you were both free, or you’d bake together. He did whatever he could to ease the load, lighten the burden. Dressing up in silly garments to pretend to be a licensed masseuse because you’d said you were sore.

Learning tricks to relieve the ache in your back. The things you hadn’t even brought up yet would already be on his list. You’d let a single groan slip, and he’d come up behind you. Lifting your stomach to let you breathe for a moment.

Doting and attentive spouse first, blood thirsty cannibal second. That was the motto.

One time, you’d been on a midnight walk. Chatting with him by your side, a man had come out of nowhere. He knocked into your shoulder- it wasn’t overly harsh, just enough to have you stumble slightly.

You’d think someone was holding you at gunpoint with how Jack reacted.

The guy had turned to you, about to brush it off with a quick remark. However, all the colour drained from his face the second his eyes landed on him. Hood up, his face was mostly covered by a scarf. And if his height wasn’t jarring as is, his malice definitely was. So stringent that you could feel it, the energy emanating from him was edged. Buzzing with warning.

He stuttered an apology with clammy palms. Borderline running away after the fact- you’d smacked your lover on the arm. “It was an accident, you don’t need to be like that.” And he had refuted passionately. “If he doesn’t want to be aware of his surroundings, his fate is natural selection.” Not budging in his stance, you spent the rest of the outing with his presence scaring people from crossing the street.

Then, when your water broke, hell was on the loose. He rushed you to the cabin's basement, where he had crafted a makeshift hospital room. It made sense to be urgent, though Jack was a tad overbearing in your opinion. In the most loving way possible, he was acting as if a mildly uncomfortable pillow would cause your demise.

It was a water birth. According to all the articles he’d read, the lessened gravity and positioning would be the least unbearable. He had helped you into the DIY tub, supporting your neck with a cushion. Luckily for you both, his status as a medic gave him access to painkillers. Along with his almost excessive preparation, it had been a decently smooth process. And around six-hours later, a cry resonated through the cellar.

The memory made you grin, and you gave him one last kiss- before grabbing the rest of the plates. Setting the table with a variety of dishes, all created with love. His first bite had him believing in a higher power. A thick blood stew, you had used the frozen organs in the basement freezer. Chopping them up with potatoes and other ingredients.

It also appeared that the twins agreed. Their mini-sized plastic utensils did the heavy lifting, the only weapon in their fight with the soup. Aurora had given up on having manners. Choosing to consume the chunks by hand, while Theodore went nose-first into the bowl. Kids were messy.  

Usually, his meals were raw. They tasted good that way. His palette allowed him to savour the deeper notes of flesh, the underlying sweetness and metallic tinge. But this was on a whole other level. He hummed around the spoon, shovelling the braise into his mouth- only to pause when you giggled. Peering up to see you hiding behind your hand.

“Hm?”

He seemed so clueless. It wasn’t his fault; it’s that he gave you such terrible cuteness aggression. Jack was so broad, all snarls and intimidating glares. It did horrible things to your heart watching him live so openly.

After everything, he was still your baby, and he liked to eat. You couldn’t help it- he looked adorable. Sitting in front of you with stuffed cheeks, hunching over subconsciously so he wouldn’t take up too much room. You cooed, and he arched a brow. Swallowing, “What?” He mumbled, tongue darting to collect the residue. Too cute.

“I love you so bad, did you know that?”

“Perhaps, but reminders are welcome.”

His gaze was achingly soft, and his spoon clinked against porcelain. “Mm, my dove?” You knew him too well; he was planning something. You’d bet on it. “Yes, beasty?” And of course, your speculations were proven correct.

A barely audible chuckle, then Jack leaned forward on his elbows. Steeling his demeanour, his poker face was dead serious. As if he were delivering grave news. “Were you aware that I love you, too?” Declared bluntly, his expression didn’t change, making you badly stifle a snort. “Oh my god, no way-” You gasped, theatrically clutching at your shirt. “Say you swear.”

Stoic, he nodded rigidly. “Cross my heart.” Leaning back to swipe an ‘X’ over his chest. It was silly, and your eyes turned into crescents. Playing into the bit. “You’re such a flirt.” You rested your chin on your palm, fluttering your lashes. It made him shake his head, fixing his posture- an actor through and through.

“I know, I’m awful. How ever do you put up with me, darling?”

“Probably because I’m just talented like that.”

Your laughter sparked, seeping into the wooden floors. Feeding the roots and winding up his lungs. An infectious kind of thing. His canines glinted, the joy making his dimples show. It was all you’d ever need.

A warm home with an amoured soul. Yours to keep, yours to hold.

Claws and all.

ᯓ★ ִׄ˚ • 𖥔 ࣪˖ ⭑ ₊ ⭒ * . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Sitting in a truck parked roughly on soil, Brian set down a pair of binoculars. The man had never, in his life, been so dumbfounded. “Huh.” Squinting, Tim scoffed. Grunting in disbelief. “... Well, how the hell did that happen?” They shared a look before going back to staring at the cabins sillouhette.

“Y’know, now that I’m thinkin’ about it- he started wearin’ those gloves a year back.”

“You sayin’ they’re married?”

“Shit, I’m not-not sayin’ that.”

His cigarette burned with an inhale, and he huffed. “Urgent business, my ass. He’s probably gonna’ be handfed grapes later. The bastard.” The blonde hummed in agreement, silent for a moment. Then he clicked his tongue. “Wonder how they met... You think she’s into the cannibal thing?” His question made Tim pause, and he cocked his head to the side.

“Mm, nah. He’s real broodin’ though, bet that’s what got ‘er.”

“... Can’t believe he’s got kids.”

“Fightin’ for my life, and he has a whole goddamn family on the side. Look, she’s kissin’ up on ‘im all over. Fucker left mid-job ‘cause the wife was makin’ dinner. That’s bullshit, Brian.”

“I mean, I ain’t blame him, and the stew looks good. What if we knocked?—”

— ^ ^ —

Jack has progressed even faster than he originally had been. 

He moves through the manor now with an ease that startles you sometimes, all strong movements and sure direction, no more crashing into doorframes or knocking over chairs and mainly feeling his way around. The wild, frantic edge is gone, and there’s no more random hunts for rats in the cellar. No more sudden whines that turn into growls. He’s just… settled. 

You’ve been reading to him every night while you’re curled up by the fire with whatever books you think would be the most beneficial for him. Old novels, poetry, even your battered copy of the Bible because the irony makes you smile. 

He sits close, puts his head in your lap half the time, his ears shifting at the rise and fall of your voice. And the words come back to him, real sentences starting to stitch themselves together in that rough, wet cadence of his.

It’s moreso mumbling and fragments of pieced-together sentences rather than the one word answers he was offering before.

He’s becoming so smart, retaining so much, all right before your eyes.

Which is why you had absolutely no suspicion—not even an inkling of a clue of what he had been getting up to.

Tonight he’s fresh from a bath, skin still warm and damp after you scrubbed all the grime off of him. You sit him on the low stool in the bathroom, rubbing the towel over his shoulders, then up into his hair. It’s grown longer these past weeks into thicker, darker strands you’ve had to trim twice now with kitchen shears just to keep from falling into his face. He sits still for it, letting you comb through the tangles with your fingers.

You hum under your breath, some half-assed lullaby, and he leans into every touch. The bathroom is warm, steam still clinging to the mirror. Everything feels soft. Safe. Like the world has finally decided to leave you both alone.

Then a knock comes. A very loud one. Three hard raps against the front doors downstairs, echoing up through the stone floors like gunshots.

You freeze, comb paused on a knot in his hair.

Jack’s ears snap back and his head lifts. You think he’s beginning to growl, but then he’s grunting out, “Loud.”

It's quiet for a second, then there’s knocking again, more frantic and insistent, and your stomach can’t help but drop to a very uneasy spot.

No one ever comes to your home. Ever. The village below has made their point when it comes to their views on you. They’re only brave enough to throw nasty whispers in your direction, not brave the rocky path up to your door.

You set the towel down, heart already thudding against your chest, and Jack rises with you. His claw is immediately wrapping around your elbow, not even giving you the chance to tell him to stay here.

“It’s nothing,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him, “Someone’s probably lost a cat and came looking.”

You hurry down the stairs as the knocks grow sharper, like someone’s fist is about to splinter through the oak if you don’t answer immediately.

The sun is bleeding out over the cliffs through the tall windows in the hall, and when you crack the heavy front door just enough to peer through, the light spears straight into your eyes. You squint, one hand up to shield your face.

A girl stands on the threshold—early twenties, maybe, soaked from the rain, cheeks flushed and eyes tired. She tries for a smile when she sees you, but it wobbles at the edges like she’s about to cry.

You don’t smile back. You’re in no mood for visitors, not when the evening had finally felt peaceful.

Jack shifts behind you, drawn by the new voice. He presses close, hidden by the half-open door, but his face edges forward, nostrils flaring at the unfamiliar and unwelcome scent. You feel the heat of him at your side and slide your hand up quickly, pushing your palm against his jaw, pushing him back so he stays out of sight. He pushes against you, but if only to nuzzle further into your hand.

“Sorry to bother you,” the girl says, her voice thin with exhaustion. She’s a little out of breath too, probably from climbing the rocky path to get here. “I’ve been asking at every house along the ridge. Have you seen any wolves coming down from the mountains? Big ones?”

You narrow your eyes. “Wolves? Why?”

She glances over her shoulder, like the wolves she speaks of might be right behind her, then back to you. “Animals have been going missing the last few nights. Sheep mostly, a couple goats. And when we find what’s left…” She swallows. “It's bad. It’s a terrible sight. All their insides are torn up and gone, like they’re being eaten only for their organs and the rest is being left. Wolves don’t usually do that. They take the meat, drag the carcass off. This feels… wrong.”

Someone’s lost more than a cat, it seems.

Your stomach knots. Jack’s breath warms your hand, but the chills in your body directly combat them.

The girl keeps talking, words tumbling faster now. “The tracks are huge, bigger than any dog. And there’s never much blood left on the ground, like whatever it is licks the grass clean after. Folks are scared. We’ve lost near a dozen animals already, and it got one of our carriage horses last night. I’m only asking because it was my family’s, and we don’t know what to do.”

You keep your face blank, hand still firm on Jack’s jaw, when you feel something warm press between your fingers.

One of his tongues slithers from his lips, the long muscle lapping at your knuckles, prodding your fingertips into his mouth. You try not to react, but the warmth in your body betrays the fear stirring as well.

“Seen anything strange up here?” she asks, hope flickering in her tired eyes. “Anything at all?”

You shake your head. “No. If there were wolves, they’d come from the north, down the old logging trails. Not the mountains. Nothing comes down from up here.”

The girl’s shoulders slump a fraction, but she doesn’t back off. She steps closer, her voice dropping. “Please. I’m not here to bother you. I just… everyone says you’re a witch. That you could use a charm or spell or—”

“I’m not a witch,” you snap, voice cracking louder than you mean it to. “I’m not some—”

Jack’s claw closes around your elbow when your voice rises. He jerks your hand up in one smooth pull, and his tongues lap over your palm. The sensation jolts through you, and you lose track of your words. You try to hide it, twisting your wrist back, but he holds tight, licking thick patches across your skin.

The girl keeps talking, oblivious, words spilling out in a tired rush. “We’re losing everything. I mean… animals don’t just kill for nothing right? I’m worried this isn’t an animal—a demon, maybe—something. God’s punishment.”

God’s punishment, sure. God left these fools long ago, you think.

God…

…

The pieces slot together. The missing meat from the pantry. The night he slipped out while you slept into the cellar. He’d been more comfortable moving and exploring the manor now, but you just thought he was learning the area. You’ve been feeding him, yes, but not enough. Clearly not nearly enough.

He’s been hunting.

Your stomach turns. You should never have taken him to the village. Never let him taste the world outside the manor. You should have seen his nature when it came to the rat, should have predicted what would’ve happened when he met other animals.

You could feel yourself zoning out, completely oblivious to how close Jack had gotten to the cracked door.

Jack tugs your arm again, harder this time, and his claws scrape the doorframe as he pulls it wider, the wood groaning under the force.

The girl’s eyes widen.

He stands there in full view before her, his stitches crawling over mismatched skin, bat ears pricked high, three tongues still lapping at your palm. He’s not even wearing any clothes, because of course he’s not.

She doesn’t scream. Well, not until she sees the caverns where his eyes should be. Then she doesn’t stop screaming.

It bounces off the stone walls of the manor, sharp enough to cut the pretty glass. She stumbles back, boots slipping on the threshold and the steps behind her, arms flailing like she’s trying to push the whole world away.

Jack’s lips curl back, his sharp teeth shining like an agitated dog, tugging your arm and body closer on instinct to fear.

You jerk your hand free from Jack’s grip, lunging forward. “Wait—wait, please—Shit—”

She’s already spinning, hair whipping behind her, tearing down the path toward the village. Mud slicks the gravel, and she skids, catches herself, and keeps running. 

Her voice cracks through the panic, “Demon! A demon!”

“Stop!” you yell, your voice hoarse, boots pounding after her. “It’s not—stop!”

Jack follows. His growl rolls behind you, all confused and protective and upset. He’s faster than you—long legs eating the ground—but he stays at your heels, looming like a shadow over your shoulders.

To you, you know he’s just protecting you, guarding.

To this girl, it must seem like a witch casting their horrid demon to end her, a monster at her beck and call. She’s blind with terror, her lungs heaving, feet slipping on the muddy slope. The path narrows near the ridge, the stones slick and uneven. You see it happen before you can stop it—her ankle twists, she pitches forward, her arms windmilling.

She falls head-first into the jagged outcrop at the edge.

The crack is sickening and wet. Her body crumples, her limbs falling loose, blood blooming dark against the gray rock. She slides a few inches, then stills in a ditch on the path. Blood pools in the hollow of her collarbone, the mud mixing red.

You skid to a stop, your chest burning, staring down at her.

She’s dead.

Jack reaches you a heartbeat later. He stops too, immediately sniffing the air and how it’s suddenly turned copperish. A low whine starts in his throat, then he noses your arm, trying to understand why you’re frozen.

Blood spreads beneath her hair, soaking into the earth and her damp clothes. The last of the sunlight over the mountains disappears, leaving you in a hazy fog of twilight, her skin graying with it.

You can’t breathe.

Jack rumbles again and presses his forehead to your shoulder. The village lights flicker far below, warm and oblivious to what’s just happened to one of their own.

You stare down at her for what feels like forever.

You wait for her to twitch, to gasp, to sit up screaming again. Anything. But she doesn’t move. Not a flinch. Not a breath. Just the slow spread of red under her head, soaking into the earth further and further.

Jack moves first.

He steps past you, crouching beside her, one massive hand reaching out. His fingers brush her arm, then curl around her wrist and pull, like he’s trying to wake her up. The arm lifts limply, then drops back with a soft slap against the rock.

That snaps you out of it.

“Jack—no.” Your voice is sharp. You lunge forward, grabbing his shoulder. “Step back. Step back.”

He grumbles with confusion, but lets go. “Blood,” he says, the word rough and clear, almost proud, like he’s naming a new thing he’s finally registered.

You don’t answer. Your chest feels tight.

You have to move her. You have to get her inside.

If anyone finds her here—if they see the blood, the rocks, both your footprints in the mud—they’ll come for you both. One excuse is all the village has ever needed to burn the house down with you in it.

You drop to your knees beside her. You slide your arms under her shoulders and her head lolls back, her hair matted with rot, and lift her. She’s heavier than she looks. Dead weight. Your stomach turns, but you grit your teeth and haul.

“Jack,” you say, voice shaking. “Help me. Grab her legs. And stop—stop touching her like that.”

He hesitates right as he’s about to put her limp hand to his mouth, then he obeys. His claws close around her ankles and he lifts the rest of her weight. Together you drag her up the slope, her body bumping over roots and stones.

You reach the manor doors and you kick them open with your heel, backing through as Jack follows the rest of the way in.. The dark foyer swallows you both, and you drop her just inside on the cold marble. Her head thuds against the floor, and the sound makes you flinch.

You just stand there, breathing hard, hands slick with sweat and blood. Jack lets go of her ankles and steps closer to you, nudging your side, seeking your approval or comfort or whatever emotion you’ll give him.

You don’t look at him. You just stare at the girl on your floor. The dead girl.

Because of fear.

Because of her fear of him.

Because of your creation.

You stare down at the body, waiting for something—anything—to change. Waiting for her to twitch, or gasp, or stand up and start running again, but she doesn’t move. She never will.

The foyer feels smaller now, colder, the high ceiling pressing down on your shoulders. You’ve handled death before, messed with corpses to stitch and re-stitch them, drug bodies from graves, the smell of rot and preservatives so familiar it barely registers anymore. Death has never scared you. It’s just meat, just material.

But this…

This is yours.

Not just the body, but the moment. The fear in her eyes when she saw him, the scream that tore out when she realized what he was, the rush and fall that cracked her skull open on the rocks. All of it traces back to you—to the hands that pieced him together, to the lightning you stole from the sky, to the heart you put in his chest and told yourself would make him human.

The first death that’s entirely your fault.

Jack moves before you do. He steps closer and crouches beside her, one massive hand reaching out and touching her arm. He pulls like he’s trying to wake her up again, the same way he tugged at you when he was so unsure of everything.

“Jack.” Your voice is quiet and cracked. “Stop.”

He grumbles, shaky and confused. “Blood,” he says again, the word rough but clear, like he’s proud of knowing it.

You look at him, finally. The thought is already forming before you can stop yourself. 

If they find her here, they’ll come for him with torches and pitchforks. The priest who crosses himself when you pass in the village square won’t hesitate to cast out a ‘demon’ if it means he can be rid of you. They’ll drag Jack out, chain him, and cut him apart to see what monster they can blame. They’ll take him from you, and then they’ll kill you, too.

Rage flares up in the base of your skull like fire. You don’t care that he did this. You don’t care that he slipped out, that he hunted, that he’s more animal than you wanted to admit. He’s yours. The heart in his chest is yours. The stitches are yours. Every breath he takes is because you refused to let death win.

She was going to scream it to the rooftops. She was going to bring them all up here with their fear and their torches. She was afraid of ‘God’s punishment.’

You feel your lips curl.

God has no wrath like yours.

You kneel beside her, hands steady despite the tremor in your chest. “Jack,” you growl, almost disbelieving the words even as they leave you. “Eat her.”

His head tilts. He understands the command from the countless times you’ve given it to him, but he doesn’t understand its context now. 

You swallow. “Eat her,” you say again. “Go on.”

He sniffs at her, nervously leaning towards her face. One of his three tongues flicks out near her ear, lapping at the blood that’s started to trickle there, dark against the pale skin. 

You stand abruptly. The movement is too fast, and your knees ache from kneeling. You cross the foyer quickly and push through the swinging door into the kitchen. The knife block sits on the counter like it always does, and you pull the biggest one. Your fingers close around the handle so tight your knuckles go white.

Back in the foyer, Jack hasn’t moved. He’s still crouched, nose inches from her shoulder, lapping at the blood that’s still flowing.

You drop to your knees beside her. The knife trembles in your grip, and you have to grip harder to steady it. You press the tip just below her sternum, through wool and cotton, and push. The fabric parts with a soft rip as you drag the blade downward in one long, practiced motion, opening her from ribs to pelvis. Blood wells immediately, flooding the marble in a warm rush and ruining her muddy clothes.

The smell hits Jack like a wave. His nostrils flare wide and his mouth opens, saliva pooling at the corners. He makes a low, hungry whine, the sound vibrating through the air.

You grab the back of his head, your fingers tangling in damp hair, and push him forward. “Eat,” you whisper, voice breaking on the word. “Now.”

He doesn’t hesitate this time.

His claws sink into her sides for purchase as his chin drops. Teeth tear into exposed flesh with a wet, ripping sound before you can turn your eyes away fast enough. The first bite is tentative, then it’s deeper, hungrier. Bone cracks under the pressure of his jaws. He eats earnestly, the way he eats lamb when he’s starving. Blood smears across his chin, down his throat, soaking onto his hands. His ears flatten in concentration. 

The sounds are obscene with chewing, gulping, the soft pop of organs giving way.

You don’t watch.

You sit back on your heels, knife still clutched in your lap, blade slick and red in your trembling hands. The foyer fills with the coppery heat of it all before your senses register that it’s begun to rain outside. The manor drinks the noise like it always has with its creaking timbers and distant thunder. The rain will wash away the muddy tracks and blood outside.

Jack’s head lifts a moment to chew on a thicker piece of cartridge, turning his face toward you. He makes a soft chuff before going back to work.

You close your eyes.

Nobody is taking him from you. Not tonight. Not ever.

── .✦

Two hours later, the foyer is quiet.

What’s left of her is scattered in small, wet pieces and bits of cloth, a few stubborn scraps of bone, and smears that refuse to lift completely from the marble. The rest is gone. Jack ate like a man who’d been starving for weeks, not someone who’d already had his fill that morning. You’d retreated to the lounge halfway through with a bottle of brandy in hand, pouring until the burn in your throat matched the one in your chest. You sat on the clawfoot sofa, staring at nothing, letting the alcohol blur the edges of what you’d done and giving you a pleasant dizziness.

It’s midnight now. The house is dark except for the single lamp burning low in the corner that you lit once you moved into the lounge, and rain still taps the windows rapidly.

Jack saunters through the doorway once he’s licked his claws clean, making satisfied grunts. Blood is everywhere on him, smeared across his face in thick streaks and down his throat. The work you did from his bath is undone and he looks like he crawled out of a slaughterhouse. Again.

He comes closer, drawn to you like always.

You’re drunk enough that the room tilts when you stand. “Stay,” you mutter, shuffling past him and into the foyer, the bottle still dangling from your fingers. A horrid mess waits there, all red-brown stains and small unrecognizable pieces you’ll have to sweep up. You stumble to the kitchen and grab a towel, dropping to your knees and scrubbing at the marble with as much motor stability that you have left. The blood smears more than it lifts. 

Jack follows you onto the floor.

He’s needy now, full and warm and wanting attention. He presses against your back, nose nudging your shoulder, his tongues sliding out to taste the skin at the base of your neck. One claw hooks the collar of your shirt, tugging it aside so he can lick the curve of your shoulder. The smell of blood is strong on him and it makes you queasy.

“Jack, stop.” You shove at him with your elbow, the towel dripping blood drops onto your lap. “Not now.”

He doesn’t listen.

He pushes harder, the weight of him forcing you forward until your palms slap the wet marble. You try to twist away, but he’s already on top of you, claws pinning your hips, tongues dragging hot lines up your throat. Your shirt tears at the shoulder when he pulls, fabric giving way like wet paper. His mouth finds your bare skin, nipping at the warmth there.

You’re still holding the towel, but the bottle rolls away, spilling amber across the floor. Your head spins with brandy, exhaustion, the weight of him pressing you down.

“Jack—” It's a half-assed plea. “What’re you doing?”

He rumbles in response as he’s wrapping his broad arms around your torso, sinking his weight fully onto you. He licks the salt from your skin to the brandy at the corner of your mouth, like he’s trying to lap up whatever’s left of your resolve.

You close your eyes, feeling your skin and head flush.  And somewhere under the haze, the fear, the guilt—you know you’re not pushing him away as hard as you could.

His tongues find your chin, and you tilt your head forward without thinking, lips parting on instinct, and Jack takes the invitation before you can process it.

He latches on.

It’s not a kiss, moreso an invasion. Three thick, slick tongues push past your lips at once, filling your mouth and curling against your own in messy, hungry roves. Spit floods in immediately, spilling from the corners of your lips as he presses deeper, exploring every inch like he’s mapping uncharted territory. You choke a little, but he doesn’t pull back, he just rumbles low in his throat and the vibration travels straight down your spine.

Your hands come up to hold on to his matted hair, your fingers tangling in damp strands at the nape of his neck. The taste of him is overwhelming with the copper from the blood he’s still wearing, but you can’t seem to find yourself hating it. He groans into your mouth, the sound wet and hoarse, and his hips roll down atop back.

The hard length of him presses against your ass, grinding wearily against your body. Heat blooms low in your belly, but you’re not sure if it’s arousal or absolute fear. 

“What’s gotten into you?”

You’ve never felt him like this, never even seen the signs of it before right now. You know good and well that you made him perversely, but he has never reacted to those hormones before, never acted on instinct or been so aggressive with his wants. Hell, you can’t recall a time where he’s ever even been aroused before.

Until now.

His chest pins you to the cold marble, one arm braced beside your head, sharp claws scraping the stone. The other hand slides under the torn shoulder of your shirt, his rough fingers grabbing the skin of your chest. You arch despite yourself, a muffled moan slipping out around the tongues still working in your mouth.

The alcohol makes everything soft at the edges, especially your panic and guilt of the whole situation. Every ridge, every vein, every sensitive inch of that body you so carefully stitched into place, thinking only of completeness, of symmetry, of giving him every part a man should have. You never thought about what it would feel like when he finally wanted to use that body.

And God help you, he wants.

His hips grind harder, the friction dragging a whimper out of you. He growls in response, tongues retreating just long enough for you to gasp for air before diving back in deeper, messier. Spit drips down your chin, mixes with the drying blood on his. One tongue curls around yours, coaxing your jaw wider while the others stroke the roof of your mouth, the insides of your cheeks, everywhere at once.

You’re dizzy. Drunk. Aching. The room spins in slow, warm circles.

Jack’s claws dig against your hip, holding you exactly where he wants you. His breath comes in hot pants against your lips when he finally pulls back just enough to let you breathe, but not enough to let you think. His blind face hovers inches above yours, nostrils flaring, tasting the air between you.

You stare up at him, chest heaving, thighs trembling under the weight of his hips.

He rumbles again—pleading.

And you realize, with a sick, thrilling twist in your gut, that you’re not going to stop him. 

You brace your forearms on the cold marble, palms slipping a little in the thin, tacky film of blood that’s already starting to dry at the edges. You don’t let yourself think about the way it clings to your skin, about whose it is. You just arch your back and buck your hips up hard, chasing the pressure of him and blackening everything else in your mind.

Jack answers instantly.

A deep growl rumbles out of his chest as he drops his full weight, hips snapping down to meet yours. The friction is immediately rough, his cock grinding down in heavy rolls that drag a broken sound out of your throat. His nose buries in the top of your head, taking in huge lungfuls of your scent like he’s starving for it all over again. His hot breath fans across your scalp. 

You push back against him, ass grinding in small, desperate circles, drunk enough that every slide feels electric and overwhelming. 

“Good boy,” you slur, voice thick and unsteady. “That’s it—good boy, Jack. Let it—let it all out.”

He grunts in response. “Love—I want—” Another thrust, harder. “Want—you—” The word comes out mangled, but clear enough to send heat shooting through your skin. His entire body looms over you like a shadow, caging you against the floor. It’s so thrilling.

You feel filthy. Sick. The gore under you is still warm in places, the smell thick in the air, and you’re grinding against the one who did it on the floor like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And it feels good.

The friction builds fast, and your thighs tremble, breath hitching every time he drags himself along your ass. You’re soaked through the fabric of your pants, the damp heat of it clinging to you.

“Lift—Jack, lift up,” you gasp, pushing at his chest with shaky hands. “Let me—let me turn over.”

He’s reluctant, but obeys. His weight shifts, his claws pushing off the marble as he rises just enough for you to twist beneath him. You roll onto your back, legs falling open and knees bending to hook around his hips. You reach up, fingers curling into his messy hair, and yank him down.

He drops with a huff, chest pressing to yours, his hips slotting perfectly between your thighs. His cock nudges against you through the layers, and he rumbles again, nose finding your throat, tongues lapping at your pulse while his hips start moving once more in slow, deep grinds that make your back arch off the floor.

You’re panting now, head spinning, the alcohol and the heat and the wrongness of it all blurring together into something insane. Your hands slide up his back, nails digging into the stitches that ladder his spine, holding him there.

“Jack,” you breathe. “More.”

His hips snap forward so hard it jostles the breath in your lungs, his cock grinding against the soaked fabric of your pants with crushing pressure. Pre-cum bleeds in dark, sticky patches, soaking into your own clothes until you can feel every thick pulse of him dragging along your core. He growls above you while his fangs graze your throat, nipping just enough to sting your skin. His tongues lap at the marks immediately after, coating your shoulders and neck in sticky saliva.

Your breath catches nervously in your throat. A flicker of fear cuts through the haze—what if he keeps going? What if the hunger shifts, what if those teeth sink in for real, what if he decides you taste better than the girl on the floor? The thought should terrify you. It does, a little. But the fear only twists tighter with the heat pooling in your belly, making your thighs tremble and your hips buck up to meet him.

You wouldn’t even care.

He could take anything. Everything. You’d let him.

The words spill out before you can stop them, slurred and thick with brandy. “Good boy… yeah, just like that, love… let it—haah—let it out, Jack…”

He snarls in response, hips bucking wildly until it makes your back arch off the marble. His claws keep shifting from the marble beside your head, to your hips, to your chest, then back to the marble like he can’t stabilize himself. Your hands scrabble at his back, nails digging into the uneven skin to try and help him. “What—What do you want, big guy?”

He sits up onto his knees, his claws gripping onto your pants and jerking the fabric along your hip. You reach down clumsily and tug at the waistband.

He helps way too eagerly, his claws hooking the fabric and yanking them down your thighs in one rough pull. Cool air hits your skin and you whimper at how Jack’s nostrils immediately flare wide. He drops his head, inhaling so deeply his chest expands ridiculously. A thick line of drool drips from his chin, landing hot on your inner thigh.

Then his claws close around your hips and he lifts.

Your world tilts as your head and shoulders still press to the marble, but the rest of you is dangling upside down in his hold. He’s strong enough that it feels effortless, like you weigh absolutely nothing. You scramble for some semblance of control and hook your claves over his massive shoulders, your thighs bracketing his face. Blood rushes to your head, dizzying your already drunk state and causing the room to spin further.

You can’t even get your hands underneath yourself before he’s tugging you up further and wrapping his arms around your middle.

Then there’s absolutely nothing you can do.

His mouth buries between your legs, tongues lashing out in hungry, aggressive thrashes across your cunt. Three of them at once, licking broad stripes from your entrance to your clit, curling around the swollen bud, dipping inside you with wet, filthy sounds. He growls straight into you, the vibration ripping a choked moan from your throat as his claws dig into your hips, holding you exactly where he wants you.

You’re blabbering already, words slurring together. “Oh—fuck—Jack—yes, like that—good—please—”

He eats you like he ate her—wholly. Long tongues work in tandem, one circling your clit in tight, flicking strokes, another pushing inside you quickly, curling against your fluttering walls, the third dragging around both, lapping up every bit of slick like it’s the last thing he’ll ever want to taste. You feel every ridge and curve of his tongues, every push and pull and dizzying sensation. Drool and your own wetness drip down your thighs, down your stomach, pooling over your ass and dripping onto the marble below.

One hand scrabbles for purchase in his hair, while the other slaps the floor, trying desperately to stabilize yourself with either. Your hips jerk uselessly in his grip, trying to chase more, trying to get away from how intense it is, but he doesn’t let you move. He just growls louder, works faster, harder, until your thighs shake and your vision blurs.

The alcohol makes everything too much—too hot, too wet, too loud. You can hear the obscene sounds of him devouring you, feel the wet slide of his tongues, the scrape of his fangs just shy of breaking skin. Fear and pleasure twist together until you can’t tell them apart, until you don’t know which one is turning you on more.

You don’t care.

You wouldn’t stop him if he bit down.

It’s been so long since anyone’s touched you like this, long years of cold sheets and your own hands, chasing friction that never quite filled the ache. Jack’s tongues are everywhere at once, overwhelming you so much you completely forget all of your lonely years. The stretch, the fullness, the sheer wrongness of it hits like lightning. 

You cum way too fast, your walls snagging around one invading tongue, slick gushing over his chin as a shrill sob rips from your throat. “Jack—fuck—Jack!”

He loses it.

The taste hits him like blood in shark-infested waters. His whole body jerks to attention, his ears pinning flat and claws digging divots into your hips, latching himself down completely. He turns mad, his tongues thrusting deeper, harder, curling against spots you even didn’t know you had. Drool floods everywhere, mixing with your release and dripping everywhere.

It’s too much. Your vision whites out again, your nerves screaming. You can’t—fuck, you can’t take it. “Jack—stop—stop!” Your legs kick wildly, heels drumming his shoulders, hands shoving at his head as you scramble backward. Your head and shoulders slip on the sticky floor, twisting your body in his grip.

He lets go after you start crying.

You drop with a wet slap, your ass hitting the marble first, then rolling onto your hands and knees. Slick runs down your thighs, shirt tangled around your chest and pants still tugged down to your knees. You start to crawl away, trying to put space between you and the storm of him just so you can get a breath in.

“More,” Jack growls behind you. He grabs your ankle, yanking you back across the foyer. Marble scrapes your knees and palms, but you’re back against him. “Taste… good. Want more… of it.”

You yelp, sliding helplessly under him. His claw slams down between your shoulder blades, pinning you. Your back arches, your spine bowing deep and hips jerking up off the floor while your chest mashes to the cold stone. It’s vulgar how exposed you are.

He dives in again.

Tongues everywhere—everywhere. Two plunge back into your soaked cunt, fucking you through the sensitivity, stretching you wider as you press your nails into the marble tile beneath you. The third drags up, licking a flat stripe over your ass, rimming the tight ring before pushing in the best it can against the strain. You’ve never—fuck—the burn, the fullness, the sheer volume of it all. He snarls into you, his hips humping the air as he eats.

“Fuck—Jack—please—can’t—I can’t—” You’re blabbering nonsense, tears mixing with spit on your cheeks, body locked in an overstimulation hell. 

Where did he learn this? How is he fucking his tongues so perfectly like he was born knowing every sensitive inch? It’s too good, too precise, like he knows your body more than you do.

Jack moans into your cunt and pushes your knees wider with his hand, opening you more, spreading you until your thighs burn. His voice is muffled, but you feel the words rumble against your folds as he tries to talk with his mouth full.

“Love… my love… mine…”

The syllables are garbled, slurred with spit and slick, but they hit you like a punch. You can barely comprehend them over the roar in your ears.

Then he sits back on his heels just enough to grab your hips. His claws dig into the soft flesh of your ass sharp enough to sting and he spreads you wide. Drool drips from his chin, landing on your calves below. He starts moving you and lifting your hips, dragging you back and forth onto his tongues like a toy, fucking you onto him with slow pulls.

You push up onto your hands, palms slipping on the tile, thrusting back to meet him and moaning wildly. “Jack—fuck—calm down, you have to—calm—”

He doesn’t.

His claws leave your ass for a heartbeat, then one massive hand plants between your shoulder blades, hauling you upright again. Your legs fold against his chest as he lifts you clean off the floor—upside down and suspended, your thighs clamped around his neck. Your head dangles between his spread legs, blood rushing to your face, the world inverting in a dizzy spin. The marble is cold against the top of your skull, but you barely feel it.

His tongues never stopped once.

“Oh god—Jack—fuck—to-too much—don’t stop—pl-please—more—”

He wraps his arms tight around your middle, holding you close to his wide torso and wrapping his claws tightly onto your hips and ass.

You may have struggled away the first time, but that’s not an option now.

Your head dangles between his strong legs as he kneels on the tile, thighs framing your face like pillars. You look up—or down, you guess—and see his cock bobbing heavy and flushed deep red, thick veins standing out under the scarred skin, the head glistening and drooling pre-cum in slow, fat beads that drip onto the floor.

You place both hands on his thighs for balance, feeling the muscles jump under your palms. One hand slides up to your mouth to collect spit on your fingertips before wrapping around the swollen head. He’s so big your fingers barely meet, so sensitive that the first touch makes his hips jerk forward with a snarl that rumbles straight through your cunt.

He growls louder against you as you start to stroke him, feeling how heavy and hot he is in your hand, how the shaft twitches and pulses like it has a heartbeat of its own. You let your head get closer, lips brushing the tip, then parting to kiss it, drooling onto the head as you lick across the slit. Salty pre-cum coats your tastebuds and you can’t help but lick again and again and again.

Jack’s hips thrust shallowly into your fist, fucking your hand and just barely into the feel of your warm mouth. His claws dig harder into your hips the further he gets, each thrust granting him just a little more warmth each time until your lips pop around his tip.

You stroke his spit-slick cock, letting your lips seal around the head and suck while your other hand grips his thigh for leverage. It’s not good by any means—he’s too big, and you can’t get your head comfortable upside down, and you’re way too dizzy and overwhelmed to open your throat right. But he’s losing it, growling and moaning into your cunt, the vibrations making your thighs shake all over again.

So you just keep going, drunk on the taste of him, on the way he fills every sense, on the way you’re about to cum again.

You’re about to cum again—

You cum so hard your eyes are rolling, thighs clamping tight around his head, the cold metal screws in his neck pressing and buzzing against the soft skin of your inner thighs like tiny live wires. The orgasm rips through you in sharp, blinding pulses, your hips jerking uncontrollably against his face as you sob out his name and God’s and anything you can babble out.

Jack laps at your release like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, greedy strokes of his tongues collecting every drop, cleaning you with long drags that make your legs fall limp across his shoulders. His claws flex on your hips, holding you steady while he drinks you down, rumbling his approval against your folds.

Then he lowers you until your back hits the marble again. Your head lands between his knees, still framed by the thick pillars of his thighs. You’re panting below him, the world spinning from the blood rush and the brandy and the aftershocks and genuinely everything ever.

Before you can even think of moving, he’s crawling over you.

His cock bobs heavy above your face, the tip flushed dark and drooling with pre that drips onto your lips in warm beads. He positions himself so close you can feel the heat radiating off it. You can’t see anything else—just his hips, his scarred stomach, the thick length of him filling your vision.

You reach up, hands sliding along his thighs and latching onto his hips. Your head lifts, lips brushing the tip, then parting to kiss it and smiling when he hisses.

You open your mouth wide and Jack pushes his cock in without so much as a second thought, the thick head immediately pressing back into the tightness of your throat. You haven't done this in so long that the stretch feels obscene, your jaw aching the second he sinks past the tip. You choke instantly, gagging around the sheer girth, spit flooding your mouth, tears pricking your eyes—but Jack doesn’t stop.

He starts thrusting, rolling his hips in shallow pumps that drag the swollen head across your tongue and fuck deeper into the tight heat of your mouth. Your lips stretch wide, the corners burning, saliva dripping down your chin in thick strings. You can’t breathe properly as every inhale is muffled, your throat working around him in helpless spasms.

He’s holding himself up on his hands and knees, caging you completely under him. His claws dig into the marble on either side of your hips, occasionally coming up to grip your thigh or shove your body further under him.

You grip his hips, your nails biting into the scarred skin as you try to steady yourself, try not to choke harder, but he’s relentless. There’s no pause, just the hard, filthy slide of him fucking your face into the floor.

Your throat convulses around him again, a wet gluck escaping every time he bottoms out. Tears stream down your temples and your brows crease and strain, but he’s so deep. It doesn’t take much for his length to push past your tongue and into your throat, your body straining not to fight him when you suddenly can’t breathe.

“Warm—” he snarls.

He thrusts deeper one last time, holding himself there as your throat flutters and squeezes around him. You gag hard, your body jerking, but he doesn’t pull out. He just stays buried, letting you choke on him while his whole body trembles above you.

And you take it because it’s him. Because it’s Jack.

But then a low, confused whine builds in his throat as his movements falter. His whole body tenses, his claws frantically searching for your skin to hold onto. The heat in him surges, but he doesn’t understand it. His ears pin back, his face tilting like he’s searching for answers he can’t see.

He pulls out abruptly, his cock slipping free with a wet sound, leaving your lips swollen and spit-slick. A sharp, frustrated whine rips from him as he scrambles back a step, hands flexing open and closed like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “Feels… funny,” he rasps, his voice shrill and broken. “Hot… too much…”

You sit up slowly, your chest heaving as you catch your breath in ragged pulls. The room spins but you reach for him anyway. “Shh, it’s okay,” you murmur, trying hard not to slur your words and confuse him further. “It’s good, love. It’s good.”

Your hand wraps around him again easily, your fingers curling around the slick, pulsing length. He’s so hard it hurts to look at, veins standing out, cum beading at the tip in thick drops. You stroke him easily, watching as his hips jerk into your touch.

You lean forward again, your lips brushing the head, then opening to take him back in. He growls louder, his ears flattening completely, his body shaking as you seal your mouth around him. Your tongue swirls slow circles, coaxing him to calm down while your hand keeps stroking the base in steady pulls.

He can’t hold it.

His hips snap forward once, twice, then he’s cumming, thick ropes flooding your mouth in rapid pulses. You try to swallow, your throat working frantically, but there’s too much. It spills past your lips, dripping down your chin in sticky white trails, some landing on the floor. Jack snarls through it all, his body shuddering in response to the foreign feeling, his claws scraping the marble as he rides it out, emptying everything he has into you.

You pull off with a gasp, coughing a couple of times. He’s still twitching in your hand when his head drops down and his shoulders go slack.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and look up to see his body shaking and face twitching with overexertion. He’s panting, but his ears are unpinning from their flat position back to their normal state.

“Good job, Jack. It’s good, right?”

Jack senses you’re sitting up again and sniffs at you, then he’s leaning in until his lips find yours.

His mouth crashes against you, three tongues pushing past your teeth immediately, chasing the taste of himself still thick on your tongue. Your eyes flash wide before fluttering closed and your hands come up, cradling his head, your fingers curling into damp hair as you kiss him back. 

You pull back first, gasping. Your fingers run through his hair, combing the strands back from his forehead, tracing the raised stitches there. “How in the world did you learn to do that?” you whisper. “Where did you even…?”

He doesn’t answer, just chases your mouth again, a soft, needy whine leaving him as he tries to lick back inside.

You stop him with a palm on his chest. “And where did you learn how to touch me like that?” Your thumb brushes over a scar near his collarbone. “When did you get so good at forming thoughts into sentences? You’re… you’re talking more. You’re thinking more.”

The questions tumble out before you can help it—the shift in him is too sudden, too obvious. One day he’s barely stringing words together, now he’s growling nearly full sentences while he fucks your face and eats you out like he was born knowing how.

Jack leans back uncomfortably. He’s getting overwhelmed with too many words, too many questions.

You exhale, shaky. “Okay,” you murmur. “Okay, no more questions. Let’s… let’s get cleaned up.”

You stand on unsteady legs and kick the rest of your pants off before reaching for his hand. He lets you pull him up, following close behind as you lead him up toward the bathroom. The foyer is still a mess, as well as your mind, but you can’t think about that yet.

You both stagger up the stairs together, the manor’s cold stone sucking heat from your bare feet. Jack’s arm loops around your waist, keeping you upright when the remaining brandy makes the world tilt. You push through the bathroom door, the air still smelling like soap from earlier, and twist the taps. Hot water thunders into the clawfoot tub quickly.

Jack climbs in first, water sloshing over the rim the second his weight sinks into the porcelain. He grunts when the warm water laps at his sticky skin.

You sit on the edge, reaching for the soap and cloth, ready to start scrubbing the blood and mess off him like you always do. But Jack’s head turns toward you and his hands begin to reach out.

“Love,” he rasps. “In.”

You hesitate for half a heartbeat, ready to give a reason why you shouldn’t—then shrug. There’s no point protesting. You stand, peel off what’s left of your messy clothes and cringing when the damp fabric slaps wetly to the tile. Naked, bruised, still sticky with spit and cum and blood, you step over the edge and sink into the water.

It’s filthy already—pinkish-brown from the night’s violence, bits of grit and worse floating in the heat—but you don’t care. You settle between his thighs, back to his chest, letting him wrap his arms around you. The water rises, warm and enveloping, soothing the ache between your legs and the rawness in your throat.

You grab the cloth and soap, working it into a lather. You start with his arms—scrubbing the dried blood from his forearms, the smears across his knuckles—then up to his shoulders, his neck, the screws that nest there. He grunts the whole time.

You wash yourself next, trying to scrub away the night, the guilt, the taste of him still thick on your tongue. The buzz of alcohol is beginning to fade, and with it, the dead girl’s face begins to reappear again. You cringe, closing your eyes as water turns murkier, but the heat seeps into your bones, loosening the knot in your chest.

Jack’s claws trace lazy circles on your hips, and you lean back against him, head on his shoulder, eyes half-closed.

The tub is a mess. The night is a mess. You’re both a mess.

But it can’t possibly get worse.

…

You’ve always been severely terrible at assuming things.

Loud bangs erupt from the front doors downstairs—three, four, five in quick succession, hard enough that the sound punches straight up through the floorboards and rattles the bathroom windows. Your stomach plummets like a stone dropped into a well and Jack’s arms lock around you instantly, claws sinking into your hips as a deep, snarling growl rumbles from his chest and vibrates against your back.

You scramble out of the bath, water sluicing off your skin in cold sheets. “Stay,” you hiss, your voice cracking, but he’s already rising behind you, water cascading off his body in dark rivets. You don’t have time to argue. Your mind races ahead to the foyer still smeared with blood, the girl’s torn clothes in crumpled piles, the copper stink that no amount of scrubbing will erase tonight. Someone’s come looking. 

You push into your room and shove on clothes hurriedly, digging through to find Jack’s large cloak and throwing it over his tense shoulders as more knocks sound up the walls. “Come on—lab. Now.”

He protests with a low whine, his claws catching at your wrist, but you drag him anyway, pulling on your boots hurriedly. The laboratory door looms at the end of the corridor and you shove him through.

“Stay here,” you say, your voice shaking. “You have to listen to me, Jack. It can’t end up like last time. They’ll take you. They’ll kill you. Stay.”

He snarls, his ears pinning at the sound of more banging louder now, unfamiliar voices muffled on the other side of the front doors. His claws grab the doorframe, but you push him back one last time.

“Please.”

He stills just long enough for you to slam the door shut, twist the heavy lock, and hear the bolt slide home.

You turn, your heart beating so fast you think it might pop, your dripping hair plastered to your neck. The banging echoes again, this time someone shouts your name.

You skitter down the stairs, heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs, before grabbing the damp towel and the scattered clothes from the foyer floor. You fling everything into the study across the hall and kick the door shut behind you, praying the shadows hide the bloodstains still streaked across the marble. It’s not enough, but it’s all you can do before the banging turns into a roar.

“Open this door, or we’ll break it down!” a voice bellows through the wood.

You lunge for the handle, cracking the heavy oak just wide enough to peer out. Cold air rushes in, carrying the scent of wet earth and darkness of the night. Fifteen, maybe more, stand in the torchlight, all men and women from the village, their faces twisted with anger. Pitchforks, axes, and ropes dangle in their hands, all of it on clear display of their intent here.

At the front stands the butcher, his torch blazing in his fist. His face is wild as he glares down at you, the heat from the flame licking toward your face.

“What do you want?” you ask as your eyes dart over the crowd, counting their weapons.

He steps closer, torch held high. “Where is she?”

You swallow, your throat turning dry. “Who?”

“My daughter,” he snaps, his voice cracking with rage. “The girl who came up here looking for help. Where is she?”

You shake your head, clutching the doorframe for support. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The lie tastes bitter, but you force it out, praying your face doesn’t betray the panic clawing up your chest.

“Yes you do,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous, the kind that carries over the restless murmur of the crowd. “Don’t play games with me, witch. She came up here. Last person anyone knew of her going was to you.”

You grip the door tighter. “Fuck off,” you snap back. “I don’t know where she is. Go home.”

He doesn’t move. Instead he leans closer, bending to your level. “I sent her up here,” he says quieter now, almost like the words hurt coming out. “Because you know these mountains better than any of us. You know the trails, the dark places, the things the rest of us pretend aren’t there. I told her to ask you for help. Told her you weren’t as bad as everyone says. You come down to my shop every week, buy half my stock, never haggle, never cause trouble. I thought…” His throat works. “I thought maybe you weren’t what they whisper about.”

Your stomach turns sour, twisting hard enough to make you nauseous. The brandy from earlier threatens to come back up. Your head spins with guilt, panic, the weight of everything you’ve done tonight pressing down like stones.

The butcher sees it. His eyes narrow and he steps forward, his shoulder shoving the door wider. You push back with everything you have, boots sliding on the marble, but the crowd surges behind him with angry voices and accusations flying like sparks.

“Where is she?”

“Witch!”

“Open the damn door!”

You fight to shut it, but the butcher’s thick arm wedges between the door and its frame, holding it open. His torch is close enough now that you feel the singe of heat on your cheek. You stare up at him with fear raw in your eyes, mirrored directly in the fury on his face.

“She’s not here,” you say again, your voice breaking. “I swear.”

He doesn’t believe you.

The butcher shoves the door open with a roar of effort, the wood snapping as it slams against the wall. You stagger back and the crowd surges in behind him, invading your space immediately.

You run.

Straight through the entrance hall, past the grand staircase, into the kitchen. Your heart slams against your ribs, breath coming in short, panicked bursts. The knife, the same knife you used to open that girl’s stomach, sits on the counter where you left it after pouring the brandy. You snatch it up, fingers closing tight around the handle and aiming it forward.

The butcher storms in first, his face twisted with grief and rage. “Where is she?” he bellows again. “Tell me where she is!”

You back up until your hips hit the dining table behind you, then you’re pointing the knife at him. “I don’t know. I told you—”

“You’re lying!” someone shouts from the doorway. Another voice cuts through, “There’s blood! Look—on the floor!”

Your stomach lurches. Harrigan’s eyes follow yours, widening, then narrowing into something murderous.

He lunges.

You dodge, darting around the kitchen table, the knife clutched to your chest like a talisman. Chairs scrape as people shove in behind him, filling the space, blocking exits. 

“Stop!” you yell. “Get out—get out of my house!”

They don’t listen. He lunges again with his arm outstretched, but you spin, ducking under his reach, and bolt back toward the hall. Dozens of hands reach for you.

You shove through the narrow gap, your shoulder slamming into someone’s chest and knocking them to the ground. You burst into the foyer with your heart in your throat, looking for anywhere to go that isn’t the lab where your creation is being held.

Someone grabs you from behind with rough hands clamping around your waist, yanking you back against a solid chest. You flail and drive the blade backward with a scream that rips out of your throat. The point sinks in with a wet thunk and the grip loosens. The man drops to the floor with a choked gasp, clutching his side, blood blooming dark through his shirt.

You spin, but another is already lunging, his face twisted in fury. You dodge, stumbling sideways as a torch swings toward your head, the flame roaring close enough to singe your hair. You duck and thrust the knife up in blind panic, all to feel it bite deep into the man’s forearm. He howls, dropping the torch and it clatters to the ground, rolling across the floor and catching the edge of the heavy velvet curtain by the window.

Fire licks up the fabric instantly.

You scream as someone tackles you from the side, slamming you to the floor. The knife skitters away, spinning across the marble as more hands grab you and pin you down. Your head cracks against the floor, stars bursting behind your eyes, the world tilting as they haul you upright and slam you back against the wall, pinning you there with brute force.

You watch helplessly as the flames climb higher, devouring the curtain, licking along the wooden paneling. Smoke thickens the air, and the crowd’s shouts turn to panicked yells as some back away, some pressing forward, their faces lit orange.

The butcher stands at the front, his torch still in his hand, eyes locked on the growing fire, then on you. His face is a mask of grief and rage, the torch trembling in his fist.

“You did this,” he says, his voice shaking. “Whatever you are… whatever curse you bring everywhere you go… you did this.”

The flames crackle louder and the manor groans, the old wood protesting the heat.

“Get the ropes,” the butcher snarls, his voice carrying over the roar of the growing fire. “If you’re truly a witch, you can burn like one.”

Hands grab you as you start to thrash and kick wildly, your heel connecting with someone’s stomach. A man grunts, doubling over, but a woman’s fingers sink into your hair, yanking your head back so hard your scalp screams. “Hold ‘em!” she spits.

They drag you toward the grand staircase, your feet skidding across marble. You’re thrown around like a rag doll—elbows slamming into ribs, knees cracking against the banister. Someone lifts you, their arms pinning yours behind your back as rope bites into your wrists tight enough to cut your circulation. Another loop cinches your ankles together as you buck and scream.

Your head slams into the wall when someone shoves your body back and blood quickly floods your mouth. Your nose streams with the red, dripping onto your chin in thick drops. Nausea rolls through you, and you think you’re going to throw up.

They haul you upright, snagging the rope around the banister’s thick post and your wrists are yanked behind you. Someone kicks the back of your knees hard and you crumple, knees hitting the floor and head cracking against the floor again. Pain explodes white-hot behind your skull.

You slump there in a daze, your vision beginning to swim. The fire roars louder now, billowing up to the ceiling and catching onto the wooden beams.

And isn’t it ironic that in this moment, for all of how selfish you’ve been your entire life, in this time of panic and near death, you think of Jack.

Your sweet creation. He must be so scared, must be… he must… wait…

Jack.

The name rips out of you like a sob. “JACK!” you scream, voice cracking raw in your throat, tears mixing with the blood streaming from your nose. “JACK! JACK!”

He’s still trapped upstairs, locked in the lab. The fire’s spreading and he’ll burn in that room while the flames eat the manor alive, he’ll be stuck up there.

You thrash harder, ropes cutting into your wrists, shoulders straining until something pops. “JACK! PLEASE!” The words dissolve into broken cries, begging, pleading. “JACK! GET OUT! JACK!”

The crowd hesitates for half a second, some turning toward the sound of the distant snarls rising from above, but the butcher doesn’t flinch. He just turns to the rest of them. “Burn this place,” he rasps. “She’s not getting away.”

Hands grab you again, yanking the ropes until your wrists bleed. You kick, scream his name one last time—“JACK!”—before someone slams your head back against the banister and the world flashes white.

Your vision blurs as the edges go soft and black. You’re going to pass out, you can feel it pulling at you like a tide.

Harrigan steps close, his boots crunching splintered wood as it begins to fall from the ceiling, and grabs a fistful of your hair. He yanks your head back hard, forcing your face up to his. His eyes are red-rimmed, wild with grief. “Whoever ‘Jack’ is,” he snarls, his breath hot and sour against your cheek, “he’s gonna burn in this place with you.”

Then—slam.

The sound comes from upstairs, rattling the banister you’re tied to. The crowd goes quiet for one heartbeat. 

Another slam. Harder. The whole staircase shakes.

Someone whispers, “What the hell is that?”

A third slam and the unmistakable sound of wood splintering under pressure.

Then the roar.

It tears through the manor and echos down the halls, shaking dust from the rafters. The crowd freezes and the grip loosens in your hair before a final shattering crash of the laboratory door ripping off its hinges, iron bolts shearing free. The sound is deafening, followed by the thunder of something massive moving.

Rapid thumps sound overhead, each step rattling the banister you’re bound to, sending tremors up your spine. Everyone’s heads snap upward as they follow the noise, all holding their breaths.

You look up too, your vision still swimming as blood drips from your nose and lips. At the top of the stairs, one large, billowing frame comes into view.

Jack.

He’s still wearing the horse-cloak, but the hood is pushed back, revealing the full horror of him and his sharply bared teeth. He’s the picture of anger. 

It’s… terrifying. Even to you.

The hand in your hair lets go and people take steps back, all of them crowding toward the door.

Jack begins to descend, each step a deep thump that vibrates through the floorboards. His posture is more animal than man, his shoulders hunched, his claws flexing, his brows furrowed as he sniffs the air. The crowd parts without meaning to, bodies pressing against walls, weapons trembling in hands.

He reaches the bottom and stiff through the smoke in the air, then catches your scent. His head snaps toward you.

He crosses the foyer in three strides, his cloak billowing behind him like wings. He kneels in front of you, his massive frame blocking out the fear stricken people. He leans close and licks at the blood from your split lip, your nose, your chin. You try to shoulder him away.

You groan dizzily, your head lolling to the side. “Jack…” The word slurs out weakly. “Run. Please… run.”

But then someone yells behind him and another lunges forward, snatching the knife from the floor where you dropped it. The blade flashes before your eyes before it drives into Jack’s back, sinking deep between his shoulder blades with a wet thunk.

Jack snarls as his head whips around. The man staggers back, his eyes wide, but Jack is already rising and turning his back to you to reveal the blood welling dark around the wound.

And then you can’t really recall the rest. You’re in and out of consciousness as Jack mutilates the lot of them.

Some escape and run, their boots pounding out the door and through your hallways, their screams swallowed by the roar of the fire. Some have their necks torn out, wet snaps of bone and artery, blood spraying in arcs that splatter on the burning walls. Some try to fight back, but Jack is faster, stronger, his claws raking through flesh and fabric like paper, their bodies dropping in broken heaps.

The butcher stands frozen in the middle of it all, his torch still burning in his fist, watching the monster tear through his neighbors. His face is pale, his eyes wide, the grief in them hardening into something colder. 

He charges.

Jack meets him head-on and they go hand to claw, the two of them crash through furniture, splintering chairs, the butcher’s thick arms blocking blows that would have killed a normal man. A piece of plywood falls from the burning ceiling and he grabs it, swinging until it connects with Jack’s head in a solid crack.

Jack staggers, groaning in pain, his knees buckling as he drops to the floor.

You start to yell, blood bubbling in your throat. “No—stop! Please—don’t! Go back to your son! Leave us alone! Please—please!”

The words spill out, tears mixing with the blood on your face as you thrash against the ropes, your wrists raw and bleeding now.

The butcher turns to you and begins to walk toward you. “I’ve had enough of this. I’m going to kill you and this monster.”

But then Jack is up and latching onto his back in one brutal leap. Fangs sink deep into the butcher’s shoulder with a wet crunch, tearing through muscle and cloth. The butcher roars, swinging his arms wildly, the two of them crashing into the burning furniture like beasts.

Jack grabs him by the throat, slams him down, and bashes his head into the marble floor—once, twice, three times—until the sound turns sickeningly soft and wet. The butcher goes limp, his torch rolling from his dead hand, his eyes open and empty.

You watch, tears streaming down your face, your head pounding so hard the room pulses with every heartbeat. Blood drips from your nose, your mouth, mixing with the smoke stinging your eyes.

Jack pants heavily above the body, dark blood dripping from his nose and lips and gashes in his now-bruised skin. The fire has grown exponentially, flames roaring up the walls, wallpaper peeling in long black curls, furniture collapsing in showers of sparks. Smoke chokes the air.

Jack staggers, sniffing desperately, but the smoke has swallowed your scent. He can’t find you. Panic seizes him as he drops to his knees, growling and whining, his claws scraping the floor as he calls out your name in broken, frantic syllables, “Love—love—where—”

You try to answer, but the dizziness pulls you under again, the darkness swallowing the edges of the world as the manor burns around you both.

You don’t know what to do. You’re both going to die.

But then you’re thinking of the first night when he was born, when he was so unsure, when all he knew was you. How you hit the floor, showing him where you were when he couldn’t see. How he’s never needed his eyes to begin with, even now.

You pull your legs up, bending your knees as far as the ropes allow and propping your weight against the banister until your boots touch the marble. You start hitting them against the ground over and over, praying the vibration carries through the floor, through the smoke, through the chaos.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The crumbling is too loud, the fire too hungry, but you keep going, keep praying. “Jack,” you whisper between sobs, then louder, “Jack!”

Eventually, it reaches him. He’s crawling, feeling his way, following the rhythm you’re giving him. The thumps guide him like a heartbeat through it.

He finds you.

Jack drops to his knees in front of you, and a low, relieved whine pushes out of him. His claws find the ropes at your wrists, tearing at them with frantic swipes. The fibers snap under his strength and your arms fall free, your fingers numb and stinging.

He scoops you up, still gentle despite the blood on his hands, despite the fire roaring around you, and cradles you against his chest. Your head lolls against his shoulder, but you feel the rapid thump-thump of the heart you gave him. His arms lock around you as he rises so tightly you feel constricted, but you don’t care.

The manor is collapsing, support beams groaning, walls buckling, flames swallowing the curtains and climbing the stairs. Jack turns and carries you both toward the front doors, stepping over bodies, through smoke, past the ruin of the night.

You cling to him, feeling your resolve fading, whispering his name one last time—“Jack…”—before the world slips away.

── .✦

The thing that wakes you up is the morning sunlight shining into your eyes.

The light is soft and golden, slipping through the trees in thin streaks. Your head throbs the second you move, a dull, heavy ache that makes you grab your temples and squeeze your eyes shut. Everything hurts—your wrists raw from rope, your throat scratched raw from screaming, your body bruised and exhausted. You blink around, trying to make sense of where you are. There’s cool grass under your back, the gentle rush of water nearby, a cloak—Jack’s heavy horse-cloak—draped over you like a blanket, still damp from the night.

Jack is elbow-deep in the creek, water splashing around his forearms as he scoops handfuls to his face. His back is to you, his broad shoulders siphoning down to his toned waist, stitches running all across.

You push up on one elbow, the cloak slipping off your shoulder. Your gaze drifts further, over the ridge, past the pines to see a thick column of smoke rising beyond the trees against the pale morning sky. 

Your home. The manor. All of it.

The realization hits like a fist to the chest.

Your lab. The shelves of journals, the jars full of specimens, the notes you poured your life into. Your bed you shared with your lover before sickness took him. The portraits, the books, the little things that kept him alive in your memory. Every experiment, every failure, every triumph. Gone. Burned to ash.

Tears well up suddenly in your eyes. You press your hands to your face, your shoulders shaking as quiet sobs tear out of you. It’s too much. All of it. You cry into your palms, the sound so small against the rush of the creek.

Then there’s wet footsteps coming out of the water before a large frame is kneeling before you. His massive shadow folds down, water beading on his lashes and dripping down onto his nose as he leans in and presses his lips to the top of your head for a soft kiss. 

You lean into him, pushing your forehead against his chest, tears soaking into the grime on your cheeks. He rumbles low, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close until the world is just the two of you and the quiet morning.

Everything else is gone.

But he’s still here. Your love is still here. Despite it all.

You reach up and run your hands through his hair, your fingers catching on knots and fresh cuts from the fight. Bruises bloom across his torso in ugly purple splotches, spreading over old stitches and new ones alike, the skin mottled and swollen. You press your lips to his chest, right over the heart you gave him, then lift higher to kiss his mouth, shuffling up to your knees.

Jack lets you cry against him. He holds you steady with one massive arm around your back, his claws careful against your spine. You shake with quiet sobs, burying your face in the crook of his neck, and he just rumbles a soothing vibration that travels through your bones.

After a while he helps you stand, steadying you when your legs wobble and supporting the majority of your shaky weight. You tug off what’s left of your torn clothes, letting them fall to the grass, and walk into the creek with him. The water is cold, shocking goosebumps against your skin, but you don’t care. You wade in until it reaches your waist, rinsing the smoke from your hair, scrubbing at your arms, your legs, your face, trying to wash away the smell of burning wood, of blood, of everything that happened. The cuts sting, the bruises throb, but the cold numbs them a little. The guilt, though… that stays, heavy and rolling in your chest, refusing to rinse away.

You wash Jack, too, scrubbing the cuts that might get infected and brushing your fingers through his tangled hair until it comes out without catching on your knuckles. 

And you feel the smooth stones under your feet, feel the reeds and moss catching on your legs, and you let them be. And then you’re dunking your head under the water, letting your body be rid of its tenseness, letting your senses be overwhelmed with the rush of the cold water.

And you let it take your guilt, your sadness, your heartache. You let it take it all with the current.

And by the time you’re raising up and wiping your face, you see that Jack has dunked under the water too. You smile, wading over to him, and tug him up.

You both begin splashing each other with water playfully, the cold creek biting at your skin in sharp shocks. Laughter spills from you as you flick droplets at Jack’s face, watching them catch on his brow and run down the stitches along his jaw. He smiles at you and retaliates with bigger scoops, sending arcs of water over your head until you’re both soaked and chasing after each other.

Then Jack reaches for you, his hands eager as he lifts you against his chest as he presses his nose to your neck, kissing and nipping gently at your shoulders. You tilt your head back, kissing his temples, tasting creek water and the salt of his skin. Your fingers thread through his damp hair, tracing the raised scars and fresh bruises, holding him close like he might slip away.

The sun climbs higher, warming the air and drying the droplets on your skin, and the column of smoke in the distance is thinner now, just a gray memory against the blue sky.

And you decide, it’s time to leave this horrid place. Time to leave these people and these things that never understood you, never cared to.

Because someone who has always accepted you from the very beginning holds you very tightly in his arms, and you hold him in yours.

So that’s what you did.

You collect what little you have left—the cloak, a few scraps of clothing, your battered boots. You stop by a forgotten market stall on the outskirts of a village far from yours and buy rough wool trousers that almost fit Jack, more clothes for yourself, dried meat, bread, a small sack of oats, and other necessities you’d lost in the fire. No one looks twice when you pay in coins you found in the ashes of the manor, blackened but still good.

Then you leave.

You travel for hours through the woods and creek beds, off the trails to avoid people and other villages. Jack stays close, his hand in yours, his ears swiveling at every sound and stopping to smell all the new things. 

You’ve never realized how much you had caged him until now, until he’s experiencing all of these new things for the first time that you had grown long bored of. You realize that you’d been more concerned on protecting him than fostering him, keeping him locked in the shadows rather than in the golden sun.

Speaking of—the sun climbs, then falls. Your legs ache, your lungs burn from the cold, but you keep moving. Jack carries you when you stumble, his arms steady around you like always.

By dusk the next day, you find it—an old hunting cabin half-swallowed by weeds and time. Dust and critters are everywhere, mice skittering in the corners, spiderwebs thick as curtains, the smell of weather rot heavy. It's a small house with one room, a stone hearth, a single bed with a sagging mattress. A lot smaller than the grand manor you were used to.

But you have no need for those trivial things anymore.

You clean. You sweep out the dead leaves and mouse nests, scrub the floor with water from a pond a few yards away until your hands blister. Jack helps with his strong arms hauling out the broken chairs, the moldy table, the moth-eaten cushions. You tear them open, wash the fabric in the creek, resew the tears with thread you bought and mend the furniture back together. Your medical skills turn to something softer now, stitching cloth instead of flesh, mending a home instead of a body.

Jack watches you work while sitting by the hearth as the fire crackles to life. He doesn’t speak much, but he doesn’t need to. When you finish, the cabin smells of woodsmoke and pine trees. The bed is made with furs you found tucked away. The windows are cracked open to let in the night air and circulate out the old air.

You stand in the middle of the small room with hands on your hips, scanning the loads of work still needed to be done, but you feel safe.

For the first time in years, you feel completely safe in this house, with your love, without the weight of the world crawling up your back.

You both fall asleep on the floor that night, tangled together in the damp grass by the creek, Jack’s cloak draped over you like a makeshift blanket, his arms locked around your waist as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. The stars wheel overhead, indifferent to everything and the horrors under them.

From that day forward, everything changes.

You focus on him almost completely. Teaching him, showing him, indulging every curiosity that flickers across his face. You read to him under the trees, tracing the words with your fingers so he can feel the shape of them. You teach him the names of birds by their calls, the feel of different leaves, the way certain flowers smell sweeter after it rains. You walk with him through the woods, letting him explore with his claws and tongues, guiding his hands over bark, moss, running water. Every new thing you give him is a gift, and he takes them all with that same quiet, ravenous focus he once gave only to the smell of meat.

He hunts now, catching smaller prey, then larger things, animals of all kinds that you cook and use to feed and clothe both of you.

And that’s when you begin to realize where the turning point came from.

His knowledge isn’t just growing, it’s accelerating. The sudden leaps in speech and motor skills, the way he learned to touch you so rapidly, the way sentences formed almost overnight after months of grunts and single words. It’s food driven. When he consumes, it’s almost like he gains the knowledge and capacities of that thing. He intakes their receptors, their neural patterns, their instincts, and it advances his own brain, intertwines with his DNA, rewires him from the inside out.

The rat was the first spark and enough to nudge his mind forward. More animals followed, each one adding another layer, sharpening his thoughts, quickening his tongue. Until he finally consumed a human.

And the final pieces shifted into place.

He finally had the room to learn human desires. To understand them. To act on them.

You watch him now crouched by the creek, his head tilted as he listens to the water, his claws tracing ripples and memorizing the pattern, and you feel a shiver that has nothing to do with the cold. He’s smarter than you ever imagined he could be. More aware. More human.

And more yours than ever.

You don’t know if you’re horrified or proud. Maybe both. But when he turns toward your voice and he crawls back to you and pulls you close, you decide it doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters when you get to have him all to yourself every minute of the day now.

And, god, how good it is.

When you’ve both settled, when neither of you wake up scared or you stop looking over your shoulders at every snap of a branch, that’s when you both give in to the other.

You’re sewing his pants he tore earlier that day next to the hearth while you brew some herbs, the fire crackling quiet and warm, the small cabin filled with the scent of dried thyme and huckleberries. Jack sits beside you on the floor close enough that his knee brushes your thigh. He nuzzles up to your neck, taking in deep breaths after you’ve had a bath, his nose pressed to the spot just behind your ear where your skin is the warmest.

You rub his jaw gently, scratching just below his chin. “What’s the matter, love?”

He groans, huffing against you. “Am I… ah-a… mah-monster?”

You freeze your movements and turn slowly, looking at him—really looking. His ears are half-flattened to his skull and his head is bowed toward you.

“Where did this come from?” you ask, scanning his face, searching for any answer there.

He shifts, his claws pressing against the floorboards. “Butcher…” The word comes out shaky, like he still hasn’t gotten ahold of it right. “Called me thh-that. Before I…” He trails off, grunting. “I uh… can’t forget it.”

You stare at him for a long time. The fire pops, the herbs bubble quietly in the pot and you drop his pants into your lap, setting the needle aside, and turn to him fully. You take his hands in yours, his fingers curling around yours, and hold them tight.

“You are not a monster,” you say with a steady voice even as your chest aches. “You were made. You were made by me—because I wanted you. Because I loved you before you even opened your eyes. A monster doesn’t hold someone like you hold me. A monster doesn’t learn how to speak just to say my name. A monster doesn’t carry me out of a burning house when he could have run alone.”

You lift one of his hands, pressing your lips to the scarred knuckles. “You killed to protect me. You killed because they were going to kill us. That doesn’t make you a monster. That makes you mine.”

Jack leans forward until his forehead rests against yours, a low whine caught in his throat. You kiss him gently, then pull back just enough to meet his face again.

“You’re not a monster, Jack. You’re my heart. You’re my home.”

He exhales and pulls you into his arms, burying his face in your neck like he’s trying to crawl inside your skin. You hold him just as tight, fingers scratching in his hair, breathing him in just as he always does you.

Jack kisses your neck then just enough to send sparks shooting down your spine. His hands slide to your hips, pulling you into his lap with that horrid strength you’ve come to crave. You straddle him on the worn rug by the hearth, your knees sinking into the shag, and then you’re kissing, your tongues sliding together in the familiar mess you both love. 

For the first time, you think he’s never done it at a more inappropriate time—Jack is wearing pants. But his arousal is evident and pressing insistently against you through the fabric. He shifts, guiding you down until you’re seated right on top of it and feeling the heat of him searing through both layers. You gasp into his mouth, and rock your hips instinctively as he growls into your mouth.

You kiss him harder, tugging at his hair, feeling the way he shivers under your hands. He holds you close, but then the words start to spill out eagerly.

“Want you,” he groans against your throat, his voice thick with a whine. “It aches… want to feel… to feel the wuh-way you made me.” He pauses, like the words are too big for his mouth. “Want… but don’t knn-know… for what.”

You smile against his lips even as Jack lets out a frustrated huff. “It’s okay,” you whisper, rolling your hips down just enough to drag a short, sharp breath from him. “I’ll show you. I’ll show you everything.”

He snarls, his hips jerking up to meet yours to chase the friction. You keep moving and watching the way his ears pin back, the way his claws dig into your thighs just shy of breaking the fabric of your own pants.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and begin to go faster, harder, the friction through his pants is rough, perfect, letting you feel every thick inch of him, the fabric doing nothing to hide how badly he wants this.

“Tell me,” you breathe against his mouth. “Tell me how you feel.”

“Hungry,” he rasps back. “Like… just need more.”

You smile, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Good. That’s good, love.”

Your nails scratch down his back, dragging over the stitches and scars, feeling the way his muscles flex under your touch. You kiss along his jaw, cupping the other side of his face to push him closer.

His claws push up under your shirt in a search for warmth, rough hands sliding over your ribs, your waist, your chest and exploring every inch he’s allowed. You tug the fabric over your head and let it fall somewhere behind you. You grab one of his claws and drag it to the center of your chest, pressing your hands atop his large one and pressing his palm flat to your skin.

“Right here,” you whisper, pressing his palm flat over your racing heart. “Feel that? How fast it’s going?”

He stills, his senses fixed on the sound of your pulse thundering under his hand. His claws spread wide over the width of your torso, and he just… listens. 

“Fast,” he murmurs, almost awed. “For… me?”

“For you,” you say, kissing him again. “Always been for you.”

Jack leans down and kisses your chest, his lips brushing the plane of your chest before his tongues flick out, tracing warm, wet lines across your collarbones. Goosebumps rise in their wake as he kisses lower, searching until he finds one nipple and runs a flat tongue across it.

You gasp, your hands flying to the back of his head as your fingers tangle in his hair. “Yes—there—”

He takes the hint instantly and leans in closer, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub while his fangs graze the skin just enough to make you shiver. You whine your praises, your voice cracking on every word. “Good boy… so good, Jack… shit…”

He hums against you and switches to the other nipple, giving it the same hungry attention until your moans grow louder, louder, filling the small cabin with the sound of your need.

You push at his shoulders, gasping for air. “Wait—wait—”

He whimpers the second you lift off him and stand, his ears pinning back, but you’re shimmying your pants down your thighs, kicking them off in a clumsy tangle. The air hits your soaked core and you shiver, immediately reaching your hands out to tangle back into his hair.

Jack takes sudden, sharp breaths as he catches the thick scent of your arousal. He leans closer, his claws gripping your thighs to steady you as you finish kicking the fabric free, tugging you closer toward him.

You spread your feet a little wider and he opens his mouth immediately, his tongues sliding across the tops of your thighs until he’s licking toward your cunt, and you tilt your hips forward, spreading your legs more until he catches onto you fully.

His tongues find your slick in an instant. He latches on, pushing through your folds with the muscles all working together at once. They lap at you in greedy arcs, drinking down your taste and beckoning more from you. You gasp as your legs buckle, trying your best to stay upright against the sensitivity, but fuck, it’s just as good as you remember.

“Jack—fuck—” Your voice cracks, your hips jerking forward into his mouth. He holds you steady with his claws digging into your ass just enough to keep you from falling, but he’s more concerned with pushing his tongues toward your entrance than he is keeping you upright.

For all that Jack lacks in foreplay, he more than makes up for in his eagerness—because before you can prepare yourself, he’s forcing one thick, long tongue into your cunt with no more than a groan for warning.

And it works you open mercilessly, one curling deep inside while the others spread you wider, lapping at every slick inch. You cry out when your knees finally give way beneath the onslaught, your body pitching forward suddenly, but he’s already lowering you to the floor with his claws on your back, his tongues never breaking contact. He pushes your thighs apart wider, pinning them open with his shoulders as he settles between them.

He eats so hungrily—tongue fucking you earnestly now with long, rolling pushes that let you buck your hips against his face, your fingers knotting in his hair and pulling hard. He wants you to taste good. He wants that flood of slick, the rush of your release coating his mouth again. You can feel the need in every greedy lick, every low growl vibrating against your core unceremoniously. Jack hasn’t grasped the concept of teasing; when he decides he wants his reward, he wants it now.

You pant quickly, bringing your hand down to rub tight circles over your clit. But Jack snatches your wrist before you can really do any damage, pulling it away and growling up to you. One of his tongues leaves your entrance just long enough to lap over the swollen bud instead, flattening against it in broad, wet strokes that make your whole body arch off the floor.

“Jack—Jack—” Your back bows, hips grinding up into his face and chasing the pressure. 

Jack bares his teeth, the sharp incisors flashing dangerously close to your clit, his fangs so near your most sensitive skin, the raw threat of them. The sight alone sends you over the edge fast.

You cum quickly, a shrill cry tearing from your throat as your thighs clamp tight around his head, locking him in place. Your whole body seizes, hips jerking against his mouth in helpless seizes. Jack grips the rug, his claws gouging deep furrows into the fabric as he shoves his head deeper, drinking you down. His tongues lap greedily, taking long gulps of your release, catching every drop before it can run down your ass or thighs. He groans into you like your orgasm is the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

You have to push at his head before the overstimulation becomes unbearable, pushing your palms flat against his forehead and gasping for air. “Jack—too much—stop—”

He won’t. His tongues keep licking your folds, your inner thighs, chasing the last traces of slick anywhere he can get it. You try to shimmy away, but he grabs your calf in one massive hand and yanks you back toward him with a growl.

Then he bares his teeth again—this time against the soft inside of your thigh. You freeze, your breath catching in your throat, your heart frantically speeding up. You just came, your body is still twitching, but nothing has ever made you feel so horny, so alive, as the sight of him like this.

“Do it…” you whisper.

He lets his teeth close around the tender skin, pressing just enough to indent and break the surface in tiny pinpricks of blood. You moan as he quickly laps it up, his tongues dragging over the small wounds, soothing the reddening skin. 

You bring your hand down to your clit again, rubbing tight, desperate circles, and he bites again—harder this time, then switches to the other thigh, growling against your skin before sinking his teeth just a little more.

“Good,” he moans. “Tastes… good.”

You moan louder, your fingers moving faster, thighs shaking as he marks you, watching as sharp bites are followed by soothing licks, the punctures making you dizzy with arousal.

Jack’s jaw begins to move back towards the middle of your legs, but then you push at his head again, breathless below him. “Wait—Jack. I want to make you feel good.”

He lifts immediately, his head tilting toward your voice. You sit up on your elbows, your chest still heaving, and he rises with you, kneeling between your open legs.

You reach for him, your fingers brushing the front of his pants. “Do you remember when you felt really good?” you ask softly. “The thing that happened when I touched you… the thing that made you scared?”

He nods sheepishly.

You smile. “Do you want to feel that again?”

He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t need to. His cock twitches hard against the fabric, pre already darkening a thick patch at the tip, the outline so clear you can see the head shiny and flushed beneath the cloth.

You laugh under your breath, brushing your finger along the length. “Yeah… I thought so.”

Your hands move to his waistband, tugging the pants down his thighs. He helps the best he can, lifting his hips until the fabric slides free. His cock springs up and lands against his hip, the head glistening with excess pre that drips in slow, thick beads down the shaft. There’s always an excess of it, but you really couldn’t care less to study any more of him right now. The tip shines wetly, big veins standing out along the thick length and twitching with every breath he takes.

You wrap your hand around him and whine when your fingers barely meet before you stroke him gently, feeling how it jerks in your palm, the thing so big and heavy it makes your mouth water all over again. His hips stutter forward into your grip as you work him with steady, teasing pulls, watching his lips curl and bare his teeth every time you get near his tip.

So sensitive, the poor thing.

You lean forward and let yourself drool onto his tip, spit stringing from your lips in a slow, glistening thread until it lands right on his slit. The warmth of it makes his cock twitch hard in your hand as you collect the mess with your thumb, smearing it down the head, then stroke him a little faster in tight, slick pulls that have his hips jerking forward faster too.

Jack’s claw grabs the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair and gripping you just a little as he fucks into your fist. You keep at him with a steady rhythm, feeling every thick pulse, every bead of pre that leaks out to make your hand slicker.

You turn your body slowly, shuffling so your back faces to him now, bending forward until your hips rise high enough to level with his cock still in your fist. You scoot back on your knees, reaching behind you, guiding him until your cunt pushes back to meet where your hand holds him. The head nudges your entrance and you whisper, trying not to let your nerves stall you, “Push forward.”

Jack’s whole stature changes the second he feels something different. His breath catches, his claws reaching out to grab your body and holding you steady as he presses forward. 

“Easy, big guy—” you groan.

Jack tries to push in, his hips jerking forward with impatient little thrusts, but you can’t quite catch him when his tip keeps nudging against your entrance, sliding up through your folds instead of sinking inside. He’s too big, too thick, and the angle is just off enough that every attempt ends in a slick glide rather than where you both want it.

He growls above you as he presses harder, and you keep pumping him with your fist, twisting your wrist on every upstroke, trying to help, bending your back a little more, spreading your legs wider to open yourself fully. “Come on, love—right there—”

But he’s done waiting.

Jack snarls as he snaps his hips forward, bullying the blunt head against your entrance with sudden, unrelenting force. You hiss sharply at the stretch, letting his cock slip from your hand so you can grip the rug beneath you with both fists and drop your head weakly. He doesn’t slow down, just keeps pushing, the thick tip forcing its way past the first tight ring of muscle until it finally breaches you.

“Shit—”

The stretch burns so good, and you both moan at the same time—yours high and gasping, his a deep, satisfied growl. He’s just got his head inside, but it’s enough to make your thighs shake, your back arching hard as he holds himself there, finding his footing and grasping onto you.

Jack’s body falls over you, his hands planting on either side of yours to brace himself. His nose finds that favorite spot in your neck, breathing you in deep and huffing into the skin as he adjusts his body to mount over you. You tilt your head, kissing his temple and whispering, “Take your time, love. Don’t overwhelm yourse—”

But he cuts you off, his hips snapping forward suddenly, burying himself halfway in one rough thrust. You cry out, white-knuckling the rug beneath you as he starts moving quickly, panting hot gasps of air against your neck. One arm slides under your middle, wrapping around your waist, holding you flush to him while he looms above, snapping his hips in quick, deep strokes that have your insides fluttering.

The pace is relentless, each thrust dragging a moan from your throat, the sound of skin meeting skin loud in the quiet cabin. He growls low, his claws flexing against your ribs as he drives into you again and again, chasing that ache he can’t name but can’t stop wanting.

“Good boy, Jack… so good for me… feels—fuck—feels so good…” 

Your body goes slack beneath him, letting him use you completely, every muscle melting into the rug as he drives deeper with every snap of his hips. The stretch burns sweet, fuller each time, until he drops his weight too, his chest pressing you flat to the floor, one arm banded tight under your waist to hold you close.

It turns sloppy fast. His thrusts quicken, wet sounds filling the cabin with skin slapping skin, your slick easing the way as he fucks down into your cunt with quick, brutal snaps. The head of his cock drags right over your g-spot every time, relentlessly punching moans out of you until your eyes roll back and you think you might genuinely start drooling. Your hands claw for anything—his arm, the rug, the floor—nails digging into wool and scarred skin as you throw your hips back to meet him, desperate for more of it.

You’ve dreamed of this, and now that you have it, you don’t ever want it to stop.

He bottoms out eventually, his hips slamming flush against your ass with a wet smack that echoes off the cabin walls. “Mine,” he snarls into your neck, breath hot and ragged, claws pricking your sides just enough to sting. “Love… mine… Hnnn—all mine.”

You’re gone, completely wrecked and trembling, the coil in your belly winding tighter with every messy plunge. 

Jack’s hips keep driving, each thrust deeper than the last, the thick head of his cock smearing against your cervix with every snap forward. The ridges and veins drag along your tight walls, tugging at every sensitive inch inside you until you’re babbling absolute nonsense into the rug beneath you, “Jack—fuck—too much—good—so good—please—” trying not to cry from the sheer euphoria of it all.

He growls against your neck, then suddenly moves, lifting you with the one arm banded around your middle. He rises up onto his knees, pulling you upright with him with your back pressed tight to his chest. Your legs fold beneath you, thighs spread wide over his as he holds you there, practically impaling you on him as his other hand splayed across your stomach to keep you flush against him.

He starts fucking up into you from behind, quick and what feels like deeper than before, his hips snapping hard enough to make your whole body jolt with every thrust. His teeth press against your shoulder, daring to bite again, and you moan, head falling back against his collarbone. 

“Yeah, Jack—c’mon big guy—yeah—”

He growls against your shoulder, and then his teeth close sharply into the meat where your neck and shoulder connect. The bite is sudden and deep, pain flaring hot and bright in your nerves and ripping a scream from your throat. Your body arches hard, thighs clenching around him as blood wells under his teeth.

Jack grabs your hips with bruising force, bouncing you frantically up and down his cock while he laps at the fresh wound, his tongues dragging over the broken skin in greedy strokes. Blood drips in warm rivulets down your chest, speckling your stomach, mixing with sweat and the slick between your thighs. The copper tang fills the air, and you think it only makes Jack salivate more.

The build is long, aching, every thrust dragging you higher until it crashes all at once—your orgasm slams through you like a storm, your cunt clamping down tight around his thick length, forcing him to still inside you.

“Fuck—J-Jack—oh god—” You reach back blindly for him, your nails digging into his forearm as your walls flutter and squeeze, milking him with every pulse.

He snarls as he’s pinned in place by the vice of your body. His claws dig deeper into your hips, holding you down as he growls low and frustrated into your neck, his teeth still buried in your shoulder, lapping at the bite like he can’t get enough of the taste of you.

Jack unlatches from your shoulder with a wet, satisfied sound, before he’s jostling you as he shifts to stand. His arms lock around your torso, keeping you impaled on his cock as he rises. Your feet dangle, nowhere near the floor as you’re held up entirely by his massive hands gripping your body like you weigh nothing at all.

He begins to move you—lifting and dropping you onto his length in hard thrusts. You’re incredibly sensitive, every slide burning through your overworked nerves, but Jack uses you like a toy, arms pinning yours to your sides while he controls the rhythm completely. Your legs swing uselessly beneath you with every downward thrust, his hips slamming up to meet your cunt in wet, filthy smacks.

“Guh-Good…” he growls. “Feels good…”

You drop your head lazily between your shoulders, and that’s when you see it—the obscene bulge in your stomach where his cock presses deep, the thick outline of his tip showing through your skin with every thrust. The sight alone drags a broken moan from your throat, your body going numb and pliant, letting him use you freely as you watch the bulge disappear and reappear with every slam of your body down onto him.

Jack’s hips stutter, his legs trembling beneath you as a low, unsteady whine starts weaving through his growls. That’s when you feel it—the way he swells inside you, the frantic little hitches in his rhythm—and you know he’s close.

You twist your head to look back at his tense face. “Good boy,” you whine. “You’ve done so good for me. Finish—shit, Jack—cum inside—make me yours. Make me yours, Jack.”

He snarls against your neck, leaning forward and hunching over you as his legs spread wider for leverage. His thrusts turn sharper, faster, his hips slamming up into you with wet, desperate snaps. You keep praising him—everything you know he loves—words tumbling out between gasps and cries and shaky sobs.

“Love how you feel… so big… so—hah—deep… you’re perfect—my good boy—give it to me—”

His teeth close around your shoulder again, fangs digging into your skin, and the sting sends you crashing over the edge.

You cum hard, a broken cry tearing from your throat as your cunt clamps down around him and your whole body seizes pitifully, and then you’re squirting, your release gushing over his cock, soaking your cunt, his thighs, dripping in messy puddles onto the floor below.

It’s obscene, filthy, the wet slap of it shooting chills over your body as you go limp in his hold, your body flax to him.

Jack drools down your shoulder, his tongues lapping at the bite, at the sweat and blood and slick. His growl turns ragged, hips jerking once—twice—and then he’s cumming deep inside you, thick ropes pumping against your cervix in hot, heavy pulses. He buries himself to the hilt, holding you flush against him as he empties everything he has, snarling into your neck before it turns into a full-on howl.

You both collapse to the floor in a heap—his weight pinning you down, his cock still twitching inside you, arms wrapped tight around your middle like he’ll never let go. You’re both panting, chests heaving in the quiet cabin, the fire’s soft crackle the only sound left besides your ragged breaths.

By the time your senses drift back, Jack is already stirring again, his hips shifting and grinding slow and deep against your cervix, his thick head pressing insistently like he’s trying to burrow even further inside. You’re still so full of him, his cum warm and heavy, and the renewed pressure makes fresh tears prick your eyes.

“Jack—ease up,” you gasp. “We’ll have time again… just… just give me a minute, love.”

He whines, but his hips still, pressing down flush against yours instead. His forehead drops to the rug below, his shoulders rising and falling as he pants against your neck and tries to reclaim his energy.

You turn your head just enough to kiss his cheek. “You did so good,” you whisper, lips brushing sweat-damp skin. “So, so good for me.”

His cock is softening slowly, but you feel the first warm trickle of his cum beginning to leak out around him, pooling at your entrance. You reach down between your bodies, coaxing him gently. “Come on… let me—”

He shifts with a soft whine, lifting his hips just enough for you to ease him out. The stretch makes you hiss, but then he’s free, and a thick gush of his release follows, dripping from your swollen cunt onto the rug beneath you.

You’re a mess.

Jack sits back on his heels and his face tilts downward. He sniffs once, catching the scent of your combined smells, and then he’s leaning down between your spread legs again.

“No—Jack, wait—” You try to sit up and push your hand at his shoulders, but he’s already there, one massive palm planting firm in the center of your back and pressing you flat to the floor again.

He holds you down and starts licking before you can struggle away.

His tongues drag slow, warm paths over your entrance, lapping up every drop of his cum mixed with yours. You’re so sensitive the first stroke makes you hiss through clenched teeth, thighs jerking to shut, but he doesn’t stop. He cleans you thoroughly with long, flat licks that gather every trace, swirling over your folds, your clit, even dipping just inside to catch what’s leaking out. The overstimulation is sharp, almost painful, but he’s careful, growling softly in contentment as he works.

You tremble through it all, your breath hitching, hands scrabbling at the rug. “Jack—fuck—too much—”

But he finishes when he’s satisfied, lifting his head at last, his tongues flicking out to lick his lips clean of the slick on them. His face turns toward you with ears perked and a low, pleased rumble vibrates in his chest like he’s proud of himself.

Jack collapses beside you, but then his arm scoops under your body and rolls you on top of him in one easy motion. Your ear presses to his chest, right over the steady thump of the heart you gave him, of your lover’s heart. You smile, nuzzling closer, letting the ache in your muscles and the sting between your legs wash away into the warmth of his skin. Your body may ache, but your heart does not, and neither does your mind. You both lay there, holding each other, breathing each other, finally at home in a world full of monsters who would die at the sight of you two.

But then you’re smiling against his collarbone, “We need a bath.” Jack rumbles in agreement, the sound vibrating through you like a second heartbeat. 

Later, wrapped in blankets by the hearth, you lean against his chest and whisper, “We’re safe here.”

He presses his lips to your temple, a low, contented sound in his throat. “Safe. With you.”

And for the first time in years, you believe it.

A witch and your monster, finally at peace from a world that scorned them from the beginning, forever and ever.

Amen.

Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated!

๑ part 1

๑ back to my masterlists

But there you are, in your same bed, looking out your foggy window into the woods that haven't changed a bit. Your dad still drunk as a skunk in the vacant living room, and the house still sighed with every settle as day bled into night- all quieter than the last. All the same routine, the same clockwork that would drive anyone to the brink of insanity. 

Even the grief had stayed, a cold hand gripping hard onto your shoulder. A presence that seems to fill every corner and gap.. With an abundance of love nowhere else to go, it lingered, and it haunted every inch of your room. 

When everything would fall into silence and you’d be left with nothing but your thoughts, you would revisit that night. Either to cope, or because the alternative was far more frightening than you’d like to give thought, you told yourself it’d all be some dream. A hallucination- a break in your psyche when you’d been pushed too far. That’s why you’d made it home that evening, under the watchful eyes of the moon. 

That and nothing more. 

Now a year later you could barely even remember all the finer details. Every now and then your gaze seemed to wander on its own accord out to that treeline as if expecting something more than trees, but each time you were met with simply all the same. Perhaps it’d been nothing at all. Just a shadow, or a trick of your tired, blurry eyes. 

If not that, then you would be faced with wondering just what kind of creature would walk away from prey. 

-

Town was just as empty as you thought it was going to be. A few smaller shops that catered to farmers and hunters, maybe three or four tiny restaurants. None of which were hiring, you’d learned, almost all them equally struggling to stay afloat with the staff they already had. That, and you found pretty quickly that this small town was the epitome of close knit. Generation after generation grew up, lived and died quiet lives, all known by name and by the features their parents had passed down to their kin. 

“You ain’t from around here.” You heard more than you’d heard ‘hello’. “How did you end up in a place like this?” 

Place like this was certainly right. Of course you knew money was tight, and the options were far more than just limited, but you think it truly was impossible to be further off the map. People were strange here. Off in a way that made you look over your shoulder, or avoid the hard stare of those wondering where you’d came from. Your dad certainly wasn’t doing you any favors for sure- causing scenes wherever he went, an outspokenly bitter man that found it easier to make enemies than friends. 

Odd jobs became your one and only sauce of income, because thankfully, there were plenty of older folks who really did not want to bother themselves with lawn care or washing their cars anymore. It was little pay, but it was good honest work. Which was more than you could say for your father. They always made sure to tell you that as they handed over a few bucks.

You’d take your meager pay and use it to buy whatever canned goods were on clearance, and with your leftovers you’d visit that little arcade that’d piqued your interest. 

From what you could tell, despite the way they eye’d you like some sort of alien, the older people were kind enough. They always appreciated your work ethic, and that you’d always get the job done, rain or shine. The younger generations… We’re another story. They ran like wild dogs, always itching for something violent to do, like they never had a good solid smack across the cheek before. They liked that you were quiet, and closer to timid than anything otherwise. Liked how when they’d tug on your shoulders or your hood on the bus you’d simply let them.

And they really liked how you were always alone. 

When you weren’t in town, and you couldn’t stomach another moment in that decrepit house of yours, you were in that long stretch of woods barricading your home from the rest of town. In the daytime it was lovely- all colors and a swift breeze carrying only the freshest of nature's scent. It became your safe place, out there. All alone with nothing more to worry about than the sun falling down behind the horizon. 

Headphones on, a book tucked under your arm, your world collapsed into a narrow tunnel of peace. You’d even found about a half mile in a giant apple tree had been flourishing, bearing the brightest, ripest apples you’d ever seen. Tart, crisp, and the only things that felt alive among everything else. 

The path to it was worn now, a long track of flattened grass and wet leaves you’d made with every trip until that pale trunk would emerge from the thick. Craned, leaning heavier on one side than the other, with great twisting branches that dipped down just within your reach. Always heavy with fruit, as if nature had pitied your empty belly. 

Today is no different. The tree extends its hand out to you, offers its labors, and you’re grateful to receive. 

Wind carries the scent of pine and sap, a chill littering your skin with goosebumps. Sitting on a log without a care in the world, you chomp into the apple you’d picked and split your book open in your lap. 

For a time, it helps you paint a picture that seems… Normal. 

If it were like this all the time you’d find yourself to feel at home. City life was as loud as it was chaotic, but your mother taught you to navigate it well. But in your soul you knew you belonged somewhere quieter- somewhere like these woods, surrounded by life and colors. Isolation became bandages over your injured heart. So what, you felt lonelier than an island miles from the mainland. At least you could hear your own thoughts, now. 

So what sometimes you swore you heard the faint shuffling of footsteps through the loose leaves. And so what other times you’d feel the weight of a long, hidden stare through the trees. 

As long as you had your music, a good book to read, and something fresh to snack on, you told yourself you were happy.

But all good things come to an end, of course, and long before you were content to go the sun disappeared behind the trees while darkness crept in where rays of light once had been. You hesitate for a moment, wondering if you could squeeze another twenty minutes or so, but then you feel that familiar thrum of anxiety sinking into your gut and you decide otherwise. Best to head back now, while there’s still sun to guide your way. 

Your father pulls into the drive the same time as you breach the treeline, coming from god knows where, and you make a point to slither in before he does so you don’t have to pass him by. When he stumbles through the front door, you’re already tucked away into the solitude of your bedroom with your headphones beating rhythms into your eardrums. His voice drifts through the wood walls, low and slurred. Talking to someone on his phone, you realize, and you turn your music volume down to listen in.

“...Don’t like these damn woods,” You make out, his words running together, a stream of incoherent thoughts. “...Tellin’ you somethings out there watchin…”

A frown graces your features, a tight draw of your brows. You can’t help but get up and press your ear to the door, removing your headphones all together. 

“...Saw a dog out there last week but-” He’s right outside your door, agitation growing in his voice by the second. “Thing’s face was all fucked up. Like it was smilin’ at me. You ever heard a’ that?”

You try to imagine it- a smiling dog- but all that comes to mind is some poor mutt casting a wrong glance at your father. Wrong place, wrong time. That’s all it takes after all, and you know your father isn’t above shooting things he considers vermin. A glass clinks, and you can audibly hear him chugging down his drink before he sputters out a wet burp. 

The last thing you make out before he slams his bedroom door shut is equal parts manic and chilling. 

“Goin’ inta’ town to grab myself a sawed off. Like ta’ see that thing come sniffin round’ my yard again. Or, hell… I’ve still got my ol’ bow. That’ll do.”

And then you’re stuck there, glued with your ear to the door, terrified at the thought of him lugging home some big ass gun he’d definitely use to throw his weight around. A feeling grows in your belly, a low churn of apprehension that plants seeds of fear. 

-

Tomorrow he’s no better. Worse, even. Angry from the moment he rose all the way into the later afternoon, and you were careful to stay out of his way during it all. The sky mimics his rage- fat, dark clouds in the distance floating towards your little town like an omen of death. A promise of rain lingers in the scent, something in the wind cold and sharp. 

When he finally sinks into a nap in the living room, only then do you saunter out and decide it’s about time to eat something. Empty cabinets are all you’re met with. Spider webs in the corners, as hollow as you felt. If anything though, you were almost grateful at the excuse to head into town and escape the tension of existing beside your father. 

You don’t plan to wake him when you leave, nor do you intend to lock the door on your way out. But the second the latch clicks and you twist the knob, you hear his voice creeping down the hall from the other room. 

“N’ where tha’ hell are you goin’?” Alcohol speaks for him, hardly processable if you weren't already fluent in the language. 

You chew your cheek. “I’m gonna grab us something to eat.”

“We got food.”

Your fingers still clutch the knob, wondering if you should just leave anyways. “We don’t. Fridge is empty. Pantries empty. You’re not hungry?”

“Gettin’ too dark for you to be runnin’ round. N’ I don’t like that tone. What’re you up to, really?”

“I just wanna go to the corner mart on Birch road.” The agitation in his words makes you nervy, but the slur of his intoxication brings forth something angrier. Something ugly, and bitter. For a moment, he doesn’t answer, as if considering. 

But then he speaks again- lower now. 

“Nah. Get back to yer’ room, is whatya’’ gonna do.”

Hunger rolls in your belly. Your jaw ticks. “Why?”

With a sudden shift of movement in the living room, your blood runs cold, whipping around, expecting to see him come barreling down the hall. 

He doesn’t. 

Instead, he peeks around the bend, looking just as flushed as he sounded. 

“No needta’ be pokin’ around out there.”

You shift your weight, struggling to meet his eyeline, the fire in your eye dying away. “...I’m hungry.”

He grinds his teeth and watches you. 

“Fine,” he starts, disappearing entirely back into the living room. You hear his weight meet the couch, but you’re not out of the woods yet. When he speaks again, it’s quiet, dripping in a disdain you can’t quite place the source from. “I ain’t gonna’ fight ya’. You go n’ stay out there tonight. Like a damn dog.”

Your mouth opens, and then it snaps itself shut on instinct. Between his phases of insisting you stay locked inside at all hours and then not caring if you would disappear at all, the changes always give you a whiplash that’s impossible to keep up with. 

You tell yourself it’s because he’s drunk. And because just like you, he’s still grieving too. The ghost of your mom’s memory wraps long, spindly fingers around both of your throats in tandem. But truly you can’t help but wonder if he simply just likes scolding you. Likes having something real and tangible to funnel all that anguish towards. 

He’s giving you the okay, you tell yourself. Just go. 

So, you do, pulling your headphones over your ears. You make sure to leave the door unlocked as you go. 

The trip to the bus stop is uneventful, the ride to the only market not so much. With a brain already pressed taut under stress, your senses go ablaze, aware of every stare as you settle in at the end of the bus. Some more than others- particularly a group of guys roughly the same age as you that seem to snicker among their not-so-subtle glances. 

Music only blurred the edges so much, and did little for the pit of dread growing within you.

You aren’t well versed in this. Despite still lacking a good solid friendship you were always surrounded by brightness, or at the very least, smiling faces. Even those you didn’t know knew your mother and her reputation often bled onto you: her precious daughter. Even if you felt invisible sometimes, you loved it. Bathed in that bright light of hers all the way until chirpy conversations became quiet, hushed condolences. 

Now, you were the outlier. An intruder. And an easy target.

Though they don’t act as if they aren’t talking about you, when you get up and pass them by at your exit, they do nothing. It’s enough to allow you breathe out a sigh when the bus pulls off the stop and you’re properly left alone. 

At checkout, an armfull of cans you didn't even bother you check the labels of sprawled out on the counter top, the cashier eyes you up and down while someone in line behind you chatters about the woods at the edge of town. The one that kisses the line of your backyard. You can’t help but tune in- it’s practically your property, after all.

Something about disappearances in the town, and how the police won’t search deeper than a mile or so into that great darkness. 

“I’ll never go there again after, well.. you know.” One of them remarked, a dramatic fall to the end of her sentence. “I can’t believe they won’t even check the woods again.”

“I can. It’s crazy out there. I saw a husky out in the woods one time and it tried to attack me.” The other harped. “It was smiling at me the whole time! Like actually smiling.”

Huh. That dog, again. 

For just the briefest of moments, and for the very first time, you think, you wonder if maybe your dads eyes hadn’t deceived him. 

“I heard someone’s living in the house at the end of Willow now. Can’t imagine looking out my window and seeing those woods.” 

“Jeez, I’d never sleep again. I give em’ a month, tops.”

You almost spin around and demand an explanation. 

But then reality checks you as the cashier clicks her tongue at your vacant state, out stretching a palm for payment. You pay with whatever money you had left and she sends you on your way, waiting once again for the bus to come round. 

The entire ride home, you replay their conversation in your head. 

By the time you get home, the clouds had gathered above thicker than fleece. Rain poured down hard enough to soak you in seconds flat, hair stuck to your face in ribbons and your paper bag of cans sagging in your arms. Dad’s car is in the driveway, and nerves rise up in your chest. Try as you might to preserve your headphones by tucking them around your neck, you’re sure they’re fried under all the wetness.

You hope he’s asleep. Or too drunk to remember your last conversation, at least. He usually is.

Before you make it to the front door the paper bag gives away in a slurry of brown tatters and tumbling cans. Most of them exceed your clutches and thud onto the gravel before rolling away, cracking open at the seams and landing in gathering puddles of water amidst the rain. One splits and blossoms what would have been a mouthful of stew. 

And all you can do is watch it. It chases the stream of water through the pebbles, a torrent of chunks and brown, feeding the dirt. Defeat would be an understatement- something almost entirely empty hollowing you from the inside out. A feeling that makes you wonder why you even bother bending down to pick up the few that survived.

It takes only one arm now to carry them up to the door, so with your head hung low you reach out to twist the knob to welcome shelter. 

The knob doesn't twist. You try again- it doesn’t budge an inch.  Your heart falls. 

You go n’ stay out there tonight. Like a damn dog.

As if laughing, a roll of thunder echoes among the heaven-high clouds, harbored in a sheet of despair that put in effort to rain even harder. Every droplet stung your skin, a reminder of what your father had said. For some reason, a naive reason, you hadn’t believed he’d truly leave you out tonight. 

Not with that strange dog. Not with these strange woods looming only a backyard away. 

You’re sure he’s asleep somewhere inside, warm and cozied up with a beer bottle at his side. His one and only companion. As for you, not so much.

Turning around, nothing opens its arms to you. If anything the world grows claws and fangs, threatens to close in at all sides and tear you apart right there. A sky darkening by the second, trees that bend forward with spindly arms. The long winding driveway and then… 

Your fathers car. 

Without giving it a second thought, you step through the wet gravel and jiggle the handle of his front door. It pops open, revealing the interior, a flash of relief drooping your tormented shoulders. 

This will do.

After unlocking the entire car and tossing the cans onto the passenger, you crawl into the backs and let your aching muscles sprawl out over the fake leather. The whole ride reeks of cigarettes and beer, tiny holes of ashes burnt into the fabric roof and car seats. 

Your headphones did not, in fact, survive the storm. But thankfully you will- albeit hungry enough for your belly to fold in on itself. The thought occurs to you that you should have just stayed inside like your father had said in the first place. Sure you’d be just as hungry, but you’d be inside, warm and buried under the weight of your blankets. 

But then that meant conceding to him yet again. And for some reason within the latest weeks, that was becoming harder and harder. With every new rot of the wooden floors, and with every day spent scrounging for food hardly worth the effort it took to acquire it, the scorn you felt in your chest only grew worse. 

Everything was coming down around you with no future in sight. If only your mom’s passing could have meant something- could have brought you two together, or maybe opened his damn eyes. But no. He was content to drink away his woes and watch you turn to dust an arms length away. The word love became a memory. Family became a curse. 

You roll onto your back, staring up at the roof. 

This couldn't be your life. There had to be something else out there for you, just out of sight. Waiting for the right moment. As your breathing slows into something languid, you force yourself to imagine it- whatever it even is. 

What your brain comes up with is simple, lovely. Long days, longer nights. Clouds of gold that stretch into deep blues and a sky full of stars. A moon that always seems to smile back. 

Running through an endless sea of trees surrounded by laughter and the undeniable feeling of belonging. 

Now that brings a smile to your face. 

And strangely enough, all alone in that back seat with nothing but the rain to sing you off, sleep comes swiftly. With it, comes a dream fresh off the burners of your mind. 

The car full of quiet, windows fogged as the rain dies down. For just a second in your haze your eyes crack open to reveal nothing but deep, blue, darkness. Then, though it’s a blur too hard to make out entirely, you see the shape of something at the window. When your eyes adjust you make out only the biggest details- the roundness of a pulled hood. A mask of blue catches a sliver of light and reveals eyes of inky black tar. 

Recognition comes quickly. That night a year ago, among the trees and the brush, watching you cry yourself silly.

You know it’s a dream because you should be afraid. Downright terrified, actually, like cornered prey shaking before its predator. But that fear doesn’t come. Not even when they tilt their head in that same curiosity. There’s something about them that doesn’t frighten you this time around, like you know in your very soul that this… Stranger isn’t a threat to you this time around. If they even were, in the first place. 

For some reason you can’t help but stare right back. The two of you just watching, studying. Understanding. 

The dream carries on until the dead of night turns into the earliest hours of the morning. Only when the sky fades into a shade light enough to color him does he leave, and you watch that dark shape shift out of view. 

Somehow, when they go, the emptiness that arrived with them left only the softest of peace. Protection, your brain tried to reason. So desperate for it that your mind had forced itself to concoct some sad, pitiful dream to lull you into a state of comfort. 

It works. So well, in fact, that even when the dream changes and that moment is long forgotten into the remainder of your slumber, you rest better than you had in weeks.

His main goal being to warm you from the inside out, by any means possible. Aka you’re probably going to be stuck in his bed, your bed, or wherever has enough you around it- for at least a week straight. At the peak of it, he will borderline trap you somewhere, hole you up because it’s “safer.” Jack gets weirdly anxious during these times, not that he’d show it, of course. Just a faint twitch in his claws when you reach for your shoes, getting ready to go out. A tension in his shoulders that refuses to leave when you even mention venturing off. He knows it’s irrational, yet he can’t help it. A bear growling at strangers who get a tad too close to their cubs. He’ll pull you down, purr all low in his chest, completely satisfied that you had to call in to work because your “dog was sick.”

And don’t even get me started on scent.

If you come home even faintly smelling like another man he will throw the biggest fit. An out of place breathy clicking at the back of his throat, the sound itself displeased. You’d return, wrap your arms around him like you always do, and he’d pull back abruptly. Lips curled into a snarl. Demand you strip everything you have off of you, and shower immediately. Tone clipped and sharp, he’ll join you too. Slathering your body in sudds, leaving soft nips along your skin, mouthing at your throat. It’s the only way he’ll settle down, otherwise he will literally start to pace, staring you down impatiently as you finish whatever task you’d deemed important. More important than his very sensitive nose and aching possessive nature, apparently. If you do agree, though, he’ll do right by you.

Sinking down to his knees in the hot steam, marking up your flushed thighs. Careful not to nick you with his teeth, he’d have you rocking against his mouth for hours. Bloody or not, he thrives on your taste, drinks it down like nectar. He’ll groan loudly, praise your cunt as if it’s talking to him personally. He moves slower during his ruts, somehow more detailed than he is on a day to day basis, and that’s saying something. The sex isn’t explosive or rough- it’s erosion.

Leaving bruises on you slowly, with careful hands sinking deeper and deeper, purple hues lining your skin before you can even register the pressure of them. The sway of his hips hypnotic as he drives to the hilt. Filling you over and over and over again. Jack will bite his own palm, forcing it to your lips while he pumps into you from behind. Make you taste his blood while he feeds on yours. An act so binding it could only be born of something ruined.

However, when everything is said and done. He gets really sentimental about it. Incredibly and aggressively sappy. Cradle you to his chest, and murmur velvety smooth praise in your ear. He also has a massive guilt complex and will most likely sulk a little, it takes barely any coaxing to get him out of it, though. Just a couple of sweet words, reassurance as you litter his face with affection. Pecking across his cheeks, smoothing the furrow of his brow, and he’s done for. Contently going back to letting you pet him like a domesticated tiger.

All in all, he is just very large and very soft at his core. Despite the ridges and cold front he puts up, he melts under very little pressure if he trusts you.

➽──────────────❥

12:00 AM

It flashed harshly on the display of your alarm. The red glow reflecting off wood. Turning for the fifteenth time since you had gotten under your sheets, you sighed.

Dragging a hand down your face in defeat, restless, you knew he’d call any minute now. The telltale ringing that only came after dusk had set. You should’ve been scared. Uneasy that a man you had never seen, whose face you didn't know, had not only found your number but also your address, and was persistent in his advances. He was just so… nice about it.

It felt like you were losing your mind.

➽──────────────❥

The calls started a year earlier, a couple of steps into your nighttime routine. Hair pulled out of your face and moisturizer in hand, before a buzz caught your attention. Your phone, vibrating on the nightstand. UNKNOWN-CALLER ID flickering across the screen, a spam call, obviously. Usually, you would’ve swiped to hang up, paying it no mind- but you were bored. Besides, what’s the harm in wasting the time of a scam artist, right?

Propping the phone on your shoulder as you pressed it to your ear, you spoke, “Hello?” Nothing, no eerie heavy breathing either, just the vague ambience of wind to keep you company. Maybe they were taking a late stroll and butt dialled you by accident, before you could even finish the thought, a voice echoed out. Cutting through the static,

“Hi.”

Raspier than you expected, if you were expecting anything at all.

“Sorry, I think you have the wrong number- hope you find who you’re looking for.” Okay, so it was a real guy, reaching up to cut the call and finish your skincare. He says something that stops you in your tracks. “Sound real sure there, how’d you know you ain’t the right one?” Now that was different, brow raised with a click of your tongue,

“Well, I’m sure I’m not expecting any calls tonight-“

“But you picked up, didn’t you?”

Whoever he was, he seemed certain he had reached his destination. Crickets loud in every pause of the conversation, and maybe you should have hung up, brushed it off as a man with nowhere to be. It was just that, every day was the same, going to work, coming back and passing out to do it all over again. When you were off, you ordered takeout, watching the same sitcom you had since you were a kid; this was new.

As stupid as it was, it felt exciting, even if just for a tiny bit. A stray encounter to tell your friends about, something to laugh at down the line, so you entertained it. And maybe that’s where you sealed your fate.

“Because you called me,” your weak attempt at defending yourself interrupted by a low chuckle. “You answer any call that shows up, or am I special?” The nerve on him, scooting onto the edge of your bed, you scoffed, legs crossed with the curl of your lip betraying your supposed irritation. “You flirt with every random number, or am I just special?” Quiet shuffling on the other side, along with what sounds like a stifled laugh, “Only when pretty ladies pick up.” Oh, you could hear the smirk in that one, “So it’s a hobby of yours to go on late-night strolls and hit on strangers?”

You leaned back against the plush comforter, toying with a piece of your hair like you were talking to a crush.

It was silly to be fair, and perhaps it wasn’t the smartest move to stay on the line, but honestly, he was kind of growing on you. The banter was light, his voice having that teasing lilt that you would read about; you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you feel at least a little special. “Hey now, have some faith, will ya? I got places to be, busy n’ all that.” And you’re sure he was, that didn’t mean you weren’t going to poke fun, though.

“Yeah? Doing what?” You had no idea what he even looked like, if he was handsome, if he was close to your age or even safe to be speaking to. A runaway prisoner getting his fun in before they chased him down, a bandit from the other side of town killing time by a pay phone.

Overactive imagination running wild, ’too many story books clouding that head of yours,’ as your mother would say. He hummed, the base of it crackling over harsh breeze, tone almost mocking,

“Guess.”

➽──────────────❥

It started with just talking, every Wednesday.

He’d call, and you’d answer, you’d ask questions, and he’d give vague responses depending on how “personal” he deemed them to be. Sometimes it was his favourite colour, ranging from how he liked his coffee to where he grew up. He told you his name was Brian, nothing more, nothing less. It felt like you knew everything about him, yet nothing at all; it was strange. You were never put off by it, though.

Until he started leaving you gifts.

Trinkets and snacks you craved that you had never told him about, showing up at your doorstep. You’d pressed him about it, futile as he’d always give you that same carefree response, “but it’s your favourite, ain’t it?” Or “Thought you’d like somethin’ like that, had to get it.” Like it wasn’t overtly concerning, he just happened to know exactly where you lived, like it wasn’t out of the norm that he seemed to know the things you liked without you ever bringing them up. But it felt normal, you talked to him all the time, for hours at that, he had this way about him.

Always saying the right things, voice smooth, calming, like perhaps you were just anxious for no reason. Overanalyzing things that didn’t really matter, he was your friend for god’s sake, you trusted him, didn’t you? Just running errands and stopping to think of you. Dropping by to give you a pick-me-up. I mean, was it truly that crazy to be thoughtful? You had never even seen him in person, face to face, that is.

You assumed he called from his phone; lately, however, he had started showing up across the street. An old, roughened phone booth, the glass foggy and smeared with graffiti and age. You were alarmed at first, a stranger, standing in the dead of night, pay station directly in front of your bedroom window, you could see it as clear as day. His worn-down yellow hoodie was pulled up, ski mask with an unsettling red frowny face painted on. Scuffed up jeans and boots to match. Your phone rang as he waved a gloved hand at you.

Now you were sitting here waiting for that same man. Conflicted as you were, you still looked forward to hearing his voice. The soft drawl to it when he spoke, deep and warm as it settled into your bones. He was comforting; you wanted to hate him, the calls sending chills down your back, a horror movie come to life. Yet it wasn’t, and you didn’t.

Dating was bleak, a small town where everybody knew everybody, and you were an outsider. Moved in for a fresh start, it was nice, of course; however, you never felt like you fit. Everyone had already set into their ways, a set path with set people, high school sweethearts or childhood friends who became something more. They all had belonging in one way or another, and none of it ever really fell into place for you.

But he was yours.

Something you had all to yourself. See, you had friends, and you never held it against them for prioritizing partners or loved ones they had known all their lives- even so, that didn’t make it any less lonely to live the way you did. This was different, no idea who he was technically, sure, but you could tell him anything. Talk about anything. Stay on the phone all night when things get hard, and he’d listen. Genuinely listen like you were the only person in the world who mattered. Bring up things you told him about months ago, small details that most people forget the second they turn around.

He knew you, and you’d like to think you knew him, too, the important parts anyway.

Thunder breaks your train of thought, loud and cruel. The force of it shuddered through your window and into the floorboards; it was storming. Seasons changing and weather turning harsh. The raindrops projected into silhouettes across your room, the only light source coming from the dim streets and the moon above.

You stood, pushing off the mattress with damp palms and pacing to the window. Your thin sleep shirt doing little to protect you from the cold, scanning the road until finally, you spot him. Brian. It was like clockwork, your phone ringing as you embarrassingly scrambled to grab it.

“Miss me?”

As cozy as you remembered, greeting you like he was happy to be standing in the pouring rain.

Giggling under your breath, “Never.” A lie he couldn’t help but laugh at, coming out hushed. Your worry for him trickling in the longer you stared outside, his clothes were no short of soaked, sagging off his frame, unbothered as he looked, the risk of getting sick hung heavy at the back of your mind. He leaned against the booth, arms crossed, holding up the wired phone to his ear. “Aren’t you cold?” The knitted mask covered his face, but even at a distance, you swore you could see the way his mouth twitched, “Never.” Spinning it back on you with a kick of his heel, you bet he was proud of that one.

“Well, you could… come inside, if you want?” Unsure, the second it left your mouth. You had never spoken to him in person, let alone invited him in, but it had to be freezing out there. The wind and unrelenting showers were a recipe for disaster. He paused, the shock obvious in his stance, disappearing as fast as it came. “Careful dolly, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were sweet on me.”

Damn him and his smooth words.

Cocky in a way that radiated off of him, how annoying. Butterflies disguised as irritation settling in your gut, you snapped.

“Clearly, you don’t because your tough guy act is gonna have you bedridden, Brian.”

Your outburst stunned both you and him into silence, darting your eyes away from the glass like that would somehow erase his memory. An inhale, then a very, very amused exhale, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

With a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders, he cocked his head to the side. In true bastard fashion. Jaw hung open, your head whipping back to the window. “What do you mean by ‘okay’?” He’s borderline hunched over on himself, hand clamped over his mouth with laughter you can’t quite hear, audacity rippling with every movement.

The phone dropped by his hip before swinging it back up near his face. “I mean, I don’t want my pretty miss t’be mad at me,” straightening himself as he continued. “Holdin’ you to it, been wantin’ to see that face up close.” With that, the line cuts with a stutter.

You throw your phone onto the bed in a frenzy. What are you doing? The walk across the street was two minutes max, which meant he could be here any second now. You weren’t even wearing anything cute, and on top of that, what if he was an axe murderer? Images of your body in a ditch flash through your head. At least you went out doing something you chose to do.

The dull thud of knocking ends your spiral short. Peaking from behind the corner, you steady your breath. floorboards creaking as you walk down the hall, it’s now or never. The front door swung open, and there he was. Taller than you thought, broad-shouldered and gaze focused on you. He was intimidating to say the least.

“Thought you were a woman of your word, darlin’. Or do ya just like seein’ me beg?”

A quick shake of your head as you stepped to the side, heat crawling up your neck. “Right! Right- come in, sorry.” Nervous laughter bubbled out as you clicked the lock shut behind him. The water starts to puddle, hands sliding to rest in his pockets, “Cute place, it suits you.” Words slightly muffled, it was odd hearing him this close, as opposed to over a speaker. Not bad, just new.

Surprisingly enough, his mask had somehow managed to stay dry, hood catching the bulk of it. He wasn’t shivering in the slightest; in fact, he seemed perfectly comfortable lounging in your walkway fully drenched. “I have clean clothes that probably fit you, just um- stay here- or actually you can, uh..” The words fade into nothing; floor becoming more fascinating by the second. Your nerves appeared to spur him on, stepping closer until he was almost chest to chest. Leaning down, he tilted his head to the side, humming low in his throat. “Mhm?”

He was doing this on purpose; he had to be. Your face felt hot, hands fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, “You can stay in the living room, it’s down the hall. I’ll go get the stuff.” Mumbled as you awkwardly shuffled around him.

You could faintly hear him follow your instructions, racing off to your room before he could even respond.

Slamming the door shut (softly), you slid onto the ground. This was humiliating. You had known him for a full year, talked to the guy constantly, so why was this so scary? Not because you were scared of him, if anything, you liked him too much. And that was exactly the issue; sure, you kicked your feet on the phone from time to time, but now he was in your home. He was going to wear the clothes you gave him, and he was probably going to spend the night. You hadn’t even asked if he wanted to, did you even want him to? Well, yes, you did, eager yet fearful was the motto.

Thoughts running a mile a minute, you find a pair of baggy sweats and an oversized black t-shirt. The clothes bundled in your arms, and with newfound determination, you march your way back down the hall.

➽──────────────❥

The room was dim, your feet tucked under you while you tried not to stare. He just looked so domestic, lounging against the other side of the couch. Arm slung over the backrest of it, mask still secured over his face. He had changed and returned like he had done this a million times, you guys talking like you usually did (with more or less stuttering on your part), eventually settling on the sofa to unwind. The shirt you gave him may have been loose on you, but it looked like it was about to bust at the seams every time he moved.

Fabric pulled taut over his chest, hugging his biceps, he hadn’t bothered to tie the strings of the sweatpants either. Grey waistband sagging low on his hips, the peak of his boxers was driving you mad. You felt perverted; this was the first time you’d seen him this close, and you were thinking about him like a piece of meat.

“You mind?”

The confusion must have been clear on your face, snorting softly before readjusting, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Holding it up as an explanation, “Ah, no, it’s fine.” It was not fine. You hated people who smoked inside; it was like he had you under a spell, wanting to do just about anything to appease him. Hooking a thumb under his mask, he pulled it up above his nose. The glow from the candles you’d lit flickered across his jaw, faded scars scattered from his collar to his face. A jagged one right over his mouth. He was handsome.

Cig snatched between his teeth, lighter sparking as he inhaled. The smoke swirled in wisps; you couldn’t see his eyes, but you could feel them. Trailing up and down your form, your thighs clenched together, body reacting before your mind could catch up. His head lolled back, the lines of his neck on full display, saliva pooled in your mouth. “You alright there, sugar? Lookin’ kinda tense.” It was effortless, reading you like a book. Fingers skimming through your pages the way a lover would.

He was toying with you, lips quirked up in a smirk that could kill, “Yeah, I’m- I’m good,” your response unconvincing as ever.

God, his voice, low and smooth. Southern drawl curling around the vowels like honeyed fog, rumbled in his chest when he spoke. The purr of it made you ache; it was so unfair.

You cleared your throat; it had been over an hour since he came in from the storm. However, you desperately needed to ease the tension before you made a fool of yourself. “I mean- if you’re not comfortable, I can grab you a sweater or something?” He huffed, smoke puffing out. Not sparing you any grace, he caught your wrist, tugging you near. The pull causes you to stumble over in a half-crawl to his side. Grip firm, he snaked your hand under his shirt, palm flat against skin. The toned ridges of his stomach had you almost choking, “’m warm, see? Right as rain, pinky swear.” Breath fanning your face, he smelled like nicotine and mint, temptation mixed all into one. Hold finally loosening on your arm as you dropped back into the sofa, gaze still fixated on him.

Stunned in place, mouth opening and closing again like a fish out of water. “But,” the word drawn out, slow with a click of his tongue, head turning towards you,

“If you keep undressin’ me with your eyes, I’m gonna catch a cold.”

Your breath hitched, tension so thick you could suffocate.

“C’mere.” His thighs spread wide, hand patting his lap, the cigarette stumped against the empty Coke can he’d been sipping on. Lazy grin stretching across his lips, “Don’t gotta be scared, s’just me.” Comforting with an edge, a predator coaxing prey straight into a bear trap. The metal teeth sank into your ankle before you could blink.

You crawled onto his lap, clinging to his shoulders to steady yourself. Nose nearly brushing his, you mapped out his features. Healed scrapes filled with stories he hadn’t told you, the dimples marking his cheeks, gave him a boyish charm you wouldn’t expect. His hands settled on your waist, thumbs tracing idle circles, “Nervous?” You swallowed, heat dragging up your spine in waves.

“I just, I really like you, and I’ve never- I don’t know, done this… before.”

Ducking your head to the side, looking everywhere but his face. The confession surging out in an anxious ramble, your filter failing to stop it. He cooed, “Aww, it’s okay. You like me, baby?” Murmured and soft, caressing up and down the curve of your hip. He reached to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, fingers tracing your jaw before tilting to meet your eye. “Use your words. Can’t be good t’you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, now can I?” His attention was overwhelming, making you jittery all over.

“I like you.” The pout on your lips had him feeling like a man starved. “Yeah? You want me?” Nodding, you clawed at the cotton of his shirt, needed it so bad you could cry, “Words, little lady.” His tone bordering on stern, “I- I do, I want it, I want you.” And he smiled like he won the fucking lottery, “Atta girl.” Hand burying in your hair, pulling you close.

The kiss was slow, firm and deep. Lips molding to yours, he squeezed your hip, wanted to eat you whole. Tongues entwined as he groaned, arms wrapping around his shoulders, grinding down, it was a portrait of desperation. You whined into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound. This wasn’t just making out; this was atonement, divinity in the form of lust.

Hands sliding down and palming your ass, rocking you back and forth. He breaks the kiss, a string of spit stretching between you. Faces flushed as you panted, “Let’s do this proper, yeah?” He hoists you up like nothing, legs wrapped around him on instinct, a blur of messy kisses and the slam of your bedroom door following.

Your back hits the mattress with a bounce. Arms bracing on either side of your head, “You don’t know what you fuckin’ do to me, dolly- feel like I’m losin’ my mind.” He’s weak, breathing you in, biting at your neck. Leaning back on his haunches, he gripped the collar of the shirt, pulling it off in one move. The sight of him made you drip, chest heaving as he knelt in front of you. Sculpted from cruelty and hardened work, scars littered his abdomen. Lips slick and bitten red, Brian was a vision fit for the ages.

He was on you in an instant, roughly tugging up your shirt before grunting like it pained him. “tryna’ kill me, is that it?” Braless, breasts spilling across your chest. Kissing down the valley of your ribs, he marked you up like you were his, ruining you for anyone else.

Slipping your shorts off your legs, you squirm, soft whimpers escaping. “I know, you need it real, real bad.” Chuckling under his breath, you were the cutest thing he had ever seen. Panties soaked through, his thumb circling your clit, sliding it down and pressing in. Hips jolting up, he was being so unfair. Playing with you like this, “You’re being mean.” The whine bubbling up your throat, tears starting to collect at your lash line. You couldn’t help it; it felt like you were burning from the inside out, and he was laughing at you.

“Oh, am I now? My poor crybaby, ain’t I jus’ the worst?” The grin on his face was anything but remorseful. Thankfully, he was nowhere near as composed as he seemed to be; mercy on you was mercy on himself. Shifting the lace to the side, he sank between your thighs.

You bloomed open beautifully, delicate and weeping like a spring daisy. He dragged his tongue up your slit, losing patience by the second. Drinking you in, nectar sweet on his pallette, liquid gold to a sinner. It was a mess. Sloppy as all hell, tongue fucking you deep like he’d die if he didn’t. Arching off the bed, you almost screamed. Your hands grasped wildly at the sheets, trying to ground yourself as he devoured you. His thumbs spreading you open, mumbling as he ate you. He pulled back just enough to spit on your sensitive cunt, legs twitching from the impact.

It was so much, too much, thighs shutting from the stimulation. The pleasure coiling in your stomach, getting tighter and tighter, clawing up your throat as your shoulders bowed. Finally snapping when he slips two digits into your heat, curling up just right. Pumping in slowly while you fell apart, “hah- I can’t, mmph-“ eyes rolling to the back of your skull. Pressing knuckle deep, letting you ride out your high before replacing his touch with his mouth. Lapping at your slick, he was making out with your pussy. You barely registered when he sat up, sight hazy with stars dotting behind your lids.

Jaw falling slack, the pads of his fingers pushing past your lips, “Did so well, my girl; I think you deserve a treat.” Tongue swirling around his digits, releasing them with a wet pop.

He reaches down, tapping your puffy clit like a button. Breathing out his nose when you squeak. “I’ll be damned, yer’ honeypots dripping somethin’ fierce, babydoll. That all for me?” The cadence sickeningly sweet, filling your head like molasses.

Vulnerable under him, yet that damn mask still covered his face. You felt exposed, needy as you tried grabbing at him, “Take it off, please-“ your voice is wobbly at best. Clinging to him with glassy eyes, he leaned in close, “Always so polite, hm?” You let your hands stray and wander, slowly nudging under the knitted fabric. Dragging over the bridge of his nose, freeing his ruffled hair when it fully slipped off. Little sun-kissed freckles dispersed across his skin, scattered like constellations. Blonde strands sticking up in every direction, pupils blown wide, your palms cradling his face.

Lips meeting in the middle, there was a shift in the air, softer, quieter, but real.

Dropping his hips to grind against your bare core, you could feel it, the throb of him. Pushing off you abruptly and forcibly shoving down the waistband, his boxers came with it. Cock springing out, sitting heavy between his thighs. Pre collected at the slit with a vein running down the underside, Adam’s apple bobbing in contained frustration. He pumped his wrist once, lining up and dragging it up your folds, tip catching on your hole. His brows furrowed, running his tongue along his teeth, “Fuck.” You were sopping wet, puddling under you and glistening. It coated his entire length. Your fingers sank into the plush of your ass, legs spreading even further. An invitation.

Presenting your welcoming cunt on a silver platter. Hips canting as he gave a shallow thrust, pushing in and out, fucking you with just the tip. “Please— please, please-“ The beg rolling off your tongue, you had never wanted anything more in your life.

Aching and empty, his cock sinking in inch by mouth-watering inch. “Shh, baby. You’ll get yours.” He snickered. The stretch was euphoric, hands bracing your thighs as he worked you open. Rocking back and forth, pressing to the hilt. He threw his head back with a satisfied groan, “S’fuckin’ tight, shit.” The squelch of your needy cunt ringing in your ears, slick dribbling down your ass. The sight of your connection was hypnotic. He wanted to be gentle, needed to be. But you were making that so goddamn difficult, pliant beneath him, perfect and plush. Just ripe enough to fucking eat. Brian wanted to break you, not roughly, rushed and brash, no.

He was going to take you apart, flood your veins like a drug. Shatter you like porcelain, before putting you back together, molding your cunt to his shape.

Claim you body, mind and soul.

Folding your legs to your chest, shallowly thrusting to ease you in, “Big stretch, jus’ like that, takin’ me so pretty darlin’.” The squeeze had him rambling, euphoria on wheels. Your pussy was embarrassingly loud, sticky plaps echoing through the room. “Hear that? She’s sweet talkin’ me, think she has a crush?” His taunt would’ve made you defensive if you could think properly, if you could think at all, that is.

He was so deep, skin on skin as you hiccuped. You were writhing against the comforter, pleasure sparking from head to toe. The only thing you could do was lie there and fucking take it, letting out punched ‘ah ah ah-’s every time his hips snapped into yours. Your orgasm hits you hard, vision going white, the pleasure acting as fireworks going off in your gut. Heartbeat loud in your ears.

He wasn’t far behind, your cunt squeezing down on him, vice hold while his thrusts lost rhythm. He pumped you full, spilling against your cervix. Moaning bordering on a whine, he sank his teeth into your neck, muffling the pitched sound. Your arms were about as heavy as lead, dizzy and panting, before he says something that has your eyes flying open. Hand wrapping around both your wrists, pinning you to the bed. “Don’t get all sleepy on me now, we’re just gettin’ started.”

The words leave his lips with a growl, slamming back into you with fervour. Headboard banging on the wall from the force. Your voice catches in your throat, and you could barely breathe. A flip had switched in his head. His only goal was to breed you, stuff you until it leaked out. He needed to fuck his cum into you so far you’d taste it tomorrow. “B-Brian- ngh- Brian,” you were drowning in it, his touch burned like a brand and healed like a salve. All encompassing, you could feel him everywhere. “I’m here, baby, I’m here.” He rasped into your shoulder, dick dragging against your G-spot, hitting bull’s-eye.

He was pounding your cunt like it owed him money. You tugged wildly in his hold, sheer strength holding you down, hand dipping past your thighs to circle your clit. Thumb tracing the letters B-R-I-A-N, the combined pressure of him bullying his cock into your walls, sending you over the edge. Not letting up, he pulls off of you, flipping you over. Face shoved into the pillows, ass up and trembling. Your peak stuttering before he’s thrusting back in, hips grinding against your ass and balls deep.

He’s fucking you mean, pummelling into you over and over and over, with a bruising grip on your waist that you’re sure will leave marks. Using you like a toy, watching your wet cunt stretch around him, he felt fucking high. Your pussy was drooling onto the sheets, sticking to your thighs and dripping. “You want it? Say it then, tell me you fuckin’ love it dolly.” Eyes crossed as you slobbered against the cushion, “Want it— wan’ it suh-so bad.” Pace growing harsh, his abs tensing from the exertion, “Yeah? Then thank me. Thank me for fucking you.” You struggled to form a coherent thought, his rhythm making you weak.

Unfortunately for you, hesitation was not something he tolerated.

“You think anyone else could make you feel this good?-“ sliding his grasp from your waist to press you down, thumb digging into your spine, pushing you into an almost painful arch. “You’re mine, you hear me?” He yanked you up by the hair, back flush to his chest. With an arm wrapped around your throat, the bulging muscle choking you as he snarls. “You let any other bastard touch you like this and I’ll blow his brains across that fuckin’ wall.”

The threat made you gush. He confirmed everything you were suspicious of, worried about, but you couldn’t stop. Brian was dangerous, yet his attention was intoxicating. A buzz you couldn’t get enough of. He had you cock drunk, hooked on it like an addict. “I- ah- ‘m yours, all yours.” Babbling, your hand reaching behind to drive him deeper, the other helplessly clawing at his bicep. Nails leaving pale scratches in their wake, his gruff chuckle making you shiver, “All mine, huh? Oh, honey, you promise?” Voice laced with condescension and sugar.

His palm smooths down your front, pressing on your stomach. “Feel that? I’m right here.” You cum with his name on your tongue like a prayer, clamping down on him while you cried out. Thrusting once, twice, more before his hips stutter, filling you to the brim with a low groan.

Legs giving out as you both collapse, careful not to crush you under his weight. “Fuckin’ christ.” He dropped his head on your shoulder, the reality of it finally setting in. His hair was a mess, sweat beading down his arms from where he held you, “You alright? I wasn’t too rough, was I?” The switch in tone gave you whiplash.

For a man who was just threatening to kill your hypothetical lovers, he sure was soft in the aftermath. He peered at you from the crook of your neck, blushed, and eyes half lidded. “Mm, no, it was good, I liked it.” You sigh, sinking further into the post glow. The laugh he gives warms you, hushed and sappy, pecking your nape with a hum. The air was heavy with the scent of bodies and lust, rolling off of you with a grunt, he tugs you to his chest. “We should get up,” voice of reason as stable as the shake of your legs, it’s the thought that counts, though. “Yeah, we should.” The two of you not making a single move, as the heat and desperation faded, you could really see him.

Maybe you should’ve taken the chance to run for the hills while his guard was down, but how could you when he was looking at you like that?

His gaze flickered across your face, from your nose to your lips, memorizing the lines of your features. He stared at you like he wanted to save the view for a later date, when he was buried in blood and responsibility.

A keepsake for a rainy day.

“What?” You liked to tease, and you supposed he did too with the way he huffed in response. “What? I can’t appreciate my lady?” How rude of him to melt you like this. “Your lady? Since when?” A sharp retort that had him grinning, nose scrunched in a way that made your heart flutter, tooth gap peaking out. Crooked and fond, he made you feel so incredibly safe. “Since yesterday, haven’t ya heard?”

The lovesick giggle bubbling up your throat before you could stop it, “Yesterday? And you didn’t tell me?” Now that earned you a snort, “Yes ma’am, and I’ll be sure to have it in writin’ next time.”

It was stupid, the pillow talk and banter. Dangerous or not, he was the best smooth talker you’d ever met, and you’d be damned if you let him slip through your fingers.

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You had fallen asleep like that, tucked into his side, arm thrown over his chest. The bed was still warm when you awoke, but the man himself was nowhere to be seen. Rushing out of your room, nearly tripping over yourself, you realized he had cleaned you up. Rounding the corner into your kitchen, your heart heavy, before something catches your eye— a note.

“Got called into work, you looked too cozy to wake up, sorry darlin.

P.S. Left my jacket on your couch, take care of it for me, will ya?”

Scribbled with unmistakable handwriting, you had to laugh. So there it was, the start of your new routine. He still rang you, of course, except now that call was always followed up by a knock at your door. And Brian was still as mysterious as always, coming and going as he pleased, but it worked. You waited and he’d call, you’d answer, and he’d knock. Like clockwork.

Just you and your midnight lover.

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