I’m new around here, but I hope I can meet your standards. Ask away, I ain’t judging anyone or any kinks.
I’m currently only writing for the Creepypasta fandom. Feel free to ask about:
Ticci Toby (Toby Rogers)
Jeff the Killer (Jeffrey Woods)
Eyeless Jack (Jack Nyras)
Nina the Killer (Nina Hopkins)
Masky (Tim Wright)
Hoodie (Brian Thomas)
Ben Drowned
I might add others in the future, but for now it’s just them ♡
My writing will definitely be darker and on the gory side, nothing too heavy, but please read the TWs at the top of each post if that’s something that might make you uncomfortable.
Have fun! Thanks a lot for reading my stuff.
(it’s a lil ugly for now but will be fixed in a minute)
Long Fics
Don’t close the window - Toby
Part I ♡ Part II ♡ Part III ♡ Part IV ♡ Part V ♡ Part VI ♡ Part VII
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CW Mild gore, stalking, mentions of assault, mentions of violence
Words 2,5k
About you loose your mind a little and receive a surprise visit
Part II
You sipped your coffee cross legged on your sofa, watching the sunny day through your window. In front of you, the TV hung in the cream colored wall, reflecting the sun streaks in its dark surface.
The knife still laid on the coffee table, just a few centimeters from you. Gleams of yellow shone down from the right side of the apartment where the window was placed, hitting the blade brightly.
You read the crumpled and dirty paper again. Was he really serious? Could you really call? Should you?
You were surely at the loss of a few screws after that night, for even considering it.
Thankfully however, you had the whole day to rest and ponder. After yesterday's disaster, that's all you really needed. No college, no class assisting work.
The coffee tasted bitter in your mouth, as you took its last sips. You might have made it too strong, a thick, sweet and bitter layer coating your tongue.
Meow!
A sharp sound called repeatedly. Very insistent on getting your attention as well.
"Oh! Your food! I'm so sorry Azure..." You were able to see it on her thin slitted eyes that sorry wouldn't cut it. So you hopped to your feet, placing your empty mug on the coffee table.
She quickly followed you as you rounded your counter to get her food, taking it from the lower cabinets and turning toward her little food bowl. She meowed loudly in joy as she savagely attacked the food.
You smiled at her, then moved to place the package back to its place.
You glanced over your kitchen. No dishes to wash, it seemed. The sink was entirely clean, aside from the coffee drainer you had just used.
The floor was mostly clean, not a lot of dirt spread around it. The entire apartment was surprisingly tidy. You hadn't really stayed a lot of time home this week, after all. You had a tough time juggling exams and your teaching assistance work, all of it eating away at your time.
That is to say, there was nothing else for you to do. Nothing to help keep avoiding a certain task.
With an exasperated sigh, you went to resolve your laundry problem.
You passed Azure on your way to your utility room, where she still ate her food hungrily. You opened the door to the small room and were hit square in the nose by the strong smell of copper.
It seemed that despite your best efforts at removing all of the, uh, gore left in the hoodie, the remains still fiercely clung to it. It had been soaked in water and clothing detergent since yesterday, and the water surrounding it inside the bucket had become a murky brown.
Just…fucking nasty.
You powered through your disgust, taking a deep breath, and–
Well, shit, maybe that wasn't the best idea. You barely held in a retch at the stink of rott, going back to your kitchen for a second to inhale fresher air. Even Azure was long gone from the vicinity.
Now, with a deep breath of the non-bio-hazardous air, you strut back into the utility room with a start, picking up the nasty bucket and throwing it's contents into the wash tub.
You spent longer than you'd like to admit attempting to remove all the hoodie's stains, using a variety of products, and scrubbing it to no end. But even with all your efforts, you were still able to see a faint outline of where the biggest bloodstains had been. You sigh, frustrated.
That's probably all you would be able to do for the beat up hoodie, so you hung it up, defeated, on the clothesline.
You didn't even know if you were ever going to give it back, anyway. Were you really that reckless, to get into contact with this murderous stranger?
Something must be irrevocably wrong with you.
You went to take a bath instead, to try and relax. After everything that happened, today really called for a relaxing time. That, and alcohol.
In your kitchen you made yourself the laziest possible drink, and shoved an unhealthy amount of vodka into it.
Finally, you grabbed some clothes from your room, along with your phone.
You opened spotify and hit play on your comfort songs. Your phone was left beside the toiletries, in the space between the tub and the bathroom wall, as was your already half drank glass.
Legs first, you sink into the warm water, that was a little too warm for the hot weather. Regardless, you attempt to relax, try to let your thoughts drift along the echoes of music.
But as you eye the shiny water, you can't help but remember how the crusty blood of others looked, falling down the drain when you had showered the day before. Just as pink and milky as the bath bomb you had put in the water. You suppress a shiver, bringing your knees closer to your chest.
You stole a look at the silver blade that was within your reach, poised on top of the tub’s edge. You felt safer with it close to you, despite it being a gift from a home intruder.
You sank further under the water, hoping that it's pressure may drown away your feeling of impending doom, but not before having another gluttonous chug of your glass. You're on the fourth floor, you thought. No one could invade your home, and no one did.
Your breath left you in bubbles. The water pressed into your ears, muffling the music above.
Maybe the guy left it here when he took you home. You wouldn't know after all, you barely remember a thing after you agreed to their offer to bring you back.
But the unease wouldn't leave you, your heart pounded. Coming back to the surface, your lungs expand with a long breath and your hands grasp at your eyes to remove the water in them.
You can't keep denying it to yourself. You know what you heard that morning. You know you heard steps, and that that knife wasn't there before. Whatever gratitude you had for the men that saved you wasn't any guarantee of their morals.
But still. This was the fourth floor. How the fuck would any of them get here?
Your landlord hadn't yet fixed your emergency stairs, you knew that for a fact since you had been complaining about it for over six months. You worried that if something happened, you wouldn't have anywhere to escape to.
This building was old after all. Fires were pretty common.
Home invasions too, apparently.
You sat up and grabbed your phone, and then texted the number on that paper.
Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was anxiety, or perhaps everything together in a horrendous mix. But you needed to know.
Your pruned fingers hovered over the keyboard shakily, your pulse hammering in your eardrums. This was a terrible idea. Don't do this. You know it's a terrible idea. He's going to come for you, he'll finish the job-
“how did you get into my apartment”
Your fingers move through the keys faster than your inner chastising can reach, hitting send before you can think any better.
You wait. Your teeth grind against each other. The lights are too bright. You blow out some candles, restless.
Your hands won't stop their shaking, and in fear of your cellphone falling into the water, you keep them outside the tub's edge.
“window. lock it btw.”
The response takes but a minute. You had no idea whether you felt relieved or more stressed at his answer.
“there are no stairs.”
“what”
“htf did you get in here there are
no stairs.”
“ah”
“idk”
“climbed ig”
Typing…
You waited impatiently, an expression of bewilderment settling across your features.
“now”
“fr”
“dont text if ur not in danger”
Oh. Oh, hell no. You did not read that.
“??”
“idk”
“but maybe”
“ i might be in danger if a murderer
has been getting into my apartment”
“what”
“shit”
“ill be there ”
What?!
“i meant you dude”
“dont come here!!!!”
The messages remained unread. Fuck. Fuck.
You had just put down a new rug in your bathroom, right before your supposedly relaxing bath that evening, and it might have just saved your life.
You were no short of stumbling out of your bathtub after reading that message, and if your wet feet had been anywhere near the shiny tiles, you probably would have fallen to an embarrassing death.
You caught yourself in the sink as your anxious trembles rendered you completely unbalanced, hands banging loudly on the marble.
That man was coming for you. He knew how to enter your apartment without needing to get through the lobby, and without needing keys.
Fuck. Fuck.
You rushed to your bedroom grabbing whatever clothes were closest, eyes desperate to find the silver knife the menace himself had given you.
Where had you left it?
Fuck. Fuck.
Your nerves were lit in flames, the not knowing causing a flur of panic to worsen your already anxious self.
How much time did you have left to hide?
Before you could further engage with any more crazed mental ramblings, you grabbed Azure, and hid inside your wardrobe, on the small corner between your hanging coats and other clothing. You did your best to maintain her quiet, but a few small meows and purrs still left her fluffy form.
You gripped the switchblade, uncapped, knuckles turning a sickly shade of yellow. You thankfully remembered it was lying on the corner of your bathtub, and took it quickly with you without hesitation.
You counted the minutes until the sound of heavy steps would invade your empty apartment, cold sweat beads running down your body.
He was quiet when he arrived. So quiet, you didn't notice he was already here until he opened, carefully, your bedroom door.
It cried in warning with a loud creak, as if to spare it's owner of the surprise visit. From inside your wooden doors -your only protection from the intruder- only a shy streak of light made entrance.
Until, as if the universe laughed at your struggle, Azure jumped from your lap.
Tired of being held so tightly, she scratched at the wardrobe's door.
It spread open before you had any chance of catching the bratty cat, revealing your position to the stranger.
“Nonono…! Damnit!” You whisper-shouted hoping that the small ball of attitude may listen.
Of course, she did not. But not only did she not listen, she meowed at the possible attacker, rubbing her body against his leg.
Your eyes watered at the sight. This is it, you thought. Now he would kill you and your stupid fat cat.
But against all odds, as one hand pressed further into your face to muffle your cries, and the other gripped the knife tighter, the young man bent down, and scratched behind her ears.
“That's a-a really bad hiding puh-place, y'know.” He murmurs at you without looking in your direction, still showing undivided attention to Azure.
You wanted to answer, really, you did, but all that left your lips was a scared whimper.
This time his eyes found yours, and in the dark you couldn't tell what expression he wore. All you could see was the faint light reflected on the used up metal of the hatchets hooked to his belt.
“Oh, c'mon. Guh-get outta t-there.” He grunted with annoyance- and a hint of amusement.
Your intruder's heavy boots now thumped on the floor without fear of making sound. He made three long strides with languid legs toward your hiding spot, and you could do nothing but stare.
Even when he roughly shoved aside the hanging clothes, you didn't move your trembling hand from where it gripped your switchblade, nor did you move the one muffling your voice.
“W-why are you so a-afraid?” He asked, maybe genuinely confused. But all you felt was the mocking irony of his words. “T-there’s n-no here besides u-us.”
The last straw was his slow crouching to your level, his slow eyes roaming your face, like a predator playing with prey before it kills.
Because it thinks the prey offers no harm, it has no need to rush.
But still, your body refused to obey your anger. It remained paralyzed, once again, just like in the alleyway.
“....you broke into my house. Twice.” You answered, hand slowly leaving your lips, now curled into a snarl.
“Not r-reallly. Your window w-was unlocked. Again.” Is all he answers. Your blood boils still with his audacity, but your body remains frozen in fear. “And w-what does thuh-that have t-to do with anything?”
You both stare at each other with conflicting emotions, before he finally gets up on his feet.
“W-well. You s-seem fine.” He murmurs with finality. His neck audibly cracked, as his head jolted to the side suddenly, startling you.
Perhaps that is the true last straw. The way his tone implies his time was wasted, because of you.
Like a bucket of cold water, your paralyzing fear seemed to melt off of you at once. The young man, already moving to leave the room, barely has time to register as you launch yourself at his lanky form, pinning him to the ground.
The only thing between him and your knife are the memories of bloody bodies, contorted and gruesome, that clouded your vision. Your consciousness wasn't entirely here, pants leaving your lips in a ragged mess while you stabbed.
Once. Twice. The sound of wet crunching echoed in the empty house.
Your body desperately defends itself from threats already long past, mixing reality and painful memories into sloppy stabs. You breathed heavily, the silver weapon dangling off your left hand. You still sat in his torso, legs caging each side of his body, as the realization set in.
“I-” Your hands gripped your hair, switchblade clattering to the ground. “I don’t- I-” Unintelligible mutterings left your lips, as detangled your body from his.
“That w-wasn’t too b-bad. But y-you’d prob-probably get disarmed in a-a real f-fight.” He slowly sat up, as if the wounds across his chest and shoulders meant nothing to him.
You watched in horror, crawling away from the young man.
Even in the dark of your room there was an unmistakable glint of danger in his stare. He grasped the mask he wore, and tugged it down to reveal a pleased smile - but something about that smile awoke a primal fear in you. Something deeply wrong, that you couldn’t point until he stepped closer to you.
Just at the corner of his lips, a horrid scar pried his mouth open. It looked raw, and badly healed, showing way too many of his teeth. Perhaps the lighting or the adrenaline messed with your perception, but he barely looked human.
The horrible sight of his form, unrecognizable from the coats of red gore assaulted your memory at once.
“I-I’ll teach y-you how t-to use that.” He told you, face flushed with excitement.
Summary: You’ve lived your entire life with the forest pressed against your windows. Hidden in the heart of a circular grove. Your mother’s rules etched in your blood: never move beyond the tree line. But the world beyond calls. And when he appears, the wolf in human skin-the forest seems to hold its breath. All it took was a single night for everything you know about hunger as a legacy and loyalty to your roots warp.
❁ Reader is implied to be AFAB & a wild witch of the woods.
CW: 18+ Content, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Violence, Cannibalism, Body Horror, Toxic Family Dynamics/ Abuse, Toxic Relationships, Predator-Prey Sexualization, Depiction of OCD/Compulsive Behaviors, Death, Wound Fucking, Thigh Riding, Mutual Masturbation, Handjob
[A quick reminder to separate fiction from nonfiction. The story begins under the cut.]
❁ ┈┈∘*┈ ❁ ┈*∘┈┈ ❁
You were born from a wish. And the woods had been your lullaby. All you’ve ever known.
Years had passed, and by your early twenties, the circle’s hidden patterns were as familiar as the lines on your own hands.
Pine trees as tall as cathedral spires which encapsulated a small grove with a clearing in the center.
A low humming of katydids at night and cicadas in the morning.
Mama said the forest kept you safe. The trees were giants of the forests. Guarding your little lichen-clung cabin from the tireless ticking of new age. Effortlessly hidden as it seemed abandoned to most.
Mornings for you meant the sound of splitting firewood in muddy boots. A sharp punctuating rhythm of an axe being swung. Its cadence summons more than just firewood from the trees.
Deer bones sat drying on twine above the porch. And mama’s hands were still streaked red. Presumably residue from yesterday’s work. Despite scrubbing so meticulously, violently even, the redness never faded. Could’ve been from berries or blood. The specifics never mattered to you. She’d hum old folk songs while working, voice low, like a warning.
Your bare feet sank into the damp earth, tips of grass beaded with dew. Sunlight just barely pierced through the trees. Balancing a bundle of twigs in your arms, steady. Careful not to spill.
Each crunch of your steps echoed in the stillness of the forest. A cadence that causes your pulse to thrum with excitement. The chopping of wood growing louder and angrier by the instant.
Your eyes flickered over towards mama. Studying her. The tilt of her head, the careful yet precise swing of the axe in her hands. Immediately pausing when she heard you approach. Setting aside the blade into the stump with a heavy thunk. Shifting towards you with a stern, neutral gaze.
“Hands,” she said, with a firm voice, wiping the sweat off of her brow with her wrist. “Make sure to wash them. Whatever you touched.”
You murmur out a soft, “Yes, Mama,” setting down the bundle of twigs on the patch of cool green moss beside you, kneeling at the stream on the edge of the clearing.
Your fingers dipped into the cool water, scrubbing between each finger at imagined dirt and debris. Mimicking the motions your mother had oh-so-lovingly taught you. This was just one of the many rituals that tethered you to her world.
You started off small. But as time pushed forward, the wider your skillset grew. All thanks to mama’s teachings. Observing the way she'd skin small game, the rhythm of her hands slicing with a dulled blade that never seemed to blunt. How to perfectly make and clean up a mess. You'd observe, memorize, and mimic. Your only lessons in ordinary human nature stemming from the books Mama had scavenged.
Forest vermin had been your first teachers, but your lessons didn't end there.
Your mother never needed words to tell you what comes next. Just a nauseatingly brilliant red from freshly sliced meat.
Her hands prepared it with reverent care. Saving every bone for broth.
A strip of flesh from the thigh of a passerby who was unlucky enough to stumble upon you and your mother’s modest dwelling. The smell, the taste was stronger than any rabbit or deer. It was metallic, primal. The texture, ruddy and fibrous between your teeth.
Rats were fine enough, but only human flesh could sustain your bodies over time. And thus, you’d seen no fault in the life only you and mama knew. Thankfully, something about your little section of the woods drew in many heedless wanderers. Perhaps it was a strange kind of energy, that made the very air feel different here.
Things weren't always so grim. The cabin was kept with careful order. Mama’s tools hung up on the walls, ample storage space, a large case for your books alongside decorative ornaments, and candles carved with letters and symbols which remained unfamiliar to you.
She’d sit by the stone hearth, the fire’s heat radiating throughout the room, and carefully fix up your hair, all pretty. Smoothing out each strand with delicate precision.
“Say, Mama,” you spoke, twisting a flyaway strand of hair around the first knuckle of your index finger. “Why can’t we ever…move past the clearing?”
Mama’s hands stilled, comb resting lightly against your scalp. She looked at you, eyes calm. “Because the world outside doesn’t feed us the way we need. Here, we survive. Out there… shadows move where you cannot see, and creatures you wouldn’t dare name watch from the dark.”
You pressed your lips into a thin line. “But… I’d like to see it. Just once.”
Mama shook her head, returning to the braid. “Not yet. Not now. Not until you know enough to come back whole… and even then, some things are better left unseen.”
You knew better than to defy her, and understood the consequences that would surely follow. After all, in the wild, countless creatures turn on their own when pressed by famine and circumstance.
That’s right. You and Mama were as untamed as any other creature lurking in this godforsaken forest.
That wildness extended beyond the forest’s whispers. You’d assist Mama in hunting from time to time, venturing out when the cabin’s aura wasn’t as potent. Each expedition carried a contained excitement whenever she allowed it. You set small traps for critters. And she prowled farther, seeking unsuspecting wanderers.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
But one morning, Mama didn’t come back from beyond the tree line. She’d insisted on going despite feeling so ill. You drifted along the edge of the clearing, breath shallow, eyes flickering between branches like a distorted hymn. And then, almost on a sigh, your gaze lifted, and there she was.
Your mother hung there in the trees, mangled, her dress torn and dark with dried blood, patches of flesh missing like petals plucked too early. She had likely been up there for days, still and silent as the forest watched. Sobs shook you, but some deep, feral part of you surged forward, eclipsing any fear. Hands trembling, you gathered what you could, the wet weight of it grotesque yet necessary, and consumed it, tears sliding down your cheeks into the moss below. The taste was iron, sharp and familiar, a tether to survival. Each bite a memory of Mama's stillness instructing you, each swallow a pulse of her memory in the darkness of the forest.
A gray blur darted in the shadows, long and low on all fours, moving with an unnatural curl. Your heart raced as you backed toward the cabin, slick with tears and blood, every instinct sharp and raw. The creature charged, but the tree line repelled Mama's shield keeping it at bay. Safe in the clearing, you sank to the moss, trembling and quiet, grief and hunger pressing at your chest. Survival had always been Mama’s lesson, and now it was yours alone, soft and fragile, just you and the forest.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
Months later, you're sinking deep into the claw-foot tub, water cool against your skin, hair wet and heavy on your shoulders, dripping slowly into the porcelain. The bathroom was drenched in the pale blue of an early autumn morning. The forest murmured outside, distant and endless. Hunger twisted in your stomach, sharper than anything the small vermin from your traps could satisfy. You had never hunted nor eaten without her guidance. And With the gray things multiplying, wanderers grew scarce. Those few who strayed in were seized before anyone else could claim them, leaving only scraps for the forest’s other predators.
Now, soft and fragile, the quiet wrapped around you, and the solitude of survival pressed gently into your bones, a slow, steady ache you had learned to carry.
You were still for a moment as light pooled across the tiles, gentle and quiet, catching the damp shimmer of your skin as it clung to your shoulders and arms. Then you lifted yourself from the tub. Twisting the little brass plug at the bottom. Watching as water pooled, then began to slip away in a slow, whispering stream. The scent of sage, lavender, and rosemary, the floating chamomile petals drifting like tiny boats across the shrinking surface.
Bare feet padding against the floor towards the mirror by the sink. Your eyes were wide and darkened at the rims from nights spent alone, unblinking from prolonged stretches as the trees pressed close outside. Fingers worked carefully through the tangles of your hair, combing each strand until it fell in dark, wet waves over your shoulders just as she once did.
You slip into a white, laced linen dress from the wardrobe behind you. The fabric is soft and dampened from the lingering moisture of your bath. And stepped lightly across the cabin floor, brushing the cold wood. Each movement was measured, deliberate, a quiet ritual in the stillness of your solitude.
You knelt, the edge of your knife catching the soft blue morning light as you sharpen it, each stroke precise, learned from your mother. The house is quiet today.
Crunch.
Leaves shatter outside slow and measured. You lifted your head, breath catching in your gut. Ears perk up to listen as the sound threaded through the still forest.
A playful tune that twisted between the branches and threaded into the quiet of the clearing.
You press your forehead to the cool glass of the cabin window by the sofa. Eyes caught on a figure. A tall, lanky shape. Axes slung on a belt, head tilted just so, the source of the intruding noise. Your breath catches. Heart thumping, instincts flaring, you crouch slightly behind the couch, unnoticed. Muscles coiling. Tracing the shape of its frayed coat, the steel-toed boots crunching softly over leaves, and the glint of orange goggles catching a stray shaft of light.
Wisps of brown hair slip from beneath the hood, and the faintest movement of hands. You watched him shift under the light, the curve of his shoulders, the line of his arms, enough to tell him male. He’s human, and yet… something is very off.
He moves slowly, scanning the clearing and the edges of the trees, eyes flicking over broken branches and the soft glimmer of moss, as if mapping every inch before committing to a step. Your head shifts slightly as you continue to observe.
He freezes mid-step, head tilting as if sensing the small movement behind the glass. Then a subtle wave of a gloved hand, casual, teasing. Almost mocking your attempt at hiding. Your stomach twists. You hadn’t expected to be caught, hadn’t thought anyone could pass Mama’s barrier like this.
And just like that, he retreats, each step measured, slipping back beyond the treeline. The playful tune lingers, winding through the forest and threading into the quiet of the clearing. Your chest heaves, muscles relaxing slightly, but your pulse remains sharp, alert. You sink back behind the sofa, fingers tightening around the knife, heart still racing. Curiosity and caution morph together. He is human, and yet entirely unlike anything you’ve ever known. Belonging to the forest just like you.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
Days pass, but your mind keeps returning to him. The stranger who managed to breach his way into your world.
Now, each time you check the traps, you find yourself lingering at the edges of the clearing, ears straining at every leaf shift and twig snap. Setting your pulse afire. Hunger simmering within you, sharper than it ever did for a rabbit or squirrel. Those morsels, though once satisfying, left you hollow within hours. The vermin weren’t enough to fill the raw, metallic ache that had been honed in your chest since Mama’s death. Only human flesh carried the weight, the life you craved.
And then, there it is again. Not far, not hidden this time. You’re kneeling to reset a trap when movement catches your eye: the glint of orange goggles, sunlight spilling through the amber canopy glinting against the axes on his belt. Though shadows and lenses conceal his features, the life in his gaze hints at an age not far from your own, likely early twenties.
He leans casually against a tree just beyond the barrier, head slanted to the side, whistling that same teasing tune.
Your stomach churned. The sound pulls at you like a scent, sweet, taunting. The hunger instilled within you claws upward before you can choke it back. Meat, your body thinks. Blood. You pause, knife half-hidden in the moss, muscles reeling, lips parting as if to taste him from a distance.
He tilts his head down at your crouched form, noticing your gaze. Expression hidden beneath his mask and goggles, but his posture remains easy-going and maddeningly human. He slips his gloved hands into the pockets of his jeans.
You freeze, knife half-hidden in the moss, muscles reeling. Blinking up at him wide-eyed.
“You move quiet,” he says, voice steady, lively in its rhythm, with a weight behind it, like someone who’d seen things but didn’t hide behind authority. “I like that. M-makes this job more fun for me.”
You stay frozen, eyes tracking every subtle movement: the tilt of his head, the slight twitch of his fingers, the way his gloved hands slid into his pockets, the faint gleam of sunlight against his axes. Your body wants to vanish into the mossy earth beneath you, yet some curious part of you leans forward, straining to understand him. Fun? The word cuts sharp into your thoughts. Hunting was necessary. Eating was survival. What could he possibly mean?
He whistles again, a brief, teasing note that curls through the copper leaves. “Y-You sure like watching people, d-don’t you?” he stammers, voice low but amused, a subtle jerk of his shoulder punctuating the words. The quirks make him unpredictable, small human flaws peeking through an otherwise confident posture.
You pressed closer to the mossy trunk behind you, barely daring to breathe. The forest was quiet, save for the occasional rustle from the trees above.
“You… really shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, voice low. A weak attempt at intimidation.
“Shouldn’t be h-here?” His voice was soft, stuttered just enough to sound uncertain, like he was testing you. “I’m just f-following orders. The boss said to regularly check the borders…Make sure the forest doesn’t uh..y’know..” He pauses to search for words. “Eat itself.”
“Rakes,” you muttered. More to yourself than him, tasting the word. The image of mama spiraled in your stomach. Of her suspended among the gnarled limbs of that gray, tree-amalgamation, her body torn and tangled so close to the treetops.
You felt bile rising in your throat but managed to push it back down. “You’re checking for rakes?”
He nods, sighing low, lifting the goggles to rest atop loose brown strands of hair. Revealing tired honey-colored eyes, dulled with fatigue yet catching the light, the flicker of awareness and motion that pulls you in. “They’re becoming a real n-nuisance lately. Lot m-more of 'em popping up now. R-real dangerous things,” he says, voice steady.
You understood it now. And responded with a silent nod. Despite appetite pressing sharply against your restraint. Vermin have taught you patience. Humans, rare and tempting, tested it. But he isn’t vermin. Wasn't quite human either, he moved like the forest, like the shadows themselves, a creature cloaked in flesh and pretense. Consuming him would violate a different kind of law, one the trees themselves enforce.
You know the stories. The whispered warnings tucked between the pages of the journals and scavenged books Mama kept behind the locked cabinet: an ancient, faceless entity claiming the forest as its own. Some called it the Operator. Slenderman. A giant among trees, a sentinel of the woods, its followers moving unseen, enforcing the rules of the territory. You know this presence well. Not as myth, but as law. It had claimed this grove long before you were old enough to understand hunger beyond the small forest creatures.
Your mother has died and the protection has weakened. And now, it seems, one of its many envoys has come for inspection. His presence is curious, teasing, seemingly human from appearance alone. But the forest buzzes around him with recognition. It's a faint shift of leaves and bending of branches toward him. They warn you: approach, but do not consume. Not yet.
Your muscles tensed as he shifted, brushing a gloved hand along the bark.
His fingers lingering like he belonged here, though every instinct in your body screamed he was intruding.
“H-hey, you look k-kind of scary when you stare at me like that,” he said lightly, voice carrying that impish inflection that grated against the edges of your awareness, a teasing curl of sarcasm threading through it.
You didn’t move, didn’t breathe more than necessary, yet your stomach panged with that dull ache of hunger. His pulse thrummed with the rare, dangerous vitality only a human-shaped creature carried. The forest murmured through the leaves, branches bending subtly toward him, whispering caution. “Don’t get too eager,” it seemed to say.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
The days that followed were a pattern. One that began to feel almost intimate, though it was more so rooted in observation rather than outright affection, each intrusion a silent negotiation perfectly curated and winding through the treetops. He moved with the ease of someone accustomed to the edges, a faint chime of metal brushing against leather, the soft shuffle of boots over leaf mold.
Each gift he left, a twig tied with crimson string, a morsel of preserved food pressed into the moss, a blunt-edged knife half-buried in detritus. It was not idle mischief but methodical, markers of reconnaissance. They were tests, gestures, markers. All meant to measure your presence, your instincts, your capacity to notice and react. Ensuring you remain on neutral ground with each other.
You gathered them with the careful reverence of one cataloging ritual objects, fingers brushing over each as though sacred, aware that they were not tokens of kindness but calculated probes: part warning, part challenge, part acknowledgment that you, too, belonged to the dangerous, untamed order. Whether willing or not.
It gnawed at you, the constant strain of biting back hunger while Mama’s spirit pressed her commands into your skull, sharp and unrelenting. The forest suppressing your urges. Every encounter with him stoked that ache, every heartbeat you noted like a feast waiting to happen. Yet in the same breath, his presence carved a space against the loneliness that had settled over the clearing. Company was a dangerous luxury, but it was still a kind of warmth.
One visit, you were both seated on the front porch, basking in the light of the evening sun.
He tugged his mask down with a flick of his fingers, half-daring you to look. The fabric fell slack against his collar, and what it revealed was worse than any Rake’s pale grin: a hollowed cavern torn into the flesh of his right cheek, red and glossy, edges scarred from repetition. Through it, you could glimpse the wet machinery of him, teeth bared not in a smile, gums slick, tongue shifting with every breath.
You didn’t flinch. Your gaze traveled the wound with the same detached hunger you used to dissect a rabbit: the exposed hinge of his jaw, the vibrations of muscle sliding against bone. In your mind, it arranged itself into a chart; throat, cheek, sinew, tendon, each portion catalogued like cuts on a butcher’s slab. The ache in your gut pinged tighter, not repulsed but awakened.
He caught it. Of course he did. His eyes narrowed, twitching as his mouth pulled in something almost like a grin, grotesque and playful through the ruined skin. “You’re staring again,” he dragged out, voice edged with that saw-toothed sarcasm, “W-what is it this time? Trying to c-count how many bites it’d take to finish me off?”
Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t avert your eyes. Words came low, instinctive, roughened like an animal’s warning. “One doesn’t eat what rots itself.”
That startled a laugh out of the man, rough-edged and much too loud for how quiet your surroundings were. He tilted his head back, shoulders twitching with the effort. “R-rot, huh? That’s what you think?” His gaze cut back down to you, something sharp glinting in it. “G-guess that makes you the k-kind of thing that only eats f-fresh k-kills.”
Your fingers flexed against the haft of your knife, not from threat but reflex. He wasn’t wrong. You sighed solemnly, rolling your eyes. The things you’d say to yourself to refrain from totally mauling this idiot to death.
The hollow in your stomach burned, the thicket humming around you like a jury. But you held your stare on him, on the wet gleam of tongue flashing behind ruined skin, on the pulse visible at his throat, and did not move.
You glance over at his jaw once more. Tracing his teeth with your fingertips grazing the slick curve of enamel, the ridge where tooth met gum
And for the first time, he looked at you as though his own joke had turned on him, biting him back.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
The forest smelled strongly of wet pine and blood one day. Toby had fought off a Rake near the edge of the clearing, moving like he was born to violence.
And he returned the next day, it was obvious he’d lost the fight this time. Crimson stains stark red against the fresh snow as he moved forward. Blood caked along his side, dark and sticky, his jacket torn, one sleeve shredded. He stumbled into your clearing without hesitation, ignoring the way you scoffed at his audacity.
You hike up the hem of your dress. Tying the skirt back, gathering the fabric to keep it out of your way as you stride down the porch stairs, ready to assist.
“I c-can walk,” he exhaled loudly, teeth clenched. His voice was sharp, annoyed, dripping with frustration more than pain. You didn’t argue. You stepped forward, guiding him toward the cabin with steady hands, feeling the tension in his body, the slick of blood on his gloves. Smearing on the back of your linen as he leaned against you for support. Brushing over the damp edges of his coat to slip it off. Dragging him over to the armchair near the hearth.
You yanked off his goggles and mask, exposing the pale contour of his face emphasized by the dancing flames. Rotting gash apparent. Freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose, brown eyes darkened from the dim light. His forehead crinkled and cheeks flushed from overexertion. You glared down at him through your lashes with a mild contempt.
“Do you always fight like a dumbass?” you asked, voice flat, kneeling beside him to untangle the wet fabric from his side. Your fingers pressed against him cautiously, exploring the morphed cut, mapping the damage.
“I-I do what I w-want. You know what those things are like,” he hissed back, irritation tempering each word. “You’re n-not my nurse, you know. Y-you don't have to do this. Can't feel it anyway..” he murmurs, lightheaded from the blood loss.
“I’m not asking to be,” you said, pulling the cloth taut to clean the wound. Fingers steady and practiced, you traced the edges of his torn skin with the same careful precision Mama had drilled into you on countless small creatures, cleaning and pressing the wounds as if reading a familiar, bloody map.
The heat of his skin under your fingers made your stomach churn, the scent of him, sweat, blood, pine; mixing into the ache in your chest and somewhere lower. Your movements were deliberate, careful, yet every brush of your fingers along the edge of torn fabric or exposed skin carried something unspoken.
“C-careful,” he muttered, half warning, half teasing. “Don’t get s-soft on m-me.”
You pressed a cloth to his wound, your fingers grazing over raw, bruised skin longer than necessary. His eyes narrowed at you. “That f-feels w-weird” he writhed a bit under your touch. You ignore him. Too focused on restraining your voracity while tending to his wounds.
The sound of his heartbeat thrummed through against your hands as you touched him. Hunger and curiosity tangled together, primal and deliberate, as you traced the arc of his jaw, the line of his neck, imagining the bite of teeth without ever closing your own.
“You’re lucky I’ve already eaten earlier,” you griped, brushing against his shoulder, letting your hand linger near the crease of his collarbone. He grunted, shifting, caught somewhere between annoyance and awareness, and you caught the subtle tremor beneath his skin, wild vitality mirroring your own.
Your hand lingering a fraction longer than necessary as you dabbed at the blood and pressed the wound closed. His gaze followed your movements with an impatient, sharp edge, and you felt that strange friction between restraint and instinct.
“N-next time, I’m d-doing this myself,” he said, voice rough but quieter now. His tone was a challenge and an admission both.
“Sure,” you said finally, voice even. Walking over to the cabinet for antiseptics. “Next time.”
“Though, I think you’d better stay here until morning. Push yourself now, and you’ll bleed more before those cuts have a chance to scab over.” You step closer and start cleaning his wounds, carefully disinfecting every abrasion.
“Rest here? G-guess I’ll humor y-you,” he huffed. “D-don't think I need a b-babysitter though.”
“S-seriously though, who e-even taught you how to do a-all this?” he questioned.
“Mama did,” you said, voice soft, letting your gaze linger on the tense line of his jaw, the way his chest rose and fell beneath the ragged fabric. Bandaging what needed to be bandaged.
For a long moment after, neither of you moved, just the soft scrape of cloth, the muted drip of blood clotting, and the press of your bodies barely touching each other.
He shifted closer under some unspoken pull, just enough for your legs to brush, as he remained seated. You felt the friction through your veins. His hand hovered near yours, knuckles twitching as if holding back, but curiosity, or something more potent, won out. You didn’t pull back. His fingers landing on the small of your waist, a weight that pulled you closer without force. You didn’t flinch; instead, a sudden burst of instinct and desire tightened along your spine with a spark.
The cabin lay in a fragile quiet, the kind that hums with potential. A low, steady creak from the floorboards sounded like a bass note. The soft scrape of his boots over the rug. Your heartbeat, the loudest thing in the room.
NSFW scene ahead.
“Easy,” you warned, voice restrained. “At this rate, all your blood is gonna make me do something really stupid. You wouldn’t like that, would you?”.
You leaned close, fingers brushing his ribs. The cloth there was damp, sticking to your skin. Heat emanated from him in waves, like steam from fresh meat on frozen ground.
“Still bleeding,” you murmured, voice thin, contained. “Do you even realize what you’re offering me?”
His jaw clenched. “I’m not-” He stopped, eyes sliding down despite his restraint, catching on the pale, laced fabric between your legs. A twitch, then his gaze drifted back to the wall. The silence stretched. When he spoke again, it was quieter, rough-edged. “D-Don’t… look at me like that.”
His words quickly trailed into the silence, you watched the Adam’s apple bob in his throat, the tremor of his fingers resting too close to the hem of your panties. A veil of hunger crept through your veins, spiraling together with a growing lust.
He catches on to the sudden shift in your demeanor. Watching as your muscles coil, but not to strike. Seeing you for what you truly are, sharp and hungry but in a way that thrills him more than it threatens. Pulling him in. Recognizing that this wasn’t really about teeth or completely consuming his body, you craved intimacy, feral and raw.
“I-if I let you, you’d really do it…w-wouldn’t you,” he puffed. “Taste me,” he let the words stretch, more of a statement than a question, crooked teeth showing a grin that wasn’t quite steady. Your eyes narrowed at this and the room grew more still.
“C-c’mon girl, l-let’s see what y-you can do then,” the words on his tongue were sharp, all the while his brown eyes radiated with quiet amusement.
Toby shifted, strong arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you closer to his lap. He pressed his knee close against the inner part of your thigh, lightly teasing, stiff at first, then purposefully inching closer. Your breath stuttered, shallow and quick. Your eyes flicker up to meet his, brow quirked with curiosity, pupils dilated and wild.
Your hand slowly moved down to feel the rigid heat from beneath the layer of his jeans, straining beneath you. He didn’t move again, just sat frozen, breathing harder, leaning into it.
Your pelvis shifted against him, a spark of dampness blooming between your legs. The sensation fused with a kind of appetite you’d never known. The ache spread until it overwhelmed you. And forced you to press your hand against his crotch, palming firm over the outline straining upward. He hissed in through his teeth, head falling back against the wall.
Then you reached beneath the hem of his trousers, pushing up his sweater slightly, exposing a downward trail of hair on his lower abdomen to find the warm, yielding thickness pressed against your hand.
Firm yet smooth. Flushed a subtle dusty-rose in color.
“Fuck-” barely audible, not a release but a crack in the steel armor he calls composure.
Your fingers tightened. His hips wracked against your hand, a signal of life caged in heat and fabric. To you he was prey, trembling, offered up. Your mouth brushed the edge of his jaw. Civil no longer.
“Better try to bleed slower,” you whispered mockingly, teeth gritted. “Or I’ll tear you open completely before I even get to taste you.”
Your other hand drifted under the loose folds of bandages, fingers slipping carefully beneath the edge of the fabric, tracing the warmth that still pooled beneath.
Digging slightly into the abraised flesh, blood coating your fingers.
He tensed, not from pain, but from the pressure of your touch and your words. His jaw tightened, and a shallow, almost imperceptible hitch of his breath slid past his lips.
A flicker of heat pooled in his loins, and he couldn’t stop noticing how your face seemed to glow from the pleasure, how recklessly avid you looked.
“P-pretty, you're s-so pretty” his breath hitched between sounds. Your eyes narrowed at him with slight mock annoyance, but the faint flush on your cheeks whispered otherwise.
His smile widened and hands inched upward, sliding beneath the soft fabric of your dress, brushing against the soft skin, the tender curve of your waist. He squeezed you softly, kneading his calloused fingers into your flesh. A test. A subtle claim, a mirrored invitation, as if he were offering a thread of control back. A weak attempt to ground you.
You pull your fingers out from his wound. The slow, leaking warmth pooled against your palm, and your eyes fluttered shut as you sucked at the blood coating them, savoring the flavor of copper without devouring him whole. Panting, staining your lips with the same vibrant color of what bubbled beneath the purple bruises on his faded complexion.
He relaxed back into the chair, watching you with keen interest. “W-what a cheeky l-little thing you are...n-not wasting a s-single drop of me..” he hummed while continuing to push his leg up against your core more feverishly. And laughed softly when you let out a whimper of excitement. So perfectly desperate for him.
Despite your instincts urging you to fight back his words you were only able to melt into the pleasure he gave you. You sat grinding your sex against him. His thigh meets your rhythm. “Toby..” gently murmuring his name, pleading, your chest heaves with uneven gasps, and you lean in closer to brush your parted lips against his. A small jerk of his shoulder rattles you briefly but the kiss never falters.
Too focused on the sensations, your hand continues to move on its own, teasing his cock with your fingers. Momentarily breaking away from the kiss, you tilt forward to spit on it and continue to use your hands to trace around the slick layer you left behind. Getting him off with a frantic motion. A sight that has him letting out a low groan. And wisps of brown locks are soon tickling your forehead as he presses his against yours.
His hands are still holding tight onto your sides, slowly moving up to impulsively grope at your breasts from beneath the dress.
The fire’s heat winded through you first, tension consuming your muscles. And before you know it your stomach is tightening and ending with shivers reminiscent of silk. Toby watches you with awe, and not before long he’s coming undone too. Air thick with the scent of him as white ropes of cum emitted from his flushed phallus.
By the end of it, you’re collapsed onto one another, covered in a sheen of sweat. Pulses now slowed yet still buzzing.
Although outside, the cold winter and snow whispered along the glass of your home’s windows. Inside, the air was steeped full of smoke and wood. For weeks on end your mother's presence haunted this place. Woven through the walls, the floorboards and your stomach. But it had all since subsided. Thanks to the blood and living heat whose arms were wrapped around you. His heartbeat slow and steady, lulling you to sleep. Emptied of her and filled with only the fact of him, of you, being held.
❁ ┈┈∘*┈ ❁ ┈*∘┈┈ ❁
Author's Note:
hiya, lottie here! thank you very much for reading :D
you see, this is my first attempt at writing fanfic in, like, forever (approximately 8 years)
i'm pretty new to posting on tumblr and ao3 but i decided to today because i figured it'd be a good way to motivate myself. i adore creepypasta and have been super inspired as of late
anyways, i really hope you enjoyed it! love you! <3
[Please do not use my work for AI training or generation. Thank you.]
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finding somebody who will laugh at your shitty jokes is joy-inducing but finding a motherfucker who can yes-and all the esoteric bullshit you put out is pure cocaine. this must be the shit all those racuous but good-natured scoundrels down at the tavern are on
CW Mild gore, stalking, mentions of assault, mentions of violence
Words 2,2k
About You were saved by strange men in a brutally violent way, in a very unlucky night. One of them takes quite the interest on you.
Part I
Splat, splat, splat.
Tiny specs of red spray across your face, while your body shivers in the cold sidewalk. An unstoppable flinch shakes you whole, every time his axe collides with the face of one of your attackers.
The man laid on the ground dead and unrecognizable. There was nothing but tritted meat where his features once were.
Your voice evades you as you try to tell the boy to stop hitting. You want to say it's enough, they can't hurt you anymore; or anyone else for the matter.
But from your lips, only pathetic, breathless sounds are emitted. Your fingers can only twitch uselessly where they grip your ruined clothing; clutching onto the shirt that was so carelessly ripped by those men. Your favorite one, that you had worn today for good luck on your test.
It seemed time moved backwards as you watched the boy look for spots he hadn't already butchered within the mangled bodies, only to strike again and again. Breathless laughs and stuttered words left his lips in huffs, his neck cracking and hands twitching as he struck.
His face is entirely scarlet as he finally rests, eyes distant, staring at the alleyway's wall for a few tortuous seconds of heavy silence.
Moonlight catches the left side of his face as he finally turns toward your pitiful form, and you struggle to make yourself decent with your scraps of ragged fabric.
"Fuh-Fuckers... can't fucking c-control themselves around a pretty t-thing." He murmurs to himself, eyeing your disheveled state. He keeps talking silently to himself, humorless laughs and curses erupting every now again. Your hands are still desperately grasping around your body for a semblance of coverage, eyes downcast.
You flinch as something hits your lap suddenly, humid and stinking of blood.
A hoodie.
You look up through wet eyelashes, but he is already gone. Walking toward the front of the alleyway to talk to somebody you can't see.
Your hands tremble with the weight of the hoodie, however light it was; aftershock burdened your brain and your body, casting tremendous weight onto your shaky limbs.
You stared at the piece of clothing, until a heavy pair of hands grasped your chin. They tried to make you look upward in a stiff, but not unkind fashion. You didn't have any strength to move away, only flinching shyly.
A frowning black mask stared at you, unreadable.
His hands dropped your chin and attempted to shake your shoulders, asking if you were okay. You nodded faintly, wanting whoever it was to stop fretting already.
You deeply wished to be alone, your desire reflecting itself on your body; you recoiled into yourself, dropping the mysterious hoodie onto your lap. Your arms caged your torso protectively and your tired back hunched inward.
You heard a sigh somewhere behind you, as yet another person seemed to surge from thin air. This one roughly grasped the hoodie from you, and tried to shove it over your head without warning.
You gasped, a small sob coming from your throat.
"I'mma need you to put your hands through the sleeves, dollface. We ain't got all night." His voice was quiet, muffled. You couldn't comprehend his features in the darkness of the alleyway, his inhuman face only exacerbated by your slugshiness. You couldn't point it, but something wasn't right.
He crouched closer to you, rolling the hoodie sleeves for you to fit your arms through. And behind all of the annoyance, you could see sympathy and tired eyes.
You obeyed, trembling fingers snaking through the holes.
Your eyes waved numbly around the gruesome scenery, looking for nothing in particular. Maybe something that wasn't blood.
"There you go."His hands, rough and scarred, pull the hoodie around your torso, attempting to cover as much skin as the clothes could possibly reach. His soft expression, strikingly light in color, was much closer now as he attempted to fix you, and the light illuminated his features faintly.
Albeit tiredly, you can watch him more precisely now, and– oh. Of course he seemed inhuman. You weren’t looking at a face, but at a white mask, painted in a doll-like manner with black paint.
"Can ya' walk, doll?" He grunts your way. Your legs shake as you attempt to pull yourself to your feet, and the man sighs.
He grasps your right wrist, using it to throw your arm across his shoulders while another hand holds your torso.
"...get punished for your stupid fucking impulses, Toby. Do you understand that? All of us." The hooded man rants at the boy who doesn't seem to listen. He angrily mouths back something you can't understand, your head lighter and lighter.
Your legs were on fire, tired from the many streets they ran through. Thirteen minutes of running, before one of the now defaced men tackled you to the bloody pavement.
You had screamed, screeched even, in terror. But it was the middle of the night, in a place in town where people were used to minding their own businesses. All it got you was a blaring headache, and a sore throat.
You were exhausted, mind not quite here. There wasn't much space left in it to follow their conversation as you slowly inched closer, still held up by the gruff voiced man. So when they inevitably tried to address you, it took a few seconds to register.
"...Where do you live?" One of them repeated. You couldn’t be sure which as all of their faces were somewhat covered.
A simple question. But it ignited the fresh fear still present in your body. Oh, god not again, you thought. They wanted to follow you home. What if they tried to harm you? What if saving you was a ploy, to take you into their arms instead?
Your head shook from side to side, wobbly legs still attempting to leave as you tugged your arm away from the man who supported your weight. "No..I..." You barely understood what you were saying.
"Oh, for fuck's sake." The one who held you murmured, lifting a hand to grab you back. Maybe to prevent your inevitable fall, but you instinctively jerked backwards. "She's gonna-" He started, but you were already on your way to the ground.
You desperately wanted to keep your balance and escape again, but your legs refused to obey. Everything hurt, and nothing functioned as it was supposed to. Before you knew it, the wind was catching on your hair as you fell forwards.
"Oof..!" You fell into a bony chest, warm, and humid with blood. You struggled to pull yourself to your feet, without much success "W-wait, she can't f-fall again if-" Your legs were lifted by a slender arm, another supporting your back. You gasped in fear, helpless in his arms. Not again, please not again. You closed your eyes tightly.
"Tch. You're scaring her, Rogers. She just went through some shit 'cause of you." The tired man murmured, sneaking a hand under his mask to drag it across his face.
"Please- I...I don't-" Fear was still clear in your features, desperate tears clinging to your eyes. The lower half of his face was covered by a blood stained mouth guard, leaving only his eyes and nose visible, and something akin to hurt seemed to gnaw at his expression.
His eyebrows were scrunched together, eyes glaring at you pleadingly. What for?What did they want? There was nothing left for you to give.
Your were suddenly shadowed from the soft street light as the tallest one of the trio approached, startling you out of your staring contest.
"We don't want anything from you. You just need to say where, and we'll leave you home." The masked man told you softly. The tone seemed foreign in his voice, like a song sung off key. Like he didn't use it often.
Oh, and what could you do but accept? Three men. One of them was over six feet, another sported a strong physique, sturdy and muscular.
And the boy...aside from carrying you effortlessly, the four people he murdered in cold blood, could speak for themselves. Well, they, in fact, couldn't speak anymore. It was proof enough of the danger he poised, despite his lean body.
You also couldn't walk home by yourself, after everything. And so you whispered your address, however begrudging.
As they walked you home, carried you really, you could feel the cold steel of the boy's grimy machetes under you, hooked to his jeans.
You couldn't remember anything else after that.
The heat of his bare arms still lingered in your skin where it touched, but it wasn't enough to erase the rough hands that tore your clothes earlier.
Everything that went through in that retched night seemed to be slowly erased from your mind as the hours passed. Everything but the feeling of misery that stayed glued to you like muscle to bone. Even when you let the hot water flow over you, scrubbing and scrubbing, the dirt and blood didn't seem to leave.
You scrubbed again. Scratched it with your torn nails. Screamed at the shower head. Swallowed some toothpaste to wash it all away.
But it didn't.
Nothing had happened, thankfully. Nothing explicitly sexual. They didn't have time to touch your body. That's all you remember before realizing they were dead, butchered beyond recognition.
And a part of you, an ugly, unsavory part of you, rushed with joy from it. The thought that you'd never have to see them again. That they had exactly what they deserved.
But you didn't want to unpack those challenging feelings. Not the desperate need to be clean of other's sins, not the happiness at seeing those vermins receiving what they deserved. You decided to sleep it off instead, stepping off the shower with a shiver that had nothing to do with the warm weather.
Sunlight soon approached the confines of your lonely apartment. Your spotty black out curtains welcomed many streaks of light inside your bedroom, yet you still rolled on your bed, sleepless.
Your sleep was equally unreliable as the curtains, nightmares plaguing the small windows of sleep you got through the night.
As the hours rolled by, your senses were never completely drowned by unconsciousness. You could still hear your cat's snoring. The quiet buzzing coming from the air-conditioning. The tuds coming from your living room, when your cat decided it was time for zoomies.
Reality, however, seemed to blend with your half baked dreams. You remember still feeling the warmth of your cat laying at your feet, while she went out and about in the living room. Her steps a little too heavy, too long.
You tried not to let the unease linger, to maybe still get some sleep.
It never really came, the so needed rest. So at some point in the morning, you gave up, deciding to go make yourself some coffee and eat something nice.
You looked down at your feet to find your cat still sleeping, tangled within your legs. Don't overthink it, you thought, stroking her chin. Azure purred, walking toward your belly and bumping her head to it.
"Good morning, Azure..." You murmured toward her, receiving a high pitched meow in return.
Outside your bedroom, the house was already entirely lit up by sun.
You held back a frustrated sigh at your lack of sleep. Not only was your body entirely stiff with pain, you were also enduring a head splitting headache. You didn't have many bruises, aside from the small purple stains flourishing at the back of your thighs from your fall.
You figured most of your pain was a mix of stress and muscle tension, along with the god forsaken running. You watched the water boil as you thought about last night, with the enthusiasm of a dead body. While pouring the water in the coffee filter, you noticed something wasn't...right.
You stood at your kitchen counter, front to your living room window. And the window, which you had definitely closed, was wide open. How didn't you notice before? You left the coffee to drip onto its container, and slowly walked around the counter. As you did, something caught your attention in the coffee table that laid just before that window, in front of your couch.
Something that shined.
Your mind screaming for you to stay far away from it, but you picked it up with your bare hands anyway.
It was a silver switch blade, with a paper underneath it. The blade was old, small scars of time and use littering it's surface.Against any better judgement, you clicked it's release button– a shockingly well sharpened blade appeared. It seemed to have been recently polished, but the blade's age was still clear in its material. You were dumfounded. How did this end up here? You were also really trying to ignore the fact that you might have slept through a home invasion. It just seemed surreal. You didn't think you would have to be worried after all, you lived on the fourth floor of the building.
You sat on your sofa putting a disbelieving hand to your mouth. Leaving the silver tool on the coffee table, you turned the note on your hands.You opened the folded paper. The handwriting was horrid, and the crumples sheet of paper wasn't of any help, but from you were able to discern, it read:
"Don't be afraid to knife them next time. Or shout for me. 00Xxxx-xxxx
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So I was thinking about it - what would you say Eyeless Jacks prominent negative traits are besides having low self esteem? Because all the other creeps have TONS to list off but I don't think you've ever really gotten into Jack's negativity. I always wonder about it with other iterations too because I think a lot of the time people rely on the "intelligent yet misunderstood doctor" archetype alone, and I wanted to know how you'd further expand on it.
I’m so glad you brought this up! I feel like I’ve briefly touched on some of Jack’s red flags in the past, but I can definitely expand on them more here. In general, I just haven’t written as many fics or drabbles for him, so I haven’t explored his character as deeply as I have with someone like Brian or Tim.
What are Jack’s negative traits?
Compared to some of the other creeps, Jack obviously comes off as far more polite, calm, and generally put-together. He’s not loud or openly cruel in the same way some of the others can be, so I think it’s easy to look at him and go “Oh, he’s one of the better ones.” And in some ways, sure, he is. But that does not mean he’s perfect, harmless, or incapable of doing serious damage.
First of all, Jack is not the best communicator.
He’s just not a very talkative guy in general. Outside of his medical work, he doesn’t say much, and he’s not the type to casually open up about what he’s feeling or thinking. Because of that, it can be extremely difficult to know where you stand with him. You could be in the most long-term, committed relationship with him and still find yourself wondering how he truly feels about certain things, what he’s thinking, whether something upset him, or whether he even noticed something that mattered to you.
That lack of communication can become really frustrating over time. It’s not necessarily that he’s trying to be cruel by withholding things, but the end result is still the same: you’re left guessing. And being with someone who constantly makes you guess can be exhausting.
Second, he’s not very in tune with his own feelings.
That’s not to say he’s some completely detached, emotionless, clinical doctor with no inner world. He does have emotions. He can care. He can be gentle in his own way. But he is also very… checked out, for lack of a better term. He doesn’t always process emotions the way a normal person would, and he definitely doesn’t prioritize them.
He’s polite, sure, but politeness doesn’t equal warmth. He doesn’t exactly wear his heart on his sleeve, and it can be very hard to actually get through to him. There’s this wall between him and other people, and even when he’s being civil, you can still feel the distance.
If you’ve read Deer Season, I think his appearance in part 7 (when he finds Reader in the woods) captures him perfectly. He politely asks if he can taste her blood, gives her false hope that he’s taking her out of the woods, and then brings her back to the house instead, despite her struggling and begging him to let her go. Then he coldly tells Jeff not to let her leave the property.
That’s not exactly giving “intelligent but misunderstood doctor.” At the end of the day, Jack is still a predator, and he sees most humans as prey. He may be calmer and more composed than others, but that doesn’t make him morally good. His sense of right and wrong is deeply warped, and emotions are not his primary concern. To put it simply, there is a huge moral disconnect with him.
Third, Jack can be very blunt.
He doesn’t always have much of a filter in social settings, partly because he simply doesn’t socialize much. He spends most of his time alone, keeps to himself, and doesn’t exactly practice softening his words for other people’s comfort.
Because of that, he can come across as mean even when he isn’t necessarily trying to be. He might say something very direct, very honest, and very cutting, all while maintaining that same calm, polite tone. And that can make it worse. There’s something especially brutal about someone saying something harsh without raising their voice or showing any obvious malice.
If you don’t know him well, it would be easy to misread him as rude or judgmental. And even if you do know him well, that bluntness can still sting.
Fourth, Jack is incredibly secretive.
He is a private person to an unhealthy degree. He can disappear for days at a time without telling anyone where he’s going, what he’s doing, or when he’ll be back. Then, when he finally returns, he may offer little to no explanation and act like that’s completely normal.
It’s not.
And if you can’t accept that, you’re probably not going to have a functional relationship with him. Jack’s isolation tendencies make it very hard to get close to him in any normal sense. He values his privacy, his routines, and his independence, but those traits can easily become walls that keep everyone else out.
Being with him would require accepting that there are parts of him you may never fully know. There will be things he doesn’t explain, places he goes without warning, thoughts he keeps to himself, and parts of his life he simply doesn't invite you into.
Fifth, and probably most importantly, there would always be an unavoidable tension in being with him because, at the end of the day, you are still meat to him.
That sounds harsh, but it’s true. Jack may love you. He may care about you deeply. He may be gentle with you, protective of you, and genuinely committed to never hurting you. But none of that completely erases what he is, or how he sees the world. In his eyes, humans are still bodies. Blood, tissue, organs, warmth, pulse. You can be someone he loves and still exist in the same category as something he is built to hunt.
And that creates a very specific kind of tension.
Because yes, he would never hurt you. But if he wanted to, he absolutely could.
There would always be moments where that reality sits a little too heavily in the room. Maybe everything goes quiet. Maybe he’s standing too still. Maybe he’s watching you for just a little too long, not with affection exactly, but with that unreadable, clinical kind of focus he gets sometimes. And even if he hasn’t done anything wrong, even if he’s only observing, you might feel that instinctive little twist in your stomach.
Because you know what he is capable of.
You know how easily he could overpower you. You know how little effort it would take for him to stop being gentle. You know that his composure is one of the only things standing between you and something much darker.
And that’s the part that would be hard to ignore. Jack can be calm, polite, and controlled, but control is still control. It is something being actively maintained. So even if he loves you, even if he has never given you a real reason to believe he would turn on you, there may still be those quiet moments where you wonder what would happen if that control ever slipped.
What if one day he got too hungry? What if one day he stopped seeing you as the exception? What if one day the line between lover and prey became just a little too thin?
That doesn’t mean his love isn’t real. I think, in his own way, it definitely could be. But loving Jack would mean living with the knowledge that tenderness and danger are always occupying the same space. He may hold your hand gently, speak to you softly, and care for you in ways that feel almost human... but beneath all of that, he is still a predator.
And sometimes, when he looks at you too quietly for too long, you might remember that.
CW: Explicit sexual content, cunnilingus, pet play / puppy play kink, collar kink, rough sex, overstimulation, degradation, praise, violence, blood, physical fight, insults, petty crime, obsessive behavior, emotional distress, emotional manipulation, moral ambiguity, featuring appearances by Tim, Brian, Ben, Jeff, and Jack
Summary: After days of uneasy silence, Toby reappears. The pull between you only grows stronger, even as the dangers of his world loom larger than ever.
Wordcount: 14k
Part 1: HERE
Part 2: HERE
The last three days had been a special kind of hell.
You hadn’t seen Toby since the night he left your house, the words “I kill people” still hanging in the air between you. You’d told him you needed time. That you couldn’t just… process something like that in one breath and move on. He’d nodded, and then disappeared.
No texts - you didn’t even have his number. No surprise visits to the gas station. Nothing but radio silence and the gnawing, contradictory ache in your chest that grew worse every hour. Part of you had been terrified his friends had finally scared him off for good. Another, quieter, more shameful part had almost hoped they had. Because if he stayed away, you wouldn’t have to decide what it said about you that you still wanted him.
You were still shaken from that night at the store. The way the dark-haired man had leaned over the counter, venom dripping from every word as he called you a whore. The cold disgust in the blond one’s eyes. The casual entitlement as they stole from you and spat on your floor like they owned the place - and owned Toby by extension. It had been disgusting. Infuriating.
And somehow, it had only made you miss your thief more.
You stood in front of your mirror, finishing up for your night shift. You’d brushed your hair until it fell in loose, shining waves, added a little extra mascara and gloss, just enough to feel like you had some control over something. Your work polo clung to your chest, the top two buttons undone against the stupid humidity. Denim shorts sat low on your hips, frayed hems brushing your thighs. When you turned slightly to check yourself, your eyes caught on the faint yellowish-green marks still blooming across your neck and collarbones.
Little reminders of Toby’s mouth. Of how desperately he’d sucked and bitten while he fucked you like he was trying to crawl inside your skin and stay there.
Your fingers traced one of the bruises. A slow, conflicted breath left you.
You missed him. God, you missed him. But every time the warmth flared in your chest, something colder followed right behind it - images of blood on his hands, of the casual way he’d admitted what he did, of the heavy weapons you now knew he carried. You’d asked for time. You’d meant it.
And yet… after meeting his so-called friends, that need for distance had started to feel thinner. More like a polite lie you were telling yourself because the truth - that you were already in too deep - scared you more than the blood ever could.
A sharp tink against the window made you jump.
Then another. And another.
Rocks. Definitely rocks.
Your heart slammed against your ribs as you crossed to the window and peered out into the growing dusk. There, half-hidden by the treeline at the edge of your yard, stood Toby.
Same dark navy hoodie. Bandana pulled down around his neck. Messy brown hair sticking up in every direction. Even from here you could see that crooked, mischievous grin splitting his scarred face. He waved, quick, almost shy, like he hadn’t dropped a bomb on your life and then vanished for three days.
Your stomach flipped violently. Relief, sharp and stupid and dangerous, flooded through you so fast it made your eyes sting. He came back. He actually came back.
But right behind it came the colder wave: the knowledge of what he was. What he did. What those hatchets you hadn’t even seen yet had already done.
You bit down hard on the smile threatening to break across your face. You couldn’t quite kill it.
Toby’s head twitched sharply to the side with that familiar little crack, and his grin widened. He waved again, slower this time, like he was making sure you saw him.
You didn’t even think about it. You turned away from the window, heart hammering, and headed straight for the front door. Your feet padded quickly across the floorboards as you unlocked it and stepped out onto the porch, the warm evening air wrapping around your legs.
Toby straightened up from where he’d been leaning against a tree, shoulders rolling with a restless hitch. He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, then pulled them out again, fingers twitching. Another sharp tic jerked his neck sideways as he took a few uneven steps closer, stopping at the edge of your yard like he wasn’t sure if he was welcome yet.
For a long second the two of you just stared at each other.
Then Toby’s scarred mouth curved into that sheepish, hopeful little smile that made your chest ache.
“H-hey,” he called, the stammer cutting through like always. “Missed you.”
You couldn’t hold it back.
The second your feet hit the porch steps, you were moving - half-running down them, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might crack your ribs. Toby’s dark eyes widened the instant he realized you weren’t stopping. His scarred mouth parted in surprise, shoulders hitching sharply as you practically threw yourself at him.
Your arms looped around his neck, pulling him down as you buried your face against the warm skin of his throat. He smelled like pine, smoke, and that faint metallic edge that always seemed to cling to him. You breathed him in like you’d been drowning for three days.
Toby froze for half a second, completely caught off guard, like he’d shown up fully expecting you to slam the door in his face. Then his arms came around you - careful at first, almost hesitant - before they tightened. He lifted you just enough that your toes barely brushed the grass, scarred hands splaying wide across your lower back, pressing you flush against his hoodie.
“Fuck… I’m so happy to see you, Toby,” you muttered into his neck, voice cracking a little.
Toby let out a low, rough hum that vibrated against your cheek. His head twitched hard to the side with a soft crack, but he didn’t pull away. Instead he turned his face into your hair and breathed you in just as deeply, like he’d been starving for it too.
For a long moment neither of you moved. Just held on in the quiet dusk, his restless body twitching against yours every few seconds.
Eventually you forced yourself to loosen your grip, sliding back down until your feet touched the ground again. You kept one hand on his chest, reluctant to let go completely.
“Come inside,” you said softly.
Toby nodded, that crooked, boyish grin flickering back across his face as he followed you up the steps. But the second you turned toward the door, your eyes dropped - and that’s when you saw them.
Two twin hatchets hung from his belt, strapped securely to his hips. The blades were dark, well-worn, edges catching the fading light with a dull, wicked gleam. They looked heavy.
Your blood turned to ice in your veins. It felt surreal - seeing the actual weapons, the ones that had chopped a man to pieces right outside your store. You swallowed hard and kept walking, but your eyes kept flicking back to them, unable to look away for long.
Inside, you led him straight to the living room. The door clicked shut behind you, the sound loud in the quiet house. Toby hovered near the entrance for a second, hands twitching at his sides, before he stepped further in. His gaze was already dragging over you - taking in the tight polo, the short denim shorts, the faint hickeys still visible on your neck.
You couldn’t stop staring at the hatchets.
He finally noticed. His head gave a sharp, involuntary jerk to the left, neck cracking. He glanced down at his hips, then back up at you, something almost sheepish crossing his scarred features.
“…Got a j-job later,” he muttered. “Just… wanted to see y-you ffff-first.”
You nodded, trying your best to keep your face neutral even as your stomach twisted. “Okay.”
Toby took you in again - eyes roaming over your body, lingering on your thighs, your chest, the makeup you’d put on for work - before they settled on your face. He smiled a little, small and lost, like he still couldn’t quite believe you’d hugged him instead of screaming.
You shifted your weight, suddenly nervous again.
“I wanted to talk to you,” you said, chewing the inside of your cheek. “But I didn’t have your number or anything… I had no way to reach you.”
Toby’s brows furrowed slightly, another quick tic rolling through his shoulder. He tilted his head, waiting.
You took a breath.
“Do you… know what happened? At the store the other night?”
He looked genuinely confused. His dark eyes blinked once, then twice, head twitching to the side again with a soft crack.
“…What h-happened?” he asked, voice slow and uncertain. He had no idea.
Your stomach sank. Of course he didn’t.
Those assholes had gone behind Toby’s back, terrorized you at your job, and hadn’t even bothered to tell him. The realization burned hot in your chest as you stood there in your living room, staring at him.
You took a slow breath, trying to keep your voice steady.
“Sit down, Toby.”
He blinked at you, dark eyes wide and uncertain, head jerking sharply to the side with a loud crack. For a second he just stood there, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then he obeyed, lowering himself onto the edge of your couch, shoulders hunched and restless. His hands immediately started fidgeting in his lap, fingers twisting together.
You sat down beside him, close enough that your bare thigh brushed his jeans. Your knee bounced with agitation as you turned to face him.
“Those two guys you were with the night you stole the Snickers… they showed up at the store a couple nights ago,” you started, voice tight. “While I was working alone.”
Toby’s shoulders hitched violently. His neck snapped to the left again, harder this time. “Wait–w-what? Did they–h-hurt you? Wha–”
You kept going, the words spilling out faster now.
“They just showed up. The dark-haired one - big guy, flannel - he started hitting on me in this really gross, sleazy way. Called me sweetheart, gorgeous… then it got nasty fast.” You looked down at your hands, sighing. “He threatened me. Told me to stay the fuck away from you. Called me a whore, said I was dragging you down, making you sloppy. The taller one - the blonde guy with the serious face - he didn’t say much at first, but then he called me a… a dog-fucking bitch. They stole cigarettes and liquor right in front of me, spat on the floor, and basically told me if I didn’t back off, things would get messy.”
You looked up at Toby.
His reaction was immediate.
The tics slammed into him like a storm. His head jerked hard to the side - crack - then again, shoulders rolling and hitching so aggressively his whole upper body twitched. His dark eyes went wide with disbelief, mouth opening and closing like he couldn’t find words fast enough.
“I–I didn’t–fuck,” he stammered, voice cracking. “I h-had no idea. None. I swear to fucking G-God I didn’t know they–shit–”
He buried his face in his hands, elbows on his knees, fingers digging into his messy hair. Another violent full-body tic rolled through him, making his shoulders jerk upward hard enough that you heard his neck crack again.
“Those guys… that was T-Tim and Brian,” he muttered through his hands, voice muffled and raw. “They’re… they’re my friends. They were just l-looking out for m-me, but they had no right–no ffff-fucking right to do that t-t-to you.”
You swallowed, heart still racing.
“What even is the deal here, Toby?” you asked quietly. “Are you guys in a gang or something?”
Toby let out a loud, frustrated groan. He shoved himself up off the couch and started pacing, uneven steps carrying him back and forth across your living room. His hands flexed at his sides, opening and closing, the twin hatchets at his hips swaying with every restless movement.
“It’s… it’s c-complicated,” he muttered, head twitching sharply. “We’re not–I mean, it’s not l-like a gang gang, but… something like that, I g-guess. We do jobs. And we’ve buh-been doing t-them together for a l-l-long time. They think I’m g-gonna fuck everything up w-with you.”
He stopped pacing for a second, turning to look at you. His scarred face was twisted with guilt, eyes restless and bright with frustration.
“I’m so f-fucking sorry,” he said, voice rough and earnest. “I never wanted them a-a-a-anywhere near you. I told Tim to suh-stay out of it. I–I really like y-you. Like, a lot. More than I p-probably should. And they k-know that. That’s why they d-did it.”
He took a shaky step closer, shoulders hitching again as he looked down at you on the couch.
“I’ll t-talk to them. Make sure they never ffff-fucking bother you a-a-again. I promise.”
It was really starting to piss you off.
The way those two had strutted into your store like they owned Toby’s choices - owned you - like he was some dumb kid who needed to be kept on a leash. It made your blood boil. Toby wasn’t their property. He wasn’t a problem to be managed. He was… Toby. Restless and scarred and terrifyingly honest and yours, at least for right now.
You reached over and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tight between both of yours. His fingers twitched once, then curled around yours almost desperately, palm warm and rough.
“I hate how they talked to me,” you said, voice low but fierce. “Like they were so much better than you. Like they could just walk in, threaten me, and decide who you’re allowed to see. It was disgusting. Do they always act like that? Like they’re in charge of you?”
Toby looked down at your interlocked hands, his thumb brushing absently over your knuckles. His head gave a quick, sharp tic to the side before he shrugged, a little lost.
“They can be a lot,” he muttered. “But… we’ve buh-been through a lot t-together. They’ve got their reasons. Tim especially. It’s not–it’s not personal with you. They’re just…”
He trailed off, shoulders hitching hard.
You wanted to scream.
It was so obvious: Toby took it. He shut up, he let them scold him and boss him around because that’s what he was used to. And it made something protective and angry twist deep in your chest. He deserved better than being treated like the unstable attack dog of the group.
“God, I just want to slap Tim so fucking hard,” you burst out, the words tumbling faster. “Punch him right in his smug fucking face. Kick his ass. Tell him to mind his own goddamn business and stop treating you like a stupid kid who can’t make his own choices. I’m serious, Toby. The way he leaned over the counter and spat on my floor? I wanted to throw the register at his head.”
Toby stared at you for a second… then let out a short, surprised laugh. His shoulders shook with it, another violent tic jerking his neck sideways.
You weren’t done.
“And if I ever see him again, I’m borrowing these,” you said, reaching down and tapping one of the hatchet handles at his hip. “Just for a minute. I’ll be quick.”
Toby laughed harder - genuine, breathless laughter that made his whole body twitch. He collapsed back onto the couch beside you, leaning heavily over you as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His messy hair tickled your cheek, his breath warm against your skin, still shaking with quiet chuckles.
“F-fuck… you’re crazy,” he mumbled into your neck, voice muffled and warm. You could feel him smiling against you. “You’d actually try it, w-wouldn’t you?”
You wrapped your arms around him tightly, hugging him close. One hand slid up to thread through his messy brown hair, holding him there. You laughed too, the sound mixing with his, but underneath it you still felt that heavy twist of frustration and worry.
“Yeah, well… someone has to stand up for you,” you said softly, pressing your cheek to the top of his head. “Since you won’t do it yourself.”
Toby’s arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer until you were half in his lap. He leaned further into you, scarred face hidden against your throat. You hugged him a little tighter, fingers tracing one of the scars at the back of his neck.
You kept one hand buried in his messy brown hair, petting him slowly, fingers dragging through the strands and scratching lightly at his scalp. Toby melted under the touch with a low, broken hum, pressing even closer. His shoulders hitched hard once, twice, but he stayed curled against you like he never wanted to move again.
Then his mouth found your throat.
Warm, scarred lips brushed over the fading hickeys he’d left days ago, followed by slow, open-mouthed kisses that made your breath catch. He worked his way lower, kissing and licking across your collarbones, sucking gently on the sensitive skin just above the neckline of your polo. Every press of his mouth sent little sparks racing down your spine.
You hummed softly, tilting your head to give him better access. When he lifted his face again, you caught his jaw in your hand and pulled him up into a proper kiss.
It started sweet - almost careful - but within seconds it turned hungry. Toby groaned into your mouth as your tongues slid together, his hands roaming greedily over your waist and hips. You made out like that on the couch for a long minute, slow and deep and messy, the wet sounds of lips and tongues filling the quiet living room.
You broke just enough to speak, still holding his jaw firmly in your palm, thumb stroking over the thick scar on his cheek.
“You’re strong,” you whispered against his lips. “You’re capable. You’re not gonna take shit from anyone anymore. Not Tim. Not Brian. Not anybody. Got it?”
Toby’s dark eyes were glassy, breathing ragged. He nodded fast, another sharp tic jerking his head to the side with a soft crack. His hands tightened on your waist, fingers digging into your sides, then sliding down to grip your bare thighs right under the hem of your denim shorts.
“Y-yeah,” he breathed. “I g-got it.”
He leaned in again, chasing your mouth desperately. You let him kiss you, deep and filthy, before pulling back once more. Your thumb traced his bottom lip as you looked him dead in the eyes.
“And no one is allowed to insult us like that again,” you said, voice low and serious. “No one calls me a whore. No one calls you a dog. Especially not them.”
Toby nodded again, almost frantically, eyes locked on yours with that intense, obsessive shine you were starting to crave.
“I k-know,” he rasped. “I won’t let them. Never a-again.”
He stayed like that for a second, before gently pushing you off his lap and slowly sliding down off the couch. He settled on his knees between your spread thighs, right in front of you, hands resting on your legs. The twin hatchets at his hips shifted with the movement, handles bumping against the couch.
Toby looked up at you through his messy bangs, almost shy for a moment, cheeks faintly flushed under the scars. His fingers moved to the button of your denim shorts, popping it open with careful hands. He dragged the zipper down slowly, eyes flicking back up to your face like he was waiting for permission.
Then, voice barely above a whisper and a little timid, he admitted:
“But just so y-you know– I d-don’t mind being your dog…”
The words hit you like a spark straight to your core.
Heat flooded between your thighs instantly. You felt yourself get wet - soaked, really - just from the shy, honest way he said it. Your breath hitched, thighs pressing together slightly around his shoulders as fresh arousal throbbed through you.
His dark eyes darkened further, a crooked little smile tugging at his scarred mouth as he watched your face. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts and panties, ready to pull them down, waiting for you to tell him what you wanted.
You couldn’t help the wicked little smile that spread across your face at his shy confession.
“Oh yeah?” you teased, voice low and sweet as you looked down at him kneeling between your thighs. “You wanna be my little puppy? My personal pet?”
Toby groaned loud and broken, the sound vibrating against your skin. His head jerked sharply to the side with a crack, and he nodded so frantically it looked like it hurt.
“F-fuck yes,” he rasped, fingers already yanking desperately at your denim shorts and panties. “Please–I wanna be yours. Your g-good boy. Your ffff-fucking pet–”
You lifted your hips just enough to help him, and he practically ripped the fabric down your legs in one rough tug, tossing your shorts and soaked panties somewhere behind him. The cool air hit your wet pussy and you shivered.
You threaded your fingers through his messy hair again, tugging lightly.
“Maybe I should get you a collar then,” you purred, watching his reaction. “A nice one. So everyone knows who you belong to.”
Toby actually shook. A full-body tremor rolled through him, shoulders hitching violently as another loud crack sounded from his neck. His dark eyes were blown wide, pupils swallowing almost all the color.
“Yes–please,” he begged, voice wrecked. He spread your thighs wider with both scarred hands, pushing them apart until you were completely open for him. “Put me on a l-leash. I’m yours–I’m f-fucking yours–”
He leaned in immediately and pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss right against your dripping pussy, like he couldn’t wait another second. His lips dragged slowly up your slick folds before he sucked gently on your clit, moaning loud and shameless into your cunt.
You moaned right back, back arching off the couch as you grabbed a tight fistful of his hair.
“Fuck–Toby,” you gasped, a breathless little giggle slipping out. “I will. I’ll collar you and leash you if you eat this pussy like a good boy.”
He whimpered against you, the sound muffled and desperate. One of his hands was already palming himself roughly through his jeans, grinding the heel of his palm against his obvious hard-on while his tongue licked a long, sloppy stripe from your entrance up to your clit.
Then he really went down on you.
Toby devoured you like a man starved. There was nothing shy or hesitant about it now. He buried his face between your thighs, nose pressing against your clit as his tongue shoved inside you, fucking in and out with wet, obscene sounds. He groaned and whimpered the whole time, the vibrations shooting straight through your core.
He licked broad and messy, dragging his tongue everywhere - lapping up every drop of your arousal. Then he focused on your clit, sucking it hard between his lips while his tongue flicked fast and relentless against the sensitive bud. Your hips jerked, but he held you down with those strong hands, fingers digging bruises into your thighs as he kept you spread open for him.
“F-fuuuck, you taste so good,” he slurred against your pussy, voice thick and muffled. “So fucking w-wet–all for me–”
He spit directly on your clit, watching it glisten for half a second before diving back in, sucking and licking with renewed hunger. His head twitched hard against your thigh and the tic made him grind his face harder into you, nose rubbing perfect circles on your swollen clit while his tongue pushed deep again.
You were soaking his chin, his mouth, dripping down onto the couch, but Toby didn’t care. He was lost in it - moaning, slurping, eating you out with filthy, eager sounds that filled the entire living room. Every few seconds his shoulders hitched or his neck jerked, but it only made him more frantic, like the tics fed into his desperation.
He pulled back just enough to look up at you, lips shiny and swollen, chin glistening with your slick.
“C-call me your good p-puppy again,” he begged hoarsely, voice cracking. “Please–”
You tightened your grip in his hair and yanked him back down.
“Good boy,” you moaned, thighs trembling around his head. “Such a good little puppy. Eating my pussy so fucking well–”
Toby whimpered loudly and doubled down, sucking your clit hard while two thick fingers suddenly pushed inside you, curling instantly against that perfect spot. He pumped them fast, fucking you with his fingers while his mouth worked your clit without mercy.
The wet squelching sounds were downright pornographic. Your hips bucked against his face, grinding shamelessly as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly. He was palming himself harder now, hips twitching like he was barely holding it together, but he refused to stop until you came.
You were so close already - thighs shaking, stomach tightening, moans spilling louder and louder.
“Toby–fuck–don’t stop, I’m gonna–”
He moaned desperately into your cunt and sucked harder, fingers curling and thrusting perfectly, and that was it.
Your orgasm crashed over you hard. You cried out, back arching violently as your pussy clenched around his fingers, gushing against his tongue. Toby kept licking and sucking you through it, drinking down every drop like he was addicted, whimpering and groaning the whole time while his own hips jerked against his hand.
He didn’t stop even when you started twitching from overstimulation - only slowing his tongue into long, lazy licks to clean you up, savoring every last bit of you.
When you finally sagged back against the couch, panting and trembling, Toby rested his scarred cheek against your inner thigh, looking up at you with glassy, adoring eyes and a shiny, fucked-out grin.
His voice was hoarse, wrecked, and completely sincere when he whispered:
“…Can I a-actually have a c-collar?”
You let out a soft, surprised laugh, still catching your breath as you looked down at him kneeling there like the most eager puppy in the world.
“You’re serious?” you teased, grinning. “Alright, puppy. I’ll get you a collar. A nice one. Maybe even with your name on it.”
Toby’s whole face lit up, dark eyes sparkling with pure, unfiltered delight. He nodded fast, another sharp tic jerking his head to the side with a loud crack.
“Yes–fuck yes, puh-please,” he breathed.
You stroked his hair once more, then gently pushed at his shoulders.
“Sit on the couch, baby.”
He obeyed instantly. First he unclipped the twin hatchets from his belt and set them carefully on the floor with a heavy thunk, then dropped onto the couch, legs spread wide. His hands flexed restlessly on his thighs as he watched you stand up.
You moved between his knees and helped him shove his jeans and boxers down his hips. His thick cock sprang free, already rock-hard and flushed dark, curving slightly upward with a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip. You wrapped your hand around him, giving a few slow, firm strokes while you leaned in and kissed him deeply.
Toby moaned into your mouth, hips twitching up into your fist. You spit directly onto his cock, letting the warm saliva drip down his length before you stroked it in, spreading it nice and slick. Your thumb swirled over the sensitive head on every upstroke, squeezing just how you knew he liked. All the while your tongues slid together, wet and hungry.
“Such a good boy,” you whispered against his lips, jerking him a little faster. “So hard for me already.”
He whimpered, scarred hands grabbing at your waist, pulling you closer.
You finally climbed onto his lap, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips. You reached down, lined his cock up with your soaked entrance, and slowly sank down.
The stretch was overwhelming.
A broken moan tore from your throat as his thick length pushed inside you inch by inch, splitting you open so perfectly it made your eyes flutter. He was so deep like this - filling you completely, pressing right against that spot that made your eyes roll back. Your pussy fluttered and clenched around him, dripping down his shaft as you bottomed out with a shaky gasp.
“F-fuuuck–” Toby groaned, head falling back against the couch cushions. His neck cracked sharply to the side, but he didn’t seem to notice. His hands immediately grabbed two big handfuls of your ass, squeezing hard as he pulled you down even tighter against him. “So tight–so fucking wet, o-oh my God–”
You braced your hands on his chest and started riding him.
Slow at first, rolling your hips in deep, grinding circles so you could feel every thick inch of him dragging inside you. Your tits bounced under your polo with every movement. Toby’s eyes were glued to where your bodies joined, watching his cock disappear into your dripping pussy over and over with pure awe on his face.
Then you picked up the pace.
You bounced on his cock harder, faster, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the living room. Every time you dropped down, his hips bucked up to meet you, driving himself even deeper.
“Fuck, Toby–you feel so good,” you moaned, nails digging into his scarred shoulders. “Such a big fucking dick. Stretching me so full–”
Toby let out a wrecked, stuttering moan, head lolling back against the cushions again. His mouth hung open, eyes half-lidded and glassy as he panted.
“Y-yours–it’s a-all yours,” he rasped, voice cracking. His hands gripped your ass tighter, fingers bruising as he started actively pulling you down onto him with every bounce. “Ride me–fuck, r-ride your puppy–please–”
You leaned forward, bracing one hand on the back of the couch so you could fuck him even harder. Your moans mixed with his, loud and desperate, absolutely filthy. Every slap of your ass against his thighs sent jolts of pleasure through you. His cock hit that perfect spot on every downstroke, making your eyes roll back.
“That’s it, puppy,” you panted, grinding down hard on his cock. “Take this pussy. You’re doing so good for me–such a good boy–”
Toby’s head snapped to the side with another violent tic, but his grip on your ass never loosened. He was thrusting up frantically now, meeting every bounce, chasing his pleasure with shameless desperation. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His moans were getting louder, more broken, the stammer falling apart completely.
“I– I’m gonna–fuck, I’m s-so close a-already–” he whined, sounding almost embarrassed at how fast he was losing it.
You rode him faster, clenching around his throbbing cock on every stroke.
“Cum for me, puppy,” you moaned right against his ear, biting his scarred neck. “Fill me up. Be a good boy and cum deep inside me–”
That did it.
Toby’s whole body seized. His head slammed back against the couch, neck cracking loudly as his hips stuttered up hard. A loud, shattered moan ripped out of him as he came - thick, hot ropes of cum flooding deep inside your pussy. Pulse after pulse, so much it immediately started leaking out around his cock, dripping down his balls and onto the couch. His hands kept your ass pinned down tight against him, holding you there while he emptied himself completely, twitching and groaning through every spurt.
“F-fuuuck–thank you–thank you–” he whimpered, voice hoarse and wrecked, still cumming.
You kept rolling your hips slowly, milking him through it until he was trembling and oversensitive beneath you, breathing hard against your neck.
You stayed like that for a long moment, still straddling his lap, his softening cock buried deep inside you as the aftershocks slowly faded. Your forehead rested against his, both of you breathing hard, skin slick with sweat.
Eventually you lifted yourself off him with a soft, wet sound. A thick gush of his cum followed, running down your inner thighs as you shifted to sit beside him on the couch. You leaned heavily against his side, cheek pressed to his shoulder.
Toby immediately threw his arm around you, pulling you closer. His chest was still heaving, breath ragged as he tried to come down. For a while you just sat there in comfortable silence, your hand gently petting his bare thigh, fingers tracing old scars and fresh bruises.
Then reality started creeping back in.
You tilted your head to look up at him. “What are you gonna do about Tim and Brian?”
Toby’s shoulders hitched hard. He stared at the ceiling for a second, neck cracking sharply to the side.
“I’m gonna t-talk to them,” he muttered. “As soon as I get h-home from this job tuh-tonight. They had n-no right to go a-a-a-after you like that. I’m done letting them p-pull that shit.”
You nodded slowly, still stroking his thigh. “You all live together?”
“Yeah,” he said, a little too quickly. His fingers twitched against your shoulder. He clearly didn’t want to talk about it. “We do.”
You let it drop for now.
The silence stretched again. Your eyes drifted down to the twin hatchets lying on the floor. The reality of what he was about to go do - of what those weapons were for - hit you like a truck. Your stomach twisted with guilt and unease.
“…Who’s the job tonight?” you asked quietly, voice small. “Is it… someone innocent? I feel really fucked up about this, Toby. Knowing you’re gonna take a life.”
Toby squeezed your shoulder gently, thumb rubbing slow circles over your polo. He turned his head to look at you, dark eyes serious despite the post-sex haze.
“It’s not innocent,” he said. “My b-boss marks the targets. People who n-need to be e-eliminated. This guy… he deserves it. Trust me.”
It still felt so strange hearing him talk about it so casually - like murder was just another shift at the gas station. You swallowed hard and nodded, even though part of you still felt morally sick.
Curiosity got the better of you.
You leaned forward and reached down, carefully picking up one of the hatchets from the floor. It was surprisingly heavy in your hand, the wooden handle smooth from years of use, the blade dark and wickedly sharp. You slid it free from its holder, turning it slowly, feeling the weight and balance. The edge gleamed even in the low lamplight.
Toby watched you the entire time, one hand gently petting your hair, brushing it back from your face.
You ran your thumb carefully along the flat of the blade, careful not to cut yourself.
“…How does it feel?” you asked softly. “When you use it.”
Toby was quiet for a moment, head twitching once, twice. His scarred fingers kept stroking through your hair.
“It feels…” He exhaled slowly. “Like the m-most natural t-thing in the world.”
A shiver ran down your spine - cold and electric at the same time. The words should have terrified you. Instead, something darker, something thrilling twisted low in your belly. You stared at the hatchet in your hands, heart beating faster.
Toby’s arm tightened around you, pulling you closer again. His voice dropped, rough and honest.
“You don’t have t-to like it,” he murmured against your hair. “But it’s w-who I am.”
You set the hatchet back down carefully, the heavy thunk sounding final on the floorboards. Your hand returned to his thigh, but your mind was spinning - fear, arousal, affection, and that strange new thrill all tangled together.
You hummed softly, still leaning against him. “It’s… really hard to grasp all of this.”
Toby nodded, his head twitching sharply to the side with a quiet crack. “I know,” he murmured. “It’s a lot.”
You sat there for another moment, then sighed and slowly pushed yourself up off the couch. “I need to put on new panties. I’ll be right back.”
You hurried down the short hallway to your bedroom, thighs still slick with his cum. In the bathroom you quickly wiped yourself clean, tossed the messy tissue, and slipped on a fresh pair of panties. When you came back into the living room, Toby had already pulled his jeans and boxers back up. He was sitting on the couch again, absently toying with one of your throw pillows, flipping it over in his hands like he didn’t know what else to do with them.
His dark eyes immediately dropped to your bare legs as you walked in. He stared openly, hungrily, tracking every step until you bent down to grab your denim shorts from the floor. You shot him a little smile over your shoulder as you tugged them back on.
He smiled back - that crooked, scarred, boyish grin that made your chest feel warm.
You buttoned your shorts and laughed under your breath. “Okay, I have something to tell you.”
Toby tilted his head, still smiling. “What?”
You chewed your lip for a second, suddenly a little shy. “When Tim and Brian came into the store… I kind of freaked out and told them you were my boyfriend. I said we were together and happy and everything. It just kind of slipped out.”
Toby went completely still.
For a long second he just stared at you, dark eyes wide, mouth slightly parted like he couldn’t process what you’d said. His shoulders hitched hard once, twice. Then his whole face lit up with pure, stunned disbelief and joy.
“…You did?” he asked, voice cracking.
You nodded, grinning.
He stood up so fast it was almost comical, crossing the two steps between you in one restless stride. His hands grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against him.
“Like… this m-means we’re boyfriend and g-girlfriend?” he asked, almost breathless, head twitching sharply to the side.
You giggled and gave his chest a light push, cheeks burning. “No. I mean, I don’t know… maybe? I was just pissed off at them and it came out.”
Toby didn’t care about the technicalities.
He grinned huge and wrapped his arms around you tightly, burying his face in your hair as he hugged you. His body was still twitching with restless energy, but he held you so close you could feel his heart hammering against your chest.
You laughed into his hoodie, wrapping your arms around his waist and squeezing him back just as hard. “I seriously need to get your number though. You’re out here calling yourself my boyfriend and I don’t even have you in my phone.”
Toby pulled back just enough to look at you, still smiling like an idiot. “Yeah. Fuck yeah.”
You both fished your phones out. He handed you his - an older cracked model with a completely shattered screen - and you saved your contact under:
“your owner 🖤”
When you handed it back, Toby’s face went bright red. He stared at the screen for a second, then let out a short, choppy laugh and immediately started typing in your phone. He saved himself under:
“boyfriend 🪓”
You burst out laughing when you saw it. “Cheesy.”
“Shut up,” he muttered, but he was grinning as he pulled you in again.
You kissed him - slow and sweet at first, then deeper, tongues brushing lazily. His hands stayed on your waist, thumbs stroking your sides while his shoulders hitched every few seconds. When you finally pulled back, you were both a little breathless again.
Toby rested his forehead against yours, still smiling like he couldn’t believe any of this was real.
He reluctantly pulled away from you, bending down to grab the twin hatchets from the floor. He clipped them back onto his belt with practiced, efficient movements, the heavy weapons settling against his hips like they belonged there. The sight still sent a strange little jolt through you - part fear, part that dark thrill you were starting to get used to.
Your phone pinged loudly in your hand.
You glanced at the screen. It was Andy, as usual:
yo u late asf
got a surprise for u when u get here lol
hurry up
“Shit,” you muttered, shoving the phone into your back pocket. “I’m late for work.”
Toby straightened up, adjusting the hatchets one last time. A crooked little grin tugged at his scarred mouth.
“Same,” he said, voice low and amused, like the idea of his own “job” was just another casual errand.
You almost shuddered at the reminder - the casual way he was about to go out and kill someone - but you swallowed it down and forced a small smile instead. He didn’t need to see you freaking out right before he left.
He stepped close again, one hand cupping the side of your neck as he leaned in. The kiss was slow and deep, a little desperate at the edges, like he was trying to take as much of you with him as possible. You kissed him back just as hard, fingers gripping the front of his hoodie.
When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing a little heavier.
You walked him to the front door together, the warm night air brushing over your skin as you stepped outside. Toby lingered on the porch for a second, hands twitching at his sides, head giving a quick, sharp tic to the left with a soft crack.
“Be s-safe at work,” he muttered, eyes flicking over your face.
“You too,” you replied softly, even though the words felt heavy and wrong in your mouth.
He gave you one last crooked smile, then turned and disappeared into the treeline with that familiar uneven walk, shoulders hitching every few steps until the shadows swallowed him.
You stood on the porch for a moment longer, heart doing something complicated in your chest, before you locked the door and headed off toward the gas station.
You pushed open the door to the Stop & Gas, the little bell jingling above you. Andy was already slouched in the chair behind the counter, buzzcut freshly faded, tattoos shifting on his arms as he scrolled through his phone with one hand and casually hit his vape with the other. The “NO SMOKING” sign hanging right above his head looked almost comical.
You smirked, raising your eyebrows at him as you walked in. “Really, dude? With the security cameras rolling?”
Andy glanced up, that lazy, shit-eating grin spreading across his face. He took another slow drag and blew the sweet-smelling vapor toward the ceiling. “You’re never gonna believe what happened.”
You dropped your bag behind the counter and leaned against it, arms crossed. “Hit me.”
He sat up a little straighter, clearly excited to tell the story. “Management called me right before the shift. Said the cameras are completely dead again. Just pure static on every feed. They tried resetting them a bunch of times but nothing worked, so they finally came and took them all down. Apparently it’s happened before at a couple other stores around here too. Something about the woods being so close, interference or whatever.”
You raised your brows. “That’s… odd.”
Andy shrugged, taking another hit from his vape. “Probably some cheap-ass system. Good for me though. Side hustle just got a whole lot easier without Big Brother watching.” He winked.
You hummed, forcing a little chuckle. “Yeah, convenient.”
You shook it off and changed the subject. “So what’s this surprise you texted me about?”
Andy’s grin widened. He clapped his hands together once and reached under the counter, pulling out a greasy paper bag and two big Styrofoam cups. “I hoped you were hungry. Burgers and shakes, just like I promised.”
You actually squealed, eyes lighting up. “No way!”
You gave him a quick side hug, squeezing his shoulder as you snatched the bag. The smell of greasy fast food hit you and your stomach growled instantly. You ripped it open, unwrapping one of the burgers and taking a huge bite.
“Oh my God,” you moaned around the food, slapping the counter with your free hand. “This is so good.”
Andy laughed, already digging into his own burger. “Being an accessory to my business finally paying off, huh?”
“Best perk yet,” you mumbled through a mouthful of fries, wiggling your eyebrows.
The two of you leaned against the counter, eating like animals while the store stayed quiet around you. Andy launched into his usual small talk between bites.
“Got a date tomorrow night,” he said proudly, wiping sauce off his chin. “Some girl I met when I was DJing last weekend. She’s so bad, bro. Tatted, thick, just how I like ‘em.”
You snorted, dipping a fry into your shake. “Nice. Just don’t do that thing where you get too high and start telling conspiracy theories about the government putting trackers in vaccines again. Last date ended with her blocking you before dessert, remember?”
Andy groaned dramatically. “That was one time! I’m on my best behavior this go-around, swear.”
You grinned, licking ketchup off your thumb. “Mhm. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
He took another massive bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully for a second before perking up. “Oh, speaking of DJing, I got another gig next weekend. It’s a bigger spot than usual, you should come through.”
Your eyebrows lifted. “For real? Yeah, I’m down.”
“Bet,” Andy said, looking genuinely pleased. “You can bring whoever. Or just come solo and I’ll buy you a drink after my set.”
You laughed softly. “Alright, text me the info and I’ll try to make it.”
“Sweet.” He bumped your shoulder with his own, grinning.
You kept shit-talking and teasing him while you both ate sloppily, grease and salt all over your fingers. At one point you leaned back against the counter, licking salt off your thumb, and smirked.
“God, this hits different after some good dick.”
Andy choked on his shake, eyes going wide. He let out a loud laugh, coughing a little. “No way–wait, for real?”
You just gave him a look, mouth still full of burger, eyebrows raised.
He gasped, pointing at you with a fry. “It’s the Tourette’s dude, isn’t it? Bandana guy? Fuck was his name again… Toby?”
You tried and failed to hide your grin, chewing slowly.
Andy threw his head back and laughed harder. “Holy shit, that explains why you were so fucking late tonight. You nasty little freak.”
You shoved his shoulder, laughing with him. “Shut up and eat your burger.”
But you couldn’t stop smiling. Even with everything else going on, sitting here with Andy, stuffing your face and talking shit, felt almost normal.
Almost.
Toby’s boots crunched heavily over the damp leaves and pine needles as he made his way back through the woods, twin hatchets dripping at his hips. The job had been clean. Too clean. The journalist barely had time to look up before the first hatchet buried itself in his skull. Middle-aged, nosy piece of shit who’d been digging into old disappearances and proxy activity. Easy target. Toby hadn’t even broken a sweat.
But now?
Now he was practically shaking.
His shoulders hitched violently with every other step, neck cracking sharply to the side again and again - crack, crack, crack - as rage boiled hotter in his chest. The walk back to the old house felt longer than usual, every rustle in the trees feeding the storm building inside him.
They’d gone to your fucking job.
Tim and Brian had walked into the Stop & Gas, leaned over the counter, and terrorized you. And they hadn’t said a single fucking word to him about it.
Not one.
He should’ve known. They’d gone behind his back. Again.
“F-fucking assholes,” Toby growled under his breath. His fingers flexed hard around the handles of the hatchets, knuckles white. Another full-body tic slammed through him so hard he nearly stumbled, head jerking violently to the left.
The more he pictured it - you standing behind that counter, alone, while those jerks crowded you and tried to scare you off - the worse it got. You’d hugged him tonight. Kissed him. Called him your boyfriend in front of them. Let him fuck you on your couch and promised him a collar.
And they tried to take that from him.
By the time the rundown house came into view through the trees, Toby was vibrating with fury. His breath came fast and uneven, scarred face twisted into something ugly. The porch light was on. The truck was parked out front.
They were home.
Good.
The front door slammed open with enough force to rattle the old windows in their frames.
Toby stormed inside, boots tracking dirt and a few specks of blood across the floor. The house was dead quiet - it was well past midnight, the kind of heavy silence that usually meant everyone had crashed after a long day. But Toby didn’t give a single fuck.
He marched straight into the living room, shoulders hitching violently, neck cracking hard to the left every few steps. The only light came from the low glow of the TV, which had long since gone to a screensaver. On the couch, Ben was curled up in a tight ball, messy blonde hair sticking up in every direction, one arm dangling off the edge with his laptop still open on the cushion beside him. He’d clearly fallen asleep mid-work, earbuds still half in his ears.
Toby didn’t even glance at him.
He walked right up to the staircase railing and started slamming his fist against the old wooden banister as hard as he could - BANG BANG BANG BANG - the sound echoing through the entire house like gunshots.
“TIM!” he roared, voice raw and furious. “BRIAN! Get the fuck down here! NOW!”
CRACK. His neck jerked violently to the side.
BANG BANG BANG.
“TIM! BRIAN!”
Ben jolted awake with a terrified gasp, nearly falling off the couch. His eyes flew open wide, one hand dramatically clutching his chest like he was having a heart attack.
“Dude–what the fuck?!” Ben wheezed, voice hoarse with sleep, scrambling to sit up. He yanked one earbud out, blinking rapidly as he tried to make sense of the chaos. “Toby, holy shit–are you trying to give me a fucking heart attack?!”
Toby ignored him completely. He kept slamming his fist against the railing, the old wood groaning under the assault.
“TIM! Get your a-ass down here ruh-right fucking now!” His voice cracked with the volume, another violent tic making his whole upper body jerk. “B-BRIAN! BOTH OF YOU!”
Ben rubbed his eyes, looking equal parts annoyed and concerned. “Jesus Christ, man… what the hell is going on? Did someone die or–”
“TIM!” Toby bellowed again, louder this time, fist still hammering the banister. BANG BANG BANG. “BRIAN! I know you’re ffffff-fucking home!”
Heavy footsteps started thundering from upstairs. Doors creaked open. The house was no longer quiet.
Toby’s chest heaved, eyes burning with barely-contained rage.
Tim was the first one down the stairs.
He came stomping down in nothing but an old t-shirt and boxers, hair messy, eyes bleary and bloodshot. The sharp smell of whisky rolled off him in waves. He took one look at Toby standing there vibrating with rage, hatchets still at his hips, blood on his clothes, and lost it.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Tim bellowed, voice hoarse from sleep and alcohol. “It’s the middle of the goddamn night–”
He didn’t even finish the sentence. As soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs he shoved Toby hard in the chest with both hands.
Toby stumbled back a couple steps, then exploded.
He shoved Tim back just as violently, nearly knocking the bigger man off his feet. “You went to her fuh-fucking J-JOB!” Toby screamed, voice cracking and manic, spit flying. His head jerked sharply to the side - CRACK-CRACK - shoulders hitching so hard it looked painful. “You t-threatened her! Ttried to scare her off like I’m s-some fucking p-pet you c-can control!”
His tics were completely out of control now. Every other word was punctuated by a violent twitch or jerk, neck snapping, shoulders rolling, eyes wild.
Tim’s face twisted with anger. “She’s a goddamn liability–”
That was all it took.
Toby swung first.
His fist connected hard with Tim’s jaw, the crack echoing through the living room. Tim roared and tackled him, and just like that they were fighting - brutal, ugly, no-holds-barred. Fists flying, elbows, knees. Toby was smaller but faster and absolutely manic, landing punches with reckless speed.
Ben was wide awake now, curled up tight against the back of the couch, eyes huge.
“Dude– what the FUCK?!” Ben shouted, voice cracking with disbelief. “Are you two serious right now?! Stop!”
They didn’t stop.
Toby managed to duck under one of Tim’s haymakers, drove his shoulder into the bigger man’s gut, and took him down hard onto the floor. They crashed into the coffee table, sending empty beer bottles flying. Toby got on top, straddling Tim’s chest and raining down punches, screaming the whole time.
Brian appeared at the bottom, shirt and boxers, holding a pistol in a tight grip. His eyes widened at the scene.
“Stop it! Both of you–NOW!” he yelled, voice cold and sharp.
They ignored him.
Brian moved forward, trying to grab Toby by the back of his hoodie to yank him off. In one lightning-fast, practiced motion, Toby twisted, snatched the gun right out of Brian’s hand, and–
Tim grabbed Toby’s leg and yanked hard.
Toby lost his balance. The gun flew from his grip, skidding across the wooden floor with a loud scrape before sliding to a stop right beside the couch.
Ben’s eyes went comically wide. Without thinking, he lunged forward and snatched the pistol off the floor, holding it awkwardly with both hands like it might bite him.
“Jesus Christ–okay, everyone just chill the fuck out!” Ben shouted, voice pitching higher than usual as he pointed the gun vaguely in their direction. “I swear to God I will shoot someone if you don’t stop!”
Brian stood frozen a few feet away, empty hands raised slightly, staring at the absolute disaster his housemates had become.
Tim roared and flipped them, using his size and weight to slam Toby onto his back. He managed to get on top, straddling him, and started swinging with everything he had - heavy, brutal punches that cracked against Toby’s jaw, cheek, ribs. Each hit landed with a sickening thud.
“You stupid–little–fuck!” Tim snarled between punches, whisky breath hot and furious. “Always making shit worse!”
Toby thrashed underneath him, tics going completely haywire. His head snapped violently side to side - CRACK-CRACK-CRACK - shoulders jerking so hard it looked like he was seizing. Blood was already pouring from his split lip and a cut above his eye.
“Get the f-fuck off me!” Toby screamed. “She’s mine–you don’t fucking t-touch her–I’ll k-kill you–I’ll fucking kill you!”
Brian moved carefully toward the couch, one hand out. “Ben. Give me the gun. Now.”
Ben was curled against the back cushions, eyes huge, hands shaking as he clutched the pistol like it was a live grenade. “N-no! Fuck no, you’re all insane!”
“Give me the fucking gun, Ben!” Brian snapped, agitation bleeding into his voice.
“I’ll shoot! I swear I’ll shoot someone!” Ben’s voice cracked as he waved the gun nervously. Then, in pure panic, he started screaming at the top of his lungs. “JEFF! JEFF! Get down here! JEFF!!”
The fight on the floor only got uglier. Tim and Toby were screaming at each other between punches - raw insults, old grudges, and years of buried resentment exploding all at once.
“You think you can just have a normal life with that gas station slut?!” Tim roared, slamming his fist hard into Toby’s ribs.
“She’s not a s-slut–fuck you!” Toby howled, thrashing beneath him. “She’s better than all of us! And I’m not l-like you, Tim! I don’t destroy e-everything I fffff-fucking touch!”
The words hit Tim like a slap to the face, cracking something ugly and deeply buried inside him.
His face twisted with pure rage, eyes bloodshot and wild. “The fuck did you just say?!” he bellowed, voice cracking with fury. He swung harder, fists raining down heavier than before - brutal, uncontrolled punches that cracked against Toby’s jaw and cheek with sickening force. “I’ll fucking kill you, you ungrateful little shit!”
Toby snarled and bucked wildly, trying to throw him off as blood flew from his split lip.
Brian yelled again, louder this time, “Ben, just hand it over before someone actually dies!”
More heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs.
But before Jeff could even reach the bottom, Toby twisted with a feral, twitchy burst of strength. He got one arm free, yanked one of the hatchets from its holder at his hip in a lightning-fast motion, and–
THUNK.
The blade buried deep into the side of Tim’s thigh.
Tim’s scream ripped through the house, raw and agonized. Blood immediately started squirting from the wound in thick, rhythmic pulses, soaking Toby’s hoodie and the floorboards beneath them.
“FUCK–YOU LITTLE PSYCHO!” Tim howled, clutching his leg.
Ben screamed at the top of his lungs, high-pitched and terrified, scrambling further back on the couch.
Jeff finally appeared at the bottom of the stairs, messy black hair loose, eyes wide with surprise. A slow, amused grin spread across his scarred face as he took in the absolute bloodbath unfolding in the living room.
“Well damn,” Jeff drawled, sounding way too entertained. “The fuck’s going on here?”
In the chaos, Brian lunged forward and ripped the gun out of Ben’s shaking hands. He spun, aimed at Toby’s shoulder, and pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space.
Toby jerked hard as the bullet slammed into his left shoulder, a spray of blood exploding outward. The impact knocked him off Tim and sent him sprawling sideways onto the floor with a choked grunt. His hatchet clattered beside him, still slick with Tim’s blood.
The living room fell into a stunned, ringing silence for half a second - broken only by Tim’s pained groaning and the wet sound of blood pooling on the floor.
Toby lay on his back, chest heaving, blood pouring steadily from the bullet wound in his shoulder and the gashes on his face. There was no pain - there never was - but his dark eyes still burned with raw fury as violent tics tore through him. His shoulders hitched sharply, neck cracking hard.
Brian just stood there, gun still raised, breathing hard.
Tim clutched his mangled thigh, cursing weakly through gritted teeth as blood kept pumping out between his fingers.
Jeff sauntered over to the couch like he was watching a mildly entertaining bar fight instead of a bloodbath in his own living room. He dropped down heavily beside Ben, slinging one arm around the smaller guy’s shoulders and giving the side of his head a couple of playful taps.
“Aww, you yelled for me like a little bitch,” Jeff teased, voice raspy with amusement. “That was cute, Ben. Real damsel-in-distress.”
Ben was trembling hard, eyes glued to the growing pool of blood spreading out from Tim’s thigh. He barely registered Jeff’s teasing, just shook harder and muttered, “There’s so much fucking blood, bro…”
Tim was still on the floor, face pale and shiny with sweat, hands clamped uselessly around the deep gash in his leg. Blood kept squirting between his fingers in weaker pulses now. “Brian!” he yelled, voice cracking. “Get the fuck over here and help me–I’m gonna bleed out, you asshole!”
Then he turned his glare on Toby, teeth bared. “And you–you fucking psycho! I should’ve put you down years ago!”
Toby just lay on his back a few feet away, chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven breaths. Blood soaked his hoodie from the fresh bullet wound in his left shoulder and dripped from his busted face. His dark eyes stared at the ceiling, jaw tight. He didn’t say a word. His shoulders hitched violently every few seconds, neck cracking sharply, but otherwise he ignored everyone.
Brian stalked over to Toby, towering above him, face twisted with fury. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he shouted, voice loud and disrespectful, like a pissed-off older brother scolding a bratty kid. “You stab Tim in the fucking leg?! Over some random pussy?! You’ve lost your goddamn mind, Toby! I told you this bitch was trouble–”
Toby didn’t even look at him. Just kept breathing, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth, eyes distant and burning.
“Brian!” Tim shouted again, weaker this time, skin turning a sickly grey. “I’m serious–I’m gonna pass out, man–”
Brian dragged a hand down his face and let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Fuck. I’ll get Jack.” He yanked open the basement door and bellowed down the stairs, “Jack! Get up here! We need medical, now! Tim’s bleeding everywhere!”
Heavy footsteps started climbing from the basement.
Jeff leaned back against the couch, casually toying with his lighter, flicking it open and closed with a soft metallic click. He pulled a cigarette from behind his ear, lit it, and took a long drag, watching the mess on the floor with mild amusement.
His gaze drifted down to Tim’s leg, where blood was still pumping hot and dark between his fingers, soaking through his boxers and spreading fast across the old wood.
Jeff squinted at it like he was mildly impressed.
“Huh,” he said, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth. “Looks like Twitch might’ve nicked an artery.”
Tim gave a harsh, pissed-off grunt, face pale and twisted with pain, like Jeff had just pointed out the sky was blue. “No fucking shit,” he snarled through gritted teeth, clamping both hands harder over the wound.
Jeff snorted.
Then he leaned slightly toward Ben, his voice dropping lower. “So,” he asked, eyes still glinting with amusement, “what the hell were they fighting about this time?”
Ben swallowed hard, still shaking, eyes flicking nervously between the gun in Brian’s hand and the chaos on the floor. “I-I don’t really know… Something about Toby having a girl. Tim did something behind his back. Called her names or whatever. Just your typical proxy bullshit, I guess.”
Jeff hummed, the corner of his scarred mouth twitching into a smirk as he took another drag. His eyes stayed locked on Tim’s paling face.
“Figures,” he muttered, flicking ash onto the floor. “Toby finally gets some pussy and the whole house tries to burn down.”
Tim let out another weak, pissed-off groan. Brian stood between them like a tired referee who’d already given up.
The basement door creaked wider as Jack emerged, carrying a large black emergency kit, moving with that same calm, clinical detachment he always had. His void-black eyes swept across the destroyed living room - blood everywhere, overturned furniture, Toby on the floor, Tim bleeding out, Brian standing there fuming, Ben curled up on the couch, and Jeff casually smoking.
Jack took it all in with mild, awkward politeness, as if he’d just walked into a slightly messy dinner party.
He crouched down beside Toby first, gloved hands already reaching for the bullet wound in his shoulder.
Tim immediately lost what little patience he had left. “Jack! What the fuck are you doing?! I’m the one bleeding out over here, you stupid fuck!”
Brian snapped right after him, voice sharp. “Toby’s not the emergency, Jack. Get over here!”
Jack paused, blinking slowly. He gave Toby’s arm a gentle, almost apologetic tap with two fingers.
“My apologies,” he said in that smooth, formal tone, clearly not very sorry at all. “I will return shortly.”
He moved over to Tim, opening the kit with practiced efficiency. He pressed a thick wad of gauze hard against the hatchet wound, trying to stem the arterial bleeding. Tim hissed and groaned through gritted teeth, face ghostly pale and slick with sweat. Jack packed more padding into the gash, working quickly and methodically.
“He is losing too much blood," Jack stated calmly, glancing up at Brian. “We need to get him downstairs to the infirmary. Now.”
Brian nodded, jaw tight. Together they hauled Tim up - one arm over each of their shoulders. Tim’s head lolled, legs dragging uselessly as they half-carried, half-dragged him toward the basement door, leaving a thick trail of blood across the floorboards. The sound of his weak cursing faded down the stairs.
Jeff stretched lazily on the couch, arms raised high above his head, then gave Ben a light shove with his shoulder.
“Welp. I need to run an errand,” he said casually, the smirk never leaving his face. “You need anything while I’m out?”
Ben let out a shaky, hysterical little laugh, still trembling. “Yeah. Everything. I need a new fucking life after this shit.”
Jeff barked out a raspy laugh and clapped Ben on the back as he stood up. “See ya later, drama queen.”
He paused near the door, glancing back at Toby still lying on the floor, bleeding from his shoulder and face, staring blankly up at the ceiling. “Hey, Tobes. Good job, man. Real nice swing on that hatchet.”
Toby didn’t respond. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. Another violent tic jerked his neck to the side with a loud crack, but his eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, dark and unfocused, blood slowly pooling beneath him.
Jeff just chuckled to himself and headed out, the front door slamming behind him.
The house fell into a strange, heavy quiet. Ben hugged his knees on the couch, still shaken. Toby remained on the floor, bleeding quietly, the rage from earlier slowly draining out of him and leaving only exhaustion in its wake.
You knelt on the scuffed tile floor, stacking cans of energy drinks into the cooler with slow, methodical movements. Your denim shorts had ridden up high on your thighs from the position, and your hair kept falling into your face no matter how many times you shoved it back. The leftover taste of burger and strawberry shake still lingered on your tongue, and for a little while, things had felt almost normal.
Andy was slouched behind the counter, legs kicked up on the register, casually vaping thick clouds of sweet-smelling vapor while he scrolled through his phone. Every now and then he’d chuckle at whatever video he was watching, the sound lazy and warm in the quiet store.
The meal had been great. The shift had been surprisingly chill so far. You felt full, a little greasy, and more satisfied than you had any right to be.
But you couldn’t stop worrying about Toby.
Your mind kept drifting back to him - the way he’d looked when he left your house, hatchets back on his hips, that restless fire in his eyes. Had he confronted Tim and Brian yet? Was he okay? Did it turn into a screaming match? A fight? Something worse?
You glanced at your phone for the hundredth time, screen lighting up your face. No new messages.
You sighed heavily, shoulders slumping as you shoved another four-pack of Monster into place with more force than necessary. The worry gnawed at the pit of your stomach. What if they’d hurt him? What if he’d hurt them? What if he was bleeding somewhere right now and you had no way to reach him?
“Everything good over there?” Andy called out, not even looking up from his phone. “You’ve been sighing like a Victorian widow for the last twenty minutes.”
You forced a small laugh, sitting back on your heels and wiping your hands on your shorts. “Yeah… just thinking.”
Andy finally glanced over, one eyebrow raised. “About Bandana Boy?”
You didn’t answer right away. Instead you grabbed another case of drinks and started stacking again, the cans clinking together loudly in the quiet store. Your shorts rode even higher as you stretched, but you didn’t bother fixing them.
“I don’t know,” you muttered eventually. “I’m just… nervous.”
Andy took a long drag from his vape, then exhaled slowly. “Well, if he fucks up and ghosts you, at least you got some bomb dick out of it first, right?”
You snorted despite yourself, shaking your head. “Whatever, dude.”
But the worry didn’t leave. Not even a little.
The bell above the door jingled.
You were still on your knees, ass up, reaching deep into the bottom shelf to stack the last row of energy drinks when you felt the shift in the air. The store suddenly felt smaller.
You glanced over your shoulder and froze.
Holy shit.
The guy who just walked in was tall - stupidly tall, easily 6’4”, with a lean, wiry build that somehow looked both graceful and dangerous, like a coiled blade. Long, messy black hair cascaded past his shoulders, shiny and slightly tangled, half of it tucked lazily behind one ear.
His face… God. Even with the scars, he was undeniably handsome. Sharp jawline, high cheekbones, dark hooded eyes that seemed to drink in everything at once. The two thin, pale scars running from the corners of his mouth up toward his cheeks were clearly self-inflicted - precise lines he must have carved into himself a long time ago. Though fully healed, they were still visibly intentional. Pale skin, full lips, and that lazy, arrogant confidence radiating off him like heat.
He looked like trouble wrapped in pretty violence.
His eyes locked onto you immediately. You were still on all fours in those tiny denim shorts, thighs flexed, polo riding up your back. He didn’t even pretend to be polite - his gaze dragged slowly down your body, lingering on your ass, your legs, the curve of your waist, before sliding back up to your face. The corner of his scarred mouth twitched upward into a little crooked, predatory smirk.
Then he looked past you.
“Yo, Andy,” he greeted, voice low and raspy in that rough smoker’s drawl.
Andy looked up from his phone, vape still between his fingers. “Jeff, my guy. What’s good?”
You pushed yourself up from the floor, rising fully to your feet as you brushed the dust off your knees, heart beating a little faster than it should. So this was another one of Andy’s shady clients. Great.
Jeff leaned one elbow on the counter, long fingers drumming slowly.
“Need more than usual tonight, bro. Like… a lot more. That fire shit you hooked me up with last time? Gimme two of those and a couple eight-balls on top. I’m tryna stay faded for a minute.”
Andy nodded like it was the most normal request in the world. He took one last quick hit from his vape, blowing the sweet-smelling cloud toward the ceiling.
“Bet. Lemme run to the back real quick and grab it. Don’t touch the register, okay?” He shot you a quick wink as he stood up. “Back in a sec.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
Now it was just you and Jeff.
The silence stretched, thick and electric. He stayed leaning against the counter, staring at you openly. His eyes traced every inch of you like he was already imagining what you’d look like bent over the counter.
You popped your gum loudly and narrowed your eyes at him.
“Staring is rude, Joker.”
The nickname slipped out before you could stop it.
Jeff let out a low, raspy chuckle that sent an unwilling shiver down your spine. He straightened up to his full intimidating height, rolling his shoulders back so the black hoodie pulled tight across his lean, toned chest. His smile widened, pulling the scars even tighter.
“Joker, huh?” he drawled, voice dripping with amusement. “Cute. Alright then… Harley. Looks like you’re already playing dress-up in those little shorts like you want someone to ruin that pretty outfit.”
You felt heat crawl up your neck, but you refused to look away. Instead you crossed your arms under your chest.
“Harley’s got a man, actually,” you said coolly. “So you can keep your eyes to yourself.”
Jeff’s grin only grew. He stepped around the end of the counter until he was close enough that you could smell faint cigarette smoke and something sharper, like metal and pine. He towered over you, looking down with dark, amused eyes.
“Yeah? And where the fuck is this man?” he asked, voice low. “Because if he had any sense, he wouldn’t let a girl like you work night shifts alone in a shithole like this, looking like a walking wet dream.” He licked his lips. “Bet he doesn’t even fuck you right.”
You tilted your chin up defiantly, refusing to step back even though your pulse was racing.
“He’s busy. And he fucks me just fine, thanks. Better than fine, actually.” Your voice dropped, sharp and sweet. “So stop imagining bending me over the counter, It’s not gonna happen dude.”
Jeff’s eyes darkened with interest. He let out a soft, dangerous laugh and leaned in closer, one hand bracing on the shelf beside your head.
“Damn. Feisty,” he murmured, gaze flicking down to your lips, then lower. “I like that. Bet you’re real loud when you’re pissed off too.” His mouth curved. “Tell you what, baby. I’d have you screaming my name so loud your little boyfriend would hear it from wherever the fuck he is. I don’t do that two-pump-chump shit. I’d ruin you for anyone else.”
The crude words should’ve disgusted you. Instead they hit somewhere low and warm, clashing violently with the fierce loyalty you felt toward Toby. You stepped forward, almost chest-to-chest with him, eyes narrowed.
“You’re wrong,” you said firmly. “My man’s obsessed with me. And he’s armed. So you can take your little fantasy and shove it.”
Jeff didn’t even flinch. The threat of an armed boyfriend barely seemed to register - if anything, it only made his dark eyes gleam with more amusement. For a second, something almost like respect flashed across his face. Then that wicked smirk returned, slower and sharper this time.
“Obsessed, huh?” He tilted his head, long black hair slipping over one shoulder. “Damn. Dangerous word. Guys like that tend to get real fuckin’ crazy when someone else wants what’s theirs.”
The back-room door swung open.
Andy strolled out with a small paper bag, immediately clocking the heavy tension between you two. His eyebrows shot up, grin widening.
“Alright, here we go,” he announced cheerfully, setting the bag on the counter. “That’ll be two-fifty.”
Jeff didn’t blink at the steep price. He looked at you for a moment longer, then casually walked back to the counter. He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a fat roll of cash, thick enough to choke on. He peeled off several bills without counting and dropped them on the counter like it was nothing.
“Keep the change,” he muttered.
Andy quickly counted the money, then grinned. “My favorite kind of customer.”
The two of them fell into easy, lazy bro-talk while Andy double-bagged everything.
“Haven’t heard from Ben in a minute,” Andy said, leaning on the counter. “What’s up with him?”
Jeff shrugged, long black hair shifting over his shoulder. “Busy. You know how he is.”
Andy laughed, shaking his head. “Bro’s my best paying client and I’ve never even seen his face. That’s wild. You gotta drag him out here sometime, man.”
Jeff’s grin widened, the carved lines pulling tight across his cheeks. “Zero chance. Only way to get Ben outta the house is if there’s strippers and free weed involved. Good luck with that.”
Both of them cracked up, laughing in that slow, burnt-out way guys do when they’re talking shit. They bumped fists over the counter, exchanging the usual half-assed “stay safe” and “hit me up if you need more” lines.
Then Jeff turned toward the door.
Before he left, he pulled a crisp fifty from his thick roll, holding it up between two long fingers as he looked straight at you. That smirk spread across his face again, dark eyes dragging over your body one last time.
“You comin’?” he asked teasingly.
You snorted, crossing your arms under your chest and popping your gum loudly. “I don’t sell that kinda service in here. And even if I did? I’m not that cheap.”
Andy just shook his head, rolling his eyes with a helpless laugh like he couldn’t believe the two of you were doing this right in front of him.
Jeff only shrugged, completely unbothered.
“Offer still stands, baby.”
He gave you one final slow once-over - dark, hungry, and way too confident - then pushed the door open. The bell jingled as his tall frame disappeared into the dark parking lot.
The store fell quiet again.
Andy waited until the door fully shut before turning to you, still grinning like an idiot.
“Jesus Christ,” he laughed, dragging a hand over his buzzcut. “What the fuck was that? You two were eye-fucking so hard I thought the shelves were gonna catch fire.”
You let out a shaky breath, cheeks still warm, pulse thrumming.
“Yeah… definitely not, dude.”
Andy barked out a loud laugh, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed. “Bullshit. You were two seconds away from climbing him like a tree.”
“I was not!” you protested immediately, whirling on him. “I’m not interested. I have someone else. Someone I actually like.”
Andy just grinned wider, that shit-eating expression growing. “Mhm. Sure. You’re real popular lately, huh? Collecting men like Pokémon cards.”
You shoved his shoulder hard, laughing despite yourself. “Shut up. That was… I don’t even know what that was. How do you even know that guy?”
Andy shrugged, reaching for his vape again and taking a slow hit. Smoke curled around his face as he exhaled.
“Met his buddy Ben on some online game a while back. Dude orders a stupid amount of weed every week, like clockwork. Never shows his face, always pays through the app. Eventually Ben said his roommate Jeff needed the harder stuff, so I started hooking him up too.” Andy gestured vaguely toward the door. “Jeff’s an even bigger customer now. Pays crazy well, never causes problems, keeps it lowkey. I don’t ask questions.”
You snorted, stacking the last few cans with more force than necessary. “You’ve got some seriously strange connections, you know that?”
Andy grinned, unbothered. “Yeah, well… I’d rather not know what Jeff’s deal is. Dude looks like he skins people for fun on the weekends. As long as he keeps paying cash and not stabbing me, we’re good.”
You shook your head, a little laugh escaping despite the weird knot in your stomach. The way Jeff had looked at you - that smile, the way he’d leaned in and spoken so crudely but confidently - still lingered under your skin like static electricity.
Still… nothing compared to the way Toby looked at you. Nothing even came close.
You pulled out your phone again, checking for messages.
Still nothing.
Andy noticed. “No word from your boyfriend yet?”
You sighed and shoved the phone back into your pocket. “Nope.”
“He’ll text,” Andy said casually, already going back to scrolling on his phone. “Or show up awkward as fuck again. One of the two.”
You rolled your eyes and went back to organizing the shelves, but your mind kept drifting elsewhere.
This night was getting way too complicated.
Extra Scene
The infirmary in the basement was quiet except for the occasional drip of an IV bag.
Toby lay flat on his back on one of the metal cots, staring up at the cracked concrete ceiling. His left shoulder was tightly wrapped in clean white bandages, the fabric already starting to bloom with faint pink where the bullet had torn through. Jack had been thorough - cleaned, stitched, and dressed the wound with the same efficiency he always used. Another set of bandages circled Toby’s ribs and wrapped around his torso where Tim had landed the worst of his punches.
He couldn’t feel any of it.
No pain. Just a heavy, bone-deep exhaustion that made his limbs feel like they were made of wet cement. Every breath was slow. His body twitched randomly - shoulders hitching, neck cracking softly every few minutes - but even the tics felt sluggish tonight.
Across the small room, Tim was out cold on the other cot. His face was pale and slack, mouth slightly open. The thick wrapping around his thigh was already soaked through in places despite Jack’s best work. The hatchet had done real damage - deep muscle, nicked artery. Jack said the leg could be saved, but it was going to be ugly. Tim hadn’t woken up since they’d carried him down here hours ago.
Good, Toby thought bitterly.
Brian sat slumped in the old chair by Jack’s desk, arms crossed over his chest, head nodding forward every so often before he jerked awake again. He refused to leave the two of them alone. Every time Toby so much as shifted, Brian’s eyes would snap open, sharp and wary.
Toby hadn’t slept. Not for a single minute.
He kept replaying the fight on an endless loop in his head - the way Tim had shoved him, the things he’d said about you, the way Toby had finally snapped and buried the hatchet in his leg. The gunshot. The screaming. The blood.
His fingers twitched against the thin sheet covering him. Another violent tic rolled through his shoulders, making the cot creak.
She called me her boyfriend.
The thought cut through the exhaustion like a knife. You’d stood up for him. You’d told Tim and Brian he was yours. You’d let him fuck you on your couch, promised him a collar, kissed him like you meant it.
And they’d tried to take that away from him.
Toby’s dark eyes flicked toward Tim’s unconscious form. His jaw tightened, scarred cheek pulling.
If Tim ever tried that shit again…
He didn’t finish the thought. Instead he turned his head slightly, neck cracking loudly in the quiet room.
Toby lay there for what felt like forever, the weight of exhaustion pressing him into the thin mattress. Eventually, with a slow grunt, he turned his head toward the metal side table. His right arm still worked well enough. He reached over, fingers twitching hard, and grabbed his cracked phone.
The screen lit up his bloody, bandaged face in the dim infirmary light.
He typed slowly, thumbs clumsy and unsteady. The message came out short and sloppy.
to: your owner 🖤
hey
i fought tim and brian
got shot in the sholder
hatchet in tims leg
im okay tho
miss you :)
wish i was in yur bed
He opened the camera, held the phone up with a shaky hand, and snapped a blurry selfie. The flash lit up his swollen eye, split lip, and the thick white bandages covering most of his left shoulder and upper chest. Blood had already seeped through in a few places. He looked like absolute hell.
He hit send anyway.
Then he let the phone drop onto his stomach, staring at the ceiling again. He could almost feel your warmth beside him, your fingers in his hair, the way you’d called him your boyfriend like it was simple. The thought made something tight and aching settle in his chest.
Brian stirred in the chair across the room, eyes cracking open again. He rubbed a hand down his face, voice gravelly with exhaustion.
“Can’t sleep?”
Toby didn’t answer. He just kept staring upward, jaw tight.
Brian sighed heavily. “Why’d you do it, Toby? Seriously. Stabbing Tim in the fucking leg? You could’ve killed him.”
Silence stretched for a long minute, broken only by the soft beep of a monitor and Tim’s shallow breathing on the other cot.
Toby’s neck cracked sharply to the side. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat, cold, and exhausted.
“I’ve had e-enough,” he muttered. “You t-two had no right to go a-after my girl.”
Brian let out a bitter, tired laugh and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Tim was just trying to look out for you. You know how you get when you fixate on something. We don’t want problems.”
Toby’s eyes flicked sideways, glaring at Tim’s unconscious body for a long second before rolling them hard.
He didn’t say anything else.
Brian eventually leaned back in the chair again, eyes heavy. “Get some sleep, Toby. You look like shit.”
Toby didn’t respond. He just turned his head slightly, staring at the faint grey light starting to creep through the small basement window.
Dawn was breaking.
And all he wanted was to be back in your house, curled up in your bed with your fingers in his hair, listening to you call him your good boy instead of lying here bleeding.
CW: Explicit sexual content, cunnilingus, pet play / puppy play kink, collar kink, rough sex, overstimulation, degradation, praise, violence, blood, physical fight, insults, petty crime, obsessive behavior, emotional distress, emotional manipulation, moral ambiguity, featuring appearances by Tim, Brian, Ben, Jeff, and Jack
Summary: After days of uneasy silence, Toby reappears. The pull between you only grows stronger, even as the dangers of his world loom larger than ever.
Wordcount: 14k
Part 1: HERE
Part 2: HERE
The last three days had been a special kind of hell.
You hadn’t seen Toby since the night he left your house, the words “I kill people” still hanging in the air between you. You’d told him you needed time. That you couldn’t just… process something like that in one breath and move on. He’d nodded, and then disappeared.
No texts - you didn’t even have his number. No surprise visits to the gas station. Nothing but radio silence and the gnawing, contradictory ache in your chest that grew worse every hour. Part of you had been terrified his friends had finally scared him off for good. Another, quieter, more shameful part had almost hoped they had. Because if he stayed away, you wouldn’t have to decide what it said about you that you still wanted him.
You were still shaken from that night at the store. The way the dark-haired man had leaned over the counter, venom dripping from every word as he called you a whore. The cold disgust in the blond one’s eyes. The casual entitlement as they stole from you and spat on your floor like they owned the place - and owned Toby by extension. It had been disgusting. Infuriating.
And somehow, it had only made you miss your thief more.
You stood in front of your mirror, finishing up for your night shift. You’d brushed your hair until it fell in loose, shining waves, added a little extra mascara and gloss, just enough to feel like you had some control over something. Your work polo clung to your chest, the top two buttons undone against the stupid humidity. Denim shorts sat low on your hips, frayed hems brushing your thighs. When you turned slightly to check yourself, your eyes caught on the faint yellowish-green marks still blooming across your neck and collarbones.
Little reminders of Toby’s mouth. Of how desperately he’d sucked and bitten while he fucked you like he was trying to crawl inside your skin and stay there.
Your fingers traced one of the bruises. A slow, conflicted breath left you.
You missed him. God, you missed him. But every time the warmth flared in your chest, something colder followed right behind it - images of blood on his hands, of the casual way he’d admitted what he did, of the heavy weapons you now knew he carried. You’d asked for time. You’d meant it.
And yet… after meeting his so-called friends, that need for distance had started to feel thinner. More like a polite lie you were telling yourself because the truth - that you were already in too deep - scared you more than the blood ever could.
A sharp tink against the window made you jump.
Then another. And another.
Rocks. Definitely rocks.
Your heart slammed against your ribs as you crossed to the window and peered out into the growing dusk. There, half-hidden by the treeline at the edge of your yard, stood Toby.
Same dark navy hoodie. Bandana pulled down around his neck. Messy brown hair sticking up in every direction. Even from here you could see that crooked, mischievous grin splitting his scarred face. He waved, quick, almost shy, like he hadn’t dropped a bomb on your life and then vanished for three days.
Your stomach flipped violently. Relief, sharp and stupid and dangerous, flooded through you so fast it made your eyes sting. He came back. He actually came back.
But right behind it came the colder wave: the knowledge of what he was. What he did. What those hatchets you hadn’t even seen yet had already done.
You bit down hard on the smile threatening to break across your face. You couldn’t quite kill it.
Toby’s head twitched sharply to the side with that familiar little crack, and his grin widened. He waved again, slower this time, like he was making sure you saw him.
You didn’t even think about it. You turned away from the window, heart hammering, and headed straight for the front door. Your feet padded quickly across the floorboards as you unlocked it and stepped out onto the porch, the warm evening air wrapping around your legs.
Toby straightened up from where he’d been leaning against a tree, shoulders rolling with a restless hitch. He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, then pulled them out again, fingers twitching. Another sharp tic jerked his neck sideways as he took a few uneven steps closer, stopping at the edge of your yard like he wasn’t sure if he was welcome yet.
For a long second the two of you just stared at each other.
Then Toby’s scarred mouth curved into that sheepish, hopeful little smile that made your chest ache.
“H-hey,” he called, the stammer cutting through like always. “Missed you.”
You couldn’t hold it back.
The second your feet hit the porch steps, you were moving - half-running down them, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might crack your ribs. Toby’s dark eyes widened the instant he realized you weren’t stopping. His scarred mouth parted in surprise, shoulders hitching sharply as you practically threw yourself at him.
Your arms looped around his neck, pulling him down as you buried your face against the warm skin of his throat. He smelled like pine, smoke, and that faint metallic edge that always seemed to cling to him. You breathed him in like you’d been drowning for three days.
Toby froze for half a second, completely caught off guard, like he’d shown up fully expecting you to slam the door in his face. Then his arms came around you - careful at first, almost hesitant - before they tightened. He lifted you just enough that your toes barely brushed the grass, scarred hands splaying wide across your lower back, pressing you flush against his hoodie.
“Fuck… I’m so happy to see you, Toby,” you muttered into his neck, voice cracking a little.
Toby let out a low, rough hum that vibrated against your cheek. His head twitched hard to the side with a soft crack, but he didn’t pull away. Instead he turned his face into your hair and breathed you in just as deeply, like he’d been starving for it too.
For a long moment neither of you moved. Just held on in the quiet dusk, his restless body twitching against yours every few seconds.
Eventually you forced yourself to loosen your grip, sliding back down until your feet touched the ground again. You kept one hand on his chest, reluctant to let go completely.
“Come inside,” you said softly.
Toby nodded, that crooked, boyish grin flickering back across his face as he followed you up the steps. But the second you turned toward the door, your eyes dropped - and that’s when you saw them.
Two twin hatchets hung from his belt, strapped securely to his hips. The blades were dark, well-worn, edges catching the fading light with a dull, wicked gleam. They looked heavy.
Your blood turned to ice in your veins. It felt surreal - seeing the actual weapons, the ones that had chopped a man to pieces right outside your store. You swallowed hard and kept walking, but your eyes kept flicking back to them, unable to look away for long.
Inside, you led him straight to the living room. The door clicked shut behind you, the sound loud in the quiet house. Toby hovered near the entrance for a second, hands twitching at his sides, before he stepped further in. His gaze was already dragging over you - taking in the tight polo, the short denim shorts, the faint hickeys still visible on your neck.
You couldn’t stop staring at the hatchets.
He finally noticed. His head gave a sharp, involuntary jerk to the left, neck cracking. He glanced down at his hips, then back up at you, something almost sheepish crossing his scarred features.
“…Got a j-job later,” he muttered. “Just… wanted to see y-you ffff-first.”
You nodded, trying your best to keep your face neutral even as your stomach twisted. “Okay.”
Toby took you in again - eyes roaming over your body, lingering on your thighs, your chest, the makeup you’d put on for work - before they settled on your face. He smiled a little, small and lost, like he still couldn’t quite believe you’d hugged him instead of screaming.
You shifted your weight, suddenly nervous again.
“I wanted to talk to you,” you said, chewing the inside of your cheek. “But I didn’t have your number or anything… I had no way to reach you.”
Toby’s brows furrowed slightly, another quick tic rolling through his shoulder. He tilted his head, waiting.
You took a breath.
“Do you… know what happened? At the store the other night?”
He looked genuinely confused. His dark eyes blinked once, then twice, head twitching to the side again with a soft crack.
“…What h-happened?” he asked, voice slow and uncertain. He had no idea.
Your stomach sank. Of course he didn’t.
Those assholes had gone behind Toby’s back, terrorized you at your job, and hadn’t even bothered to tell him. The realization burned hot in your chest as you stood there in your living room, staring at him.
You took a slow breath, trying to keep your voice steady.
“Sit down, Toby.”
He blinked at you, dark eyes wide and uncertain, head jerking sharply to the side with a loud crack. For a second he just stood there, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then he obeyed, lowering himself onto the edge of your couch, shoulders hunched and restless. His hands immediately started fidgeting in his lap, fingers twisting together.
You sat down beside him, close enough that your bare thigh brushed his jeans. Your knee bounced with agitation as you turned to face him.
“Those two guys you were with the night you stole the Snickers… they showed up at the store a couple nights ago,” you started, voice tight. “While I was working alone.”
Toby’s shoulders hitched violently. His neck snapped to the left again, harder this time. “Wait–w-what? Did they–h-hurt you? Wha–”
You kept going, the words spilling out faster now.
“They just showed up. The dark-haired one - big guy, flannel - he started hitting on me in this really gross, sleazy way. Called me sweetheart, gorgeous… then it got nasty fast.” You looked down at your hands, sighing. “He threatened me. Told me to stay the fuck away from you. Called me a whore, said I was dragging you down, making you sloppy. The taller one - the blonde guy with the serious face - he didn’t say much at first, but then he called me a… a dog-fucking bitch. They stole cigarettes and liquor right in front of me, spat on the floor, and basically told me if I didn’t back off, things would get messy.”
You looked up at Toby.
His reaction was immediate.
The tics slammed into him like a storm. His head jerked hard to the side - crack - then again, shoulders rolling and hitching so aggressively his whole upper body twitched. His dark eyes went wide with disbelief, mouth opening and closing like he couldn’t find words fast enough.
“I–I didn’t–fuck,” he stammered, voice cracking. “I h-had no idea. None. I swear to fucking G-God I didn’t know they–shit–”
He buried his face in his hands, elbows on his knees, fingers digging into his messy hair. Another violent full-body tic rolled through him, making his shoulders jerk upward hard enough that you heard his neck crack again.
“Those guys… that was T-Tim and Brian,” he muttered through his hands, voice muffled and raw. “They’re… they’re my friends. They were just l-looking out for m-me, but they had no right–no ffff-fucking right to do that t-t-to you.”
You swallowed, heart still racing.
“What even is the deal here, Toby?” you asked quietly. “Are you guys in a gang or something?”
Toby let out a loud, frustrated groan. He shoved himself up off the couch and started pacing, uneven steps carrying him back and forth across your living room. His hands flexed at his sides, opening and closing, the twin hatchets at his hips swaying with every restless movement.
“It’s… it’s c-complicated,” he muttered, head twitching sharply. “We’re not–I mean, it’s not l-like a gang gang, but… something like that, I g-guess. We do jobs. And we’ve buh-been doing t-them together for a l-l-long time. They think I’m g-gonna fuck everything up w-with you.”
He stopped pacing for a second, turning to look at you. His scarred face was twisted with guilt, eyes restless and bright with frustration.
“I’m so f-fucking sorry,” he said, voice rough and earnest. “I never wanted them a-a-a-anywhere near you. I told Tim to suh-stay out of it. I–I really like y-you. Like, a lot. More than I p-probably should. And they k-know that. That’s why they d-did it.”
He took a shaky step closer, shoulders hitching again as he looked down at you on the couch.
“I’ll t-talk to them. Make sure they never ffff-fucking bother you a-a-again. I promise.”
It was really starting to piss you off.
The way those two had strutted into your store like they owned Toby’s choices - owned you - like he was some dumb kid who needed to be kept on a leash. It made your blood boil. Toby wasn’t their property. He wasn’t a problem to be managed. He was… Toby. Restless and scarred and terrifyingly honest and yours, at least for right now.
You reached over and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tight between both of yours. His fingers twitched once, then curled around yours almost desperately, palm warm and rough.
“I hate how they talked to me,” you said, voice low but fierce. “Like they were so much better than you. Like they could just walk in, threaten me, and decide who you’re allowed to see. It was disgusting. Do they always act like that? Like they’re in charge of you?”
Toby looked down at your interlocked hands, his thumb brushing absently over your knuckles. His head gave a quick, sharp tic to the side before he shrugged, a little lost.
“They can be a lot,” he muttered. “But… we’ve buh-been through a lot t-together. They’ve got their reasons. Tim especially. It’s not–it’s not personal with you. They’re just…”
He trailed off, shoulders hitching hard.
You wanted to scream.
It was so obvious: Toby took it. He shut up, he let them scold him and boss him around because that’s what he was used to. And it made something protective and angry twist deep in your chest. He deserved better than being treated like the unstable attack dog of the group.
“God, I just want to slap Tim so fucking hard,” you burst out, the words tumbling faster. “Punch him right in his smug fucking face. Kick his ass. Tell him to mind his own goddamn business and stop treating you like a stupid kid who can’t make his own choices. I’m serious, Toby. The way he leaned over the counter and spat on my floor? I wanted to throw the register at his head.”
Toby stared at you for a second… then let out a short, surprised laugh. His shoulders shook with it, another violent tic jerking his neck sideways.
You weren’t done.
“And if I ever see him again, I’m borrowing these,” you said, reaching down and tapping one of the hatchet handles at his hip. “Just for a minute. I’ll be quick.”
Toby laughed harder - genuine, breathless laughter that made his whole body twitch. He collapsed back onto the couch beside you, leaning heavily over you as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His messy hair tickled your cheek, his breath warm against your skin, still shaking with quiet chuckles.
“F-fuck… you’re crazy,” he mumbled into your neck, voice muffled and warm. You could feel him smiling against you. “You’d actually try it, w-wouldn’t you?”
You wrapped your arms around him tightly, hugging him close. One hand slid up to thread through his messy brown hair, holding him there. You laughed too, the sound mixing with his, but underneath it you still felt that heavy twist of frustration and worry.
“Yeah, well… someone has to stand up for you,” you said softly, pressing your cheek to the top of his head. “Since you won’t do it yourself.”
Toby’s arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer until you were half in his lap. He leaned further into you, scarred face hidden against your throat. You hugged him a little tighter, fingers tracing one of the scars at the back of his neck.
You kept one hand buried in his messy brown hair, petting him slowly, fingers dragging through the strands and scratching lightly at his scalp. Toby melted under the touch with a low, broken hum, pressing even closer. His shoulders hitched hard once, twice, but he stayed curled against you like he never wanted to move again.
Then his mouth found your throat.
Warm, scarred lips brushed over the fading hickeys he’d left days ago, followed by slow, open-mouthed kisses that made your breath catch. He worked his way lower, kissing and licking across your collarbones, sucking gently on the sensitive skin just above the neckline of your polo. Every press of his mouth sent little sparks racing down your spine.
You hummed softly, tilting your head to give him better access. When he lifted his face again, you caught his jaw in your hand and pulled him up into a proper kiss.
It started sweet - almost careful - but within seconds it turned hungry. Toby groaned into your mouth as your tongues slid together, his hands roaming greedily over your waist and hips. You made out like that on the couch for a long minute, slow and deep and messy, the wet sounds of lips and tongues filling the quiet living room.
You broke just enough to speak, still holding his jaw firmly in your palm, thumb stroking over the thick scar on his cheek.
“You’re strong,” you whispered against his lips. “You’re capable. You’re not gonna take shit from anyone anymore. Not Tim. Not Brian. Not anybody. Got it?”
Toby’s dark eyes were glassy, breathing ragged. He nodded fast, another sharp tic jerking his head to the side with a soft crack. His hands tightened on your waist, fingers digging into your sides, then sliding down to grip your bare thighs right under the hem of your denim shorts.
“Y-yeah,” he breathed. “I g-got it.”
He leaned in again, chasing your mouth desperately. You let him kiss you, deep and filthy, before pulling back once more. Your thumb traced his bottom lip as you looked him dead in the eyes.
“And no one is allowed to insult us like that again,” you said, voice low and serious. “No one calls me a whore. No one calls you a dog. Especially not them.”
Toby nodded again, almost frantically, eyes locked on yours with that intense, obsessive shine you were starting to crave.
“I k-know,” he rasped. “I won’t let them. Never a-again.”
He stayed like that for a second, before gently pushing you off his lap and slowly sliding down off the couch. He settled on his knees between your spread thighs, right in front of you, hands resting on your legs. The twin hatchets at his hips shifted with the movement, handles bumping against the couch.
Toby looked up at you through his messy bangs, almost shy for a moment, cheeks faintly flushed under the scars. His fingers moved to the button of your denim shorts, popping it open with careful hands. He dragged the zipper down slowly, eyes flicking back up to your face like he was waiting for permission.
Then, voice barely above a whisper and a little timid, he admitted:
“But just so y-you know– I d-don’t mind being your dog…”
The words hit you like a spark straight to your core.
Heat flooded between your thighs instantly. You felt yourself get wet - soaked, really - just from the shy, honest way he said it. Your breath hitched, thighs pressing together slightly around his shoulders as fresh arousal throbbed through you.
His dark eyes darkened further, a crooked little smile tugging at his scarred mouth as he watched your face. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts and panties, ready to pull them down, waiting for you to tell him what you wanted.
You couldn’t help the wicked little smile that spread across your face at his shy confession.
“Oh yeah?” you teased, voice low and sweet as you looked down at him kneeling between your thighs. “You wanna be my little puppy? My personal pet?”
Toby groaned loud and broken, the sound vibrating against your skin. His head jerked sharply to the side with a crack, and he nodded so frantically it looked like it hurt.
“F-fuck yes,” he rasped, fingers already yanking desperately at your denim shorts and panties. “Please–I wanna be yours. Your g-good boy. Your ffff-fucking pet–”
You lifted your hips just enough to help him, and he practically ripped the fabric down your legs in one rough tug, tossing your shorts and soaked panties somewhere behind him. The cool air hit your wet pussy and you shivered.
You threaded your fingers through his messy hair again, tugging lightly.
“Maybe I should get you a collar then,” you purred, watching his reaction. “A nice one. So everyone knows who you belong to.”
Toby actually shook. A full-body tremor rolled through him, shoulders hitching violently as another loud crack sounded from his neck. His dark eyes were blown wide, pupils swallowing almost all the color.
“Yes–please,” he begged, voice wrecked. He spread your thighs wider with both scarred hands, pushing them apart until you were completely open for him. “Put me on a l-leash. I’m yours–I’m f-fucking yours–”
He leaned in immediately and pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss right against your dripping pussy, like he couldn’t wait another second. His lips dragged slowly up your slick folds before he sucked gently on your clit, moaning loud and shameless into your cunt.
You moaned right back, back arching off the couch as you grabbed a tight fistful of his hair.
“Fuck–Toby,” you gasped, a breathless little giggle slipping out. “I will. I’ll collar you and leash you if you eat this pussy like a good boy.”
He whimpered against you, the sound muffled and desperate. One of his hands was already palming himself roughly through his jeans, grinding the heel of his palm against his obvious hard-on while his tongue licked a long, sloppy stripe from your entrance up to your clit.
Then he really went down on you.
Toby devoured you like a man starved. There was nothing shy or hesitant about it now. He buried his face between your thighs, nose pressing against your clit as his tongue shoved inside you, fucking in and out with wet, obscene sounds. He groaned and whimpered the whole time, the vibrations shooting straight through your core.
He licked broad and messy, dragging his tongue everywhere - lapping up every drop of your arousal. Then he focused on your clit, sucking it hard between his lips while his tongue flicked fast and relentless against the sensitive bud. Your hips jerked, but he held you down with those strong hands, fingers digging bruises into your thighs as he kept you spread open for him.
“F-fuuuck, you taste so good,” he slurred against your pussy, voice thick and muffled. “So fucking w-wet–all for me–”
He spit directly on your clit, watching it glisten for half a second before diving back in, sucking and licking with renewed hunger. His head twitched hard against your thigh and the tic made him grind his face harder into you, nose rubbing perfect circles on your swollen clit while his tongue pushed deep again.
You were soaking his chin, his mouth, dripping down onto the couch, but Toby didn’t care. He was lost in it - moaning, slurping, eating you out with filthy, eager sounds that filled the entire living room. Every few seconds his shoulders hitched or his neck jerked, but it only made him more frantic, like the tics fed into his desperation.
He pulled back just enough to look up at you, lips shiny and swollen, chin glistening with your slick.
“C-call me your good p-puppy again,” he begged hoarsely, voice cracking. “Please–”
You tightened your grip in his hair and yanked him back down.
“Good boy,” you moaned, thighs trembling around his head. “Such a good little puppy. Eating my pussy so fucking well–”
Toby whimpered loudly and doubled down, sucking your clit hard while two thick fingers suddenly pushed inside you, curling instantly against that perfect spot. He pumped them fast, fucking you with his fingers while his mouth worked your clit without mercy.
The wet squelching sounds were downright pornographic. Your hips bucked against his face, grinding shamelessly as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly. He was palming himself harder now, hips twitching like he was barely holding it together, but he refused to stop until you came.
You were so close already - thighs shaking, stomach tightening, moans spilling louder and louder.
“Toby–fuck–don’t stop, I’m gonna–”
He moaned desperately into your cunt and sucked harder, fingers curling and thrusting perfectly, and that was it.
Your orgasm crashed over you hard. You cried out, back arching violently as your pussy clenched around his fingers, gushing against his tongue. Toby kept licking and sucking you through it, drinking down every drop like he was addicted, whimpering and groaning the whole time while his own hips jerked against his hand.
He didn’t stop even when you started twitching from overstimulation - only slowing his tongue into long, lazy licks to clean you up, savoring every last bit of you.
When you finally sagged back against the couch, panting and trembling, Toby rested his scarred cheek against your inner thigh, looking up at you with glassy, adoring eyes and a shiny, fucked-out grin.
His voice was hoarse, wrecked, and completely sincere when he whispered:
“…Can I a-actually have a c-collar?”
You let out a soft, surprised laugh, still catching your breath as you looked down at him kneeling there like the most eager puppy in the world.
“You’re serious?” you teased, grinning. “Alright, puppy. I’ll get you a collar. A nice one. Maybe even with your name on it.”
Toby’s whole face lit up, dark eyes sparkling with pure, unfiltered delight. He nodded fast, another sharp tic jerking his head to the side with a loud crack.
“Yes–fuck yes, puh-please,” he breathed.
You stroked his hair once more, then gently pushed at his shoulders.
“Sit on the couch, baby.”
He obeyed instantly. First he unclipped the twin hatchets from his belt and set them carefully on the floor with a heavy thunk, then dropped onto the couch, legs spread wide. His hands flexed restlessly on his thighs as he watched you stand up.
You moved between his knees and helped him shove his jeans and boxers down his hips. His thick cock sprang free, already rock-hard and flushed dark, curving slightly upward with a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip. You wrapped your hand around him, giving a few slow, firm strokes while you leaned in and kissed him deeply.
Toby moaned into your mouth, hips twitching up into your fist. You spit directly onto his cock, letting the warm saliva drip down his length before you stroked it in, spreading it nice and slick. Your thumb swirled over the sensitive head on every upstroke, squeezing just how you knew he liked. All the while your tongues slid together, wet and hungry.
“Such a good boy,” you whispered against his lips, jerking him a little faster. “So hard for me already.”
He whimpered, scarred hands grabbing at your waist, pulling you closer.
You finally climbed onto his lap, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips. You reached down, lined his cock up with your soaked entrance, and slowly sank down.
The stretch was overwhelming.
A broken moan tore from your throat as his thick length pushed inside you inch by inch, splitting you open so perfectly it made your eyes flutter. He was so deep like this - filling you completely, pressing right against that spot that made your eyes roll back. Your pussy fluttered and clenched around him, dripping down his shaft as you bottomed out with a shaky gasp.
“F-fuuuck–” Toby groaned, head falling back against the couch cushions. His neck cracked sharply to the side, but he didn’t seem to notice. His hands immediately grabbed two big handfuls of your ass, squeezing hard as he pulled you down even tighter against him. “So tight–so fucking wet, o-oh my God–”
You braced your hands on his chest and started riding him.
Slow at first, rolling your hips in deep, grinding circles so you could feel every thick inch of him dragging inside you. Your tits bounced under your polo with every movement. Toby’s eyes were glued to where your bodies joined, watching his cock disappear into your dripping pussy over and over with pure awe on his face.
Then you picked up the pace.
You bounced on his cock harder, faster, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the living room. Every time you dropped down, his hips bucked up to meet you, driving himself even deeper.
“Fuck, Toby–you feel so good,” you moaned, nails digging into his scarred shoulders. “Such a big fucking dick. Stretching me so full–”
Toby let out a wrecked, stuttering moan, head lolling back against the cushions again. His mouth hung open, eyes half-lidded and glassy as he panted.
“Y-yours–it’s a-all yours,” he rasped, voice cracking. His hands gripped your ass tighter, fingers bruising as he started actively pulling you down onto him with every bounce. “Ride me–fuck, r-ride your puppy–please–”
You leaned forward, bracing one hand on the back of the couch so you could fuck him even harder. Your moans mixed with his, loud and desperate, absolutely filthy. Every slap of your ass against his thighs sent jolts of pleasure through you. His cock hit that perfect spot on every downstroke, making your eyes roll back.
“That’s it, puppy,” you panted, grinding down hard on his cock. “Take this pussy. You’re doing so good for me–such a good boy–”
Toby’s head snapped to the side with another violent tic, but his grip on your ass never loosened. He was thrusting up frantically now, meeting every bounce, chasing his pleasure with shameless desperation. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His moans were getting louder, more broken, the stammer falling apart completely.
“I– I’m gonna–fuck, I’m s-so close a-already–” he whined, sounding almost embarrassed at how fast he was losing it.
You rode him faster, clenching around his throbbing cock on every stroke.
“Cum for me, puppy,” you moaned right against his ear, biting his scarred neck. “Fill me up. Be a good boy and cum deep inside me–”
That did it.
Toby’s whole body seized. His head slammed back against the couch, neck cracking loudly as his hips stuttered up hard. A loud, shattered moan ripped out of him as he came - thick, hot ropes of cum flooding deep inside your pussy. Pulse after pulse, so much it immediately started leaking out around his cock, dripping down his balls and onto the couch. His hands kept your ass pinned down tight against him, holding you there while he emptied himself completely, twitching and groaning through every spurt.
“F-fuuuck–thank you–thank you–” he whimpered, voice hoarse and wrecked, still cumming.
You kept rolling your hips slowly, milking him through it until he was trembling and oversensitive beneath you, breathing hard against your neck.
You stayed like that for a long moment, still straddling his lap, his softening cock buried deep inside you as the aftershocks slowly faded. Your forehead rested against his, both of you breathing hard, skin slick with sweat.
Eventually you lifted yourself off him with a soft, wet sound. A thick gush of his cum followed, running down your inner thighs as you shifted to sit beside him on the couch. You leaned heavily against his side, cheek pressed to his shoulder.
Toby immediately threw his arm around you, pulling you closer. His chest was still heaving, breath ragged as he tried to come down. For a while you just sat there in comfortable silence, your hand gently petting his bare thigh, fingers tracing old scars and fresh bruises.
Then reality started creeping back in.
You tilted your head to look up at him. “What are you gonna do about Tim and Brian?”
Toby’s shoulders hitched hard. He stared at the ceiling for a second, neck cracking sharply to the side.
“I’m gonna t-talk to them,” he muttered. “As soon as I get h-home from this job tuh-tonight. They had n-no right to go a-a-a-after you like that. I’m done letting them p-pull that shit.”
You nodded slowly, still stroking his thigh. “You all live together?”
“Yeah,” he said, a little too quickly. His fingers twitched against your shoulder. He clearly didn’t want to talk about it. “We do.”
You let it drop for now.
The silence stretched again. Your eyes drifted down to the twin hatchets lying on the floor. The reality of what he was about to go do - of what those weapons were for - hit you like a truck. Your stomach twisted with guilt and unease.
“…Who’s the job tonight?” you asked quietly, voice small. “Is it… someone innocent? I feel really fucked up about this, Toby. Knowing you’re gonna take a life.”
Toby squeezed your shoulder gently, thumb rubbing slow circles over your polo. He turned his head to look at you, dark eyes serious despite the post-sex haze.
“It’s not innocent,” he said. “My b-boss marks the targets. People who n-need to be e-eliminated. This guy… he deserves it. Trust me.”
It still felt so strange hearing him talk about it so casually - like murder was just another shift at the gas station. You swallowed hard and nodded, even though part of you still felt morally sick.
Curiosity got the better of you.
You leaned forward and reached down, carefully picking up one of the hatchets from the floor. It was surprisingly heavy in your hand, the wooden handle smooth from years of use, the blade dark and wickedly sharp. You slid it free from its holder, turning it slowly, feeling the weight and balance. The edge gleamed even in the low lamplight.
Toby watched you the entire time, one hand gently petting your hair, brushing it back from your face.
You ran your thumb carefully along the flat of the blade, careful not to cut yourself.
“…How does it feel?” you asked softly. “When you use it.”
Toby was quiet for a moment, head twitching once, twice. His scarred fingers kept stroking through your hair.
“It feels…” He exhaled slowly. “Like the m-most natural t-thing in the world.”
A shiver ran down your spine - cold and electric at the same time. The words should have terrified you. Instead, something darker, something thrilling twisted low in your belly. You stared at the hatchet in your hands, heart beating faster.
Toby’s arm tightened around you, pulling you closer again. His voice dropped, rough and honest.
“You don’t have t-to like it,” he murmured against your hair. “But it’s w-who I am.”
You set the hatchet back down carefully, the heavy thunk sounding final on the floorboards. Your hand returned to his thigh, but your mind was spinning - fear, arousal, affection, and that strange new thrill all tangled together.
You hummed softly, still leaning against him. “It’s… really hard to grasp all of this.”
Toby nodded, his head twitching sharply to the side with a quiet crack. “I know,” he murmured. “It’s a lot.”
You sat there for another moment, then sighed and slowly pushed yourself up off the couch. “I need to put on new panties. I’ll be right back.”
You hurried down the short hallway to your bedroom, thighs still slick with his cum. In the bathroom you quickly wiped yourself clean, tossed the messy tissue, and slipped on a fresh pair of panties. When you came back into the living room, Toby had already pulled his jeans and boxers back up. He was sitting on the couch again, absently toying with one of your throw pillows, flipping it over in his hands like he didn’t know what else to do with them.
His dark eyes immediately dropped to your bare legs as you walked in. He stared openly, hungrily, tracking every step until you bent down to grab your denim shorts from the floor. You shot him a little smile over your shoulder as you tugged them back on.
He smiled back - that crooked, scarred, boyish grin that made your chest feel warm.
You buttoned your shorts and laughed under your breath. “Okay, I have something to tell you.”
Toby tilted his head, still smiling. “What?”
You chewed your lip for a second, suddenly a little shy. “When Tim and Brian came into the store… I kind of freaked out and told them you were my boyfriend. I said we were together and happy and everything. It just kind of slipped out.”
Toby went completely still.
For a long second he just stared at you, dark eyes wide, mouth slightly parted like he couldn’t process what you’d said. His shoulders hitched hard once, twice. Then his whole face lit up with pure, stunned disbelief and joy.
“…You did?” he asked, voice cracking.
You nodded, grinning.
He stood up so fast it was almost comical, crossing the two steps between you in one restless stride. His hands grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against him.
“Like… this m-means we’re boyfriend and g-girlfriend?” he asked, almost breathless, head twitching sharply to the side.
You giggled and gave his chest a light push, cheeks burning. “No. I mean, I don’t know… maybe? I was just pissed off at them and it came out.”
Toby didn’t care about the technicalities.
He grinned huge and wrapped his arms around you tightly, burying his face in your hair as he hugged you. His body was still twitching with restless energy, but he held you so close you could feel his heart hammering against your chest.
You laughed into his hoodie, wrapping your arms around his waist and squeezing him back just as hard. “I seriously need to get your number though. You’re out here calling yourself my boyfriend and I don’t even have you in my phone.”
Toby pulled back just enough to look at you, still smiling like an idiot. “Yeah. Fuck yeah.”
You both fished your phones out. He handed you his - an older cracked model with a completely shattered screen - and you saved your contact under:
“your owner 🖤”
When you handed it back, Toby’s face went bright red. He stared at the screen for a second, then let out a short, choppy laugh and immediately started typing in your phone. He saved himself under:
“boyfriend 🪓”
You burst out laughing when you saw it. “Cheesy.”
“Shut up,” he muttered, but he was grinning as he pulled you in again.
You kissed him - slow and sweet at first, then deeper, tongues brushing lazily. His hands stayed on your waist, thumbs stroking your sides while his shoulders hitched every few seconds. When you finally pulled back, you were both a little breathless again.
Toby rested his forehead against yours, still smiling like he couldn’t believe any of this was real.
He reluctantly pulled away from you, bending down to grab the twin hatchets from the floor. He clipped them back onto his belt with practiced, efficient movements, the heavy weapons settling against his hips like they belonged there. The sight still sent a strange little jolt through you - part fear, part that dark thrill you were starting to get used to.
Your phone pinged loudly in your hand.
You glanced at the screen. It was Andy, as usual:
yo u late asf
got a surprise for u when u get here lol
hurry up
“Shit,” you muttered, shoving the phone into your back pocket. “I’m late for work.”
Toby straightened up, adjusting the hatchets one last time. A crooked little grin tugged at his scarred mouth.
“Same,” he said, voice low and amused, like the idea of his own “job” was just another casual errand.
You almost shuddered at the reminder - the casual way he was about to go out and kill someone - but you swallowed it down and forced a small smile instead. He didn’t need to see you freaking out right before he left.
He stepped close again, one hand cupping the side of your neck as he leaned in. The kiss was slow and deep, a little desperate at the edges, like he was trying to take as much of you with him as possible. You kissed him back just as hard, fingers gripping the front of his hoodie.
When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing a little heavier.
You walked him to the front door together, the warm night air brushing over your skin as you stepped outside. Toby lingered on the porch for a second, hands twitching at his sides, head giving a quick, sharp tic to the left with a soft crack.
“Be s-safe at work,” he muttered, eyes flicking over your face.
“You too,” you replied softly, even though the words felt heavy and wrong in your mouth.
He gave you one last crooked smile, then turned and disappeared into the treeline with that familiar uneven walk, shoulders hitching every few steps until the shadows swallowed him.
You stood on the porch for a moment longer, heart doing something complicated in your chest, before you locked the door and headed off toward the gas station.
You pushed open the door to the Stop & Gas, the little bell jingling above you. Andy was already slouched in the chair behind the counter, buzzcut freshly faded, tattoos shifting on his arms as he scrolled through his phone with one hand and casually hit his vape with the other. The “NO SMOKING” sign hanging right above his head looked almost comical.
You smirked, raising your eyebrows at him as you walked in. “Really, dude? With the security cameras rolling?”
Andy glanced up, that lazy, shit-eating grin spreading across his face. He took another slow drag and blew the sweet-smelling vapor toward the ceiling. “You’re never gonna believe what happened.”
You dropped your bag behind the counter and leaned against it, arms crossed. “Hit me.”
He sat up a little straighter, clearly excited to tell the story. “Management called me right before the shift. Said the cameras are completely dead again. Just pure static on every feed. They tried resetting them a bunch of times but nothing worked, so they finally came and took them all down. Apparently it’s happened before at a couple other stores around here too. Something about the woods being so close, interference or whatever.”
You raised your brows. “That’s… odd.”
Andy shrugged, taking another hit from his vape. “Probably some cheap-ass system. Good for me though. Side hustle just got a whole lot easier without Big Brother watching.” He winked.
You hummed, forcing a little chuckle. “Yeah, convenient.”
You shook it off and changed the subject. “So what’s this surprise you texted me about?”
Andy’s grin widened. He clapped his hands together once and reached under the counter, pulling out a greasy paper bag and two big Styrofoam cups. “I hoped you were hungry. Burgers and shakes, just like I promised.”
You actually squealed, eyes lighting up. “No way!”
You gave him a quick side hug, squeezing his shoulder as you snatched the bag. The smell of greasy fast food hit you and your stomach growled instantly. You ripped it open, unwrapping one of the burgers and taking a huge bite.
“Oh my God,” you moaned around the food, slapping the counter with your free hand. “This is so good.”
Andy laughed, already digging into his own burger. “Being an accessory to my business finally paying off, huh?”
“Best perk yet,” you mumbled through a mouthful of fries, wiggling your eyebrows.
The two of you leaned against the counter, eating like animals while the store stayed quiet around you. Andy launched into his usual small talk between bites.
“Got a date tomorrow night,” he said proudly, wiping sauce off his chin. “Some girl I met when I was DJing last weekend. She’s so bad, bro. Tatted, thick, just how I like ‘em.”
You snorted, dipping a fry into your shake. “Nice. Just don’t do that thing where you get too high and start telling conspiracy theories about the government putting trackers in vaccines again. Last date ended with her blocking you before dessert, remember?”
Andy groaned dramatically. “That was one time! I’m on my best behavior this go-around, swear.”
You grinned, licking ketchup off your thumb. “Mhm. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
He took another massive bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully for a second before perking up. “Oh, speaking of DJing, I got another gig next weekend. It’s a bigger spot than usual, you should come through.”
Your eyebrows lifted. “For real? Yeah, I’m down.”
“Bet,” Andy said, looking genuinely pleased. “You can bring whoever. Or just come solo and I’ll buy you a drink after my set.”
You laughed softly. “Alright, text me the info and I’ll try to make it.”
“Sweet.” He bumped your shoulder with his own, grinning.
You kept shit-talking and teasing him while you both ate sloppily, grease and salt all over your fingers. At one point you leaned back against the counter, licking salt off your thumb, and smirked.
“God, this hits different after some good dick.”
Andy choked on his shake, eyes going wide. He let out a loud laugh, coughing a little. “No way–wait, for real?”
You just gave him a look, mouth still full of burger, eyebrows raised.
He gasped, pointing at you with a fry. “It’s the Tourette’s dude, isn’t it? Bandana guy? Fuck was his name again… Toby?”
You tried and failed to hide your grin, chewing slowly.
Andy threw his head back and laughed harder. “Holy shit, that explains why you were so fucking late tonight. You nasty little freak.”
You shoved his shoulder, laughing with him. “Shut up and eat your burger.”
But you couldn’t stop smiling. Even with everything else going on, sitting here with Andy, stuffing your face and talking shit, felt almost normal.
Almost.
Toby’s boots crunched heavily over the damp leaves and pine needles as he made his way back through the woods, twin hatchets dripping at his hips. The job had been clean. Too clean. The journalist barely had time to look up before the first hatchet buried itself in his skull. Middle-aged, nosy piece of shit who’d been digging into old disappearances and proxy activity. Easy target. Toby hadn’t even broken a sweat.
But now?
Now he was practically shaking.
His shoulders hitched violently with every other step, neck cracking sharply to the side again and again - crack, crack, crack - as rage boiled hotter in his chest. The walk back to the old house felt longer than usual, every rustle in the trees feeding the storm building inside him.
They’d gone to your fucking job.
Tim and Brian had walked into the Stop & Gas, leaned over the counter, and terrorized you. And they hadn’t said a single fucking word to him about it.
Not one.
He should’ve known. They’d gone behind his back. Again.
“F-fucking assholes,” Toby growled under his breath. His fingers flexed hard around the handles of the hatchets, knuckles white. Another full-body tic slammed through him so hard he nearly stumbled, head jerking violently to the left.
The more he pictured it - you standing behind that counter, alone, while those jerks crowded you and tried to scare you off - the worse it got. You’d hugged him tonight. Kissed him. Called him your boyfriend in front of them. Let him fuck you on your couch and promised him a collar.
And they tried to take that from him.
By the time the rundown house came into view through the trees, Toby was vibrating with fury. His breath came fast and uneven, scarred face twisted into something ugly. The porch light was on. The truck was parked out front.
They were home.
Good.
The front door slammed open with enough force to rattle the old windows in their frames.
Toby stormed inside, boots tracking dirt and a few specks of blood across the floor. The house was dead quiet - it was well past midnight, the kind of heavy silence that usually meant everyone had crashed after a long day. But Toby didn’t give a single fuck.
He marched straight into the living room, shoulders hitching violently, neck cracking hard to the left every few steps. The only light came from the low glow of the TV, which had long since gone to a screensaver. On the couch, Ben was curled up in a tight ball, messy blonde hair sticking up in every direction, one arm dangling off the edge with his laptop still open on the cushion beside him. He’d clearly fallen asleep mid-work, earbuds still half in his ears.
Toby didn’t even glance at him.
He walked right up to the staircase railing and started slamming his fist against the old wooden banister as hard as he could - BANG BANG BANG BANG - the sound echoing through the entire house like gunshots.
“TIM!” he roared, voice raw and furious. “BRIAN! Get the fuck down here! NOW!”
CRACK. His neck jerked violently to the side.
BANG BANG BANG.
“TIM! BRIAN!”
Ben jolted awake with a terrified gasp, nearly falling off the couch. His eyes flew open wide, one hand dramatically clutching his chest like he was having a heart attack.
“Dude–what the fuck?!” Ben wheezed, voice hoarse with sleep, scrambling to sit up. He yanked one earbud out, blinking rapidly as he tried to make sense of the chaos. “Toby, holy shit–are you trying to give me a fucking heart attack?!”
Toby ignored him completely. He kept slamming his fist against the railing, the old wood groaning under the assault.
“TIM! Get your a-ass down here ruh-right fucking now!” His voice cracked with the volume, another violent tic making his whole upper body jerk. “B-BRIAN! BOTH OF YOU!”
Ben rubbed his eyes, looking equal parts annoyed and concerned. “Jesus Christ, man… what the hell is going on? Did someone die or–”
“TIM!” Toby bellowed again, louder this time, fist still hammering the banister. BANG BANG BANG. “BRIAN! I know you’re ffffff-fucking home!”
Heavy footsteps started thundering from upstairs. Doors creaked open. The house was no longer quiet.
Toby’s chest heaved, eyes burning with barely-contained rage.
Tim was the first one down the stairs.
He came stomping down in nothing but an old t-shirt and boxers, hair messy, eyes bleary and bloodshot. The sharp smell of whisky rolled off him in waves. He took one look at Toby standing there vibrating with rage, hatchets still at his hips, blood on his clothes, and lost it.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Tim bellowed, voice hoarse from sleep and alcohol. “It’s the middle of the goddamn night–”
He didn’t even finish the sentence. As soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs he shoved Toby hard in the chest with both hands.
Toby stumbled back a couple steps, then exploded.
He shoved Tim back just as violently, nearly knocking the bigger man off his feet. “You went to her fuh-fucking J-JOB!” Toby screamed, voice cracking and manic, spit flying. His head jerked sharply to the side - CRACK-CRACK - shoulders hitching so hard it looked painful. “You t-threatened her! Ttried to scare her off like I’m s-some fucking p-pet you c-can control!”
His tics were completely out of control now. Every other word was punctuated by a violent twitch or jerk, neck snapping, shoulders rolling, eyes wild.
Tim’s face twisted with anger. “She’s a goddamn liability–”
That was all it took.
Toby swung first.
His fist connected hard with Tim’s jaw, the crack echoing through the living room. Tim roared and tackled him, and just like that they were fighting - brutal, ugly, no-holds-barred. Fists flying, elbows, knees. Toby was smaller but faster and absolutely manic, landing punches with reckless speed.
Ben was wide awake now, curled up tight against the back of the couch, eyes huge.
“Dude– what the FUCK?!” Ben shouted, voice cracking with disbelief. “Are you two serious right now?! Stop!”
They didn’t stop.
Toby managed to duck under one of Tim’s haymakers, drove his shoulder into the bigger man’s gut, and took him down hard onto the floor. They crashed into the coffee table, sending empty beer bottles flying. Toby got on top, straddling Tim’s chest and raining down punches, screaming the whole time.
Brian appeared at the bottom, shirt and boxers, holding a pistol in a tight grip. His eyes widened at the scene.
“Stop it! Both of you–NOW!” he yelled, voice cold and sharp.
They ignored him.
Brian moved forward, trying to grab Toby by the back of his hoodie to yank him off. In one lightning-fast, practiced motion, Toby twisted, snatched the gun right out of Brian’s hand, and–
Tim grabbed Toby’s leg and yanked hard.
Toby lost his balance. The gun flew from his grip, skidding across the wooden floor with a loud scrape before sliding to a stop right beside the couch.
Ben’s eyes went comically wide. Without thinking, he lunged forward and snatched the pistol off the floor, holding it awkwardly with both hands like it might bite him.
“Jesus Christ–okay, everyone just chill the fuck out!” Ben shouted, voice pitching higher than usual as he pointed the gun vaguely in their direction. “I swear to God I will shoot someone if you don’t stop!”
Brian stood frozen a few feet away, empty hands raised slightly, staring at the absolute disaster his housemates had become.
Tim roared and flipped them, using his size and weight to slam Toby onto his back. He managed to get on top, straddling him, and started swinging with everything he had - heavy, brutal punches that cracked against Toby’s jaw, cheek, ribs. Each hit landed with a sickening thud.
“You stupid–little–fuck!” Tim snarled between punches, whisky breath hot and furious. “Always making shit worse!”
Toby thrashed underneath him, tics going completely haywire. His head snapped violently side to side - CRACK-CRACK-CRACK - shoulders jerking so hard it looked like he was seizing. Blood was already pouring from his split lip and a cut above his eye.
“Get the f-fuck off me!” Toby screamed. “She’s mine–you don’t fucking t-touch her–I’ll k-kill you–I’ll fucking kill you!”
Brian moved carefully toward the couch, one hand out. “Ben. Give me the gun. Now.”
Ben was curled against the back cushions, eyes huge, hands shaking as he clutched the pistol like it was a live grenade. “N-no! Fuck no, you’re all insane!”
“Give me the fucking gun, Ben!” Brian snapped, agitation bleeding into his voice.
“I’ll shoot! I swear I’ll shoot someone!” Ben’s voice cracked as he waved the gun nervously. Then, in pure panic, he started screaming at the top of his lungs. “JEFF! JEFF! Get down here! JEFF!!”
The fight on the floor only got uglier. Tim and Toby were screaming at each other between punches - raw insults, old grudges, and years of buried resentment exploding all at once.
“You think you can just have a normal life with that gas station slut?!” Tim roared, slamming his fist hard into Toby’s ribs.
“She’s not a s-slut–fuck you!” Toby howled, thrashing beneath him. “She’s better than all of us! And I’m not l-like you, Tim! I don’t destroy e-everything I fffff-fucking touch!”
The words hit Tim like a slap to the face, cracking something ugly and deeply buried inside him.
His face twisted with pure rage, eyes bloodshot and wild. “The fuck did you just say?!” he bellowed, voice cracking with fury. He swung harder, fists raining down heavier than before - brutal, uncontrolled punches that cracked against Toby’s jaw and cheek with sickening force. “I’ll fucking kill you, you ungrateful little shit!”
Toby snarled and bucked wildly, trying to throw him off as blood flew from his split lip.
Brian yelled again, louder this time, “Ben, just hand it over before someone actually dies!”
More heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs.
But before Jeff could even reach the bottom, Toby twisted with a feral, twitchy burst of strength. He got one arm free, yanked one of the hatchets from its holder at his hip in a lightning-fast motion, and–
THUNK.
The blade buried deep into the side of Tim’s thigh.
Tim’s scream ripped through the house, raw and agonized. Blood immediately started squirting from the wound in thick, rhythmic pulses, soaking Toby’s hoodie and the floorboards beneath them.
“FUCK–YOU LITTLE PSYCHO!” Tim howled, clutching his leg.
Ben screamed at the top of his lungs, high-pitched and terrified, scrambling further back on the couch.
Jeff finally appeared at the bottom of the stairs, messy black hair loose, eyes wide with surprise. A slow, amused grin spread across his scarred face as he took in the absolute bloodbath unfolding in the living room.
“Well damn,” Jeff drawled, sounding way too entertained. “The fuck’s going on here?”
In the chaos, Brian lunged forward and ripped the gun out of Ben’s shaking hands. He spun, aimed at Toby’s shoulder, and pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space.
Toby jerked hard as the bullet slammed into his left shoulder, a spray of blood exploding outward. The impact knocked him off Tim and sent him sprawling sideways onto the floor with a choked grunt. His hatchet clattered beside him, still slick with Tim’s blood.
The living room fell into a stunned, ringing silence for half a second - broken only by Tim’s pained groaning and the wet sound of blood pooling on the floor.
Toby lay on his back, chest heaving, blood pouring steadily from the bullet wound in his shoulder and the gashes on his face. There was no pain - there never was - but his dark eyes still burned with raw fury as violent tics tore through him. His shoulders hitched sharply, neck cracking hard.
Brian just stood there, gun still raised, breathing hard.
Tim clutched his mangled thigh, cursing weakly through gritted teeth as blood kept pumping out between his fingers.
Jeff sauntered over to the couch like he was watching a mildly entertaining bar fight instead of a bloodbath in his own living room. He dropped down heavily beside Ben, slinging one arm around the smaller guy’s shoulders and giving the side of his head a couple of playful taps.
“Aww, you yelled for me like a little bitch,” Jeff teased, voice raspy with amusement. “That was cute, Ben. Real damsel-in-distress.”
Ben was trembling hard, eyes glued to the growing pool of blood spreading out from Tim’s thigh. He barely registered Jeff’s teasing, just shook harder and muttered, “There’s so much fucking blood, bro…”
Tim was still on the floor, face pale and shiny with sweat, hands clamped uselessly around the deep gash in his leg. Blood kept squirting between his fingers in weaker pulses now. “Brian!” he yelled, voice cracking. “Get the fuck over here and help me–I’m gonna bleed out, you asshole!”
Then he turned his glare on Toby, teeth bared. “And you–you fucking psycho! I should’ve put you down years ago!”
Toby just lay on his back a few feet away, chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven breaths. Blood soaked his hoodie from the fresh bullet wound in his left shoulder and dripped from his busted face. His dark eyes stared at the ceiling, jaw tight. He didn’t say a word. His shoulders hitched violently every few seconds, neck cracking sharply, but otherwise he ignored everyone.
Brian stalked over to Toby, towering above him, face twisted with fury. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he shouted, voice loud and disrespectful, like a pissed-off older brother scolding a bratty kid. “You stab Tim in the fucking leg?! Over some random pussy?! You’ve lost your goddamn mind, Toby! I told you this bitch was trouble–”
Toby didn’t even look at him. Just kept breathing, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth, eyes distant and burning.
“Brian!” Tim shouted again, weaker this time, skin turning a sickly grey. “I’m serious–I’m gonna pass out, man–”
Brian dragged a hand down his face and let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Fuck. I’ll get Jack.” He yanked open the basement door and bellowed down the stairs, “Jack! Get up here! We need medical, now! Tim’s bleeding everywhere!”
Heavy footsteps started climbing from the basement.
Jeff leaned back against the couch, casually toying with his lighter, flicking it open and closed with a soft metallic click. He pulled a cigarette from behind his ear, lit it, and took a long drag, watching the mess on the floor with mild amusement.
His gaze drifted down to Tim’s leg, where blood was still pumping hot and dark between his fingers, soaking through his boxers and spreading fast across the old wood.
Jeff squinted at it like he was mildly impressed.
“Huh,” he said, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth. “Looks like Twitch might’ve nicked an artery.”
Tim gave a harsh, pissed-off grunt, face pale and twisted with pain, like Jeff had just pointed out the sky was blue. “No fucking shit,” he snarled through gritted teeth, clamping both hands harder over the wound.
Jeff snorted.
Then he leaned slightly toward Ben, his voice dropping lower. “So,” he asked, eyes still glinting with amusement, “what the hell were they fighting about this time?”
Ben swallowed hard, still shaking, eyes flicking nervously between the gun in Brian’s hand and the chaos on the floor. “I-I don’t really know… Something about Toby having a girl. Tim did something behind his back. Called her names or whatever. Just your typical proxy bullshit, I guess.”
Jeff hummed, the corner of his scarred mouth twitching into a smirk as he took another drag. His eyes stayed locked on Tim’s paling face.
“Figures,” he muttered, flicking ash onto the floor. “Toby finally gets some pussy and the whole house tries to burn down.”
Tim let out another weak, pissed-off groan. Brian stood between them like a tired referee who’d already given up.
The basement door creaked wider as Jack emerged, carrying a large black emergency kit, moving with that same calm, clinical detachment he always had. His void-black eyes swept across the destroyed living room - blood everywhere, overturned furniture, Toby on the floor, Tim bleeding out, Brian standing there fuming, Ben curled up on the couch, and Jeff casually smoking.
Jack took it all in with mild, awkward politeness, as if he’d just walked into a slightly messy dinner party.
He crouched down beside Toby first, gloved hands already reaching for the bullet wound in his shoulder.
Tim immediately lost what little patience he had left. “Jack! What the fuck are you doing?! I’m the one bleeding out over here, you stupid fuck!”
Brian snapped right after him, voice sharp. “Toby’s not the emergency, Jack. Get over here!”
Jack paused, blinking slowly. He gave Toby’s arm a gentle, almost apologetic tap with two fingers.
“My apologies,” he said in that smooth, formal tone, clearly not very sorry at all. “I will return shortly.”
He moved over to Tim, opening the kit with practiced efficiency. He pressed a thick wad of gauze hard against the hatchet wound, trying to stem the arterial bleeding. Tim hissed and groaned through gritted teeth, face ghostly pale and slick with sweat. Jack packed more padding into the gash, working quickly and methodically.
“He is losing too much blood," Jack stated calmly, glancing up at Brian. “We need to get him downstairs to the infirmary. Now.”
Brian nodded, jaw tight. Together they hauled Tim up - one arm over each of their shoulders. Tim’s head lolled, legs dragging uselessly as they half-carried, half-dragged him toward the basement door, leaving a thick trail of blood across the floorboards. The sound of his weak cursing faded down the stairs.
Jeff stretched lazily on the couch, arms raised high above his head, then gave Ben a light shove with his shoulder.
“Welp. I need to run an errand,” he said casually, the smirk never leaving his face. “You need anything while I’m out?”
Ben let out a shaky, hysterical little laugh, still trembling. “Yeah. Everything. I need a new fucking life after this shit.”
Jeff barked out a raspy laugh and clapped Ben on the back as he stood up. “See ya later, drama queen.”
He paused near the door, glancing back at Toby still lying on the floor, bleeding from his shoulder and face, staring blankly up at the ceiling. “Hey, Tobes. Good job, man. Real nice swing on that hatchet.”
Toby didn’t respond. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. Another violent tic jerked his neck to the side with a loud crack, but his eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, dark and unfocused, blood slowly pooling beneath him.
Jeff just chuckled to himself and headed out, the front door slamming behind him.
The house fell into a strange, heavy quiet. Ben hugged his knees on the couch, still shaken. Toby remained on the floor, bleeding quietly, the rage from earlier slowly draining out of him and leaving only exhaustion in its wake.
You knelt on the scuffed tile floor, stacking cans of energy drinks into the cooler with slow, methodical movements. Your denim shorts had ridden up high on your thighs from the position, and your hair kept falling into your face no matter how many times you shoved it back. The leftover taste of burger and strawberry shake still lingered on your tongue, and for a little while, things had felt almost normal.
Andy was slouched behind the counter, legs kicked up on the register, casually vaping thick clouds of sweet-smelling vapor while he scrolled through his phone. Every now and then he’d chuckle at whatever video he was watching, the sound lazy and warm in the quiet store.
The meal had been great. The shift had been surprisingly chill so far. You felt full, a little greasy, and more satisfied than you had any right to be.
But you couldn’t stop worrying about Toby.
Your mind kept drifting back to him - the way he’d looked when he left your house, hatchets back on his hips, that restless fire in his eyes. Had he confronted Tim and Brian yet? Was he okay? Did it turn into a screaming match? A fight? Something worse?
You glanced at your phone for the hundredth time, screen lighting up your face. No new messages.
You sighed heavily, shoulders slumping as you shoved another four-pack of Monster into place with more force than necessary. The worry gnawed at the pit of your stomach. What if they’d hurt him? What if he’d hurt them? What if he was bleeding somewhere right now and you had no way to reach him?
“Everything good over there?” Andy called out, not even looking up from his phone. “You’ve been sighing like a Victorian widow for the last twenty minutes.”
You forced a small laugh, sitting back on your heels and wiping your hands on your shorts. “Yeah… just thinking.”
Andy finally glanced over, one eyebrow raised. “About Bandana Boy?”
You didn’t answer right away. Instead you grabbed another case of drinks and started stacking again, the cans clinking together loudly in the quiet store. Your shorts rode even higher as you stretched, but you didn’t bother fixing them.
“I don’t know,” you muttered eventually. “I’m just… nervous.”
Andy took a long drag from his vape, then exhaled slowly. “Well, if he fucks up and ghosts you, at least you got some bomb dick out of it first, right?”
You snorted despite yourself, shaking your head. “Whatever, dude.”
But the worry didn’t leave. Not even a little.
The bell above the door jingled.
You were still on your knees, ass up, reaching deep into the bottom shelf to stack the last row of energy drinks when you felt the shift in the air. The store suddenly felt smaller.
You glanced over your shoulder and froze.
Holy shit.
The guy who just walked in was tall - stupidly tall, easily 6’4”, with a lean, wiry build that somehow looked both graceful and dangerous, like a coiled blade. Long, messy black hair cascaded past his shoulders, shiny and slightly tangled, half of it tucked lazily behind one ear.
His face… God. Even with the scars, he was undeniably handsome. Sharp jawline, high cheekbones, dark hooded eyes that seemed to drink in everything at once. The two thin, pale scars running from the corners of his mouth up toward his cheeks were clearly self-inflicted - precise lines he must have carved into himself a long time ago. Though fully healed, they were still visibly intentional. Pale skin, full lips, and that lazy, arrogant confidence radiating off him like heat.
He looked like trouble wrapped in pretty violence.
His eyes locked onto you immediately. You were still on all fours in those tiny denim shorts, thighs flexed, polo riding up your back. He didn’t even pretend to be polite - his gaze dragged slowly down your body, lingering on your ass, your legs, the curve of your waist, before sliding back up to your face. The corner of his scarred mouth twitched upward into a little crooked, predatory smirk.
Then he looked past you.
“Yo, Andy,” he greeted, voice low and raspy in that rough smoker’s drawl.
Andy looked up from his phone, vape still between his fingers. “Jeff, my guy. What’s good?”
You pushed yourself up from the floor, rising fully to your feet as you brushed the dust off your knees, heart beating a little faster than it should. So this was another one of Andy’s shady clients. Great.
Jeff leaned one elbow on the counter, long fingers drumming slowly.
“Need more than usual tonight, bro. Like… a lot more. That fire shit you hooked me up with last time? Gimme two of those and a couple eight-balls on top. I’m tryna stay faded for a minute.”
Andy nodded like it was the most normal request in the world. He took one last quick hit from his vape, blowing the sweet-smelling cloud toward the ceiling.
“Bet. Lemme run to the back real quick and grab it. Don’t touch the register, okay?” He shot you a quick wink as he stood up. “Back in a sec.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
Now it was just you and Jeff.
The silence stretched, thick and electric. He stayed leaning against the counter, staring at you openly. His eyes traced every inch of you like he was already imagining what you’d look like bent over the counter.
You popped your gum loudly and narrowed your eyes at him.
“Staring is rude, Joker.”
The nickname slipped out before you could stop it.
Jeff let out a low, raspy chuckle that sent an unwilling shiver down your spine. He straightened up to his full intimidating height, rolling his shoulders back so the black hoodie pulled tight across his lean, toned chest. His smile widened, pulling the scars even tighter.
“Joker, huh?” he drawled, voice dripping with amusement. “Cute. Alright then… Harley. Looks like you’re already playing dress-up in those little shorts like you want someone to ruin that pretty outfit.”
You felt heat crawl up your neck, but you refused to look away. Instead you crossed your arms under your chest.
“Harley’s got a man, actually,” you said coolly. “So you can keep your eyes to yourself.”
Jeff’s grin only grew. He stepped around the end of the counter until he was close enough that you could smell faint cigarette smoke and something sharper, like metal and pine. He towered over you, looking down with dark, amused eyes.
“Yeah? And where the fuck is this man?” he asked, voice low. “Because if he had any sense, he wouldn’t let a girl like you work night shifts alone in a shithole like this, looking like a walking wet dream.” He licked his lips. “Bet he doesn’t even fuck you right.”
You tilted your chin up defiantly, refusing to step back even though your pulse was racing.
“He’s busy. And he fucks me just fine, thanks. Better than fine, actually.” Your voice dropped, sharp and sweet. “So stop imagining bending me over the counter, It’s not gonna happen dude.”
Jeff’s eyes darkened with interest. He let out a soft, dangerous laugh and leaned in closer, one hand bracing on the shelf beside your head.
“Damn. Feisty,” he murmured, gaze flicking down to your lips, then lower. “I like that. Bet you’re real loud when you’re pissed off too.” His mouth curved. “Tell you what, baby. I’d have you screaming my name so loud your little boyfriend would hear it from wherever the fuck he is. I don’t do that two-pump-chump shit. I’d ruin you for anyone else.”
The crude words should’ve disgusted you. Instead they hit somewhere low and warm, clashing violently with the fierce loyalty you felt toward Toby. You stepped forward, almost chest-to-chest with him, eyes narrowed.
“You’re wrong,” you said firmly. “My man’s obsessed with me. And he’s armed. So you can take your little fantasy and shove it.”
Jeff didn’t even flinch. The threat of an armed boyfriend barely seemed to register - if anything, it only made his dark eyes gleam with more amusement. For a second, something almost like respect flashed across his face. Then that wicked smirk returned, slower and sharper this time.
“Obsessed, huh?” He tilted his head, long black hair slipping over one shoulder. “Damn. Dangerous word. Guys like that tend to get real fuckin’ crazy when someone else wants what’s theirs.”
The back-room door swung open.
Andy strolled out with a small paper bag, immediately clocking the heavy tension between you two. His eyebrows shot up, grin widening.
“Alright, here we go,” he announced cheerfully, setting the bag on the counter. “That’ll be two-fifty.”
Jeff didn’t blink at the steep price. He looked at you for a moment longer, then casually walked back to the counter. He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a fat roll of cash, thick enough to choke on. He peeled off several bills without counting and dropped them on the counter like it was nothing.
“Keep the change,” he muttered.
Andy quickly counted the money, then grinned. “My favorite kind of customer.”
The two of them fell into easy, lazy bro-talk while Andy double-bagged everything.
“Haven’t heard from Ben in a minute,” Andy said, leaning on the counter. “What’s up with him?”
Jeff shrugged, long black hair shifting over his shoulder. “Busy. You know how he is.”
Andy laughed, shaking his head. “Bro’s my best paying client and I’ve never even seen his face. That’s wild. You gotta drag him out here sometime, man.”
Jeff’s grin widened, the carved lines pulling tight across his cheeks. “Zero chance. Only way to get Ben outta the house is if there’s strippers and free weed involved. Good luck with that.”
Both of them cracked up, laughing in that slow, burnt-out way guys do when they’re talking shit. They bumped fists over the counter, exchanging the usual half-assed “stay safe” and “hit me up if you need more” lines.
Then Jeff turned toward the door.
Before he left, he pulled a crisp fifty from his thick roll, holding it up between two long fingers as he looked straight at you. That smirk spread across his face again, dark eyes dragging over your body one last time.
“You comin’?” he asked teasingly.
You snorted, crossing your arms under your chest and popping your gum loudly. “I don’t sell that kinda service in here. And even if I did? I’m not that cheap.”
Andy just shook his head, rolling his eyes with a helpless laugh like he couldn’t believe the two of you were doing this right in front of him.
Jeff only shrugged, completely unbothered.
“Offer still stands, baby.”
He gave you one final slow once-over - dark, hungry, and way too confident - then pushed the door open. The bell jingled as his tall frame disappeared into the dark parking lot.
The store fell quiet again.
Andy waited until the door fully shut before turning to you, still grinning like an idiot.
“Jesus Christ,” he laughed, dragging a hand over his buzzcut. “What the fuck was that? You two were eye-fucking so hard I thought the shelves were gonna catch fire.”
You let out a shaky breath, cheeks still warm, pulse thrumming.
“Yeah… definitely not, dude.”
Andy barked out a loud laugh, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed. “Bullshit. You were two seconds away from climbing him like a tree.”
“I was not!” you protested immediately, whirling on him. “I’m not interested. I have someone else. Someone I actually like.”
Andy just grinned wider, that shit-eating expression growing. “Mhm. Sure. You’re real popular lately, huh? Collecting men like Pokémon cards.”
You shoved his shoulder hard, laughing despite yourself. “Shut up. That was… I don’t even know what that was. How do you even know that guy?”
Andy shrugged, reaching for his vape again and taking a slow hit. Smoke curled around his face as he exhaled.
“Met his buddy Ben on some online game a while back. Dude orders a stupid amount of weed every week, like clockwork. Never shows his face, always pays through the app. Eventually Ben said his roommate Jeff needed the harder stuff, so I started hooking him up too.” Andy gestured vaguely toward the door. “Jeff’s an even bigger customer now. Pays crazy well, never causes problems, keeps it lowkey. I don’t ask questions.”
You snorted, stacking the last few cans with more force than necessary. “You’ve got some seriously strange connections, you know that?”
Andy grinned, unbothered. “Yeah, well… I’d rather not know what Jeff’s deal is. Dude looks like he skins people for fun on the weekends. As long as he keeps paying cash and not stabbing me, we’re good.”
You shook your head, a little laugh escaping despite the weird knot in your stomach. The way Jeff had looked at you - that smile, the way he’d leaned in and spoken so crudely but confidently - still lingered under your skin like static electricity.
Still… nothing compared to the way Toby looked at you. Nothing even came close.
You pulled out your phone again, checking for messages.
Still nothing.
Andy noticed. “No word from your boyfriend yet?”
You sighed and shoved the phone back into your pocket. “Nope.”
“He’ll text,” Andy said casually, already going back to scrolling on his phone. “Or show up awkward as fuck again. One of the two.”
You rolled your eyes and went back to organizing the shelves, but your mind kept drifting elsewhere.
This night was getting way too complicated.
Extra Scene
The infirmary in the basement was quiet except for the occasional drip of an IV bag.
Toby lay flat on his back on one of the metal cots, staring up at the cracked concrete ceiling. His left shoulder was tightly wrapped in clean white bandages, the fabric already starting to bloom with faint pink where the bullet had torn through. Jack had been thorough - cleaned, stitched, and dressed the wound with the same efficiency he always used. Another set of bandages circled Toby’s ribs and wrapped around his torso where Tim had landed the worst of his punches.
He couldn’t feel any of it.
No pain. Just a heavy, bone-deep exhaustion that made his limbs feel like they were made of wet cement. Every breath was slow. His body twitched randomly - shoulders hitching, neck cracking softly every few minutes - but even the tics felt sluggish tonight.
Across the small room, Tim was out cold on the other cot. His face was pale and slack, mouth slightly open. The thick wrapping around his thigh was already soaked through in places despite Jack’s best work. The hatchet had done real damage - deep muscle, nicked artery. Jack said the leg could be saved, but it was going to be ugly. Tim hadn’t woken up since they’d carried him down here hours ago.
Good, Toby thought bitterly.
Brian sat slumped in the old chair by Jack’s desk, arms crossed over his chest, head nodding forward every so often before he jerked awake again. He refused to leave the two of them alone. Every time Toby so much as shifted, Brian’s eyes would snap open, sharp and wary.
Toby hadn’t slept. Not for a single minute.
He kept replaying the fight on an endless loop in his head - the way Tim had shoved him, the things he’d said about you, the way Toby had finally snapped and buried the hatchet in his leg. The gunshot. The screaming. The blood.
His fingers twitched against the thin sheet covering him. Another violent tic rolled through his shoulders, making the cot creak.
She called me her boyfriend.
The thought cut through the exhaustion like a knife. You’d stood up for him. You’d told Tim and Brian he was yours. You’d let him fuck you on your couch, promised him a collar, kissed him like you meant it.
And they’d tried to take that away from him.
Toby’s dark eyes flicked toward Tim’s unconscious form. His jaw tightened, scarred cheek pulling.
If Tim ever tried that shit again…
He didn’t finish the thought. Instead he turned his head slightly, neck cracking loudly in the quiet room.
Toby lay there for what felt like forever, the weight of exhaustion pressing him into the thin mattress. Eventually, with a slow grunt, he turned his head toward the metal side table. His right arm still worked well enough. He reached over, fingers twitching hard, and grabbed his cracked phone.
The screen lit up his bloody, bandaged face in the dim infirmary light.
He typed slowly, thumbs clumsy and unsteady. The message came out short and sloppy.
to: your owner 🖤
hey
i fought tim and brian
got shot in the sholder
hatchet in tims leg
im okay tho
miss you :)
wish i was in yur bed
He opened the camera, held the phone up with a shaky hand, and snapped a blurry selfie. The flash lit up his swollen eye, split lip, and the thick white bandages covering most of his left shoulder and upper chest. Blood had already seeped through in a few places. He looked like absolute hell.
He hit send anyway.
Then he let the phone drop onto his stomach, staring at the ceiling again. He could almost feel your warmth beside him, your fingers in his hair, the way you’d called him your boyfriend like it was simple. The thought made something tight and aching settle in his chest.
Brian stirred in the chair across the room, eyes cracking open again. He rubbed a hand down his face, voice gravelly with exhaustion.
“Can’t sleep?”
Toby didn’t answer. He just kept staring upward, jaw tight.
Brian sighed heavily. “Why’d you do it, Toby? Seriously. Stabbing Tim in the fucking leg? You could’ve killed him.”
Silence stretched for a long minute, broken only by the soft beep of a monitor and Tim’s shallow breathing on the other cot.
Toby’s neck cracked sharply to the side. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat, cold, and exhausted.
“I’ve had e-enough,” he muttered. “You t-two had no right to go a-after my girl.”
Brian let out a bitter, tired laugh and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Tim was just trying to look out for you. You know how you get when you fixate on something. We don’t want problems.”
Toby’s eyes flicked sideways, glaring at Tim’s unconscious body for a long second before rolling them hard.
He didn’t say anything else.
Brian eventually leaned back in the chair again, eyes heavy. “Get some sleep, Toby. You look like shit.”
Toby didn’t respond. He just turned his head slightly, staring at the faint grey light starting to creep through the small basement window.
Dawn was breaking.
And all he wanted was to be back in your house, curled up in your bed with your fingers in his hair, listening to you call him your good boy instead of lying here bleeding.
CW Mild gore, stalking, mentions of assault, mentions of violence
Words 2,2k
About You were saved by strange men in a brutally violent way, in a very unlucky night. One of them takes quite the interest on you.
Part I
Splat, splat, splat.
Tiny specs of red spray across your face, while your body shivers in the cold sidewalk. An unstoppable flinch shakes you whole, every time his axe collides with the face of one of your attackers.
The man laid on the ground dead and unrecognizable. There was nothing but tritted meat where his features once were.
Your voice evades you as you try to tell the boy to stop hitting. You want to say it's enough, they can't hurt you anymore; or anyone else for the matter.
But from your lips, only pathetic, breathless sounds are emitted. Your fingers can only twitch uselessly where they grip your ruined clothing; clutching onto the shirt that was so carelessly ripped by those men. Your favorite one, that you had worn today for good luck on your test.
It seemed time moved backwards as you watched the boy look for spots he hadn't already butchered within the mangled bodies, only to strike again and again. Breathless laughs and stuttered words left his lips in huffs, his neck cracking and hands twitching as he struck.
His face is entirely scarlet as he finally rests, eyes distant, staring at the alleyway's wall for a few tortuous seconds of heavy silence.
Moonlight catches the left side of his face as he finally turns toward your pitiful form, and you struggle to make yourself decent with your scraps of ragged fabric.
"Fuh-Fuckers... can't fucking c-control themselves around a pretty t-thing." He murmurs to himself, eyeing your disheveled state. He keeps talking silently to himself, humorless laughs and curses erupting every now again. Your hands are still desperately grasping around your body for a semblance of coverage, eyes downcast.
You flinch as something hits your lap suddenly, humid and stinking of blood.
A hoodie.
You look up through wet eyelashes, but he is already gone. Walking toward the front of the alleyway to talk to somebody you can't see.
Your hands tremble with the weight of the hoodie, however light it was; aftershock burdened your brain and your body, casting tremendous weight onto your shaky limbs.
You stared at the piece of clothing, until a heavy pair of hands grasped your chin. They tried to make you look upward in a stiff, but not unkind fashion. You didn't have any strength to move away, only flinching shyly.
A frowning black mask stared at you, unreadable.
His hands dropped your chin and attempted to shake your shoulders, asking if you were okay. You nodded faintly, wanting whoever it was to stop fretting already.
You deeply wished to be alone, your desire reflecting itself on your body; you recoiled into yourself, dropping the mysterious hoodie onto your lap. Your arms caged your torso protectively and your tired back hunched inward.
You heard a sigh somewhere behind you, as yet another person seemed to surge from thin air. This one roughly grasped the hoodie from you, and tried to shove it over your head without warning.
You gasped, a small sob coming from your throat.
"I'mma need you to put your hands through the sleeves, dollface. We ain't got all night." His voice was quiet, muffled. You couldn't comprehend his features in the darkness of the alleyway, his inhuman face only exacerbated by your slugshiness. You couldn't point it, but something wasn't right.
He crouched closer to you, rolling the hoodie sleeves for you to fit your arms through. And behind all of the annoyance, you could see sympathy and tired eyes.
You obeyed, trembling fingers snaking through the holes.
Your eyes waved numbly around the gruesome scenery, looking for nothing in particular. Maybe something that wasn't blood.
"There you go."His hands, rough and scarred, pull the hoodie around your torso, attempting to cover as much skin as the clothes could possibly reach. His soft expression, strikingly light in color, was much closer now as he attempted to fix you, and the light illuminated his features faintly.
Albeit tiredly, you can watch him more precisely now, and– oh. Of course he seemed inhuman. You weren’t looking at a face, but at a white mask, painted in a doll-like manner with black paint.
"Can ya' walk, doll?" He grunts your way. Your legs shake as you attempt to pull yourself to your feet, and the man sighs.
He grasps your right wrist, using it to throw your arm across his shoulders while another hand holds your torso.
"...get punished for your stupid fucking impulses, Toby. Do you understand that? All of us." The hooded man rants at the boy who doesn't seem to listen. He angrily mouths back something you can't understand, your head lighter and lighter.
Your legs were on fire, tired from the many streets they ran through. Thirteen minutes of running, before one of the now defaced men tackled you to the bloody pavement.
You had screamed, screeched even, in terror. But it was the middle of the night, in a place in town where people were used to minding their own businesses. All it got you was a blaring headache, and a sore throat.
You were exhausted, mind not quite here. There wasn't much space left in it to follow their conversation as you slowly inched closer, still held up by the gruff voiced man. So when they inevitably tried to address you, it took a few seconds to register.
"...Where do you live?" One of them repeated. You couldn’t be sure which as all of their faces were somewhat covered.
A simple question. But it ignited the fresh fear still present in your body. Oh, god not again, you thought. They wanted to follow you home. What if they tried to harm you? What if saving you was a ploy, to take you into their arms instead?
Your head shook from side to side, wobbly legs still attempting to leave as you tugged your arm away from the man who supported your weight. "No..I..." You barely understood what you were saying.
"Oh, for fuck's sake." The one who held you murmured, lifting a hand to grab you back. Maybe to prevent your inevitable fall, but you instinctively jerked backwards. "She's gonna-" He started, but you were already on your way to the ground.
You desperately wanted to keep your balance and escape again, but your legs refused to obey. Everything hurt, and nothing functioned as it was supposed to. Before you knew it, the wind was catching on your hair as you fell forwards.
"Oof..!" You fell into a bony chest, warm, and humid with blood. You struggled to pull yourself to your feet, without much success "W-wait, she can't f-fall again if-" Your legs were lifted by a slender arm, another supporting your back. You gasped in fear, helpless in his arms. Not again, please not again. You closed your eyes tightly.
"Tch. You're scaring her, Rogers. She just went through some shit 'cause of you." The tired man murmured, sneaking a hand under his mask to drag it across his face.
"Please- I...I don't-" Fear was still clear in your features, desperate tears clinging to your eyes. The lower half of his face was covered by a blood stained mouth guard, leaving only his eyes and nose visible, and something akin to hurt seemed to gnaw at his expression.
His eyebrows were scrunched together, eyes glaring at you pleadingly. What for?What did they want? There was nothing left for you to give.
Your were suddenly shadowed from the soft street light as the tallest one of the trio approached, startling you out of your staring contest.
"We don't want anything from you. You just need to say where, and we'll leave you home." The masked man told you softly. The tone seemed foreign in his voice, like a song sung off key. Like he didn't use it often.
Oh, and what could you do but accept? Three men. One of them was over six feet, another sported a strong physique, sturdy and muscular.
And the boy...aside from carrying you effortlessly, the four people he murdered in cold blood, could speak for themselves. Well, they, in fact, couldn't speak anymore. It was proof enough of the danger he poised, despite his lean body.
You also couldn't walk home by yourself, after everything. And so you whispered your address, however begrudging.
As they walked you home, carried you really, you could feel the cold steel of the boy's grimy machetes under you, hooked to his jeans.
You couldn't remember anything else after that.
The heat of his bare arms still lingered in your skin where it touched, but it wasn't enough to erase the rough hands that tore your clothes earlier.
Everything that went through in that retched night seemed to be slowly erased from your mind as the hours passed. Everything but the feeling of misery that stayed glued to you like muscle to bone. Even when you let the hot water flow over you, scrubbing and scrubbing, the dirt and blood didn't seem to leave.
You scrubbed again. Scratched it with your torn nails. Screamed at the shower head. Swallowed some toothpaste to wash it all away.
But it didn't.
Nothing had happened, thankfully. Nothing explicitly sexual. They didn't have time to touch your body. That's all you remember before realizing they were dead, butchered beyond recognition.
And a part of you, an ugly, unsavory part of you, rushed with joy from it. The thought that you'd never have to see them again. That they had exactly what they deserved.
But you didn't want to unpack those challenging feelings. Not the desperate need to be clean of other's sins, not the happiness at seeing those vermins receiving what they deserved. You decided to sleep it off instead, stepping off the shower with a shiver that had nothing to do with the warm weather.
Sunlight soon approached the confines of your lonely apartment. Your spotty black out curtains welcomed many streaks of light inside your bedroom, yet you still rolled on your bed, sleepless.
Your sleep was equally unreliable as the curtains, nightmares plaguing the small windows of sleep you got through the night.
As the hours rolled by, your senses were never completely drowned by unconsciousness. You could still hear your cat's snoring. The quiet buzzing coming from the air-conditioning. The tuds coming from your living room, when your cat decided it was time for zoomies.
Reality, however, seemed to blend with your half baked dreams. You remember still feeling the warmth of your cat laying at your feet, while she went out and about in the living room. Her steps a little too heavy, too long.
You tried not to let the unease linger, to maybe still get some sleep.
It never really came, the so needed rest. So at some point in the morning, you gave up, deciding to go make yourself some coffee and eat something nice.
You looked down at your feet to find your cat still sleeping, tangled within your legs. Don't overthink it, you thought, stroking her chin. Azure purred, walking toward your belly and bumping her head to it.
"Good morning, Azure..." You murmured toward her, receiving a high pitched meow in return.
Outside your bedroom, the house was already entirely lit up by sun.
You held back a frustrated sigh at your lack of sleep. Not only was your body entirely stiff with pain, you were also enduring a head splitting headache. You didn't have many bruises, aside from the small purple stains flourishing at the back of your thighs from your fall.
You figured most of your pain was a mix of stress and muscle tension, along with the god forsaken running. You watched the water boil as you thought about last night, with the enthusiasm of a dead body. While pouring the water in the coffee filter, you noticed something wasn't...right.
You stood at your kitchen counter, front to your living room window. And the window, which you had definitely closed, was wide open. How didn't you notice before? You left the coffee to drip onto its container, and slowly walked around the counter. As you did, something caught your attention in the coffee table that laid just before that window, in front of your couch.
Something that shined.
Your mind screaming for you to stay far away from it, but you picked it up with your bare hands anyway.
It was a silver switch blade, with a paper underneath it. The blade was old, small scars of time and use littering it's surface.Against any better judgement, you clicked it's release button– a shockingly well sharpened blade appeared. It seemed to have been recently polished, but the blade's age was still clear in its material. You were dumfounded. How did this end up here? You were also really trying to ignore the fact that you might have slept through a home invasion. It just seemed surreal. You didn't think you would have to be worried after all, you lived on the fourth floor of the building.
You sat on your sofa putting a disbelieving hand to your mouth. Leaving the silver tool on the coffee table, you turned the note on your hands.You opened the folded paper. The handwriting was horrid, and the crumples sheet of paper wasn't of any help, but from you were able to discern, it read:
"Don't be afraid to knife them next time. Or shout for me. 00Xxxx-xxxx
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“scientists don’t want you know” is a phrase that always cracks me up because if you actually meet a scientist they will be shaking and crying like an overstimulated chihuahua with the need to let you know
you will never catch me complaining about an actress on a tv show having an imperfectly concealed pregnancy or a character going on a sudden trip somewhere while her actress is on maternity leave. so many actresses (and women working in any other field) are fired, punished and pressured into making reproductive decisions for their employers' convenience & if i have to try a bit harder to suspend my disbelief then that's absolutely what i'm going to do if it means people are getting to exercise reproductive & bodily autonomy without punishment
lost in the deep blue sea @its-thyme666 - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook
