My name is Fawn, I go by any pronouns. I love anime and Creepypasta. I like to read and write, but Iâm mostly too shy to post my writing, hopefully I can one day!
Iâm 21 yrs old so Iâm not comfortable having minors around my page, sorry!
If you want to be moots, feel free to add me, my DMs are open, ty! (Ëśâžáˇ âťĚŤ âžáˇ Ëľ)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
W/C: 34.9k // Summary: It started with a short cut. A blocked road and one lazy choice later, you end up employed by a faceless cryptid of the woods. A courier for the things that go bump in the nightâ your biggest struggle? The cannibal you have a crush on seems to hate romance.
Tags: Slow burn adjacent, rom-com, hurt/comfort, the dove got jumped and is being hospitalized, dub-con, domestic fluff, Bsf! Toby, comic relief cast: Jeff + Nina + Ben + LJ, @rainrot4me cameo, cunnilingus, fellatio, dom/sub themes, hard-dom EJ, soft-dom EJ, canon level violence, cannibalism (duh), throat fucking, breeding, branding, vague masochism/sadism, morally questionable reader, pet-play (kinda), dry humping, boot grinding, father figures Tim & Brian, and Jackâs guilt complex
A/N: OMFG ITS FINALLY DONEE !! My longest one-shot by far !! He is SOO brooding in this one T3T anyway- HAVE FUN !!
â˝âââââââââââââââĽ
You were a messenger.
Not by trade but by chance, fate perhaps. A courier for the things that went bump in the night, the job itself is simple enough; bestowed on you by forces your mind couldnât comprehend. It was early fall, leaves crunching under your soles as you hauled boxes through the door. You had hopped from place to place, not because you were running. Quite the opposite, actually. You were searching.
Searching for excitement. Belonging, something new, with the comfort of a well-loved commodity. Nothing had tied you to any past homes. Friends came and went; the good ones just one call away, so really, what did you have to lose? The days passed slowly as you settled in. Mundane yet enjoyable, but sometimes, there would be⌠outliers.
Small happenings that made you pause, like how the townspeople close their blinds the minute dusk breaks. The warnings to never look past the fence, nearing the edge of the woods, faded, with missing posters stapled to light poles.
The diner always let you off a bit early to âmake it home safe.â There was a heaviness that came with their words, like a teacher who knew all too well what would happen next. Leaning down to lecture a boy who eats too fast, his sandwich in hand.
Naturally, you were curious, but not enough to push beyond surface-level questions. Such as when the fence was even built, or thoughtless jokes. Poking fun at the unspoken curfew everyone seemed to follow. They would answer in that vague way folks do when they want to change the subject. Fast and unassuming. Nothing to worry about. You never pressed. So maybe it was your fault.
Your boots were heavy on your feet, the normally unbothersome leather now bearing the same weight as solid lead. Youâd just dragged yourself from the closing shift. Except Lady Luck was not in your favour, as your normal route home had been blocked.
The entire street was closed up due to some big company that bought up a hole in the wall shop, said the people needed more reliable lender firms. A giant fat ass lie, you and everyone in a ten-mile radius knew they were just as sleazy as the last. Loan sharks looking for some sheltered, sad sack to buy in.
Therefore, the most logical solution? Cut through the forest they had warned you about, you had checked the map at least a dozen times now. A dingy, mediocrely printed little thing. Shoved it into your work bag on the first day and have used it ever since. It hadnât gotten you lost before, so why start now, right?
The path looked clean cut, too, straight through the trees, no twists or turns in sight. You could even see the trail from where you stood.
The barred railing reached across the entire end of town, but not unblemished. Holes ripped through the wire by animals, metal kicked up by misbehaving teens; it was easy enough to just slip past. Hunched over in a half crawl, you stepped over the silent barrier, and when your foot hit soilâ something in the static snapped.
You felt it, a shift in the air, like you had been transported somewhere else entirely. The other side of the fence suddenly seemed worlds away; your gut curled in defiance. Every fibre of you screaming to turn back, that being said, your tired arms and aching back won the argument.
Superstitions be damned, you wanted to sleep for the next month and then some. And youâd rather suffer the cold sweat of a creepy forest than the nearly forty-minute walk youâd have to make otherwise. Trudging against the worn-down gravel, the hairs on your neck stood straight up. Whatever caused the initial dread had only worsened as you went.
Your grip on the satchel thrown over your shoulder never wavers. The shadows moved around you, taunting like they were alive. Anxiety gnawing, more and more tense with each passing tree- then, the summit of it.
The first meeting.
The confrontation had stopped you in your tracks, literally. Along the old path, there was supposed to be a clearing. You were expecting it, ready for it. What you were not ready for was the inhuman mass standing dead centre of it. Limbs hanging limply, too long to fit right, adorned in a mock suit and tie. Its fingers were thin, almost needle-like in shape.
The entityâs face paper white, gaunt in some places, a hollow replication of facial features carved onto porcelain canvas. Stature stretching to the tree line and as tall as the sky was vast; it was terrifying. Fear, unlike anything you had ever experienced, had you frozen in sheer panic. You could feel your hands grow clammy. Staring up at something you thought only existed in storybooks or nightmares.
The two of you stood stock still. A staring competition, except your opponent lacked the needed facilities.
This was it.
This was the moment you had gone too far, went against your instincts, and ended up here. This creature, monster, or whatever it was, was going to eat you alive, and it was going to hurt. You had never been particularly religious, but at this exact moment, you were calling on anyone who would listen.
Pleading in your head that death would come swiftly, that the silhouette in front of you, spared you its more sadistic traits. Closing your eyes, you braced. A chase would guarantee nothing but a brutal and gory end, so what was there to do? Other than breathing through your nose and praying that there were good snacks in the afterlife.
There was a pause, nothing but the rapid thumps of your own heartbeat. You heard it before you saw it, a slight rustle of the leaves, the wind colder than it was, debating pros and cons, you blinked and looked up. It loomed over you, not exactly chest to chest, but closer, then it spoke.
Not traditionally, though, more like an echo in your ear. Understanding the words after theyâve been said, but skipping the first part. Hot-lined straight to your head.
It told you the rules, explained hierarchies, and how its workers couldnât fill certain roles. Too complicated, the risk was higher than the reward. It needed a middleman. Someone neutral to all sides, someone to keep the balance. That someone was you.
A first of your kind, like a boss, trying a new, fun office strategy. If your boss were an omnipotent evil who hired serial killers for day jobs. You agreed with reluctance, shook hands, and sealed the deal. Its palm swallowed yours entirely, then it was gone. The forest felt lighter, just a tad.
You made it home in one piece that night, freshly employed to a second job you didnât know you were qualified for.
áŻâ
â˝âââââââââââââââĽ
You met someone new today.
Well, met is a strong word; you saw someone new today. Almost eight months have passed since the proposal, the spontaneous interview you had in the forest. Surprisingly enough, the whole ordeal you had going on wasnât half bad.
Your tasks are blunt, unvarnished, a letter at your doorstep in the morning stating what needs to be restocked. Routine scheduled for the first Sunday of every month and the last. Packages with notes attached, written instructions, and an address. It was simple, but simple didnât mean easy. Residents can get prickly, no trust in outsiders, so they lash out.
Youâve dropped off supplies and sprinted off the steps more times than you can count, lest you get caught by someone not partial to your work. Deliveries are swift and done without fuss or mess. A quick trip to the overpass abridging the highway, a march to the rocky skywalk in the dead of night.
You donât ask questions, and you donât poke and prod. Itâs not all harsh, though. Some residents treat you with decent manners or politeness. A mutual understanding of just getting the job done. Youâre even fond of a certain few. A boy with messy brunette hair and a fabric muzzle, goggles always sat loosely against his curls.
A little erratic at times, but well-meaning all the same. He waves at you if he sees you, and his eyes crinkle when you wave back. Little gestures here and there, never full conversations. Still, even then, they warned you of the woods.
They were all horrors in their own right, youâre sure, but they whispered about him like he was something of myth. Monsters that took on the shape of men.
He moved like smoke, leaving ash in his wake. A born hunter with claws made of black steel. Ink-toned keratin that he used like blades, and strength as they had never seen.
An ancient hunger only satisfied by blood and bone. They told you to never stray from the path. That he feeds under the moon, and amongst the other night crawlers; it was safer to stick to your routeâ
Snap.
A twig, somewhere past the dark borders of the trail. The sound pulling you out mid inner monologue, head whipping to the side as you stared, scanning between the trees- you caught it. Barely there, but a flicker amidst bark.
You couldnât see the rest of him, body blending into shade flawlessly; the only thing standing out was his mask. Two voids for eyes, like they devoured any light that came near. Hung heavy over his face and painted matte sapphire. He was tall, nowhere near the entity who had recruited you, but even from where you were, his face was obscured by branches.
His head tilted to the side, observing you. You observed him back. You didnât know what you were expecting, maybe the second you spotted him, heâd lunge at you; or maybe you wouldnât see him at all. Youâd feel the breeze of his movements, then itâd all go black; this was... not that.
Honestly, you were hoping youâd never face him at all. Now youâre here, separated by a couple of feet at most. Call it human reflex, subconscious courtesy, anything to rationalize the fact that you had picked up your hand and waved at him. No reaction. Dropping your arm back on the box, snuggly tucked against your jacket, you slowly turned and went on your way.
He was unnerving, off-putting in the way he stared you down like prey. It made the hairs on your neck stand up- he didnât eat you, though, and that was a win in your book.
You thought he was interesting.
He didnât think of you at all.
áŻâ
â˝âââââââââââââââĽ
It had been a full month since youâd seen him last.
Todayâs delivery instructions were different; it was a medical supply run. Which in and of itself wasnât abnormal, what was new was the fact that you had to take it straight to the infirmary. Something about house residents liking to tamper, knowingly or not, with medication. Never going in depth, just enough for you to understand the importance of the task.
Padding your way across the large porch, package by your feet, you knocked. Once, twice, raising your fist yet again before the rickety door swings open. A man with a worn-down tan jacket fills the frame, gloved hand propped against the door like heâs ready to slam it shut.
He takes a second before recognition flickers in his gaze, voice muffled behind a mask, âMedical?â One word, and you nod, the look he gave you after almost looked like pity. You had been inside exactly one time. The mansion was empty, aside from your axe-wielding friend who was stuck on watch outside. Youâd made it to the borderline rustic kitchen, placed the box on a table, and left.
This time around, you had to hand-deliver the resources directly to the basement. A makeshift lab under the house, where you assumed the reason they were still functional dwelt. He steps aside, letting you pass. Breeze whistling through the house as you trek down the hall.
The wooden floorboards creak when you pass. Turning the corner, youâre head-to-head with the basement stairs. The steps are decaying, the splint of it starting to moulder. Staves dented and sunken in from wear and tear, groaning from your weight. Your legs stretch with caution, nearing the cement floor- you pause.
Antiseptic, the smell floods your nostrils, so strong itâs nearly dizzying. Mind-numbing buzz of fluorescent lights fills the silence, and the air is stale with a hint of something metallic. There are tools and scribbled charts laid out against the counters lining the room.
An improvised examination table sat in the middle, next to a cart stacked with miscellaneous scalpels and muddy-looking jars.
Your uncertainty bounced off the walls in waves. Just drop the package on the spare table and leave. Swiftly, you set the parcel carefully on the ledge, cardboard slipping off your fingers by an inch before you shoot up. The sharp rustling of metal hooks- twisting around to the back of the lab, you see him.
Broad and towering, he ducks under the frame, frayed curtain pushed to the side. Only halfway through the opening, and it feels like the infirmary has somehow shrunk. His shoulders alone took up the width of the door before straightening. Zeroing in on you, jaw clicking once. His hood was up, in a black sweater on the verge of falling apart.
The sleeves and edges weathered down, his mask not any less uncanny in better lighting. âThey told me- it was in the instructions, I-I had to hand deliver it here-â tripping over your own words in an attempt to explain. Voice quieter than youâd like, shaky at best, while his eyes remain fixed.
He crosses the room in three strides, now a table's length away, head tilting down at the box, then you. âAlright.â The cadence vibrating through the ground, deep and visceral. You felt the base of it in your ribs.
The tone was completely and utterlyâ neutral?
A singular, honestly, quite flat syllable. No snarling in your face, sinking his allegedly razor-sharp teeth into your throat. You blinked up at him, clearing your throat; âok, um, thank you. Bye.â Barely audible, but he nods nonetheless. His form was unnaturally still, and you noticed he truly only moved when he chose to. No shifting weight from foot to foot. He doesnât really readjust either, like a frame taken out of a paused video.
The rest was a blur, basically scampering up the stairs like a fearful hamster and rushing past the doorman on the way out. Mask pushed up, a cigarette hanging loose out of his mouth. He probably assumed you were an inch away from losing your life, and maybe that would have been better. âThank you?â âBye?â Who says that?
Your head hits the pillow with a defeated thud, body overflowing with humiliation. This was the least of your problems, surely.
He could have eaten you, nothing more than a limp corpse on the frigid stone floor, so why was it so embarrassing? Perhaps it was because you had been expecting the cannibal equivalent of the boogeyman himself.
To be fair, he probably was, but no one told you how normal he was outside of that. From his perspective, you were a glorified mailman. Shaking like a leaf for no reason as you dropped off Band-Aids and alcohol wipes.
Why did this even matter to you? It was a miracle youâd even survived this long, frenzied psychopaths at every turn. It was morbid and scary- so why was this the thing that stuck? You sighed with aggression into your pillow.
He probably thought you were weird.
áŻâ
â˝âââââââââââââââĽ
Jack had a predicament.
Recently, he ran into you again. The anxious courier pigeon. Thatâs what you reminded him of, at least. It had been over a year at this point, dating back to when the operator plucked you from the road like a stray. You made things smoother, and he respected you for that. A meek little thing, heâd seen you interact with the others, heard it through the walls.
You were quick when needed, not talkative but polite, efficient. However, you constantly seemed uneasy when delivering to the lab. The thing was, you did it in a way that came off like you were trying oh so hard not to hurt his feelings.
Small talk, where your hands would tremble passing him an envelope. Looking up to meet his eye (socket), then immediately darting your sight back to the floor.
He hadnât planned on paying you any mind; you were just another cog in an overworked machine. Jack liked distance, isolation woven into his lifeline. How he lived, how he worked, attachment was fickle at best and dangerous at worst. With the people they were, what they represented, being best friends wasnât exactly on the table.
Companionship was far and few in between. Indifference was easiest, intimacy out of the question, but you try. Greet him with a smile as if it meant anything, and ask if he was busy, like it mattered. Wished him a good lunch, like you didnât know, like he wasnât different. Wasnât this. Like you werenât aware of how much brutality it takes for him to have a full stomach.
He knew himself, always aware, even when he wished he wasnât. He prayed to be numb, wished to be cruel, begged and pleaded to be mindless. He was used to it for the most part, and still. There are moments.
When the night grows cold and unforgiving, when the hunger has finally subsided, what does he have? The crushed remains of someone elseâs memories? He resents it, the part of him that wants, and oh does he want. The part that remembers how to hold, remembers the warmth of it. It makes him ill, sick as a dog, while he can taste the bile at the back of his throat.
The transformation had branded him like cattle. A grotesque scar that welted. It was both bleak and rampant. The metallic scent that never seemed to leave his clothes. The guilt that festers in his gut, the wailing that rings in his ears when the sky is still.
Sometimes he feels nothing, sometimes heâs angry, sometimes he sits with the butchered limbs and stares. Heâs freezing from the inside out, always cold. Hunger is parasitic, the need to consume, the desperation of it, the shame that follows. The grief that gnaws at him, walking past pictures hung on the wall after heâs done.
They were happy. Closer than close, really. It fractures him. Always an observer but never by choice, he is an outsider with the hands of someone who will know you like no one else. Breaking you open, palms sunk in past your lungs. They cradle your heart, consume you whole as the stars shine brighter than they ever have.
Jack is constantly bathed in carnage, with death painting his palette sweet and bourbon smooth. It coats his teeth like salvation and rots his blood like the plague. When he leans down for the first bite, when the flesh is unmarred. Thereâs a whisper in that dark that says this is the closest heâll ever get.
You bid him goodnight on late-night deliveries.
He thinks youâre weird.
áŻâ
â˝âââââââââââââââĽ
You arrived bright and early, the morning air crisp, new.
Today was going to be a good day; business always seemed to slow on Saturdays, and your shift ended at noon. âJust black coffee- and an orange juice for the lady, a number eight to go,â grunted out and half-heartedly, not even looking up from his menu.
His wife, you assumed, was sitting across from him, picking at her old manicure like she had nowhere to be. They came often, regulars in every sense of the word.
The ink was already staining your hand as you scribbled. Then a quick nod, and youâre sticking the order to the call rack. Shoes clicking against patterned tile, the diner glowed orange. Adorned with windows from wall to wall.
You didnât hate waking up early, but you definitely didnât love it either. The sights sure could be nice, though. The sun peaking over the horizon, casting a haze on all the clouds it reached, made you feel cinematic, like a movie star or something.
Armed with freshly brewed coffee in one hand and a juice pitcher in the other, you marched back to the awaiting table. The steam wafting up as you poured, a glass of OJ already sweating onto the napery, âSpeedy start today?â Customary small talk, totally easy.
Smoothing hands down your apron, acutely aware of the ticking timer for the to-go order. Your eyes flicked to the old cat clock, hung near the door right above the booth, a rough voice breaking the repetition, âYeah, I gotââ
Ding!
There it was, âOh my- Iâm so sorry, Iâll be right back!â Saved by the bell yet again, when you said regulars, you meant regulars before you. In your humble opinion, talking to people came fairly naturally. It was just something about how stern his stare was, his wifeâs judgmental scoff every time you spoke. How they literally never seemed to want to be anywhere near each other.
You had been working hard for a year now, and the couple tucked into the back table had been ordering black coffee and orange juice before college. According to the head waitress, the two started coming in after their first date, a drive-in screening near the big lot of RossWood Inn.
Stumbling through the door, giggling, vibrant turquoise dangling from her ears, the whole nine yards. He romanced her till her head was spinning, high-school sweethearts they called them. Inseparable, all the way up until graduation, that is. He moved away, a sports gig in the city, promised her heâd be home with a shiny ring in no time, and he came home alright.
With some chick on his arm, his girlfriend at the time. They were supposed to move in together- until she got bored. Then guess who came running back. They married, settled down, never had kids, though. They donât laugh much nowadays. The only similarities were the diner breakfast and those rustic earrings; she still wore them.
They contrasted a bit with her outfit, you think, but it was probably the sentiment more than anything. The greasy combo sat heavy as you tied the bag, kitchen heat making your hair frizz. You looked over, and she sighed something fierce; his eyes never leaving the morning paper. You pray a love that barren would never reach you.
Plastic rustling in your hold, an order handed off, and the door swung shut with a breeze.
Totally easy. Right.
áŻâ
â˝âââââââââââââââĽ
Pace brisk, you got off later than you initially planned to.
Not that you were mad about it, it just set your plans back a little. You were going to go home, order from the only asian food place in town, kick your feet up and watch TV, maybe pass out on the couch. Too full and super satisfied. An exquisite night.
Your movements were sluggish by the time you got to the steps, a letter sticking out of your rickety mailbox. A job for tomorrow, but that was tomorrowâs problem. The lock clicked shut, and you reached your room in record time. Clothes off, jammys on. Socks thumping against your stairs while you scanned the corridor, landing on the phone book folded neatly against the landline.
The silicone buttons are tacky under your fingers, dial tone crackling to life in your ear,
âThis is the MayFlower Express; what are you craving tonight?â
And you ordered exactly what you ordered every other time, salivated just thinking about it. Maybe that was shameful to admit; however, it was you, and it was real. They probably recognized your voice at this point; none of it mattered, all background noise.
Your food would be arriving soon, and all would be right with the world. Time passed quickly as you made work of your chores list; sometimes your weekend job felt surreal. Everything was so mundane, then it just⌠wasnât. Even the people you were fond of, you knew they would come home soaked head to toe in blood. The missing posters made you feel a certain way; you knew where they ended up and how they ended up there.
Meeting an untimely demise with the end of a dearest friendâs axe. The same guys whoâd laugh at your stupid mail puns, the ones who made silly faces as you waved goodbye. What if you werenât who you were? If it wasnât the head of operations youâd run into that night, where would you be? The thought made you shudder; it was conflicting.
You had gotten somewhat close with a handful of them, at least it felt like it; they were kind to you. As kind as they could be anyway, it wasnât up to them, not really. Bad situations, bad homes, bad people, and can you truthfully expect a wounded dog not to bite?
The devilâs mark seared onto gnarled skin, jaw clamped down before they could ever understand it was wrong. Their sorrow was devastating. They didnât show it in the way most would, but you could still see it all the same. Perhaps thatâs why you tried so hard to make it normal, to tell those same stupid jokes, they laugh like they donât expect it.
Laugh like they havenât in ages. Shoulders shaking with something akin to endearment, and all of a sudden, you were looking at someone who never got to grow up.
The doorbell interrupts your train of thought. Your food. Opening your door with the grace of a newborn giraffe, you sighed. Finally. Hands moving swiftly to pull out the array of containers, almost on autopilot, before a soft clatter sounds from your floor. A tiny sticker book.
You knew you ordered from this place too much. Picking it up with little ceremony, the note attached read âA gift for our favourite customer !!â Both honoured and incredibly hurt at the same time, your thumb flicks open the first page. Most of them were mini versions of the dishes, and a flash of red stopped you mid-flip.
Taking up half the page was a medium-sized sticker of Vampified Lo Mein.
The noodles were replaced with a swirled intestine, and the veggies were chopped up  to resemble brain and liver. The light bulb that appeared over your head was comical.
Halloween was overlooked due to your job and responsibilities. Now standing alone in your kitchen, however, an idea sparked.
Was it stupid? Yes. Was it risky? Also yes. Did he scare you? Most definitely, but thatâs not what you wanted to focus on. It was all too perfect. The problem? What if he gets offended and eats you as revenge?
Youâd like to think you were a pretty self-aware person; on the other hand, did cannibals even get offended? Does he even count as a cannibal? He was technically a demon, and he ate humans, so. He started as a human, thoughâ this was dumb. Your tendency to overthink would be your downfall.
You vaguely heard about what had happened, about the ritual, a sacrifice gone wrong. They told you about it along with another mumbled warning, horrific beyond what you could ever imagine, youâre sure. Either way, you didnât want to come off as insensitive or way too into it.
What if it was super traumatic to even acknowledge, and thatâs why heâs so brooding all the time? Now youâre all in his face like âhaha, I have a sticker of your most dark and shameful quality.â Alas, it would be really funny, and there was a chance heâd actually like it.
The most you had ever âtalkedâ was when youâd say goodnight, which he responded to by nodding once. Or the first time youâd met him, and he said, âAlright.â Or when you came to drop off supplies, and he wasnât there. Youâd stand and wait, then say, âOh, hey. Were you busy? I have the restock.â Where he would promptly, once again, nod.
He never seemed unnecessarily violent or cruel; he didnât quite come off that way. Not like that meant you were reckless. You knew he was dangerous. And you werenât naive enough to believe you were special or invincible. At the end of the day, these were people you worked with.
Maybe to some it was pushing the line of too personal, but they had given their lives and arguably, their freedom. Just for a chance at survival. To breathe another day, no matter how gruelling. The least you could do was speak to them like they were still alive. People with birthdays and favourite foods. Youâd bet it was lonely to live like that.
So you were going to try.
And if anyone attempted to stop you, they were severely underestimating your need to be liked.
áŻâ
â˝âââââââââââââââĽ
You awoke before the sun.
The dawn peaked through your curtains, highlighting the swaying dust motes like snow. A slow dance that you watched in contentment, preparing yourself for the day ahead. Last night, you went back out to grab the letter, finding that the newest assignment lined up with your plans. Perfect.
The job stated that there was a shipment to be collected at the northern border. A trail that dragged along the train tracks. It was a bit of a trek, but not too bad in the grand scheme of things. Walking long distances had become the last of your worries, after all. With the whole, you know, crypted employer thing. So you slipped your big boy boots on and headed to work.
Trudging into the ivory, you sighed. While the task itself was simple enough, it was the trees that annoyed you. The pine always caught in your hair, no matter how low you duck. Snagging your sweater and fraying your sleeves, you hated this forest, truly. Nonetheless, you continued your hike, grumbling to yourself.
With the pine crunching softly under your soles, you ventured into a wide clearing. A train horn resonated through the trees, sending the birds scattering. The ambiance overlapped, and you arrived at your destination. The delivery.
In the centre, sat a small crate. There was twine tied over the sides, looping on the top in a misshapen bow. For carrying purposes, you assumed.
Hands resting in your pockets as you approached, you crouched down. Taking the saved sticker pack from your jacket and peeling one off the parchment. You applied the decal with care, smoothing the edges down onto the wood for good measure. If he ate you in anger after, at least the box would still look nice. Â
You hauled the supplies over your back using the make-shift satchel youâd crafted. The splintered oak dug into your back slightly, but you guessed discomfort came with the occupation. Then, you began your journey back to the destination. Home base, if you will.
Technically, you didnât have a spoken alliance with any of the houses. You were a true neutral to the climate, which is why youâve made it so far. Some of the proxies were nicer than others, some of them sneered at you from the sidelines- and some of them despised you. Loathed you for tampering, in their words. You didnât belong in this world, didnât fit in with the murderers and misfits.
They thought of you as an intruder. Something to be rid of, to slaughter and be done with. To be honest, it kind of hurt your feelings. Itâs not like youâve done anything, and it was their boss who chose you. They act as if you applied for the job of your own free will. It irked you in a way.
You were thrown into this without a choice- like, what were you supposed to do? Say no? Let the all-seeing forest creature absorb you when it gives you an obvious way out? You understood why some of them hated you, but you werenât immune to the harshness. The clear disdain in their expressions at the mention of you. Still, it was better than being dead, you huffed.
Making peace with your internal monologue, you nudged past the shrubbery. The bundle was neatly packed onto your frame while you marched, before a condescending laugh halted you. Stopped dead in your tracks, you swivelled to find the source. Eyes scanning the bark aimlessly- until you spotted a figure.
A man with glowing yellow sockets, dressed in a dark, long coat. He contrasted with the lively evergreen, sticking out like a sore thumb and radiating malice.
The Puppeteer.
Youâd only ever run into him once, and it nearly ended with you losing your life. Out of everyone, he seemed to despise you the most. He couldnât stand your view on things. Your optimism, your tendency to try and befriend the worst of the worst. You were a pest in his eyes, a bug that didnât know its place. An unkillable roach.
âLong time no see, courier.â
He spat out each word with venom, wrath already bubbling to the surface while he stepped closer. âThis isnât your neck of the woods, is it? Care to explain why youâre trespassing?â His verbal interrogation had you backing up. Swallowing dryly, you licked your lips. âI was just picking up a package- it was in my instructions.â
Though you knew well enough your answer wouldnât satisfy him. It didnât matter what you said; this wasnât about you.
Scoffing, he cocked his head to the side, gaze boring into you. âIs that right?-â He chuckled humourlessly, speaking through gritted teeth. âYou know, you always did get on my nerves. Pretending like this is normal, like you can just squeeze past with a please and thank you-â The disgust in his voice grew, and he closed in on your space.
âItâd be a mercy to kill you now- that dense little brain of yours wouldnât be able to handle reality. You think this is a game? Some stupid part-time? Walking around like any of your âfriendsâ wouldnât slit your throat in a fucking heartbeat-â
The pain sears through your arm before you can blink. A hot, prickling agony that spread from your bicep to your throat. His web of strings stretched from his fingertips, the glowing wires piercing your flesh through the sweater.
You choked on the feeling, knees threatening to buckle. This was not how you wanted to spend your shift.
Stumbling forward, you barely caught yourself when you collapsed. The crate slipped off your back, clattering to the dirt with a thud. He jeered violently. âPathetic. You play pretend as if you fit amongst us, yet you canât even take a hit? How weak are you? Honestly, you should thank me for ending it so early.â The blood soaked through your sleeve, and tears blurred your vision.
Could you ever catch a break? All you did was follow rules, do your job as youâre told. Your efforts in being cordial were for naught because he seemed set on wiping you clean off the face of the earth. Like seriously? The literal Operator himself was nicer to you; he even had employee benefits and decent pay. This was bullshit.
Your arm jerked up, the limb tugged roughly by Puppeteerâs strings. The cord sank further into your skin, and you muffled a sob. It hurt, it hurt so bad. He was going to rip off your arm, the fear of death making your throat taut.
With scarlet dripping onto the soil, you desperately clawed at the ground. A pitiful attempt in steeling your nerves. A last-ditch effort in calming yourself, even if it proved fruitless. Shutting your lids tight, you braced yourself and when you thought all hope was lostâ
A familiar, sharp clink of an axe whizzed through the air.
The hatchet embedded itself into the man's shoulder with a grotesque thunk. Sending him tumbling away from you, his feet tripping as he gathered his bearings. The commotion caused you to jerk back, whipping to the side just in time to see Toby.
In all his double axed, goggle-wearing glory, had come to your aid.
You could cry.
Lunging in front of you, he yanked the weapon from Puppeteerâs body. Your attacker cussed loudly, scrambling off the floor. âThis isnât your fight, Tobias-â And Toby sneered. Hostile as he replied. âThatâs f-fucking hilarious coming f-from you, Johnathan.â Readjusting his grip on the handle, he rolled his shoulders back. Standing tall.
âFuck off, twitch. She doesnât belong here, and you know it-â
âYeah? Tell that t-to stickman then. You know what heâll do to y-you if he finds out youâre f-fucking with orders.â
That seemed to be a threat in itself. The mention of their boss quieted the other man in a flash, and he stuttered mutely for a moment before huffing. âSheâs not gonnaâ fuck you, twitch.â His comment made the brunette's lip curl into a snarl, his head jolting lightly.
âYouâre f-fucking disgusting. J-just because you died a miserable piece of shit, with no one mourning you, doesnât mean we all have to s-suh-suffer. You know that, r-right?â
People can say what they want about Toby, but when heâs provoked, he knows how to cut and make it sting.
His remark had Puppeteer scowling, and he spun to leave, more irritated than he came. Barking over his shoulder one last time. âSheâs not gonnaâ last out here.â Though Toby didnât dignify him with a response.
With the man's shape disappearing into the distance, he finally faced you. Dropping his hatchets to the dirt, he kneeled. âHey, pidgy- s-sorry I came so late. I didnât even know you were here.â
The worry- the fondness in his gaze made the dam crumble, and you hiccuped. Pidgy, a stupid nickname he came up with a while ago. It stemmed from messenger pigeon, and right now, it was your lifeline. Something about the endearment in it sliced through the stress, the violence of everything thatâd unfolded. You reached for him, and he embraced you without hesitation.
âMan- what the fuck is his problem, Tobes?â Sobbing into his shoulders, he laughed softly at your wording. âNo idea, but we g-gottaâ get your shoulder looked at, okay? Câmon, Iâll carry you.â Helping you up, he motioned for you to get onto his back.
âToby, I still have to bring the supplies-â
âIâll get the supplies- y-youâre literally bleeding out. P-please just get on.â
His clear exasperation made you grin a little. In a world of people like Puppeteer, there would always be people like Toby. And you thanked the heavens for that.
Awkwardly clutching your wound, you climbed onto him. Letting him hoist you up, snagging the crate by the twine on the way. You breathed out in relief as he started walking, yet concern flooded your mind. âAre you sure Iâm not too heavy? The box isnât that light either-â He cut you off with a snort. âI go out of my way to s-save you, and youâre calling me w-weak? That is s-so low-brow, even for you, pidgy.â
You puffed, of course thatâs how he took it.
âThatâs not what I meant, dweeb-â
âDweeb? Wow, maybe I s-should drop you. Make you walk back yourself, since you wannaâ be mean a-about it.â
A beat, then you both burst out giggling. Your friendship with him was born of proximity, but you liked to think that even if you werenât estranged co-workers, youâd still be close. Sometimes you wouldnât see him for months, though that didnât mean anything would change. Two peas in a pod, that was you and him. You just clicked.
He was easy to talk to, as surprising as that may be. You looked forward to your job half the time because youâd inevitably run into him. Youâd yap and yap, going back and forth about the dumbest things. When you pictured the words âBest friend,â you pictured Toby.
Sinking into his hold, you sighed. The sound came out sappy, and he already knew what mood you were in. âI know, I k-know, Iâm great. A t-total knight in shining armour.â You snickered, âBro, whatever... thanks for like- not letting me die, though. It wouldâve sucked to bleed out in front of an emo with side bangs.â Now that got you a full laugh.
âIâd never let y-you bleed out in front of an emo with side bangs. Unless that emo with front bangs w-was me.â
The silence that followed his joke was stale, and he coughed.
â... Kidding- Iâm kidding. I w-wouldnât, you know that, right? Youâre my best friend, Iâd never- like, yâknow-â
âI know, you loser. You love me too much- besides, who else are you gonnaâ gossip with in between being a crazy axe murderer?â
âHa ha, y-youâre so original, and sooo funny.â
The roll in his eyes told you he was annoyed, but his stupid smile said otherwise. Crooked, it made the gash in his cheek quirk up. And he didnât deny that he loved you, because the truth was? He did. Loved you lots, actually.
You were one of the only people who treated him like he was normal. Toby couldnât exactly just go out and make friends, so your presence was always a pleasant one.
Even when he was younger, he was always somewhat isolated. By his family, his peers and seniors. Yet you never acknowledged any of the things he deemed to be flaws as such. They were just a part of him in your eyes, and he could see that every time he talked to you.
Itâs a sensitive subject, something he doesnât bring up often, if at all- but deep down, he thinks Lyra wouldâve really liked you.
Somewhere along the way, you began snoring on his shoulder. Drooling a little, though you were almost killed, he couldnât complain too much. Toby nudged you gently when you arrived at the porch, giving you a slight jostle. âUp and a-adams, weâre here.â Chuckling a little when you stirred, blinking at him like he was an alien.
Your wound wasnât terribly deep; most of the blood had clotted. However, it was bad enough for your sleeve to be soaked through, and he was not taking any chances. Heâd lost too many people to bad accidents for that. You groaned.
âUgh, my arm hurts.â
âYeah, well, you did kind of get mauled, so...â
Cringing while he set you down, you stiffly clutched at the gash. When all of a sudden, you remembered your stickers- your plans. âOh god- oh my fuck.â The outburst had Toby quickly turning to you, already inspecting your arm. Worry staining his features, âWhat? Whatâs w-wrong-â
His expression swiftly faded into a deadpan once you floundered. âI put a cannibal sticker thing on the crate- I donât know- it seemed like a good idea at the time, but now Iâm bleeding everywhere. Do you think heâll be mad?â
âYou c-cannot be serious.â
âTobes, I have never been more serious in my life.â
The look he gave you had you shrinking into your jacket. Okay, maybe it was a stupid idea. Jack was an enigma even amongst the proxies; you genuinely donât know where you got the audacity to try and pull this off.
â... You donât think heâll eat me, do you?â
âJust g-get in the house.â
With that, the two of you crossed the patio. He opened the door on autopilot, ushering you into the foyer and locking the entry behind him. And the second you rounded the corner, you were face-to-face with another resident. The masked man who had let you in last time, this time with less mask. His face was bare, scarred and stern; he reminded you of those outlaws youâd see on comic book covers.
It also looked like heâd kill you for telling him that, and your mouth remained shut.
âDo I even wannaâ ask?â A thick southern drawl coated his almost fatherly disappointment. Toby chimed up from beside you, shrugging. âPuppeteer was lurking like a f-fucking freak near the drop off, got her right in the arm.â The older manâs eyes flickered down to the wound, then to the brunette. Clicking his tongue when he focused back on you.
âThat boy ainât nothinâ but trouble. Next time you go North, take one of us with you. Those bastards wonât quit if itâs just you, understand?â His tone was harsh, yet the offer of a guide warmed you.
It made sense; you were their singular source of outside materials. Still, a part of you chose to believe it was because he cared. Glass half-full and whatnot.
Nodding, you watched as he strode past. Indifferent to the blood. The hand on your non-injured wrist snapped you out of your thoughts, and Toby tugged you down the hall. Package by his side while you walk.
You reached the basement entrance after a short minute, the rickety staircase framed by the doorway. Your companion had lived here for years, and even he seemed tense. While Jack was the main medic of the group, he was never the most approachable. The eyeless man was a step above the rest, a fact that everyone knew by this point.
He was half reaper, half salvation. Playing both roles seamlessly, itâs what gave him his edge. The care he gave wasnât out of heart, but necessity instead. An obligation, a binding contract.
Itâs why they only came to him if absolutely needed. And now, you were going to bother him with a dumb sticker and a wound youâd gotten because you were too friendly. Allegedly.
Toby nudged you ahead, gesturing you down the steps. The worn planks creaking as you descended, and you reached the concrete quickly. There, in the corner, stationed on a desk chair, was Jack. Absently flipping through a scruffy anatomy book, his head tilted up upon your arrival.
The brunette spoke first, clearing his throat. âGot your s-supplies- her arms fucked up, though. We need to p-patch it up.â The âWe need you, specifically, to patch it upâ went unsaid, but he got the memo.
Rising from his spot, he towered over you as he encroached. Motioning for you to take a seat on the metal table. The surface was cool beneath you, and Toby leaned on the counter across the room. He gave you a subtle thumbs up, cracking a grin to soothe your nerves. The luminescent glare bathed the space beakly, constantly humming like static. It made the lab more eerie than it had to be, but at least you had a friend.
Unfortunately for you, that comfort did not last.
From upstairs, an accented voice yelled for Toby. Informing him that he was required for some task. Something about a new assignment, and he gave you an apologetic shrug. Rushing up the steps and leaving you alone.
With no one to distract you, you were forced to pretend you werenât aware of every shift Jack made. He moved briskly, exact. Making his way to you stiffly, the cannibal rumbled low in his chest. âYou need to remove your coat. I canât operate like this.â His instructions were easy enough, and you shook off your jacket. The outer layer now removed, he halted. Contemplating before he mumbled.
âI have to cut off the sleeve.â
Well, this sweater had seen better days, you supposed. After you nodded, he got to work. Snipping along the seam at your shoulder, his hands were swift yet careful. He held your arm with a shocking amount of tenderness, as if he didnât want to hurt you further. The strong alcohol scent made you sniffle, and your gaze drifted to the crate. Your sticker.
Would this be a bad time to bring it up? He didnât feel that agitated currently, though it was still a risk. A risk that you were willing to take, that is.
You swung your feet lightly while he cleaned the gash, mentally preparing yourself for the conversation. A beat passes, and you craned your neck to him. From this distance, you could observe him up close. And upon doing so, an alarming thought crossed your consciousness.
Jack was kind of... attractive. In a veiled, magnetic way. His presence came off sedative, lulling you into a fuzzier headspace.
He was still intimidating, but watching him be so meticulous about the process was oddly calming. Perhaps it was foolish, yet you couldnât help placing trust in him. A whisper in the back of your mind that told you that you were in safe hands.
Breaking the silence, you hummed, staring at your shoes. âI found a sticker the other day, it reminded me of you.â Though your comment was lighthearted, he paused as if youâd just delivered grave news. Jack was stunned for a moment; his fingers hovering over the displayed tools. Then he grunted quietly, resuming his objective.
Okay, not a bad reaction. He wasnât mad, that you could tell.
So you continued, having a one-sided talk with the mysterious medic. âItâs vampified Lo-mein, yâknow... âcause you eat organs and stuff.â This time, his head lolled a fraction to the side, and you felt his eyes on you. â... I see.â Barely audible, his acknowledgment sparked a reasurrence in you.
âI got it from my take-out order, I actually totally forgot about Halloween- but I thought it was fitting.â
âMm.â
âThe boxes are usually so sad looking- not that I think youâre sad looking. I just wanted to spruce up the packaging a little.â
âMm.â
The conversation flowed with a shocking amount of ease. It was mostly just you speaking, yet Jack appeared content, indulging in your mindless remarks. His responses were short, small hums and grunts here and there. However, they were existent, and that was enough.
Then he said something that threw you off. In the middle of inspecting the area, he nudged his mask at your other hand. âYour finger.â A plain statement that made you look down.
There, on your ring finger, sat a shallow cut. Scabbed over and barely noticeable, yet he saw it anyway. You tittered dumbly, unsure of what to make of his admission.
âAh, I guess I scraped it when I fell or something.â Simply put, he took your words as confirmation. Turning to rifle through his tools placed on the cart, he pulled out a small cliche-esk medical-box. A red cross was painted on the lid, and he opened it, picking up a Band-Aid.
You held out your hand mutely, to which he responded by grasping the limb softly. Steadying your wrist as he smoothed the wrapping over your knuckle. Finishing the job, you couldnât hide the grin that tugged at your lips. The bandage itself was colourful enough, but the part that made you laugh was the design.
A cat with rounded ears and a fluffy tail. Cartoonishly bright.
The quiet giggle halted him, the man going to complete the prior task. However, he seemed almost bashful, answering your unspoken question with a hushed, âI thought youâd rather that one over the others.â Turning your attention to the boxâs contents- jumbled adhesives with only a few vivid amongst the beige. Jack had linked your personality to vibrancy.
It was endearing.
Cleaning the damaged skin, he swiped the deep cut with an antiseptic pad. It was cold, then it began to sting. Your reaction was involuntary, a little squeak when you jolted. It had him hesitating for a second, then he muttered. âApologies, Iâll warn you next time.â And that statement changed your perception of him by a mile.
Again, maybe it was stupid- but perhaps he really was just a guy. Cooped up in his little basement med-bay and introverted. You understood why people were scared of him; it was obvious, logical even. Still, he seemed genuinely thoughtful, not sadistic in the slightest, like you were made to believe. You knew if he wanted to be harsher, he couldâve been. Knew if he was irritated, he wouldâve made it clear.
The thing was, he hadnât, and he wasnât. The people youâd run into on the clock were way more violent and volatile than Jack. Youâd wouldâve picked interacting with the cannibal over someone like Puppeteer any day.
He finished tying the bandage over your bicep with little ceremony. Stepping away from you with a slight nod, you hopped off the table. Facing him with a grin, now on your feet. âThank you, doctor.â You held your hand in the air, pushing your closed knuckles towards him.
A fist bump.
His mask dips down a tad, then back up. For a moment, you thought you blew it- until his knuckles knocked into yours. Lightly, and a little awkwardly, if you had to admit. Jackâs skin was chilled to the touch before he rigidly dropped the contact. It was evident that he hadnât done anything of the sort in a long while. And you laughed, giving him a mock salute. Grabbing your coat, you spun to leave. Looking at him a final time, cheerful when you exited.
Back upstairs, you felt a sense of accomplishment. That definitely couldâve gone worse, and you gave yourself a pat on the back. Your boots thudded against the floorboards as you entered the foyer- just to immediately slam into another body. The two of you stumble back, unbalanced from the collision.
Blinking as you steady your footing, you looked up to find a man with shaggy, dark hair and a striped nose. Well, he was more clown than man, but same difference. A monochrome colour palette, adorned with layered feathers at his neck.
You donât know how you missed him; the guy was massive. Tall enough to reach the ceiling, he stared at you in surprise. The paint on his face cracked a tad when his lips quirked up.
âA human..? Oh! I know, I know! Youâre the little messenger bird, aren't you?â
Clapping his hands (claws?) manically at his own realization, he hunched over to your level. Cocking his head to the side, âOh, my. What on earth happened to you, little birdy?â He prodded, glancing at your bandaged shoulder. You gave an unsure chuckle in return.
While he seemed friendly, you could never be too careful around here. âI was grabbing the supplies- um, I donât know if you know him, but Puppeteer said I was in his territory. He tried to kill me; it was a whole thing.â Explaining your situation defeatedly, he hummed. Theatrically tapping his chin with a pointed nail.
âPuppeteer... Puppeteer- yes! He is such a drag, no? Always down in the dumps, he never laughs, even though Iâm so funny. I really should just tear that spine of his out- save us all the trouble.â
Sometimes you forget theyâre all psychopaths to a certain degree, and that irony was not lost on you.
You shrugged, nodding. You hoped he saved that murderous intent for people who deserved it, and not for poor mailmen. The clown notices your discomfort after a second, leaning down closer to your face. âDonât worry, I pinky promise not to shred you to bits. Between us, I think you and your little packages are quite quaint.â The razor-sharp grin he gave you after did not help his statement, but you digress.
Humming while you side-stepped. You were squeezing past him with a tight smile when he stopped you, gasping loudly. âWhere are my manners?! Jack, pleased to make your acquaintance.â Bowing dramatically, your eyebrows raised at how much space he truly took up. His shoulders were so broad they nearly blocked the hall, and you stuttered. Wait, Jack?
The obvious confusion in your features made him giggle. Shrill as he straightened up. âThere are two Jacks in this house, my dear. The scary one downstairs is eyeless. I come from a music box-â Pushing into your space once more, his tone dropped to a whisper. âItâs where the âLaughingâ part of my name comes from, a literal Jack in the Box. Isnât that fun?â His eyes swirled, sparkling brightly.
LJâs enthusiasm was appreciated, but you were still slightly fearful when you agreed. Your gaze followed him up when he bounced, excited to have made a new companion, it seemed. The clown waved you off, and you made a very perplexed trek to the front door. How many people even lived here?
Finally, you stepped outside, inhaling deeply. Though your solace was short-lived because a sharp clang sounded from your left. Jumping almost a foot into the air, you whipped to the source- Toby.
Standing to the side of the manor, his hatchet was raised above his head, and he brought it down swiftly. The iron blade connects with a chopped stump, the force shuddering through the patio. Too focused on the task at hand, he failed to notice you. Huffing to himself.
You clutch your jacket closed over your chest as you approach. With the leaves bristling, you call for him when youâre about an arm's length away. âToby, what are you doing?â Your voice made his head shoot up, and he rubbed his neck, sighing. âG-getting firewood, if I donât, weâll freeze later- howâs your arm?â Always a worrywart.
Stretching, you circled his workspace. Sitting on the rusted bench that was off-centre to the porch. âAs good as it can be- also, how many roommates do you have, man?â You snickered, reclining while he threw his axe to the dirt. The question had him running a tired palm down his face.
âWay too many, y-you have no idea. Why?â
âBecause you never told me there were two Jacks, I got cornered by a clown on the way out- I think he was nice, though. Sorta.â
Tobyâs body language shifted at the mention of the other proxy. Suddenly grimmer than you expected, he narrowed his eyes. âDid he s-suh-say something to you? Did h-he try shit?â The concern flooded off of him, and he walked in front of you.
Though you were quick to pacify him. âNo, nothing like that, he just asked what happened to my arm. He wasnât like super weird about it or anything- is he bad?â Mumbling, your answer made his shoulders less tense, and he plopped next to you.
Resting his weight on his knees, he exhaled heavily. âLJâs u-unpredictable. Sometimes heâs fine, and t-then heâll flip over the most random s-shit. I- just be careful, okay? Iâm not t-trying to bury you, too.â Said with a rawness that fell over you like a blanket. There was a fear there, a grief that drowned his words.
Heâd told you about his past a bit ago. Telling you how he grew up, about his mom and his dad. How terrible it was to live in that house, and how much he missed his sister. Under all his aggression, his hostility and humour- there is a boy who is constantly afraid of losing.
The vulnerability had your heart aching, and you scooted closer. Hugging his arm to your chest with your chin on his shoulder. âIâm fine, Tobes. I swear Iâm not gonnaâ evaporate out of nowhere.â You felt him lean into you, grunting mutely. âI know, itâs just like- y-you shouldnât even be here. Not s-saying I donât want you here, itâs just dangerous. Weâre not... weâre not good people, pidgy.â His confession was agonizingly soft.
You think the guilt Toby carried must be devastating.
Smushing your cheek into his sweater, you drew in a slow breath. âIt wasnât your fault, and you are good-â He scoffed, yet you continued anyway. âYou are. You donât do this because you like it, or because you want to see people suffer- itâs because you have to. I would know, youâre my best friend. And you tell me everything.â Ending it on a sappy note, it made his lips twitch up despite himself.
âYeah, I do. Probably w-way too much, actually.â
âDefinitely too much, youâre not even cool and mysterious anymore. You spilled all your secrets, negative points to your brooding persona for sure.â
âI am not brooding- and if I was, Iâd be s-super cool about it.â
âNuh uh.â
âY-yuh huh.â
A moment of nothing but the wind and the faint chirp of sparrows- before you both giggled. Toby appreciated you more than youâd ever know. Always by his side, no matter what, an anchor when he was straying from shore. You made things lighter, easier to bring up. It was nice.
His shoulder was comfortable, and he was warm. Taking a break to rest your eyes when something hard stabbed you in the ass. Jerking in place, Toby looked at you, confused.
You had completely forgotten about your other plan.
Earlier that week, youâd stopped by a pawn shop to pick up some flip phones. While he did have something to contact the other proxies on, he didnât have a personal device. Something that was simply meant for reaching him. You had taken the initiative, buying one for him and one for you.
As much as you loved the guy, he was still a serial killer. It would not be smart to just have his contact on your work phone. So this was your solution. Itâd mean you wouldnât have to wait months to see him, and you could bother him when you were bored. Like normal folk do.
Sticking your tongue between your teeth in focus, you reached into your back pocket. Digging out the mobile caller and holding it out to him with a grin. Snorting when he squinted at your gift.
âSurprise!â
âIs that a flip phone?â
âNo, itâs a sandwich- yes, you loser, itâs a flip phone. So I donât have to see you bi-monthly like weâre soldiers at war.â
His face was unreadable, then he puffed. Ruffling your hair with a snigger. âY-youâre an idiot. You didnât have to spend money; I couldâve figured it out.â You shook your head, disagreeing with fervour. âYou know I love you, but youâre super broke, and I donât need you getting arrested for petty theft.â And his jaw dropped.
âFirst off, I would not g-get caught-â
âCrazy idea, bring back being grateful.â
Tobyâs mouth clamped shut at that, and he pouted. â... Thank you.â Rolling his eyes playfully while you smiled in triumph. âYouâre welcome.â Both of you shoved at each other, laughing over the stupid argument.
He walked you home after, making sure you locked the door before he left. Even though you technically came close to dying, it was an overall pretty good day.
Sighing as you sank into the comfort of your own bed, you went over your mental checklist. Give Jack the supplies with the sticker? Success. Give Toby the phone so you could harass him when he worked? Success. Itâd been a productive shift, if you do say so yourself.
All you had to worry about now was how to get an over seven-feet-tall cannibal to fall for you.
áŻâ
â˝âââââââââââââââĽ
Humans were strange.
Maybe not all, but you definitely were. An outlier on Jackâs scale of interactions. You didnât fit, not really. He struggled to categorize you, struggled to shove you into a box with the rest.
At the beginning, heâd brushed you off. You were simply another worker, another body to carry the burden. And you still were, itâs just that you confused him from time to time. The things you did, the choices you made, were never logical. Your ambition was unfounded, your common sense flawed. He had never entertained the conversations thoroughly, or with unwavering attention-
Yet you seemed unfazed.
It bothered him more than it should have. The cannibal didnât particularly hate you or anything like that; it was the aftermath that he disliked. For whatever reason, your departures that followed the scheduled drop-offs always left him oddly... empty. An out-of-place ache in his chest that refused to budge. And that feeling only worsened over the months, incessant in staying, no matter how hard he ignored it.
Additionally, your scent was also becoming a problem.
See, Jackâs nose was very, very sensitive. Precise and capable of breaking down smells to each individual note. Which was helpful when he was deciphering how far along a cadaver was in the decomposition process. Useful when he needed to discern what stage an infection had reached- yet currently, it was nothing more than an irritation.
The problem began prior to your most recent visit. Last month, on a Sunday, was the first occurrence. It happened once youâd vacated his lab, and he was alone. Fixed in the spot you stood moments before, he inhaled deeply. Letting the lingering fragrance fill his lungs. Your aroma was unique to you; everyoneâs was. A distinct balm that stuck to your skin.
He remained unmoving for at least five minutes straight, and the shameful part was that he wasnât even aware of it until far too late.
Youâd think a being so old would be past embarrassment, but the blue tinge in his ears proved otherwise. Unaccompanied in his med-bay, he chuffed quietly to himself. His claws flexed stiffly as he pretended that it hadnât occurred.
It was probably because he was hungry, thatâs all.
Chalking it up to an unfed stomach, he went hunting. And when he returned, your scent was long gone. So he moved on, not persisting in the thought more than necessary. Returning to his solitary routine, he found peace. (For the most part)
Then you came back.
Injured, you had walked up to him timidly. With Toby at your side, the brunette explained the events that caused your wound. Of course, Jack wasnât squeamish; heâd seen all there was to see of the mortal vessel. It was the overwhelming amount of your scent that had him reeling. Your flesh and bone, the deep-seated sweetness of it. It made him salivate the second you entered his space.
The odium buried itself in his gut the second after. Youâd come to him with trust, with the belief that he was good. That he would help- and he did. Jack helped you with drool collecting on his tongue. Aided you with an appetite behind his molars. Bandaged your wound with starvation gnawing at every fibre in his body. Youâd be disgusted if you knew, and youâd be right to.
Itâs the reason he failed to understand you. Your motives and goals were a grey area, a desolate patch in his mental diagram. You talked just to talk, brought him stickers as if you were friends. It was strange, and he thought about your perception of the proxies often.
Jack was aware of your relationship with Tobias and the comfort that you brought the boy. He talked about you, brought you up sporadically. Said that you were kind, that you cared more than you should, that he was fond of you. It was clear to him why Toby liked you so much- what puzzled him was why you stuck around.
Everyone in this forsaken mansion was condemned to hell and back. Their hands were stained with more blood than you could possibly imagine. So why?
Why did you stay? Why did you patch up the axe wielder's scrapes when youâd witnessed firsthand what he was capable of? Putting colourful band-aids on the smallest cuts, even when heâd told you himself that he couldnât feel pain.
You both fascinated and unnerved him. Itâs not like you were dim-witted; he knew that you knew what they did. Who theyâd become when the static of an order came through. Who they were when dusk settled over the trees.
Such a peculiar creature, he thought.
Organizing the scalpels laid out before him, he arranged them in order of size. Sharpness and use came first, then wear and tear followed. Jack lined up the new shipment youâd delivered, discarding the blunt ones to make room.
All on schedule, he diligently kept at the task until everything was in place. And when his workspace was finally initialized, the cannibal stretched his neck from side to side.
He was hungry again, and his stomach acid demanded something solid. A feeling heâd unfortunately grown used to, he straightened his spine. It was late, and heâd been working down here since early morning. So with his to-do list finished, he decided it was time to feed. But not before noting the date on the calendar.
Jackâs rut was arriving soon.
áŻâ
â˝âââââââââââââââĽ
A hitchhiker, from the looks of it.
Dragging duffel bags along the gravel, the man had gotten lost on the trail. Aimlessly finding his way through with a flashlight, he stopped to tie his shoe. Crouching down, he was distracted by the rope, and Jack thought he was broad enough for a full stomach.
Stalking near, his claws flexed, preparing to strike. He lunged from the darkness, piercing his talons into yielding skin. The victim didnât even have time to scream, his windpipe swiftly bitten off by Jackâs unhinged maw. A clean sever, the tendons and muscles crunched under his canines, and he swallowed. Yet when he was hunched over the corpse, ripping cartilage from bone- he froze.
There, in the centre of the man's chest, was a pendant. A symbol he had fought tooth and nail to forget. It was the crest of an old testament, meant to represent worshippers of death and avarice.
Flashes of the ritual took hold of his mind. The fear of it, the black tar that filled his veins like lava. The agony of being changed.
He was stretched and gutted, mutated into something wrong that night. The transformation had left him in an irreversible state, and when the followers had believed theyâd won, he stole their valour in a blink. Blinded by the excruciating hunger, he sank his teeth into every body he could get a hold of. It was nothing short of a massacre. Annihilation at its finest.
When heâd reached the last one standing, the man wailed like a wounded animal. Cursed him, damned him by their god's law. Spoke an incantation that would bring rot to Jackâs malice if he ever consumed devoted flesh.
The memory is as vivid as it is violating.
There were only a select few, a small community of unwell folk. Deranged into believing that greed and carnage would gift them something grand. A purpose larger than life and a way into the heavens. As if worshipping a mortal-consuming demon would ever get them anywhere close. Obviously, they hadnât done their research- because the ritual had gone to shit.
Jack was supposed to be a vessel, not a host. Yet instead of corrupting his soul and assailing, the entity bound itself.
The black magic had woven into his DNA, making it inseparable from his form. It ruined him, turned him into this. And in return, he had devoured them eyes first. Taking his time to ensure the pain lasted, hunting them down until their temple was barren. He was sure heâd slaughtered them all- so what the fuck was this?
Digging through the bodyâs pockets, he snagged out an ID. Useless. He moved onto the luggage, and inside, he discovered paperwork. Apparently, the guy wasnât doing well. Never married, with no kids and no surviving family. Jack worked through the pile with haste, searching to identify whether the cult was an active threat or not. He knew they stuck together in packs, always needing enablers to survive.
No friends either, no contacts or connections. The deceased had gone bankrupt trying to start another commune. Selling pamphlets with a lacklustre regimen, it seemed that the twenty-first century wasnât a fan of sacrifices. Not outwardly, anyway.
He reclined onto his haunches, sighing. A straggler. While the sight of the emblem had him uneasy, at least the worst of it was over.
Though his relief quickly fled when nausea began punching up his throat.
The gravel trail beneath scraped into his knees through the denim, grating the skin. He could taste the bile, a pungent regurgitation of raw meat and blood. The usual pleasant metallic tang had turned putrid, and he gagged violently. Undeniably sick from the bites he took.
It came in waves, making him sway on the spot. Collapsing forward, his claws dug into silt. Dry heaving as he retched. Jack clumsily stumbled off the half-eaten corpse, dragging himself to rest against a tree nearby. He slumped onto the trunk, gasping weakly while he fought to stay upright.
The bark was abrasive, only worsening his condition. Everything was suddenly too much, and it overwhelmed his senses. The crickets were too loud, the wind too sharp. It hurt.
He shuddered; he hadnât been ill in decades. His body had become used to the lack of mortal ailments, so the foreign seediness was amplified tenfold. It rattled him from the inside out, blurring his vision and impairing his judgment. He could barely even see in front of him.
With his eyes failing to focus, he swallowed a mouthful of vomit. It was disgusting, and the worst of it had yet to come. Seemingly out of nowhere, despite his unsettled stomach, his mouth had started watering. The drool slipped past his teeth, dripping from his snarl. Jack needed to get rid of the taste, or heâd fucking die here.
The cannibal tried everything he could think of. After crawling up, he supported his weight on the oak. Staggering a bit when he reached blindly for some fruit hanging off the shrubbery. The berries crushed in his hand, and he forced them down.
However, the produce did little to help, not soothing his revulsion in the slightest. Then, he tried shovelling the stained dirt and sand into his gullet. Though that hadnât worked either. The craving for blood only amplified the longer he went, and his gut felt like it was consuming itself. He was so hungry.
So hungry he couldnât think. Starved enough to devour anything in his path. And his forehead was damp with cold sweat when he heard it. Heard you.
Stepping out from the greenery, you were none the wiser to your impending doom. The cruel fate that awaited you for simply being in the wrong place at the right time. Your scent called to him like a siren's song, sweet and tempting. It curled into the wind, beckoning him. Acting as a noose around your neck while he closed in.
You held a package under your arm, another delivery to a separate house, he assumed. With your back to him, you readjusted your grip. Whipping around when a deep growl resounded throughout the forest. It tore through the silence. Interrupting the chirp of evening birds and the whistling breeze. It took a moment, but you spotted the disturbance as you glanced up.
Enveloped in shadows, stood Jack. His shoulders were beyond tense, jolting with narrowly contained strength. You could feel his gaze, even blocked by the darkness; it had weight. He surveyed you like prey, his mask sitting limply against his hair. From your spot, you could make out the shape of his jaw. The red that smeared his skin, and the mangled remains behind him. You were no longer staring at a medic.
In that moment, you realized why theyâd warned you. Why they drilled the stories and myths into your head, why they were so desperate for you to understand. He wasnât dangerous because he chose to enact, chose consume and desecrate.
Jack was dangerous because he didnât.
He wasnât human, and his harm lay in the lack of decision in that. His appetite wasnât controllable, a carnal need not even he could govern. It accursed him the same way it accursed you. And now you were stuck in a cage with a beast that hadnât been fed. The key was out of reach, existing in theory and never in practice.
Sure, you could try to run, but would that really do anything except prolong the chase? Stretch the dread that would cease solely when your rib cage was ripped open. Death had come for you in the shape of talons and grief. Taken form in an amalgamation of empty sockets and puppeted limbs. Driven by hunger and hunger alone. There was no way out.
Face to face with the man, you inhaled shakily. Dropping the box to the ground before relaxing your posture. There was no point in being defensive; he could overpower you in a second. The best bet you had was asking him to be swift, and you went to speak- only to be cut off by a strained rasp. Â
âSuh- s-sorry.â
His voice crackled like an old radio. The pitch warbly, baritone so low it sounded as if he was choking on the syllables. It rumbled through the roots. Reverberating up your spine to the base of your skull, along with crystalline fear. You were terrified. Frozen in place, his word was the singular notice you got- and he advanced in a blink.
Lurching over you, your back collided harshly with the uneven soil. The rock was sharp against your skin, piercing your jacket while you trembled. Letting out a stifled sob, you gaped at him wide-eyed. A mute plea for him to end it quickly. Then, his claws sank into your arms, and the pain erupted, burning hot.
Your chest caved up and down in repetition. Hyperventilating as Jack waged war with himself above you. He didnât want to, god knows he didnât- but you smelled so good. The wound youâd acquired had yet to heal, and the blood wafting up made him salivate. Acid pooled at the back of his throat, nudging him to lean down.
He buried his nose into your collar, breathing in deeply before licking a stripe up your neck. And when his canines broke flesh, you screeched.
Your hands flew to his sides, desperately clawing at the fabric. It was nothing short of excruciating, the sensation blistering you like frostbite. Your muscles were spasming, contracting viciously from the tear. The grasp on his sweater tightened, and water filled your eyes. Streaking down your cheeks while he groaned.
Lapping at the gash, he gulped down mouthfuls of the thick liquid. You tasted utterly fucking divine. Sugary and euphoric on his palette. He prodded his tongue deeper into the laceration, slurping messily at the sinew. Your blood felt like an elixir, a cure packaged in cords and ligaments- he couldnât stop. The shame in himself wracked his frame, his gut wrought into shape by disgust, yet he continued anyway.
Black tar poured from under his lids, dripping onto your face, and Jack wailed. Akin to a wounded animal, his anguish seeped into your lungs.
Perhaps it was the blood loss, the pain making your head foggy, but a part of you ached for him. Execrated by a malignity that was never his own, itâd be unfair to loathe him for it. Despise him for a fate that you wouldnât wish on the already damned.
You think if youâd met under different circumstances, when the air around him had yet to be tainted, he wouldâve been kind.
The crescent hung bright over the tree's edge, the glow mingling with the clouds in wisps. It was pretty. An enjoyable view to gaze at in your final hour.
Raising your hand, you cupped his nape. Running your thumb against the edge of his hair. By this point, youâd lost feeling in your neck, your brain failing to send signals to your nerves. The sharp pangs had dulled to a spark that flickered here and there. Your head was pounding when your arm fell to the dirt. Lying limp as he feasted.
Jack hadnât fully torn off the chunk heâd bitten into. Chewing the frayed muscle that came loose and drinking the blood that spilled instead. Yet the damage had been done, and when he pulled back, it was too late.
It took at least half of your bodyâs plasma to ease the manifested hunger. Draining almost all your life source to give him clarity. With his voracity finally satiated, he slouched onto his knees, looking down.
Beneath him, you lie pale. Blinking slowly, once, twice, like it took all your strength. His eyes drifted to the injury, the gaping hole left by his teeth. A gnarled thing, the flesh was nearly torn to shreds. It made him sick.
Adrenaline kicking into overdrive, he moved with urgency. Hooking one arm under your knees and the other supporting your back, he hoisted you up. Carrying you, he pushed off his heel. Bolting through the timber faster than he ever had. You were not dying tonight. Not when he could save you, not when he wouldâve done anything to go back in time.
He shouldâve been stronger, tried harder. Couldâve, shouldâve, wouldâve- but he hadnât, and now you were paying the price. Not only were you undeserving, but you were also pertinent to your role. A necessity, one that would not be easily replaced. The system was complicated, tricky to maneuver, and the true neutrality you offered was rare. Jack could not afford to lose you.
His feet struck the earth in desperation, steps thundering and rapid while he rushed to the manor. Luckily, his superhuman strength hastened his journey, and he reached the courtyard before your pulse withered completely. Rushing up the stairs, he slammed open the door. Darting down the hall and passing the living room. Toby saw you first.
The commotion had caused a ruckus, and heâd turned the corner just to witness your body in Jackâs arms. You looked like you were dead. Lips tinted with blue, your arms slack while the cannibal sped into the basement. The second thing he noticed was the clear bite taken out of your throat. The dried salt on your cheeks and blood under your nails. As if you had fought.
He wanted to vomit.
Sprinting after the other man, he borderline crashed into the cellar door. Jack had locked it behind him, and Toby roared. Screaming at the top of his lungs as he pounded his fist against the barrier. âW-WHAT THE FUCK DID Y-YOU DO, EJ?â He rammed his shoulder into the frame, throwing his weight against the wood. It shook the walls, and he grit his teeth.
âOpen t-the doorâ OPEN THE F-FUCKING DOOR.â
The entry creaked loudly with every collision, finally giving way with a resounding final crash. The lock splintered, and he jumped down the staircase two steps at a time, filled with panic. The brunette charged into the lab, skidding to a halt when he spotted you.
Sprawled across the padded metal table, your chest didnât even appear as if it was moving. He scrambled near, interrupted by Jackâs bark. âDo not move her. Sheâs lost too much blood- I have to focus-â Toby scoffed, hostile. âA-and whoâs fucking fault is that? All s-she ever did was fucking talk to you. S-suh-sick fucking freak.â
âI wasnât- she ran into me when I was hunting-â
âSo you couldnât hold back? J-just had to eat, right? It just h-had to be her? Out of everyone, it had to be f-fucking her?â
âIf I donât operate now, she will die, Tobias.â
The gravity of the situation shoots him through the chest. His feet were unsteady under him, his hands shaking when he slumped against the counter. Biting his nails until the skin is raw, bleeding while he watched the medic work. This wasnât happening, it wasnât.
You were fine. You were fine yesterday. You were fine when you gave him the phone, grinning brighter than the sun.
You were good, wholeheartedly good. So why were you here? In this decrepit basement, bleeding out with your throat shredded. It wasnât fair. He had so little, wanted so little. You were his best friend, the only person he felt at home with. The only person who didnât deserve to be on that table.
His head jerked aggressively to the side, teeth grinding so hard they could shatter. In front of him, Jack hurriedly prepared the surgical bed.
Dashing back and forth through the room, his hands flew to the tools. He needed to close the wound and close it fast, hook you up to fluids before you were gone for good. Pressing gauze to the opening, he held it firm, ripping open a sterile needle with his canines.
When the fabric soaked through, it was thrown onto the cement. Landing with a wet smack. And the action was followed by him splashing saline solution haphazardly on the puncture.
The bite hadnât gone deep enough to pierce your carotid artery. It did, however, cut through the initial layer of muscle. Damage to the STA. He cursed, huffing. While not life-threatening in its current state, you were still at risk for hemorrhaging if not treated correctly.
Your pulse causes the laceration to sputter. Heartbeat pushing the plasma non-stop, and flicking scarlet up his forearms. The skin on your neck had been torn, not sliced. Therefore, he needed to rid the wound of non-viable tissue. Jagged flesh that lacked blood flow would most definitely rot if left alone.
Jack stabilized his grip, focusing on the incision. He glided the scalpel along the tears, cleaning the teeth marks into something neater. Tidier and easier to stitch. Isolating the segment, he switches instruments. Silver nitrate sticks were always stocked due to the proxy's constant recklessness- and they were needed now more than ever.
A pin drop could be heard in that moment. Toby couldnât move, and his foot tapped rapidly. You needed to live, you had to.
Prepping the area, Jack noted your bleeding had clotted enough to apply petroleum jelly. The moisture from the wound would work as an activator, mixing the chemicals upon impact. After spreading the salve, the caustic pencil hovered over the abrasion. By heaven's name, this was going to work; there was no other option.
The lights buzzed to the thrum of your heart, and he lined up to cauterize the vessel. It sizzled atop the artery, only in contact with your capillary for a few seconds. Then, it was quickly removed when Jack deemed the slit closed. Every muscle in his body pulled tight, his back screaming from being hunched over your form.
Casting the thing aside, he moved on to the external mutilation. A thin needle was pinched between his fingers, the steel cold and sharp. This was going to work.
You werenât conscious enough to struggle, and he began suturing the gash shut. The non-absorbable thread wove in and out of the wound's edge. A ladder-like pattern, before he snagged the stitching taut. Shutting the gaping brawn in one pull.
Still, he held his breath.
Not progressing with any less urgency, he connected you to the standby cardiac monitor once heâd bandaged your throat. With you attached to an IV drip, his attention strayed to the telemetry. The screen beeped to life, displaying your vitals. The notches dip, rising with your respiratory rate until they read stable, and he collapsed into a chair near your bedside.
A successful hemostasis.
Toby shoved off the counter, approaching the operating table. His trembling hand found yours, and he laced your fingers together. âSheâs f-fine, isnât she?â Muttering, he turned to Jack, the man nodding in response. âSheâs stable, she just needs to rest. The parenteral nutrition will keep her levelled for now, but sheâll need food when she wakes up.â Gesturing to the bags hanging next to the monitor as he spoke.
The brunette shifted where he stood, glancing back at your connected palms. He wished you never met any of them. Wished that you couldâve stayed far away from this mess. A victim of circumstance, you didnât deserve to be hooked up to all these machines. Stuck in a blood-stained basement because you wanted to help, because you were doing your job the way you were supposed to- it wasnât fair.
You looked so weak, fragile, while you lay unmoving on the cot. The question of âwhat ifâ plagued his mind over and over again. What if you hadnât made it back in time? What if the bite had gone just a little deeper- then what? Would he have to bury you with the rest?
Mourn an unmarked grave, walking past missing posters of you stapled to trees. Fidgeting with the phone you gave him in his pocket when things got hard. Bringing it with him everywhere, knowing there would never be someone on the line.
Pretending you were only a call away, sending voicemails to an unmanned inbox. Always hoping that wherever you were, they laughed at your jokes and let you lean on them the way he did. The way he would.
The idea made his stomach churn, and he exhaled heavily. Shaking his head to rid the thoughts, he gave your hand a squeeze. âIâll bring y-you the soup you like in the m-morning, pidgy.â Leaning down to press his lips to your damp forehead.
On the sidelines, Jack sat rigidly. The guilt and shame in himself were consuming, gnawing at every fibre of his being. He could still feel your touch on his nape, the aching tenderness in your acceptance. How you embraced him as he stole your youth. Thieving your innocence, your years, and soul under the stars. The forgiveness in how you held him, as if you understood.
As if you couldnât bring yourself to hate him, not even then.
It drowned him in disgust. In himself, in his lack of control, in the still present hunger that simmered beneath the surface. What a terrible fate you suffered, he thought. Enslaved like them when you had no place amongst sinners. Whatever chivalry between him and Toby was long gone. The bridge burned to ash, a point of no return. Itâs not like he could blame the boy, either.
Imprisoned in a cell with too many scratches on the wall to count. Forced to slaughter, to labour, and punish. The role of executioner was played to a T, a script heâd never chosen for himself. You were a window to the outside, the only speck of normalcy he could afford.
Jack had nearly ripped that from him. He could only imagine the fear and grief Tobias felt upon seeing you in that state. The change in his personality, in how he carried himself, was stark when youâd gotten closer. And heâd almost lost it all tonight.
The air was pungent with antiseptic and metal, the stale quiet interrupted by creaks from upstairs here and there. Their shared stillness lasted for another beat before Toby straightened up. Placing your hand down, his back was towards the cannibal, and he stepped to the staircase. Mumbling over his shoulder. âTell me w-when sheâs up.â With that, he trudged up the railing.
In the silence of the lab, Jack stared at your frame. The muted alerts of your vitals rang in his ears, and he ran a claw down his face. Exhausted and numb.
He should have died the night they bound him to the devil.
áŻâ
â˝âââââââââââââââĽ
Everything hurt.
The analgesic currently flowing through your veins helped, but it hadnât numbed you completely. Sharp spikes of pain sparked every time you moved, and you sighed. Blinking to life slowly as you propped up onto your elbows. Apparently, you had made it after all.
You sniffled, wincing at the strain on your neck. The cotton sheets under you were scratchy, worn down with use. Rustling while you pushed the blanket off.
Overhead, the constant buzzing lights were nowhere to be found, and the room was lit by a single lamp in the corner. This place was even creepier in the dark. With your vision struggling to adjust, the shadows on the walls moved in your periphery. Swaying in the glow cast by the cool-hued bulb.
Swing your legs over, you paused, feeling a tug on your inner arm. A needle that connected you to the beeping screen. At least youâd been well taken care of. Thinking it over, you were in the middle of deciding whether to pull the thing out yourself or wait for someone to arrive, when a curtain swished behind you.
Emerging from the small room attached to the med-bay, Jack froze upon seeing you. Your eyes met for a moment, and you coughed awkwardly. â... Hi.â Watching him, your gaze followed as he walked to the monitor. Standing at your bedside, he didnât respond, simply checking the information displayed.
Wow, youâd think for a guy that almost ate you, heâd be a little more talkative. Still, you chose not to prod, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket instead.
Your problem was that you hated silence- well, not hated. Itâs just that, right now, it felt like a ton of bricks in your gut. Clearing your throat, you wet your lips. âDid you like my stickers?â That had him stuttering. His movements wavered, and a muted clicking emanated from his chest. He gave you a stiff nod before resuming his focus elsewhere.
It was evident that the whole almost killing you thing got to him. Probably fuelled the never-ending guilt-complex that he definitely had. Which was... not great, for what you were going for. You were supposed to smooth-talk the guy, not activate his hunter instincts and have him avoid you. Call you delusional, but you know what? This was just a hiccup. I mean, who hasnât been mauled by a love interest, right?
Glancing down, he began peeling off the medical tape at the crook of your arm. The glue left a sticky residue on your skin, and you mumbled. âAre you okay?â Your comment was quiet, almost fond when it left your mouth.
Jack flicked the used bandage into the trash nearby, puffing through his nose. âYes.â Though it wasnât as convincing as heâd intended. His voice sounded strained.
The atmosphere was thorny, a tad too bleak for your liking. So, against your better judgment, you shrugged in his direction. âAre you sure? Youâre not hungry, are you?â Joking, his head whipped up. Gaze boring into you. Okay, too soon.
He went back to removing the liquid IV, only to hesitate once it was out. The to-be-discarded needle in his hand, and he huffed. Exasperated when he stood to full height. âWhy are you doing this?â Accusatory, his mask tilted to the side. And while you couldnât see his face, you knew he was most likely scowling.
âDoing what-â
âThis.â
Frustratedly throwing his claw into the air, he snapped. âYou- I nearly ripped out your throat, I almost killed you. You must understand at least that, donât you?â Tone shaky, clearly vexed by your refusal to acknowledge the fear you should be feeling. âYeah, but- I donât know. They... told me about your hunting. I know you get weird if you donât eat. Itâs not that big of a deal-â However, your retort riled him further, and he pinched his nose bridge through the mask.
âNot that big of a deal? Do you even hear yourself?â Laughing humouressly, he continued, snarling. âIf I had gotten back even a minute later, you wouldâve been a corpse. Food for the maggots outside, nothing but another body to bury- you wouldnât be here, messenger.â Chest heaving after he finished his tangent, you rose to your feet- tried to, anyway.
Because as you nudged off the mattress, your legs gave out. Sending you straight into the cement, you braced, yet the harsh floor never came. Instead, you were engulfed by something solid. It held you steady, and you opened your eyes.
Jack had caught you, tugging you to his chest to keep you from falling. One hand splayed between your shoulders, the other on your lower back. He felt warm, carefully reclining when he deemed you stable. Palms on either side of you, while he looked you over. âDonât rush if you wish to move. If you need anything, ask me for it, understood?â The switch in tone made your head spin.
Going from irritated and loud to awfully tender in a second. You supposed thatâs why he was the medic, always prioritizing patients and whatnot.
With his arms around you, you became overtly aware of how close he was. Feeling everything there was to feel. The plush of his muscle against your front, the roughness of his calloused skin on yours.
Your panicked inner monologue was cut off by a grunt. âThe sutures will rip if youâre reckless, but it shouldnât scar. Iâll check in a week. I... I hope the pain isnât unbearable. If it is, I have something you can take to sleep.â
Not quite an apology, yet the care in his words was undeniable. The previous heat of your one-sided argument had faded, and you hummed. ââKay, thanks for patching me up, doc.â Teasing him, he appeared to have given up in refuting your humour. Not pointing out the fact that you wouldnât even need to be patched up if it werenât for him.
Towering over you, his eyes flickered across your face, then to your neck. The edge of his talon grazed the bandage as he leaned in. Observing the gauze, making sure it hadnât soaked through yet. âTell me if it hurts, Iâll fix it.â Hushed, the baritone rumbled deep behind his ribs.
He didnât know why he was holding you. The overwhelming urge to ease your tension was lost on him. An itch he couldnât scratch. Your scent, combined with your pliancy, had him giving in before he could stop himself.
The change was noticeable, and your cheeks felt hot. âYeah- okay, um...â Stuttering, Jack was simply examining his work. Looking over the injury just in case. The issue was that you were aggressively attracted to him, and this was not helping. His hand was still resting on the arch of your spine, thumb absently smoothing up and down.
The claw near your collar then strayed upward, tracing along your jaw. Abruptly intimate, it was as if the air around you had shifted. Tightening a fraction and filling your lungs like smoke. The cannibal tilted your chin higher, your gazes locking. âWhat do you need from me, courier?â His face was inches from yours, and you squirmed slightly. Lids growing heavier by the secondâ
BEEP BEEP BEEP-
Unfortunately for you, you were very much attached to the monitor. The machine ratted you out and  borderline screeched. Your heart rate was too high, sending the thing into disarray. Alerting everyone in a five-mile radius that you had a case of the butterflies, bad.
You scrambled apart, with Jack rushing to turn off the telemetry. It shut down with a muted click, and he disconnected you soon after, leaving you to stand in silence.
That was... new. Perhaps you were hallucinating, but that felt just a bit too close for professionalism. Opening your mouth, you went to step towards Jack. However, before you could speak, Toby sprinted down the stairs.
His eyes darted between you two, clearly under the assumption that something had gone wrong. He was frantic as he approached you. âAre you- are y-you okay? Does it h-hurt?â Quickly pulling you into his arms, he cradled the back of your head. âJesus fuck- I thought- I thought you were-â The last part was left unspoken, the fear in his pupils more than enough for you to understand.
Breathing in deep, you relaxed in his hold. While you didnât hate or blame Jack, it was still scary. It still shook you up, and your body yearned for someone familiar. You didnât even realize how much itâd affected you until tears began to dot his sweater. Burrowing your face into his shoulder, he gave you a squeeze in response.
âI-Iâm here, Iâm here. I p-promise.â Toby whispered into your hair. Rocking you lightly back and forth, he glared at Jack over your crown. A sign for the other man to leave, and he followed it swiftly. Striding past the curtain at the back of the room, the drape swung shut behind him.
Jack slumped onto his old cot. Sprawling on his back, he threw an arm over his eyes.
What the actual fuck was wrong with him?
Wires were crossed in his head, corrupting his agency and everything else up there. You were pliant because you were fucking terrified- and he couldnât even give you that. He took advantage of you in the woods, forcing you to submit with your life on the line. Then, when you woke up, heâd lost himself again. Coercing you into just going along with it when he trapped you in place.
Your heart rate was so high it sent out a goddamn alert. You were so scared, you couldnât even speak. The way you collapsed into Tobyâs arms had him sick. Trembling like a leaf, you clutched onto the poor boy as if you were dying. And he supposed that you were, in a way.
Being stuck down here with him must have been hell for you.
Itâd been obvious you were on edge since you woke up. Making jokes to soothe your anxiety, to try and placate him so he wouldnât hurt you. So he wouldnât hold you down and do awful things. Tear you limb from limb while you begged for it to end. All because youâd brought him a sticker. Heâd witnessed that hesitance and held you anyway.
Caressing your face like some kind of degenerate. Violating you with the same claws that had nearly stopped your heart. Youâd gone into shock, not able to express emotion at all until someone else entered. Someone who wasnât an active trigger, who hadnât given you trauma beyond repair.
You were the singular person whoâd ever gone out of your way to talk to him- and heâd given you fucking PTSD.
His ears picked up the voices rising out of the basement. You and Tobias had left, which meant he could fall apart in peace. Sitting up, he tore off his mask, flinging it to the wall. His claws dragged down his face harshly as he screamed into his palms. Dry heaving while his teeth grind.
The inky tar seeped out in pulses. Dripping between his fingers and onto the concrete. Itâd been so long, he shouldâve been used to it. Shouldâve trained himself well enough not to feel it the way he did. And yet, the question of why wracked him to the marrow.
Why had he been cursed with this fate? Why did he have to live in isolation? Why couldnât he control himself even if he desperately tried to? Why did he have to want so deeply? It wasnât fair.
When heâd adjusted the wrapping on your neck, for a godforsaken moment, he had felt less lonely. Your warmth, your closeness felt so tangible. Just out of reach, something he could grab if he tried hard enough. Like if he stretched far enough- it wouldâve been his.
But that wasnât reality, now was it?
Jack hated how badly heâd enjoyed it. How much heâd savoured it as if you werenât horrified by his touch. He hated how agonizingly he longed for you to search for him, too. For you to look at him the same way you looked at Toby.
Reaching for him because he was safe, because you trusted him. Because, despite all that he had done, he was still someone you loved. Someone youâd fall into blindly because you knew heâd never hurt you.
A wretched envy shrieked from inside his chest. Scratching at his lungs, decaying his heart and rotting him whole. He wouldâve given all his prowess, all his strength and agility just for someone to talk to. Bearing the weight of the job, risking death because he was human in exchange for a companion. Thatâs all he needed, all he asked for. Just one.
Lunging onto his feet, he sank his talons into the wooden desk. Launching it to the floor with an echoing crash. The oak splintered, and he threw a fit like a child. Ransacking his room, he hurled furniture, shouting until his throat was raw. Crying nothing but oil until his face burned and his hands bled. He hated it, despised it. This everlasting solitude that would plague him till the earth spun anew.
He sagged onto the cold floor after his surroundings resembled a war front more than a room. Choking on grief and disgust, Jack curled into himself. Hyperventilating while he wondered what itâd be like to be held dear.
What itâd be like to be loved at all.
áŻâ
â˝âââââââââââââââĽ
That did not go well.
Toby, being the concerned friend he was, checked you over for a solid twenty minutes. Interrogating you on whether or not Jack had done anything to harm you when you awoke. When youâd said he hadnât, the boy barely believed you. To which you smacked him on the chest for. Telling him you wouldnât lie just to save face.
This led to him walking you home like always, dropping you off at your door, and waving you off. However, you didnât leave the manor until at least an hour after youâd gone upstairs. So, on your way to the bathroom, you walked past the basement. Now, you wouldnât say you were a psychic or a therapist- but youâd bet it had something to do with the events prior.
Pressing your ear to the locked door, you heard him throwing things around. Utter chaos from the sounds of it, and you sighed. When he had stepped away, he seemed so disgusted. Even with his face covered, his body language was loud and clear. On top of that, you remembered his exasperation from earlier. How aghast he was when you hadnât screamed in terror.
Jack probably thought you were a hazard.
Someone who didnât know their place. Poking and prodding where you didnât belong. You were reckless, causing him problems just because you stupidly assumed itâd be fine. A walking risk.
You collapsed onto your pillows, wiggling your feet to get comfortable. Mumbling to yourself. âThis minor setback might be a major setback, guys.â And just as you were about to roll over and call it a day, your phone pinged. With the screen lit up, you craned your neck carefully to skim the notification. The number was unknown, reading-
[ Unknown: Shit is getting crazy icl. Feels like Iâm watching Love Island. ]
Assuming it was a wrong number, you decided to reply. Your boredom would be the death of you. You swiped your thumb across the glass, clicking on the message.
[ â.á : LMFAO I wish. My love life is lowk in shambles bro. Also, this is def not who ur looking for :pâ ]
[ Unknown: Nahhh, it for sure is. ]
The second that text loaded, your screen began glitching. Colourful bars filled your tab, and an image popped up. An off-toned character from a video game, with buzzing letters overlayed on top.
<<YOU SHOULDNâT HAVE DONE THAT>>10101010101
Then, a voice resonated out of the speaker- though it wasnât nearly as creepy as you predicted. Instead of an eerie, ghoulish rasp, he greeted you like a YouTuber. âWhatâs up, mailman?â Okay, you guessed this wasnât the weirdest thing youâve been through. â... Hello?â
âDude, shit hasnât been this interesting since Toby got wasted and totally pissed in the sink.â
At the mention of Toby, you immediately knew it was someone from the mansion. Leaning back onto the cushions, you answered leisurely. Out of all the houses, The Operator had a surprisingly decent employee list. Compared to the others, anyway.
âThe way I donât know that means.â
âBrooo, oh my god. Your thing with EJ! The tension has me on the edge of my seat.â
You quirked a brow. First off, how the hell did he know about that? You hadnât told anybody, and the interactions youâd had with him were lacklustre at best. Not counting the last one. Second, he was talking as if heâd been watching. And now he was contacting you about it. God, when would you rest? Picking at your cuticles, you crossed your ankles.
âIâm sorry- have you been stalking me?â
âWhat? No- dude. Well, like not stalking-stalking. Your phone's just out when you talk to him, I canât not. Itâs literally my whole thing.â
âThatâs creepy. Like so creepy, you realize that, right?â
âAyo, chill. Iâm not creepy- I donât watch you when you leave. Itâs only in the house, and câmon. You know what Iâm talking about- spill the deets!â
Groaning, you thought about how this was definitely a bad idea. Yet your need to talk to somebody about it overruled your logic. âBro, like I actually donât even- wait. Who even is this?â A snicker, then he huffed. âBen, elf guy, yada yada- now, spill.â You rolled your eyes, continuing nonetheless. âOkay, itâs not a big thing- I donât know. Weâve only talked-â
In the middle of your sentence, a thud sounded from outside your window, and you whipped your head to the side. Ben laughed on the line, âOh yeah, Jeff followed you home. My fault.â And before you could register his words, a pale hand yanked open the sill latch. The killer had somehow scaled your house, balancing on the ledge just to eavesdrop.
The glass pulled up, allowing space for a man to shove his head in. Long, unbrushed dark hair shagged over his face. A Glasgow smile carved into his cheeks, with scarlet freckling his hoodie.
You screamed.
âFucking- shut up, shutup-â He scrambled through the opening, jumping to your side and clamping a palm over your mouth. You were both frozen in a stare-off for a beat, then he spoke. âIâm not gonnaâ kill you, so stop throwing a fuckinâ fit, âkay?â A jagged knife fell from his waistband, falling to the floor with a clang. â... Thatâs for other stuff- just donât fucking scream.â
Slowly, he removed his hand. Stepping back, then settling into your window seat and collecting his blade. Your phone chimed in again. âWell, shit. Guess the gangs all here-â Obviously, you were the lord's favourite jester, because just as you thought this was it- a claw shot out from under your bed. Crawling into the light, he stood up.
LJ.
In all his feathered grandeur, he loomed in your cramped bedroom. Sharp grin on full display. âHeyyy.â The clown waved at you before dropping onto your carpet. His legs folded under him. Your life was a joke, and you did one final call. âIf anyone else has broken into my house- please just come out now.â
You truly didnât know what you were expecting, but it wasnât for a girl to pop her head in from the window.
Her hair was dyed with pink stripes, faced sliced with a scar to match Jeffâs. âSorry- itâs just that everyone else was going and I wanted to see.â Cheery, then she climbed in. Plopping next to the other killer. You massaged your temples, exhaling heavily. âWhy are you all here?â Aggravated that work was affecting your free time, Ben answered.
âI told you, this is the most interesting thing since that New Yearâs bash- okay, I canât do this over the phone.â
The line cut, and you heard your living room TV switch on. Static, then shuffling, followed by your bedroom door swinging open. And just as heâd stated, an elf. With pointed ears, he was blonde, his eyes blackened. Blood streaking his skin, he looked like a classic horror figure.
The glitch threw himself onto your beanbag, a bag of chips in hand, while he nodded at you.
âAlright, Iâm ready. Go.â Munching away, your eye twitched as you took a deep breath. âOkay. Iâm going to ask one question, is everyone ready?â Monotone, you deadpanned. The room filled with agreements, muted shifts of fabric, and you sat up. âWhy are you in my house?â You claimed to be a patient person, yet sometimes situations really tested that.
Jeff flung his knife into the air, catching it with practice. âMy girl likes gossip.â Said with little ceremony, you caught a glimpse of a bracelet dangling on his wrist. A singular âRâ charm that flickered in the light. Opening your mouth, you were interrupted by a collective gasp.
âPause?!-â
âOh? And you kept it from us?â
âWait, who- Jeff, tell me-â
âPLEASE- can we just get this over with?â
Your outburst made them turn to you, stunned into silence. One could easily believe you fit in amongst them with the amount of homicide you were thinking about. Taking a moment to collect yourself, you gestured to Ben. âIâm guessing youâve been running your mouth?â His lips pressed into a thin line, and he shrugged. âI got bored.â Reclining further back when your glare grew in heat.
âArenât you guys serial killers?â
âNot all of us, but itâs the same shit. Câmonnn, give me something.â
Pinching your nose bridge, you deflated. Fuck it, might as well. âWhatever is said in this room stays in this room- or else Iâm calling SWAT and ruining everyoneâs day.â
Jeff snorted, and his acknowledgment mingled with the rest. The group listened expectantly when you began recapping the events. Reaching near the end, the girl whoâd introduced herself as Nina piped up.
âHe made you look at him? Oh my god- wait, Iâm actually obsessed-â You replied with a sad puff. Shoulders sagging while you looked up. âIt was fine- but like I think he kind of hates me- not hates me. Itâs like I make him weird, and every time we talk, something goes wrong. Which makes it so complicated.â She hummed, tapping her lip in thought. âMm, well, donât you have to see him in a week anyway?â The remark had you frowning.
âYeah, but itâll probably be tense now.â
âBabes, he literally caught you. And itâs not like he said he hated you or anything. I think you should at least try making up- besides, you guys would be so cute.â
âYeah, if he doesnât fucking eat her.â
Jeffâs icy tone cut the banter like a dagger through prey. His head cocking to the side while he fidgeted with the knife's handle. âWhat? We gonnaâ act like the guyâs not a headcase and a half? Youâre lucky you even got out with your head- we all know he couldâve done worse.â Looking you up and down, he ran his tongue along his teeth. Though Ben was quick to ease the tension.
âOkay, but he didnât. Also, where have you been? They have so much chemistry thatâs literally all weâve been talking about- and EJ doesnât tolerate anyone. He held her, bro. Thatâs insane.â
Defending your budding romance with a passion not even you expected. The glitch emphasized his point by throwing his hands in the air.
Rolling his eyes, Jeff refuted his opinion. âIâm just saying not to be delusional. I mean, he fucking took a chunk outtaâ your neck.â Nodding at you, his bluntness made Nina squint. âYouâre such a debby downer. They could be soulmates, Jeff. Soulmates. Besides, he patched her up. If he didnât care, she wouldnât be here. That has to mean something.â She argued with a pout, and LJ chimed in from his spot on the floor.
âTo be fair, she is the messenger. Itâs his duty to keep the bossâs plans running smoothly. But wouldnât it be wonderful if our medic had developed a crush? Oh, the drama, the anguish- Iâm getting heart palpitations just thinking about it.â He sighed wistfully, twirling a strand of hair around his finger.
Nina crossed her arms, âI think you should go for it. Just like... bring an extra bag of organs in case heâs hungry.â Adjusting in her seat as you huffed. Ignoring the fact that you had no way to obtain said organs, you also didnât have a clue how to approach him. Especially after that.
The situation was complex, something youâd never dealt with before, and far out of your comfort zone. You had to be careful.
Playing with the edge of your shirt, you shrugged, tired. âI donât know- heâs checking me over next week. So Iâll see, I guess.â Your mood was sombre, yet Ben shot up. Snapping in your direction with a newfound determination. âWait! Youâre close with Toby, aren't you? Heâs roughed up all the time, and we can get him to ask EJ about you-â
âAbsolutely not.â
Your interruption was met with widened stares. The group, taken aback by your raised volume as you continued. âTobyâs weird around Jack right now. He saw me when I was down there, and it shook him up really bad. I donât wannaâ stress him out more, alright?â The confession had Jeff gawking at you in disbelief. âWow, heâs even got the whole overprotective act down- yaâ sure heâs not into you?â And the elf gasped, somehow more offended than you.
âDude. No. Thatâs basically her brother; they have a whole thing. Oh my god, do you pay attention to anything?â
âTheyâre literally all over each other every time I see them. It looks like theyâre fucking, Ben-â
âYouâre actually- I swear you walk around with a blindfold and earplugs, bro. Toby is the overprotective childhood best friend trope, we are the comic relief cast, and EJ is clearly the brooding and damaged love interest. Your stupidity is throwing off the dynamic, Jeff. Lock in.â
Ben was nothing short of appalled, out of breath by the time he finished. Who wouldâve known that the computer virus was a die-hard romantic?
Blinking, you shook your head. Focusing back on the conversation at hand. â... Okay. Anyway- please, just keep this to yourselves. Itâs messy enough as is, and I have work tomorrow. I need to sleep. You guys can debate my love life another day.â You stated in defeat.
While you were technically using your schedule as an excuse, it was true. It was getting late, the clock reading fifteen-to-one when you glanced over.
If you wanted even a speck of energy for your day job, youâd have to pass out in the next ten minutes. But much to your dismay, the killers lingered for another half hour. Only departing once theyâd ransacked your pantry for snacks. A few also insisted that you save their numbers, for âemergencies.â Allegedly.
It was nearly two AM by the time you were alone, and you groaned into your pillow.
Why did finding a boyfriend have to be so hard?
áŻâ
â˝âââââââââââââââĽ
Hustle and bustle, hustle and bustle. That was the motto.
The glasses clinked as you balanced them on the tray, and you put your best foot forward. The diner was busy, filled with lively conversations. Gold streaming through the windows from the midday sun, music sparking over the old radio's static. It had you squinting when you approached the booth.
After theyâd left the night prior, you fell asleep around three in the morning. Not terrible, considering your shift started at noon- but still. The lack of a full night's rest was felt, and your faint eye bags spoke for themselves.
Placing the dishes down on the table, you chatted with guests. Small talk with the patrons had gone smoothly up until this point, so overall, you were pretty content. Your heels scraped on the patterned floors while you made your way back, when the entrance bell rang. Chiming brightly, you turned to the door from behind the counter to see the regulars. The couple.
Turquoise hanging from her ears, she walked ahead of him. Settling down in their usual spot. They appeared to be bickering, the wife clearly upset over something. Emoting enough to cause the husband to huff. It wasnât exactly out of the ordinary, and you wiped down the surface with a rag. Yet, their argument remained in your peripheral vision.
It made you sad, in all honesty.
Their love story had begun so promisingly, ending in tragedy just because heâd chosen excitement. Your heart hurt on her behalf, dimming your mood a tad. However, you didnât have much pause to linger on it. The alert for your break was buzzing in your pocket, catching your attention. It was time to take your fifteen.
You stepped out the back. Fishing your phone out of your apron pocket and leaning against the brick. Scrolling through your notifications absent-mindedly, the sound of the alley door made you look up. The wife. She trudged onto the concrete, not sparing you a glance as she passed you by. Leaning on the wall adjacent to you while fixing a cigarette between her lips.
The lighter sparked once, twice, before she inhaled. Defeated when she finally met your gaze. The sky was now overcast, the clouds blanketing the warm glow above. Drifting to suit the mood, it would seem.
The woman tugged her coat tighter around her frame. âWhat?â Her words were muffled by the smoke, and you stuttered. âNothing!- Nothing, I just...â The question of what truly happened spun in circles in your head. You didnât want to come off as nosy or rude, but you wanted to know.
Everything youâd heard about her dull romance had come from others. A game of telephone played by gossiping strangers with too much free time.
Hesitant, you cleared your throat. âIâm sorry if Iâm being like- invasive, but... whyâd you stay?â Tucking your phone back into your tied pinny, she scoffed. The noise wasnât offended nor cruel; it came off more tired than anything. As if sheâd heard that same phrase over and over again. She took a slow drag. âAlways that question, huh?â You went to apologize, only for her to shake her head.
âMm, itâs alright. I get it. Why would I stay, right? Everyone in town talks about it. My manâs a deadbeat, I know.â Laughing humouressly, with a smile that didnât quite reach her eyes. âI loved him. Oh, I loved the bastard somethinâ awful. Waited on him for longer than I shouldâve. Believed him when he promised me a ring- but you probably know all that, donât you?â Her remark had your ears hot, and you nodded.
You felt bad, yet she appeared unbothered. Used to it after the years. âI stay âcause itâs been too long. Thereâs no point in leaving now. He pays the bills, gets me things I want, so I donât yell at âim when he comes home with a hickie. Itâs easier that way.â Though her tone was neutral, the stale hurt lay beneath. Worn down from age.
Flicking ash off her cigarette, she simpered. Humming like she was reminiscing. âItâs just how it is, hun. Ainât no way else about it.â Giving you a once-over, the woman gestured at you. âNow, I donât wannaâ lecture you, but you stay far away from men like that, understand? Donât waste your life away settling for someone âcause they seem âsafeâ. Iâm tellinâ you now, itâs not worth it.â
She took another inhale, the paper burning around the tobacco. Lighting up a muted amber as she continued. âI waited because I didnât know better. Youâre young, you got time. Donât let yourself become bitter. If you find someone who sends your heart racinâ, you chase that bastard to the finish line, yaâ hear?â The words were spoken as both an instruction and a warning. To not lose yourself.
To never sacrifice your joy for the sake of maintaining normalcy.
Finishing the smoke, the filter was crushed beneath her heel. Simply ash on cement when she goes to exit the back lane. Her hand gripped the steel handle, and she faced you one last time. âIf itâs right, youâll know. Real love wonât fade, itâll stick like a scar- even if you ainât want it to. Trust me.â A click of the latch, the door swung shut, then shes gone. Leaving you to simmer in your thoughts.
Alone on the street, you sighed. Her phrasing made you think. âStick like a scar,â huh? If the bandage on your neck was anything to go by, that had to mean something.
If this wasnât a sign, then what was, right?
With your shift nearing its end, you folded your apron. Placing the bundle on a shelf with the rest. It had been a decent work day, and you checked your surroundings for anything you couldâve forgotten. The kitchen had already been tidied, the counters and floors wiped clean- you straightened your jacket. All you needed to do was clock out, then youâd be free.
Reaching for a pen hung next to the printed schedule, you scribbled onto the paper. Signing off, before you begin your trek home.
The next check-up could not come faster.
áŻâ
â˝âââââââââââââââĽ
Of course, everything that goes wrong- goes wrong on a Saturday.
In theory, today should have been easy. You were off, your chores were finished, and the only thing planned was a take-out dinner. Yet, fate seemed to love throwing you in the wringer.
It had been almost a full week since youâd seen Jack. While you and the medic hadnât left off on the greatest of terms, you were optimistic. If you broke it down, the only barrier that technically remained between you was a misunderstanding. You just needed to talk, clear things up, and itâd be fine. Probably.
Hopefully.
However, you couldnât even mentally prepare for your endeavours because currently? You were a mess. Since youâd woken up, your routine had been in disarray. The neighbour's dog had gotten into the yard, biting and kicking all your plants over. You had to physically go out to lead the puppy back to its owner. Who was not as grateful as he should have been, by the way.
Then, when you thought things could not possibly get any worse, you realized your favourite spot had closed early. Something about a kitchen mishap, which meant you wouldnât be able to get your usual. Which also meant youâd have to leave the house to get dinner. Sure, you could just suck it up and make instant noodles- but you wanted a treat.
Things have sucked lately, and all you wanted was a good meal. Unfortunately for you, Lady Luckâs help was a one-time get-out-of-jail card. So now you were forced to buckle down and take a journey to the local corner store.
Walking quickly, you shivered a little. Shouldâve brought a thicker coat, yet your suffering didnât last too long. The lights of the mart were only a few steps away, and you sighed upon entering. The in-store heating warmed through the layers, relaxing you as you browsed.
Okay, letâs try... pasta? Maybe a roast on the side with garlic bread. Mumbling to yourself, you plopped a pack of raw brisket into the basket. Collecting the ingredients leisurely as you made your way through the aisles. You threw a bubbly drink in there, too. You deserved something fun after all that. In your opinion, at least.
Check out was a breeze, and you started your march back. The plastic bags rustling in your hold while you stepped, hung at your elbow. You were humming quietly until you caught a glimpse of the hole in a nearby fence. The place that started it all.
It was weird thinking about it now, making you wonder about how different things would be if you had taken another route.
Glancing from the empty sidewalk ahead to the crooked metal, you squinted. Would it be stupid to take a shortcut? Itâs not like there was anything that could harm you past that point. As far as you knew, the only creature of the night that lurked these grounds was your boss. Deciding to risk it, you ducked under the wire. Strolling down the trail with your goods.
You could already taste the massive bowl of penne; it was going to be glorious. The imagery had you grinning, and you shifted your grip on the bag. At the mention of food, you hoped Jack was doing okayâ
Snap.
A twig, somewhere to your left, had cracked. This could not be happening. Again. Turning cautiously, your eyes widened. Wolves. Youâd been so caught up in thinking about supernatural threats thatâd you forgotten about how dangerous the woods were. Too absorbed in your bubble to remember the animals that prowled the grounds. Now, standing face to face with the carnivores, you swallowed.
If you ran, theyâd chase. If you stayed, theyâd attack. Stuck in limbo, cold sweat lined your back. They moved in packs, growling, as they began to circle you. You cursed yourself mentally. Why did you even go this way? Itâd gone terribly last time, so why on earth did you think itâd be smart to take the route again?
The one ahead of the group bared its canines, snout in the air. Sniffing like it could trace your blood in the wind.
You blinked once, twice, three times- and then it charged. The rest following suite. They surrounded you while you fought. Wrestling its head away from your face as best as you could, it snapped its teeth. And you werenât weak, per se, but an animal was an animal. Winning a fight against one wolf would be a miracle. Surviving five is a daydream.
It gnashed in your hold, another one snagging your jacket. They were beginning to grow impatient, closing in on you. Hot breath wafted above you, and it smelled like meat and hunger. You probably struggled for a couple of seconds at most, yet it felt far longer.
The jagged stone stabbed through your coat when you shoved wildly. Out of all ways to die, out of all the near-death encounters youâd had- of course, youâd lose to something mundane. A stray animal attack. Your muscles screamed, burning and straining with all their might. But it wasnât enough, and even you knew that. A single slip of your arm, before it broke through your restraint.
You closed your lids on instinct, your whole body bearing up in preparation. A ragged huff, and its drool landed on your skin disgustinglyâ
Then something ripped it clean off of you.
A figure too rapid for you to see, moving like smoke, lightning over ash. It swung the wolf to the dirt by its neck, and the animal landed with a grinding scrape. Snarling only for the beast to snarl back. A show of dominance, predator on predator.
When your sight finally focused, you recognized your saviour in a heartbeat. Recognized him in a heartbeat. Jack, his claws flexing, gnarled and broad with barbarity.
The wolves pounced onto him from behind. Latching onto his shoulder, its tusks sank deep before he seized the head. Talons piercing bone as he launched it aside. Another shot for his throat, and he ducked. Swerving to the left, he grabbed the thing muzzle first, slamming it to the ground and slicing it from head to chest.
Blood from both parties slathered the grounds. He was brutal, not stopping for even a second. Every attack was refuted by a bite with more force. A slash that cut to the artery.
Some scuttered away after realizing the opponent was stronger, and others became mangled in the crossfire. By the end, the cannibal huffed over scarlet-soaked gravel. Wiping the gore from his jaw with the back of his hand before flinging the remains away.
He was panting, sweat soaking his collar, with red splattered on his mask. The thing was half-on, pushed up to reveal his mouth and the tip of his nose. After rolling his shoulders back, swivelled on his heel. Spotting you almost immediately.
The silence stretched on for an uncomfortable amount of time, and just as you gathered yourself up, groceries still in your possession- he borderline folded in half.
Catching himself by sinking his claws into a tree. Even at this distance, you could see the shudders that wracked his frame. The barely contained growl that fought to break free.
Though you werenât as scared as you thought youâd be. Sure, heâd displayed an insane amount of strength and brutality, but heâd saved you. Jack couldâve left you for dead, yet he didnât. Getting mauled for your sake in the process.
Lacking fear, it was exchanged for worry instead. With concern taking its place in your gut, you moved closer. Carefully calling out for him. âJack?â You were quiet when his head shot up. âGet away from me. Itâs not safe.â He sneered in response, his body jerking.
It sounded like it was a struggle to even speak, and he collapsed onto the dirt. Heaving on all fours. Alright, perhaps it wasnât the smart decision- but you couldnât just leave him there. Especially after heâd put himself at risk for you. The poor guy could barely stand; itâd be wrong to just walk off.
Kneeling in front of him, you tilted your head lower. Trying to catch a better glimpse of him. Now closer, you could see how strained he really was.
The perspiration dripped down the columns of his throat, adams apple bobbing when he swallowed. Jack shoved away from you desperately, and his back collided with the trunk behind him. âEnough. You need to go. Now-â Cutting himself off with an animalistic clicking. The noise erupted from his chest, seeping between his gritted teeth.
In the grand scheme of things, he was probably correct. This was dangerous- the man had almost taken your life last time. However, he still patched you up. Still held you when youâd fallen. Still went out of his way to keep you safe. He was good, even if he didnât acknowledge it.
Under all the hunger, the aggression and violence, he was well-meaning. You knew he was. So you stayed planted.
This forest was close to the main road, and in this state, you werenât sure if he could properly get away if someone saw. Making up your mind, you spoke with urgency. âWe need to get you somewhere else. People break past the fence all the time; they might see you.â With that, you grabbed his wrist, tugging. Yet Jack was adamant in his refusal.
âStop thinking about me and worry about yourself for one goddamn second- you wonât survive if I-â
âIâm not leaving you here.â
The outburst stunned him, and your eyes searched his. Begging him to stand. âM-my place isnât far, itâs a ten-minute walk, but we have to hurry.â The dread was thick in your cadence, and he couldnât fathom your desperation. Your overwhelming need to get him to safety. You were too kind for your own good, offering sanctuary even if it was at the cost of your own preservation.
This was a beyond foolish idea. Letting you bring him back would only end in disaster. You would be injured and further traumatized at best, and mutilated with a still heart at worst. His self-control was weak, threatening to give in at any moment.
Heâd put off hunting because heâd been too caught up in his spiral. Then his rut had hit at full force. And now the scent radiating off you was making his mouth water. This was a bad fucking idea. He couldnât. Shouldnât. Canâtâ
âPlease.â
Your voice shook, the hold on his arm faltering before it was readjusted. You held onto him with both hands, your fingers digging into his blood-soaked sleeve. Too earnest, too genuine as you pleaded. You decayed his fight, chipping at his resolve until it shattered. Jack was at his wits' end when he begrudgingly agreed. Staggering up along with you as he was dragged along the path.
The pair of you reached your doorstep, and after youâd ushered him inside, he dropped onto your couch. Rapidly tapping his foot while you hung your coat.
Jack could smell you everywhere. Your fragrance stained the walls, wafting off the furniture. It was dizzying. Pungent and drowning, it was clear to him that heâd fucked up. It was hard enough to rein it in when you were in the open air. With the space being confined, heâd doomed himself as much as he had you.
He needed to leave. Now.
Pushing off your sofa, he stumbled slightly. You, of course, noticed him in an instant and rushed to his side. Easing him back down with a soft murmur. âYou need to rest, you canât go out like this- I have meat if youâre hungry? I donât know if you can eat animals, but I can try to-â Your voice was buzzing in his head, the tangent becoming background noise.
It was disgusting, a rotting want that festered behind his ribs. Thrumming through him in pulses as he struggled to keep himself still. You were trying to help. Naive to the vulnerability, the risk youâd put yourself at. He understood that, knew it like scripture- but alas. His grit was wittling by the second, and itâd only be a matter of time before he snapped.
Jack wouldnât be able to leave without touching you- without bringing harm to you in the process. You cared far too much; youâd try to negotiate. You werenât aware of the severity at hand. He wasnât just hungry; the sick urge to claim was now present. The need to possess, to take and breed. It was a part of his biology, something that had changed in his blood the day theyâd changed him.
You were so close, settling next to him after placing tea on the coffee table as if itâd help. As if he werenât drooling at the thought of breaking you open. Both in body and in soul.
â... Jack?â Hesitant, you leaned to the side. Attempting to see his expression. âAre you okay?â He hated how much your concern fuelled his appetite. Innocent, akin to prey, you blinked at him. Confused when he rasped. âYou shouldnât have brought me here.â And your reply had his molars grinding. âI know itâs- weird right now. But you literally canât even stand. I donât mind that youâre here. I- Iâm not scared of you, if thatâs what youâre thinking.â
His nails dug into his palms. You were blameless, awfully generous to a beast that craved your essence. Jack cursed himself for letting his hunger get this out of hand. He shouldâve hunted prior; at least then heâd have the energy to make a run for the door. The seasonal ruts were destructive on their own, so he couldnât even comprehend the marks heâd leave on you.
Yet you only instigated the already building heat. Fussing over him, you fidgeted with your thumbs. âIs there anything that would help? It might be stupid- I just think if we get something in your stomach, youâd feel at least a little better.â Like poking a starved bear.
The straw that broke the camel's back was the minute you touched him.
Your palm rested gently on his shoulder, worry written across your features- and he lunged. Pouncing on you, your bodies slammed onto the floor. Causing the cups on the table to clatter. Jack pinned your wrists by your head, panting over you. His mask had slipped off in the rush, his face left bare. The obsidian tar dripped onto your cheeks while his lashes fluttered, and the sight made you gasp.
âYouâre beautiful.â
It acted as a sucker punch to his gut, winding him. He snarled, the sound rumbling low. âYouâre a fool.â Pained when he dipped his head closer, his nose grazing the uninjured side of your throat. You smelled so good, achingly warm and alive. It had his cock throbbing painfully in his slacks, and he latched onto the skin.
Lavving at the spot, his teeth pierced flesh, making you arch into him. And yet, this felt different than before. Too intimate, he wasnât biting you to feast- it was like he was trying to infect you. Spreading his hunger like a disease and injecting it into you by blood. Another thing that contrasted with the previous incident was the way he dropped his hips between your thighs.
Spreading your legs to accommodate his mass and grinding onto your core. You whined, breathless. What the hell was happening? Though any logic was quickly dissolved when he began rocking against you. His zipper caught on your clit, the pleasure resetting your brain entirely. Your thighs twitched together, clamping around his body as he groaned.
It felt good, heavenly and mind-numbing. The taste of your blood, combined with the feeling of your clothed cunt sent him reeling. You sounded so pretty, all gasps and hushed moans. It was addictive- he couldnât stop if he wanted to. Not now, not when you were squirming under him. Not when youâd writhe and shiver from his touch.
He rutted harder, rougher, while your lids drooped. Tongue sliding over the tiny cuts left on your skin, savouring the taste. You were even better than he imagined. Pulling back, he licked across his canines. Breathing heavy, the air was so heated it created foggy puffs with each exhale. A view that had you dripping, Jack looked manic.
His grin stretched up, razor-sharp teeth on display and glimmering in the dim light. He purred, âSweet meat.â A slow baritone. Leaning down and letting his lips mold to yours. He kissed you deeply, with his tongues exploring every inch of your mouth. He was completely drunk off it. Off you. Too lost to stop and think about the way heâd trapped you in place.
You mewled, and the drag of his bulge over your cunt made you dizzy. The thick outline slotted between your folds through the cotton, pressing against your sensitive clit. He was drowning, vast and ruthless. The cannibal wasnât even fucking you, and you were already panting. You just couldnât help it- the authority, the control of it, making your head spin.
Whining into him, he swallowed the sound. Grunting while his hips jolted. The friction was too much, too fast. Jack fucked you through the denim with urgency, refusing to give you reprieve. Itâs not like heâd started gently either. The man had jumped from sitting quietly to pouncing on you in a blink. Still, the embers within your core sparked like matches. Setting aflame and devouring your heart's home.
The fury, famine, and fervour were balanced on a pin. Tipping the scales as your release overtook you.
Your orgasm came without mercy, rushing from your head to the tips of your fingers. Making your spine curve while he soiled his jeans. The groan he let out had you twitching. Empty, when you clenched around nothing. Your back felt raw from the constant motion of your bodies, and the afterglow blurred your vision.
âJ-Jack-â Yet the shaky call of his name landed on deaf ears, the cannibal flipping you onto your stomach.
He restrained your lower half under his weight, caging you between his heavy thighs. With his stiff cock nudging against your entrance through the fabric; it was obvious to you that he had no plans ending this any time soon. Just what had you gotten yourself into?
Continuing to hump you, Jackâs saliva dribbled down his jaw, and he dropped. His arms bracketed your head while he bit onto your nape, moaning at the taste. The pain was sharp, a repetitive throb that mixed with the heat. You sang from the prickle, âAh- mmph, s-slow down.â However, it appeared he was in a daze. Dragging his teeth to your shoulder, he sank his canines down.
Orgasm after orgasm, he had you pinned under him for hours. His seed had seeped through his slacks, blending with your slick. Youâd lost track of how long itâd been, barely able to keep your eyes open by this point.
Weakly pawing at his bicep, you hiccuped. Eyes rolling back when his engorged cock head ground on your clit once more. You seized violently, skin littered in punctures. The red had stained nearly everything around you. The slow drip of the wounds painted the rug, streaking your frame. It made your living room look like a crime scene.
The clock on the wall read â2:48 AMâ when he finally slowed to a halt. Sweat beading down his brow as he reclined. You were lying beneath him in disarray. Hair knotted, with tears streaming along your cheeks. His teeth marks nearly covered the entirety of your upper body.
That was when it dawned on Jack what heâd done.
The evidence was clear as day between your wet thighs. His cum coated your flesh, slobber leaving a shine from your marred shoulders up to your neck. You were wrecked beyond repair. Injured and crying mutely, with your head craned to gaze at him. The lack of focus in your pupils had him fucking nauseous.
He shoved off of you, scrambling to do anything. To help, to aid, to fix this. And when you struggled to roll onto your back, he tasted bile.
You weakly propped yourself onto your elbows, slumped slightly to one side. âItâs okay- itâs okay.â Though it was evident that he disagreed, he hastily crawled forward. His hands shook while he sputtered, âShit- I-I have to stop the bleeding. Just- just wait- Iâll- Jesus fuck.â Claws hovering over you, desperate yet hesitant.
âMy bandages and stuff are upstairs, in my bathroom.â Trying your best to calm him, he hurriedly picked you up. Cradling you in his arms as he rushed the steps. You two rounded into the ensuite washroom, and he placed you on the bathtub ledge.
Darting to the cabinet, he grimaced at his reflection before grabbing the medkit. Yanking the white box open and dabbing the cuts along your collar.
He kneeled in front of you, his breathing unsteady. As much as he wished to flee, heâd done enough damage. The least he could do was make sure you didnât bleed out. The guilt consumed him with every peel of a Band-Aid, with every pat of gauze on your lacerated throat. And once he was done, the silence was so thick you thought youâd suffocate.
Idly remaining on the tile, his bottom lip wobbled. He was so angry, disgusted- filled with nothing but self-loathing. Jack had no right to cry, no right to grieve. Despite all of it, his body was running on fumes, and he tumbled onto his hands. Head hanging low, an inch above your legs. He let out a choked sob.
The cannibal collapsed onto his haunches, burrowing his face into your knees. His claws pathetically grasping at your calves. Careful not to harm you further.
âIâm sorry- fuck, Iâm sorryIâmsorry- I didnât want to. I didnât- I swear on my life I didnât. I would never- I wasnât-â You go to comfort him, your hand a centimetre away from his trembling form, before he jerked away harshly.
Clarity had shot through him like a bullet. What the actual fuck was he doing? Forcing you into such an uncomfortable position. Making you soothe him as if he hadnât just submitted you to an act so violating itâd haunt you for years.
You were probably so lost, traumatized and afraid. Trying your best not to trigger him into doing anything more. The shock was most likely the only reason you werenât having a full-blown panic attack right now.
Stumbling back, his expression was bordering on pure devastation. Horrified, when he staggered past the doorway, his gaze fixed on you. âIâm sorry.â His words were heavy, and he left your sight quickly. That was all you got, the singular statement he left you with. You heard your front door slam shut, the force rattling your home as you fell apart.
Jack was right about one thing. You were in shock, and you were definitely on the verge of hyperventilating. It wasnât that you were traumatized from him, exactly- it was simply that you were beyond overwhelmed.
Everything had happened so fast, you hadnât had the time to process it. You needed something to ground you, to ease you after your endorphins had peaked. And he had left.
Putting you in isolation at literally the worst moment. If you didnât call someone, youâd vomit.
While your bedroom was a few steps from your spot, it felt a world away. Your feet lugged against the floor, heavy as lead, and you dove nose-first into your sheets. Fetching your charged flip-phone from under your pillow, you unplugged it. Pressing it to your ear after dialling the only person you could think of.
Toby.
The tone cycled three times, then it clicked. A voice crackling through the other side when you exhaled. âH-hello?â Salt had already brimmed under your lids, and you sadly puffed. âTobes, please tell me you can come over.â The quake in your words made him straighten up immediately, gathering his coat.
âYeah- yeah, of course. W-what happened?â
âLike- ugh. Just hurry, please.â
The conversation was swift, and you hung up once heâd told you heâd started walking. Time flies when youâre spiralling on the brink, you suppose- because your bedroom door swung open in a flash.
Toby, out of breath, stood at the entryway. And the second he digested your state, he jumped to your side. Frantically rolling you over while you sniffled. You were pitiful when you reached for him, and he didnât hesitate to sink into your embrace. His arms slipped under your back, with his body on you like a weighted blanket.
He was attempting to stay calm- but holy shit. The first red flag was that your door was unlocked, the second being the blood on almost everything. Then, when heâd gotten to you, you looked like this.
Mind racing a mile a minute, the brunette mumbled into your hair as you sagged into him. âTalk to me, pidgy. Youâre s-scaring me here.â A weak jab at humour, and you sighed. âYou have to promise not to freak out.â Quietly, your hands curling around his sweater.
Okay, now he was definitely freaking out. All the signs pointed to an obvious conclusion, one that he prayed wouldnât be correct. Though he nodded anyway, waiting for you to continue.
â... I ran into Jack, he was sick- I think. I donât know, I brought him home. I was trying to help and then-â Toby pulled back instantly, cutting in with a disbelieving huff. Eyes wild. âWhat?â You freeze, backtracking to explain, but he was already set in his wrath. Cupping your face, he stared at you unblinking.
A simmering rage and disgust swam behind his pupils, grip steady. âItâs okay- youâre okay. Iâll take c-care of it, alright? Iâll kill him, Iâll f-fucking kill him- I promise. Heâs not gonnaâ touch you, I s-swear heâs never gonnaâ f-fucking touch you again.â His forehead rested on yours, and you shook your head. Tugging at his sleeve gently,
âNo- Toby, it wasnât like that-â
âListen, okay? It-it wasnât your f-fault, you donât have to lie for him. Iâll take care o-of it, Iâll figure s-suh-something out. You can drop things off outside, Iâll wait for you-â
âToby.â
You planted your palms against his cheeks firmly. âI know it... seems bad. But I promise he didnât do anything I didnât want him to.â The confession made him pause, speculation strong in his gaze. Toby was stagnant for a moment, then he hummed. â... You can tell me anything, you k-know that right?â Still distrustful when you fixed a lock of hair behind his ear.
âI know. If anything ever happened, Iâd tell you first.â His narrowed eyes softened a tad at that, and his shoulders eased. âOkay. So, what...?â Waiting for you to explain, the boy dropped his head back onto your collar.
You let your sight drift to the ceiling, exhaling. âItâs- ugh. Itâs like every time I see him, something happens, and he runs. None of this is normal, but I still... I donât know. I still like him, Tobes. And it feels like he either canât stand being around me or heâs all over me. Everything or nothing- I just want to talk.â Finishing your tangent with a tired shrug, he was at a crossroads.
On one hand, he didnât like the idea of you getting mixed up with Jack at all. On the other, he knew you too well to ask you not to. You were determined, hard-headed, and way too believing. Seeing the best in everyone, even when you shouldnât. Toby hated that about you as much as he loved you for it.
Jack was a one-off. Unique in how he carried himself down to the very fabric of his existence. He was hard to read, difficult to understand. A singularity in lifeforms. Itâs not that Toby didnât trust your judgment; it was that he didnât have complete faith in the cannibal's intentions. He wasnât even aware the guy was capable of  things like romance, let alone wanting it.
Muttering into the hollow of your shoulder, âWhy him?â He sighed, and you lamented for a bit. Playing with the strings of his hoodie, then your voice flooded the fragile silence.
âI thought he was cool when we met- it sounds stupid outloud, I know. But heâs not as bad as everyone says he is, and he saved me. I went to get food earlier, and there were wolves- you shouldâve seen him, Toby. He literally threw himself at me to get them off. They bit him everywhere, and he fought them to keep me safe.â
You knew that if he really didnât care, he wouldâve turned a blind eye. It was a hassle, and itâd been apparent he was already in bad shape. Jack had chosen to put himself at risk anyway. Even before that, heâd always done everything with consideration, no matter how little it seemed to be.
Giving you a colourful bandage over a plain one because he thought youâd like it more. Apologizing when he hadnât warned you of the alcohol swab. Catching you when you tripped. Actively choosing to make things easier for you, just because.
Continuing to spill your heart out, Toby listened intently. âItâs so messy right now, and maybe he never wants to see me again- but I wannaâ fix this. Iâll have to keep interacting with him anyway, I donât need it to be super tense, you know? And if you were in the woods earlier, you wouldâve done the same thing- âcause youâre reckless and you donât think when you panic-â
The mock scold had him snorting mutely, but he remained still nonetheless. âI know you donât trust him- but if you were cursed, Iâd still love you. Even if you got scary sometimes, youâd still be Toby. Youâre my best friend, but you literally kill people in cold blood daily. Heâs in the same spot, and I canât hate him for being like you.â
Your confession weighed on him heavily, and he groaned. You were right in a sense; he was technically being hypocritical, itâs just that heâd never done harm to you. Yet he understood that the fact had a high possibility of not ringing true if you hadnât met him the way you did. If things were different, he couldâve done much worse.
Toby expired begrudgingly, giving you a slight nod. âYou h-have the worst taste in men, though. Like, s-shit, you couldnât have gone for a business guy or s-suh-something?â Teasing, you smacked his arm. âEw, Tobes. You want me to date a finance bro?â
âGod forbid I want y-you to have a stable home life.â
âIt wouldnât be a home in the first place if there werenât people like you in it.â
You always say sappy things he doesnât know how to handle. Not meaning you wanted serial killers in your house, but that you didnât view them as just killers. Your friends- simply individuals who were stuck. While he didnât exactly agree, you had yelled at him way too many times for him to vocalize that.
With your spirits lightened, you circled your arms around his neck. Rubbing your cheek against his. You reminded him of a cat, and he laughed. The atmosphere was much brighter than when heâd initially arrived, a full minute of solace before he chimed up. âOkay, but let me get t-the whole story. You ran into him, then you took him home and...â
Head lifted by a fraction, the brunette raised his brows once, lips pursed. Squinting at you and insinuating exactly what you thought he was. You rolled your eyes in response, pressing your lips into a line. It was so hard to be serious around Toby at times. The topic wasnât funny in nature, but his phrasing and mannerisms always got to you.
The guy who ran around like a maniac, hatchets in hand- was the same boy who couldnât use âsexâ in a sentence without giggling.
Who wouldâve guessed, huh?
You stifled a snort, tying his sweaterâs draw-cords into a bow. âOkay, TMI- but it was kind of crazy, not gonnaâ lie. Literally growled when I was on the floor, Tobes. He got... weird after though. I think he thought I wasnât into it; he patched me up and sprinted. Apologized a bunch, too.â Perplexed as you toyed with the strings further, Toby clicked his tongue.
âMm, I mean- did y-you guys talk after? Maybe he got freaked out. Sânot like he g-gets around.â
âI wanted to, but he ran before I could even say anything. And Iâm stopping by tomorrow so he can check the stitches. I just donât want it to be awkward.â
Catching him up, you laid out the details. Everything from how it started to the things Jack had said prior to the event. You ended the information with a beaten groan, making him chuckle quietly. He still didnât love the idea of you with EJ, but it wasnât up to him.
You were your own person, plenty capable of deciding things for yourself. All he could do was stand by your side. Keeping you safe, supporting you to the best of his ability. The conversation stretched on for about another hour before his phone buzzed in his backpocket. An alert that told him he needed to return, and he gave you a sheepish smile. âDuty calls,â you supposed.
Collecting his things, you walked Toby to the front, waving him off. Then you flung your body straight into the shower. The leftover muck of the day felt gross, and a thorough scrub was overdue. Swiftly slathering your frame with soap, the water tinted with red. Washing away all your turmoil down the drain.
You finished your routine efficiently, stepping onto the tile in a towel. In the midst of your skin-care when you heard a clatter from your bedroom. The wooden floors were cold under your feet while you peered from the bathroom door.
The flip phone. Earlier, when you dialled your companion, youâd haphazardly thrown the device onto your nightstand. It appeared that the notification ping had knocked it onto the ground, and you bent to grab it.
[ Incoming Call From: ERROR101001 ] â One New Message :101001011
A couple of years ago, this wouldâve unnerved you. However, youâd seen too much, and the caller ID could only belong to one person.
Ben, for whatever reason, had texted you. The guy was nosy, probably contacting you to pry. Your thumb slid across the keyboard, the metal smooth as you read the screen. âDETAILS. DETAILS NOWWW.â Quirking a brow at his message. Toby wouldnât have said anything, and Jack definitely didnât- so how the hell did he find out?
âšââĄâ  . âË âď¸âËâ§ âšââĄâ
[ â.á : Istg if you were listening through my phone, Iâll actually find a way to delete you. ]
[ Elf: NO. Omfg u actually think Iâm a freak. Toby came back and didnât look like he wanted to murder EJ walking past the basement. SPILLLL ]
[ â.á : You piss me off so bad. GET HOBBIES. ]
[ Elf: Pause- adding you to a gc. Give me a sec ]
He ignored the fact that you hadnât acknowledged his request in the slightest, and you got another alert. Ben had stayed true to his word, attaching your number to a text chain. A groupchat with four other people. Wow, you wonder who in the world they were.
Giving up, you went back to your bedtime schedule. Sitting at your vanity, and opening your moisturizer. You multitasked, switching between replying and patting the cream onto your cheeks.
[ Clown: Ben told us you had big BIG NEWS !!!!!!! ]
[ Elf: I yapped mb ]
[ â.á : How r u guys so evil yet so easily bored. Arenât you supposed to be brooding and scary?? ]
[ Nina <3: Not all the time, and thatâs only Jeff :p now tell ussssss plspls ]
[ Stabby: fck u ]
[ â.á : Okay like. He saved me from a pack of wolves, and I lowk brought him home... ]
[ Elf: AYO???????????? PAUUUSSSEEEE ]
⏊⤠Multiple people are typing...
[ Nina<3: WAITTT ARE YOU SRS??? ]
[ Elf: THE DEETS MAILMAN. ]
[ Stabby: stting up rn wtf  ]
[ â.á : I already told Toby, but itâs kinda TMI ]
[ Clown: You told Tobias ? I thought you said that heâd be against it ?? :^O ]
[ â.á : I called him after. I was crashing out icl- it was so messy ]
â°ââ¤ËËË Replying to â.á - [ Nina<3: Noooo why r u ok :((( ]
[ â.á : Iâm fine <//3 itâs just like ]
[ â.á : Ugh. ]
[ Elf: I will start seizing rn istg STOP EDGING US BRO ]
[ Elf: Actually 1 sec ]
Elf added âTobes :)â from your contacts ->
[ Stabby: sht might as well add masky atp ]
[ Elf: Thatâd be funny asf if he wouldnât shoot all of us for it. NOW SPILL. ]
[ Tobes :): WHAT THE FUCK. HOW LONG HAVE U BEEN TALKING TO THESE PEOPLE???? ]
[ â.á : THEY BROKE INTO MY HOUSE ITS NOT MY FAULT. ]
[ Elf: THAT ISNT IMPORTANT EVERYONE STFU ]
[ Stabby: lol ]
[ â.á : Making it short idc. Okay he saved me and then he came over and we did thingshsgsui ]
[ â.á : AND THEN HE RAN OFF. IDK IT WAS UGHHHHH. ]
[ Nina<3: Still not over the fact that he saved you T-T omggg Iâm screamingg AHHH thatâs so goals ]
â°ââ¤ËËË Replying to â.á - [ Stabby: ej ran? ]
[ â.á : Yeah. ]
[ Stabby: he prbly has a fcking complex ]
[ Stabby: got too real or smth. doubt its bc of u ]
[ Elf: Hello?? Who even r u rn?? ]
[ Nina<3: Jeff r u possessed ]
[ Stabby: stfu. ]
[ Stabby: im js saying it wdnt b surprising if he got weird ]
[ Stabby: ur a civi. ur soft n the mf eats ppl. he prbly got in his head ab it n fcked off ]
[ Elf: Holy shit. Having a gf gave you a brain. ]
[ Stabby: ill snuff u tf out ]
⏊⤠Multiple people are typing...
âšââĄâ . âË âď¸âËâ§ âšââĄâ
Despite the forming headache, Jeffâs words stuck with you. You already knew Jack was most likely at odds with himself about everything, but having someone who saw him daily confirm that made it click.
It wouldâve been unimaginably lonely to live all your years at a distance. Always being careful because you never knew if âtoo closeâ was only an arm's length away. Fearing a snap in physiology that could overtake you at any second, youâd flinch at touch. Craving it to the point of insanity, only to wail and wither as if it had burned you.
Jack kept you at a distance when he could, as a security measure. Not for his peace, but for your safety. Every time heâd crossed that threshold, you had gotten hurt, therefore reinforcing his bias. He left you assuming you wanted him gone. That was his apology; he thought the solitude was what you wished for, what you needed.
A gift to you after all heâd done. Made of sorrow and stitched from ruth.
With newfound clarity, you inhaled deeply. Mentally preparing for tomorrow's climate. Itâd be uncomfortable, maybe tense and definitely stressful. Yet it needed to be done, to be said. You were going to talk to him, really talk to him.
No beating around the bush or avoiding the subject. You refused to exist in a limbo for all of the foreseeable future just because of miscommunication.
There was no time like the present.
Or whatever people said.
áŻâ
â˝âââââââââââââââĽ
Youâd been restless since dawn.
Going through the motions on autopilot, you were nervous at best and nauseous at worst. The journey to the manor was done through muscle memory, the ambience settling hushed as you marched. As if the trees were holding their breath.
The sun had set about an hour ago, and by the time you reached the infamous porch, the crickets sang loudly. You closed your eyes at the door, steadying yourself before you knocked. Then your knuckles rapped against the heavy oak, and you heard the lock click from inside. Metal rattling, the door cracked open a sliver, the gap widening when he recognized you.
âWhereâs yerâ package?â A cigarette hung from between his teeth, and he gave you a once-over. It wasnât harsh or suspicious; the man spoke like he was genuinely curious. You donât think youâve ever seen him not smoking. The leaves rustled behind you, and you rocked on your heels. âI-uh, I got hurt last time, Jack told me to visit for a check-up.â
âSâthat right?â
âMhm.â
He squinted at you, eyes narrowing for a second, before he stepped aside. However, as you passed him, he tutted. âYou eat yet?â The question left you confounded, and you turned to him. Brows raised, â... I had breakfast..?â You replied carefully, unsure of his intentions.
âMaskyâ, you were guessing, was the person whoâd let you in on most deliveries. He never interacted with you much otherwise, and his abrupt curiosity was jarring. The man appeared decent enough; this was just random. Yet he didnât stop there. Pausing like he was registering your answer, he shoved his hand into his pocket.
A puff of smoke curled into the air when he pulled out a granola bar.
The wrapper was a little crinkled, and he held it to you. Face still blank while he grunted. âHere.â Masky dropped the snack into your palm, then his fingers went to his lips. Snagging the cigarette. Another cloud of fog wafted out, and your confusion built. Maybe it was dumb, but you asked nonetheless.
âWhy are you giving me this?â
âYou questioninâ me?â
His glare was sharp, cut-throat like glass- making you shoot up. âNo!â Said too quickly, though he remained unbothered. Scowl fading before he gave you a stiff nod. He shifted to the entrance, another figure joining his side. A guy in a muted yellow hoodie, with a knitted black mask tugged down to his neck. The gun-slinger looked over his shoulder, and you felt his gaze on you.
Preparing to leave on what you assumed was a mission, he adjusted the rifle over his body. Rasping, âDonât die, anâ you better finish that.â Nudging his head at the bar in your hand. Then the pair exited swiftly, the door swinging shut behind them.
They were basically strangers, yet you felt as if youâd been scolded for not taking better care of yourself. The word âDadsâ flashed through your mind unconsentually, and you shook it off. Continuing down the hall, the rickety floorboards creaked under your feet.
Your boots dragged with anxiety in every step. This was it; there was no more room for aversion, no more time to waste.
You ran through what youâd say and began your descent. Entering the lab, Jack was exactly where youâd thought heâd be. Nestled in the corner, surrounded by clutter, he busied himself. Glancing up upon your arrival. He stood carefully, evidently tense in your presence. âYour check-up.â It wasnât a question; he knew why you were here.
Knew that there was a hefty barrier between you two.
An unspoken stalemate, before he gathered his med-kit. Walking over to the medical table, you did the same. Meeting him in the middle. Your heft was braced by your hands when you leaned on the surface, and he started preparing the tools. Lying the needles and sterile gauze on the steel, you puffed through your nose.
His body language was rigid, overly aware of the distance to your form. He worked on the very edge of the counter, his mask tilted to the floor. You couldnât do this anymore. It had stretched on too long, leaving you stressed for days, nights- months. Every encounter always passed you by, never acknowledged, and you were tired. Over it.
âWhyâd you run?â
Three words, yet he froze dead in his tracks. Braced as if youâd shot him. â... It wasnât safe.â The âfor youâ was unsaid, then he returned to his task, clearly not intending to expand further. See, you were a pretty level-headed person, but his avoidance struck a nerve. He had left you, abandoned you, always too caught up to hear anything you said. A constant push and pull that exhausted your patience.
If he wasnât going to address it, you would. âSo thatâs it? Weâre just going to pretend it didn't happen?â An accusation that carried a world of weight, making him drop the instruments. His posture was stiff, fists balled by his side, when he spoke.
âThere is nothing I can say to erase what Iâve done, and even if you donât trust me, I assure you this visit will be swift. Iâll change your wrappings, it wonât take-â
âYouâre not listening to me.â
You interrupted him, pushing off the table. âYou act like you canât stand being near me, and then you pin me to the fucking floor. You saved my life, shoved your tongue down my throat and left, Jack.â You threw your arm into the air, exasperated. The hurt in your voice had him gritting his teeth, and he snapped. âYou think I donât know that?-â
Stepping back, he dragged a claw down his face. âYou think I wouldnât give anything to undo what happened that day? Wouldnât give anything to rid you of the disgusting things I did to you- but I canât.â Flinging his hand down, his shoulders heaved, lip curling up behind the mask. âIâm not asking you to take it back, Iâm asking you to listen.â You argued with frustration. He wasnât getting the point.
âYouâre allergic to me one second- then youâre all over me. You came over, used me just to fucking leave. I just wanted to help-â
âAnd I told you not to. I warned you. I begged you to stay away, yet you refused. And now youâre stuck in a room with a monster whoââ
Jack cut himself off, clamping his jaw shut. He couldnât bring himself to say it, too cowardly to confess it outloud. Absolutely scum. The cannibal drew an unsteady breath, uttering quietly. âI know what Iâve done. I know you were scared. I know you despise me, and you have every right to. Thereâs no excuse I could give to make you forget, but Iâm- Iâm sorry.â
The silence was suffocating, and you swallowed. His guilt must be eating him alive- it wasnât like that at all. One foot in front of the other, you moved towards him. Holding your hand out when he shuffled away, his back connecting with the wall. âI donât hate you. I just wanted you to stay.â You dropped your arm and clutched it to your chest. Standing in front of him as the gap tightened between you.
âWhat are you-?â
âJack.â
You said his name softly, a singular aching syllable that knocked the air from his lungs. Reaching for his wrist, you tugged it over your heart. Cradling it before lacing your fingers together. âYou kissed me until I was dizzy and wouldnât look at me after. You canât be surprised I was upset.â You pressed yourself flush, bringing his large palm to cup your face.
Nuzzling into his touch, âIâm not scared of you. I like you, and when you held me, it felt so good.â You mumbled, and his cadence shook. Yet he didnât recoil. âYou donât know what youâre doing- you have no idea what youâre asking for.â
Deny, deny, deny- still, his pulse quickened nonetheless. You were so close. Eyes swimming with nothing but want.
âI almost killed you- Iâm dangerous, why canât you understand that?â A warning with little grounding, his resolve was splintering like glass, and you could tell. Stretching to his mask, your thumb hooked under the edge of it. Pushing it up gently while you sighed. âYou also saved me, again and again. You kept me safe.â He was terribly weak- selfish, a fatal flaw amongst all his mastery. Â
âYouâll break. Iâll ruin you- the damage will be irreversible, and I wonât be able to fix you.â
âThen make me someone new.â
The mask clatters to cement, and his lips molded against yours. Claws gliding up your waist while he forced you back. It was a straight zero to one-hundred, and you felt him everywhere. Grabbing at your hips, pulling you deeper into him as your spine collided with the table. The cold steel sent shivers through your body, making you gasp.
With your mouth agape, he took the opportunity. Slipping his tongues past your lips. It was atonement, reverence, and possession in physical form. You ran your hands up his chest, squeezing the muscle. Jackâs brawn had never gone unnoticed, but now you were drowning in it. Given the freedom to touch and taste without obstacles.
He broke the kiss with a huff, a ribbon of saliva glinting between you. âYou will bleed, and it will hurt.â Grunting, then he hoisted you onto the counter. The denim of your jeans didnât stand a chance. His talons snagged the waistband, yanking down and splitting the fabric clean in half. Your pants were at your ankles by the time he dropped to his knees.
The cannibal fell so fast it sounded like it hurt, bone slamming into concrete- yet he didnât react. Instead, he hauled you forward. Forcing your thighs wide when he tore your panties with his canines. He dove in nose-first, and you screamed.
Slurping lewdly, he was nowhere short of ravenous. Latching onto your clit and swirling into your hole. He didnât let you adjust or prepare in the slightest. And the groan that reverberated from his ribs had you whining out. Jack was eating you like a madman. Devouring you with an insatiable appetite. âFuck-â He lapped at your pooling slick.
Your head spun, completely overwhelmed by the pleasure. It was so much, and he wasnât easing his pace. Tongues thrusting in and out mercilessly of your cunt. They reached deep, worming frantically inside your tunnel while you convulsed. âJ-Jack- ah, wait.â You gave his forehead a flimsy shove, tangling your grip in his hair. âPlease-â
He responded by swiftly sinking his teeth into your inner thigh. Piercing flesh, the taste that flooded his palette made his lids flutter shut. You were always so sweet, decadent and rich. Something to be served on velvet and gold under mosaics.
The bite marks spilled a dark red. Dripping down your leg, the second he unfastened from you. His claws had punctured skin, and they cut in more and more with each jolt. The pain had you dizzy as your gaze flicked to him. Jackâs muzzle was drenched in your arousal, your blood smearing the metal. He looked every bit of the monster theyâd told you about- and your eyes rolled back.
Mewling when his nose knocked against the sensitive bud, your shoulders bowed. âSâtoo deep- ngh. Please, I canât-â The tips of his tongues were driving into your cervix, making you see stars. He gulped, âYou begged me like a whore, and you will take what I give you.â Snarling, his talons suddenly fastened onto your hips.
Heaving you off the polished surface, he flipped you. Your tits pressing to the metal while he prys you open. The sensation of his tongues at this angle had you choking. âHoly shit- haah-â Gasping for air pitifully. It was humiliating like this.
He had dug his thumbs into your folds, spreading you when he began rocking you onto his mouth. The cannibal was literally fucking you with the muscles. Three inky tendrils that slithered and expanded inside your pussy. They slipped back and forth, making your canal squelch loudly. You were so exposed, borderline put on display by his grip.
Jack was straight up making out with your cunt. Slobbering, licking at every inch of skin you offered. And you wailed upon feeling his incisors puncture the fat of your ass.
A deep wound above his hold on you. Tiny droplets of scarlet bubbled along the pattern, mixing with his spit as he feasted. It was as if he were trying to consume you whole.
Leaving his signature in your flesh, signing his name off by the edge of his canines. A labour under moonlight, in the thrum of flourescents and the heat of fever. If you wanted him, then youâd have him in his entirety. Take and take until there was nothing left of you both- because this wasnât sex. It was a welded brand that would condemn you as sick as he was.
If you wanted to be remade, then heâd strip your bones clean.
Estacy overspilled in your gut, and you came. âJack- Jack.â White knuckling the steel ledge. He ran his tongue along his teeth after pulling back, watching you tremble with fascination.
You were bleeding, scraped up from head to toe- yet you had the stupidity to peer at him. Asking for more, like you wouldnât be torn apart in the process. Like there wasnât a chance youâd lose your life for the sake of lust. A glutton for punishment. A deer that had skinned its own meat for a starving wolf. Your ankle was caught in a bear trap, and you did nothing but reach for the hunter.
Your release poured out between your shaking legs. Puddling on the floor when he wrapped your hair around his fingers. He ripped you off the table and forced you to your knees. Making you clumsily steady yourself, your palms flat on the cement, before you looked up.
Over you, Jack unfastened his belt. The buckle jostling, clinking mutely- he grunted. âOpen, courier.â Grasping your chin, the other tugging down his boxers. He was big. Inhumanly sized, his cock hung heavily in front of you. Flushed at the tip, with a vein running down the underside. He stroked himself once, lining up with your lips, huffing.
You had no idea how the hell that was going to fit. Fear contorting your expression, he settled his free hand on your windpipe. Squeezing faintly as you dropped your jaw.
He was warm against your tongue, and you gave the head a kitten lick. âLook at you, pleading to be debased like some mutt in heat. A brainless pet begging for scraps. Youâre pathetic.â Sneering, then he pushed your head forward. His girth was almost painful.
It stretched your mouth to the brink of capacity, making your jaw ache around him. You gagged from the intrusion, and he bucked his hips. Bullying the length further down your throat while tears gathered at your lashes. The cannibal moved his grasp from your neck into your hair. Twisting the strands harshly and yanking at your scalp.
The pace he set was brutal. Mercilessly thrusting without giving you reprieve. He was using you as a sleeve, a toy without thought or agency.
Your hands scrambled for purchase, latching onto the front of his slacks. You choked; he was only about halfway in, and your lungs were already burning. Cheeks stuffed full, his pre-cum bubbled obscenely. Forming a gluey ring around his cock. âGods-â He droned, letting his head fall back. You stared as he swallowed, his adams apple bobbing.
The view could last you for decades. Sweat beaded down the columns of his throat, shoulders broad and heaving. With his hair in disarray, he was a vision fit for your most debauched fantasies. It had you clenching on nothing, and your thighs twitched. He was so mean, fucking your mouth ruthlessly- wet plaps resonated through the basement.
He gazed at you half-lidded, pulling out, just to slap his dick on your face. Depraved, when you lapped at his balls. He grabbed himself, tapping it across your skin. His seed dribbling onto your features. Arousal and possession curled in his stomach along with disgust. You were being tainted, corrupted by his own hands with a smile.
It was such a wretched, diseased gratification. Satisfying him like rot to maggots. Jack was death with a pulse. A relentless hunger that ruined and devastated. Yet you worshipped him as if he were salvation. Deliverance from something wicked, someone you deemed a saviour. If you were deluded, then he was vile.
Because he let you stay. Let you touch and moan and weep. Allowed you to degrade yourself to this. An animal with a warm mouth and inviting cunt. Grovelling at his feet, crying for his cock like a whore.
Lip curling up cruelly, he taunted you. âThis is what you wanted, isnât it? Are you proud?â Shoving his boots between your thighs, he jerked your head back. Blood-soaked leather against your throbbing clit while you whined. It had your hips jolting, and your blissed-out expression made him grit his teeth.
âHumping my leg like you canât help yourself. Stick out your tongue, dog.â
You followed his demand, obediently letting your jaw go slack. Drool gathering in the cavern- he spat harshly into your mouth, and when you swallowed, he scoffed. âI could crush your airways right now, and youâd use your last breath to thank me.â Then he slammed past your lips, immovable snare on your crown. You gagged violently.
Squirming from the pressure on your sopping pussy, and the fullness of your throat. You hiccuped with your nose buried in his happy trail. Salt streaming down your cheeks as he built his rhythm. You went limp, slumping into him with your spine arched. Each thrust had your body lurching in place, causing you to grind onto his boot.
âFuck. Thatâs it- hah- keep it in-â Your esophagus was so wet, convulsing tight enough to have him shuddering. Roped muscle tensing when he rutted forward over and over. Brows furrowed in concentration. The pleasure had him fucking high. Submission was trust. Blind faith that he wouldnât accidentally crack your skull open in the rush.
It was everything heâd ever wanted and everything he despised you for all at once.
Your surrender of mind and body sent him over the edge- and he flooded your mouth. Groaning lowly, while his cum pumped deeper. His grasp finally loosened, allowing you to tumble onto your haunches with a cough. Desperately trying to find your bearings, he tasted like thick syrup. A musky laquer that coated your tongue.
You lapped at his still leaking tip, gulping the leftover arousal. Pornographic, before Jack wrenched you up by the throat. Caging you beneath him after borderline tossing you onto the counter. Your back crashed into the chilled steel, and he threw your jeans to the side. Hiking your legs to your chest- âWait! I want- I want to see you.â The meek stutter interrupted him, making him freeze.
Lying almost completely bare, you sniffled. Eyes glassy as you gestured to his sweater. âPlease?â Beautiful prey, far too docile to be where you were. He reacted by snagging the back of his hood, ripping it over his head briskly. Now uncovered from the hips up, your leer drifted over his torso.
The scars littered his abdomen, tiny healed slashes leading from his Adonis belt to the curve of his pecs. They dotted up his frame, with freckles dispersed along the divots like stone. He was sculpted in the same way as statues in Rome were. Devastingly breathtaking.
He leaned forward, stationing between your legs as his hair shadowed his sockets. The cannibal was pretty. Perspiration dripping down his clenched jaw, lashes fluttering. A sacrilege of the natural law, yet you cradled his face anyway. He always loathed his reflection, couldnât stand the sight of it- and here you were. Touching him like you wanted to, like he was something radiant.
Too gentle, too fond, you brought him closer. Brushing his nose against yours with intimacy he never deserved. Kissing him softly while he remained unmoving. It was overwhelming, and he flinched away as if youâd burned him. Wrestling your wrists above your head, his grip was bruising when he aligned with your cunt.
Jack paused, chuffing in thought- he grabbed a clean rag. Meant for blotting wounds, it had been cast aside, hanging off the table's ledge until now. He raised it to your lips. âBite.â A single syllable, and the second your teeth met cotton, he returned his claw down south. Pushing the head inside without warning.
Your spine arched off the metal like youâd been struck by lightning. The bolt seized through your body, weaving into your blood, scorching your marrow, and forcing your ribs open. A harvest of the soul, reanimated like Frankensteinâs monster by Jackâs design alone. There was no going back. You had been altered to the very cell.
Wailing through the fabric, he grunted over you. Slowly feeding his length into your cunt, it was an ungodly stretch. Making you writhe helplessly, it felt like he was tearing you in half. You sobbed, and he sheathed to the hilt. Pitching over, while your vision blurred. He began rocking into you. Shallow thrusts that thumped against your cervix.
You tremored pathetically, you were too full, and you swore he was hitting your lungs. Stuffed to the brim, gorged beyond your limits. You snivelled, your eyes couldnât focus- you couldnât even think. Head lolling to the side with your ears packed with cotton. Your limbs went slack, and you jolted with every snap of his hips.
Letting out muffled âMmph- mmph- mmph-âs. The searing pain had dulled to a simmer. Overtaken by a building decadence. It coiled in your womb. Engulfing you from the bottom of your feet to the base of your skull. He had torn your entrance, and the pale red blended with your slick.
Your ankles hooked behind his back, pressing him flush. You spat out the towel, âWannaâ kiss- please. Ngh- so d-deep.â Mewling when he grinded into your sweet spot. You were a mess, ruined under him. Hair splayed on the metal with lacerations covering you.
Despicable as it was, the sight had him purring. You were a lamb ripe for the picking, lewd enough to make him salivate. Completely and undeniably his.
The baritone rumbled in his chest, sonorous as he dipped to your face. His mouth slotted against yours, making you moan into him. With his body bent to the new angle, his pelvis mashed into your clit- absolutely mind-numbing. âAh- Jack.â It was spoken like a prayer, and he burrowed his head into the hollow of your shoulder.
His lust, his need, betrayed his principle. He lapped at your collar, sinking his canines in roughly as you screamed. Bite after bite, tear after tear. Jack was eating you alive, claiming you from the inside out. You wanted this, you begged him for this. So you would reap what you sow.
Releasing your wrists, the purple had already begun blooming. The hues decorating your flesh while he huffed. Driving his shaft balls deep. âLook at me, messenger-â Though your eyes refused to focus, and his patience waned. Running thin- he gripped your jaw. âYou canât even speak, can you? All it takes is my cock for you to become a drooling addict-â
Jack rolled his hips forward, the table creaking from the force. He continued. âDoes it excite you knowing Iâve dissected bodies exactly where you are? Does it thrill you that I could snap your neck like nothing? Rip you limb from limb while you scream- does that make you wet?â Pounding into your weeping pussy as he snarled.
He was abusing your hole, splitting you open roughly, and your pupils blew wide. Rolling up into your skull. âOh- ngh, god-â The cannibal hoisted your leg up, hooking it onto his shoulder before he crowded you. âLetting a monster fill your cunt like some depraved prostitute- pathetic.â His talons wrapped around your neck, pinning you in place.
The pace was unsparing, fucking you with abandon. You pawed at his forearm, and your view was speckled with black. The room had begun spinning. âJack- canât breathe. P-please, I canât-â Yet his palm stayed firm, squeezing your airways without remorse. Your head was buzzing, your lungs burning from the lack of oxygen.
Pleasure and pain, pleasure and pain. You supposed it was inseparable to him, following him like a second skin. From the beginning, you already knew this was a risk. So this must have been fate.
Dying to him the way theyâd warned you about. The way heâd promised it would end. A tragedy in the making, bound by grief and longing.
However, there was a whisper that told you he wouldnât press harder. Maybe you were naive, but something about the anguish in his gaze made you believe it. His hold wasnât one of malice; it was a test to himself. To prove something unspoken.
Your hand slipped, and you stared up at him. Admiring his features, the ripples of his body that were caused by exertion. Even though you were on the brink of passing out, it was still pleasant.
The deep drags of his cock sent waves of ecstasy through you, and you sighed quietly. âSâgood- feels so good.â Slurring with your tongue heavy. You hoped that if this all went down in flames, he would remember you. A fleeting moment in his endless years. A time long ago, when an anxious courier had thought of him as something more.
Then, he suddenly yanked his claws from your throat, and you gasped. Inhaling deeply, he eased his rhythm to a halt. The look on his face was the definition of horrified.
His hand quivered near your neck for a second, then he slammed it onto the table. His nails flaying the steel open in grooves. âFight.â Sneering, with desperation shaking his voice. Jack bracketed your form, trapping you beneath him when he roared. âFight. Scream- yell for help-â His tone was exasperated, disgusted by his own actions and your acceptance.
âHit me- do something- anything. I could have killed you. You wouldâve died in this fucking basement under me-â
âI didnât think you would.â
Reaching up, you cupped his jaw. The lacklustre strength made him sick, and you smoothed your thumb over his skin. âYou didnât think- you bet your life on a concept. Do you have any idea how idiotic that is? If I held on for even a minute longer, your brain would have begun shutting down. I wouldâve violated you, then turned you into a fucking corpse.â He spat, lip curling up, and your reply had him scoffing.
âBut you didnât.â You sounded so sure. So absolute in your resolve- in your faith in him. It confused him as much as it angered him.
âYou keep trying to convince me youâre this terrible beast, when youâre not. Every time youâve done something, you break down. I know youâre not cruel. You just pretend you are because you think you have to be.â
He grit his teeth, letting his head sag to avoid your eyes. He stared at the center of your ribs, sockets flickering over the bruises and cuts. âYour belief in me is foolish. You should hate me.â Muttering with disdain, you raised his head, your palms on his cheeks. âBut I donât.â You whispered carefully. Searching his face and far too patient.
âYouâll get hurt.â
âWe have Band-Aids.â
âItâll ruin you. Iâll leave you starved.â
âThen Iâll come to you full.â
Your trust was agonizing. A string garden, woven together with glass thread, and devotion so pure it could only be born of something wrong. He drew a measured breath, resting his forehead on yours. âYou make this more difficult than it has to be.â And you hummed, "Not if you stay.â Kissing him slowly, you took your time.
With your lips fitting together, you could pinpoint exactly when he gave in. A jar too full, each colourful marble hits the glass until it stacks to the top. The weight of it makes the container lean toward the edge of the shelf. You ran your fingers through his hair, unravelling the knots. Whining softly when his hips pull back.
Jack rutted into you, the base of him grinding onto your clit. He angled his maw to the right, savouring you without rush. The jar inches closer to the ledge, sliding a fraction. His tempo was painstakingly tender, and the warmth of it drowned you. âAh- c-can feel you in my stomach.â You clawed at his shoulders, lids drooping.
A muted clink, and the thing sways a bit. He nuzzles your throat, rasping a defeated chuckle. âI shouldâve warned you. Forgive me, little dove.â The petname has you swooning, making you cling to him. Pupils dilated when he pecked the corner of your mouth. The glass balances by a hair's breadth.
Your cunt twitches around him, plush and velvet-like. His jaw fell slack as he built speed. Hand sliding into yours before he entwines your fingers on the table. A sharp thrust, and your lips part, forming an O while your spine lifts. It topples over, shattering on the floor with the beads scattering vibrantly. âPlease-â Slurring, he soothes you, affection bleeding in.
âI know, Iâm here.â His cock pulsed inside your tunnel. Throbbing with need when you clenched down. He hissed, giving your smaller palm a squeeze. His claws were digging into the steel, an attempt not to harm you more than he already had. The metal below you fogged, and you tugged at his scalp. âNgh- so good. You make me feel so sâgood.â Your praise sent him reeling.
The med-bay was silent aside from your hushed moans and the sticky sound of skin on skin. Bodies moving in tandem, he thrusted in again and again. Picking up the pace with a grunt. âYou donât know what you do to me.â Then he hauled you off the surface. Bracing you by the waist, his talons dug into your ass. Reclining to full height when he started bouncing you.
Jack moved you like you were weightless. Unearthly strength that he used to sink you up and down. The added gravity had him knocking into your cervix, forcing pitchy moans to echo off the walls. He panted, âYou have no idea how many times- haah fuck- Iâve thought of filling you-â Bucking up into your pussy, you left wet kisses along his jaw.
He was so fucking deep, a dizzying stretch, and your eyes crossed. Repeating his name like scripture while you came. The slick gushed out of you messily, drenching his abs and thighs. âSo sensitive.â He cooed, fucking you through your orgasm. Following close behind when he slammed you onto his cock, once, twice more, before he spilled hotly.
Painting your insides white with a groan, he stepped across the room. Tugging you off, then twisting you to face the wall. His length slid back in instantly, and you arched into him. Spine forming a semi-circle as he snapped his hips forward.
The squelch of your cunt was embarrassingly loud, yet it did nothing but fuel his appetence. He grabbed your waist as leverage, jerking your frame to meet his rhythm. The friction of his balls slapping against your puffy bud made you collapse into cement, and you mewled. âAh- ah- hah-â Drooling with your tongue lolling out of your mouth.
Your feet were lifted off the ground by his hold. On your toes, when he breaches your entrance to the hilt. The impact of his thrusts rippled through you. Pelting into the smooth surface under your palms and rattling the shelves. All his equipment, his tools and apparatus- clanked together. The glass clashing before whipping off the ledge.
The once pristine lab was an utter mess. Claw marks streaked the wall, dented into metal with blood trailing the floors. A ritual sight, where he bound you to him by essence and matter. Drawing release after release, splitting you in half until your pussy took his shape. Until your body would remember him by touch alone.
In the dead of night, when you were blind, lost at sea. When the North Star had failed to guide you, and your heart was shrieking with fear. You would call forâ
âJack!â
A gasp that made him zero in on your connection. His length was drenched, glistening with your arousal. It pumped in and out repeatedly, pummelling past the tight ring of muscle. Your hole had been overstuffed, oozing his seed with every plough. Obscenely pouring down your legs, gathering in a sticky puddle by his boots. He scrunched his lids shut.
Beating your cunt like he was mad at it, he splurted inside you. âGood girl.â Rumbling low enough to send you over the edge. You convulsed, crying out when he stilled. However, your peace was short-lived- because the man immediately spun you around.
Snagging your thigh in a large talon, he hauled the limb up. Hooking your knee over the crook of his elbow, then steadying you by the hip. He nudged in balls deep, and you sobbed. Nerve endings on fire while your other leg was basically dead weight. You scratched at his biceps, leaving shallow streaks. âToo much- I canât think-â
Your blunt nails dug into grey, and he struck your sweet spot with a sniper's accuracy. Hammering into your bloated tummy over and over. You thought you were going to explode.
It was so much, devouring your senses like a wildfire. Every vein, every ridge, and pulse of his cock dragged against your walls as he continued to plunge. You could feel it all, oversensitive to hell and back. Jack was unyielding, tunnel-visioned on making sure it stuck. The pent-up need had possessed him; he wanted your mind rewritten.
Snarl akin to an animal- he grinded harshly. Baring teeth. âYouâre mine.â His claw clamped down hard enough to bruise. âMine to break-â The lines in his neck tensed, shoulders heaving. âMine to corrupt-â You shuddered; his engorged cockhead was smearing too deeply. Fitting snug with no room to even breathe. âMine to breed.â He drove his hips forward, and you saw white.
The cannibal bent had you in tears for hours on hours. Bending you in every position possible, he fucked you in ways you could barely comprehend.
Folding you over the table again, locking you in place with a heavy palm on your spine. He pounded you from the back, leaving welts on the fat of your ass. âBegging for more when youâre bleeding from the stretch. Whereâs your dignity, courier?â Kicking your stance wider when you moaned.
He hung you upside down. Tongues expanding, guzzling your squirting cunt. He held you with a hand gripping your thigh and the other on your head. âDonât pass out- you want to impress me, donât you? Give me something worth keeping.â Using your throat while you clutched desperately at his legs, your ears ringing.
Then, Jack took you on the floor. Pelvis thwacking against your folds as you hiccuped. âUh- uh- sâtoo good- âm gonnaâ die-â He snickered, cruel and mocking. âWhat a mouthy lamb, I have.â Spearing you on his girth, you raked your nails down his back. Clawing his flesh, thrashing vigorously. He healed you like a saint and fucked you like the morning star.
You could barely move by the time he was done. Limbs buzzing with exhaustion, and your head heavier than tungsten. He hissed upon slipping out, meticulous of your state. âApologies, I should have been more wary of your limits.â Mumbling quietly, his arms cocooned your limp form. Uprooting you from the concrete.
He carried you past the curtain near the back of the basement. Padding to the small washroom, you were gently placed on the bathtub's ledge. âI donât think I can walk.â Teasing him while he stripped both of you. He shook his head in response, guilty. âYou will be sore tomorrow, but I have ointments for your wounds.â The shower was turned on, and he helped you in.
It felt good under the spray, the warm water easing the sting. You circled your hold around his middle, and he hummed. Carefully washing the grime from your skin after discarding the old bandages. âPretty romantic for a guy who supposedly hates touching.â You joked, resting your chin on his pec.
It seemed to fluster him, making his pointed ears tint with blue. âEnough.â An almost-pout, and he grabbed the shower head behind you, rinsing the cuts on your back. If you were a better person, youâd leave it at that. Let the poor man rest after all that turmoil. Alas, you werenât, so you snorted instead.
âThis better mean weâre official- âcause I donât do one-night stands.â
âHow you have the energy to be coy is beyond me.â
Monotone, yet the way he kissed your damp forehead after told you enough. He cleaned your bodies swiftly, finishing the task with medical precision. You were dried off with a fluffy towel, heâd left the room to bring you a new one and everything. Then he patched you up as promised. Transporting you between the med-bay and his sleeping area efficiently.
A solid twenty-minutes later, you were settled against his pillows. Watching him rummage around before you reached for him. âCuddle.â Demanding with grabby hands, he agreed despite himself. âAre you thirsty?â Taking a seat next to you. Heâd dressed you in an old T-shirt, covering your bottoms with the smallest pair of boxers he owned.
Low-hanging sweats at his hips, he was bare from the waist up, and you crawled onto him. Perched on his lap. âA little, but you didnât answer me earlier.â You slumped forward, arms around his neck. It made him sigh. âYouâre the strangest human Iâve ever met.â Tracing shapes onto your thighs, his hesitation wasnât unnoticed.
Even if he was cautious for the rest of your days, there was still a risk. A danger that came with being around him. Though you were insistent on your view of him, refusing to back down.
âYou bit me and said I was yours. Specifically, that I was yours to break, yours to breed-â And he threw an arm over his eyes. âOh, gods.â
Post-nut clarity had hit him, the embarrassment kicking in quickly. You giggled. âNo- no, it was hot, I liked it. Jack-â The groan he let out resonated through the entire room, and he dragged his claw over his face. Peering at you from between his fingers. âI got... carried away.â Cringing while you pecked his knuckles.
âDid you mean it? Like- yâknow.â His hand descended, then he cupped your cheek. Memorizing your features, the vulnerability in your gaze- he exhaled as if heâd made a life or death decision. âYes, I did.â A confession that fractured him more than youâd ever know, and you pressed your lips to his. Parting from him after a second.
You were determined to rid him of any excess worry. Your plan of action? Tooth-rotting affection. It was the obvious choice; he was right there. Completely unguarded, appearing very boyfriend material, you couldnât not.
It started with a kiss to his nose, one to his jaw, then another to his brow. You trailed all over his face, leaving no stone unturned. And when you pulled back, Jack looked dazed. Sockets drooping, with an undeniable amour to his expression. âMm.â He grumbled mutely, shying away by burrowing his head into your shoulder.
For someone so big, he curled into you like he was tiny. Clinging to you, he slid his palms under your shirt, sniffing a little. The closeness was addictive, and he basked in it.
Enjoying your scent, your warmth and intimacy. One achingly soft- saccharine moment of solace, before you spoke.
âI know you like the way I smell-â
âI beg of you.â
áŻâ
â˝âââââââââââââââĽ
The aged wood creaked beneath his feet.
After youâd persuaded him to snuggle with you a bit longer, he ascended the lab stairs. Not bothering to throw on a shirt since it was nearly four in the morning.
While the proxies didnât have good sleeping schedules by any means, they were always cooped up in their rooms. It shouldâve been a brisk trip to fetch you water.
Emphasis on shouldâve
Because just as he filled the glass, with the tap sputtering to life- a tell-tale snap sounded from behind him. Followed by a bright flash and a hushed âOh my god.â He turned to see exactly who he thought heâd see. Ben.
Standing in plaid pyjama pants at the kitchen entrance, he had a palm slapped over his mouth, phone in hand. âIs she alive?â He stared at the cannibal with astonishment, flipping the phone around.
There, on the screen, was a picture of Jack. His back was covered in scratches, from the divots of his shoulders to his triceps.
However, much to the other residentâs dismay, he showed no reaction. âSheâs fine.â Bluntly stated, before he shut off the faucet. Walking past him, the elf clicked his tongue. âWe kindaâ thought it was over for all of us when you were down there- but I mean! Like- shit, congrats.â
Giving him an awkward thumbs up, it was evident that Jackâs presence still had him on edge, and he scurried off in a blink.
Though the interaction had been mundane, expected even, his words stuck. Just what in the world was Ben talking about?
áŻâ
â˝âââââââââââââââĽ
Earlier ËËË ę° âď¸ ęą ËËË -> ->
Approximately 9:45 PM Central Eastern Time.
They had gathered in the main room to lounge. Snacking on whatever they could find and putting on something interesting to watch- when suddenly, a force shuddered the manor. It rattled the ceiling beams, making dust waft into the air.
âThe fuck?â Jeff mumbled, mid-chew, with his hand wrist deep in a chip bag. Spinning a blade with the other.
The group brushed it off as house noises, only for another bang to reverberate through the floors. Then another, and another, and anotherâ
Toby, Masky and Hoodie had been sent on a job. So it couldnât be the brunette trashing a room, Tim testing a new gun, or Brian fixing his truck. The next obvious choice would be LJ, except he was sitting in the love seat. There was no one else, and the boss was definitely not the answer.
The proxies were at a standstill, shooting each other curious looks, before Nina shot up. âWait! Isnât the messenger getting a check-up?â
A beat of silence as her words sank in, and the group erupted in scandalized gasps. The snack had fallen from Jeffâs lap, with LJ bordering a screech. âOh heavens! You donât think-?â
Ben replied aghast. âI mean, I knew they had tension, but holy shit- the whole house?â His tone made Jeff cackle, and he slammed his knife into the chairâs arm.
âGenuinely praying for her fucking pussy. Have you seen the guy? Heâs gonnaâ kill âer whether he wants to or not at this rate.â Immediately pulling out his phone to text his mysterious lover, Nina's eyes were bright.
âUgh, their size difference.â Sighing wistfully, she clutched her hands to her chest while Ben scoffed in disbelief. ââKay, this is great and all- but isnât she human?-â Getting cut off by a loud crash coming from the basement.
It sounded like EJ and their messenger were either having the most insane sex to ever happen, or you were fighting for your life.
Nina hummed, freezing for a second, then huffing. â... Okay, but heâs in love with her. You literally said that!â To which the elf refuted with a passionate, âBro- I want them to work. Itâs just that EJâs stroke game is about to collapse our house. Our house, Nina.â Exasperatedly throwing up his hands, she crossed her arms.
âYouâre a fake shipper.â
âI am not! Iâm literally the only reason you know about them-â
âShit, what if he actually takes her out? Death by dick is fucked up.â
âWell, Iâm choosing to believe our medic is simply a very, very passionate loverââ
â˝âââââââââââââââĽ
â˝âââââââââââââââĽ
A/N: UGHHHH MY BABIES đđ Bsf! Toby u r forever famous. Also I KNOWWW I abuse the fuck outta that twig LEAVE ME ALONE đđ (too lazy 2 fix)
I think Iâm getting better at drawing his nose⌠happier w this one tho ^3^ my last sketch of him was a lil too sharp and I needed to rectify my wrongs <//3
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
⎠cw/tags: pwp, smut, drunk sex, one night stands (or is it?), coworkers to lovers, NOT EDITED WHOOPS #imrushing to go see the csm movie rn
⎠a/n: i know one of you is very happy to see this. WELLLL AS PROMISED (though ik im late), here is the first installment of the kinktober series (which lowkey may turn into NNN too hehe). this has been absolutely gruesome to right and took me soooo long... @mrshayakawaa, this is our baby. i couldn't have done it without you. ITS NOT EDITED because I realllllly wanted to get this out before I went to go see the new CSM movie so!!! enjoy!!! i'll prob come back and edit it later #sorrynotsorry. hope this makes up for my absence a bittttt x
(ok idk why it wont save the spaces i made between scenes but wtv i give up cuz im running late! i'll fix tn)
⎠wc: 24k
THE MISSION WAS far more tedious than you had planned for. It was an out-of-town mission, too. Some housekeeping that the Kyoto sector apparently was too understaffed to handle. Between the blood, the guts, and the fact that the damned devil exploded and gave birth to what had to have been hundreds of mini devils, it was⌠well, it was shit. Utterly exhausted by the dayâs events, you and your division sat in complete silence the whole car ride over to the hotel.
You sat in the backseat of your supervisorâs car, crammed between Denji and Power (who were, as always, bickering over something stupid), head pressed up against the window to cool down. You were beyond tired, yes, but your mind refused to settle down, and it wasnât a result of the mission.
In the driverâs seat, Lieutenant Captain Hayakawa â your partner and supervisor â gripped the steering wheel like he owned it. Two big, strong hands wrapped around it, tilted it to the side to follow a curve in the road â for a moment, your eyes betrayed you, following the intricate scars on his skin, the veins on the backside of his hand. On his right hand, which sat atop the wheel, a gash was healing. It was something small, something you probably shouldnât have noticed, but that was just the thing.
There were a lot of things about him youâd begun to notice lately. The two of you had been partners for quite some time. It hadnât always been smooth sailing, but the two of you got along fairly well. For the most part, anyway.
He wasnât easy to ruffle, but when you did manage it â when your teasing hit just the right nerve, or when his calm, responsible act cracked for just a second â you felt victorious. Heâd shoot back with some sharp remark, youâd bicker like siblings, and eventually, it would settle into that comfortable rhythm the two of you seemed to share.
But lately⌠something had shifted.
You told yourself it was stupid, that you were only noticing him this way because of his hair â longer now, tied back in that neat band, that stupid ponytail attracting your gaze far too often. Or maybe it was the fact that youâd been in a dry spell for months, and your mind was starved for any excuse to wander. Yeah. That had to be it.
Or maybe, just maybe, he was simply getting finer with age. No longer was he the broody, short-haired 19 year old youâd been paired with. Now, he was taller, shoulders broader, muscles a little more pronounced. And you⌠well, you werenât blind.
And yet, the thought didnât stick.
Because the image of him standing between you and that thing â unflinching, steady â played over and over in your head like a broken reel. The sharp swing of his blade, the exact way his shoulders squared, the rise and fall of his calm, precise breathing. That look in his eyes that you hadnât noticed before â focused, unshakable, like nothing in the world could touch him.
He hadnât faltered. Not even for a second.
The chill of that moment hadnât left your skin. If he hadnât been there⌠if he hadnât moved in front of you without hesitation, you wouldnât have been leaning against this car window. Hell, you wouldnât have been there at all.
He had saved your life.
The car finally rolled to a stop in front of the hotel, the soft hiss of the brakes jolting you out of the half-daze youâd fallen into. You blinked against the neon glow of Kyotoâs streets, the night pressing heavy and damp against the glass.
When the trunk popped, you climbed out with the others, dragging your legs like they weighed double what they should. Denji and Power shoved past each other, bickering about who was grabbing which bag, and you muttered something under your breath before reaching in to snag your own. The straps cut into your palms, the weight pulling you forward, and you nearly bumped shoulders with Aki as he pulled his suitcase free with practiced ease.
You didnât look at him directly â not really â but you felt him there, just a little too close, quiet as always. The memory of his blade cutting through the dark flashed in your mind again, sharp as glass. You swallowed hard and told yourself not to think about it, not to think about him.
The automatic doors opened with a soft rush of cool air, and you followed behind your supervisor, the marble floor clicking beneath your boots. The lobby was bright, polished, almost too clean compared to the day youâd just had. You were still stuck replaying that moment when you overheard the conversation Aki was having with the receptionist.
âSorry,â the desk clerk said, polite but firm, eyes flicking up from his computer. âWe donât have any reservations under that name.â
âFuck, I never actually called, did I?â The young captain groaned, dropping his head against the surface of the counter. âOf course I fucking didnât,â Then, raising his head up and pinching the bridge of his nose, he added, âDo you⌠uh⌠do you have any other rooms available?â
Himeno stepped forward from where she was standing, folding her arms over the counter and leaning forward as if she, too, were desperate to find anything, at this point in the evening.
A minute passed. An agonizing minute, filled with nothing but the sound of keys clicking. Then, the desk clerk pursed his lips. âOkay, yeah, we have some availability. Two rooms. I can do one with two full beds and a pullout, and one queen suite.â
âIs that all you have?â Aki sighed, clearly unsatisfied.
Before he could add anything more, Himeno interjected, âWeâll take it.â
Aki whipped his head around, glaring daggers into her head. âThat wonât be enough room for all of us. Someoneâs gonna have to share a bed.â
Himeno shrugged. âTwo of us take the queen. Three of us take the double beds and the couch, and we should be good,â She paused, then added, âWhatâs our other option? Keep walking around âtil we find somewhere to crash? Our phones are dead, Aki. You saw the situation. Thereâs nothing out here for a while. Suck it up.â
Good point.
âFine,â Aki sighed, âWeâll take the rooms.â
âFine,â Aki exhaled, resignation in the sound. âWeâll take the rooms.â
The clerk clicked around, tapped a few keys, then slid two plastic key cards across the counter with a tired smile. Himeno snatched one without hesitation.
âOh, and Iâm not sharing a bed,â she said breezily, already turning toward the elevators. âIâll crash with the two dipshits. Youâre with her.â
Your heart sank straight through the floor.
NoâŚ
âYouâre joking,â Aki muttered, twirling the key around his finger like it might burn him. But Himeno didnât even glance back â her laugh trailed behind her as she disappeared down the hall with Denji and Power.
That left you and him.
Donât leave me alone with him, Himeno.
You tried to swallow the sudden tightness in your throat. âIâm⌠sure thereâs a couch I can crash on. Normally, the rooms have one,â you murmured as the two of you headed toward the second elevator.
Aki pressed the up button with two fingers. âBullshit. Like Iâm letting you sleep on the couch.â
Ugh. You and your damn chivalry, you thought. Of course he wouldnât.
Still, that wouldnât stop you from trying.
Heâd sooner suffer himself than allow you any discomfort. That was the kind of man he was, and the kind of man you found so frustratingly hard to be around. Because it made your chest tighten. It made you feel seen when you didnât⌠want to be.
The elevator dinged softly, the doors parting with a slow drag. You both stepped inside, the air-conditioning in the lift almost too cold against your sweat-dampened skin. Your reflection flickered faintly in the brushed steel walls, your nerves painted across your face.
âReally, I donât mind the couch,â you tried again as the doors sealed shut, the world outside cut off with a faint hiss. âAki, you need rest. Iâm fine, really.â
His gaze shifted toward you then, just for a second, before returning to the glowing floor numbers above. âAnd what kind of man would I be if I let that happen? Youâre my partner.â His tone carried the weight of finality, but softer underneath, reluctant. âYou take the bed. Iâll take the couch.â
Your chest ached, a quiet ache you buried quickly before it could show.
The elevator slowed, jolted, and the doors creaked open onto your floor. The carpet muffled your steps as you trailed behind him, your pulse strangely loud in your ears. Aki slid the key into the lock and scanned it, the red light flicking to green with a soft beep.
You held your breath as he pushed the door open.
The room was⌠a setup. Clearly meant for lovers, not two co-workers stuck out of town after a bloody mission. The bedspread was pristine, two towel swans perched neatly on the duvet, their necks curved into the shape of a heart. The curtains were drawn just enough to reveal a wide city view â lights glittering against the darkness, neon signs bleeding colors into the night.
You blinked, stunned into silence.
Aki dropped his gaze to the room, his frown deepening. âNo couch.â
Shit.
You turned slowly, scanning again as if one might magically appear if you looked hard enough. ââŚI guess not.â You pointed toward the tray left neatly on the counter. âThey gave us a bottle of Merlot and the room service number, though. Iâll be nice and buzzed on the floor.â
That earned you a quiet sigh. He let his bag slide from his shoulder and hit the carpet with a dull thud. âIâm showering first. I feel like shit.â
Okay. Tough crowd.
You nodded quickly, anything to avoid meeting his eyes. âGo ahead.â
He didnât say anything else. Just grabbed the handle of his bag and tugged it closer to the bathroom door before shutting himself inside. The sound of running water followed almost immediately, steady and muffled behind the wall.
You exhaled slowly, as if youâd been holding your breath since Himenoâs declaration downstairs. Your fingers busied themselves unpacking little things, laying them neatly on the counter by the TV: a mini first aid kit, lotion, the spare change of clothes youâd stuffed haphazardly in your bag. You lined them up like the order would keep you grounded, like if everything looked neat on the outside, your insides would stop feeling so messy.
The city lights spilled across the room in fractured patterns, a reminder of how far from home you were, how detached this moment felt. Just you. Just him. One bed.
You glanced toward the bathroom door, steam already beginning to cloud the edges of the mirror on the wall.
What were you supposed to do now?
The room was quiet enough that you could hear the faint hum of the vent, the deeper rush of water from behind the bathroom door. The steady stream of the shower should have been soothing. Instead, it only made you more aware of him. Aki. Just a wall away.
You turned toward the window, if only to distract yourself.
The curtains had been drawn to showcase the view, and it was a view worth pausing for. The city stretched out, streets glittering with headlights that streaked past in ribbons of red and white. Neon signs pulsed against the dark, broken occasionally by taller silhouettes of glass and steel. In the reflection, your face stared back, smudged with exhaustion, softened by the glow.
The rain was starting again. It hadnât been more than a drizzle when you left the car, but now it pressed harder against the glass, the drops forming streaks that blurred the city lights into watercolor.
You leaned your forehead gently against the cool pane, closing your eyes.
One bed.
The thought circled back, unrelenting.
Of all the possible arrangements, of all of the ways things couldâve worked out, of course this was how it had to be. You cursed Himeno in your head, though some part of you knew she hadnât done it entirely by accident. She liked to push, to prod, to stir things that might otherwise stay buried. And maybe she thought she was being clever, pairing you off, giving you an opportunity youâd never take yourself.
But she didnât have to live in the skin of it. She didnât have to sit with this tightness in her chest, the nervous awareness of every little detail: the sound of running water, the fact that Aki was right thereâŚ
You shifted away from the window, arms crossing over your chest. No use getting lost in that.
The steam was starting to seep from the bathroom, curling faintly at the corners of the mirror across the room. It fogged the edges, warping your reflection into something unrecognizable. You hated that it mirrored how you felt â blurry, muddled, not quite yourself.
You tried to focus on anything else. The ridiculous towel swans perched on the duvet, their curved necks touching in a heart. The unopened bottle of Merlot left with two glasses, like the hotel was mocking you. The silence of the room beyond the muffled water, pressing in so thick it almost had weight.
Your thoughts spun out in too many directions. What if he insisted again about the bed? What if he argued until you had no choice but to give in? What if you woke in the middle of the night, both of you too aware of the otherâs presence? The possibilities all ended in the same place â your heart racing, your chest aching, your mind refusing to quiet.
You rubbed your hands down your face, frustrated with yourself.Â
It was just one night. People shared rooms all the time. It didnât mean anything. You could survive this without losing your composure.
But then you thought of him again. His voice was low, steady, even when he was irritated. His eyes were sharp but softened by exhaustion. The image of his shoulders tense beneath his coat as heâd argued with Himeno, fighting for something as simple as more space, as if even that was his responsibility to shoulder.
You pressed your palm against the cool glass once more, grounding yourself.
It didnât matter. You wouldnât let it matter.
Still, when the water shut off, your body went rigid. The silence that followed was even heavier than before, broken only by the faint scuff of feet against tile. The bathroom door clicked open, and a wave of steam spilled into the room.
Instead of looking back (like the more perverted part of you desperately wanted to), you kept your eyes out the window, trained on the view and definitely not the blurry reflection of his shadow in the window. The rain beat down against the clear panes, cooling your head.
âItâs coming down hard out there now,â You huffed out, breath fogging the glass. âHimeno was right. We would have been out there with no gas in the rain.â
The sound of a bag rustling behind you beckoned your attention. When you turned around, there he was, all six-feet-three-inches of your partner. He was damn near naked, wearing nothing more than a towel around his waist. His chest was bare, and you couldnât peel your eyes away â again, you werenât blind. The guy was fucking chiseled, well-defined muscles lining his scarred frame, and you observed him with a strange sort of hunger. Your eyes focused on a droplet of water that trickled down the swell of his broad chest, dripped down his abs and disappeared below the towel around his waist.
Holy fucking shit.
Aki scooped his damp, dark hair into the palm of his hand, slicking it back and out of his pretty face. âBathroomâs all yours.â
You swallowed, licked your lips, and maybe it was just your hormones talking, but the temperature in the room seemed to climb a couple of notches. âRight,â You cleared your throat, peeling your eyes away from him. âThanks.â
You werenât looking. No, you definitely werenât looking, which is why it was so strange that your mouth felt like it had been stuffed full of fucking cotton.Â
Instead of unpacking what that was about, you plucked one of the neatly folded robes off of the bed and tossed it over your shoulder, casting your gaze to the carpeted floor and walking past him.
You closed the bathroom door quietly behind you, like you were scared to disrupt him, to make any sort of noise that indicated you were feeling any differently than you had been a few months prior, before these thoughts of yours had started.
The second you twisted the knob, steam filled the little space, curling against the mirror until it blurred your reflection into nothing. You stepped beneath the spray and tilted your head back, closing your eyes as the first rush of hot water slammed over you. It was almost too hot, almost painful, but that was what you wanted⌠something to burn away the grime and tension of the mission.
When you reached up to work the shampoo into your hair, a faint pink tint swirled down with the suds. You stilled, fingers pausing at your scalp, and watched as the water carried it away, diluted it, spun it into nothing more than a whisper of red before it vanished into the drain. Blood. Leftover, clinging to you from earlier, soaked deep into strands and hidden against your scalp.
The sight should not have unnerved you. It was part of the job. Every devil left some piece of itself behind. But standing there, watching the water run red, it felt⌠different than your post mission showers normally did.Â
And, no, it wasnât the hotel shampoo.
You thought of Aki again, the way he had stepped in front of you without hesitation when things went bad, the way his blade had cut through air and gore like it was second nature. The way he always put himself in the line first, as if his body were nothing more than a shield for the rest of you to hide behind.
Always the hero, even at the cost of his own life.
You pressed your fingers into your scalp, scrubbing until it stung. If you could just get clean â if you could just make the blood go away â maybe you could stop thinking about him like that. But even when the water finally ran clear, even when you had rinsed it all away, his face lingered, carved sharp in your mind.
Because he was perfect. The fact of the matter was that he was everything you could have wanted in a man. The fact that you couldnât have him â even just a taste of him â pained you.
Gently, you lathered up your breasts, being sure to clean your nipple piercings with care. They werenât new, not by any stretch â about three years old, in fact â but they were sensitive. Himeno had dared you to do them on a whim, and you had lost a bet.
You finished quickly, moving through the rest of your routine in a haze. Soap, conditioner, rinse. By the time you shut off the water, your skin was flushed pink from heat and your lungs felt heavy with steam.
Okay. This is normal.
Itâs not like weâre naked, we just⌠donât have pajamas.
Yeah. Thatâs it.
You towelled yourself dry in silence, dragging lotion across your arms and legs in deliberate strokes, like the ritual itself might anchor you back into your own body. Then you shrugged into the robe hanging on the back of the door and cinched it tight, tying the belt in a knot you didnât trust your shaking hands to undo anytime soon.
When you finally stepped out, the hotel room was dim, shadows softened by the glow of the city bleeding in through the windows.
You spotted him instantly. Aki was outside, on the balcony, leaning against the railing, a cigarette caught between two fingers. The robe he wore hung loosely off his shoulders, the fabric belted low on his hips.
Be strong. You froze for a second too long, breath hitching before you forced yourself forward.
Heâs off limits.
Crossing the room, you passed behind him on your way to the balcony. And, no, you didnât gawk. You absolutely did not let your eyes linger on the broad line of his back, the muscles shifting beneath the robe when he lifted his arm to take another drag. You didnât think about how solid he looked, how steady, how everything about him seemed carved out of something like stone, and fuckâŚ
You kept your eyes forward. Definitely.
Still, your pulse fluttered like it hadnât gotten the memo.
âIâm done,â you said softly as you slid the glass door open, stepping into the night air beside him.
Aki exhaled a plume of smoke, eyes tracking the storm beyond the balcony. âI was beginning to think you died in there,â he murmured, voice even, almost indifferent.
âShut up,â You sighed. âYouâve only got so much hair to wash.â
It was colder out there, for sure, but you could feel the warmth radiating off of him in waves, and that was more than enough for you. You joined him, leaning against the balcony like you werenât ogling him only a minute prior. Your eyes dropped down to the calm city streets below, to the gentle movement of traffic.Â
âJust think. Somewhere in this hotel, Himeno and Denji are probably wrangling Power into the bathtub,â You commented, nudging his shoulder with yours.
Iâm trying really hard to not focus on how strange this is.
He huffed out something between a sigh and a laugh. âNever thought about it that way.â
A gust of wind blew in from below, gently moving his hair. He looked prettier with it down, if that were even possible. It felt as if â the moment that damned ponytail came up, it was all strict business. Now, when it was just the two of you out there where no one else could see you, away from the devils, the city, all of it, the air felt thicker. He looked younger, calmer, and the dark strands framed his face like it was intentional.
He took your breath away.
âI think Iâm so used to the chaos of their company that I almost⌠forgot what it felt like to not have to deal with it,â He added after a beat. His eyes flickered between a neighboring building and your face, sapphire pools catching the light of the moon just right.Â
âSheâs doing you a favor, believe me,â You said, clapping a hand down on your partnerâs shoulder. âWhat do you say we crack open that bottle of wine and relax inside?â
He sighed again, shoulders dropping with the weight of it, âGod, I could use a drink.â
He moved quickly after that, stubbing his cigarette out on the railing and flicking it out over the balcony. The two of you stepped inside of the room, closing the sliding door once you were indoors.Â
Unceremoniously, you opened your arms and flopped onto the bed. The mattress was plush, soft, sinking beneath your weight. Fumbling around the nightstand, you reached for the TV remote and flicked it on.
In front of you, you heard the soft twist of metal against glass. Aki worked the cork out with steady hands, the faint pop sounding far louder than it should in the quiet. He poured with practiced ease, the deep red spilling into two glasses until the room smelled faintly of wine.
He crossed the room and handed you one, his fingers brushing yours for half a second longer than necessary. You clinked them together with a small grin.
âThink they got any good movies on here?â you asked, flipping through the bland hotel channel menu, most of it pay-per-view garbage.
Aki settled onto the bed next to you with his own glass. He was a respectable distance away, of course, keeping a foot between the two of you and settling for leaning up against the headboard instead of laying down. There was a clear barrier between your body and his. A line that you werenât ballsy enough to cross.
Still, it would have been so easy to reach over andâŚ
He took a sip, the lamplight catching the flush of exhaustion still high on his cheekbones.
But your eyes stayed on the flickering TV, because looking too long at him in that quiet, dim-lit room felt⌠dangerous. He was remarkably beautiful, even now. The kind of pretty that made your heart ache â boyish features weighed down by years of stress, dark hair still damp from the shower, framing his face. From here, you could see the faint quirk in his lip as he grimaced at the taste of the wine.
âDoubt it,â he muttered, completely unaware of your plight. âYouâre hard to please.â
When he relaxed against the headboard, slouched over ever-so-slightly, the fabric of his robe shifted over his chest, giving way to a glimpse of more skin. Despite feeling like an amish man, you reeled it in, trying not to stare at him.
Because, shit, you could think of one thing that would please you quite easily.
Donât be stupid.
A laugh spilled forth from your lips before you could stop it â at his comment, at your thoughts, at the absurdity of this whole entire situation. You wound up clicking on some movie you only vaguely recognized the name of, deciding to hope that it would make a worthwhile distraction. If you kept your eyes on the screen, maybe you wouldnât have to look at Aki. Maybe then your heart would stop its incessant racing.
âWe should make a toast,â You commented, watching the black screen fade into starting credits. You swished the wine around in your glass mindlessly.
Aki didnât look away from the television screen when he hummed, âMissionâs not finished yet.â
âSo what?â You teased. Waving your glass around (rather haphazardly, considering the two of you were lounging on a pearly white bedspread and the wine was very red), you added, âLetâs toast⌠to⌠to not dying. How about that? A toast to one more day above ground?â
Shit, in Public Safety, every day above ground was something to toast to.
Aki chuckled tiredly, and it was single-handedly the most attractive thing youâd ever heard in your entire life. Still, he lifted his glass up. âTo one more day above ground.â
Your glasses clinked when they met in the middle.
The food tray sat forgotten on the nightstand, a mess of half-eaten fries and skewered bits of chicken scattered like the remains of some small feast. Aki had ordered it without asking, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and you hadnât argued. Drunk food always tasted better anyway.
Now, though, both your appetites had slowed. He was stretched out beside you on the bed, glass still in hand, his body sinking deeper into the mattress than youâd ever seen. Aki never really relaxed⌠at least, not around you, not in the way that counted, but tonight there was no mistaking it. His shoulders werenât taut with tension, his jaw wasnât set. His robe hung loose, the belt tied without much care, one edge falling open to expose the hard line of his chest.
You caught yourself staring. More than once. Okay, maybe even a handful of times. Hell, you were staring right now.
The wine had flushed his cheeks a soft pink, heat bleeding down his throat, and his eyes, normally so sharp, had softened into something half-lidded. He was drunk, though not nearly as much as you were. You could feel your head spinning slightly when you tried to sit up straighter, so you gave in and leaned back on the pillows instead, laughing at nothing in particular.
âYouâreââ You snorted into your glass. âYouâre way too composed. Itâs not fair.â
Aki gave the wine in his glass a lazy swirl, watching the deep red catch the light. âTrust me. Iâm feeling it.â
âLiar,â you shot back, nudging his leg with your knee. The contact lingered, neither of you moving away.
He didnât answer immediately, just turned his head toward you, and for a moment the air went strangely quiet â just the faint hum of the TV. His gaze lingered long enough that you felt your face warm, though whether it was the alcohol or him, you couldnât say.
For a moment, you had been able to forget about this whole⌠situation. You. Him. Two bottles of wine deep, sprawled out on a bed wearing only robes. It was ridiculous, by all means, and far too intimate of a predicament to be in with your supervisor.
Yet, there you were.
And when the screen flickered to another scene in the filmÂ
And when the screen flickered to another scene in the film, you blinked up at it â then promptly choked on your sip of wine. Of course. A sex scene. The volume wasnât even that high, but the moans still filled the room, echoing around the pristine hotel walls, and suddenly it felt like the air had thickened.
You shot Aki a sideways glance, but he was already trying very hard to look anywhere but the TV. His lips pressed together, his jaw tight, like if he didnât move a muscle the moment would pass unnoticed.
It was so awkward you had to say something. Anything.
âSheâs so faking it,â you blurted, gesturing toward the screen with your glass.
That got him. His mouth twitched, and then he snorted softly. âNo shit. Weâre not watching a porno.â
âYouâre acting like girls donât fake it in the pornos, too,â You giggled softly, âHell, Iâve faked it before.â
Aki tilted his head, tufts of raven hair falling into his face as he did so. âWhy bother?â
âSaves time,â You shrugged noncommittally. Pausing, you took a sip. âAnd ego.â
âYours or theirs?â He sighed. In his hand, he swished the glass of wine around. You watched the blood red liquid lap at the sides, never quite daring to spill over. Controlled, just like everything else he did. His blue eyes were hazy, half-lidded, âI think⌠if I knew a girl had to fake it just to save my ego, I wouldnât be able to sleep at night. Iâd rather she just tell me it sucked.â
âHappens more often than youâd think,â You noted with a hum. Shifting your weight onto your side, you adjusted your body until you were fully facing him. Until the moans and clatter on the television screen faded into the background. âMost guys donât even know what the clit is.â
It was too much. Far too much. You had crossed a line. That much was evident in the way Aki, who had just taken a sip of his wine, promptly choked on the liquid.Â
You probably should have apologized for being so crass in front of your boss. However, given the fact that you were inebriated, you couldnât bring yourself to care. âWhat? Weâre all adults here.â
Great. Just dig the hole deeper, why donât you?
âGod, this is wrong. Itâs⌠itâs completely inappropriate,â Aki rolled onto his back, gazing up at the ceiling. âYou and I shouldnât be in the same room⌠let alone the same bed. We shouldnât be drinking, and we sure as hell shouldnât be talking about anatomy.â
âProbably not,â You laughed. The world seemed to sway a bit when you did. âYouâre one of those guys, arenât you?â
You should probably stop asking him that.
âWe should be following protocol,â He added, as if that would stop the onslaught of questions pouring from your mouth. âYou should be asleep and I should be over there on the floor. Maybe even the bathtub. As far away from you as a captain should be.â
âYou should be answering my question,â You tapped a finger against your glass impatiently. â...Unless youâre a virgin, captain.â
Youâre gonna get fired. You thought.
But he didnât fire you. Instead, he actually humored you.
Talk about how inappropriate that comment was and how theres a moment of silence where she holds her breath cuz she knows its out of pocket, but to her surprise aki answers her.
The words hung between you like smoke, heavier the longer the silence stretched.
Your heart stuttered, realization dawning far too late that you had just crossed a line. A dangerous one. Talking to your superior like that? In a hotel room, half-drunk, in robes? You might as well have signed your resignation letter on the dotted line. You swallowed, fighting the urge to backpedal, waiting for the reprimand, the sharp rebuke â maybe even the cold dismissal.
But none came.
Instead, Aki only looked at you. His eyes flickered briefly over your face, unreadable, the kind of silence that made your chest ache from holding your breath.
Then, slowly, he quirked a brow. âDefinitely wouldnât use that word to describe me,â he said at last, his voice dry, tinged with the faintest thread of humor. His lips curled into something that wasnât quite a smile. âInvoluntarily celibate, maybe.â
Heâs not a virgin.
You werenât sure why the confession made you feel so strange. Itâs not that you particularly expected him to have held off this long. Hell, he was 22. He was drop-dead gorgeous. You werenât stupid.Â
Still, the image of Akiâs lips on another womanâs neck, his hands reaching down beneath her skirtâŚ
Fuck. It confused you. You didnât know whether you wanted to know more or close your ears and pretend you hadnât heard any of it.Â
Still, you supposed you had been the one to breach the subjectâŚ
âHa! I barely even have time to clean with all of this gun devil shit. The last thing I need is to get in bed and have to fake a good time with a guy I barely know,â You laughed aloud. âBut you? Iâm surprised.â
âAbout what?â He asked.
âAbout you being celibate,â You said. âYouâre pretty enough. Iâm surprised you donât get more play.â
This whole conversation is ridiculous and should stop.
âItâs not that,â He corrected you, eyes following a crack in the paint on the ceiling. âBelieve me when I tell you Iâve gotten more letters from secret admirers in my office mailbox than Iâm willing to admit. Iâm just not interested.â
You tilted your head, wine loosening your tongue. âYou gay?â
His head turned sharply, eyes snapping to you, and the look he gave had you laughing before you could help it. Loud, unrestrained, spilling out of you as though it might cover how reckless that question had been.
And then, suddenly, he moved.
One second you were still laughing, the next his hand was brushing over your shoulder, catching the loose edge of your robe. He tugged it back into place with an uncharacteristic gentleness, straightening the fabric where it had slipped open.
Oh.
You froze.
The laughter died in your throat, leaving only the deafening silence that followed. He didnât look away this time. His hand lingered just a beat too long on the knot at your waist, and when his eyes finally met yours, steady and unblinking, you forgot how to breathe.
The pause stretched, fragile and thin, and the air between you seemed to shift, thicken, like you were both suddenly too aware of how close you were, of the heat bleeding between you.
And then, just as abruptly, he cleared his throat and pulled back.
âItâs the same way for me,â he said quietly. âI havenât found anyone worth keeping around. Maybe thatâs harsh, I donât know. Most girls Iâve gone out with have been⌠painfully boring. That, or they expect me to fall in love with them after one night.â
I hope I donât bore him, You thought. Truthfully, though, you kept him on his toes enough to know that that simply wasnât true.
No, you knew you stressed him the fuck out.
âFrom my experience, itâs usually the guys who canât keep up a conversation,â You noted. Truthfully, you had carried more dates on your back than you were willing to admit.Â
âWeâre⌠holding a conversation right now, arenât we?â He replied.
âYeah, but youâre different.â
âHow so?â
Youâre so different, you donât even know it. You thought. So different, in fact, that you hadnât been able to look another man in the eyes since your⌠strange feelings towards Aki started.
Why? Well, because no one compared. No, in every pair of easy eyes, he was there. His ocean blue irises. His stern expression. His deep, commanding voice.
That was exactly the problem. In every man you tried to meet, every time you even tried to get the tension off, he was there.
Your eyes betrayed you, dropping down to the small patch of skin his robe revealed, to the dog tag necklace that rested on his chest.
âI donât know, we just know each other well. Weâre partners,â You waved your hand around in the air. âMaybe youâre just one of those guys who needs to really get to know someone before you feel comfortable around them.â
Aki quirked a perfectly arched brow at your words. âYou telling me to fuck a friend?â
I mean, shittttâŚÂ You thought. It was depraved, of course, but something about the way the word fuck rolled off his tongueâŚ
Dangerous.
âNo, just someone you know,â You replied easily. âAnd Iâm not used to hearing you use such debauched language, Captain. Watch your mouth, please.â
The conversation was breaching uncharted territory. You knew that. But, fuck, you couldnât help yourself.
âFuck off. You started it,â He took one final sip of his wine, then set the empty glass on the nightstand. âPlus, I donât know many people who would want to get that involved with a Public Safety Officer. Weâre good for one night stands, and thatâs about it. Canât have anything too permanent.â
âTrue that,â You stretched with a tired yawn. âWe should probably stick to our kind, but that would get messy real fast.â
 âVery,â he replied. âThatâs Himenoâs thing. Not mine.â
You turned your gaze back to the TV, not sure why you felt compelled to keep talking, to keep spilling. The sex scene was over, the two characters now lying in bed together, but the words kept coming anyway.
âThat reminds me,â you said before you could stop yourself, ââŚI hooked up with this guy once who told me my head was bad.â
Aki arched that perfect brow, his expression deadpan. âHe actually said that?â
Youâre telling me.
âYeah. Out loud. Itâs always the dudes with trash game, too. Like, when I tell you he was biting meâŚâ You polished off the rest of your own glass in one swig. âAnd then he had the nerve to tell me I was using too much teeth.â
âThatâs audacious,â He uttered, and for a second, the words were just words â but there was a quiet weight to them, like he was thinking too much about it.
A beat of silence followed. The TV flickered, the movie continuing on-screen, but neither of you really watched. You knew it, and he knew it⌠you were avoiding something, tiptoeing around it in the dim hotel light.
Then, to your surprise, he added more. Lower this time, almost offhand, almost to himself: âI feel like going down on a girl would be easier than giving a blowjob.â
You froze mid-breath, eyes darting to the TV as though it could shield you from the words, but the heat crawling up your neck betrayed you. ââŚYouâve never gone⌠down?â
No response.
ââŚYouâre kidding. A guy like you? Never?â
âDonât start,â he snapped, but not harshly. More like warning you not to pry further. âMost of my escapades have been⌠rushed.â
Your mind spun. Rushed, sureâ butâŚÂ âYou could still give her something,â you murmured, before you could stop yourself. The words slipped out, soft, teasing, almost dangerous.
For a second, he looked at you, and something flickered in his gaze. That rare, unguarded side of him that came out only when you pushed just enough, only when the world outside wasnât watching.
âTrust me, I do,â He answered, and for a moment, you swore his voice dropped just a notch. You swore you saw his eyes betray him, glancing down at your lips before meeting your gaze again. âBut I guess you never know when someoneâs faking it, do you?â
The words were enough to make you fucking bristle.
I cannot be imagining this tension.
âA lady shouldnât have to ask for head,â You retorted.
âYou try doing that when you have someone begging you to cut to the chase and give them what they want,â He answered right back. âDoesnât mean I donât give them theirs first. Itâs all about how you use it.â
Your stomach clenched at the words. Yours first? You swallowed against the sudden heat rising to your cheeks, your mind flickering to images you werenât supposed to be thinking about. You pictured him above you, the memory â or maybe the fantasy â playing like a private movie behind your eyes, and you felt your pulse spike.
God, you could picture him using it.
Yeah, his words paint a vivid image.
âYou seem to have a high turnover rate,â you teased, pushing your words out with more confidence than you felt. âYou sure youâre as good as you think?â
The grin that took over his face wasnât quick. It was slow â perhaps a little tipsy, a subtle expression that graced his lips. Then, teasingly, he retorted, âWouldnât you like to know?â
âWhatever,â you muttered to yourself.
It was not whatever.
You shifted, letting your arm stretch toward the nightstand. As you leaned over, your robe shifted just slightly, brushing against your skin in a way that made you hyperaware of him. You checked your phone, pretending that was the only reason for bending like that, but your gaze flicked up just enough to catch the faint trace of his eyes lingering â more than lingering â across your chest. More specifically, at the piercing bumps poking through the fabric.
Heâs looking at my nipple piercings.
Before you could stop yourself, words tumbled out: âDo you want to see them?â
He blinked, almost caught off guard. âSee what?â
âMy piercings,â You added, as if that should have been obvious. (It should have).
Then, voice low and measured, a flicker of amusement in his tone: âDonât be ridiculous. Iâve just⌠I didnât even know you could have piercings there.â
Heat pooled, your pulse jumping. You leaned back slightly, letting the robe settle but keeping just enough control to let him know youâd noticed the stare without giving away more than you meant to. The tension between you didnât dissipate, though. It fucking thickened, charged with something you were a little too drunk to name.
And neither of you was making the slightest effort to stop it.
Oh, fuck it, you only live once.
âGive me your hand,â you said, voice low, teasing, letting the words slip out before your brain could intervene. You didnât look at him directly, eyes tracing the shadowed corners of the hotel room instead, pretending the TV flicker was what kept your attention. But your chest tightened the moment his gaze flicked toward you.
âNo,â he replied immediately, sharp, unyielding. The word sounded like a warning, but it only made your pulse spike.
âGimme your hand,â you said again, a little firmer, a little bolder.
âThis violates protocol. You know that, right?â he said, voice calm but carrying that unmistakable edge that made you bite back a laugh.
âI do,â you admitted, letting your lips curl into a smirk before you moved. Slowly, deliberately, you guided his hand into place â into your robe, letting it brush against your breast, ignoring the rapid beat of your own pulse. The moment his fingers touched your skin, a jolt ran through you, sudden and electric.
But he didnât pull away.
His hand was gentle at first, almost careful, testing boundaries without crossing them. You felt the warmth radiating from him, the subtle pressure of his fingers against your piercing, his hand hot and warm against your skin. Your nipple stiffened up beneath his touch almost immediately, something you werenât exactly proud of.
Why is this happening? you thought. Itâs not supposed to feel so sensitive.
âDoes...â he swallowed softly, Adamâs apple bobbing in his throat, voice laced with a kind of hesitance you rarely saw. âDoes it hurt?â
âNoâŚâ you trailed off, your voice barely audible, and you found yourself looking at him instead of the TV, even though you knew you shouldnât. His eyes caught yours, steady, unwavering, and for a moment, everything else â the light, the shadows, the sound of the air conditioner â faded.
And he wouldnât stop looking at you, peering into your eyes like he was trying to pick you apart piece by piece.
You leaned closer, just slightly, the air between you taut with unspoken electricity. âCan I tell you something?â you murmured.
âYeahâŚâ he breathed, barely above a whisper, eyes fixed on you with that rare intensity that made your stomach flip.
âIâve always thought you were⌠so fucking sexy. You know that?â
There. You said it. And the words hung between you, heavy and undeniable. Your stomach clenched, your chest felt too tight, and for a fleeting second, you wished you could take it back â but you didnât.
His hand lingered. He hadnât moved it, hadnât pulled away, and every second it stayed there sent heat crawling along your skin, your pulse thrumming in rhythm with the dangerous tension between you.
But, then, wordlessly, his thumb caught on your piercing, brushing over your nipple in a way that was anything but accidental.
Oh, God, You shivered slightly, almost involuntarily, and the sound escaped your lips â a soft, shuddering noise you didnât even realize youâd made.
âFuck,â He jerked his hand back like heâd been burned, eyes wide and unfocused for a moment, but tinged with hunger. âWe shouldnât⌠this isnâtâŚâ
âAki, itâs okay,â you whispered, the words soft, steady, but firm enough to coax him. You leaned a little closer, daring, letting him see the challenge in your eyes, the teasing edge to your tone.
âIf you think this is okay, then I have serious concerns about your relationship with authority,â He sighed, shaking his head, almost to himself. âIâm your supervisor.â
âYouâre also hard,â you said, barely a murmur, teasing, daring, letting the words brush against the thin veil of propriety between you. As if to emphasize your point, you let your hand drop down to the tent that had begun to form at the front of his robe.
Thereâs no way this is really happening.
He blinked at you, as if startled by the movement â a little pent up, if anything, but he didnât pull away. âTwo things can be true at once,â he said, voice rougher now.Â
âI think I like the one poking my leg more,â You grinned. You leaned a little closer again, heart thudding in your chest. âCould I⌠help you take care of it?â Your voice was soft, but your grin betrayed you.
âYouâre gonna get us in trouble,â he said, tone warning, but you could hear the slight catch in his breath. His hand hovered, almost hesitant, over the space between you, and it made the air crackle with anticipation.
You saw it, now. He was just as repressed as you were.
âHas trouble ever looked this good?â you murmured, voice teasing, letting your eyes roam his face just long enough to watch the reaction flicker across his features.
âI donât think I want Little Miss Trouble to bite my dick off,â he joked. You let out a quiet, breathy laugh.
âI just wasnât⌠enthusiastic enough that time,â you murmured, voice low, teasing, but you were already crawling onto your hands and knees, already lowering yourself.
And he let you. He watched you with wide, dilated pupils as you crawled down the bed, nuzzling your head shamelessly into his crotch before looking up at him for approval.
You always had been a horny drunk. Still, you figured you would rather regret it in the morning.
âIâll be good,â You cooed, âPromise. All you have to do is teach me.â
âWeâre just drunk. Youâre gonna get us in trouble.â His voice was low, steady, but you caught the catch in it, the way it stuttered just slightly like he didnât fully believe what he was saying. His hand hovered, not quite touching, caught between restraint and need.
âOnly if someone finds out,â you murmured, tilting your head, watching him too closely, savoring the shift in his expression. âI wonât tell if you donât.â
He let out a sharp, humorless laugh, running his tongue across his teeth like he needed something to bite down on. His gaze flicked away toward the ceiling before snapping back to you. âFuck, this is a horrible idea.â
You grinned, emboldened by the fracture in his resolve, and reached for the belt of his robe, fingers brushing over the fabric. You didnât even get the chance to tug⌠it was his hand that shot out, gripping your wrist firm enough to stop you.Â
âAkiââ you started, but then he tugged. Not enough to hurt, just enough to jolt you. Then he sat up, dragging you half with him before letting go and standing.
You fell back against the pillows, wide-eyed, breathless, watching him.
âWhatâŚ?â you began, but stopped yourself, the words dying when you saw the way he moved. He wasnât leaving. He was deliberate, slow, fingers working at the knot in the front of his robe.
He came to the side of the bed, looking down at you with a gaze that pinned you in place. His jaw was tight, his chest rising and falling like heâd just fought off a losing battle. And then he spoke, voice rough, controlled, but edged with something dangerous.
âOn your knees.â
The command made your stomach flip, heat rushing down your spine.
You blinked at him, lips parting, body already reacting before your mind could catch up. The sheets tangled around your legs as you slid down off the bed, the carpet cool against your knees. When you finally looked up at him, waiting, his hand tightened on the belt, knuckles pale.
âTeach me,â you breathed.
âYou donât know what youâre asking for,â he said, softer this time, but no less sharp.
You peered up at him through your lashes, taking a moment to reel it in. He looked even prettier from below.
For a moment, he just looked at you. Then his free hand reached out, fingers sinking into your hair, tugging your head back just slightly until your breath hitched.
âDonât look at me like that unless youâre ready to put your mouth to use,â He uttered, and the words made you squeeze your thighs together, nails biting into flesh like you needed something to hold onto.
His hand slipped out of your hair to cup your jaw, lift your gaze up. His thumb caressed your mouth, catching on your lower lip to tug it down ever-so-slightly.Â
A wicked grin crossed your lips as you reached for the belt of his robe, âSir, yes, sir.â
And this time, as you peered up at him through half-lidded eyes, the fabric loosened under your fingers, parting just enough to tease the shape of what waited beneath.
Fuck, heâs bigger than I thought.
The breath caught in your throat. Awe flickered across your features, chasing away your grin for just a heartbeat as your eyes roamed lower. The sight of him made your stomach clench, a dizzying mix of nerves and hunger flooding your veins. Your hands slid down his stomach, his abs, his v-line, and then his thighs.
His hand lingered against your jaw, thumb still brushing your lip as though daring you to back down. âWhatâs wrong? Scared?â he teased, low and sharp, like he relished watching you falter.
You blinked up at him. Mama didnât raise a bitch.
No, you could take him. All⌠god, what was that, nine inches?
Then, with a sudden bout of unwarranted boldness, you gripped him by the base of his cock, keeping eye contact the whole time.Â
He huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh, tugging at your lip once more while telling you, âOpen your mouth.â
You did exactly that, parting your lips without so much as another thought to make room for the thumb that pushed its way in. On instinct, you flattened your tongue.
âThatâs it. Good girl,â He appraised you with a quiet hum. Pushed his thumb in a little deeper, just up against the back of your tongue. âSuck on it.â
Mindlessly, perhaps, you followed his command. You hollowed out your cheeks, sucking the digit into your mouth, coating it in your spit.
âYouâre using teeth, pretty, open wider,â He leaned down a bit, staring down at you over the bridge of his nose like you were nothing. âDonât make me pry it open for you.â
You would be lying to yourself if you said you didnât like it â the nicknames, the threat, the condescending look on his face⌠all of it.
Before you could protest, bite back with some petty retort, he slipped his thumb out and inserted two fingers instead. They were longer â long enough to make you gag when they practically slid down your throat.
âWrap those lips tighter, you can do better than that,â He tutted gently. He pulled the digits out before pushing them back in. You wrapped your lips a little tighter around them, even as you felt drool spill out the corner of your lips, even as they reached deeper, deeper. âTongue over your bottom teeth.â
Heâs so mean.
The sound that came out of your mouth wasnât something you were proud of â not quite a gag, not quite a moan, but something in between. Your chin was wet with spit as he slipped his fingers out of your mouth just to plunge them in again.
âMessy already?â He teased, âItâs just my fingers. I thought you wanted me to teach you?â
Cruel, so cruel, even as he fucked your mouth with his fingers, spread the digits open and closed them.
âUse your tongue. Come on, donât be lazy,â He cooed, âItâs only a taste of whatâs coming.â
The digits were heavy on your tongue â heavier when he pressed them down. Still, you obeyed him, hollowing your cheeks and working up a rhythm while you sucked them in and out of your mouth.
âYou want some more baby?â he asks as she pulls his fingers out of her mouth
Baby, you thought. Holy fuck, Iâm gonna pass out.
You adjusted, following his rhythm, cheeks hollowing, breath warming his skin. There was weight in the way he held you there â not just physical, but in the quiet authority he carried.
âLook at me.â
Your eyes snapped up to meet his. The intensity there nearly undid you; it wasnât just dominance, but something like restrained hunger, thinly veiled behind composure.
âDonât look away,â he said softly, almost like a warning.
He drew his hand back slightly, and your instinctive reach toward him made his mouth twitch in approval. Somewhere along the line, that careful control of his slipped. His breath caught, his jaw tightened, and for a heartbeat, you could almost pretend you were sucking on something else.
âKeep going,â he murmured, voice lower now, rougher at the edges. âI didnât say stop.â
Fuck, yes.
Feeling a little more confident than you probably should have, you sucked the digits in deeper, feeling them touch the back of your throat. The sensation was foreign â if you added up the size of every less-than-impressive man youâd been with, they probably still couldnât compete. So, it should have come with no surprise that you gagged the moment they went too deep.
âPathetic,â He tsked, withdrawing his fingers entirely. âIf you canât handle my fingers, then you definitely canât handle the rest of me.â
To be frank, you werenât entirely sure why you felt the need to impress him, but you did. It wasnât just about learning. You wanted to prove him wrong â you wanted to do it.
So, naturally, you took the liberty of wrapping your hand around him once more, this time shifting yourself a little closer to him on your knees until your breath fanned out against his warm skin. You glanced up at him, up over the pale scars that marred his muscled skin, up through your lashes like you needed him. Then, slowly â like a cat approaching its prey â you leaned forward.
He quirked a brow, peering down at you like he had all night. Like nothing could phase him.
Well, that is, until you stuck your tongue out and licked a long stripe from the base to his tip, placing a kiss over his slit, keeping eye contact the whole time.
His chest rose. Fell, releasing a sigh.
Then, gruffly, he muttered, âOpen your mouth.â
Uncertainly, you opened it.
âWider,â He added, âDonât make me tell you twice.â
You did exactly that. In fact, you werenât the slightest bit ashamed as you parted your lips and stuck your tongue out, eagerly awaiting his command. You felt utterly obscene, in fact, but you had never felt prettier in your entire life than you felt beneath his domineering gaze.
Gripping the base, Aki placed the tip of his dick right on your tongue. For a moment, you just felt the weight of it, but before long, you were licking at it â collecting some of that salty precum onto your tongue and letting it melt into your tastebuds. It was real â a reminder that you werenât making any of this up.
You flattened your tongue against the tip a few more times, content to lavish it with kitten licks until Aki told you otherwise. You looked up at him through your lashes, feeling as debauched as you were careless. Yet, still, there was something almost religious about the way he looked at you â pupils dilated, lips just slightly parted to make room for a trembling breath, face dusted with a pretty pink hue from your touch and the wine. You had long since abandoned the Catholic church, but, shitâŚÂ
It was divine.
âThatâs it, baby,â He cooed softly, reaching a hand down to tangle it in your hair. âJust the tip, just like that. Pretend itâs like an ice pop.â
It was so damn obscene. To think that such dirty words were pouring from your superiorâs mouth and it was all your faultwas enough to have you pressing your thighs together.
You giggled, words slurred against his cock, âLike an ice pop?â
This time, you dared to wrap your lips around it, using the soft skin to tease him â all but making out with his cock. The reaction was instant: Aki whispered out a quiet, âFuck,â beneath his breath.
It wasnât loud, not by any means, but it was enough to spur you on. Before long, you were using lips and tongue â licking over the slit, sucking the tip into your mouth just enough for him to be able to feel your lips around him. More of that salty precum dripped out onto your tongue, only making it messier, but you were drunk on the taste of him.
Well, you were drunk, period, but that was besides the point.
Like an ice pop.
Gently, you licked the tip a few more times before sucking it into your mouth â like running your tongue up the shaft of a cold ice pop on a warm Summer day. When more of that sweet goodness melted off the top, dripping down over your fingers, you quickly lapped it up. To be frank, you werenât sure where these skills were coming from â or if you were even doing it right, but he hadnât said anything yet, and if the way he was looking at you was any sort of indicatorâŚ
âYouâre doing such a good job,â He complimented you. âIâm gonna give you more, okay?â
Right, You thought. He was only one inch in.
Then, he was pushing his hips forward ever-so-slightly. Immediately, you felt the stretch of your lips as they tried to wrap around him, the sensation of his cock filling your mouth out like it was meant to stay there forever. Slowly, so slowly, he gave you more of him â more, more, until your eyes began to water. You werenât proud of the way you gagged like a virgin.
âTake it deeper. All the way, donât stop,â He breathed out, cupping your jaw and petting you with his thumb. âTake all of it.â
Fuck me gently with a chainsaw.
Sorry Denji.
You tried, but you found yourself struggling to catch your breath. Youâd never been with a man so well endowed before, and it was showing.
âBreathe through your nose,â He added, âBreathe.â
Shutting your eyes to focus, you tried to breathe in. Not through your mouth (obviously), but through your nose. It was a little tricky, but once you got the hang of it, you were good to go.
That is, until he startled you by giving you the rest of him, pushing in all the way until you gagged a second time â louder,too. Loud enough to echo.
Stop embarrassing yourself.
To your surprise, however, Aki didnât seem to mind. No, if anything, he seemed to enjoy it. The thumb that had just been petting your cheek was now wiping the tears away from your eye. âYou choking already?â He hummed at you. âYou asked for this, remember? Eyes up.â
His words were starting to get to you. He was stern on the battlefield, so you supposed you should have known he would be stern in the bedroom, but, still. There was just something about hearing pure sin coming from his mouth that made your core boil with desire, heat pooling deep in your gut.
âEyes on me,â He reiterated. This time, you listened, craning your neck back a bit so you could peer up at him through half-lidded eyes. The task proved to be quite difficult. âDonât you dare look away.â
For a moment, the two of you sat there, eyes locked, you didnât move. Neither did he. There was nothing beyond this â beyond you and him, exploring each otherâs bodies for the first time while a movie played on low on the TV. Nothing more than the way he was fucking looking at you â like you were everything. Hair loose in his face, eyes hazy with lust â It was enough to fill your stomach with butterflies.
You needed to please him.
âDonât just sit there,â The faintest hint of a smirk graced his lips, âYou can move.â
It was much easier before he had his dick shoved down your throat. But, still, like always, you wanted to try for him. Gently, not wanting to gag hard enough to puke, you moved your head back, then forth. Back, then forth again until you found a rhythm. You were struggling to fit all of him, but fuck, you were so turned on that your head was spinning. The look on his face was something you would have paid to see.
All the while, you maintained eye contact with him.
âThatâs it, just like that,â He egged you on, and, fuck, the words carried you through the motions, tickled your fancy just fucking right.
You started slow, easing into it, careful not to rush. There had been a tremor beneath your skin, that mix of nerves and want that made your breath catch in the back of your throat. You pulled back, then pushed forward again, testing the rhythm until it settled into something steady, something that made your pulse thrum harder against your ribs.
Every movement drew a reaction out of him â quiet, subtle, but enough. The sharp inhale when you shifted just right. The slight tightening at his jaw. The way his gaze never faltered, locked on you like he was memorizing every second. It made your stomach twist, heat rising fast, dizzying.
You had looked up at him and stayed there, your eyes locked with his. There had been no room to hide in that stare. It pinned you, rooted you in place, and somehow pushed you forward all at once. He looked wrecked already, undone in a way that made your chest ache.
âShit,â he breathed, low and deliberate, like he knew exactly what his voice did to you. The sound of it rolled through you, smooth and unhurried, coaxing you to keep going. So you did. You found your rhythm again â back, forth, back â and the air between you tightened, humming with something neither of you said aloud. Every time you sucked him back into your mouth, you went lower, lower.
It was the way he watched you that undid you most of all. Not the praise, not the tension â just that look.
Once you got the hang of it, you felt like a pro. The weight of him, the taste of him, the scent of the hotelâs bodywash still clinging to his skin â you tried committing all of it to memory. Tomorrow, this would all be a mistake, but right now?
Oh, it was anything but.
âFuck, you got it,â He cooed breathlessly. You sped up just a little â hollowed your cheeks and created some suction while your tongue worked around him â and his head rolled back, exposing the column of his neck.
Before you knew it, Akiâs hand was gripping your hair by the end, wrapping it around his fist until he had it pulled taut in his fist. Then, once he had you, he began meeting you in the middle â thrusting his hips up just enough to slip in a little deeper.Â
Feeling another gag coming on, you reached for his thighs, digging your nails into them for support. One hand smoothed up over his hip, his v-line, trying to put some distance between you and him. He pulled your hand away before you could succeed, gripping you by the wrist.
He looked down at you. âKeep your hands down,â he commanded. âYou donât need them.â
It hurt. It hurt so good. Your lips were stretched around his cock, which kept on hitting the back of your throat over and over again. Your gagging did not seem to deter him whatsoever, and neither did the tears that streamed down your face while he fucked your mouth.
No, he reached down and wiped a tear away, breathing, âYou know, I always thought youâd look better with your mouth full. Crying on itâŚâ Then, leaning down just enough to taunt you, he added, âFuckinâ perfect.â
He thinks Iâm perfect.
While you were busy letting your face warm (and your core grow wetter) at the compliment, you hadnât realized that you were getting lazy, teeth unintentionally grazing his shaft.
Immediately, you felt the hand in your hair tighten. Aki pulled your head back until he was out of your mouth entirely. Until you were craning your head up to look at him. A string of spit connected your lips to the head of his dick. Above you, the muscles in his forearm flexed â something you shamelessly noticed.
âWhat happened to being good, hm?â He asked. Then, adjusting his grip on your hair, he added, âWatch your teeth.â
As the seconds ticked by, you only grew more desperate â desperate to please him, desperate to make him cum. It wasnât that you were growing tired (though, admittedly, your jaw hurt. Just⌠not enough to make you care).
Besides, those fucking sounds he was making. He was getting closer. You could tell â something about the way his breath shuddered every time you fit him all the way into your mouth, being sure to mind your teeth.
The two of you were working in perfect synchrony. You were sucking him off like your life depended on it, and he was spewing more of that filth from his mouth that drove you fucking crazy.
âLook at you,â He moaned gently, ââS like you were fucking made for it. Feels good, having your mouth fucked, hm?â
Your response was a gurgle â something between a moan and âyesâ. He grinned down at you like he couldnât have been more fucking proud.
âKeep going,â he murmured, voice rough with something between restraint and satisfaction. âPut that pretty mouth to use.â
You blinked up at him, flushed, breath uneven.
He chuckled low. âYou like being told what to do, donât you?â
A small sound escaped you â half breath, half⌠something.
âThatâs what I thought,â he said quietly. âYou listen well with your mouth full of me. I shouldâve done this sooner.â
You looked down at his abs, trying to quell the burning in your face, but there was no use.
His thumb brushed your chin, tilting your face up. âKeep it right there. Donât hide from me.â
Another beat. His voice dropped to a near whisper, a smirk audible in it. âIf only you obeyed orders this well out on the field.â
He wrapped your hair around his fist tighter â tight enough to make your eyes fucking water. Then, he was encouraging your movements, bobbing your head back and forth to his liking. At some point, it got hard to keep up, so you simply relaxed your jaw and let him use you however he pleased. Like you were made to take it.
There was drool seeping out of the corner of your lips, dripping down your chin. You didnât care, and neither did he. For a while, the two of you were lost in song â in the symphony of hushed moans, pants, and the faint âgluckâ sound your throat made every time he thrust in.
It felt degrading. It felt humiliating, letting your captain use your mouth like a fucktoy, but you were so fucking into it. It felt like you were getting sucked off instead of him â every time you pressed your thighs together, you could feel the warmth coiling up your core, the jolt of pleasure shooting through your clit every time he whined out your name.
You let the tears stream down your cheeks freely, since he seemed to enjoy seeing them so much. In response, he reached down and wiped them away. You followed his hand as he brought it up to his face, to his lipsâŚ
Then his tongue as he eagerly lapped up your tears.
God, heâs the fucking devil.
As you looked up at him, you saw a man on the brink of shattering â saw the way his eyes fluttered open and shut, lips parted around a gasp as he stared down at the mess you were making all over his cock. Over the tearstained mess you had become.Â
âShit,â He hissed, âYou donât even need my help.â
You flicked your tongue over the head of his dick. He whimpered, swaying slightly, like he was struggling to hold on.
Then, he broke.
âGodâ Fuck, Iâm close,â he admitted, brows drawn together like it took everything he had to not finish right then and there.Â
He pulled out, popping his cock out of your mouth and leaving you high and dry while he wrapped a large hand around it. You admired him from below for a moment â admired the way his muscles shifted, tensed, pulled taut with pleasure while he stroked himself languidly. The veins in his hand were more prominent now, and fuckâ it was like something straight out of the pornos.
He gave some special attention to the head, stroking and twisting until he was gasping. As much as you enjoyed the sight (which was a lot, and you told yourself you would tuck this one into your spank bank), you really wanted a mouthful of his kids, so you pulled his hands away and sucked him right back into your mouth.
âShitâ ah,â He panted out, replacing his hand in your hair and letting you go to work. âYou want itâ hahâ that badly? You fucking need it?â The words dripped from his lips like fucking honey, but his voice was shaking, a notch deeper than you ever remembered it being.
Yes, you thought. Give me all of it.
I need it.
Aki licked his lips slowly, like a predator watching its prey. âTake it, baby, itâs all yours,â His lashes fluttered shut. âShit, I think âm gonna cumââ He whimpered, tightening his grip, tensing up. âFuckââ
The only thing better than the sound of him cumming was the taste of it. Bitter, salty, but real. Much sweeter than any other man youâd ever been with (though there had been very few). The warmth hit your tongue in thick spurts, coating your tongue, the inside of your mouth â filling you up until it dripped out of the corner.
And still, you swallowed all of it.Â
You needed to please him.
The two of you took a moment to regain your senses, to catch your breath. Now that your mouth was empty, you gasped for air â greedily sucking it down like a fish out of water. You didnât even notice that you had gotten some of it on your face.Â
At least, not until you felt Akiâs hand slide down to cup your face again, swiping the cum onto his finger. He looked down at you with the sort of breathlessness you only saw in movies â like he truly was on another planet.
Then, he tugged your lip down, smearing some of his juices onto your lower lip. Without thinking twice, you leaned forward, looking up at him through your lashes as you sucked his thumb into your mouth. You cleaned it off with your tongue like an obedient, good girl.
Not a drop to waste.
âLet me see. You swallow all of it?â He asked.Â
In response, you opened wide and stuck your tongue out, letting him see just how much of it youâd swallowed. Then, you grinned â breathless and debauched, with kiss-swollen lips.
His thumb caressed your cheek gently, like you were made of porcelain. So, when he brought the hand down against the skin, slapping it light enough that it didnât hurt, but just enough to make you choke on a moan.
âGood girl,â He panted, âGood fucking girl.â
Oh my god.
âYou..â Your chest heaved as you struggled to breathe, âYouâre fucking nasty, captain.â
âYeah?â He grinned, reaching down and helping you to your (wobbly) feet. Then, before you could retort, he wrapped his hand around your throat, pulling you in close so that he could press his lips up to yours.
Your eyes widened. Is he really about to kiss me when I just swallowed his jizz?
He was. And he didnât seem to give a damn about it. He maneuvered your head into an angle, licking at your lips for entry, and you wouldnât dare to refuse him entry. So, there the two of you were, kissing â no, practically shoving your tongues down each otherâs throats like a bunch of horny teens â while his fingers dug into your neck.
Maybe Iâm lightheaded, you thought, But I think Iâll be able to die happy after this.
He guided you back, movements sure but not cruel, until the back of your knees met the edge of the bed. Then, he braced his hand on your chest and practically shoved you onto the mattress. You landed with a soft gasp, half dazed, staring up at him.
âWhat are you doing?â you breathed, voice almost lost.
His eyes stayed locked on yours, unreadable, a trace of that same teasing defiance in his tone as he crawled onto the bed.
âItâs a learning experience, right?â he said, burying his face into the crook of your neck and taking his sweet, precious time sucking on your sweet spot. âTeach me.â
You blinked, unsure whether to laugh or catch your breath. âTeach you what?â
He pulled back to smile down at you. âTeach me how to make you cum.â
Iâm dead.
I died and went to heaven.
You opened your mouth, something fumbling, trying to explain, but the words felt impossible to form. Youâd never⌠not like this. Your chest rose and fell, heart hammering as he tilted his head, watching you struggle to speak.
Gently, like he was scared you would bite â or maybe that he would â he slid his hands down your chest, down to the little bow youâd tied on the front of the robe. He hooked a digit beneath it, tugging just enough to make the fabric shift, but not enough for it to come loose.
His eyes â the color of the deep sea â bore into yours with a fiery passion. Before you could tell him you wouldnât have made a good teacher because, despite running your mouth, you had never had your pussy eaten before, he was already asking, âCan I undo this?â
Wait. Letâs put the brakes on this.
Iâve never let a manâ
âYes,â You were breathing out before you could stop the words. You didnât know what to expect. All you knew was that the searing hot warmth in your belly seemed to drip down your core at the idea of him on his knees between your thighs.
And, just like that, you were letting his strong hands pinch the end of one of the tassels, tugging it until the whole bow came loose. Gravity did the rest of the work for him, making the fabric slide off of your breasts, fully revealing you to his ravenous gaze for the first time.
Your nakedness ran bone-deep, deeper than just surface-level. It wasnât the lack of clothes that left you feeling vulnerable and bare. No, it was the way he was looking at you â not like any other hook up ever had, not like you were a quick, warm body, but like you were beautiful. Something that needed to be held, touched, revered. Like you were a canvas just waiting to be painted by his lips.
You watched his eyes trail over your entire body. Your lips, your chest, your pudgy belly, and then low enough to have your face burning.
He took another moment to appreciate your chest, hand reaching out like it was uncertain. âYou know, maybe itâs because Iâve never stopped to admire before, butâŚâ He trailed a finger down your sternum, stopping when he was right in the valley between your breasts. âYouâve got the prettiest tits Iâve ever seen.â
Me.
Iâve got the prettiest tits heâs ever seen. It was hard to not let that get to your head.
Instead, you turned your head to the side, avoiding his gaze. The sex, you could handle. You could handle the thought of him fucking you into the mattress, eating you until you couldnât stand. You couldnât handle the idea that this⌠whatever this was⌠was anything more than a drunk mistake in the making.
His hand was gentle â warm, but firm â as it cupped your chest. He massaged the skin between his fingers like he had all night to do so. Then, right when you least expected it, he pinched your piercing between his fingers.
The reaction was immediate. You jolted up, eyes flying open as you gasped.Â
What the fuck was that?
He seemed to be more driven by genuine curiosity than anything else, if the way he asked, âFeel good?â while gently pinching, twisting, and rolling your nipple piercing beneath his fingertips was any indicator.Â
âMhm,â You shuddered. With a particularly bold pinch, you arched your back off of the bed.
Aki braced his weight onto his arms, leaning down to take one of your nipples into his mouth, and you would have been lying if you said you didnât take a moment to appreciate the well-earned muscles rippling beneath his skin. While he gently flattened his tongue over one sensitive bud, he rolled the other between his index finger and his thumb.Â
Oh my god. You thought. Every pinch, every lick went straight to your core, throbbing with pure need. The piercings certainly didnât help. No, if anything, they only made you more sensitive.
âAki,â You breathed out, voice breaking.Â
Akiâs eyes darted up at the sound of his name coming from your mouth â slivers of blue beneath the dim lighting â but he didnât stop pleasing you. Not Captain. Not Hayakawa, but Aki.
The sensation was like anything youâd ever experienced, and if he was that much of a natural with your tits, you couldnât imagine how heâd feel when heâŚ
âFuck,â You gasped.
You were dripping wet. You could feel it. Every time you shifted your hips up, tried to chase some of that friction, only to be met with nothing, you could feel it.Â
A moment later, Akiâs lips strayed from your chest. He began to trail lower, pressing a kiss to your ribs, your stomach, then a little lower. Blush bloomed wherever he kissed, blood vessels expanding beneath his delicate touch.
And then, just when you felt his warm lips brush up against your navel, felt his hands gently part your thighs like he was unwrapping a present, you stopped him. You reached a hand down and pushed back against his head.Â
âAki, wait, Iâve neverâŚâ You trailed off, embarrassed by the admission.
Aki tilted his head at you. âWhat?â
âIâve never had that⌠happen to me before,â You gritted out.
âThatâs alright,â He shifted down on the bed, already lowering his head down between your thighs, âJust tell me what feels good.â
You stopped him again, âAki, wait⌠Iâm nervous. I donâtâ I donât think I can teach you.â
âI donât know,â He teased, a wicked grin crossing his features. âWith such a high turnover rate, I think youâre right. I need some instruction.â
Hayakawa, you petty bastard. You thought. Right when you were about to object, right when you were about to make some snide remark, you felt his breath â warm and gentle â up against the place you needed him the most. Felt his hands spread your legs further apart.
âTell me how you like to be touched, tasted,â He breathed out once your dripping cunt was bared to him. Seemingly aware of the way you wiggled beneath his gaze, he puffed out a sharp gust of air right against your clit, one that made you squirm. Then, looking up at you through his lashes like he was hungry, he added, âHow you like to be fucked. Teach me how to please you.â
Oh my god.
Am I getting laid tonight?
âYouâ Youâve got a potty mouth, sir,â You continued running your mouth, because thatâs what you did best.
âHave I ever told you how much it turns me on when you call me that?â He grinned.Â
You thought of all the times you called him âsirâ on the field. Of all the times he would turn away from you, a mysterious glint in his eye.
Yeah. That checked out.
âShut up and lick me already,â You tutted.
To your surprise, he did exactly that, bringing his head close enough to flatten his tongue against your pussy and lick a long, hot stripe from the bottom to the top. You choked on a moan â louder than you appreciated.Â
Holy fucking shit.
âYou taste even better than I imagined,â Aki licked his lips. âDonât be shy, sensei, keep going.â
Heâs thought about this before. Iâm gonna pass out.
âKeep licking,â You commanded him. Gently, he obeyed, lavishing your pussy with soft kitten-licks. It was enough to have your legs trembling, toes curling into the sheets. âYes, just like thatââ
Aki kept up a languid pace, alternating between licking you up and down and focusing just on your clit. Slowly, his hands slid up the backs of your thighs, folding your legs in until they were pressed against your stomach. The angle shifted just enough that the sensations felt stronger.
You reached up above your head, tangling your fingers in the sheets, arching your back. âOh god.â
He lingered lower, his breath tracing patterns along your skin â warm, teasing, impossibly gentle. Each pass made you shiver, not just from the sensation but from the way it rippled through you, sharp and tender at once. You felt your muscles tighten, a laugh nearly slipping out, but it dissolved into something quieter, a longing sigh of his name, âAkiâŚâ
He moaned in response, keeping up the pace until you could feel the arousal dripping out of you.Â
âPutâ Put your mouth on my⌠my clit,â You gasped out, too lost in the sensations to care about how debauched you sounded.Â
âUp⌠hereâŚ?â Aki played dumb with a coy little smile, moving his tongue up until the tip of it pressed right up against the most sensitive part of you. Then, without needing to be told twice, he sucked the nub into his mouth, wrapping his lips around it.
You threw your head back, feet coming up off the bed while he sucked on your clit like a fucking lollipop. Your eyes fluttered shut, rolled back, and your thighs quaked. Aki handled your legs with his hands, hooking them over his shoulders while he stayed glued to your pussy.
It was a life changing experience. It felt like he was undoing you bit by bit. His tongue was soft, then hard, and his mouth was so fucking warm that you couldnât wrap your head around it.
âTell me how it feels,â He panted, voice slurred against your skin.
You moaned, âFuck, God, âs so good,â the sound high-pitched and loud. Loud enough to be heard over the movie, and you didnât even care.
He spat on it, sucked on it, and the sound was so dirty that you worried someone could hear. Though, realistically, no one was hearing anything over the sinful whines and moans that his ministrations pulled from your chest.
He doesnât need a fucking teacher, You thought. That was fucking bullshit.
It took a great deal of effort to actually speak. But, when you reached down and tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging with a cry of, âMore,â the message got across.
He understood. Of course he did. He always did.
His movements slowed, deliberate, like he wanted to draw out the space between each breath, each touch. You could feel the steadiness in him â that quiet control that only made you fall further apart. The warmth of his breath ghosted across your aching cunt.
No, you werenât in control. You never had been.
You werenât sure what you wanted anymore â only that you needed him to stay like this, to keep on sucking you off the bone like he had nowhere else to be in the morning.
He lifted his head slightly, eyes meeting yours for a long, steady moment. You couldnât read what he was thinking â only that he looked at you like you were something he shouldnât touch but couldnât stop himself from wanting to. His hand lingered where it had been, his thumb tracing slow, grounding circles against your side, as if reminding you to breathe.
You swallowed, still breathless, your pulse unsteady. You were embarrassingly close, and he hadnât even been eating you out for very long.
Then, he was teasing a finger up and down your entrance, slipping it inside with no resistance at all. Though not unwelcome, the intrusion caught you by surprise, making you arch your back up into him. He inserted another shortly after. The stretch only burned for a moment, but it was hard to focus on that when he was eating you so sweetly, so perfectly. His fingers pumped in and out of you at a slow pace. He crooked them up, searching around for your g-spot.
And, shit, when he found itâŚ
âFuck!â You cried out, tugging his hair harder. Being stimulated with his mouth was one thing, but his fingers were another. They were long and thick, talented enough to find that place deep inside that made you fucking drip and stay there. âOh my fucking god, Iââ
This time, when you tugged at Akiâs hair, the sound he made in response startled you â low, unguarded, and real. It wasnât the kind of noise youâd ever imagined he was capable of. It carried a rough edge that spoke of all the composure heâd been fighting to hold onto.
Heâs kinky.
I love it.
He didnât stop; he couldnât. The rhythm of his lips shifted, his fingertips drawing slow shapes inside of you, gently undoing the strings of your orgasm second by second. It was all maddeningly tender â the kind of touch that wasnât meant to take, but to learn.Â
You gasped, sobbing, âAkiââ  through it, and felt his breath catch against your cunt as though heâd absorbed the sound into himself. The muscles in his shoulders moved with the rhythm of his breathing â steady, deliberate, but trembling faintly, like he was holding back.
When you looked down at him, his hair was a dark spill over your skin, and his eyes had gone soft â unfocused in that way that comes from wanting too much. You could see it, the strain in his expression, the way his jaw tightened every time you made another small sound.
Then, he reached up, using his free hand to toy with your piercing, and you were fucking screwed. When his fingers brushed against the small piece of metal in your nipple, the world tilted. The touch was featherlight, almost teasing, but it sent a pulse through you that made your breath stutter.Â
But that fleeting spark didnât fade⌠it grew, rolling through you like a tide that wouldnât stop. Each tiny touch combined with the stimulation to both your clit and your g-spot sent shockwaves you hadnât expected, waves that built on one another, rising faster, sharper, until it seemed like your body couldnât contain it.
âI think âm close,â You panted. Then, when more warmth pooled in your belly, you added. âShit, I think Iâm gonna cumââ
Aki didnât answer, keeping up that same pace â not slower, not faster, but he moved with more purpose.
And then, there it was.
You gasped, shivering as every nerve lit up at once. Your fingers gripped the sheets harder, nails biting into the fabric, trying to hold yourself steady. Your stomach twisted, your ribs tingled, and for a moment the world narrowed to just the space between the two of you.
The waves didnât come in one single rush, but in rolling surges, one after another. Each one left you breathless and trembling, your mind teetering on the edge of losing itself completely. Sounds slipped from your lips, half-words, half-gasped fragments, echoing in the room and pressing into him as you came hard.
The heat pooled low in your chest, spiraled up through your limbs, and rolled through every part of you, a crescendo of feeling that left you trembling, light-headed, and utterly undone. Your vision blurred at the edges, your senses narrowed to the press of his fingers, the warmth of his mouth, the soft, impossibly careful way he licked you through it.
When your orgasm finally receded, you sagged into the sheets, but he wasnât finished with you.
You tried to pull back, every instinct in your body screaming that it was too much, that you couldnât take another second. Your hands pressed against him lightly, but he didnât move away. He stayed, licking, sucking, like he was doing it for his enjoyment.
Your chest heaved. Your muscles shook. âI canâtââ you squirmed, tears beginning to stream down your face from the sensation, but the words caught in your throat.
He didnât pause. He just kept on eating you, like he couldnât bear the thought of not tasting you. Even as your body screamed with sensitivity, even as you pushed lightly, lightly, against him, he held his ground. The quiet intensity in his eyes told you he didnât want to stop.
But, eventually, he did.
By the time you finally sank against the sheets, breathless and trembling, it wasnât just your body that had been pushed â it was everything. For a long moment, you couldnât move, couldnât speak â only feel. Aki stayed there too, his forehead resting lightly against you, his breath hot and steady, letting you ride the aftermath with him. The room was quiet except for the sound of your shared breathing.
You looked down at him affectionately, wiping the tears from your eyes. He smiled back at you, breathlessly, face soakedwith your juices.
âWas I good?â He asked, but the shit-eating grin on his face told you that he already knew the answer.
You laughed slightly, still caught between pleasure and breathlessness. âIt was alright, I guess,â you lied, voice shaky, your chest still tight from the intensity of what had just fucking happened.
He leaned closer, eyes dark with amusement and something unspoken. âJust alright? That wonât do,â he murmured, tilting his head. âI can make you feel even better than just alright.â
Your stomach fluttered at the words, your senses suddenly acute. His gaze held yours, commanding and magnetic.
âWhat are you suggesting, hmm?â You huffed, completely out of breath. âSurely not a violation of protocol.â
âOf course not,â He replied. âIâm suggesting that you turn around and put your hands against that headboard over there, if you think you can take a little more.â
You grinned, âNot sure thereâs anything little about what you want to give me.â
That got a chuckle out of him.
Still, you obeyed, because you would be damned if you passed up on the opportunity youâd been waiting for. You rolled unceremoniously onto your stomach, shifting your weight onto your hands and knees. Then, crawling up the bed, you leaned back into the prettiest arch you could muster.
âThere we go,â he said softly, and there was no hurry in his tone, only that quiet authority that made it impossible to resist. His hand came down hard against your ass, the sound reverberating through the room as his palm made contact with your skin. âSuch an obedient slut, arenât you?â
Why am I so into this? Your pulse spiked, your hands moving instinctively to brace against the headboard. He stayed close behind you, letting the anticipation stretch out.
âWhy is this taking so long?â you asked, breath uneven, your pulse still racing.
He leaned in, close enough that the warmth of him brushed against your ear, voice low and smooth. âPatience,â He cooed, âIf you want it, youâre gonna have to earn it.â
âDonât be ridiculous,â you protested, shaking your head, though your voice betrayed the tiniest tremor.
He leaned closer, voice low and deliberate, eyes glinting with that same teasing intensity. âIâm not giving you anything until you behave and ask nicely,â he said, letting the words stretch between you like a slow burn.
âWhat do you want me to do, beg?â you said, trying to keep your tone steady, but it came out uncertain.
His grin widened, a dangerous curve that made your pulse jump. âExactly that,â he murmured. âBeg for it. Show me that you mean it. Beg me to fuck you.â
You swallowed hard, heart hammering. The air between you thickened, almost tangible, as if waiting for your next words. Your hands tightened instinctively against the headboard. âPleaseâŚ,â you whispered, the single word trembling at first, âplease⌠I need itâŚâ
âNeed what, pretty girl?â He teased.
âIâŚâ You put your head down, shamefully admitting, âI need you to fuck me, sir.â
His eyes softened for the briefest second, but the teasing spark never left them. âGood,â he said, voice low, slow, savoring the sound. âSuch a good girl. Move your hips back for me.â
Once you were situated the way he wanted you, he reached for something off to the side. Then, gently, he wrapped his discarded tie from earlier around one wrist, followed by the other. He wound the material in between, tying your hands together in front of you and, consequentially, forcing you down into a deeper arch.
His lips were on the back of your neck before you could ask him what he was doing, pressing tender kisses there like he was reveling in the tension. His kisses strayed, trailing down your neck, your spine, until they stopped just above your hips.Â
âYou ever done it without a condom before?â He asked you, voice a whole lot deeper than you had anticipated. âBecause Iâm assuming you didnât happen to bring any with you.â
âNo, but Iâm clean,â You wiggled your hips back.
âThatâs not the only risk at hand here,â he chuckled.Â
âI know,â You replied. âJust pull out, okay? Weâll worry about it tomorrow.â
âFamous last words. Fuck, this is a bad idea,â Aki paused, like he was debating whether or not this was a good idea. Then, as if making up his mind, he shifted his weight onto his knees behind you, lining himself up with your dripping hole until you could feel the tip pressed right up against you. âTake a deep breath in for me, okay?â
You exhaled the breath you were holding, then breathed another breath in. Out. In.Â
Outâ
The feeling of Aki pushing in was enough to knock the wind out of you. He didnât give you all of it â not yet. He gave you just enough for you to be able to feel the stretch. Your fingers dug into the sheets as you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will the burn away.
âJust breathe, keep going,â He cooed, rubbing his thumb over your hip before he gave you a little more. ââAtta girl.â
You couldnât help the way you held your breath right up until his hips met your skin â right up until he was buried as deep inside of you as he could go, and the two of you moaned with relief at the exact same time.
After a moment, Aki asked, âYou okay?â
âMhm,â You nodded. âJust need a âmin.â
Holy fucking shit, heâs big.
For a moment, everything stilled. The room felt quiet, broken only by the uneven rhythm of your breathing and the background noise of the movie youâd long since forgotten about. You kept your eyes shut, trying to steady the flutter in your chest, grounding yourself.Â
He didnât rush you; his hand stayed firm against your hip, waiting, patient, steady as stone.
You inhaled, slow and trembling, until the tension, the stretch, started to melt away. When you finally found your voice again, it came out soft, barely above a whisper.
âOkay,â you murmured, opening your eyes. âYou can move.â
He didnât speak right away â just let out a slow exhale, like heâd been holding his breath, too. Then, slowly, he pulled out just a bit. This time, when he rolled his hips into yours, you clenched down on him â the bizarre mix of pleasure and pain was hard to digest.Â
Out, then in. Out, then in.
âDonât tense up. I got you,â He breathed out, the words trembling as they fell from his lips, âYou can take it.â
That was all it took. Just like that, the pain melted away, replaced by something beautiful â something truly unexpected. The kind of pleasure youâd only dreamt about when dealing with guys of⌠smaller stature.
âOh God,â You gasped out. Your chest felt like it was on fire â a slow, deep warmth that crept down your stomach and into your core, spread across your face. It was the strangest thing. Each time Aki rolled his hips into yours, each time his dick slipped against your inner walls, the sensation was overwhelming â a stretch, a sharp jolt of pleasure. A warm, rippling feeling that rolled over you in waves.
âThere you go, just like that,â He exhaled, âFeels good, doesnât it?â
Thatâs an understatement. When he thrust his full length into you again, your eyes damn near rolled back into your skull. The steady, low moans that poured from your mouth were purely pornographic.
âLook at you,â He commented, bringing his hands down your back to settle on your hips as he drew out, pushed back in. âFalling apart already, and Iâve barely even started with you.â
âFuck meââ You practically sobbed into the pillow, âFaster, pleaseââ
âYeah?â He panted, âThink you can take it?â
âI canâ fuck, âpromiseââ You begged him shamelessly, rutting your hips back to get a little more of that delicioussensation, chasing the promise of pleasure, meeting his strokes in the middle.
You gasped when something hit your ass â hard. A hand.Â
âI never said you could move,â He reprimanded you. âIâll take care of you. Just relax.â
âHah,â You gasped. You wanted to reach back, to hold his hand, something, but you couldnât. Your hands were (literally) tied.
The slick dripping down the back of your thighs made it easy for him to slip in and out of you at a maddening pace. He sped up when he felt like it, driving his hips into you a little faster. Not hard, but faster.
You gripped the sheets, practically melting at the feeling, âAkiâ fuckâŚâ
He groaned at the sound of his name, adjusting his grip on your hips like he had been holding back for you. âShit, you feel fucking amazing.â
Your body trembled beneath his touch, the air between you thick and charged. Every movement, every breath felt drawn out, deliberate. His voice dropped lower, gravel roughened by restraint he was barely holding onto.
âYou like when I talk to you like this, donât you?â he murmured, his breath ghosting against your ear. You swallowed hard, unable to trust your own voice, but the answer was already written all over you â in the way you couldnât stay still, in how your body betrayed you.
He huffed out a laugh, the sound dark and soft. âCanât even hide it. Youâre shaking, pretty girl.â His hand traced the edge of your spine, steadying you even as the tremor ran through your legs.
You let out a broken sigh, gripping the sheets tighter as if that could anchor you. He leaned closer, his words brushing over your skin like heat while his hips drove into you a little deeper, brushing up against spots you didnât even know existed.Â
âSuch a mess,â he whispered, the tone more reverent than cruel, âbut still trying to be good for me.â
You nodded weakly, your breath catching when he adjusted his hold, guiding you back into rhythm, holding you down and making you take his strokes, which grew harsher by the second. Before you could stop it, you were biting down on the pillow, trying to stay quiet.
âThatâs it,â he coaxed, his tone stern. âStay still. Donât run from it.â
Every time your ass met his hips, the sound of skin on skin echoed throughout the room. Your moans were muffled by the pillow, but were still pitchy in nature. Aki was eating them up.
Aki gave you more, more, more â fucking you hard enough that the bed began to shake with the force of it, hard enough that you couldnât think of anything else but his fucking name.
âAki, pleaseââ You cried out, âFuck, I canât take itââ
The brutal pace of his strokes had you babbling nonsense into the pillow. You allowed yourself to get lost in the feeling because, fuck, if you were going to regret it in the morning, you might as well have a fond memory to look back on. Akiâs hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise.
At least, until one of them began to wander â began to slide up your back, trail across your spine and leave goosebumps in its wake. He took your hair up in his hand, wrapping it around his fist like he fucking owned you, and you were gone. He used the leverage to crane your head up, force you to look back at him.
The image that waited for you was one you would never forget. Aki, buried to the hilt in your needy cunt, sweat dripping down his chest, his necklace, rolling down his abs, sticking his hair to his forehead. The blush had spread over his face. His eyes were wild with desire, pupils blown wide.Â
With a devilish little grin, he said, âLook where running that mouth got you. You say you canât take it but youâre gushingall over me.â
You couldnât see it, but you could feel it. Youâd never been that wet before â not for anyone. The evidence of your arousal was warm and slick, coating your inner thighs and making it all too easy for Aki to slide in.
It felt like he belonged there, which was a dangerous thought.
You know⌠considering he was your captain, and all.
Keeping his fist in your hair, he steered your head forward, driving into you with the kind of force that had your legs folding up, toes curling into the air. Each and every time he fucked into you, the tip of his dick pressed right up against that spot so deep inside of you that you saw stars â the spot that sent jolts of searing-hot pleasure up and down your spine. He all but plowed you into the mattress â at such an unforgiving pace and depth, it was hard to say anything.
Except his name, that was.
âAkiâ!â The sound was ripped from you. âAki⌠AkiâŚâ
âFuck, you keep squeezing me,â He panted. âI can feel you, Baby, Can you fucking feel me?â
You could feel him, alright. Feel him stuffing you so full that you couldnât even wrap your fucking head around it. âMhm! I feel it,â Came your debauched reply, âFuck, I can feel it, Akiââ
His dick wasnât the only thing you could feel inside of you. In fact, as he kept on hitting that same fucking spot over and over again â until you were drooling all over the pillow â you felt something else coming.
âIâm so close,â You shuddered, spreading your legs a bit to change the angle and, fuck, it only nudged you closer to the promise of sweet, sweet release.Â
Aki leaned down, bracing his weight onto his hands, practically pounding you into the fucking mattress. You were being fucked within an inch of your life.
âYouâre not cumming until I say you can,â He managed to grit out.Â
Fucking asshole.
You were close. Dangerously close. Close enough that you had to physically squeeze your eyes shut to stave off your impending orgasm. It was no easy task, not by a stretch, but you wanted to be good for him.
It was no use.
Your orgasm was coming, and it was coming fast. You could feel it brewing deep inside of you â that dangerous, low, bubbling warmth that curled around your core.
Deciding to throw your morals out the window for the sake of finishing, you turned your head, peering back at him through watery eyes.Â
âPleaseââ You begged,Â
âPlease, what?â He taunted right back, seemingly reveling in the sight of you begging for him to let you cum.
âPlease, sirââ You tried again. This time, you couldnât blink the tears away. Instead, you let them fall. âPlease, Aki, fuck, I need itââ
âWhat do you need, Angel?â He asked you, voice layered with faux sympathy.Â
âI need to cum, please,â You pleaded, âPlease, let me cum.â
âThatâs better,â He smiled. âYouâve been so good for me. Go ahead, Angel. Cum for me.â
âAkiââ You didnât need to be told twice. You buried your face deep into the pillow, letting the orgasm hit you with the strength of a fucking freight train, roll over you in waves. Aki never stopped, never stilled â just kept on fucking you through it at a languid pace, like he was trying to draw it out of you. Your body tensed, released all over him while you rutted your hips back. âOh, fuck, Aki!â
He stayed close, breathing hard against your neck as you trembled beneath him. Every muscle in your body fluttered with the aftershocks, your breath stuttering out in soft, uneven sounds.Â
His hand steadied your hip, grounding you, keeping you from slipping too far into the haze. You could barely move, your chest rising and falling as the tension slowly melted away. He brushed his lips over your shoulder â light, fleeting â like he hadnât just rearranged your guts.
Once he felt you were ready, he pulled out and rolled you sideways onto your back. Your head leaning ever-so-slightly off the edge of the bed, but if he didnât care, then neither did you. You were too fucked out to care.
But, then, just when you thought he was done with you, his lips were back on your neck. A little rougher, this time, stopping to suck on the place that made you purr like a kitten. They traveled down, accompanied this time by the gentle scrape of his canines against your warm, sensitive skin. The aftereffects of your orgasm still thrummed in your pulse, your veins.
He stopped to appreciate your chest. In some places, he bit down. In others, he sucked until you knew there would be marks. You just couldnât bring yourself to give a shit.
No, in fact, there was something almost primal about him marking you up like you belonged to him. Something that you werenât entirely sure you hated.
He slipped one of your nipple piercings into his mouth when you werenât paying attention, tongue flicking against the oversensitive bud until you were shaking like a fucking leaf.
No, heâs not done with me yet.
As if on cue, you could feel him swiping the tip of his cock â still achingly hard â through your folds, collecting some more of that warm slick onto the head before pushing back in.
You gasped at the intrusion, back arching off of the bed, âShi-itââ
He moaned through a mouthful of your tit, sliding right in until he was pressed flush up against you. The new angle had your vision going white at the edges â overstimulation combining with pleasure to make for a breathtaking experience.
Aki moved away from your nipple, though he didnât go far, biting down on the skin right next to it just enough to make you cry out. With pleasure or pain, you werenât sure â maybe a little of both.
Your hands, still tied, flopped uselessly above your head, dangling off of the edge of the bed.Â
This time, when Aki fucked you, he reached a hand down to rub your clit. As if you werenât already overstimulated, you yelped at the sensation â as always, your body melted beneath his touch, creaming all over him without shame.
Fuck me, you thought.
ââS good, So good..â You repeated like it was some sort of mantra. âSo good, Akiââ
âFuck, keep saying my name,â He growled, rolling his hips into yours at just the right pace, just the right angle to make your eyes roll back.
You were overstimulated beyond comprehension.
âYou like that, donât you?â he muttered between gritted teeth, his breath hot against your neck. âYou sound so good when you say it.â
You tried to speak, to breathe, but the words barely made it past your lips. âAkiââ
âYeah?â he cut in, his tone dark, teasing. âThatâs it. Say it again.â He shifted, his rhythm relentless, hitting the same spot over and over until your whole body went taut. âCanât even think straight, can you?â
Your hands grabbed at nothing, a strangled sound caught in your throat. You shook your head, but he only laughed under his breath, low and amused. âLook at you,â he said, voice rough with something between praise and possession. âSo sensitive⌠youâre shaking, Baby.â
Baby.
And Iâm supposed to just move on after this?
âAki, Iââ You tried again, your voice trembling.
He leaned in, his words cutting through your thoughts. âYouâre not tapping out on me now, are you?â
You couldnât answer. Everything inside you was too loud, too much. He caught your jaw, forcing your gaze forward, his breath still ragged. âCome on. Give me more, I know you can do it.â
You whimpered, trying to find air, to find words, but your body was already unraveling. It was too much â every nerve inside of you felt fucking raw. His name tore from your throat again.
âStop fucking running,â He murmured, low and filthy, his tone dark and coaxing. âYou wanted this, right? Take it.â
You twisted, breath stuttering, pushing at his chest as you slipped from his grasp, subconsciously trying to get away from the overstimulation.
But it was futile. Akiâs hands were on your hips before you could fall off the bed, pulling you right back onto the bed with him. Except, this time, he paused to reach behind him, pulling out a pillow and sliding it beneath your lower back. The angle changed again. This time, your hips were elevated.
You could just barely see him â face flushed and eyes hazy, hair tousled and all over his face as he pulled you closer by one of your legs. Once he was satisfied, he took that same leg and hooked it over his shoulder.
Oh, God, what is heâ
He thrust in â giving you all of him at once â and you gasped out a whole lot louder than you were proud of. Your eyes, wide and uncertain, gawked up at him.Â
Aki only grinned at you, grabbing your calf and pressing a sinful little kiss to your ankle.
âYouâreââ You huffed, âYouâre the fuckinâ devil.â
âYou gonna kill me then, rookie?â He teased. âIâd like to see you try.â
You wanted to answer, to bite something back, but the way he was looking at you made your brain short out. That steady, unflinching stare â blue eyes focused like he was reading every flicker that crossed your face â made your words die in your throat.
He resumed what he was doing, moving like he hadnât even heard your protest, calm and in control. His breathing was heavier now, but his composure didnât crack; it never did. You could see the faint tension in his jaw, the muscle that twitched when he was holding himself back. The sight made your pulse race.
âStill with me?â he asked you quietly. There wasnât mockery in that â just that same quiet authority he carried everywhere, even now.
You nodded before realizing he couldnât see the gesture, or maybe you just didnât want him to see how much you were struggling to keep up. âYeah,â you managed, your voice thin.
âGood,â he muttered. âDonât start spacing out on me now.â
There was something about his tone â firm but controlled, a little rough around the edges â that made your stomach twist. He knew exactly what he was doing.
âYou talk too much,â you muttered. It came out weaker than you meant it to, a half-breath between irritation and surrender.
Aki laughed softly, low in his throat, not cruel but amused. âYou donât even know the half of it,â he said. âMost people donât get this kind of attention from me.â
You scoffed, trying to disguise the tremor in your voice. âOh, please. You probably say that to everyone.â
He tilted his head slightly, that same lazy half-smile crossing his face. âDo I look like someone who wastes my words?â
No. I know youâre not.
You didnât answer. You couldnât, really â not when he said it like that, like it was an irrefutable fact. He was impossible to argue with when he slipped into that tone, calm and infuriatingly sure of himself.
And it was even more impossible to argue when the angle he was fucking you at had you going dumb. Your jaw dropped, making room for more of those fucking sounds that seemed to spur him on. You all but screamed his name on a particularly harsh stroke; âAki!â
The neighborsâ you thought.
But, shit, it didnât bother you enough to make you stop.
He grabbed you firmly by the neck, forcing your gaze upward, and locked his eyes onto yours. âLook at me,â he said, voice low and commanding.
You did, even though your head was spinning and your limbs felt like they were floating. The world around you had narrowed until it was just him, just his eyes, steady and unyielding, holding you in place. Your eyes trailed up to his necklace, watching as it thumped rhythmically against his chest, swinging in your face.
When he relaxed his fingers, you greedily sucked down more air â alternating between panting and screaming bloody murder. Youâd never felt anything like it before.Â
It felt better than anything youâd ever experienced in your entire life.
Aki used his thumb to tug your mouth open. You peered up into his eyes through your lashes, uncertain about what his next move could possibly have been.
Then, he spat in your mouth. The worst part? You didnât even have to be told â you swallowed on instinct.
Aki huffed out something between a laugh and a moan, âGod, youâre fucking dirty.â
Without warning, he bent slightly and lifted you with careful strength, guiding you into his lap. The sudden motion made your chest flutter, but his hands stayed firm and steady on your sides, anchoring you.Â
Then, he began to move your hips back and forth, up and down.
The rhythm wasnât gentle this time. It was demanding. His grip guided your hips with a rough precision that made your heart stutter. You felt the strain in his arms as he held you, his fingers pressing into your sides like he needed to feel every part of you. The sound of your breathing mixed with his â ragged, heavy, filling the space between you until the air felt too thick to swallow.
Threw your bound wrists around his neck, searching for something solid, but he was already everywhere â his breath hot against your neck, his chest firm against yours, his hands dragging you up and down in a rhythm that had you sobbing.Â
Your heart pounded against your ribs. Every small noise he made â every low groan, every nasty little curse whispered against your skin â sent a shiver down your spine.Â
He was close enough now that you could feel every exhale on your neck, every twitch of his muscles beneath your hands. His touch wasnât careful anymore; it was hungry, like heâd been holding back and finally stopped trying.
You moved with him now, meeting his rhythm in the middle without even realizing it. His hands slipped lower, gripping your ass, bouncing you harder, faster. You could feel the heat rise under your skin, the ache in your shaking thighs, the sharp catch of his breath when you rolled your hips in circles, testing him.
That was when he snapped. His grip tightened, and a low sound left his throat â half a growl, half your name. âDonât stop,â he breathed, voice low and rough. âJust like that, Good fucking girl, shit.â
You didnât. You couldnât.Â
The world blurred around the edges. The only thing that felt real was him â his hands, his voice, the raw, desperate rhythm that neither of you could seem to control anymore. You felt his forehead press against your collarbone, his breath coming out harsh and unsteady, and for a second, the intensity was too much.
You held on to him like you might fall apart if you didnât. Every motion was sharper now, every exhale louder, the rhythm turning frantic before slowing again, just enough to draw it out.
You knew you looked wild â hair a mess, bouncing wildly in your Captainâs lap like a bitch in heat â but you couldnât bring yourself to care. All that mattered was Aki, Aki, Aki.
ââM close,â You gasped out for what felt like the hundredth time that night.
Aki heard you, but heâd busied himself with sucking and biting at your chest again. âMe too, shitâŚâ
âAkiââ You shuddered, feeling that unbearable warmth crawl its way up your spine for the third time that night. âAki, Iâm gonna cumââ You added, âDonât pull out. I want you to cum inside of me.â
âShit,â he gasped.
Akiâs hand moved quicker than you were able to pick up on â slipping down through the sweaty junction between your body and his and finding your clit with ease. The circles he rubbed were frantic â more spit than finesse, but it was enough to push you over the edge.
The rhythm broke all at once. It hit like a wave â strong, intense. For a second, the world felt suspended; your heartbeat, his voice, the tremor that ran through both of you â everything collided as the two of you came at the same time.
At the same time that your body clenched down on him, Aki buried himself as deep inside of you as he could fit and let go, shooting searing, white-hot warmth into your core. You gasped at the sensation of him filling you up.
You came close to him without thinking, fingernails digging into his back, and he caught you just as tight, his chest rising against yours in quick, uneven bursts.Â
His forehead pressed to yours, your mouths brushing but not quite meeting, both of you gasping, trying to catch the air youâd lost. You could feel him shaking slightly beneath you, the tension still running through his shoulders, his breath coming out in short, broken sounds.
Then, not thinking twice about it, you kissed him. He made a sound against your lips â small, unsteady, almost like a whimper â before melting into it.
He kissed you back like he didnât know how to stop himself, the warmth of it spreading until it felt like your whole body was pulsing with it. His hand came up to the side of your neck, thumb brushing over your jaw as though he was memorizing the shape of you, trying to steady the mess of feeling behind the kiss.Â
When you finally broke away, it wasnât really breaking â your lips hovered close, still chasing his breath, your noses brushing. Neither of you said anything. You could feel his chest rising and falling against yours, his breathing ragged, the heat between you not quite fading.
Aki reached behind his back and situated your hands in front of him before untying your wrists. Then he exhaled, shuddering a little, and buried his face in the crook of your shoulder. His breath came out uneven, warm against your skin. You could feel the tension leaving him, his body softening as though the fight had finally gone out of him.
The room was silent except for the sound of your breathing, the faint creak of the mattress beneath you, the heartbeat still thrumming wildly in both of you. You didnât move for a long time.Â
When you finally looked up, he met your gaze through the dim light â eyes half-lidded, expression raw, something softer lingering there that he didnât try to hide this time. You were both still breathing hard, chests pressed together, but there was nothing left to say.Â
That actually just happened.
One minute, you were looking at his pretty face, and the next, Aki was turning the two of you over, laying you down gently on the bed. He got up and left (and you totally didnât giggle at his butt when he walked off).
Before you could be disappointed, he returned with a wet washcloth in his hand. He dropped down onto his knees, spreading your legs apart and using the warm, damp fabric to clean you up.Â
He tossed it haphazardly onto the nightstand, then flopped down beside you, pulling the blanket up and over the two of you.
The room felt small again â dim, hazy, the TV frozen on some screen that just said replay or exit. He reached toward the nightstand, flicked a lighter, and the sharp scratch of the flame lit his face for a second before fading into smoke.
âI donât think this is a smoking room,â you murmured, voice hoarse from what the two of you had done. âTheyâre gonna charge you extra.â
âI donât give a shit,â he said, taking a slow drag before glancing over at you. âYou want one?â
You hesitated, then nodded anyway. He passed it over, and you took a small drag, the burn catching at the back of your throat immediately. You coughed, grimaced. âGod, thatâs disgusting,â you muttered, handing it back.
He smirked around the filter. âYeah, it is.â
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The TV hummed quietly in the background, throwing dull light across the sheets. Your pulse was still too fast, your head still too full. Finally, you broke the silence. âShould we⌠talk about this?â
He exhaled smoke toward the ceiling, lips parting on a sigh before he stubbed the cigarette out in a half-empty cup on the nightstand. âTomorrow,â he said.. Then, he leaned in, pressing a faint kiss to your forehead. âWeâll talk about it tomorrow. We have to be up early.â
You didnât argue. You just let yourself curl against his chest, feeling the slow rhythm of his breathing under your cheek. The room still smelled faintly of smoke and warmth and whatever was left of the night. Somewhere behind the hum of the TV, the world kept going.Â
Fuck, heâs got good pecs.
You let your eyes fall shut, sinking into the steady beat of his heart until sleep finally took you. Yeah. Tomorrow.
You woke to the faint scratch of light cutting through the blinds and the quiet sound of movement beside you. For a second, you forgot where you were.Â
When your eyes finally opened, he was already looking at you, his expression soft in a way that didnât match him. His hair was still a little disheveled, but it suited him.
 âMorning,â he murmured, voice rough and low, like it hadnât been used yet.
You blinked up at him, still half-asleep. âMorning.â
He leaned down before you could say anything else, his lips brushing yours once â a quiet test â then again, deeper this time, until your breath caught somewhere in the middle of it.Â
His hand slid up to your jaw, thumb tracing small, lazy circles there as the kiss deepened. He didnât rush it. Just let it unfold, one soft press at a time, until your body started to wake up under the weight of it. You kissed him back without thinking, chasing his breath when he started to pull away, and he gave a quiet laugh against your lips â the kind that vibrated in his chest more than it came out as sound.
Then he trailed downward â a faint line of kisses along your jaw, the corner of your mouth, the place where your pulse fluttered at your throat. You felt his breath when he spoke, a barely-there murmur against your skin. âYou sleep okay?â
You nodded, though it came out more like a sigh. âMm-hmm.â
He hummed, lips ghosting lower, finding that spot just below your ear that made your stomach twist. You laughed quietly, the sound breaking through the quiet. âWhat are you doing?â
He didnât answer â just smiled against your skin, slow and secretive, the kind of smile that said you already know. His lips trailed lower, lower, pressing kisses to your stomach.
And then his lips pressed one last kiss just above your navel before he threw the sheets over his head and disappeared.
Just when you were about to ask what he was planning, you felt his hands grip your hips, scooting you closer to his face. Then, his tongue, drawing a line up your slit in a way that had you arching off of the bed.
âOh, shit,â You moaned out loud, losing yourself in the sensation. âGoodâ Good morning to you, too.â
Aki groaned in response, although the noise was muffled by your thighs. His grip was like a vice, strong hands digging into your hips hard enough to bruise.
When heâd run his tongue over the most sensitive part of you, your whole body would twitch. Your hips were his handles. Your body bent to his will, careening into his touch.Â
He sucked gently on your clit, making you arch up high off of the bed. Pressing open-mouthed kisses to your pussy, his tongue found its way down towards your dripping hole.
Leaving not a moment to waste, you gripped his hair by the root, pushing his head in deep enough for the tongue to slide right in â like it was meant to be there.
âPlease,â You pleaded. âMnnnh-â
And, just to tease you, he withdrew, replacing his tongue with two damp fingers. âFeel good, sweetheart?â You heard him murmur softly beneath the sheets.
With a gasp and a desperate rut of your hips against his mouth, against the low vibration of his voice, you sent a message as clear as day.Â
Yes, yes, yes.
He made no effort to stop you. Instead, adjusting his hands to grip the meat of your ass, he allowed you to shamelessly ride his face. Your hips jumped up and down, rubbing your clit across his lips, his nose, smearing your juices all over his face. You shuddered, opening your legs even further, and arched into him.
Your smooth legs clamped shut over his ears. He huffed a satisfied little laugh before prying them apart and continuing to make a ruin out of you.
Unfortunately, as he was only one man, he had to pull away for some air. He plunged two digits back into you, though, curling them up against that spot that made you purr.
Moving forward to continue lapping at your clit like it physically hurt him to move away from you, he tried sucking in more air without having to stop. You could feel your body dripping for him, dripping down his chin.
You took his fingers so well, sucking them in and then clenching around them like you never wanted to let go.Â
With a gasp, he pulled back. âFuck,â he breathed. âYou taste so fucking good.â
You carded a trembling hand through his hair, taking some of it into your fist and tugging on it.Â
âPlease,â You begged again.Â
Though his fingers never stopped, he paused his desperate licking to draw the moment out even longer. He was in perfect tune with the rhythm of your body, every arch, every stutter of your hips spurring him on. He rubbed the point of his index finger over your sweet spot, pulling you apart from the inside. âUse your words, Angel.â
Judging by the way your walls were beginning to spasm around his fingers, fun time was about to be cut short.Â
What? A man can nut too fast but when a woman does it, itâs different?
Your eyes rolled back, slurred words and broken moans pouring out of your mouth a mile a minute while you struggled to hold on.
Aki dove back into you, parting your lips with his nose and then forming a light suction seal over your clit. He had to readjust himself to fit his fingers and his mouth in such a small space.
You gasped, âAki, wait, âm gonna cum.â
His lips departed from your dripping wet cunt, but only to roughly slide your ass closer to his face. Then, completely disregarding your previous pleas, he devoured you.Â
âSay my name like that again,â He practically moaned, running his hands up and down your trembling thighs. âSay my name while you ride my face, baby.â
âMmmfuckâ wait,â You gasped. Your body, however, sent a different signal. You yanked his hair â hard, too â and trapped his head between your thighs. Those pretty little noises you were making increased in pitch, and became more frequent. You were near the breaking point, broken pleas of his name tumbling from your devilish lips. âWait, wait⌠Aki, baby.â
Aki moaned against your abused clit while his lips and tongue alternated applying pressure on it. The pleasure coursing through your veins was enough to drive you wild. You were getting loud.
Head thrown back, hand gripping his dark tresses like a vice, back arched up off of the bed while the sheets slipped further off of your hips, you knew you were a sight to behold. You tugged the sheets back, getting a good look at him buried between your thighs.
His tongue swapped places with his fingers.
Your guts were clenching around his tongue like you needed more. He removed his mouth from your dripping cunt, allowing his fingers to work you open â an obscene mix of your juices and his spit glistening as it ran down his chin. Somehow, he found the strength to utter the words, âI need you to cum for me.â
He had power over you in that moment, you knew he did. He had you rocking your hips back on his fingers like a desperate whore, chasing that sweet release you so desperately craved. When you slapped your hand over your mouth to keep quiet â because you had gotten a bit louder, to say the leastâŚ
âLet me hear you, Angel,â He panted. âLet the whole building know whoâs making you feel good.â
And he continued the downright slaughter of your pussy with his mouth this time.Â
âFuck, just like that,â you mewled, curling into yourself.Â
It slipped out. It must have. Yet, still, when his fingers curled up against a particularly sensitive spot with all of the ease of a harpist plucking at the strings of your core, your lips spilled praise of his name. âAki!â
His smirk only grew. He licked some of you off of his lips, and then hummed, twisting his fingers around. âThatâs it, pretty. Such a good girl for me.â
âBaby,â she mewled. âOh, fuck, cumming!â
The coil of your release snapped, slamming into you at full force. Your hips jolted up against his fingers and his tongue, lips chanting his name like a mantra while savoring the slow strokes of his long fingers against your gummy walls. You could feel the shock tear through you in waves, ripping trembling gasps from your lungs while you clenched around him.Â
He slid his fingers out of you slowly, savoring the way your pussy clenched over his fingers one last time before pulling out.Â
Taking the soaked digits up to his lips, he sucked them clean. The mattress dipped under his weight as he climbed higher, the faint strain of muscle beneath his skin catching your attention before you could look away. You tried, but your gaze lingered, and the heat in your face gave you away.
He noticed â of course he did. A small, knowing smile curved at the corner of his mouth before he leaned in, catching your chin in his hand. The world went quiet.
Then he kissed you, his mouth still soaked with your arousal.
It wasnât gentle, not exactly, but steady â his lips warm, his breath unsteady, the taste of you on his tongue. You could feel your heart pounding against your ribs, your embarrassment mixing with something else entirely as he deepened it just a little, enough to make your head spin.
When he finally pulled back, he didnât move far. His forehead brushed yours, the air still thick between you, his voice rough when he spoke. âYou okay?â
You nodded, breathless.
He smiled again, softer this time, and whispered, âGood,â before kissing you once more.
He stretched once, long and languid. You watched him pull the clothes off the ottoman, slip his legs into his pants, the faint crease of his back muscles moving under his skin, and your stomach twisted in that familiar, fluttering way.
The sight was ridiculous, really â him, completely oblivious to how much you noticed. But you couldnât help it. He glanced over at you, caught your eyes lingering, and smirked, that faint quirk of his mouth that said he knew exactly what he was doing and enjoyed it.
You shifted yourself upright, reaching for your own clothes, bending slightly to pick them up, tugging your bra and panties into place and leaving your shirt undone for now. The movement felt self-conscious, even though he wasnât paying that much attention. Or maybe he was, and that thought made your pulse spike.
The faint trickle of water signaled he was already in the bathroom. You padded across the carpet, slipping in behind him. The hotel toothpaste was that weird chalky mint kind, but neither of you cared. You brushed your teeth side by side, elbows almost brushing, and your shoulder nudged his occasionally. It was accidental, but your chest still tightened each time because, fuck, there was nothing casual about it.
You caught his reflection in the mirror â his tie looped awkwardly around his neck, the one you remembered him using to bind your wrists a few hours prior. Then, you caught wind of the marks on your chest, red and prominent.
He was carding his hair back with one hand, adjusting the collar with the other, eyes narrowed in concentration that didnât match the way his mouth had quirked just for you that morning.
âHere,â you sighed, stepping closer, voice soft. âYouâre doing it wrong.â
He didnât argue, only glanced at you through the mirror, that small, teasing eyebrow raising slightly. His lips curled, half-amused, half-challenging, and you felt that flutter in your chest again. Your fingers brushed his collarbone as you took the tie from him, adjusting the knot.Â
He hummed softly, a low sound that traveled straight down to your stomach. âMm, perfect. Guess I owe you,â he murmured, voice rough, almost gravelly.
âYeah, you do,â you answered, leaning in a little closer than necessary. You couldnât help yourself. The heat of him standing so close was too much to bear. You felt your fingers brush over his belt buckle as you stepped closer, instinctive, the small tug pulling him toward you.
His lips found yours before you realized what you were doing, soft at first, then a little harder. The kiss carried all the residue of the night before: the small ache, the memory of him so deep inside of you⌠knowing nothing else would be said. His hand slid to your waist as your own fingers curled around his neck.
You were done, the knot perfect, but he didnât move away. âAll set,â you murmured, brushing imaginary lint off his shirt.
He smirked, one side of his mouth lifting just slightly. âThanks, rookie,â he said, voice low, teasing, but there was something in the way his chest rose and fell that told you he meant more than just the tie.
You stepped closer, instinctive, catching his belt buckle with your hand, the teasing smirk fading into something warmer, heavier. He met your eyes, the mirror reflecting heat back at you, and then you were kissing him again.Â
Your hands drifted, his fingers brushed against your sides, and for a moment, it was like the night never ended. In fact, when you shifted your leg against his, you felt a little something else standing at attention like the night never ended.
You grinned, âYouâre hard again.â
âYou look good in uniform,â He retorted. âI think I like you better without it on, though.â
You leaned closer, closer, until your noses were pressed right up against one another. âPity weâre running late, or Iâd show you.â
Akiâs grin widened, âWeâd only be missing breakfast.â
You tilted your head back, teasing him with the faintest brush of your lips, and he hummed low, almost a growl, lips pressing a fraction harder. Your hands found his shoulders, curling into the fabric of his shirt, and you could feel the tension in him, that coiled, slow-burning energy that always made your stomach twist.
With a gasp, you felt your body move â he lifted you onto the bathroom sink, parting your legs and slotting himself in between them.
âYouâre not about to break protocol again, are you?â you asked, voice light, teasing, but the heat in your chest betrayed you.
He pulled back just enough to smirk, eyes dark and sharp. âFuck protocol,â he murmured, and leaned in for another kiss.
What have I started? You thought.
But, for reference, he absolutely did throw caution to the wind with protocol. Right there, up against the bathroom mirror, with your panties pulled to the side.
Himeno and Denji were already there, seated at a corner table by the window. Himenoâs posture was casual, arms folded loosely across her chest, but the gleam in her eyes was sharper than usual. Denji was halfway through a pile of pancakes, oblivious as ever, but his ears perked up slightly when he noticed you, the fork pausing mid-air.
Akiâs hand brushed yours as you walked past him toward the table. It was subtle, almost innocent, but enough to make your stomach tighten and your pulse spike. He smirked down at you, that small, knowing tilt of his lips, and you felt yourself flush.
âMorning,â Himeno said, voice light, almost teasing. She didnât comment outright, but the way her eyes flicked from you to him â and lingered there â spoke volumes.
You slid into the chair beside Aki, Himeno perched across from you, arms folded casually â but her gaze wasnât on Denji. It was on Aki. Sharp, calculating.You noticed it immediately, the way her eyes lingered a second too long, the faint curve of a smirk tugging at her lips.
Aki shifted slightly in his seat, catching the look out of the corner of his eye. You felt it too.
He cleared his throat, a small, deliberate sound that made your stomach tighten, and then slid out of the chair.
âIâm gonna get some coffee,â he muttered, voice neutral, though the faint smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him. He moved with that same slow, controlled grace, each step deliberate, aware that Himeno was watching him, studying him.
Himeno hummed softly, almost to herself, though you were sure it was loud enough for you to hear. âBusy night?â she said lightly, casual in tone, but sharp as a knife in the way her eyes flicked between you and him.
âLate night,â You corrected, âCouldnât sleep.â
She hummed softly, almost to herself, and tilted her head, letting her eyes linger on you longer than necessary. âYouâre awfully⌠chipper for someone whoâs had such a late night,â she said lightly, casual, but the undertone was sharp, playful. Her fingers traced the rim of her coffee cup, her gaze flicking between you and the empty space where Aki had just gone to get coffee.
You froze, hiding a flush behind the mug in your hands. âUh⌠just ready for breakfast,â you muttered, voice tighter than you intended. Himenoâs smirk deepened, subtle but cutting, and she leaned back, tilting her head with the ease of someone whoâd already read every page of your story without you saying a word.
âWhereâs Power?â You asked.
âBathroom.â
On cue, Aki returned with a mug of coffee in hand and slid into the chair beside you, his presence immediately grounding the charged tension that had been simmering across the table. You let out a small, relieved breath, curling just slightly toward him, hiding the residual flush from Himenoâs teasing.
Denji continued obliviously shoveling pancakes into his mouth, eyes occasionally darting around but never quite catching on, while Himenoâs smirk remained faint, sharp, knowing.
A silence fell over the table. Not uncomfortable, exactly, just the kind of quiet that leaves space for thoughts to spiral, for cheeks to warm, for your pulse to hammer.
Then, with all the theatrical timing of someone whoâd waited just long enough, Power returned from the bathroom. She paused in the doorway dramatically. âGood risings, mortals,â she announced, voice dripping with mock grandeur. You glanced at her, barely able to suppress a laugh, while Akiâs eyebrow twitched ever so slightly.
She slid into her chair, shoulders back, a faint smirk curling her lips. And then she sniffed. Just once, subtle, but it was enough. Her gaze immediately locked on Aki. âOh,â she said softly, pointing a single finger at him like sheâd discovered a crime scene. âThere it is. I smell it. The⌠mating scent.â
Aki choked on his coffee, sputtering violently into his mug, eyes wide, liquid threatening to spill across the table. Himenoâs smirk deepened, unrepentant, and Denjiâs fork froze mid-air, pancakes abandoned as he looked between all of you, utterly confused.
âExcuse me?â Aki croaked, trying to regain composure, coughing through the coffee, glaring at Power but unable to hide the blush creeping up his neck.
Denji, completely missing subtlety, blurted out loudly, âWaitâ you two banged?!â Then, he turned to Himeno, âI fucking told you that would happen!â
Akiâs eyes went wide, and without thinking, he kicked Denji under the table with enough force to make him yelp, sending the fork clattering to the floor. âShut the hell up,â Aki hissed, voice low and dangerous, though it came out more like a strangled growl.
You cleared your throat, trying to rescue the situation, and said evenly, âIâm gonna get a waffle.â
You had never speedwalked so quickly in your entire life.
a/n: happy halloween sluts ;)
creds: i don't own csm obv. the banner was done by the illustrious @mrshayakawaa, who i adore. credits unknown for banner art! if you know pls lmk. x
NOTE : tis my first time posting something so I hope you guys like it or Iâll kms, Iâve been obsessed with Gachiakuta so I gotta share my obsession with yâall teehee.
Bf! Jabber the type to say âitâs âcuz Iâm black isnât it?â To piss you off even more.
Bf! Jabber the type to box the air around you and going âuss uss ussâ
Bf! Jabber the type to fiddle with his rings while staring at you with hooded eyes as you speak.
Bf! Jabber the type to smirk when you get mad and pull you by your belt towards his lap, saying âIâm sorry ma, forgive me, yeah?â
Bf! Jabber the type to moan loud in public if you swat him playfully.
Bf! Jabber the type to look at you with the nastiest side eye during a serious situation, you both trying your best not to laugh.
Bf! Jabber the type to say âtake me out to dinner first.â If you grab his thigh while heâs driving.
Bf! Jabber the type to give you nicknames like âmaâ, âlilâ ladyâ, âmaâamâ, âmy girlâ
Bf! Jabber the type to twirl you around after you put on the most cuntiest outfit.
Bf! Jabber the type to press his knees to the back of your knees to see you fold.
Bf! Jabber the type to grab you by the waist, pressing his cold ring fingers on your exposed skin just to see you shudder.
Bf! Jabber the type to take a fat ass chunk of your food after you asked him if he wanted a small bite.
Bf! Jabber the type to kick his feet while he texts you and say âgirl you play too muchhhhâ in his empty room while giggling.
Bf! Jabber the type to slap your ass as he passes through.
Bf! Jabber the type to rest his head between your thighs as he scrolls through his phone.
Bf! Jabber the type to shut up with the biggest smile when you tell him to shut up.
Bf! Jabber the type to laugh so loud at your joke just to go serious all of a sudden and say âitâs not that funny.â
Bf! Jabber the type to say something smart while you give him the most obvious question. âWhat are you cooking?â âFood.â âJabber, I know ITâS FUCKING FOOD.â
Bf! Jabber the type to hit the dougie while youâre mid scolding him.
synopsis being the lead singer of a popular rock band was your dream, but now that you and the lead guitarist have broken up and the world isn't ready to know just yet, you're left seeking comfort from another bandmate.
                      Time cast a spell on you but you won't forget me
        I know I could have loved you but you would not let me
ââ .⌠do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. dividers by me.
CONTAINS NSFW, MINORS DNI
⌠. Summary: When your name appears in your late great-uncleâs will, you sell your house and move out to the Estate. A victorian manor, an endless garden, and too many candles to keep up with now belong to youâand so do the groundskeepers that come with it. But behind all the intricate furniture and shiny tile, you find that all things have secretsâeven the handsome ones.
⌠. Characters: Tim Wright/Masky & Brian Thomas/Hoodie & Ticci Toby x Female Reader
⌠. Warning: Lore/canon-adjacent, gardener!Tim, woodworker!Toby, maintenance!Brian, fear, intense gore and violence, romantic tension, descriptive violence, blood, injuries, guns and weapons, medical sutures, needles, pain, nausea, burning bodies, burn injuries, love confessions, good ending I promise
⌠. Words: 28k
⌠. Note: Oh my god, finally. Like insanely, stupidly long. Not crazy proud of the ending, but I have a bonus chapter in the work (it's mostly smut lol) that will wrap everything up in a nice little bow!! Mind the tags, very descriptive violence! Enjoy!!!
Tobyâs stitches were finally starting to knit into something less raw, less frightening.
The wound still looked angry when you peeled back the bandages, but the edges were cleaner now, tighter, healing in messy curves of tissue and skin. Heâd taken to staying on the long couch in the grand sitting room, the one angled toward the fireplaceâhis lanky frame stretched out beneath the tall windows and winding spindrals, a blanket usually kicked halfway off as though he couldnât be bothered to stay still. He didnât wear that patch on his face anymore, and you were growing more accustomed to the sight of it.
It became a kind of ritual: you kneeling by the couch, rolling the fabric of his shirt back to check the line of his abdomen, fingertips brushing skin as you cleaned and wrapped him anew. Toby, of course, never sat still like he was supposed to. He cracked jokes, tapped his foot, winced only at the thought of stitches pulling rather than the sting itself. Sometimes, heâd make faces at you just to see if he could make you huff in exasperation, and sometimes⌠sometimes he went still, watching you with a kind of quiet curiosity you pretended not to notice.
âDonât tear them again,â you scolded one evening, taping the last piece of gauze down with medical tape from the clunky first aid kit.
He smirked, leaning his head back against the arm of the couch. âWhat, youâd m-miss patchinâ me up too much?â
âYouâd bleed out on my rug,â you shot back, trying to sound irritated, though the warmth that rose to your cheeks betrayed you.
The fire crackled at your side, and that was usually the moment Tim or Brian would drift through the room.
Tim leaned against the doorframe more often than not, cigarette tucked behind his ear, watching you and Toby with that sharp, unreadable gaze. âChrist, Laundress,â he muttered once, flicking ash into the tray on the side table, âyouâre gonna spoil him. Next thing you know, he wonât even put his boots on himself.â
Brian was subtler, though no less present. Heâd perch on the edge of the window seat, book in hand but eyes flicking up too often to pretend he wasnât paying attention. When you pressed a cloth against Tobyâs side and he hissed out a laugh through clenched teeth, Brianâs knuckles tightened just slightly on the spine of the book. âYouâd think a man with no sense of pain could at least sit still,â he commented one afternoon, voice mild but tinged with something sharp beneath it.
And Toby, of course, noticed. He grinned wider, his shoulders relaxing whenever the other two made a remark, like he was playing a game only he understood. âWhat, jealous?â he tossed out, flashing them both with that crooked grin before turning his attention back to you. âDonât li-listen to âem. Youâre doinâ great, d-doc.â
The air was shifting between all of you. You felt it each time you laid your hands against Tobyâs skin, each time Timâs comments drew your attention, each time Brianâs silence grew too thick in the corners of the room. What had once been fear and suspicion was tilting into something else entirelyâa tension not easily defined, not easily dismissed.
The manor, too, felt different. Less haunted, less hollow. The rain washed the grounds clean day after day, and when the clouds broke, the sun spilled through the tall windows and painted everything in gold. It felt like a new beginning, the opening of a chapter where you werenât locked in your room or fleeing across the lawn, but living hereâamong themâjust like you had before.
But it wasnât the haven it had been when you first stepped through its doors, either. Now it was both. A home and a reminder. A shelter and a cage.
You still caught yourself flinching at every creak of the floorboards, every groan of the wind through the trees. You still double-checked the locks at night, your palms sweating as you touched the old brass handles, eyes darting to the dark stretch of lawn just beyond the curtains you always shut tight. When you lay in bed, you kept a candle flickering on the dresserânot because you needed the light, but because the dark pressed too close otherwise.
The rakes were always in your mind, crouched somewhere just beyond your line of sight. You had seen too much to ever unsee it.
And then there were the boys.
It didnât take you long to notice the pattern. When Toby lit the fireplace at dusk, you knew you could settle into bed with some semblance of peace. But the nights when the hearth stayed cold⌠those were the nights your stomach dropped. Those were the nights they were gone, slipping into the fog-soaked woods to do the things you couldnât bear to think about.
You hated those nights most.
Sometimes you crept down from your room, too restless to stay still, hoping maybe youâd see Toby stretched across the couch or Tim scowling over a cigarette in the kitchenâbut the rooms were always empty, the silence pressing too heavy against your chest. All you had was the chill stone, the yawning dark of the windows, and the gnawing knowledge that they were out there somewhere, putting themselves in danger because of you.
So you built your own rituals. You left a pot simmering on the stove, food waiting for when they dragged themselves back in. You pulled the first aid kit out onto the counter, everything laid out in neat rows, ready for whatever wounds they might bring through your door. And you paced. Sometimes you curled in front of the dead fireplace with a blanket pulled around you, ears straining for any sound outside.
But you didnât rest. You couldnâtânot until you heard the door open, the heavy thud of boots on wood, the low voices of men returning. Not until you knew they were back within these walls, where at least you could see them, touch them, patch them back together if you had to.
The manor was yours. But it was theirs too now, in ways you hadnât asked for, in ways you couldnât escape.
And you realized⌠you didnât want to.
ââ .âŚ
The weekend rolled around, and for once the manor was quiet. No gunshots in the distance. No heavy boots leaving through the fog. Just the steady drizzle of rain easing into mist by morning.
The crunch of gravel outside stirred you from the stillness. Through the kitchen window, you spotted Timâs old pickup rumbling into view, its bed loaded down with crates and bagsâgroceries. A weekend run into town.
You hesitated only a moment before grabbing your sweater and pushing through the back door, the damp air clinging to your skin. Tim was already hoisting a sack of potatoes over one shoulder when he noticed you.
ââBout time,â he muttered, though the corners of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile.
You rolled your eyes and moved to take one of the bags from the truck bed. âYou could just say youâre glad Iâm helping.â
âNot my style,â he said, but let you wrestle the bag free anyway.
As the two of you carried the first load inside, your gaze snagged on the driver-side window on the truckâthe one Toby had shattered that night. It was covered now with a tarp stretched tight and sealed with strips of duct tape, the plastic crinkling in the breeze. The sight made your stomach lurch.
âClassy,â you said, forcing your voice light as you nodded toward it. âIâm sure the car junkies in town were jealous.â
Tim snorted, setting his sack down with a heavy thud on the counter. âIf we had car junkies, maybe. Weâre lucky itâs holding. Brianâs fix was more âkeep the rain outâ than âlook nice.ââ
âThink the mechanics would drive out here?â you asked, brushing your hands off on your jeans.
âNot a chance. Weâll get it sorted eventually.â His voice softened just a touch, enough that you glanced at him. âFor now, donât worry about it. Youâve got enough rattling around in your head.â
You swallowed, lips pressing tight. He wasnât wrong.
The two of you went back for another round, your steps crunching across the damp gravel, the silence between you filled with the soft hum of cicadas and the drip of rain from the eaves. You caught yourself glancing back at the tarp again as you walked, the memory of that night flashing sharp across your mind.
Tim noticed. He didnât comment, but when he passed you the next crateâthis one full of fresh bread wrapped in paperâhis fingers lingered against yours a second longer than necessary, grounding you without words.
The kitchen was starting to grow full again. You both worked, setting jars on shelves, stacking bread in the pantry, sliding cold cartons into the icebox. It felt⌠normal. Almost too normal, considering how much blood had stained these same floorboards less than a week ago.
Tim busied himself with the heavier crates, his sleeves pushed up, forearms streaked with damp grit of the garden. You kept to the lighter things, sorting them into neat rows, but all the while your mind spun in that strange in-between place.
You chattered idly while you worked, more to fill the air than anything. âI think you bought every bag of flour in town.â
âClose,â Tim said, straight-faced. âBreadâs worth its weight in gold.â
âYou and Brian already eat like kings,â you teased, sliding a paper-wrapped loaf onto the counter. âTobyâs the one who goes through all the snacks.â
âThatâs because the kidâs part raccoon,â he shot back.
The banter pulled a small laugh from you, quick and surprised. For a fleeting moment, the house felt warm, like the storm hadnât ever touched it. Like you hadnât watched them drag Tobyâs limp body up those stairs.
You leaned against the counter as he shoved the last of the vegetables into the pantry, studying him. Out of all of them, Tim had always been the hardest to pin down. Toby distracted youâhis restless chatter, the way he filled silence with ridiculous jokes and endless stories until your brain was too tangled to remember what youâd been worrying about. Brian, for all his rough edges, had a way of smoothing the corners off your fearâgentle where you least expected it, grounding you in small comforts. But Tim?
Tim always pulled you out of yourself. He never let you sit too long in the safety of your own head. He dragged you into the sunlight even when you wanted to hide. Like that morning in the gardenâthe dirt still damp, the first fragile sprouts trembling in the breeze. He hadnât asked if you wanted to see them; heâd just brought you out, made you look, made you breathe again.
You swallowed, your throat tightening with something half gratitude, half ache. âThank you,â you said softly.
Tim glanced over his shoulder. âFor what?â
You shrugged, eyes dropping to the loaf of bread you were unwrapping. âFor⌠things.â
âThatâs vague,â he said, a faint smirk tugging his mouth.
You couldâve left it there. Toby wouldâve let you. Brian too, maybe. Theyâd let you keep your secrets, your half-answers. But Tim wasnât like that. He set down the jar heâd been holding and crossed the kitchen in three measured steps, deliberate, steady, like he always was.
Suddenly, he was standing in front of you, close enough that you had to lean back against the counter to breathe, anchoring you in place. His height shadowed you, the smell of smoke clinging to his clothes, and his gazeâsharp, unwaveringâfound yours.
âGo on. Speak up,â he said, low and even. âI donât like it when you go all quiet.â
Your breath caught.
This was how he always was with youâpushing, pressing, making you face the things youâd rather bury. He was the weight you couldnât wiggle away from, the hand that pulled you up when you dug your heels in. And maybe that was why, even though your stomach knotted tight, your chest ached warm. You blinked up at him, words caught on your tongue. The difference between him and the others throbbed in your mind: Toby distracted your fear. Brian softened it. Tim made you walk through it, even when you hated him for it in the moment. They all had their ways.
Your lips parted, but nothing came out. Just a shaky breath.
He leaned in, bracing a hand against the counter near your hip, not touching but close enough to feel the warmth. His voice was steadier than your heartbeat. âSay what you mean.â
The silence stretched. You could feel it, the sharp edge of his demand and the coax beneath it. The way he wanted you to grow, not crumble. You bit your lip, looking anywhere but at him, until finally you whispered, âI mean⌠thank you for not letting me fall apart.â
The words hung there, fragile and raw. Timâs eyes softened just enough to show heâd heard you. Really heard you. But still, his stance didnât ease. He stayed there, in your space, not letting you retreat into half-truths or walls. You expected him to press again, to push you further, but instead, Timâs expression shiftedâsternness folding into something quieter.
âGood,â he said, voice low but sure. âThatâs strength. Saying it out loud. Owning it.â His eyes stayed steady on yours, almost searching. âYouâre stronger than you think. Stronger than most people Iâve met.â
Heat bloomed in your chest, so sudden it stole your breath. You tried to laugh it off, shaking your head. âYou make it sound like Iâm out there wrestling monsters too.â
The corner of his mouth tugged into that rare, wry grin. âYou are. Just different ones.â His hand shifted, braced on the counter. âThough for the record, if you ever do wanna wrestle a monster⌠Iâm a killer. Youâd have to watch your back.â
It was half a joke, half a brutal truth, and it startled a giggle out of you anywayâlight, unguarded, breaking the tension like sunlight through a stormcloud. The sound made him pause, made him really look at you like he hadnât in days. He moved in closer, not sudden, not forceful. Just steady, sure, giving you time to lean back if you wanted. You didnât.
âYou act so tough,â you whispered, your voice catching in the space between your chests. âBut youâre really just a big softie, arenât you?â
For a second, you thought heâd bristle, deny it. But instead, Timâs smile deepened, quiet and real, a face that youâd only seen once before when you all drank together on the big sofa in the sitting room. He dipped his head, slow enough that your breath mingled before your lips did, and then you kissed. Not the sharp, hungry kind that had burned through you beforeâbut slow, easy. The kind that didnât rattle your bones but soothed them.
His hand shifted from the counter to your waist, resting there gently, anchoring but not trapping. Your palms slid up his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt as though holding onto the warmth itself.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. You just held each other, the wind whipping softly against the tall window, the faint smell of earth and produce grounding you in the present.
Tim exhaled when he pulled back, a quiet rumble of a sound that wasnât quite a laugh, wasnât quite a sigh. âTold you,â he murmured. âStronger than you think.â
You leaned into him again, ready for the safety of his hold, the ease of that soft kiss. But the sound of boots in the hallway snapped the moment in half. Your body tensed before you could help it, breath catching in your throat.
Tim noticedâof course he noticed. His hand gave your hip the faintest squeeze before he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek and stepped back, casual as though nothing had happened. He grabbed the nearest bag of groceries, sliding a carton of eggs into the icebox with the same measured calm he always wore like armor.
You were still trying to settle your pulse when Tobyâs voice carried in ahead of him. âKnew I sm-smelled bread,â he announced, appearing in the doorway with his hair messy and sticking out at odd angles, obvious that he had been napping on the couch. âCâmon, donât hog i-it all.â
Tim didnât look up, just grunted, âNo.â
Toby rolled his eyes, grinning. âYouâre stingy as hell, yâknow th-that?â Then his gaze slid to you, and in a blink he was across the kitchen. His fingers wrapped lightly around your arm, tugging before you even realized heâd decided something.
âWhat are you doing?â you asked, startled.
âCâmon.â His tone was chipper, but there was a thread of stubbornness beneath it. âLiving roomâs c-cold. Canât sleep. N-Need company while I chop wood.â
You stared at him, incredulous. âYouâre not supposed to be chopping anything. You still have stitches, Toby.â
He put a finger to his lips and made an exaggerated âshhhâ sound, then tugged again. âDonât ruin i-it. Just come.â
You glanced toward Tim, almost on instinct, and your eyes met across the kitchen. He had paused mid-motion, a loaf of bread in one hand, and though his face was unreadable, his gaze lingered long enough that warmth crawled up your neck. Then Toby gave a more insistent tug, grinning crookedly like he always did, and you let him pull you toward the back door. The afternoon air spilled in, cool and damp, as the two of you stepped out into the dark.
Behind you, you swore you still felt Timâs eyes following.
ââ .âŚ
The air outside was a bit sharper than you expected, cool and damp from the earlier rain. You tugged your sweater tighter around yourself, rubbing your arms as you followed Toby toward the treeline.
He didnât miss it. With a shrug, he peeled off his jacket and tossed it over your shoulders before you could protest. âYouâre shivering,â he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. Then, grinning, âCanât have y-you catching cold when I-I dragged y-you out here.â
The jacket was warm, smelling of woodsmoke and cedar and so him, and you found yourself hugging it closer even as he moved on to heft the hatchet. He still has his wrinkled t-shirt underneath, quietly laughing at it.
The familiar thunk of blade meeting wood echoed through the damp air. Tobyâs grin widened, rolling his shoulders of the tension there. You kept catching yourself watching the spot under his shirt where Brianâs neat stitches pulled skin together, waiting for a drop of red, a sign that he was undoing all your careful tending.
âAlright,â you said finally, crossing your arms. âShow me.â
He blinked, then laughed, dropping the hatchet against the chopping block. âShow y-you what?â
âYou know what.â You gestured at his shirt. âLift it. Let me see if youâre bleeding.â
Rolling his eyes, he pinched the hem of his shirt and tugged it up, revealing the bandages and pale freckled skin underneath. They were still intactâno fresh stains, no tearing.
âSee? Perfectly fine,â he said, smirking as he let the fabric fall and picked up the hatchet again. âY-Your bedside mannerâs bossy a-as hell, yâknow.â
You glared at him, though the edge was softened by the way his grin made your lips twitch. âEvery couple chops, you check. Got it?â
âYes, maâam.â He gave a mock salute, then swung the hatchet again, the sound cracking through the night air.
You sat on the edge of a flattened stump nearby, wrapping his jacket tighter around yourself as you watched. You wanted to relax, but your eyes kept dragging back to that spot under his shirt, listening for the sound of his breathing, waiting for any stumble. He wouldnât feel it if they did tear, so youâd have to be sure.
After a few more chops, Toby broke the silence, voice casual. âDidnât k-know you and Tim were s-so friendly.â
Your head snapped up, heat crawling into your cheeks. âTobyââ
He chuckled, tossing another log onto the block. âRelax, Iâm just joking.â His grin was sharp in the moonlight. âI mean, go-good for him. Good for y-you.â
You shook your head quickly, pressing your lips together. âHush.â
He only grinned wider, swinging the hatchet down with another clean crack. âAlright, alright. Youâre n-no fun.â But the way his eyes lingered on you before he bent to grab the split wood told you the joke wasnât as light as he made it sound. Your chest tightened at his words, at the way his smirk carried something unspoken under it. You thought back to that nightâyou kissing him, your panic afterwardâand the silence that followed. He mustâve thought youâd moved on. That it meant nothing.
âItâs not what you think,â you blurted out, nerves twisting in your gut.
Toby stilled for half a second, the hatchet loose in his grip. Then he shook his head, grinning crookedly. âDonât need an explanation, ma-maâam.â
You frowned. âTobyââ
âReally,â he cut in, glancing back at the chopping block. âYou donât owe m-me anything.â
But you werenât about to let it slide. âI want to explain.â
That smirk crawled back onto his lips, a teasing gleam in his eyes as he swung the hatchet down again, clean through the log, the crack causing you to flinch. âYou do-donât have to, princess.â
The nickname made your cheeks burn hotter, but you werenât sure if it was a compliment or a jab. âIâm serious.â
âI know you are,â he said, grin widening as he set another log in place. âBut m-me? Iâm not worried. I know w-who you kissed first.â
Your throat tightened, heat rising under your skin. âShut up.â
Instead of answering, he split the log in one sharp crack, then set the hatchet aside. He lifted his shirt, exposing his pale torso, the patch still covering his abdomen neatly.
âSpeaking of,â he drawled, strolling toward you, âI think I need m-my nurse to check t-these over.â
Your eyes betrayed youâdragging down his chest, over the faint muscle lines, the curve of his abs. Your breath caught as he stepped close, his grin sharp and knowing. Slowly, reluctantly, you reached up, fingertips brushing the edge of the bandages. You checked for blood, for swellingâfeeling the heat of his skin under your touch. For a moment, you forgot to breathe. Your fingertip brushed his skinâ
And Toby tilted his head back and let out the most exaggerated, fake moan youâd ever heard.
Your hand jerked back like youâd been burned, face blazing. âToby!â
He doubled over laughing, nearly clutching his side. âOh, Godâyour face!â His laughter rang loud through the damp air, warm and unrestrained. You crossed your arms, glaring, though your lips threatened to betray you.
âSee?â he wheezed, still grinning like a devil. âTold y-you. Iâm not worried.â
You stepped back, tugging lightly at his jacket tugged over your shoulders as if the chill might excuse your retreat. âAlright, thatâs enough wood for the fireplace,â you said, voice half-serious.
Before you could turn fully, Tobyâs hand shot out and caught your arm, tugging you gently but firmly back toward him. âOh, I donât think s-so,â he said, grinning, eyes gleaming. âY-You canât just leave wh-when things are getting⌠fun.â
Your cheeks heated instantly. âFun? Chopping wood isnâtââ
âYouâre flustered,â he interrupted, voice teasing as he leaned closer, the faint smell of wood chips clinging to him. âI can s-see it. Always so easily flustered.â
You swatted at his chest, hitting him lightly, but he caught your hand in a quick motion. Before you could pull away, he pressed a gentle kiss to your palm, lingering just long enough to make your heart skip. Your eyes flicked down to the gaping scar on his cheek, the hole where heâd gnawed and torn at himself. It still took getting used to, but you didnât flinch at the sight of it anymore. Somehow, that small vulnerability, unhidden and raw, fit perfectly with his brash, teasing energy. It was so him.
âQuit it,â you murmured, but your tone wavered, unsure if you were angry or caught in the tension of his proximity.
He only chuckled, dark and low, brushing his lips up your arm, feather-light kisses teasing along the skin that peeked from the jacket. His jacket around your shoulders, him in your spaceâthe feel of him was surrounding you. Then he wrapped his arms around your waist, drawing you flush against him, the press of his chest firm and grounding. âSee? This is better,â he whispered. âIâll keep y-you warm.â
You swore you could feel his heart skittering through his chest against yours. âTobyââ
âMm,â he murmured, tilting his head as he pressed close. âShouldnât m-my nurse kiss me better? Quit actinâ like you do-donât want to.â
The request was playful, but there was an edge of certainty, a teasing insistence that left you breathless and unsteady. Your heart thudded in your chest, caught somewhere between panic and desire, and you found yourself leaning in, caught in the pull of himâthe rough, reckless, impossible Toby who always jumbled your thoughts faster than you could process them.
Your mind stuttered mid-thought, caught between guilt and desire. You literally just kissed Tim⌠but Toby didnât give you the chance to dwell.
âYouâve o-only ever kissed me when I-Iâm drunk,â he murmured, voice low, teasing but edged with something more serious. âI wanna feel i-it again.â
Your cheeks flamed immediately, and you opened your mouth to protest, but he was already closing the space between you. âAnd,â he added, pressing a finger between you, touching against the patch on his abdomen, âI promise n-not to tear these,â gesturing to his stitches.
You flinched slightly at the thought, then melted under the earnestness in his eyes. Before you could reply, he leaned in, and his lips found yours. This time, it was differentâhungrier than the soft kiss with Tim, nippy and excited, sharp edges of longing running along it. His hands threaded into your hair and along your back, pressing you closer, leaning just enough to test your balance.
You clutched his shoulders, heart hammering, fingers digging into the fabric to keep from bending too far back. The jacket heâd tossed over your sweater fell slightly with the press of your bodies, brushing your sides as he tilted your head with one hand. The kiss deepened, playful and urgent all at once, his teeth grazing lightly over your bottom lip, making you gasp and cling tighter. Tobyâs energy was reckless and alive, pulling you into the moment entirely, leaving no room for hesitation or second-guessing.
When he finally pulled back slightly, forehead resting against yours, breath mingling with yours, his grin was wicked and victorious. âSee? Sober f-feels better, huh?â
You could barely find words, chest heaving, cheeks burning. âYeah⌠yeah,â you whispered, still clutching his shoulders as if letting go would unravel the world.
Tobyâs grin hadnât left his face as he pressed his lips again to your neck, light pecks that sent shivers down your spine and made your knees wobble. His hands roamed the sides of your torso lightly, lingering at the small of your back, drawing you closer without any pressure to let go.
âHeyâŚâ he murmured, just at the edge of a whisper, lips brushing your ear. âYou thinkinâ⌠ma-maybe⌠I could come see y-you tonightââ
A stark, sharp crack tore through the air, slicing through the quiet like a knife. Toby froze mid-sentence, lips hovering near your skin, eyes snapping toward the treeline beyond the clearing. The sound was heavy, hardenedâlike wood being cleaved, but too thick, too powerful to be a mere log falling. Your stomach twisted, adrenaline spiking instantly, and without thinking, you clutched at him, fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket, holding him as if he were your anchor to reality.
The Rake, the Rake, the Rakeâyour mind spiraled.
Tobyâs jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as they scanned the dense shadows between the trees. The faint sunlight through dense clouds illuminated nothing but swaying branches and wet leaves glinting with rain. Each crackle from the forest set him further on edge, alert in a way that made your chest constrict.
âStay close,â he murmured, voice low and taut, not breaking eye contact with the woods. You nodded wordlessly, still clinging to him, heart hammering as if it wanted to escape your ribcage.
It was terrifying how fast he could go from playful and flirty to a honed machine ready to protect you.
âWhatâwhat was that?â you whispered, eyes flicking between him and the trees.
He didnât answer immediately. Instead, he let his gaze sweep slowly across the shadows, scanning every shifting shape and subtle movement. Finally, he gave you a short, clipped order, âGrab the wood.â
Your fingers hesitated for only a moment before obeying, hands shaking slightly as you lifted the chopped logs from the ground. Toby released you, stepping back enough to grab his own portion, muscles coiling beneath his shirt as he hefted the wood, making sure his grip on his hatchet was firm in his free hand.
The two of you moved together, silently, every rustle of leaves or snap of a branch making you flinch, chest tight, but Tobyâs presence grounded youâan unspoken promise that whatever was out there, heâd face it first.
Step by careful step, you made your way back across the wet grass, balancing the heavy logs while keeping your eyes darting to the treeline. Tobyâs boots made firm, sure sounds behind you, confident and steady. His occasional glance back caught your fear, a silent acknowledgment that he saw you, and it was enough to make you cling a little tighter to the warmth of the jacket heâd thrown over your shoulders.
Finally, you reached the edge of the porch, splashes of dirt and sawdust dampening the hem of your sweater. Toby ran a hand through his messy hair, eyes flicking once more toward the dark treeline. âStay p-put inside after this,â he said quietly, voice carrying just enough authority to leave no room for argument. âDonât e-even think about sneaking around.â
The manor swallowed you instantly once you stepped inside, warm air washing over you as Toby and you carried the logs across the slick, rain-specked floors. In the kitchen, Brian had been adjusting a flickering light, fingers deftly working the wiry connections. He looked up the instant he noticed you, eyes narrowing.
âHere,â he said immediately, stepping around the counter and taking the logs from your hands without a word. His movements were careful, but there was an edge to his tone. âWhy do you two look spooked?â
Toby let out a long, humorless sigh, already moving toward the sitting room, logs hoisted onto his shoulder. âCutting wood n-near the trees and heard so-somethinâ big. Bigger than normal,â he grumbled, Brian following behind. âGot her o-out of there b-before I could see what.â
You followed, slipping in close to both of them, almost instinctively holding onto Tobyâs arm while Brian kept a steady pace at your side, shadowing you as you moved. The familiarity of their presence was grounding, but the thought of something near your home made you shiver.
Toby dropped the logs in the hearth in the grand sitting room and set to work lighting the fire as he normally did, snapping kindling like a habit. The flames caught quickly, spreading warmth across the room, dancing off the high ceilings and polished wood, painting the space in amber light.
Brian set his load of wood near the mouth, glancing at you. âYou okay?â he asked softly, eyes searching yours for the lingering tremor.
You nodded, forcing a small smile. âYeah⌠Iâm fine.â
Toby scoffed from the hearth, glancing back at you with mock irritation. âWouldnât have l-let anything happen to her,â he muttered, half-proud, half-offended.
Brian rolled his eyes, shooting a look at Toby. âQuit joking.â
âHm,â Toby groaned, snapping another log into the flames. âNothing happened. I k-kept her safe.â
The two began bickering lightly, voices bouncing off the wallsâTobyâs brash, teasing tone against Brianâs steady, measured corrections. You quietly slipped away, heading to the kitchen to start dinner, grateful for the excuse to put distance between yourself and their playful tension while your nerves slowly calmed.
From the sitting room, their conversation carried faintly. Tobyâs voice dropped lower, more serious this time. ââŚRakes are getting t-too close a-again. Weâll have to go out tonight, make sure they k-know this place isnât easy pickings.â
Brianâs response was calm but firm. âWeâll handle it. We just need to make sure everything inside is ready⌠she shouldnât have to see any of it if we can avoid it.â
You froze mid-step, knife in hand, realizing the duality of your life hereâthe warmth, the comfort, the teasing and familiarity, and the raw, dangerous reality that pressed in from the woods every night.
You busied yourself to keep from spiraling.
You chopped vegetables quickly, trying to focus on the rhythm of the knife, the smell of garlic and onions filling the kitchen. Tonightâs dinner had to be goodâyou knew it might be their last meal at the manor for hours if they went out to hunt again.
Tim stepped in from the back door, shaking the dew from his jacket and immediately inhaling the aroma wafting from the stove. âSmells good,â he said, nodding as he looked at you, brows knitting at the sight of your weary expression. âWhatâs wrong?â
You flinched at the reminder, but shook your head stiffly. âToby heard one of those things near the trees. He said youâre going to have to go back out tonight.â
Tim grunted, shedding his jacket and setting it on the back of his chair.
Toby and Brian appeared a moment later, finishing their work in the sitting room, the fire casting flickering light across their backs. Toby plopped down on a stool near the counter, smirking as he flexed his hands. Brian leaned against the counter quietly, eyes scanning the kitchen, hands brushing sawdust from his palms.
âYou all need to eat before tonight,â you said, voice firmer than you felt, slicing bell peppers and sliding them into a sizzling pan. âAnd weâre eating together. No arguments.â
They settled in, the three of them close but not too overwhelming, watching you while you cooked. Tim hummed under his breath as he leaned against the counter, tugging at his gloves. Toby whistled softly, eyes flicking to the fire. Brianâs gaze lingered on you, patient, careful, always unreadable.
âSoâŚâ Toby began, casual, voice low, âwhatâs the plan f-for tonight? Weâre talking big patrol, or j-just a sweep around t-the courtyard?â
Brian spoke next. âWeâll need to check the east treeline first where you heard it, then the northern woods. Donât think theyâve noticed us yet, but⌠better safe than sorry.â
You froze mid-stir, spoon hovering over the pan as your mind flashed with images you didnât want to see: them hunting, swinging hatchets, rifles roaring, blood, claws, dark shapes moving through the blood-soaked forest. You swallowed hard, trying to ground yourself in the mundane act of stirring the vegetables.
âI⌠can you guysâplease?â you said, voice trembling slightly. âTalk about something different. Anything else. I canâtââ
Tobyâs eyes flicked to yours, instantly softening, and he leaned back on the counter, a half-smile tugging at his lips. âYeah, alright,â he said, voice teasing but quiet. âHow about we a-argue about whose turn i-it is to cut firewood later? Very no-normal, very civilized.â
Tim chuckled low, shaking his head. âOr who gets to chase the buzzards off when they try to eat my crops. Very normal farm problems.â
Brianâs lips twitched at the corner, almost imperceptible. âI can weigh in on whose turn it is to go all the way down to the basement to flip the breaker. Highly conventional.â
You let out a shaky laugh, the tension easing just enough for you to refocus on the pan in front of you. The knives clattered against the cutting board, the aroma of cooking vegetables filling the room, and the haze from the setting sun through the windows played across their faces.
Eventually, the last bite of dinner disappeared from the pan, the clatter of plates and silverware echoing softly against the walls. Laughter lingered in the kitchen as Toby and Tim debatedâloud, playful, inconsequentialâbut you caught yourself glancing at the clock, counting the minutes until the sun finally dipped below the horizon. By the time the last streaks of amber vanished from the sky, the manor had sunk into that familiar gloom. Shadows pooled in corners, the flicker of candlelight barely pushing back the darkness. You moved through the rooms with methodical precision, cleaning up after dinner while the boys prepared to leave.
The office room had become their staging groundâyou had pushed all their gear inside, arranging rifles, shotguns, knives, and ammunition in neat rows. The sight of their weapons and equipment didnât comfort you yetâit was a stark reminder of what lurked in the woods. You werenât sure whether it was a blessing or a curse that you finally understood just how close to the edge of danger the boys operated.
When the cleaning was finished, you pulled a blanket around your shoulders and collapsed into the couch in the sitting room. A steaming cup of coffee in your hands offered some semblance of warmth and normalcy, but you knew sleep would not come. The familiar dread hung low in your chest, a steady pulse reminding you of the night ahead, and howâd youâd be awake for any moment of danger.
Outside, you could hear them now: boots scuffing against wet earth, voices carrying in heated argument. Toby and Tim, clearly bickering over who would take which section of the woods tonight, their words sharp but familiar. You hugged your knees to your chest, listening, clinging to the sounds that tethered you to reality. To them.
Then, the soft, chopped echo of boots down the hall drew your attention back. Brian slipped into the sitting room, mask pushed up above his eyebrows, framing his soft eyes. The rifle slung over his shoulder felt heavier than usual in your chest. He nodded once at you, voice low and calm, âWeâll be back in the morning.â
You sipped your coffee quietly, eyes flitting to the fire, to the shadows, to the doorway. Every instinct screamed for you to follow them, to run, to check the treeline yourselfâbut you knew better now. You stayed on the couch, wrapped in your blanket, watching, feeling the tension coil tight in your stomach as the three of them moved out of your reach.
Brian looked sideways at you. âYouâll be alright here? On the couch all night?â
You wrapped your arms around your knees, forcing a small smile. âIâll be fine. Honestly, I think Iâm doing better here than you three are out there.â
He chuckled low, the sound almost caught in his throat, and nodded once. âAlright⌠just⌠donât stress yourself.â
He turned to leave, but the instant his back was to you, a sudden wave of fear hit your chest. You scrambled off the couch, quick and unsteady, voice shaking. âBrianâwait!â
He froze and pivoted, brow furrowed in concern.
âIâjustâbe safe. Look out for each other. Donât⌠donât get yourselves killed.â Your words tumbled out in a rush, frantic, desperate.
He nodded, more seriously now, the weight of what you were saying clearly registering. âWe will. Donât worry about us, okay?â He swallowed, then nodded slowly, as though committing your words to memory. âWeâll come back. Youâll see.â
Without thinking, you stepped forward, wrapping your arms tightly around him, holding him as if you could somehow keep him safe through sheer force. Your chest pressed against his, and for a moment, the world narrowed down to just the two of you, the smell of rain-damp clothing and faint woodsmoke clinging to him.
Then it hitâthe stress, the fear, the helplessnessâand you started sniffling. A little at first, then your chest shook as the tears spilled, hot and unrelenting.
Brian stiffened immediately, panic flickering in his eyes. âHeyâhey, look at me!â he said sharply, his hands moving to your shoulders. âShh, shh, itâs okay. Youâre okay.â
You clung to him tighter, trying to calm yourself, but your sobs only caught more violently. Brianâs usual calm demeanor cracked, his heart hammering. He bent slightly, letting you lean against him, murmuring reassurances in that low, steady voice. âYouâre safe. Youâre here. Weâre⌠weâre coming back, I promise. Just⌠breathe. Please.â
You nodded shakily against him, trying to take the advice, letting the tears soak into the fabric of his hoodie. For a moment, the monsters outside, the looming darkness, the memories of every bad nightâall of itâfaded to the background. The only thing that existed was this moment, him holding you, steady and present, keeping you from being swallowed by your fear. He let you cry, hands resting firm and reassuring on your back, whispering over and over that theyâd all come back, that you werenât alone. And slowly, inch by inch, your sobs quieted, leaving behind shaky breaths and the faint taste of tears.
You cling to him like if you let go the world will unravel.
Brianâs cheek settles against your temple, warm and solid. The contact steadies something inside you; the breath that had been jagged finds a rhythm again against his shoulder. You press your face into the curve of his neck and, before either of you can think better of it, you tilt up and kiss his cheekâsoft, urgent, wet with the salt of tears.
His eyes go closed for half a second, and in that sliver of silence something shifts. He doesnât pull away. He lets you have that small, trembling thing you need to hold onto right now.
âKill them all,â you whisper into his hoodie, words ragged with anger and fear. âKill every last one so you donât have to go out again. Donât leave me here alone.â
Brianâs breath hitches. You feel him swallow, the muscle at his throat working. For a heartbeat heâs only the man holding you, all careful lines and steady handsâthe person who had slipped from the hallway minutes ago with a rifle on his shoulder. He doesnât speak it. Instead his fingers curl into the back of your sweater and he turns his face to kiss you. It isnât boastful or hungry. Itâs a soft press at first, as if heâs trying to memorize the shape of you. Then, when your lips tremble into his, it deepens with the ache of wanting to make things right, of wanting to be the shore you can come back to. Thereâs longing thereâquiet, fierceâand a sadness that lubricates the tenderness. You both taste of smoke and salt and leftover fear.
For a long, suspended moment you are only that kiss: two people folding into each other between panic and desperate steadiness. Your arms twist around his neck; his hands cradle your face and then slide to your waist as if to keep you from being carried away. The world outside the manorâthe treeline, the rain, the rakes and the bloodâhangs at the edge of the glass, remote and unbearable. In the small circle of warmth, it feels possible, for an instant, that everything could be held together.
When you finally break apart, the air between you is thin and wet with the tremor of your breaths. Your cheeks streak with tears and you press the heels of your hands against your eyes, trying to blink them away. Brianâs face is solemn; thereâs an unspooling of something like resolve in his mouth.
âYou okay?â he asks, voice low and rough.
You nod, but the nod is small and the next inhale brings a new hitch of fear. âPromise me,â you whisper. âPleaseâcome back.â
He meets your gaze, and for the first time since you met him in the attic, thereâs an unguarded thing in his eyesâan answer that is equal parts oath and plea. âI promise,â he says. It isnât boastful. Itâs not a rope to cling to blindly. Itâs the quiet vow of someone who has already chosen his line in the dark. âWeâve come back every time. This one is no different.â
You wrap your arms around him one last time, clinging as if the hug could slow the night. He holds you like youâre both fragile and unbreakable at once, like this is how theyâll leave and how theyâll returnâbruised, beaten, hanging by their bones.
When he finally steps back, thereâs a small, shaky smile that does not reach his eyes. He straightens, the rifle goes back onto his shoulder, the practiced motion of a man who lives with danger calling his name.
âStay here,â he says one last time, softer than an order. âLock up. Donât come outâno matter what.â
You nod, lips pressed tight. He leans forward and presses one more light, lingering kiss to your foreheadâa goodbye threaded with longingâthen turns and walks toward the door. Each step he takes feels an awful, necessary distance.
You stand rooted on the rug as the back door opens, the manor inhaling the cold night air when it swings. The muted echo of his boots recedes down the drive and into the fog. Tim and Toby file in at his side, the three aiming for the treeline. Outside, the world is a damp, vast quiet. Inside, the candlelight shivers, and you are left with the echo of his promise on your lips and the new, complicated ache that ties you to all three of them.
ââ .âŚ
The manor shudders with the storm of the woods outside.
Howls echo in the treeline, sharper and nearer than youâve ever heard them. Gunshots pop like fireworks across the yard, rattling the glass in their frames. The distant shouts of menâyour menâcut through in bursts, muffled by fog and rain. Every sound coils inside you like a spring about to snap.
You force yourself not to look out the window. Youâve learned that seeing is worseâthat the shapes your mind supplies when you only hear the noise are safer than whatâs really out there. So instead you keep your hands busy.
The broom swishes across the kitchen floor for the third time tonight, even though the wood gleams clean already. You rearrange the cushions on the sitting room couch, then again, then again, until the fabric feels worn beneath your palms. You scrub the counter, polish silver, fold blankets. None of it drowns out the war happening beyond the walls.
Your chest tight, you grab a candleholder and light the wick. The flame flickers in the draft of the hall as you climb the stairs quietly. You push open the door to your uncleâs studyâthe one room youâve avoided since learning the truth. Dust and leather greet you, the scent like old paper and something faintly molded thatâs seeped into the wood. You set the candleholder on his desk, its light haloing across the spread of his old things. Sketches. Journals. Binders of loose pages tied with string.
Your fingers hover before you dare touch them.Â
Maybe thereâs something in here that can help them.
You reach.
The first book creaks open. Drawings sketched in frantic pencil spill across the pageâlong-limbed figures, jaws stretched open in impossible ways. The Rake. The same thing you saw drag itself across your yard, the same thing that nearly tore Toby in half. The longer you stare, the more your chest knots, but you flip to the next page anyway.
Notes scrawled in your uncleâs hand run across the margins: sightings increase after rainfall⌠behavior more erratic near the manor⌠Operatorâs presence holds them at bay but not for long.
You swallow hard, tracing the shaky ink as if the words themselves might answer you.
You find another sketchâthis one half-finished, the rake drawn crouched beside the silhouette of a person. No face. No details. Just black scratches where the head should be. Your stomach turns, but you press on, flipping further. More notes, more strange symbols that sting your eyes if you look too long. Mentions of âwards,â of âboundaries.â Pages about how the manor itself was meant to be a line in the sandâa safe harbor.
The howling outside rises again. Your candle flickers, its shadow stretching the sketches into moving things on the walls. You slam the book shut, pulse hammering, and clutch the edge of the desk just to steady yourself.
Your uncle had known. He had written it all down. And he hadnât survived it.
And now youâre here, sitting in his chair, teetering on the edge of facing the same fate. Of your friends facing the same fate.
You grab another book.
This one feels heavier, its leather cover worn smooth with use. When you open it, the script inside is tighter, more methodical than the frantic scrawls of the last. Almost like your uncle had been gathering his thoughts, preparing something final. The first page nearly slips the page from your fingers.
Fire.
The word is underlined three times, written so deep itâs nearly carved into the paper. Below it:
Fire melts their skin and chars their bones. Iâve never seen them react so frantically as when Iâm holding a flame. Theyâre afraid. They fear it.
Your pulse spikes, but you keep reading. The pages are littered with half-finished sketches of rakes caught in torchlight, their forms writhing as flames lick up their limbs. Notes scrawled around the drawings:
Too fast for torches. Too aware for open flames. They flee when they sense it. They will not approach fire willingly. Must trap them. Must bind them to the place first.
You sit back, clutching the book to your chest. Thatâs why every encounter ends in blood. Thatâs why no matter how many bullets Tim and Brian unload, no matter how hard Toby swings that hatchet, they never feel close to ending this. It always feels like thereâs a hundred more to follow.
Your uncle knew it. Heâd been trying to make somethingâpages stitched with designs, half-formed schematics, scrawls about âfuel linesâ and âfixtures in every hall.â You flip through quickly, breath catching as you recognize what he meant. The manor itself.
Your eyes lift, darting around the study. The candle on the desk. The sconces on the walls. The hearth downstairs. The candles. The fires. Always burning. Always lit.
Your uncle hadnât just been eccentric, hadnât just left candles scattered in every corner of this place for the gothic look. It had been a design, a defense heâd never finished.
Your breath leaves you in a sharp gasp as memory clicks into place: Toby lighting the fireplace for you each night, even in the warmth of summer storms. His job, his ritual. Not just comfort. Not just habit. Protection.
You stand so fast the chair tips behind you. The candleholder rattles in your grip as you pace the study, every nerve bristling with urgency.
He was building something in this house. He was making the manor itself into a ward.
Your uncle had failed, but youâyour fists clenchâyou could finish it. You have to. Because itâs not just a home anymore, itâs the line between life and death, between keeping those three alive and letting them be torn apart every night.
You spin toward the shelves, yanking down more ledgers, more crumbling binders. Schematics. Lists of supplies. Half-finished rituals woven between architectural notes. Your hands shake as you spread them across the desk, candlelight dancing over your frantic movements.
âI can finish this,â you whisper to the empty room, to the flame that quivers as though it hears you. âI have to.â
The howls outside grow sharper, closer, almost angryâas if the things in the woods can feel the fireâs promise stirring inside the manor again.
Good.
ââ .âŚ
The slam of the back door jolts you so hard the candle flame nearly gutters out. Youâd been bent over your uncleâs spread of papers all night, hands smudged with old ink, eyes burning from reading the same words again and again. But the soundâboots on the floor, the groan of wet coats peeled from shouldersâsnaps you upright. You hadnât even noticed the early rising sun filtering through the curtained window behind you.
Theyâre back.
You nearly trip over yourself on the way down, sketchbooks clutched in one hand, the other dragging along the banister as you fly down the stairs. The second you step into the kitchen, the smell hits youâwet earth, iron tang, gunpowder. They look like hell.
Brian firstâmask pushed up around his brow, hair plastered to his forehead, rifle still slung over one shoulder. Tim behind him, pale under the dirt, favoring one arm but steady as ever. And then Toby, staggering in between them, eyes nearly blinking out of sync, dried blood marking one sleeve.
âGodââ Youâre already moving toward them, sketchbooks set aside, hands fumbling over coats and clothes. âAre you hurt? Let me seeââ
Toby slouches into you like dead weight, his head knocking against your shoulder as if gravity itself had given up on him. âHiya, princess,â he mumbles, giggling faintly. You press your palm against his abdomen anyway, checking the bandages, finding them mostly intact. Relief floods you, but your throat feels tight.
Timâs eyes catch yours, rimmed red and ringed with exhaustion, and he gives you that small tilt of his chinâtheyâre fine, donât panic. Brian, wordless, trudges toward the counter and starts a pot of coffee, motions slow and mechanical.
But your heart is still hammering. The papers upstairs are seared into your brain, the word fire etched across the back of your eyes. âYou have to come seeââ Your words tumble out too fast, too bright against the heaviness in the room. âWhat I found, itâs in my uncleâs study, itâsââ
All three pairs of eyes turn to you. Tired. Hollow. Not angry, but unbearably weary. Tim drags a hand over his face. Brian pours water into the machine like heâs running on autopilot. Toby just leans heavier into you, lips quirking as he slurs, âSheâs go-got homework for us.â
And suddenly you feel foolish. Theyâve been out there all night, bleeding and fighting, surviving things you can barely let yourself imagine. And youâyouâve been up in the study, yes, working, but in the safety of candlelight.
You swallow hard, tucking Tobyâs arm tighter around your shoulder, guiding him toward the table. âNevermind. It can wait.â
Tim shoots you a small, grateful look. Brian hums low under his breath, sliding mugs across the counter. And Toby rests his head against your hair, giggling faintly before drifting toward something like sleep, the warmth of his weight pinning you in place.
Breakfast. Coffee. Sleep. Thatâs what they need. Not another word about rakes. Not yet.
The kitchen smelled like eggs and bread before long, and you found yourself moving on instinctâpan hot, coffee steaming, the quiet clatter of plates muffled under the exhaustion pressing down on the house. They had all shed their gear in the hall, rifles leaned against the wall, coats dripping into a haphazard pile. The silence between them was heavy, but not sharp; more the kind of silence that came when words cost too much to muster.
One by one, they file into the sitting roomâTim first, shoulders slouched, muttering about his back as he sinks onto the couch. Brian follows, cup of black coffee in hand, half-lidded eyes scanning the fire that Toby immediately reset the moment he stumbled in. And Toby himself, sprawled across the rug, legs stretched out, head tipped back against the sofa like he might slip into unconsciousness at any second.
They mumble half-hearted conversationâbits of teasing, complaints about the rain, a tired laugh or two. But their voices sound softer in this space, muffled by the crackle of the fire and the scrape of cutlery as you carry in plates. You set the food down on the low table in front of them, and they dig in without ceremony, chewing like itâs the first proper meal theyâve had in days.
You hesitate, then slip away for the sketchbook. By the time you return, theyâre still eating, heads bowed over their plates, too tired to hide how worn they are. You sit cross-legged in the chair opposite them, the book open across your lap.
âI found something,â you begin, fingers brushing the yellowed page. Their eyes flicker toward you, not sharp or suspiciousâjust weary, but listening. âMy uncle⌠he wrote about them. About the rakes, yâknow. He figured out what hurts them. Fire. It burns them down to nothing.â
Tim leans back, a fork still in his hand. He exhales through his nose, almost a laugh but not quite. âYeah. We know.â
Brianâs voice is low, steady, but heavy. âYour uncle tried. More than once. He even rigged up some homemade flamethrowerâlooked like something out of a bad war movie. Nearly took the east wing of the house down with it. Thereâs still char marks on the ceiling.â
You blink at him, throat tightening. âBut if he knewââ
âTheyâre fast,â Tim cuts in, words clipped. He sets his plate down, eyes narrowing slightly like heâs remembering. âFaster than fire. They donât charge in like they used toâtheyâve learned. They scatter, circle, wait for you to get close enough to burn yourself instead. Theyâre not just animals.â
Toby chuckles, though itâs hollow, head tipping against the sofa cushion. âYeah, saw h-him try once when I wa-was working. Thought it was hi-hil-hilarious until I realized the whole damn forest c-couldâve gone up. Rakes are smart. Fire hurts them, but theyâre n-not stupid enough t-to stand in it.â
Brian pushes his empty plate aside, folding his hands into his hoodie pocket. âBulletsâthatâs what keeps them back. It doesnât kill them clean, but it slows them down enough to finish the job.â His gaze cuts to you, steady but not unkind. âItâs ugly, but itâs the only thing that works.â
The fire pops in the hearth, showering sparks up the flue. You glance between them, the weight of their words pressing on your chest. Youâd spent the whole night convincing yourself youâd found an answer, that youâd pieced together the one thing your uncle couldnât. But sitting here now, you realize they already knew. Theyâve known all along.
Your hands tighten around the edges of the sketchbook, the faded leather worn soft beneath your palms. The three of them just watch youâslouched, heavy-eyed, so damn tiredâbut you donât let yourself fold under that exhaustion pressing in on all sides.
âThen⌠then maybe we donât need fire the way he tried to use it,â you say, leaning forward, voice picking up momentum the longer you talk. âNot a giant flamethrower, not a bonfire that risks the whole house. He had the right idea, just⌠the wrong execution. Look.â You thumb through the pages, finding the half-finished diagrams, the notations about candles and hearths, the way your uncle kept circling back to controlled flame. âWhat if itâs smaller, contained? Something we can set fast, lure them into, choke them with smoke before they even realize whatâs happening?â
Timâs head tips against the back of the couch. He regards you with that sharp, assessing stare, though his lids are heavy. âTraps.â
âYes,â you say, heart leaping. âTraps. Systems. Maybe we can use the manor itselfâif itâs always been a beacon, then maybe it can be a weapon too.â
Brian rubs a hand over his face, smearing soot and blood. âWeâd need time. Materials. And brains. Not half-dead ones like weâve got right now.â
âStill,â Toby mumbles around a yawn, one arm slung over his eyes, ânot the worst i-idea Iâve heard. Better than Timâs âletâs hunt th-them with kitchen knivesâ bullshit.â
Tim grunts. âHush.â
You close the book, clutching it to your chest, the spark of determination lighting you up from the inside. For the first time in weeks, the fear doesnât feel bigger than you. For the first time, thereâs a direction.
Tim watches you a second longer before speaking again, quieter this time. âAlright. Maybe youâre onto something. ButâŚâ His voice drops further, softer, almost careful. âCan we talk about it after weâve had a few hours? None of us are good for thinking straight right now.â
Brian nods, already pushing himself up from the table with a groan. âWeâll need our heads if weâre gonna make anything out of this.â
Toby lets out a dramatic sigh from the couch, rolling to his side and tugging a throw pillow under his head. âWake me up when i-itâs my turn to blow something u-up.â
Theyâre teasing, Tim and Brian dragging themselves out the back door to their own cabins, but you can see it in their faces: the tiniest flicker of hope, even through their exhaustion.
ââ .âŚ
The study was heavy with quietâthe kind that felt alive, humming with your heartbeat and the scratch of paper against paper. Afternoon light slanted in through the tall curtainless window, catching in the dust motes that drifted lazily across the air. You sat hunched over the desk, shoulders tight, chin propped up by one hand, the other still curled around a pen that hadnât moved in minutes. The page in front of you blurred, your eyes dragging over the same paragraph again and again, words turning to nothing.
Your uncleâs notes were spread everywhere: diagrams, frantic scribbles, half-burned pages tucked into ledgers. Youâd been piecing them together for hours, refusing to stop, refusing to let yourself give in to that gnawing dread in your stomach. If you just knew enoughâif you just understoodâthen maybe it would stop being so terrifying.
You didnât hear the door creak, didnât hear the boots across the floor. You only stirred when the edge of the desk dipped slightly under another hand bracing against it.
ââŚYouâre not even reading anymore.â
Your head snapped up, eyes bleary. Brian was leaning over the desk, his eyes scanning the spread of papers before dragging back to you. âYouâre just staring through the page.â
âIâmââ you started, voice scratchy from disuse, ââIâm fine. I was just⌠thinking.â
Brian raised his brows, his usual quiet skepticism loud enough to fill the room. He reached out, gently pressing two fingers against the top of the book youâd been pretending to read, lowering it flat to the desk. âThinking with your eyes closed, huh?â
You blinked hard, trying to force some alertness into your body, but the truth betrayed youâthe ache in your spine, the twitch in your hand still curled around the pen, the weight dragging your head toward your chest. Thirty hours awake and even the four cups of coffee hadnât been enough.
âI canât sleep yet,â you whispered, fighting yourself as much as him. âIf I justâif I can learn enough about them, I wonât be afraid anymore. I wonât freeze if they show up again. Iâll know what to do.â
Brian studied you for a long, quiet moment, the dust-filled light cutting across his face, making the dark smudges under his eyes more obvious. Finally, he pulled out the chair beside you and sat, resting his elbows on his knees.
âYou donât have to erase the fear,â he said carefully. âYou just have to survive it.â His eyes flicked to the pages, then back to you. âAnd you wonât survive much of anything if you fall over from exhaustion.â
The words shouldâve sounded stern, but instead they softened, threaded with humor. He tilted his head, catching your tired gaze. âYouâve done more than enough for one day. Let the rest of it wait.â
The study felt different then, quieter still. Brian didnât argue anymore after that. He just watched you for a long moment, quiet as the dust drifting in the golden light, then leaned forward and slipped the pen from your hand. You didnât even resistâyour fingers let go as if theyâd been waiting for someone else to carry the weight.
âCome on,â he said, voice low, almost rough from fatigue. âEnough.â
You started to shake your head, mumbling some half-formed protest, but then his hand was at the small of your back, steady and warm through the thin fabric of your shirt. The contact made your throat tighten in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion. He gave the lightest push, coaxing you out of the chair, and you found yourself standing before youâd even decided to.
âBrian, Iââ
âYouâre done for the day,â he cut in, but it wasnât harsh. If anything, it was careful. Like he was afraid youâd shatter if he spoke too loudly. He guided you toward the door, his palm never leaving that steady place at your lower back.
The manor was dim and hushed as he led you down the hall, the only sound being your soft footsteps and his thumping boots beside you. You glanced at him once, catching the weariness in his faceâthe bloodshot eyes, the damp hair clinging to his forehead where it looked like heâd taken a showerâbut his focus stayed on you. Like his exhaustion didnât matter if it meant you got to rest.
When you reached your bedroom, he nudged the door open with his shoulder and steered you inside. The bed looked impossibly inviting, covers still rumpled from your restless night. You hesitated, turning to him, but he was already tugging back the comforter with one hand, still steadying you with the other.
âIâll be fine,â you whispered, though your knees ached to buckle. âYou donât have toââ
He gave the faintest smile, tired but real, and rubbed lightly at your back. âYeah, I do.â
You sat because you had no strength left to keep standing, sinking into the edge of the mattress. He stepped back, his hand finally leaving you, the room feeling colder for it.
âSleep,â he murmured. âThe books will still be there when you wake up.â
You sank deeper into the mattress, blankets pulled up under your chin, the weight of exhaustion dragging at your eyes. Brian lingered by the bedside, one hand braced against the headboard like he wasnât sure if he should leave or stay.
Through a fog of half-consciousness, you whispered, âBrian⌠do you think⌠we can really kill them all?â
He didnât hesitate. He pulled the chair from your desk closer and sat beside you, leaning his elbows on his knees. His eyes softened when they found yours, though fatigue lined his face. He gave a firm nod.
âYeah,â he said, voice low and certain. âWe can. Because weâve got you now. You keep us going. Weâve got something to fight for.â
Your lips twitched into the faintest smile, too tired to hold it, but it still warmed your face. Slowly, you reached out from beneath the blanket, fingers trembling more from exhaustion than nerves, and found his hand.
Brian froze for a second, looking at your smaller hand clutching his, before he closed his fingers around yours and gave a slow, grounding squeeze. Your breathing evened out almost instantly, the comfort of his words and his presence pulling you under. The last thing you registered was his thumb brushing once across the back of your hand, steady, like he was promising to keep it there until you woke again.
ââ .âŚ
The studyâs dust and coffee tang still lingered in your nose, but it wasnât the moonlight through the curtains that pulled you from sleepâit was the low scrape of metal against earth, the muffled clang of something heavy being dropped, and voices that didnât belong to dreams.
You blinked, blearily taking in the warm glow of your room. The candles by your bedside had been lit, their flames soft and steady. Brian mustâve done it, you thoughtâthe realization making your chest ache in some quiet way. You rolled over, expecting maybe heâd still be in the chair, maybe nodding off the way Toby sometimes did on the couch. But the chair was empty. The room was empty. It was the middle of the night.
And the sound outside was louder now.
You pushed the blankets off, sluggish from sleep but unsettled, swinging your legs down to the rug. You didnât bother with shoes, seeing your sweater tossed at the end of the bed and pulling it tight around yourself before padding across the floor. When you pressed to the window, careful to keep your body in the shadow of the curtain, your breath caught.
Out in the courtyard, under the pale glow of a swollen moon, were the boys.
Tim was hauling coils of barbed wire out of the bed of the truck, the metal unspooling in harsh glints, his shoulders rigid with the effort. Brian crouched low near one of the hedges, hammering something into the ground with rattling blows. Toby was half in shadow, shirt already discarded as he dug furiously into the damp earth with a spade, dirt spraying behind him like heâd been at it for hours.
And then it hit youâthey were building traps. Your suggestions. The very sketches youâd shoved into their hands earlier that morning, babbling about strategy, about fire, about something to fight back with. They hadnât dismissed you. They hadnât rolled their eyes and gone off to bed, the way exhaustion had begged them to. Theyâd listened.
Your chest squeezed so tightly it hurt.
Before you could think better of it, you were already bolting for the door. Your bare feet hit against the cold wood of the stairs, your sweater barely shielding you from the damp chill that seeped through the manorâs giant walls. The back door creaked when you pushed it open, and a rush of night air slammed into you, thick with the smell of earth and iron and rain not long past.
The grass was wet and icy under your feet, but you didnât care. You rushed into the yard, heart pounding, the sound of the hammer and spade and wire growing louder until it filled your ears. âWhat are you doing?â
The words ripped out of you, higher and sharper than you meant, and all three froze. Tobyâs spade hit the ground with a heavy thud. Brianâs hammer paused mid-swing. Tim straightened, barbed wire hanging from his gloves like a tangle of thorns, and all three of their eyes cut toward you in the half-light.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
And then Brian sighed, smiling at you through the sweat on his brow. âYou arenât supposed to be up.â
âI heard you,â you snapped, breath catching in the cold. âYouâreââ your eyes flicked from the raw wire cutting into Timâs gloves, to the half-dug pit Toby was already climbing out of, to the hammer still clutched in Brianâs fist. âYouâre setting traps. Myâmy idea. You actuallyâŚâ
Timâs mouth quirked into something tired, something that mightâve been a smirk on another night. âYou thought we werenât listening?â
âI thought you thought I was insane.â
Toby wiped his forehead with the back of his arm, streaking dirt and sweat across his temple, before tossing you a lopsided grin. âWe already k-know youâre insane, princess. Doesnât me-mean youâre wrong.â
Your heart stuttered.
Brian shoved the hammer into the ground and stood, stretching his back, his hair plastered damp to his forehead. âYou wanted to help. This is how we let you.â His tone was simple, matter-of-fact, but his gaze lingered on you in a way that was careful. As if he could see how badly you were shaking, how your hands had knotted in the hem of your sweater.
âIââ you faltered, hugging yourself tighter. âYou shouldâve⌠told me. You shouldâve woken me.â
Tim shook his head, stepping toward you with steady, slow steps. âYou needed rest. Up all night trying to memorize this shit.â He let the barbed wire fall from his gloves, metal hitting the dirt with a dull thump, and stopped a few feet in front of you. âWeâve got this. You donât have to kill yourself trying to figure it all out.â
But you couldnât stop looking at themâat the mud streaked up Timâs jacket, at the worn calluses on Brianâs hands, at Tobyâs bandages now speckled with fresh dirt where heâd leaned too hard against the shovel. Your throat tightened.
Youâd been so scared of them once. Now all you could think was how tired they looked. How stubborn. How utterly willing to throw themselves into the dark just so you wouldnât have to. And something inside you cracked, like ice giving way.
Your voice shook as you whispered, âI donât want you to do this alone.â
Timâs jaw flexed. Brianâs eyes softened. Tobyâs grin fell into something quieter, something more sincere.
The night air pressed heavy around you, cold and damp and smelling of iron. The manor loomed at your back, the woods looming even darker ahead. And between those two worlds, it was just you and themâyour bare feet in the grass, their shoulders bowed under weight you still barely understood.
But for the first time since the night you learned the truth, you didnât feel entirely powerless. Youâd asked them to fight. And now they were proving theyâd fight with everything they had.
ââ .âŚ
The next week passed in a blur.
Your days became a cycle of work, dirt, and ink-stained fingersâwake to the sound of boots thudding across the manor, eat something quick (or cook it yourself, because the boys would happily go on black coffee and adrenaline if you didnât intervene), then dive headlong into the endless grind of preparation.
When you werenât in your uncleâs study with his crumbling journals and sketches spread across every flat surface, you were out in the yard with muddy boots laced tight, helping them haul crates of supplies, laying down barbed wire, or threading jars of accelerant into carefully dug trenches. The traps were crude but effectiveâtripwires hidden under brush that triggered firewalls, shallow pits that could snap legs, and lines of oil-soaked cloth ready to be lit in an instant.
Brian was the one with the steady hands, crouched low as he measured angles, hammered stakes, and muttered calculations under his breath. He never let you carry the heaviest things, thoughâyouâd reach for a box and heâd simply appear, smile tilted, quietly taking it out of your hands with a shake of his head.
Tim worked with a grim sort of determination, unrolling wire, digging trenches, his jaw always tight. But he cracked when you teased him about being too serious, his dry humor slipping through in little one-linersâlike when you tripped over a coil of wire and he deadpanned, âGuess that trap works.â Heâd smirk at your laugh, then go right back to work.
And Toby⌠Toby made it impossible to stay focused. He was loud and messy, shirt always half off, mud streaked through dirt on his chest as he swung an axe or dug with a spade. Heâd throw flirty comments over his shoulder, or drop something heavy just so youâd fuss over his stitches, smirking when your hands brushed his skin. He made the work feel like chaos, but he kept you smiling.
And in the cracks between all thatâbetween the fire and schematics and long nights by candlelightâyou felt yourself spiraling.
Because every morning, when you set breakfast on the table, youâd have Tim sitting across from you with that watchful, steady look that made your chest twist. Brian would quietly take the mug out of your hand to pour the coffee himself, brushing your fingers, his silence louder than words. And Toby would flop into the chair beside you, grin crooked, knees bumping yours on purpose while he stole toast off your plate.
Lunch was the same. Dinner too. Every glance, every laugh, every touchâit was building into something impossible to ignore. And lying awake at night, listening to them move through the halls or hearing their voices low outside your window as they worked, you felt that impossible weight pressing harder.
Because you knewâsooner or laterâyou were going to have to choose.
And God, you didnât know if you could.
ââ .âŚ
By the time the last rays of sun began sliding behind the treeline at the end of the week, the manor was no longer just a houseâit was a fortress, a gauntlet, a trap meticulously laid.
From the edge of the forest to the first stretch of lawn, tripwires were strung with almost invisible barbed wire, glinting faintly in the dying light. Little pits had been camouflaged with dirt and brush, ready to ensnare anything foolish enough to step too close. Fire luresâjars of accelerant with wicks precariously balanced on stakesâwere planted strategically near choke points along the treeline. Even the open patches of the yard were carefully calculated, the perfect corridors to funnel the rakes closer, to make them predictable.
You stood at the highest point of the veranda, the wind tugging at your sweater, eyes bright as you tried to take in the enormity of what youâd helped build. The sheer amount of wire alone made you dizzyâyou couldnât tell which way to step without tripping over something. Every shadow of the garden looked deliberate now, every pile of leaves, every stone placed, seemed charged with intent.
Tim surveyed along the edges, testing the traps with small sticks, muttering low to himself, double-checking angles and tension. Toby was tossing logs near the deep pits he had dug along the yard, ready for them to catch fire and sear a wall of flame, but every few moments heâd glance toward the forest with that alert, predatory attention that made your heart race. Brian leaned over a map spread out on a bench, pointing and marking, making sure nothing had been missed.
You stepped back and took a deep breath, realizing the gravity of it all. This wasnât just preparationâit was warâsilly as it seemed. And if there had ever been a perfect moment to test all of this, it was now, with the sun dipping low, the shadows long, and the forest just waiting beyond the edges of the property.
You looked at themâTobyâs grin was tight, almost feral in the fading light; Timâs eyes were cold, sharp; Brianâs posture steady, unyielding. You felt the weight of your own fear and adrenaline, the ache of worry for them, and the strange, dangerous pull of having been part of this, of helping shape the battlefield.
The first stars were beginning to prick the sky, and you knew instinctively: once night truly fell, there would be no turning back. This was the moment. This is what every step here had been leading to.
Right�
You watch them methodically, each motion precise and practiced, almost ritualistic in its familiarity. Toby tightens the straps of his gear with one hand while checking the sharp edge of his hatchet with the other, glancing at you only once, letting a small smirk slip. Tim moves silently, adjusting his mask and gloves, the tension coiled in his shoulders like a spring, his eyes flicking toward the treeline as if reading the forest itself. Brian, steady and unshakable as ever, checks his rifle and flashlight, muttering quiet notes to himself as he goes through the motions heâs repeated countless times.
You watch them. Timâs pale mask, cracked slightly above his temple, dark eyes and lips hiding his usually stern complexion. Brian pulled his balaclava over his face, the deep red frown covering his toothy grin and soft eyes. And Toby, his goggles and muzzle strapped tight around his head, obscuring that goofy face he always gave you.
Monsters, killersâbut you werenât afraid of them.
They come together at the door, voices low but firm. Toby leans back slightly, eyes meeting yours through the orange-tinted glass, âListen⌠whatever y-you hear, whatever moves you s-seeâstay inside. Do not step o-out. Donât even think about it.â Tim nods in agreement, tone clipped and serious, âIt doesnât matter how close they get. Donât come outside. Youâll just put yourself in more danger.â Brian steps forward, calm but insistent, âWeâve got this. Youâve done your partânow let us do ours. Keep the mansion safe. Stay behind the doors, stay quiet, and trust us.â
You nod, trying to steady your voice, to convey more courage than you feel. Your fingers twitch at your side, heart hammering as you take in the sight of themâso prepared, so dangerous, so utterly unflinching. They look like hunters, not men, and the forest beyond looks alive with a darkness you can feel pressing in.
Tim moves closer, catching your hands in his own gloved ones. He reaches behind his back, unclipping something from his belt, and placing it into your hands. He positions your fingers around a pistol, guiding you gently, the heavy weight of it startling you. âSteady. Grip it like this⌠youâve got this. Youâve been planning this as much as we have. Tonight, youâre as ready as any of us.â His thumb brushes yours, brief and grounding, but you can feel the weight of the weapon, the seriousness of whatâs about to happen.
You breathe through it, nodding again. âOkay. I⌠Iâm ready.â
Toby smirks again, ruffling your hair, but thereâs a sharp edge in his gaze as he steps back. âDonât worry. Weâll han-handle the rest. Just⌠stay put, y-yeah?â
Brian gives a small, reassuring nod, and with a few words of final instruction, the three of them pivot toward the night, their movements silent but purposeful as they disappear toward the forest edge, leaving you standing at the threshold, pistol in hand, heart hammering. The mansion suddenly feels heavier, charged with anticipation. The traps you helped set, the fire, the tripwiresâtheyâre all waiting. And so are you.
You settle onto the couch in the sitting room first, the weight of the pistol heavy in your hands, knuckles white around the grip. The familiar cushions feel grounding, yet the silence of the manor presses against you, thick and almost suffocating. Every tick of the old clock, every groan of the wooden floors seems louder than normal, like the house itself is holding its breath. Your heart hammers in your chest as your eyes flick to the window. Against your better judgment, you rise, the pistol clutched tightly in both hands. You draw back the thick curtains, the fabric slipping through your fingers like water, and your gaze is immediately drawn to the garden, then further out, to the edge of the treeline.
Through the dim light of the moon, you can see them. Toby, Tim, and Brian, spread out across the yard in careful positions, each one poised and ready. Their stances are measured, familiar yet strange in their intensity. The way Toby shifts slightly, gripping his hatchet; Tim scanning the forest with his mask and shotgun; Brian adjusting his rifle and crouching by a fire lureâthey all look like predators, more dangerous than anything youâve ever seen.
You swallow, trying to steady yourself. Even knowing theyâre there to protect you, your chest tightens, fear mingling with admiration and an aching, inexplicable longing. Your fingers flex on the trigger, not from intent but instinct, as your eyes follow every careful movement, noting how the traps you helped set gleam faintly in the low light, and realizing how meticulously everything has been laid.
The manor behind you feels almost alive, its candles flickering faintly in the interior shadows, casting the sitting room in a warm glow that does nothing to ease the chill crawling up your spine. You take a shuddering breath, reminding yourself that this is the plan, that you are ready, that you are a part of this. Yet your mind keeps flashing to the Rakes lurking just beyond the edge of sight, and your pulse refuses to slow. You clutch the pistol tighter, leaning forward slightly against the window frame, watching, waiting.
You see Brian raise his rifle into the air, aiming right above the treetops. Three sharp cracks split the night air, each shot echoing off the distant trees. The sound makes your chest jerk violently with each report, and you instinctively wrap your arms around yourself. The manor seems to shiver with the recoil of the shots, as if even the walls themselves are aware of the danger you canât yet see. Tiny vibrations run through the window frame beneath your fingertips, forcing you to take a step back, heart hammering.
Then, almost immediately, the night stills. The rustling leaves have gone silent. The wind seems to hold its breath. For a suspended moment, you feel like the world itself is waiting, listening. Your pulse pounds in your ears, a frantic drum against the quiet, and you realize that youâre not even breathingâyou canât. Your eyes dart to the edge of the treeline, to the darkness just beyond the manicured garden, trying to pierce the shadow that now feels like a wall of malice.
Time stretches and warps; minutes feel like hours. Every snap of a twig, every rustle of grass makes you flinch, gripping the pistol so tightly it aches. And thenâ
A scream.
It doesnât just pierce the night. It rips through it, tearing your chest open with fear. Your stomach drops, your spine stiffens, and every hair on your body stands on end. Itâs guttural, inhuman, a sound that seems to crawl into the manor with you, echoing off walls, bouncing in every corner, and you canât help but jerk back from the window.
Then movementâtwo figures flash across the treeline. Rakes. Too fast, impossibly thin, limbs bending at unnatural angles, heads tilting unnervingly as they move. Shadows leap through the trees with an almost predatory grace, muscles coiling, bodies taut. The world seems to slow around them, every detail sharp: their pale, glistening skin catching the faint moonlight, their claws scraping branches, their faces twisted in a mockery of human features.
You press your forehead to the glass, hands trembling, feeling your pulse thrum like a drumbeat of panic. The garden stretches out between you and the edge of the forest, the traps you helped set gleaming faintly, lines of barbed wire taut and ready. You want to move, to yell, to warn themâbut you canât. Youâre frozen, watching them, every instinct screaming to run and every rational thought screaming that running would get you killed.
And then, faintly, you hear it: the quiet coordination of your boys. Tobyâs hatchet swinging, the snap of wood under his boots, the steady handiness of Timâs shotgun being readied, Brianâs voice barking orders. Their presence is almost invisible, but it anchors you, a fragile lifeline in the chaos of sound and shadow. Your fingers tighten on the pistol, your teeth grit against your fear, and you realize youâre completely, utterly at the mercy of whatâs comingâbut youâre not powerless. You are watching. You are armed. You are part of this. And the rakes are already moving into your carefully prepared traps.
The first rakeâs attention locks onto Toby almost instantlyâits lean, pale frame elongating unnaturally as it hurls itself toward him, claws scraping at the ground, head cocked in a predatory tilt. You hold your breath, gripping the pistol so tightly it aches, willing him to see it before itâs too late.
Then, chaos. It lunges forward, breaking the treeline, only for its outstretched limb to snag on a tripwire you helped set, and the reaction is immediate. A container tipped over, doused in accelerant, catches a small spark from the pre-set lighter Toby had rigged along the wire. A sudden burst of flame leaps into the air, licking the rakeâs side. Its scream pierces the nightâear-shattering, inhumanâa noise that sends shivers crawling up your spine and makes you press your face into the glass. You can see the fire licking its thin body, the way its claws flail against the flames as it twists in midair, smoke curling around its form.
The second rakeâs attention is drawn immediately to the commotion. You barely have time to process its direction when it charges blindly, aiming for the opposite side of the yard. It doesnât notice the pit trap until itâs too late. The creature tumbles headlong into the hole, limbs flailing, and becomes entangled in the barbed wire and jagged logs set to capture them. It screams, thrashing violently, struggling to free itself, but itâs caughtâand thatâs when Tim moves. You see him raise the shotgun, his eyes narrowed, body rigid against the tension. The flash of the gun, the loud report, and the second rake goes still, its head shattered by the well-aimed shot. You feel your stomach lurch, your chest tight with relief, fear, and adrenaline all at once.
Toby lands a few feet away, his hatchet still in hand, smoke curling around him, a jumpy, satisfied energy escaping him despite the chaos. Heâs unharmed, though singed slightly, and you can see him scanning the treeline for any other movement. The fire dances along the first rakeâs body, slowing its movements but not entirely consuming it yet, and you realize the battle has truly begunâbut for the first time, your plan is working.
At first, the rakes appear in tricklesâshadows darting at the edges of the treeline, cautious and scatteredâbut soon they swarm, their elongated limbs and jagged, unnatural angles making them almost impossible to track. You can feel the panic building inside them; theyâre disoriented by the fire, the barbed wire, the pits. Yet despite the traps, theyâre still trying to reach the manor, scrambling over obstacles, clawing at anything in their way. Thereâs more than a handful of them, but the boys manage.
Toby moves like a storm, swinging his hatchet, driving them away from the house. Timâs shotgun roars intermittently, each crack of the gun echoing across the yard as rakes topple into traps or get pinned between barbed wire and sharpened logs. Brianâs rifle pierces the night, precise shots hitting the creatures in the head or chest, sending them crashing into the flames or tangled in wires. You watch, heart hammering, the pistol in your hands feeling both heavy and insignificantâeach movement of your friends fills you with awe, and terror, and desperation.
The rakes shriek and scramble, their pale limbs snagging, bodies igniting in the small fires youâd set, skin melting slightly in the heat, smoke curling in grotesque clouds as the flames lick along their torsos. One struggles against a pit trap, screaming in that high, unnatural pitch, thrashing wildly as Tim pumps another shell into it, sending it still. Another slams into the barbed wire, its claws slicing through the material, leaving behind shredded cloth and jagged marks before Toby swings down, splitting its spine with a single strike. Your stomach churns, but you canât look awayâyou know itâs them or the rakes.
Youâve been staring at the sketches for hours, memorizing every crooked limb, every twisted angle, every detail that made them horrifying. Itâs helped you recognize them, anticipate their movements, but your stomach still drops at every scream, every sharp jerk aimed at your friends. Youâre no longer scared for yourselfâyouâre terrified for them.
Then it happens. One of the rakes, faster than the rest, more desperate, somehow clears a pit that had trapped another. You see it leap over, limbs coiling unnaturally as it arcs through the airâand your breath catches in your throat. Its eyes, pale and glinting in the firelight, lock onto Tim. Itâs inhuman, precise, and terrifyingly strong.
Before Tim can react, it latches onto his shoulder with a clawed hand, slamming him into the wet, muddy ground with a brutal force that makes you gasp. He coils, the impact sending mud and rainwater spraying around him, and the rake hisses, twisting to keep him pinned. You feel a scream clawing up your throat as Toby and Brian explode into motion, weapons raised, the firelight casting long, frantic shadows across the chaos.
Your hands grip the pistol so tightly it aches, knuckles tight, and you take in the sceneâthe desperate scramble, the flames, the screams, the rain-slicked groundâand realize that the battle is no longer controlled. Itâs survival now, raw and terrifying, and your entire chest tightens with fear for your friends. The world narrows to the sound of your own heartbeat, the thick smoke curling into the air and the distant screeches of death echoing through the yard. Toby gets to Tim, shouting curses and swinging his hatchet as the creature twists to follow him. Brian is farther back, picking off stragglers, his rifle flashes bright against the darkness.
Tim scrambles, getting the shotgun up just in time, pumping a round high into the rakeâs skull. The shot lands perfectly. The rakeâs limbs twitch violently before collapsing into the mud, slick with ichor and firelight. You feel a surge of reliefâbut itâs fleeting. Relief never lasts in this house.
Toby drops to his knees beside Tim, gripping his shoulder, murmuring harsh, clipped words as he checks him over, and for a heartbeat, you dare to hope. Then, from the shadowed treeline, another rake bursts through. Itâs bigger, faster, impossibly long-limbed, and its movements are preciseâaimed straight for the three of them.
Your chest tightens, panic spiking like a live wire through your veins. The pistol in your hands feels like nothing against whatâs charging, and you realize they canât see it yet. You lunge for the window, throwing it open with all your strength, the smoke-dense air immediately clogging your senses.
âToby! Tim! Brian!â Your voice cuts through the storm, raw and frantic, echoing across the yard. âFuckâLOOK OUTââ
The moment your voice tears through the night, the rakeâs head jerks unnaturally, eyes like twin voids locking directly on you. Its shriek splits the storm, and before the boys can even redirect their fire, it pivots away from themâaway from Tobyâs hatchet, from Brianâs rifle sight, from Timâs shotgun barrelâand comes straight for the manor. Straight for you.
Your stomach drops.
âShitââ The curse rips out of you as your hands yank the window closed so hard the glass rattles in the frame. The lock barely clicks before youâre stumbling back, heart hammering so violently it aches in your ribs. The creatureâs scream follows, closer, closer, and you donât think, you just run. Your shoes slam against the hardwood as you sprint through the hall, hair whipping around your face. You take the stairs two, three at a time, lungs seizing as you drag yourself upward. Behind youâfar too closeâyou hear the glass shatter, an explosion of shards and wood splinters as the rake tears through the sitting room window. The manor groans under its weight.
The boysâ voices cut through the chaosâTobyâs especially. Youâve never heard him scream like that, pure fury and desperation echoing your name.
Your legs are jelly, but adrenaline keeps you moving, claws of panic scraping your spine. You stumble into your room, slam the heavy door, fingers scrambling for the bolt. It slides into place with a solid, metallic thunk just as the floorboards below shudder with impact. You press your back against the door, breath ragged, every nerve in your body electrified. The house feels alive around youâwalls shaking, echoes of the rakeâs shrieks bouncing up the stairwell. Something smashes below, the sound of furniture being overturned, Tobyâs voice roaring in reply.
And then you hear it. The Rake. Snarling, dragging its claws over the floorboards as it searches, as it climbs.
Itâs in the house.
And Tobyâgod, Tobyâs voice rips through again, closer this time, full of fire and teeth, âUgly fuckerâ!â
You backpedal until your shoulders meet cold glass, the candlelight trembling in its holders as your room shakes with every crash from the hall. The pistol is slick in your grip, your hands trembling so hard you can hear the tiny scrape of your finger stuttering against the trigger guard. Your breaths come short, sharp, chest rising and falling like youâre drowning on dry air.
From beyond the door, itâs chaos. Tobyâs voice rises in a snarl, matched by the inhuman screech of the rake. You hear them slam into the wall hard enough to rattle plaster dust from the ceiling. The manor screams around youâcolumns cracking, beams groaning, paintings torn from the walls and hitting the floor with a splintering crash.
You squeeze your eyes shut for a second, heart hammering as you try to steady the barrel with both hands. Your uncleâs journals, the sketches, the warnings about how fast these things moveâit all swirls in your head until youâre sick. But the sound of gunfire outside snaps you back. Sharp, relentless cracks from Brianâs rifle, followed by Timâs shotgun blasts. Theyâre still out there, holding back the swarm.
You canât think about them. You have to think about this one.
The world narrows, breath hissing between your teeth as you aim at the door. And then it comesâ
A slam that nearly tears the hinges loose. The wood groans, warping under the sheer force. The bolt lock screeches against the impact, metal grinding against metal. You bite back a sob, adjusting your stance, trying to find enough steadiness in your knees to keep the gun pointed straight.
âTOBYââ you cry.
Another slamâthis one harder, shaking the entire frame. Dust and splinters rain from the top of the door. The snarl on the other side is guttural, primal, rattling every nerve in your body until you feel like youâll shatter with it.
You can hear Toby tooâscrambling closer, angry and desperate, his voice breaking with every curse. Heâs still fighting, but the rake isnât stopping. Not for him. Not when it knows youâre here.
The door doesnât just breakâit explodes. Wood and splinters spray across your floor as the rake barrels through, a blur of pale limbs and teeth. You barely have time to register before instinct takes overâone, two shots fired point-blank, the recoil jolting up your arms. Both rounds hit, you know they doâyou saw the impactâbut the thing doesnât falter. Doesnât even twitch.
Your stomach drops.
It comes at you with a shriek that feels like itâs ripping out your spine. You stumble sideways, shoes sliding on the wood, scrambling out of its path as it smashes into the tall window where you stood. The glass shudders under its weight, a spiderweb of cracks spreading in a single heartbeat. Cold night air knifes through the room.
You barely get your breath when the doorframe shakes againâand this time itâs Toby.
He slams into the rake without hesitation, shoulder meeting its chest with a sickening crack, driving it away from you. He doesnât even glance in your directionâdoesnât have toâhis entire focus is pinning the creature, keeping it away from where you cower with the pistol clutched uselessly in your hands.
For a moment, it works. They crash together across the room, tearing at each other, knocking furniture aside like toys. But the rake twists, viciously fast, claws slicing down Tobyâs shoulder as it wrestles him to the ground. His hatchet goes skittering across the floorboards, spinning out of reach.
You scream his name, but he doesnât answer. Doesnât even breathe. His entire body strains against the rakeâs weight, arms trembling as claws pin down his shoulders. For a split second you think itâs overâ
And then Toby snarls, driving his knee up hard, boot slamming into the rakeâs leg. The sound is like a branch snapping under too much weight. The creature screeches, staggering just enough. Toby rolls, crawling desperately across the floor, fingers outstretched until they close around the hatchetâs worn handle.
He twists his whole body, throwing his arm. He swings. The blade buries itself into the back of the rakeâs skull with a wet, cracking sound. It convulses, jerks, but Toby doesnât stop. He climbs to his feet. He swings again. And again. Five, six brutal arcs, each one crunching louder than the last, until the floor is slick and the walls echo with his ragged growls.
You shout his nameâonce, twice, louder each time, until your throat burns. âToby!â
Finallyâfinallyâhis arm stops. The hatchet clatters from his grip, bouncing once against the blood-streaked floorboards. His chest heaves, sweat and blood slicking his hair to his face as he takes shaky steps back away from the creature. Only then does he look at you.
His muzzle and goggles hit the floor hard, rattling against the ruined wood as Toby tears them off. In three strides heâs on you. His hands slam to either side of your face, rough palms trembling as he forces you to look at him.
âW-W-What the fu-fuck were you t-thinking?â His voice cracks, sharp and angry, words punching through the sound of your own sobs beginning to break through. âYelling o-out the window li-like that? Y-You couldâveââ His jaw tightens, throat bobbing as he swallows whatever image flashes through his head. âJesusâfuck.â
Your lips part, but nothing comes outâjust broken little hiccups of breath, the tears streaming too fast down your cheeks, adrenaline thrumming through your body.
And then his anger folds. Crumples. His arms slide around your head, pulling you in hard, crushing you against his chest. Youâre sobbing into his torn jacket before you can even think, fists knotting into the fabric. His chin drops to the crown of your head, the stubble of his jaw brushing your hair as he holds you like heâll never let go. He smells so strongly of bonfire smoke.
When he finally leans back, he keeps your face caged in his hands, thumbs swiping at your wet cheeks even though they just keep filling again. His gaze burns into yours, frantic, desperate. âYouâre o-okay?â he mutters, voice hoarse. âTell m-me youâre okay. J-Justâsay it.â
Your eyes catch on his shoulderâthe ugly tear in his jacket, blood seeping dark down the sleeve. âTobyâyour shoulderââ
âForget it.â He cuts you off, shaking his head hard, wild curls bouncing. âItâs nothing. Doesnât m-ma-matter. Not if youâreââ
A sound from outside interrupts himâa shrill scream, followed by gunfire, followed by Brianâs voice shouting something you canât make out.
Toby freezes, head whipping toward the broken window. His jaw sets like stone. In a single motion, he grabs his hatchet off the floor with one hand and your wrist with the other, yanking you up to your feet.
âCome on.â His grip is firm, unrelenting, pulling you with him as he drags you out of the wreckage of your room. âY-You canât stay in here.â
Tobyâs grip on your wrist is iron, dragging you fast, your heels skipping to keep up. The stairwell rattles under your weight, boards groaning, shards of shattered door crunching beneath your shoes.
The manor doesnât look like your manor anymore. Not the home youâd been trying so hard to breathe life back into. The sitting roomâyour sanctuaryâis torn apart, claw marks gouged deep into the walls and across the floorboards like some furious script. The couch, your couchâthe one where you all sat together, laughing, fighting, eatingâhas been shredded straight through, fabric spilling its guts of cotton batting. Every painting lining the hallway hangs crooked or torn, frames cracked. The elegant wooden bannister youâve brushed your fingers along every morning has a brutal, jagged split, as though the house itself had taken a wound.
You canât help the sound that leaves your throat. A strangled little noise, grief tangled with terror. Your manorâyour uncleâs manorâis bleeding with you.
Toby doesnât let you linger. His broad back blocks your view as he hustles you through the kitchen, one hand clamped hard to his hatchet, his other dragging you tight against him. Every inch of him screams urgency, but you can feel the way he angles his body to shield yours.
The moment he shouldered through the back door, night swallowed you both whole. And itâs worse than before.
Gunshots crack in quick, merciless rhythm, Brianâs rifle spitting fire at the treeline. Sparks flare each time a round hits metal or stone. Tim is beside him, shotgun braced tight against his shoulder, reloading with grim efficiency, smoke curling off the barrel.
And then you see them.
The treeline churns with pale, sinewy shapes. A dozenâmore than a dozenâskittering and darting between the shadows, their screams splitting the night. Their eyes glint white when the muzzle flares catch them, their long limbs tangled in wire, some singed from fires sputtering in the pits. Still, they keep coming, their bodies writhing and snapping against the traps like animals too furious to retreat.
The traps hold some at bay, but others push closer, throwing themselves toward the boys, toward the manor, toward you.
Brian doesnât turn, doesnât look backâjust shouts through his mask, his voice raw and loud enough to slice through the gunfire. âTheyâre breaching! Hold the damn line!â Tim racks his shotgun, body clenched, and fires again. The recoil throws his shoulders back, but the rake in his sights drops like a felled tree. Toby tenses in front of you, muscles stiff, and you can feel his ribs expand with each ragged breath. He keeps you glued against him, his stance wide, his hatchet gleaming faintly in the gunfireâs light.
And there it isâstanding at the threshold of the back steps, your house at your back, the woods screaming ahead of youâyou realize youâre no longer an onlooker behind glass.Â
Tobyâs arm is a vice around your waist as he pulls you across the slick grass, boots pounding through mud. The air smells like copper and gunpowder, thick with smoke from fires burning low at the treeline. Every scream makes your blood freeze, every flash of pale limbs twisting in the dark sends a surge of panic through your chest, but Toby doesnât falter. He keeps you tight against him, dragging you forward with his frame cutting a path, hatchet ready if another rake tries to break through.
By the time you reach the center of the yard, Tim and Brian whip toward you. Both of them clock you instantly, and their fury is almost louder than the gunfire.
Tim shoves his mask up, his anger-cracked voice breaking through the night. âThe fuck, kid?!â Heâs already storming toward you, shotgun slung to his side, boots splashing mud. âWhy the hell would you bring her out here?â
Brian doesnât even spare him a glanceâheâs too busy pivoting, rifle raised, firing two consecutive shots that drop another pair of rakes clawing their way past the traps. Sparks flare across his mask, his voice muffled but sharp with rage. âAre you out of your goddamn mind?!â
Toby snarls back, pulling you tighter to his side even as he turns in a half-circle to keep the yard scanned. âSheâd b-be dead if I left h-her inside! Windowâs g-goneâthing was in t-the house!â
Before you can even breathe, Timâs hands are on you, gripping your shoulders hard. He yanks you out of Tobyâs hold like youâre being pulled between two tides, his body shielding yours immediately, his shotgun slung awkwardly against your side as he braces you. His voice drops lower when he sees your face, sees the trembling pistol clutched in your hands. âHey. Hey, look at me. Youâre alright, yeah? Youâre good.â
Your throat works, but no words come out. The pistol feels like it weighs more than your body, your hands shaking so badly the barrel wavers.
Tobyâs chest heaves, blood still seeping from his shoulder where the rake had gotten him earlier. Heâs pacing, muttering, his hatchet twitching in his grip as he keeps his eyes glued to the treeline. âDidnât h-have a choice. Didnât have a fu-fucking choice.â
The fight is chaos all around youâthe shrieks of rakes tearing through the treeline, the thunder of gunfire, the sharp metallic smell of blood and smokeâbut Timâs voice cuts through it like a blade.
âWeâre done,â he snaps, chest heaving. His eyes slash over Brian and Toby, then down to you still shaking beside him. âShe doesnât stay out here another second. Sheâs leaving.â
Itâs like time stops. Brian stiffens, his rifle lowering slightly as if he canât believe he heard him right. Toby jerks his head toward him, eyes wide and shaky, rage flashing hot across his face. But neither of them argue. Neither of them deny it. Instead, silence rolls in heavy, broken only by the growls in the woods.
Your heart seizes. âNoâno, Iâm not going anywhereââ you shout, voice ragged, raw with tears. âYou canâtâyou canât make meââ
But Tim doesnât let you finish. He hooks his arm around your waist, dragging you hard against him as he barrels across the yard. Your boots skid in the wet grass, your body thrashing, but his grip is unrelenting. Every step forward is a war as you claw at him, cry against him, your pistol nearly slipping from your hands.
âTim, stop!â Your voice cracks, your chest heaving. âIâm not leaving youâIâm notââ
âYou are,â he bites out, hauling you through mud and into the gravel drive. The truck waits there like some looming salvation, headlights dark, windshield streaked with rain tracks, that tarp still covering the window. Every step he takes feels like betrayal twisting deeper into your chest.
âIâm notââ You fight harder, shoving at him, tugging his jacket, but he spins on you, his hands gripping your arms so hard you flinch. His voice is thunder now, ripped from the depths of his lungs, desperate and sharp.
âIf you donât leaveâif you donât drive far, far from hereâyouâre going to die tonight.â His face is inches from yours, sweat dripping off his jaw, eyes wild and hardened. âYouâll get ripped apart out here, you hear me? Theyâll tear you to shreds.â
You shake your head violently, tears blurring your sight. âI donât careâI donât care, Iâm not leaving youââ
âYes, you do.â His grip loosens, but only so he can rip open the door and shove you into the driverâs seat. The old leather squeals under your weight as you land, disoriented, your hands scrambling for anything to hold. You drop the pistol onto the floor, it clattering near the petal. Tim rips the door wider, leaning inside just long enough to snatch the keys from the cupholder. His jaw locks as he shoves them into the ignition, the metallic click echoing finality.
Youâre sobbing now, gripping the steering wheel like it might hold you down, keep you from floating away from everything youâve come to know. âPlease, Timâplease donât make meââ And then he does something that steals the last of your breath.Â
He grabs your face. Both hands, rough gloved palms warm against your tear-soaked cheeks, forcing you to look at him. His eyes bore into yours, wild and raw and so unbearably human. His voice drops low, almost breaking.
âItâs better this way,â he tells you. âWeâre dangerous. Weâre nasty. Weâve never deserved youânot for a single goddamn second. Youâre going to leave, and youâre going to stay away from here, or Iâm going to kill you myself.â
It feels like the world caves in.
Before you can speak, before you can cling to him, before you can make him see youâre not afraidâhe pulls away. His hands fall from your face, his body turning, the door slamming so hard it rattles the frame around you. And then heâs gone, boots pounding back through mud, shotgun raised, swallowed by the night and the chaos as you sit there, shaking, staring through tears at his retreating form.
The steering wheel is cold beneath your palms, the leather cracked from years of use. You can still feel the imprint of Timâs hands on your cheeks, the warmth of his touch fading too quickly as the night swallows him whole. Your chest heaves, and it feels like your ribs are going to split apart.
Everything crashes over you at once.
The sitting room with its worn couches and candles, the warmth of Tobyâs laugh when youâd change his bandages, Brianâs steady hands guiding you to bed when you wouldnât stop studying, Timâs quiet reassurances in the kitchen at dawn when sleep never came. You remember the alcohol, the meals, the flirting that turned into something deeperâsomething unspoken but heavy, binding. You think about the traps, the days of work under the sun, the sweat, the calloused hands reaching for yours, the jokes they made even when exhaustion clung to their shoulders. You think about your fear of them, your lust for them, your overwhelming need to be in their presence no matter how terrified you were of everything else. No matter how many things youâve been through, itâs all come back to you and your friends.
And nowâTim is gone, swallowed into the night. Tobyâs blood is still fresh in your memory, streaked across his shoulder when he held your face. Brianâs rifle cracks still echo like thunder. They are out there fighting, bleeding, killing, dying.
And youâre hereâalone in a truck with the keys in the ignition.
The sobs rip through you violently, shaking you until your chest aches. You bury your face in the steering wheel first, muffling the sound against leather. Then your head slips sideways, forehead pressing into the console. The smell of dust and old oil fills your nose, sharp and bitter. You cry until your throat burns, until your vision swims, until the only thing you can hear besides your own breaking breaths are the shrieks of the rakes and the crack of rifles outside. Youâre useless, that voice inside you whispers. Youâll just be dead weight. Timâs right. You donât belong here. Youâll die.
Butâ
Something catches your eye. In the corner of your blurred vision, tucked against the back seat, thereâs a mess. A mess that isnât random. Gasoline cans. A jug of accelerant. A bundle of barbed wire tangled in rope. Even a couple small logs tossed carelessly, remnants of the trap-building. All of it shoved into the cab in a hurry, forgotten when the fighting started.
Your sobs stutter, catching in your chest. Slowly, you lift your head, vision sharpening on the pile. Itâs ugly and sharp and dangerousâand itâs everything your uncle ever wrote about. Everything he used. Everything that works.
An idea blossoms. A horrible, terrifying, perfect idea.
Your hand trembles as you reach back, fingertips brushing the cold plastic of the gas can. You drag it closer, the slosh of liquid inside sending shivers down your spine. Your brain starts moving faster than your fear, connecting dots you hadnât dared to before. Gasoline. Accelerant. Wire. The truck itself.
Itâs a weapon.
You choke on a laugh through your tears, the sound wet, broken, almost hysterical. Because suddenly, for the first time tonight, youâre not powerless. You can do something. Your uncle wanted fire. He wanted to burn them. And nowâyou can. Not one, not two, but dozens. All of them.
You press your palm hard over your mouth, trying to steady yourself, because the thought is so violent, so insane, it terrifies you. But itâs there. And itâs growing.
You donât have to leave them. You donât have to abandon the manor. You donât have to run. You can end this.
Your eyes flick to the windshield, catching the shapes darting in the yard, the blur of claws and teeth and screaming, the flash of muzzle fire. You see Toby swinging his hatchet again, blood on his face. Brian crouched low, reloading. Timâs silhouette just at the edge of the light, turning back toward the fight after shoving you in here.
And it hits you like a revelation: If youâre going to die, youâll die with them. But not useless. Not helpless.
With fire. With teeth of your own.
Your knuckles are white on the steering wheel as you slam the truck into drive. Gravel spits like shrapnel behind you, tires shrieking in protest as you rocket across the yard. Your heart hammers so violently you can barely hear yourself breathe, every nerve screaming that this is suicideâbut you press harder on the gas.
The boys blur in your peripheral. Timâs head whips toward you, his mask pushed halfway up, his mouth moving as he yellsâbut his voice doesnât reach you. Toby shouts, swinging his hatchet down into something that crumples at his feet, then jerks toward the truck, his goggles reflecting the headlights. Brian fires another shot, then spins as the roar of the engine rattles the ground.
Theyâre all shouting, all moving toward youâbut youâre gone before they can stop you.
The truck bucks and jolts as you tear past them, the yard disappearing in streaks of shadow and firelight. You weave between broken patches of barbed wire, rattling teeth-clenched over the uneven ground. A gap opensâjust two trees lashed with twisted strands of wireâand you gun it, slamming through, metal squealing as wire scrapes down the sides.
The treeline swallows you whole. Branches whip at the hood, clawing the windshield, but you donât stop. You keep your eyes on the rearview.Â
Theyâre following.
The first few rakes dart from the shadows, spindly limbs glinting pale in the moonlight. Then more. You count six. Eight. A dozen. Their bodies move in jerks, in blurs, sprinting low to the ground as they give chase, pulled from the manor by the thunder of your engine, by the prey youâve made yourself. Your chest is ice and fire all at once. You keep driving, pushing them deeper, deeper, until the glow of the manor is gone and the forest swallows every sound. Only your heartbeat and the guttural screams echo through the trees.
You slam the brake. The truck screeches, fishtailing slightly before jerking to a violent stop. Your body flings forward into the belt, breath knocked out of you, but you donât hesitate. You slam it into park.
Move. Move. Move.
You scramble into the back seat, fumbling with shaking hands until you yank a gas can into your lap. The slosh of fuel inside is deafening. You yank the lid and it glugs out, splattering over the upholstery, the windows, the seatbelt buckle slick with it. The smell burns your nose and stings your eyes. You clamber out the door, boots slipping in damp grass, and start dousing the outside. You splash gasoline down the sides, the hood, the bed. You pour it over the tires, dark rivulets running into the dirt. Another canâaccelerant, sticky and chemicalâgoes over the hood, into the engine seams, dripping in fat trails down the chrome. Youâre shaking so violently you almost drop the container, your fingers numb, but you donât stop. You stumble around the truck, splashing more onto the grass, soaking a wide circle. The earth drinks it hungrily, the fumes heavy and cloying in the still night air.
Behind you, in the distance, the screams are louder. Branches snap. The rakes are coming.
You slam the last can down, chest heaving, eyes darting back to the truck. It gleams slick and wet under the moonlight, reeking like a bomb waiting for a match.
This is it. This is all youâve got left.
Your breath is ragged, lungs screaming for air, but your hands move without thought. You dive back into the cab of the truck, knees slamming the seat as you stretch across the console. Your trembling fingers fumble until they close around cold steelâyour pistol, half-buried on the floor where you dropped it earlier. You grip it so tight your knuckles ache, dragging it up into your lap.
Then you slam your other hand down onto the horn. The truck wails, a long, broken scream that shudders through the trees. The sound rips the stillness apart, echoing like a challenge through the black forest.
Every hair on your body rises. You can hear them answer. Distant at firstâskittering claws against bark, shrieks splitting the silence. Then closer. Branches snapping. Leaves tearing. The forest moving toward you.
You donât let go. You keep your hand pressed down, the hornâs mechanical scream mixing with your own voice as you shout into the dark. âCome on! Right here!â You slam the horn one more time, and the wheel jams, the sound blasting infinitely.
Theyâre coming. Fast.
Your pulse spikes until you think youâll faint. The first shadow cuts between two trees, pale and feral, its limbs jerking with that unnatural gait. You donât wait. You shove the door open, boots hitting damp earth, and sprint in the opposite direction. The horn still wails behind you, the truckâs scream dragging them closer. You dart into the dark, lungs burning, and throw yourself against the thick trunk of a tree. You press your back to the bark, trying to still your heaving chest, breathing through your nose in shallow pulls.
Donât move. Donât breathe. Donâtâ
Another shriek. You chance a glance, just enough to see through the undergrowth.
Theyâre on it.
One rake leaps at the truck, spindly limbs slamming against the driverâs side, claws tearing through the tarped window like paper. Glass explodes, and the thing shoves its head inside, screaming at the smell of fuel and the constant horn. Another bounds after it, claws catching the hood, ripping it back with a metallic screech. A third scrambles across the roof, hammering at it, desperate. Theyâre swarming, nearly all of them either bounding their way towards it, or already jumping it. Six, sevenâtenâfourteen.
Your hand shakes so violently you almost drop the gun, but you lift it anyway. You raise the pistol, line up the sights, every muscle taut with the fear that youâll miss. The engine grill gleams faintly in the dark, slick with accelerant.
You suck in one shallow, trembling breathâ
And squeeze the triggerâonce, twice, three times. The pistol bucks, the sound sharp and unnatural against the chaos. Sparks flash from the grill, metal pinging as the rounds punch through. The engine coughs. Pops. Smoke belches out in thick, oily coils, hissing up into the night.
For a beat, nothing.
The rakes pause mid-snarling frenzy, their elongated heads twisting toward you in perfect, awful unison. Their bodies still, claws flexing against the mangled truck. The forest itself seems to stop breathing.
âShitââ you hiss, breath catching. One of them crouches, muscles bunching.
And then the world ends.
BOOM.
The truck erupts like a warhead. A fireball rips through the night, so bright it blinds you, swallowing the trees in a split-second flare. The explosion climbs skyward, a burning column that makes the treetops glow. The blast hits you like a wall, knocking your hair back, searing the skin on your face, your arms.
The rakes donât scream right away. Not until the fire eats them. You see them flailâbodies twisted and jerking as the flames seize their pale skin, clinging like the fire itself was made for them. Their shrieks rip the forest apart, the sound so loud it rattles your bones. They thrash, tearing at themselves, clawing at the earth, at each other, anything to get it offâbut the fire doesnât burn like normal. It races, eating faster, hotter, like their bodies are accelerants feeding it.
One collapses on the hood, its torso splitting open as fire pours out from within, hollowing it. Another stumbles into the grass, convulsing, before it justâcrumbles. Ash in seconds.
You canât move. You canât breathe. Your pistol hangs limp at your side as you stare into the inferno. The smell of scorched earth, of meat, of something wrong hits you in waves. The soundâthose screamsâthey burrow straight into your chest. You donât even realize youâre crying until the tears scald down your hot cheeks.
The air is thick with burningâso hot your lungs can barely drag in breath. The horn is still shrieking from the twisted ruin of the truck, its note warped and fizzling, a maddening siren wailing over the sound of screaming things dying. Theyâre everywhere, writhing in the flames. Fifteen of themâevery rake that had closed in on the manorârolling, thrashing, their pale bodies blackening and cracking as the fire devours them from the inside out. You did it. You killed them all. Itâs overâ
Movement.
Your eyes snap rightâjust in time to see one hurl itself from the fire. Itâs nothing but bone and flame, skin sloughing off in wet strips as it skitters toward you. Its mouth stretches wide, fangs glowing red in the heat, flesh dripping from its skull like candle wax.
âFuckâ!â you scream, raising the pistol.
You fire once, twice, three times. Bullets crack its skull, but it doesnât fallâit just stumbles, lunging again. Your heel catches on roots, and you spin, but itâs already there, claws catching your thigh. White-hot pain erupts as it drags you down, talons sinking deep. You scream, kicking, shoving, but the rake claws higher, ripping into your waist.
âNOâGET OFF!â
You jam the pistol against its jaw and fire. The recoil almost knocks it free. Blackened flesh bursts, bone splinteringâbut the thing doesnât stop. Its face is melting, dripping, its mouth opening wide to clamp down on you. The heat is so excruciating, marring your skin the closer it gets, charring your clothes and burning your senses. Terror overtakes youâferal, animal terror. Youâre sobbing, kicking, clawing at the dirt, trying to wrench free, your legs slipping in ash and mud. Your finger spasms, pulling the trigger until the pistol clicks empty, muzzle flashing with each desperate shot.
The world is nothing but heat and screaming.
You canât breathe, you canât thinkâyour ears ring from the horn and the sound of things dying, high-pitched and keening like a thousand nails on glass. It smells like scorched meat and copper, your own blood slick under you as the rake drags you closer to the flames. Its claws rake higher, tearing into your thigh, your hip, your chestâand the pain is so sharp you nearly black out. Youâre choking on your own sobs, on smoke, on fear. This is hell. This is hell.
It pulls one claw free, rearing back to drive it straight into your ribs, and thatâs when something inside you snaps.
If youâre going to die, itâs going to be by your own handânot theirs.
With a broken scream you reach forward into its mouth. Heat sears your palms instantly, the stink of burning flesh curling up from your own skin, but you keep going, jamming your fingers between its fangs. Itâs slick and wet and sticky with half-melted tissue. You grip hard and pull.
The sound it makes is not human. Wet cartilage and sinew tear, a crunching, stringy rip that vibrates up your arms. The jaw splits down the middle, skin peeling like paper. Youâre screaming with it now, your palms blistering, but you donât stop until the entire bottom jaw hangs loose in your hands and the thing lets out a gurgling hiss, collapsing half on top of you.
With one last heaveâlike Toby did in the manorâyou kick it. Hard. Its head snaps back, the ruined jaw lolling, and it stumbles just enough for you to roll. You roll and roll, over blood, over ash, until youâre free from its claws. You scramble to your knees, teeth bared, hair plastered to your face, and before it can reach again, you grab a jagged branch from the ground and drive it into the hole where its throat used to be. You push until it cracks.
It convulses once. Twice. Then itâs still.
The horn keeps blaring. The forest keeps burning. Your hands are shaking, blistered and bloody, smoke curling off your skin. But the thing is dead. You killed it. And for a secondâjust a secondâthereâs no sound but your heartbeat. Smoke rolls over the clearing like a serpent, thick and oily, turning the now rising sun into a dull smear of orange. Everything smells of ash, iron, and gasoline. The grass where youâre kneeling is black and fraying, melted into tar by the heat. The truck is nothing but a burning husk, its horn still blaring and then sputtering out in a long, warped whine.
You blink, trying to focus. The edges of your vision shudder, the color gone. You see shapesâshapes of charred bodies, rakes twisted and writhing in their last spasms, claws still curledâbut your eyes keep sliding off them. Itâs too much. All of it.
You push your palms against the ground to stand, and itâs like pressing your hands into coals. Blisters have already burst; the skin is tacky and raw, peeling where you touched the rakeâs jaw. A tremor rips up your arms and into your chest. You stagger upright, but the pain follows everywhere. Your thigh burns where its claws dug in, warmth running down your leg in thick, sticky rivulets. Your ribs⌠god, your ribs. Every breath feels like a knife slipping between them, hot and wet, like thereâs liquid where your lungs should be. You can taste it in your mouthâcopper, smoke, and something chalky you canât name.
The world tilts. You blink again, hard. For a heartbeat youâre sure youâre already dead. Youâre standing in the middle of a graveyard of monsters, and youâre just one more corpse swaying before it hits the ground.
But then, like a blessing, you hear your name being shouted by three distinct voices. Three familiar, lovely voices. Theyâre frantic, and theyâre panicked, but you couldnât be more happy to hear them. You turn, wobbly, to where the forest breaks. Three figures are tearing toward you through the haze, guns slung, faces pale under smeared masks. The moment they clear the smoke, they slow. They stop.
You take one step toward them, then another, clutching your ribs where the warmth gushes, your fingers coming away slick. The smell of your own blood is louder than the fire now.
Theyâre staring. Theyâre not even moving anymore. You try to smile, your lips cracking under the soot. âIâŚâ your voice breaks, a rasp. âI did it.â
For a moment the world is quiet, even the horn dying out at last. You take one more step. Your knees give. Your vision blurs into streaks of red and grey. The taste of iron floods your mouth. You think you hear them shouting again, sprinting, but itâs far away, like an echo in water. You hit the ground hard, cheek pressed into scorched earth. The last thing you feel is the warmth spilling from your ribs, the sting of blisters on your hands, the ache of every claw mark and burn along your skin.
Thenâblackâlike falling into a lake.
ââ .âŚ
Itâs hard to make it all out.
The world tilts and shivers around you, fragments of sight and sound snapping in and out like static. You feel weightless, yet every nerve is screaming. Brianâs arms are under you, solid, unyielding, carrying you like youâre both lighter and heavier than air at once. His mask is off, and glimpses of his face flicker through your hazy awarenessâgrim, focused, terrified.
The heat of the burning truck fades behind you, but the ache in your chest and legs is relentless, pulsing with every heartbeat. You try to speak, a hoarse laugh, a joke, anything to ease the tension of everything burning and screaming, but Tobyâs voice cuts through the fog, sharp and steady, âShut u-up. I-Itâs gonna b-be fine.â
You catch his eyes, goggles up, muzzle down, hands on your head, cradling you as if youâre made entirely of fragile glass. You try to reach for him, to tell him youâre okayâor at least that youâre still aliveâbut his hands guide you gently, and you sink back into Brianâs arms because theyâre so comforting.
Tim is on your other side, pulling at your shoes, his movements brisk but careful, peeling away the soaked, torn fabric over your thigh. You feel the cool night air touch the raw skin, and a stab of pain makes you gasp. You try to speak again, to tell him itâs okay, that you can handle it, but he doesnât look at you. He wonât let you meet his eyes. You can feel his concentration, his fear, the way his hands linger just long enough to be steadying without hurting.
You slip in and out of consciousness, flashes of the forest, the flames, the exploding truck, all bleeding into the warm, familiar glow of your manor. Brianâs arms, Tobyâs hands, Timâs careful motionsâthey are everywhere and nowhere all at once. The chaos, the heat, the horror of it all, it mixes into a dizzying haze. And thenâfinallyâthe main thing you remember is the smell of the manor, soot and candle wax, woodsmoke and dust, mingling with the faint, reassuring scent of the boys themselves. You feel the crash of the back door, the shift of weight, then the terrible stiffness of the kitchen table under your back.
The fluorescent light overhead hums softly, harsh and stark against the shadows of the room. Youâre laid out on the hard surface, the same way you once watched Toby, clutching his hands while the world seemed to tilt, though now the terror is painfully real. Now itâs your turn, only you get to feel every minute of the pain, unlike him.
Toby is at your head, leaning over you, voice low and steady. âHey⌠look a-at me, princess. Itâs okay. Youâre s-still here.â His fingers brush against your cheek, gentle, grounding, and you instinctively reach for him, clutching the fabric of his jacket. But then your eyes drift down to your handsâthe blood, the scorched skin, the scalded blisters and abrasionsâand you canât stop the sudden flood. Tears stream down your cheeks, hot and sticky against the ache of your wounds.
Toby presses his lips to your palms, one after the other, softly. âItâs gon-gonna be f-fine,â he murmurs, his voice a tether holding you to the present, pulling you from the edges of panic.
Brian and Tim move around you efficiently, silently commanding the space. Brian pulls out every piece of medical gear in the kitchen: scissors, gauze, antiseptic, bandages, sutures. Tim starts ripping open your torn clothing, cleaning off the soaked fabric, disinfecting the worst of the blood before Brian can work. You try to joke, teasing them about getting you undressed, but they donât laughâtheyâre focused, intense, unwavering in their attention to you.
You feel everythingâthe sting of disinfectant, the pressure of hands cleaning your wounds, the way your skin burns from scrubbing, the soreness in muscles that barely had a chance to recover. Your consciousness starts swimming, flickering between moments: you can see the rakes, the burning truck, the manor in chaos, and then itâs Brianâs hands on you, Timâs careful motions, Tobyâs warm presence anchoring your head.
Toby leans closer, rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs, eyes locked on yours. âBreathe f-for me. Focus here. Youâre ok-okay, sweet girl, weâve g-got you.â His voice is soft, coaxing, a shield against the fire and pain still echoing through your body. You cling to him, feeling his heartbeat beneath your palms, the steadiness of him, the assurance that despite everything, youâre not alone. Your vision swims, tears still blurring it, but in the midst of all the pain, the chaos, the horror youâve survived, thereâs a tetherâa line of warmth and protection that only they provide. Toby keeps talking, quietly, softly, a gentle rhythm to your panic, a constant reminder that youâre alive, that you made it through, that somehow, in this hellish moment, you are safe.
The kitchen smells sharp and acrid, antiseptic mixing with the lingering smoke from the manor and the burnt earth outside. Your body is cold against the table, legs splayed, chest heaving, burns sizzling along your shoulders and collarbone, skin blistered, blackened in some places, raw and tender in others. The claw gashes along your thighs dig deep, uneven, jagged, ragged from the rakeâs grip. Your ribs throb with every breath, the skin split and bloodied where its claws tore across your side.
Brian kneels beside you first, gloved hands moving swiftly. He sprays antiseptic, the sting shocking you into a hiss, and your hands clamp onto the edge of the table, knuckles white. He murmurs apologies, trying to soothe the sting as he gently spreads your skin to stitch jagged cuts closed. Each needle tears at your flesh, leaving streaks of crimson, and your stomach twists. You cry out, a raw sound, half panic, half pain.
Tim crouches near your other side, soaking gauze and cleaning away the soot and blood, his fingers pressing firmly but carefully into raw burns and gouges. Every brush of the fabric over your blistered skin makes you hiss, jerking away, tears running freely. âBreathe,â he says, voice firm but calm, and you try, even as the stinging keeps you hyperventilating. He swears under his breath, hissing when a particularly deep gouge bleeds more than expected.
Toby is at your head, steadying you as you thrash. He murmurs encouragement, keeping your attention. âLook at m-me, look a-at me. You were so br-brave tonightâyou figured out a-a plan, y-you saved us all. Thatâs what matters. Y-Youâre amazing, princess.â You squeeze his hands, voice broken and cracking, trying to ask him if itâs bad, if the damage is too much, but he shakes his head. âNo. None of th-that matters now. Just hold o-on. Focus on m-me.â
You feel Brian and Timâs movements on your body, one stitching a jagged gash along your ribcage while the other cleans and dresses a raw claw mark across your thigh. The sting of antiseptic, the tug of the needle, the pressure of bandages pressed against burnt and split skinâitâs all overwhelming. You scream, cry, hiss, and wriggle under their hands, unable to process how much of yourself is ruined. Tim growls when a particularly deep cut gags you with pain; Brianâs face is tight, apologetic but methodical as he clamps and sutures. Toby keeps you tethered, whispering, joking lightly, pressing kisses to your hands, your cheeks, murmuring how brilliant you were, how much courage it took to do what you did. âY-Youâre going to be fine, sweet g-girl.â You cling to him, nails digging into his arms, rocking slightly, as the others continue their work, their own faces straining with concentration and worry.
Every stitch, every swipe of cloth, every careful bandaging of burnt and clawed flesh is agonizing. Your chest feels tight, ribs pulsing with pain, thighs burning, shoulders screaming, and yet Tobyâs presence grounds you. âLook at me,â he repeats again and again, voice low, coaxing, pulling you back from the spiraling haze of pain. You cry against him, wet and broken, body wracked, but through it, you canât help but be glad that youâre in their hands.
Brian bends beside you, gloves damp with blood, eyes scanning the jagged tear along your ribs. âIâm going to have to lift you,â he says softly, but you hear the steel underneathâthe necessity.
Toby steps sideways to your head and torso, pressing his arm under your neck and lifting, angling your ruined ribs towards Brian. Tim grips your legs and hips, holding you tight, keeping you from thrashing as every muscle in your body screams in pain. You scream anyway, nails digging into their arms, tearing at their clothes, jerking and shaking against them. Every breath sends stabs of agony through your ribs, every move sets fire through the fresh burns on your chest and shoulders.
Brian moves carefully, the needle threaded and ready, but even he hesitates for a heartbeat, staring at the raw flesh exposed through the tear in your side. You hiccup between sobs, reaching out for him, your fingers brushing against his forearm. âIâm so sorry,â he murmurs, his voice breaking. âIâm sorry we werenât there sooner. I swear, youâll be alright.â
Toby hums low against your temple, pressing gentle kisses into your hair, murmuring words to keep you tethered to the moment. âHold on, ok-okay? Breathe with me. Focus h-here.â His hands tighten slightly, bracing your torso as Tim adjusts his grip on your hips to lift just enough to let Brian work.
Brianâs needle pierces the skin, dragging thread carefully, painfully across the tear. The sting is unbearable, and you let out a ragged scream, eyes watering, body arching instinctively. Tim and Toby hold you steady, muscles straining, watching with horror at every motion. Your chest heaves, burns flaring anew as the fabric of your lifeâyour skinâcomes together stitch by stitch. You hiccup again, shivering through the pain, reaching for Brianâs hands. âI⌠I canâtâŚâ you gasp, words swallowed by sobs. He leans closer, whispering against your ear, âYou can. Youâre so brave. I promise. Just a little more. Almost done.â
Tobyâs voice cuts through the haze, low and firm, âJust b-breathe, princess. Just breathe.â Tim murmurs something similar, though quieter, keeping your lower body steady as your ribs flex painfully.
Every second stretches into eternityâthe pull of the needle, the sting of antiseptic on torn skin, the heat of burns, the ache of claw gashes. But slowly, agonizingly, Brian works through the tear, bringing the wound together. You cling to Toby, fingers digging into his arms, tears soaking your cheeks, shaking and whimpering. His hands never leave you, gentle but unyielding, a lifeline through the storm of pain. By the time Brian pulls the last stitch through, youâre exhausted, trembling, and completely soaked in sweat and tears. Your body feels like it belongs to someone else, every inch screaming, but Toby presses his forehead to yours, murmuring, âItâs over⌠youâre al-alive⌠you made i-it.â Tim loosens his grip slightly, still close, and you finally feel the faintest thread of relief through the agony.
They move slowly, carefully, each of them hyper-aware of every flinch, every groan. You feel the sting of the antiseptic as they clean the burns on your shoulders, chest, and arms, the raw, tender skin protesting with every wipe. The claw gouges on your thighs and ribs throb with a burning ache, and the heat from the scraped, exposed patches of skin makes your head spin. Adrenaline crashes through you, leaving your body trembling and weak, and every heartbeat is a sharp reminder of how close you came.
Timâs hands are gentle as he lifts your chin, pressing a hard, planting kiss to your forehead. The warmth of him contrasts with the icy sting of your injuries, and for a moment your chest aches in a different way. Brian bends, holding your hands between his, brushing his lips over your knuckles, murmuring quiet reassurances that blur into your dizzy, pain-riddled mind. Tobyâs arms wrap around you from behind, steadying, firm, holding you as though heâs keeping your very body from falling apart. His hands press into your ribs and shoulders, hugging you so tightly that it both hurts and comforts in equal measure.
You can barely think. The sensation of their care, the intimacy of their touch, hits you all at onceâso warm, so safe, so overwhelmingly tender, but contrasted against the searing pain of your wounds and the cold emptiness left by adrenaline fading. You try to speak, to tell them how much you love them, how much this moment, these hands, these voices, mean to youâbut the words stick in your throat. The room tilts, your vision softening at the edges, and the weight of everythingâpain, relief, exhaustion, and the love youâve been holding inâis too much. Tobyâs arms tighten instinctively, Timâs kiss lingers against your burning skin, Brianâs lips warm your chilled handsâand the mixture of sensations is overpowering. Then, as if your body finally gives up, you let go. Darkness seeps in at the edges of your vision, your knees buckle slightly, and the last thing you feel before slipping away is their warmth surrounding you.
ââ .âŚ
You wake slowly, the sunlight stabbing through the jagged remnants of your curtains and the shattered glass along the window frame. The warmth of the day clashes with the chill in your body, but your head is pounding, every throb syncing with the raw ache radiating through your chest and ribs. Your mouth is parched, tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, and your stomach churns in sickly rebellion. Every movement makes your skin scream.
You try to sit up and fail, wincing as pain spikes along your thighs, hips, and sides. The covers press against you, heavy with the memory of the night before, the heat from the fire still lingering faintly in the fabric. You manage to push the blanket down, shivering as the air hits your exposed skin, and notice you arenât wearing your own shirtâbut a large, soft one, far too big, falling loosely around your shoulders. One of the boys must have dressed you while you slept.
You lift the fabric carefully, the motion sending shocks of pain through your ribs and shoulders, and your stomach twists at the sight. Stitches litter your skin like a harsh constellation, jagged lines crisscrossing through burned and clawed areas. Between them, smaller cuts still scab over, bruises in purples and yellows bloom across your body, and your thighs are sore from where the rakes clawed and you fought. Even your arms and neck bear the marks of the chaos, tender to touch, throbbing with a dull ache that refuses to fade.
The room itself is in disarray. Broken glass glints in the sunlight across the floor. Torn curtains flap slightly in the breeze that sneaks through gaps in the panes. Your desk is overturned, papers scattered and smeared with dirt and blood thatâs thankfully been cleaned in part. The dresser drawer is half-open, its contents spilling onto the floor. The scent of antiseptic and scorched wood lingers faintly, mixing with the normal mustiness of the manor, reminding you of every moment of horror and survival from the night before. The rake that was lying dead in the middle of this room the last time you saw is gone now, nothing but a bad memory.
Even lying here, you feel the weight of every movement: every rib that shifts, every stretch of skin over torn flesh, every tender burn that the air touches. Your chest rises and falls with labored breaths, your muscles tense, and you realize just how thoroughly your body has been punished. Yet, somehow, youâre aliveâand the soft fabric of the shirt, the quiet morning light, and the faint warmth of the room are proof that someone was there, taking care of you while you were gone. Your body screams in pain, but your mind reels from gratitude, exhaustion, and the remnants of terror that still cling to your skin.
You shift slightly, wincing as every muscle protests, trying to sit up just enough to get a better look at your hands. The blisters across your palms and the burned, singed patches along your forearms make you flinch, and memories of the heat, the flames, the clawing pain, and the raw struggle surge unbidden. Your stomach knots, and your chest tightens, but you force your eyes to the water on your nightstand. Reaching for it feels impossibleâthe movement sends sharp jolts of pain through your ribs, thighs, and shoulders.
Before you can even attempt it again, the door opens. Brian steps in, quiet but alert, and freezes when he sees you, frail and trembling, attempting to stretch for the glass. His eyes soften immediately, and without a word, he crosses the room, picking up the water and handing it to you. Relief floods you, but when you open your mouth to thank him, nothing comes out. Your voice is gone, hoarse and cracked from screaming and exhaustion. Brian notices instantly, his hands gentle as he nudges the glass closer. âDrink,â he says softly, his tone firm yet caring. He also presses a small cup toward your lips. Medicine. You hesitate, swallowing hard, but he guides it for you. The liquid slides down roughly, making you cough a little, tingling your throatâbut you manage it.
Once youâve swallowed, he doesnât let go. He gently helps you shift, guiding your body upright just enough that you can sit on the edge of the bed. His hands linger to support your back, steadying you while he visually inspects your arms, chest, and thighs. Every bruise, blister, and stitch catches his attention, and you can feel his concern radiating in the way he moves, the careful, methodical way he assesses you without forcing any additional pain. You shiver from the effort, but his presence is grounding, a tether as you try to process the ache coursing through every part of your body.
Your voice is raspy, croaky, but it comes out finally, a weak sound that still surprises you. âTh-thank you,â you manage, blinking at him. âWhere⌠where are the others?â
âTheyâre cleaning up outside,â Brian says quietly, his eyes distant and tired. âClearing the⌠the bodies.â You nod slowly, letting the image settle in your mind.
You swallow, wincing as your ribs protest even the small movement. âHow⌠how bad was it? Did I⌠look worse than I felt?â You try to laugh, try to smile, but it comes across awkward.
He exhales sharply, a low, weary sound. âYou looked⌠like a falling-apart zombie,â he admits, voice heavy with emotion. âI⌠Iâve never been so terrified. Toby, Tim, all of usâwe⌠we could literally see your ribs poking through your skin. I was so scared⌠scared I was watching you die.â
You stare at him, heart hammering. Thereâs so much pain in his expression, exhaustion, fear, and something elseâsomething like relief that youâre alive. And he stares back, unflinching, unashamed.
A small, trembling breath escapes you, and you whisper, âSit⌠sit next to me.â
Without hesitation, he climbs onto the bed, careful of your injuries, and sits close, back against the headboard. You lean your head against his shoulder, letting yourself feel the warmth and steadiness of him there. For the first time since the explosion, the chaos and fear recede just enough that you can breathe, your body trembling against him as he holds space for you silently, letting you rest your aching head while he absorbs the weight of the night along with you.
The room feels almost surreal in its quiet, the sunlight slanting through torn curtains and casting long lines across the mess of your bedroom. You shift slightly against Brianâs shoulder, wincing as your ribs protest, but the steady warmth of him keeps you rooted. He hums softly, the sound grounding you, as if just by existing there beside you, heâs telling you itâs okay to breathe.
âYou did⌠amazing,â Brian murmurs, brushing a loose strand of hair from your forehead. âI mean⌠surviving, thinking, acting so quick⌠all of it. You⌠you kept yourself alive.â
You manage a weak laugh, hoarse and shaky, but itâs something. âI⌠I justâŚâ Your voice trails off, croaky from the fevered night and exhaustion.Â
Then the bedroom door bursts open, and Toby and Tim are there, rushing across the floor, worry etched into every line of their bodies. Tobyâs eyes are wide, frantic, but soft when he sees you. Timâs jaw is tight, stern, but relief softens his gaze as he sees you leaning against Brian.
You try to speak, your throat raw, âI⌠Iâm sorry. I⌠forââ
Tim cuts you off gently but firmly, gripping your shoulders. âStop,â he says. âStop apologizing. Thereâs nothing to be sorry for.â
Toby rushes to your side, hands trembling as he cups your face, checking your injuries like he still canât believe youâre alive. âStill t-the prettiest girl I know,â he whispers, voice cracking with relief.
You try again, choking back tears, âIâI ruined your truck⌠the manor⌠everythingâŚâ
They both move closer, one on each side, Brianâs hand still holding yours. âYou didnât ruin anything,â Toby says urgently, his voice shaking. âYou saved u-us, you saved the fuckinâ p-placeâyou saved everything. That truck? Thatâs nothing. T-Thatâs fine. Weâre fine.â
Tim leans in, voice steady but fierce, âThereâs not a rake left, not a thing out there. Youâve done more than anyone couldâve. Itâs perfect. Just⌠now you rest, okay?â
The three of themâToby, Tim, Brianâclamp around you, and despite the aching of your body, the raw heat of your wounds, the weight of everything thatâs happened, a sense of relief and safety blooms in your chest. Youâre alive. Theyâre alive. The rakes are gone. And for the first time in days, the terror eases, leaving only the slow, grounding warmth of being held, of being home.
You close your eyes, letting yourself melt into their arms, sobbing softly but knowing, finally, that the nightmare is over.
ââ .âŚ
Healing is probably worse than the injury itself, you think.
The week unfolds slowly, each day a small victory. On day one, youâre mostly resting, moving little beyond the minimal shifts in bed to adjust your position. Brian is almost constantly by your side, checking your stitches, applying ointments, helping you sip water, making sure you eat something. Tim and Toby rotate their visits, bringing blankets, quiet conversations, and teasing smiles to keep your spirits from breaking. Their presence is a balmâyouâre still in pain, still bruised and blistered, but the terror of the rakes is behind you.
By day two, youâre able to sit up longer, leaning back against pillows as the boys keep conversation goingâBrian pointing out books, Toby joking about mundane things, Tim gently pressing you to talk about your body, your feelings, anything thatâs stuck in you. The pain is still raw, but the act of being upright feels like the first small reclaiming of yourself. Toby tries to make you dinner, and Brian has to throw it away and start over.
On day three, you manage to crawl out of bed with Brianâs steady hands guiding you. Your legs tremble, your ribs ache with every motion, but the joy of movement, however tentative, is intoxicating. Toby hovers with his usual jittering hands, while Tim gives careful, encouraging instructions. Theyâre almost like anchors, holding you steady as you regain your independence bit by bit. The stitches and bruises on your body are gnarly, but theyâre no longer raw.
Day four is a milestoneâyou walk down the stairs, slow, careful, holding onto the railing. Each step reminds you of the horror of the rakes, of how you ran down these steps nights ago, but also the comfort of the manor, of the boysâ unwavering protection. They follow behind, beside you, keeping pace, and every laugh, every small joke from Toby, every quiet reminder from Tim or Brian feels like a thread stitching you back together. Theyâve been working on the manor, on cleaning, on repairing what the rakes had destroyed.
Through days five to seven, you begin to spend more time out of bed. You sit in the sitting room, wrapped in blankets, and watch the boys clean the manor and yard. Windows are wiped down, splintered wood repaired, furniture shifted back into place. They work in coordinated chaosâTim hauling debris, Brian rearranging broken furniture, Toby starting fires in fireplaces, chopping wood, ensuring the warmth of the house returns.
Youâre able to assist in small waysâhanding them tools, fetching water, bringing food or coffee. The boys alternate time with you: one sits quietly at your side reading to you, another keeps you distracted with jokes, and the third hovers between action and conversation, ensuring you donât overexert yourself. Pain is still present, a dull throb beneath the surface, but manageable now, as every day brings more strength.
By the end of the week, youâre walking steadily, moving through the house, helping in the kitchen, observing the yard, your hands brushing over railings, counters, and wood as if memorizing them again. You can feel your body responding, your lungs filling without pain, your muscles returning. The manor itself, though still scarred from the battle, seems to breathe again with youâits warmth, its chaos, and the careful, constant attention of the boys slowly restoring not just the building, but your sense of home.
You sink into the quiet of your restored bedroom, the sunlight filtering through the torn-but-cleaned curtains, and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself truly think. The fear that gripped youâthe terror of those monsters, the terror of losing themâstill lingers like a ghost in your chest. But itâs different now. Itâs smaller. It doesnât own you.
You realize how much youâve grown. Every moment in the yard, every trap you helped build, every shot fired, every fire ignitedâit wasnât just survival. It was courage, fierce and raw. You faced something beyond comprehension, stared down death, and came out of it alive. Not just alive, but unbroken. You are stronger than the forest and all its nightmares. Braver than any creature that dared cross the manorâs threshold. And this is your home. Youâve claimed it, defended it, and now it pulses with your energy just as much as it does with theirs.
And then thereâs them. Your friends. Your boys. The thought of them makes your heart stutterânot with fear, not with hesitation, but with longing, warmth, and something deeper. Youâve seen their bravery, their strength, their devotion. Youâve seen how they care for you when the world is fire and claws and chaos, and youâve seen how they love you, in their own chaotic, dangerous ways. And you want all of them. Every single one.
You donât feel afraid of that anymore. You donât feel guilty. You donât feel torn. Youâve looked death in the face, youâve held it in your hands, and nothing could shake youâso why should feelings for these boys? You donât have to choose, you donât have to hide, you donât have to suppress anything. You know what you want, and you know who you want it with. The forest is still there, dark and whispering, but it doesnât scare you the way it did. The rakes wonât return, not after this. And you wonât hide. Not anymore. Not from the world, not from them, not from yourself.
You close your eyes and breathe in the warmth of the manor, the weight of the sun, the quiet safety that now fills the space you fought for. You are alive. You are whole. You are theirs, and they are yoursâand this time, fear wonât get in the way.
ââ .âŚ
The morning is soft and cool, the sky pale blue and streaked with drifting clouds. You step out onto the grass barefoot, sweater hanging loose over your frame, sleeves draping over your hands. Itâs the first time youâve been outside since that night, and it feels like a completely different life. The dew wets your toes instantly, and you close your eyes just for a second, breathing it inâthe smell of cut grass, smoke no longer lingering faintly from the scorched treeline, the sound of the forest so eerily quiet now.
When you open your eyes, theyâre all there. Brian and Tim are rolling up the last lengths of barbed wire, gloves dirty, boots caked with mud. Toby is dragging a stripped log to the side, goggles pushed up, muzzle hanging loose at his neck. They look up at you almost at the same time, and their expressions changeâBrianâs goes soft, worried; Timâs stern gaze falters; Toby stops mid-step.
Brian is the first to speak. âCareful,â he calls, wiping his hands on his pants. âYouâre still healingâdonât push it.â
But you shake your head gently, a small smile curling your lips. âIâm okay,â you say, your voice still hoarse but clear. âReally.â
They exchange a look before they start walking toward you, boots crushing the grass, slowing as they get closeâlike theyâre afraid youâll vanish if they move too fast. They circle around you instinctively, close but not crowding, three different kinds of presence: Brian steady and solid, Tim tall and sharp-eyed, Toby restless but watchful.
You take them in. One by one. The differences between them, the marks of everything thatâs happenedâtheir faces more worn now, eyes more tired but also more alive. The faint scars you recognize on their knuckles, the way they stand near each other without needing to speak. Theyâre not the same boys you first met, and neither are you.
You smile at them, something breaking loose in your chest. âI love you,â you say simply.
Itâs like a pause in the world. Brian blinks, his brow furrowing slightly. Timâs mouth parts just a little, as though heâs about to say something but doesnât. Toby actually stops fidgeting, staring at you wide-eyed. Theyâre all stunnedâbut you keep going, making sure they understand.
âI want you. All of you. Each one. Iâve been fighting with it, trying to figure it out, trying not to ruin what we have. But Iâm done sitting back. Iâm not afraid anymore. Iâm taking it. I want this. I want you. Together or not at all.â
You start to explain further, voice trembling but sure, but Tim raises a hand and cuts you off. âItâs about time,â he says, a faint smirk twitching at the edge of his mouth.
You blink at him, confused. âWhat?â
He chuckles dryly, glancing at the other two. âEver since you kissed Toby that first night we drank together, weâve known.â
Your face warms. âYouâknew?â
Tim tilts his head toward Toby. âYeah. Kid canât keep his damn mouth shut. He spilled to us the next day.â
Toby scratches the back of his neck, sheepish but not denying it. Brian looks down at you, eyes softer now than youâve ever seen them.
Timâs voice is low but steady as he goes on. âWeâre no strangers to sharing. And after what weâve been throughâthereâs no way weâre going on without each other. Not now.â
You laugh, a little breathless, the sound carrying across the wet grass. âI had a whole speech ready,â you admit, shaking your head, smiling at how ridiculous it all feels. âAndâŚwell, nothing ever goes smoothly anyway, right? Why should this be any different?â
Without another thought, you step forward, letting the cool morning grass tickle your skin, and grab Toby and Brian by their shoulders. You nudge them closer together, with Tim naturally in the middle, and pull them into a tight, encompassing hug. You feel the warmth of each of themâthe solidity of Brian, the quiet steadiness of Tim, the restless energy of Tobyâand it fits, like puzzle pieces you never thought could align.
They all hug back instinctively, a tangle of arms and warmth, and for a moment, thereâs nothing but the comfort of being together. You press a quick kiss to each of their cheeks, and almost immediately, each of them mirrors you, pressing one to your cheeks in return. Itâs soft, gentle, and infinitely sweet. You tilt your head back slightly, letting out a giggle that shakes the last tension from your shoulders. The ache in your body, all the soreness, the burns, the stitchesâtheyâre still there, but for the first time in what feels like forever, your chest feels full of something stronger than pain. The warmth of them, their steady presence, and the laughter bubbling up from you allâit overtakes everything else.
The three of them pull back slightly, just enough to look at you, eyes softened, a quiet kind of reverence in the way they hold themselves. You grin, cheeks flushed, and feel it: this is your home, your people, your life nowâand nothing, not fear, not monsters, not even pain, could ever take this from you.
Tim squeezes your hand gently, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. âIâve got something to show you,â he says, and you nod, leaning on them as they guide you through the garden. The path winds between tall hedges, dappled sunlight filtering through, glinting off dew on the leaves. Each step is carefulâyou stumble a little on a stone, and Brian immediately steadies you, while Toby hums something light and teasing, just enough to make you giggle through your nerves.
They move slowly, giving you space but never letting you fall behind, letting you walk on your own. The air smells sweet, warm earth mixed with greenery and something floral.Â
Finally, they arrive at the sunflowers you and Tim planted together. Their thick stems sway slightly in the afternoon breeze, the golden heads nodding toward the sun, towering nearly to your knees. You pause, breath catching in your throat. The sight is breathtakingânot just because of the flowers, but because of everything they represent.
You feel tears prickling your eyes as you take it in, the months of chaos, fear, and pain all leading to this moment. The manor behind you, battered but alive. The boys around you, battered but alive. The garden, the blooms, the sun, the calm after all the stormsâtheyâve all come together.
You finally let yourself smile fully, a little shaky, almost crying, and whisper, âEverythingâŚeverything turned out right in the end.â
Toby nudges your shoulder with his own, his grin soft, teasing. Brian stands quietly, eyes gentle, content, while Tim folds his arms, chest swelling just slightly with pride. And you knowâtrulyâthat in this moment, everything is perfect. The sunflowers sway gently, like nods of approval, and for the first time in months, you feel completely at peace, surrounded by those you love, in a world youâve fought tooth and nail to protect.
For a long moment, no one speaks. The chaos, the fear, the nights of blood and fire, the exhaustionâall of it seems distant here, softened by the warmth of the sun and the closeness of the three boys beside you. You smile at them, a small, bright thing that grows with every heartbeat. The ache and the fear are still there, a shadow in the corners, but it no longer rules you. Thisâright hereâis yours. Your home. You and your friends.
You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of all youâve survived, and the warmth of all youâve loved. âI love you,â you whisper again, softly, almost reverently. They hear you, feel you, and you feel them in return. No hesitation. No fear. Just the quiet, unshakable certainty of being together.
Tim clears his throat, breaking the silence with a grin that makes your heart lurch in a good way. âSoâŚabout my truck you blew up?â he says, half serious, half teasing. âIâm thinking you owe me a new one.â
You canât help itâyou laugh, a full, unburdened laugh, the sound ringing out through the garden, mingling with the wind and the rustle of sunflowers. Toby chuckles beside you, Brian smiles softly, and Tim just smirks, satisfied that heâs lightened the moment just enough.
You walk with them back toward the manor, the three of them flanking you like guardians, steady and reassuring. Their steps crunch softly over the gravel, the evening air cool against your bare arms, the golden light of the setting sun stretching long shadows across the lawn. They each slip inside first, each settling into their home too, the warmth of the house spilling into the twilight.
You linger at the threshold, your hand resting briefly on the doorframe, taking in the sight of the distant treeline. The forest looks calm, almost untouchedâno movement, no whisper of danger. For the first time in what feels like forever, it doesnât look threatening. Your chest lifts slightly with a breath you didnât realize you were holding, the tension of months slowly releasing.
A small, almost imperceptible smile touches your lips. The manor behind you is safe, the yard silent, and the boysâyour boysâinside. You let your eyes roam over the treeline one last time, committing it to memory: peaceful, quiet, conquered.
And then, with a final glance and a deep exhale, you turn, crossing the threshold yourself. The door shuts behind you with a soft thud, enclosing you in warmth, safety, and the quiet certainty that, for now, this is homeâand it finally feels like it.
Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated!
ŕš back to my masterlists
ŕš to part one
ââ .⌠rainrot4me2025, all rights reserved. ęŠ .á
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââââ full moon - the black ghosts
ââ .⌠do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. dividers by me.
CONTAINS NSFW MINORS DNI
⌠. Summary: Having an imaginary friend is a very normal part of childhood. What isn't normal, though, is when that imaginary friend begins to show up in the corners of your vision, leaving you presents and an uneasy feeling. What happens when babysitting a little boy turns into fending off his protector? The worst part? He thinks you're very, very pretty.
⌠. Note: Longest fic to date, I think! This was so incredibly fun to write, and I grew so attached to the characters I created during it! Jack is less clownish and more so child-mind figment in this, so donât take anything I say as canon. Anyway! Very rough, very sloppy, very rewarding, please enjoy!!
It was a nice home. At least, it was set up that way.
You were pretty sure the paint was still wet on the fence when you pulled up. It had that high-gloss shimmer that caught in the early evening sun, and the whole house looked like someone had tried very hard to make it look like nothing bad had ever happened there. Suburban. White picket fence. Wind chimes that jangled sweetly in the breeze. It was the kind of place meant to be welcomingâbut somehow, it just feltâŚstaged. Like a movie set.
You shifted your bag on your shoulder and knocked twice on the blue door, ignoring the simplistic door knocker that probably wasnât actually meant to be used.
It opened immediately. A woman in her early thirties greeted you, brushing auburn hair behind one ear and offering a tight, polite smile.
âYou must be the sitter,â she said, a little breathlessly, like sheâd jogged to the door. âCome in, come inâthank you again for being available on such short notice. Iâm Mrs. Daltonâwe talked on the phone.â
You stepped inside, the scent of lavender and lemon cleaner hitting you all at once. Everything was tidy, even too tidy. Not a toy out of place, not a speck of dust on the mantle. But there was a strange hum in the air, like something unseen had been recently disturbed and hadnât quite settled.
âNo problem at all,â you replied with a friendly smile. âYou said you needed a sitter for a few days?â
She nodded. âJust five evenings, from around five-thirty to ten. I work the late shift at the hospital this week, and with my husband out of townâŚâ
Her voice trailed off. You caught the way her eyes flicked down the hallway behind you before she forced another smile.
âAnyway, itâs just my son, Oliver. Heâs six. Heâs a good kid. A littleâŚimaginative. Which reminds meâbefore you meet him, thereâs something I should mention.â
You raised an eyebrow, amused. âLet me guessâheâs got an imaginary friend?â
Her smile froze a little. âFriends. Plural. But yes.â
âTotally normal for that age.â
âThatâs what I keep telling myself,â she murmured, and the tension in her voice was so brief and well-hidden you almost missed it. âJust⌠humor him. If he talks about them, just go along with it. Especially if he mentions Laughing Jack.â
Now that gave you pause. You tilted your head. âLaughing Jack?â
She waved her hand like she was brushing it away. âItâs just a name. He draws him a lotâsome freaky clown⌠you know, spooky stuff kids get from cartoons.â
âIâm not scared of imaginary friends,â you joked.
âGood,â she said, too quickly. âGreat. Let me introduce you.â
She led you down the hall to a bedroom on the left. Posters of dinosaurs and planets were taped unevenly on the walls, and crayons were scattered across the carpet. In the middle of the room, a little boy sat cross-legged in front of a coloring book, his brown hair messy, lips moving silently like he was in the middle of a conversation.
âOliver?â his mother called gently. âHoney, this is your new babysitter. Sheâs going to stay with you while Iâm at work, remember?â
Oliver looked up, wide blue eyes blinking at you. He didnât smile, didnât wave. Just stared.
ââŚHe likes you,â he said after a pause.
You glanced at his mother. She gave you an awkward little shrug.
âNice to meet you, Oliver,â you said kindly, kneeling beside him. âWhatcha drawing?â
He flipped the page and showed you. The lines were shaky and crude, the colors bright and chaotic, but it was clearly a figure in black and white stripes with long arms and what looked like sharp teeth drawn in red crayon.
âThis is Laughing Jack,â Oliver said solemnly. âHeâs my best friend. He lives in the closet.â
You chuckled, trying to keep it light. âWell, thatâs a very cool drawing. Youâre really creative.â
âLaughing Jack likes it when I draw him,â Oliver added. âHe likes to laugh. He doesnât like when people are mean to me.â
That little prickle hit the back of your neckâthe kind you get when you think someoneâs standing behind you even though you know youâre alone.
You smiled a little too tightly. âDoes he always stay in the closet?â
Oliver shook his head. âNo. Sometimes he sits on my bed. Or hides under it.â
Mrs. Dalton cleared her throat. âOkay, sweetie. Why donât you show her your space toys?â
He nodded and scuttled over to a plastic tub, pulling out spaceships and planets. You followed, asking him about them, listening to his explanations. He was articulate for a six-year-old, bright-eyed, and yes, wildly imaginative. But there was something in the way he paused mid-sentence like he was listening to someone you couldnât hear. Occasionally, his eyes would flick to the shadowed corner of the room, near the closet door.
You figured maybe he was just shy. Or had a vivid inner world. Youâd babysat dozens of kids. This wasnât new.
But still, when he tugged at your sleeve fifteen minutes later and said, âLaughing Jack thinks youâre very pretty,â you couldnât help the chill that spidered up your spine.
ââŚWhat?â you asked with a light laugh, trying not to sound weirded out.
âHe said it just now,â Oliver replied simply, blinking up at you. âHe said you smell nice, too. Like strawberries.â
You had used strawberry-scented shampoo that morning.
The closet door creaked slightly behind youâprobably just the wind, or maybe the floor settlingâand you turned toward it instinctively.
Nothing. Oliver just smiled and went back to coloring.
His mom gave you a final run-down before leaving: bedtime at eight-thirty, no sugar after dinner, TV only if homework was finished. She was quick, but not rushedâlike she wanted to get out the door before you could change your mind and leave first.
She kissed Oliver on the top of his head. He barely reacted, still scribbling in his coloring book. Then she turned to you with a tight smile, and the kind of eyes that said thank you, but also good luck.
âIf he has trouble sleeping,â she said softly near the door, âjust read to him. He has a nightlight in case he gets scared. But⌠he probably wonât.â
âGot it,â you replied, trying to sound more confident than you felt. âHave a good shift.â
As the door clicked shut behind her, the house suddenly felt too quiet. Like it had been holding its breath. You turned back toward the living room. âAlright, kiddo. You got any homework?â
Oliver groaned and flopped dramatically onto the couch. âYes,â he mumbled. âMath. Itâs dumb.â
You chuckled and dropped your bag by the coat rack. âCâmon, letâs knock it out. Then we can do something fun. You like grilled cheese?â
He nodded.
âI make the best grilled cheese. You finish your worksheet, and Iâll prove it.â
Oliver eyed you suspiciously. âBetter than Momâs?â
âIâll let you be the judge.â
He didnât smileâstill hadnât, actuallyâbut there was a flicker of amusement behind his eyes as he retrieved his workbook and a pencil from his backpack.
You helped him through subtraction problems while he kicked his legs restlessly and talked about Jupiter like it was his summer home. He was sharp, creative, and a little unsettling in the way only kids can beâmatter-of-fact and unfiltered.
While he worked, you started pulling together dinner: grilled cheese, carrot sticks, and a cup of apple juice. You moved around the kitchen like you were trying to own the space, but the house still felt a little foreignâlike it knew you werenât part of it.
âWhoâs eating with us?â Oliver asked suddenly from his seat at the table.
You looked up from the skillet. âYou mean besides us?â
He nodded. âLaughing Jackâs hungry. And he says Charlie and Mr. Gumball might come too.â
You blinked. âAre those more of your friends?â
âUh-huh. Charlie only has one eye. But he sees everything.â
âAnd Mr. Gumball?â
âHeâs a skeleton with no teeth. He tells me secrets.â
You tried to laugh, but it came out a little thin. âWell, I hope they like grilled cheese.â
âThey canât eat,â Oliver said plainly. âBut they like to watch.â
You set the plates down gently. ââŚGood to know.â
Dinner passed with more chatterâsome of it directed at you, some at people who werenât there. Oliver had a habit of pausing mid-sentence like he was listening to a reply. You tried to ignore how often his eyes flicked just past your shoulder. You made him brush his teeth after, and he complied with the stoic attitude of a six-year-old facing grave injustice.
It was nearing eight-thirty when you tucked him into bed.
His room was dimly lit now, a soft glow from the rocket-shaped nightlight pulsing across the walls. You sat on the edge of his mattress and reached for the storybook he picked: Where the Sidewalk Ends.
âOkay,â you said, flipping to a random page. âOne poem, and then sleep.â
âCan I ask something first?â he said suddenly, eyes wide and serious.
You paused. âOf course.â
Oliverâs voice dropped to a whisper. âDo you think my dad is still in the basement?â
You blinked. ââŚWhat?â
He fidgeted with the edge of his blanket. âMom says he left. But Jack says he didnât. Jack says he screamed for a long time, but I couldnât hear it because I was asleep.â
Your mouth went dry.
ââŚOliver, your dadâs not here anymore?â
He shook his head. âHe yelled a lot. At Mom and me. Jack didnât like him, so he said he would keep me safe.â
ââŚWhat do you mean?â
Oliver looked at you calmly. âHe said he made him into soup.â
Your throat tightened. The air in the room suddenly felt thick and unmoving. You forced a little laugh. âThatâsâŚan intense imagination youâve got.â
âI didnât make it up,â Oliver said seriously. âJack doesnât lie.â
You glanced toward the closet, door slightly ajar. The shadows seemed longer than before. You tried not to show the absolute unease that twisted your features.
âOkay, time to sleep,â you said gently, trying to keep your voice from shaking. âYou had a long day.â
Oliver didnât argue. He rolled over, pulling the blanket up to his chin.
âJack says you smell like strawberries because youâre sweet,â he murmured sleepily. âHe thinks youâd make a really good friend.â
You stared at him. ââŚWhat?â
But Oliver was already drifting off. And somewhere in the corner of the room, the closet creaked.
ââ .âŚ
You got used to the routine pretty quickly.
Oliverâs mom would greet you with that same polite smile, say something like, âHeâs been good today,â or âYou know where everything is,â then slip out the door before you could even mention his dad. She never lingered. Her shift always started exactly on time.
And every night, it was the same: Help Oliver with homework. Make dinner. Talk about his âfriends.â Pretend not to be freaked out. Read him a story. Tuck him in. Repeat.
On the second night, he told you Jack liked how âsoftâ your voice wasâthat he thought it would be âa very pretty singing voice.â You laughed it off. Said, âThatâs a weird thing for Jack to say,â and Oliver just smiled.
It was becoming easy to convince yourself that Oliver was using Jack as a beacon. Kids did that. They had a hard time saying what they really meant, so it was easier to pretend someone else was saying it instead. It just made sense.
Later that same evening, you found one of Oliverâs drawings tucked inside your coat pocket when you were leaving. You didnât remember him slipping it in. You werenât even sure heâd touched your coat. But the paper was thereâcrayon scrawled in jagged loops, a picture of you sitting on the couch.
Behind you, in thick black strokes, was the striped figure of Laughing Jack, grinning with blood-red teeth.
You almost threw it out. You didnât. You werenât sure why.
By the third night, something had changed.
It started with how quiet the house felt when you walked in. Not the normal suburban calmâtoo quiet. Like the walls were holding their breath.
Oliver had already set up his math homework by the time you got there.
âI knew you were coming,â he said without looking up. âJack told me.â
You frowned. âDid he also tell you to get started on your math?â
âNo,â Oliver said. âThat was Charlie. He said if I donât do my work, Jack gets bored. I donât like it when Jack gets bored.â
You opened your mouth to respond, but found yourself unsure what to say.
Dinner was tense. Oliver ate quietly. You caught him glancing over your shoulder several times, like he was watching something just behind you. You turned once. Nothing there. Just a flickering lightbulb in the hallway.
After dinner, he started drawing again. You sat nearby, flipping through your phone, half-distracted.
âYouâre really pretty,â Oliver said suddenly.
You looked up. âThanks, bud. Thatâs sweet.â
âJack says pretty things break easier.â
You stared at him.
ââŚYou know thatâs not a nice thing to say, right?â
He blinked. âBut itâs true.â
That night, you tucked him in like usual. Read another poem. Turned on the rocket-shaped nightlight. Said goodnight, sweet dreams, and stepped into the hallway, already pulling your phone from your back pocket.
Youâd left your water bottle in the kitchen.
You padded down the hallway barefoot, the wooden floors creaking softly beneath your steps. The house was dim except for the sliver of gold-orange from Oliverâs room behind you and the low hum of the fridge up ahead.
You reached the kitchen, grabbed the bottle, and twisted the cap open.
Then you heard it. Your name. Soft. Almost sing-song.
You paused mid-sip. You turned toward the hallway.
âOliver?â you called gently. âWhat is it, bud?â
Silence. You waited. No answer.
You set the water down and walked quietly back toward the room, heart ticking up a little faster now.
âHey, kiddoâdid you call me?â you asked as you pushed open his door.
Oliver was fast asleep. His chest rose and fell in slow, steady rhythm. Arms tucked under the blanket. Lips slightly parted. Dead to the world.
You stared at him. You know you heard it.
Then you noticed the closet door was open an inch wider than you remembered. You crossed the room, flinging the door open, eyes scanning the shadows just beyond itâbut there was nothing. Just clothes, toys, and a few drawings taped to the inside wall.
But when you turned back toward Oliverâs bed⌠you stopped cold.
There was a new drawing on the nightstand. It hadnât been there before. You wouldâve seen it.
It showed a hallwayâthe same hallway youâd just walked down. You were in itâdrawn in red crayon. And behind you, grinning impossibly wide, was a tall, striped figure with long arms and white, dead eyes.
You slowly looked back down the hall. Nothing. But that feelingâthat cold press on the back of your neckâwas suddenly very real.
And somewhere deeper in the house⌠You swore you heard something shuffling.
It's just your imagination.
ââ .âŚ
You showed up early on the fourth nightâtwenty minutes ahead of schedule, ice cream tub in hand. Cookies and cream. And a tiny container of rainbow sherbet.
You figured, why not? After the past few days, Oliver deserved a surprise. And you deserved something to lift the mood. The tension that had crept into your shoulders every time you walked through that door was becoming a near-constant weight.
Maybe a little sugar would lighten the air.
The front door opened before you even knocked. Oliverâs mom blinked at you in surprise, tugging her coat tight across her chest.
âOhâyouâre early,â she said, glancing over her shoulder into the house like she wasnât sure she wanted you inside just yet.
You smiled, holding up the bag. âI brought a treat. Donât worry, no caffeine or craziness. Just ice cream.â
Her mouth opened like she wanted to say somethingâbut then she just nodded. âThatâs⌠nice of you. Heâll like that.â She squeezed past you and gave the same parting words she always didââHeâs in the living room, bedtime at eight-thirtyââbut her eyes lingered on yours this time. Something flickered behind them. Like maybe she wanted to say moreâbut didnât.
You turned and stepped into the house. The moment the door closed behind you, that hush fell again. That wrong quiet, like the walls were listening. Oliver was on the floor, surrounded by crayons, drawing what looked like a carnival tent in dark, scribbled loops of red and black.
âHey,â you said gently. âGuess what I brought?â
He looked up. Eyes wide. And thenâ
He smiled. For the first time since you met him, Oliver truly smiled.
His teeth were small and slightly crooked, but it was the size of it that made your heart skip a beat. So wide. Like his little face wasnât used to the muscles it took.
You blinked, suddenly unsure why it unnerved you so much.
âIs it for me?â he asked breathlessly.
You laughed softly, kneeling beside him. âOf course it is. Who else would it be for?â
Oliver clapped his hands. âJackâs going to be so happy!â
You stiffened. He kept babbling as you carried the containers into the kitchen and pulled out two small bowls.
âJack loves ice cream. His favorite is mint chocolate chip. He says he hasnât had any in a long time because Mom doesnât like it when he eats stuff. She says it makes him act funny. But he says heâll be real good if I give him some.â
You scooped slowly, the plastic spoon dragging through the frozen swirl.
âHe told me that once he shared a sundae with a girl who screamed so hard her eyes popped,â Oliver continued dreamily. âHe said her voice made the cherry melt.â
You didnât answer.
When you turned to hand him the bowlâ You saw it.
Just behind Oliver, standing beside the hallway door. A flash. A flicker. Something moved. It was fast. A blur of black and white. Tall. Like the edge of a curtain being yanked backâbut thicker. A sliver of fabric retreating around the corner.
And just for a heartbeat, a featherâdark and oil-slickedâfluttered down and landed near Oliverâs foot. You hardly blinkedâjust a jerk of your eyes from panicâand it was gone.
You dropped the spoon. Oliver didnât notice.
Itâs just your imagination, itâs just your imaginationâ
âJack says he likes you,â he said happily, licking sherbet from his lip. âHe says youâre the nicest girl heâs met in a long time.â
You stepped back, pulse pounding.
You had to talk to his mother. Now.
ââ .âŚ
You waited by the door until she came home.
No more letting her breeze out before the headlights could cool. No more smiling and waving like this was a normal babysitting gig.
When Mrs. Dalton stepped inâcoat damp from the night air, purse slung over one shoulderâyou met her with a look so serious she stopped mid-step.
ââŚWhat is it?â
âI need to ask you something,â you said. âAnd I need you to tell me the truth.â
She froze. ââŚIs this about Oliver?â
You nodded. âAnd Jack. And the things heâs been saying. The things Iâve seen.â
She closed the door behind her slowly. Her shoulders dropped. Her eyesâtired, hollowâmet yours.
And this time, she didnât try to pretend. She just said quietly, âYouâve seen him too, havenât you?â
The words hung heavy in the entryway. You felt like a stone just dropped into your stomach, the air stalling around you.
You stared at her. âWhat the fuck is that supposed to mean.â
Oliverâs mother exhaledâlong, slowâlike sheâd been waiting for this moment and dreading it in equal measure. She set her purse on the table and finally, finally, let the cracks show. âCome with me.â
She led you to the kitchen and pulled out a chair. You sat across from her, the light above flickering with that faint buzz it always seemed to carry after dark. She rubbed her hands together like they were cold, even though the house was warm.
Her voice was quiet. Distant. âI didnât believe it either. At first. Kids say strange things. They draw monsters, they have nightmares. Itâs normal. I told myself it was all in his head.â
You didnât interrupt. Your fingers gripped the edge of the table.
She continued. âThen the drawings changed. They started getting more detailed. More specific. I saw things in them thatââ her breath hitched, ââhe shouldnât have known. Things that happened when I was younger. Things that happened in this house. And the stories he told me about JackâŚâ Her eyes dropped to her hands. âThey started getting darker.â
You thought of the shuffling. The flash of stripes. The feather. Your name being called down the empty hallway.
âWhat happened?â you asked.
She looked up. ââŚHis dad.â
The room chilled, like suddenly the AC had been turned on. Goosebumps ran up your arms.
She swallowed. âMy husbandâŚhe was not a good man. Charming, at first. But underneath that, there was something broken. And when he got angryâŚâ Her jaw clenched. âOliver was never his. Thatâs something I never told him. I think he knewâor guessed.â
Your stomach twisted.
âHe hurt both of us,â she said. âNot every night, but enough. Enough that I kept a bag packed and hid it in Oliverâs closet.â
Silence stretched long between you.
âAnd then?â you whispered.
Her eyes met yoursâand in them, you saw something haunted. Something ancient. âThen Oliver started talking to Jack.â
You shivered, glancing around the room, eyes catching all the dark spots and shadowed corners.
âAt first I thought it was just comfortâa defense. But the way he described himâŚit wasnât like a normal imaginary friend. He knew things. Jack told Oliver where to hide, when to run. He told him I was strong. That I was brave. He told himâŚâ Her voice caught. ââŚThat he could make it stop.â
You didnât move. You hardly breathed.
âOne night, my husband came home drunk. Worse than usual. He was screaming, kicking doors. Oliver, somehow, slept through all of it. I locked the bedroom door. I thought I could hold him off.â Her hands trembled now. âBut I didnât have to.â
You leaned in.
âI heard him coming down the hallway, calling my name. Then I heard something else. A laugh. This horrible, joyful laugh. Like a child and an animal at the same time. I thought I was losing my mind.â
You whispered, âJack.â
She nodded.
âI came out of the room after the screaming stopped. AndâŚhe was gone. My husband. Just gone. No blood. No mess. Just the front door wide open, swinging in the wind.â
Your blood ran cold. âAnd Oliver?â
She gave a soft, broken smile. âCurled up on his bed. Drawing. With Jack.â
You recoiled.
âBut I didnât see him,â she said quickly. âI only ever felt him. Heard him. Sometimes saw things out of the corner of my eye. But Oliver? He always said Jack made him feel safe. That Jack protected him when no one else could. I think he⌠bonded to that. Jack is a part of him now. Jack has never really liked babysittersâbefore you, I suppose.â
You sat back, trying to process it all. The drawings. The feathers. The whisper of your name.
ââŚHeâs real. But heâs notâŚhuman,â you murmured.
She nodded once. âHe manifested through Oliverâs fear, I think. And maybe mine, too. I donât understand all of it. But Oliver says Jack protects him, says heâs here to keep him safe. So I donât mess with it.
âAnd the last babysitter?â
Oliverâs mom froze.
ââŚShe said she didnât believe in âfeeding delusions.â That Oliver needed âstructure.â She lasted four nights. Left in the middle of the fifth. Didnât tell me. Just⌠left. I never heard from her again.â
Your pulse thundered in your ears.
âAnd now?â you whispered. âJackâs⌠what? Attached to me?â
Her voice cracked. âI think he likes you. I think heâs curious. I donât know.â
The light bulb sizzled above your head, the acrid scent of burnt metal curling into the air. You stared across the kitchen table at Oliverâs momâchest tight, stomach coiled with the kind of dread that prickled under your skin like a thousand little claws.
ââŚYou knew this could happen,â you said, voice low. âYou knew.â
She didnât answer right away. Her hands trembled in her lap. âI hoped he wouldnât fixate again,â she murmured. âYou were so good with him. He was happy. I thought maybe it would be different this time.â
âDifferent?â Your voice cracked, rising. âYou mean you thought Jack might not try to kill me?â
âKeep your voice down,â she hissed, suddenly panicked. âPleaseâdonât say things like that out loud.â
âOh, Iâm sorry,â you snapped, pushing your chair back. âAre we worried the invisible friend might get mad?â
She flinched.
You stood up, dizzy with rage and the adrenaline rush that always comes after denial shatters into cold, sharp clarity. âYou let me walk into this. Without telling me. Without warning. What if he didnât like me, huh? What if I pushed too hard, or said the wrong thing, orâGod forbidâtold him to go to bed early?â
âI didnât knowâ!â
âYes, you did,â you cut her off, voice trembling. âYou did. Thatâs why you never stayed long. Why you left before I could ask about his dad. Why you didnât even mention a last sitter until now.â
You saw it thenâhow hollow her eyes had become. How sleep-starved and strung out she looked under the dim light. This wasnât just guilt. This was fearâthe kind you live with.
âYou were testing me,â you whispered. âYou werenât sure if Jack would like me, and you didnât care if he didnât. I was justâŚjust another one to try.â
She didnât deny it.
You stormed past her, grabbing your coat, shoving your phone into your pocket with shaking hands.
And then you saw him. Oliver. Standing at the end of the hallway. He wasnât crying. He wasnât angry. He just watched youâexpression blank, head tilted slightly to the side like someone listening to music only he could hear.
âOliverââ his mother started, but you were already yanking the door open.
You didnât say goodbye.
ââ .âŚ
The first call came the next morning.
You didnât answer.
Then a text.
MRS. DALTON
Iâm sorry. I should have told you. Please, call me.
Then:
MRS. DALTON
Heâs not sleeping. He wonât eat. Oliverâs scared.
Another day passed.
MRS. DALTON
Heâs asking for you. Please. He just needs to see you one more time. He keeps asking for you.
The texts got more frantic.
MRS. DALTON
Heâs not talking anymore. He just whispers. Jack this, Jack that. Please. I havenât slept. Iâm losing him.
I donât know what heâll do if you donât come back.
And finally:
MRS. DALTON
Just for one night. Please. Just stay with him. Help him sleep.
You stared at the screen for a long time, thumb hovering above the reply button. Because even though your head screamed no, your gut twisted with something worse than fear.
Guilt.
And something in the back of your mindâthe part that had seen the stripes, the feather, the way Oliver had looked at youâwas already whispering that you didnât really have a choice. Even if this was all imaginary, some make-believe story, you were causing an innocent boy his mental health.
Sadly, your guilt outweighed your fear.
ââ .âŚ
You stood on the doorstep longer than you meant to.
The house loomed in front of youâquieter than it shouldâve been. Even with the porch light buzzing faintly overhead, everything about it looked⌠different. More gray. As if all the warmth had drained out with you the night you stormed off.
But you were here now.
You knocked on the door, the thick sound echoing through the walls, and for a moment, you half-expected no one to answer.
Then the lock clicked. The door cracked open.
Mrs. Dalton looked like she hadnât slept in days. Her hair was pulled up in a limp, uneven knot, and her eyes had that swollen red look of someone who had been crying on and off for hours. Her relief was instantâbut brittle.
âOh thank God,â she breathed. âThank you. Thank you so much for coming.â
You stepped past her without a word. She didnât stop you. Just nodded shakily and grabbed her keys. âIâll be back by sunrise,â she said, already backing out. âDonât let him stay up too late. If he gets upset, just⌠just sit with him. Thatâs usually enough. And if anything happensââ
You stopped at the hallway, turning just enough to meet her eyes. âI remember.â
Her mouth opened, then closed again. She gave a small, pained nod. And just like thatâshe was gone. The door clicked shut. The house swallowed you whole.
The air inside felt heavier than it ever had.
You noticed it almost immediatelyâhow the wallpaper looked a little more faded, how the air smelled faintly of metal and something sweet, almost like fruit that had gone sour. The silence wasnât comforting. It was dense, like the house was holding its breath.
You made your way down the hallway, floorboards creaking beneath your feet. Oliverâs room was cracked open just slightly, light from his bedside lamp spilling across the floor. You pushed the door open gently.
âOliver?â you called softly.
The little boy was curled into a ball on his bed, facing the wall. When he turned to look at you, his eyes were already wet, his cheeks blotchy with tears. The second he saw you, he gaspedâand scrambled into your arms with a cry that shattered you from the inside out.
âYou came back,â he whimpered, clutching your shirt like a lifeline. âI didnât think you would. Jack said you were mad.â
Your arms wrapped around him instinctively. âIâŚIâm not mad, buddy. I was just scared.â
âJackâs sad,â Oliver sniffled. âAnd mad. But not at me. At you. He said you said mean things. That you donât like him.â
You froze. He wasnât accusing you. He sounded⌠worried. Like he wanted to protect you from Jackâs disappointment.
Your hands smoothed down his back gently. âItâs okay. Weâre okay. Jackâs probably just confused.â
âCan you tell him youâre not mad anymore?â Oliver asked, lifting his head, eyes wide. âPlease?â
You hesitated. ââŚOkay,â you whispered. âJack, if youâre listening, Iâm not mad. I didnât mean what I said.â
You glanced around the room.
Nothing. No feathers. No footsteps. No whisper in your ear. Just the soft hum of the bedside lamp and Oliverâs quiet sniffles.
Maybe it was all in your head.
Maybeâ
Oliver let out a tiny yawn, nuzzling into your side. âWill you stay in bed with me?â
âOf course.â
It didnât take long, he was asleep in minutes. Once his breathing evened out, you gently pulled away and tucked him in. His hand reached out once, blindly, and you took it for a second, giving it a small squeeze.
Then you stood, walked to the door, turned off the light, and stepped into the hallway.
The living room was dim. You kept the corner lamp on, curling up into the same armchair youâd claimed the other nightsâblanket over your legs, a book in your lap you werenât really reading. Every noise made you twitch.
The house didnât feel empty.
You tried to tell yourself it was just the guiltâthe nerves, the sleep deprivation. That it was all explainable. That this was just a messed-up situation and you were being kind, nothing more. This was just a mentally ill mother and an imaginative child who has gotten you stirred upâthatâs all it was.
But you couldnât shake the feeling of being watchedâespecially when the heater kicked on. Especially when the shadows in the hallway didnât quite stay still. You told yourself not to look.
You were halfway through a paragraph when you heard it. Shuffling from the hallway. You sat up straight.
âOliver?â you called, voice shaky.
No answer.
You stood slowly, shoving the blanket and book to the side. The hallway looked longer than it had earlierâdarker, the overhead bulb at the far end flickering like it was gasping for power.
You took a step toward it. Then another.
âOliver, are you up?â you called again, a little louder this time.
Still nothing.
But the shuffling continuedâdragging, almost wet-sounding footsteps. Too slow. Too heavy.
You swallowed, walked toward his room, and pushed the door open.
Oliver was asleepâtucked under his blankets, breathing slow and even. His face slack with dreams. The shuffling stopped.
You stood there in the doorway, heart thudding in your chest.
Nothing moved. No laughter. No whispers. No feathers. Just your own breath in the dark. You were about to turn around when a soft, warbling giggle echoedâLow. Sweet. And hungry.
You whirled around, heart leaping into your throatâbut there was nothing there. Just the hallway. Just that flickering bulb overhead, casting twitching shadows that crawled like spiders up the walls.
âHello?â you called, voice cracking.
No answer.
But your skin was already crawlingâhairs prickling, stomach twisting itself into a tight, nauseous knot. You ducked back into Oliverâs room, barely daring to breathe.
Still asleep. Still peaceful.
You crossed the floor in three quick steps and yanked open his closet. Clothes, shoes, a collapsed cardboard box. You dropped to your knees, lifted the comforter, and checked under the bed.
Empty.
You sat back on your heels, hand pressed over your pounding chest.
Nothingâs there. Nothingâs there. Itâs just yourâ
A feather floated down in front of your face. You stared at it. Silky and black as night, it drifted lazily downward, slow as falling ash, until it landed between your knees.
You blinked at it, blood roaring in your ears.
And that was when you heard the groanâlike something heavy shifting against wood.
You glanced up from your spot on the floor.
Behind Oliverâs bedânot behind the wall, but within it, like the cracks of the old plaster had given wayâsomething emerged. Something wrong.
It spilled out from the dark like a shadow cast by a body that didnât exist. Its limbs unfolded long and slow, impossibly long, like they were uncoiling from another place entirely. One armâlanky, striped in twisted sleeves of faded black and whiteâreached over the headboard. Then another. Then a hunched, too-tall figure pulled itself into the dim bedside light.
Laughing Jack.
No more imagination. No more stories. He was here, right in front of you.
His skinâor what passed for itâwas stretched porcelain, marred with seams and hairline fractures. Wild black hair exploded from his scalp in a disheveled mess, curled like tinsel soaked in ink. His outfit was a tattered parody of a circus costumeâblack and white stripes clinging to impossibly long limbs, the fabric grimy and fraying at the seams like it had been rotting over time. Suspenders hung loose over bandages wrapped tight around his waist, showing the unnatural form of him. A wide ruff collar sagged around his neck, drooping unevenly with yellowed lace, and tufts of wiry feathers jutted from his shoulders, some of them looseâlike the one youâd seen float to your feet earlier. His sleeves were the same mismatched black and white, stretched tight over arms that ended in long, sharpened clawsâstained faintly with something dark and dry. His nose was pointed, like a spike protruding that swirled with black and white stripes. His mouthâoh Godâhis mouth stretched too wide across his face, cracked at the corners, his lips painted like a clownâs but split by sharp, pearly teeth that didnât belong in any childâs fantasy. His eyes were deep, glassy voidsâso black they swallowed lightâbut the emotion in them was unmistakableâRage. Sadness. Defense.
Jackâs head twitched toward you. His neck snapped with an audible crack as he cocked it to the side.
His voice rasped low, warped, like he was speaking through a filter, âYou said you werenât mad, sweet girl.â
You staggered back a step.
Jackâs arms bent and contorted as he crawled over Oliverâcrawled, like some horrid insect parody of a man, his striped limbs jointed all wrong. And still, the boy didnât stir. Not a flutter of his lashes. Not even a twitch.
âYou lied to him,â Jack hissed. âYou lied to me.â
âDonâtââ your breath hitched. âDonât touch him.â
Jackâs grin widened. It reached toward his ears. âOh, I wonât,â he cooed. âBut you? Youâre mine now.â
Before you could scream, he lunged. Jackâs hands closed around your ankles and yanked. You hit the hardwood with a sickening thud, knocking the breath from your lungs. Pain shot up your back. You scrambled, flailing to grab the doorframe, anything, but Jack dragged you backwardsâdown the hallway with supernatural strength, his body lurching and rattling like a marionette in fast-forward.
âNoâ! Oliver! Oliver!â
He didnât wake.
The house didnât help.
You were pulled past the living room, down the longer hallway that led to the master bedroomâMrs. Daltonâs room. Your fingernails scraped against the floorboards, legs kicking violently as Jack growled above you.
âYou were sweet,â he snarled. âKind. Gentle. I liked you.â His voice cracked on the last word, somewhere in the rage was hurt.
Jack reached the bedroom door and kicked it open. The hinges screamed. Inside, it was darker than the rest of the house. A stifling kind of dark, where the shadows didnât shiftâthey waited. The room smelled faintly of old perfume and wilted flowers.
Jack tossed you inside. You hit the carpet, rolled, and choked on air. When you sat up, he was already in the doorwayâlooming. His arms stretched to the sides, fingers twitching, clawlike.
The door slammed shut behind him like a gunshot. The bang rattled the windows. The frame trembled under the weight of it.
You jerked, stumbling back toward the dresser, chest heavingâbut there was no time to run. Not anymore. Jack was across the room in a blink, moving with the erratic, jerky rhythm of something barely stitched togetherâmore puppet than man. His hands, long-fingered and claw-tipped, twitched at his sides.
His expression twisted. He looked⌠devastated.
But behind the grief, behind the dripping sadness that curled at the corners of his stretched mouth and shimmered in the pitch-black glass of his eyesâthere was rage.
âYou ruined everything,â he hissed, voice cracking like an old vinyl record. âHe was sleeping. He was happy. We were fine. And then youâyou had to come in and whisper poison into his head.â
âI didnâtâ!â
âYou said I wasnât real,â Jack roared, and the lights flickered. âYou said I was dangerous! You made him doubt me!â
He surged forward.
You screamedâtoo late. Jack lunged, grabbing your arm and lifting you off the ground like you weighed nothing. You kicked, flailed, fists pounding at his chestâbut it was like striking a wall of felt and iron. He held you up, inches from his face. That face. Thatâ
God.
Porcelain skin. Cracks lining his jaw like spiderwebs. Painted features half-worn, like a long-loved doll soaked in tears. Teeth so sharp he could barely contain them in his mouth. And beneath the smeared black grin, beneath the clownish facepaintâa man. A sadness. A fury so human it broke your heart.
His glassy black eyes swallowed you whole.
âDo you know what happens,â he whispered, âto people who tell little boys Iâm not real?â
Your breath hitched. He rattled you, hard. Enough to make your teeth clack. You felt his claws press into your sides, not breaking the skinâbut close. One more breath and he might snap you like a doll in his hands.
But thenâYou saw it. That tiny tremble in his jaw. The way his grip shook. His bottom lip quivered. He was angry. He was hurting. And beneath it allâhe was protecting Oliver.
Thatâs when you acted. You reached upâfingers tremblingâand gripped his face.
Jack froze.
His eyes went wide as your fingers smeared white greasepaint from his cheekbones, your hands coming away streaked like youâd dipped them in some kind of sick frosting. But under the paintâskin. Cold, clammy, too-pale skin. And real. Not a mask. Not an imaginary friend.
âYou did it to protect him,â you whispered.
Jackâs brow twitched, eyes wide.
âYou made his dad go away,â you said. âDidnât you?â
His hands tensedâbut he didnât shake you.
âYou chased off the last babysitter. Because she was mean. You saw it. You saw what he needed. And no one else was helping him. Not even his mom. So you⌠you stayed. You took care of him.â
Jackâs mouth parted. His head tilted, glassy eyes flicking across your face like he didnât understand what he was seeing.
âI get it, Jack,â you whispered, still holding his face. âI know what you are. Youâre not here to hurt him. Youâre not a monster to him. Youâre his only friend.â
His claws slipped from your sides.
âI donât hate you, Iâm not mad,â you said, voice cracking. âI was just scared.â
Silence.
For a moment, Jack stood perfectly still, arms trembling.
And thenâhis knees gave.
He sank to the floor, pulling you with him, but gently now. Carefully. Like you were something delicate and precious compared to moments before. His arms slid around you, pulling you against his lanky frame as his body curled over itself, shoulders shaking.
âI didnât want to scare you,â he mumbled, voice muffled against your shoulder. âI just wanted you to stay. You were good to him. You were good to me.â
You were crying now tooâmaybe out of pity, but mostly from the adrenaline that was quickly crashing.
In the pitch-black of Mrs. Daltonâs bedroom, cradled in the arms of something that shouldnât exist, you held a creature that had killed to protect a child, and now clung to you like a broken toy terrified of being discarded.
Jack shuddered, âPlease donât leave again.â
Jack didnât let go. Even as you gasped, trying to squirm backâyour breath still hitching with fear, your hands tremblingâhe clutched you tighter, curling around you like a spider weaving something precious into its web. His lanky arms wrapped around your shoulders and waist, his striped sleeves smelling faintly of old fabric and something sweet and rotting, like sugar left in the rain.
Your face was smooshed against the bristling ruff of feathers at his collar.
You shoved at him, fingers pressing into his chest. âJackâJack, let me go, IâI need a second, pleaseââ
But he only made a soft soundâlike a whimper. And his hold tightened. He wasnât trying to hurt youânot anymoreâbut it was like he was starving for you.
His head dipped down beside yours, buried in your neck, and you felt the tremble of his breathâshallow, rapid. Desperate. The way Oliver breathed when he was on the edge of a panic attack. The way he had clung to you just hours before, his tiny fists gripping your shirt like you were the only thing tethering him to earth.
It was the same.
You froze.
And suddenlyâit all started to click. The way Jack reacted when Oliver cried. The way he went silent when Oliver was calm. The way his moods seemed to mirror the childâsâlike strings pulling a puppet in the shadows.
âOh my god,â you whispered, heart hammering. âYouâre not just his imaginary friend⌠youâre protecting him.â
Jack didnât speak. But you felt the way his breathing hitchedâa confirmation, quiet and raw.
âYou exist for him, donât you?â you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. âLike, a manifestation of his fearsâor something. A guardian.â
His face, pressed near your cheek, nodded.
Your throat tightened. âSo when heâs sad, or scared, or⌠when someone threatens himâŚâ
âI fix it,â Jack whispered. His voice was softer now. Like wet velvet. Like a child defending a wounded pet. âI fixed his dad. I fixed the mean sitter. I made him laugh again. I keep him safe.â
You swallowed, slowly easing your hands up between the two of you, not to shoveâbut to gently, cautiously press them to either side of his face again.
âAnd now that Iâm not a threat anymoreâŚâ you said, your voice cracking, ânow you want something else.â
Jack nodded again, almost imperceptibly. âI want to be close,â he said, and his voice broke. âLike he is. I want the things you give him.â
You stared into his faceâpaint-smeared, cracked, but so achingly human beneath it all. His sharp grin trembled with something soft. His eyes, once pools of black malice, now glistened like a child about to cry.
âYou want comfort,â you breathed.
His forehead pressed gently to yours. âI want you,â he whispered. âAnd I donât know why.â
You shouldâve been terrified. But insteadâyou felt cold. Cold from the adrenaline, the fear, the leftover edge of what couldâve been your last night. And yetâŚ
His arms were warmâtoo warmâlike a fever curling around you.
And for the first time⌠you saw him not as a nightmare, but as something made from one. Born of a childâs desperation. Kept alive by love and terror alike.
So you let him hold youâjust for a moment.
And in that moment, Jack went stillâso still you could swear he wasnât breathing. As if the second you pulled away, he might vanish into the cracks again.
The room was dark except for the sliver of hallway light bleeding in from under the door, casting crooked shadows across the carpet. Jack was stillâunnaturally soâas if afraid a single wrong twitch would make you bolt. But then, slowly, his fingers twitched against your waist.
âIâm sorry,â he whispered, his voice a broken thread. âFor earlier. For scaring you. For being so⌠mean.â
You didnât speak. You werenât sure you could. You were still sitting half in his lap, his arms loosely curled around your back like he was holding something fragile he didnât know how to fix.
Jackâs head tilted, the long arc of his nose brushing against your temple as he sniffedâgently, like he didnât want you to notice.
âYou do smell like strawberries,â he murmured, voice distant and dreamy now. âI told him you did. Oliver didnât believe me.â A smile crept into his words, soft and crooked. âBut I was right. I always know.â
You felt your breath catch as his fingers slipped a little lower, curling lightly at the hem of your shirt. Not roughâjust needy. Clingy.
âYouâre so pretty,â Jack sighed, nose nudging into your hair. âSo pretty it makes me feel funnyâright here.â One hand lifted, curled into a fist, and thumped lightly over where his heart shouldâve been. âIt tickles. Like butterflies trying to get out. Like Iâm gonna burst.â
You shivered, frozen in place. Jack noticed. His arms tensed again.
âIâm not trying to hurt you,â he said quickly, softly, almost pleading. âIâm not! I promiseâI justâI didnât know what else to do. I didnât want you to leave.â
You felt him shift under youâthen suddenly you were being pulled into him, lifted like a doll and placed squarely in his lap, your legs folded awkwardly over one of his long, gangly thighs. His claws were gentle, but firm, curling around your arms, keeping you in place. His face buried into your shoulder again, his striped sleeves brushing your cheeks like the wings of some grotesque moth. He was trembling.
âThey all like you,â he murmured into your shirt. âAll the others. Charlie. Mr. Gumball. Even the quiet ones in the closet. They said youâre kind. That you talk to them even when you donât believe theyâre real.â
You blinked.
Charlie? Mr. Gumball?
Jack chuckled softly. âDonât worry. They wonât come out unless Oliver says itâs okay. But they watch. And they like you. They all do.â He pulled back just far enough to look at youâhis inhuman eyes wide and wet, paint cracked around the edges from where heâd rubbed at his face. His lips were still stained dark, parted like he wanted to ask something he didnât know how to say, his jagged teeth splitting the seam.
âBut IâŚâ His voice hitched. âI like you the most.â
You tried to pull backâjust a little, just enough to breatheâbut he leaned forward again, brushing his forehead against yours.
âI felt it,â he whispered. âThe way you talked to Oliver. The way you hugged him. Youâre so soft. So good. I never had that before. I want it all the time, all to myself.â
His claws flexed against your sides againânot hurting, not even tightâbut possessive. Needy.
âI want you all the time.â
And you realized, in that moment, Jack had no idea what boundaries were. No idea how much was too much. Because all he knew⌠was what Oliver gave him. And nowâwithout having to worry about the kidâhe was able to express those wants himself.
Jackâs fingers twitched again where they curled around your waist. His breathing slowed, the chaotic heat of him ebbing into something that almost resembled peace.
But he stilled. And his hands moved.
In an instant, Jack dragged one clawed hand up the side of your torso, bunching the fabric of your shirt as he went. You gasped, trying to pull away, but he was already pushing the hem higher, exposing skin.
âWaitâJackâwhat are youâ?â you stammered, hands flying down to stop him.
âI hurt you,â he hissed, panickedâhis voice cracking like a snapped piano wire. âI didnât mean toâlook what I did!â His blackened fingers trembled as he hovered just above the faint red indents curving along your side, the shallow grooves from when heâd gripped you too tightly. They werenât bleeding. Barely bruised. But Jack looked horrified.
His eyes widened as he stared, claws twitching helplessly.
âI didnâtâI didnât mean itâI didnât even feelâwhy do I always break things I like?â he rasped, voice warping between a whimper and a growl. âWhy did I grab you so hard? Youâre so soft, I didnât mean to squeezeâI didnât mean to!â
âJackâJack, itâs okay,â you said quickly, your voice soft and trembling as you tried to pull your shirt back down. âIâm fine, itâs nothing, I swearââ
But he didnât hear you. Or maybe he did, and he didnât want to believe it. His claws brushed the marks againâthen slid gently against your skin, tracing the curves of your ribs, reverent and curious. He sucked in a shaky breath.
âYouâre so little,â he whispered, almost to himself. âSo small in my hands. I could snap you like a toothpickâŚâ
You frozeâbut before panic could take hold, Jackâs eyes darted up to meet yours again. ââŚbut I donât want to. I donât want to hurt you,â he whispered fiercely. âYouâre too pretty to break.â
Your heart thudded in your chest. Jack tilted his head, eyes flicking over your face, your hair, the way your hands clutched your shirt in nervous fists. His lips twitchedâlike he was smiling, but didnât understand why.
âI like your skin,â he said. âI like the way it smells. The way it warms up when youâre scared.â
You tried to pull back again, flushing deeper, but Jack suddenly scooped you up.
âJackâ!â
He didnât give you time to finish.
In one smooth, eerily graceful motion, he stood, lifting you effortlessly into his arms like you weighed nothing. Like you were a toy, something light and delicate he could cradle in his gangly, striped limbs. Your legs dangled uselessly, your arms half-wrapped around his neck in pure reflex.
He started toward the bed.
âYouâre way past bedtime,â he announced, in a singsong voice that didnât quite match the manic glint in his eyes. âToo many big feelings for a little human like you. You need to relax.â
âIâI donât need to sleep, Jack, Iâm fine, reallyâ!â
But he was already lowering you onto the covers, setting you down so carefully it made your head spin. He crouched at your side immediately, looming with limbs that bent in all the wrong ways, his scruffy feathered collar brushing your knees, his black eyes locked onto you with a predatorâs focusâand a childâs confusion.
âYou make Oliver feel safe,â he murmured, crawling a little closer. âBut now I want to feel that too. I want you to make me feel like that.â
His hand slid over your knee, his claws curling over your thigh with a grip just shy of too tight. âAnd you will, wonât you?â he asked softly. âBecause you like me now.â
The air was too thick to breathe. Too hot. Too sweet. Too close.
And all you could do⌠was nod.
Jackâs claws didnât stay still. They roamed. Fidgeted. Brushed the hem of your shirt, tangled briefly in your hair, crept over your shorts like he didnât know what he was looking forâbut was desperate to find it.
You shifted nervously on the bed, your hands trying to keep his at bay, but he was already pressing closer.
âI like it better when you talk soft to me,â he said suddenly, his voice catching somewhere between a purr and a whine. âLike you do with Oliver. You donât yell. You donât scream. Youâre so nice.â
Your breath hitched as his hands slid down your armsâgrabbing your wrists. âBut you left.â His voice cracked. âYou left. You said those things. About me. To her.â
âJack, I didnât knowââ you started, gently.
âI didnât want you to be scared,â he cut in. His grip tightenedânot painful, but firm enough to make your heart jump. âI just wanted to show you I could keep you safe. Like I did for Oliver. Like I do.â
He moved quickly. One fluid motion and you were beneath him, your wrists pinned gentlyâbut unyieldinglyâagainst the bedspread. His lanky body stretched over yours, striped limbs bracketing you, hair brushing your forehead.
Your heart slammed in your chest.
âJack,â you said softly, careful not to let your fear show. âLet me up.â
âBut youâre here.â He blinked down at you, wide-eyed. âYou came back. That means you want to be here. That means I can touch you.â
Your breath caught.
âIt doesnât work like that,â you whispered, trying to sit up, but he pressed you back down againâstill not hurting you, but clearly not understanding the line he was crossing.
âBut you smell so good,â Jack murmured, almost dreamily, long nose brushing along your cheek. âAnd you look so soft. I never got to be this close to anyone before. Never wanted to until I saw you.â
You swallowed thickly, pulse thundering in your ears. âIâll⌠Iâll talk to you, Jack,â you said, carefully, voice like glass. âIâll sit with you. Iâll stay. But you have to calm down. Youâre scaring me.â
Something in his face twitched. His hold faltered. Just slightly. But he didnât let go.
âI donât mean to scare you,â he mumbled, nuzzling clumsily against your shoulder, like a child seeking comfort in something they didnât know how to ask for. âItâs just⌠when you talk, and when you look at meâright there.â His fingers brushed your cheekbone. âI get this⌠tight, fluttery thing in my chest. Like when Oliverâs happy. Like when he hugs his bear. It makes me feel like Iâm gonna burst.â
Your eyes welled a little. You werenât sure if it was fear or pity or the sheer strangeness of the moment.
âJack,â you whispered, softer now, âthat feeling? Thatâs⌠thatâs called affection. Or maybeâmaybe even love.â
He stilled. âLove?â he echoed, almost awed.
You nodded shakily. âAnd if you want to show it,â you added, breath trembling, âyou have to listen to the people you care about. You have to ask before touching. And let them go when they say theyâre scared.â
Jack blinked down at you, still straddling your lap, still holding your wrists. But this timeâslowlyâhis claws released you.
You let out a breath you didnât realize youâd been holding.
ââŚDid I do it wrong?â he asked after a long pause, his voice smaller now. âDid I mess it up?â
You sat up slowly, touching your wrists, feeling the pulse still hammering through you.
âNo,â you whispered. âYou just have to let me teach you.â
And Jack, in all his mismatched limbs and smeared makeup and feathered ruff, nodded like a child eager for a bedtime story.
ââŚThen teach me,â he said.
The silence that followed was heavyâsyrupy and thick like it was meant to trap breath in your throat. Jack sat cross-legged now, long limbs folded awkwardly on the bedspread like some gothic marionette, waiting for your strings to pull him into place. His eyesâhuge and shining beneath streaked face paintâwere locked on you, searching your face like he wanted to memorize it.
You swallowed.
âJack,â you said slowly, brushing your palms down the front of your shirt, trying to ignore the heat still lingering where his claws had been. âYou canât just⌠take what you want. People donât work like that. You have to let them come to you.â
His shoulders slumped, his striped arms wrapping loosely around his waist as he rocked onceâtwice.
âI thought⌠if I held you right, maybe youâd feel it too,â he muttered, voice barely above a breath. âThe fluttering. The warm thing. Like the way Oliver gets when you tuck him in and smile.â
You softenedâjust a little. âJack, I do care. But you canât scare me into staying,â you said gently. âYou need to trust me to come back. Just like Oliver does.â
That earned a sharp jolt through his expression. His head tilted, the bells in his costume softly chiming as he blinked. âOliverâŚâ
He turned his head suddenlyâeyes fixed on the hallway.
You froze.
âWhat?â you asked, voice tight.
He sniffed the air. One deep inhale.
âHeâs waking up,â Jack murmured. âHeâs crying.â
You didnât even wait. You were already scrambling off the bed, nearly stumbling into the hallway barefoot. Jack was behind you, eerily quiet despite his frame, close enough that his sleeves fluttered in the air beside you like shadows with feathers. Oliverâs room was dark, but you heard the sniffles before you even touched the door. You pushed it open gently.
âOliver?â you whispered, stepping in.
The little boy was curled beneath the blankets, arms tightly wrapped around his pillow, tears tracking down his cheeks as he whimpered softly.
âNightmare,â he hiccupped. âYou⌠You werenât here when I woke up. Jack was gone. I thoughtââ
âIâm right here,â you said quickly, sliding into the bed beside him. He immediately reached for you, pressing his face into your shirt, small hands clinging tightly.
âI was scared you left again,â Oliver murmured, muffled. âHe got so sad last time. I got so lonely.â
You looked upâand Jack was there, crouched beside the bed, half-shrouded in shadow. The glow from the hallway lit one half of his faceâthe sadness there was nearly human.
âI didnât understand him,â you said, brushing Oliverâs hair gently. âBut I think I do now.â
Oliver sniffled. âHe says he likes you.â
Your throat tightened. âYeah?â you whispered.
âHe says you make us feel happy.â Oliverâs lashes fluttered. âHe says you smell like strawberries, but I donât think so.â
You tried to laugh but it came out soft and broken. âIâll stay,â you said quietly, folding Oliver into your arms. âIâll stay the rest of the night. Okay?â
âOkay.â
You felt Jack settle beside the bed, curled around the two of you like a skeletal gargoyle. He didnât speak, didnât reachâhe just watched, his limbs folded protectively under him, his eyes more calm now. As Oliverâs breathing slowed, you felt a cold hand brush against yours under the blanketâlong fingers lacing between yours like he needed to feel your pulse to believe you were real.
âJack?â you whispered.
âHm?â
You didnât look at himâjust kept your eyes on the ceiling. ââŚWeâll talk more tomorrow.â
The hand squeezed yours once. Then came his whisperâlow, skittish.
âCan you bring more ice cream?â
ââ .âŚ
The sun had just barely started to rise, stretching faint golden streaks across the cream-colored walls of Oliverâs bedroom. You stirred slowly, blinking against the light trickling through the curtains, a heavy warmth pressed against your side.
Oliver was still asleep, curled into you with one small hand tangled in the hem of your shirt. His cheeks were soft with sleep, lips parted slightly as he murmured something inaudible in a dream. You exhaled quietly, slipping your hand from his to tuck the blanket up over his shoulder.
Clink.
The sound of keys in the door jolted your attention.
Careful not to wake him, you slid from the bed, casting one last glance at Jackâs usual corner toward the closet. Nothing. No flicker, no feather, no eerie reflection. But the air was thick. You felt him. Watching. Resting.
Downstairs, the front door creaked open just as you reached the end of the hallway. Mrs. Dalton froze in the entryway, still dressed in her scrubs, her expression visibly softening when she saw you. âYouâre still hereâŚâ
âI stayed the night,â you said simply, grabbing your jacket from the back of the couch. âHe had a nightmare.â
Mrs. Daltonâs eyes searched yours carefully, cautiously. âAnd you stayed.â
âIâm coming back tonight, too.â
Her brows furrowed. âWait. Why?â
You shrugged the coat on. âBecause Oliver needs me.â
She frowned. âI know he does. But youâthis isnât your responsibility. I shouldâve never let it get that far.â
You gave a small, tired smile. âIâm not doing it because I have to.â
She opened her mouth to speak again, something deeperâmaybe the truth behind her eyesâbut you were already halfway out the door. The cold morning air nipped at your cheeks, and just as you reached the sidewalkâ
Fwwt.
A small feather, light gray and black-striped, fluttered past your face and landed by your foot.
You didnât pick it up. You didnât have to. Instead, you stepped over it, heart skipping, and walked to your car.
ââ .âŚ
The sky had settled into its deep, navy blueâstars peeking out between the clouds as you walked up the front steps, a familiar white paper bag tucked beneath your arm. You could already hear Oliver inside, thudding softly around the living room, maybe looking for somethingâor someone.
You knocked once before letting yourself in, calling gently, âHey, Oliver?â
The little boyâs head popped over the couch, eyes widening when he saw the ice cream. His smileâreal and unfiltered this timeâwas radiant. It made your heart stutter for a beat.
âYou came back!â he called, running around the furniture. âYou came back!â
You caught him as he leapt into your arms, ice cream threatening to topple.
âOf course I did,â you said, smoothing a hand over his hair. âI said I would, didnât I?â
He nodded into your shoulder, voice muffled. âHeâs really happy.â
You didnât ask who. You didnât need to.
As you stepped further into the house, shadows curled slightly at the edge of the ceilingâjust out of reach. Like fingers brushing the walls. You pretended not to notice, but you felt itâthe way the house exhaled when you walked in. And the flicker of something behind you that didnât belong to the light.
The night unfolded in familiar motionsâyet something had shifted. Subtle, warm, like the slow turning of a tide.
You and Oliver ate your ice cream on the living room floor, cross-legged, the television flickering softly in the background with an old cartoon. He babbled between bites, chocolate smeared at the corners of his mouth as he spoke.
âJack says strawberry is his favorite flavor now, not mint chocolate chip anymore,â he said suddenly, licking the spoon.
âOh yeah?â you asked, quirking a brow and handing him a napkin. âHow does he even eat it? He doesnât have a tongue, does he?â
Oliver laughedâreally laughed. The kind that crinkled his nose and made his shoulders shake. âHe does! Itâs just black! And super long!â
You felt your eye twitch.
âWell that makes sense,â you said, leaning in conspiratorially. âBig clowns, big tongues, big appetite for ice cream.â
He nodded sagely, like you were in on something sacred. âHe said you smell like strawberries again.â
Your breath caughtâbut you didnât let it show. âThatâs probably because of my lotion.â
âNope,â Oliver said simply, digging back into the tub. âHe says itâs your skin.â
You blinked. âGross.â
More laughter.
The evening continued like thatâpillow forts, coloring pages, made-up bedtime riddles. And you answered all of Oliverâs strange little statements like they were part of the game.Â
When he mentioned how the other imaginary friends whispered to him at night? You told him to tell them to use their inside voices.
When he said Jack got sad when the window was closed? You cracked it an inch and said, âThere. For airflow and imaginary friends.â
And when he curled into your side with a book, his eyes drooping, his hand clutching your wrist like an anchorâyou didnât even hesitate. You read aloud. Soft, slow, your voice steady as his breaths evened. One page. Two. A lullaby wrapped in ink and warmth. Until his lashes fluttered and finally stilled.
You tucked him in gently, brushing his hair back from his forehead, and whispered, âGoodnight, buddy.â
The hallway light flickered once as you closed the door.
You padded down to the living room and coiled onto the couch, arms wrapped around a throw pillow. The silence of the house was a blanket in itselfâone that buzzed slightly at the edges. Hums of something just out of sight.
Still, you let your eyes close. âJackâŚâ The word was soft, a half-whimper from the empty room.
Then again, more urgent. âJackâŚâ
You sat up slowly, breath held, listening. The house didnât answer. No creak of footsteps, no flutter of feathers. Only a long, heavy stillness. You exhaled through your nose and pushed up to standâonly for something cold to slip over your shoulders.
Claws.
Long, jointed fingers, talon-tipped, coiling like ribbons of shadow. You felt them press lightly into your collarbones, grazing the top of your chestânot painful, but possessive, circling from behind you.
And thenâhis voice. Low. Fractured velvet. Warm like a whisper down your spine. âYou came back.â
You didnât scream. You didnât move. Just sat, back straight, breathing shallow. The claws curled tighter.
âI was scared you wouldnât,â Jack murmured, his chin lowering until you could feel the weight of his presence against your shoulder. âBut he asked for you. Needed you. So I waited. I was so good.â
You turned your head slowlyâhis feathers brushing your cheekâand finally looked at him.
Jackâs face rested next to yours, chin tucked onto your shoulder where he stood behind the couch. Pale. Painted. Cracked like porcelain, streaked slightly at the edges from where your hands had once smeared him. His mouth, sharp and black, curled into something between a smile and a snarl.
âI was very good,â he said again, almost pleading.
Your voice came quieter than you expected. âYou were.â
He inhaled your scent like it grounded him. And thenâhis claws uncurled from your shoulders and slid down your arms, lingering at your wrists like manacles of silk and bone.
âDonât go,â he whispered.
With graceful ease, one long gangly leg lifted over the back of the couch like he was stepping over a fence, then the other, before sitting cross-legged down beside you. He faced you, head tilted like a curious, waiting beast, his black-tinted claws twitching with thought. His wide eyes flicked over your face, down your throat, to your hands where they rested in your lap, still and warm. The poor cushions nearly buckled under the weight of him.
âWhy,â he murmured, almost to himself, âwhy does it do that?â
You looked over at him, brows furrowing. âDo what?â
His chest rose sharply, a frustrated mimicry of breath. âThis⌠fluttering.â He pressed a clawed hand flat against the center of his chest. âItâs like Iâm hollow and full at the same time.â
Your lips partedâyour brain stumbling to meet his intensity. âRemember what I said about love?â
Jack blinked, confused. âLove.â
âItâs⌠complicated,â you offered gently. âIt can feel really good and really terrible at the same time. It makes you care too much. Makes you do things. Say things. Want things.â
Jackâs head tilted, and he shuffled closer on all foursâlanky limbs folding with unnatural grace. âWant?â His voice dipped, that awful little smile playing at the corner of his lips. âI do want.â
You leaned back slightly as he reached for you, his claws brushing your legs, your hips, then curling possessively around your waist as he pulled you into his lap again. You let himâmore out of dazed submission than invitation. His body was warm beneath all the feathers and fabric, and the way he tucked you against him made you feel like a doll, a thing made for touch.
âYou feel soft,â he murmured, his hand smoothing over your back with surprising gentleness for something so sharp. âYou smell like the way I imagine dreams do. And when you talk⌠it gets louder in here.â He tapped the side of his temple.
âI think thatâs still love,â you said softly, trying not to tremble as he leaned forward. You didnât really think thatâbut the way he looked at youâthere was little you could do to no appease him.
Jackâs nose brushed your neck, and he inhaled like he was starving. Then, unexpectedly, he dragged the tip of his tongue up the line of your throatâinhumanly long, textured like velvet. Oliver was right, it was blackâand long. You gasped, clutching his arms.
His head tilted. âYou tasted⌠good. But not enough. Thereâs something else Iâve seen people do. Something Oliverâs parents did with mouths.â
You flushed. âA⌠kiss?â
Jackâs eyes lit up like a light bulb flaring. âYes. That. Show me.â
You hesitatedâbut something in his expression, his wide pupils and fluttering lashes, made your chest ache. He was so brightâdespite the monochromatics of him. There were wild colors and energy behind his sad eyes.
So you leaned forward and whispered, âItâs when two people press their lips together. Gentle, sometimes. Or⌠not.â
Jack didnât wait. He surged forward with a suddenness that made you gasp, pressing his mouth to yours clumsily at firstâlike he didnât quite know how hard to push or how much to take. His lips were cold, but the space between you burned. And when he groaned softly into it, something cracked wide open in your chest.
It wasnât graceful. It wasnât delicate. But it was real.
And when he pulled back, body jittering with energy, his eyes searched yours like you held the answer to everything.
âThat,â he whispered, claws trembling where they gripped your sides. âDo that again. Please.â
Your lips tingled from the pressure of himâhis mouth too cold, too soft, and too eager all at once. The taste of him lingered like sugar laced with something acrid, like old candy or sugar water. His nose brushed yours as he hovered, barely breathing, barely holding back.
And he was holding back. Barely.
âDo it again,â Jack breathed, his voice cracking with need. âPleaseâagain. Just one moreââ
You didnât answer. You didnât have time.
Jack surged forward, kissing you again, messier this timeâteeth knocking against yours in his desperation. One hand cradled the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, tangling like he never wanted to let go. His other arm was tight around your waist, claws digging just enough to make you feel it.
You gasped into his mouth when his tongueâtoo long, too strangeâflicked over your bottom lip, tasting you like you were spun sugar and heat. He moanedâmoaned, like he didnât understand how else to deal with the rush curling through him.
âYouâre real,â he whispered into your mouth, dragging you closer, your legs tangled where he held you in his lap. âYou see me. You let me touch you. You donât screamâyou donât runââ
âI was terrified of you,â you said, breathing uneven. âI still kind of am.â
Jack paused. His brows pinched. âThen why did you come back?â
âBecause Oliver isnât the only one who needs me.â
With a shuddering sound full of teeth and snarls, Jack buried his face in the crook of your neck. He inhaled deeplyâobscene and greedyâand you could feel his whole body tremble beneath yours. Then his handsâthose long, strange handsâslid under your thighs, and in one effortless motion, he scooped you up.
You yelped, arms flying around his neck as he lifted you like you were made of nothing.
âJackâ!â
âShhhâŚâ he cooed, walkingâno, glidingâthrough the hallway. âI can only keep Ollie asleep for so long, sweet girl. We need to be quiet.â
You squirmed a little, heart hammering, your voice caught somewhere between rationality and surrender. âW-We can sit down. We donât have toââ
âYouâre warm,â he murmured, cutting you off. âAnd when I touch you, it makes me feel good. I think⌠I think this is what people mean when they talk about loving someone.â He leaned down, brushing his nose across your cheek. âI want to be good at it. For you.â
The hallway was lit only by the dim nightlight near Oliverâs room, casting everything in shadow and silver. Jackâs body moved soundlessly, his boots not making a single creak on the old wood.
And then he reached Mrs. Daltonâs room.
You stiffened. âJack, no. We canâtâthis is her roomââ
But he didnât stop. He pressed the door open with his footâwhich had a little bell at the top, jinglingâand carried you over the threshold, and nudged it shut behind him. He walked you to the bed like heâd been there beforeâlike heâd waited for this exact moment. And when he set you down, he was slow. Careful. His claws ghosted over your sides as he released you, reverent, almost trembling.
âYou fit,â he whispered, kneeling beside the bed like a knight before an altar. âI donât know why. But you fit. And I donât want you to go.â
You sat there, breathing hard, watching as he tilted his headâthose eyes wide, flickering with too many thingsâAdoration. Madness. Hope. And something like love.
He didnât lunge again. Not this time. But you knewâthis night, this quiet, this eerie stillnessâit wasnât the end.
It was the beginningâof your doom, your loveâyou werenât sure.
Jackâs head tilted again, just slightly, enough for the bell at his collar to chime softly. The tiny sound filled the stillness between you like a warning, or maybe a plea.
âI donât want you to go,â he repeated, almost childlike, hands resting on your kneesâclawed fingers splayed wide, thumbs rubbing tiny, distracted circles into the soft fabric of your pants. âThey always go. All of them. After a while. Even when I like them.â
You swallowed, your throat dry. âJackâŚâ
âI didnât like the others like I like you. They didnât make me feel like this.â
He leaned forward again, feathered collar brushing your arms, the scent of sweets and wrapping around you. His face hovered close, and for the first time⌠he looked serious.
âI get big feelings when you touch me,â he murmured, eyes searching yours. âWhen you talk soft. When you look at me like Iâm not wrong.â
âYouâre not,â you whispered, reaching a cautious hand upâfingers threading through the messy dark strands of his hair. âYouâre not wrong, Jack. Youâre just⌠not like us. And thatâs okay. Some people donât deserve you.â
He whimpered, the sound sharp and fragile as his hands suddenly moved to your waistâclaws careful but firm, gripping you like he thought you might vanish again.
âWhy does it hurt when you leave?â His voice cracked, nose brushing yours, his weight pushing forward until you had to brace yourself back on your elbows. âWhy does it ache?â
You didnât have an answer.
You just let your other hand come up, smoothing over the side of his jaw, your thumb brushing a smear of dried white face paint. âBecause youâre learning to care. And that hurts sometimes.â
Jack leaned into your touch like a dog starved for affection. âIs that what this is?â he rasped. âIs this love?â
You froze.
His claws slipped beneath your shirt again, up your sidesânot cruelly, but with that same aching hunger he didnât know how to soothe. The pads of his fingers found the faint indents heâd left the night before, and he shuddered, pressing his forehead to your shoulder with a broken sound.
âI didnât mean to hurt you,â he murmured, voice muffled against your skin. âI just wanted you to see me.â
âI do see you,â you whispered, unsure if you were shaking from nerves or something deeper.
He looked up suddenly, lifting himself slightly to meet your gaze again. âAnd you still came back.â
âI told you I would.â
Jack didnât like that answer. His mouth twistedâunhappy, needyâand his arms curled around your back, pulling you forward until your body pressed against his chest, your legs falling open around his wide hips.
âYou wanted to come back,â he corrected, nose pressed into your hair. âDidnât you?â
You closed your eyes. âI did.â
Silence fell.
Then Jack giggledâsoftly, sweetly, but with something strained and high-pitched underneath. âI knew it. I knew you were different. That you werenât scared like the rest.â
âJackâŚâ
Thatâs all it takes for his lips to be crashing onto yours, biting back a little whimper at the messy clash of teeth, of spit, because one taste of your lips and he was already so addicted. One kiss wasnât enough, neither was two.
Your breath caught when he shifted his weight, a knee sliding between your thighs as he loomed over you, long hair falling like a shadowy curtain around your face. That enormous feathered collar fanned around his neck, brushing your shoulders like wings, trapping you beneath him.
âYou said love feels fluttery, right?â he asked, voice rough, cracking slightly. âIt feels like you canât breathe, like everything is spinning and hot and tight.â
You noddedâyour throat too dry to speak.
âThen Iâm in love,â he declared, eyes glassy and intense. âBecause I canât stop feeling.â
He pressed his nose to your collarbone, inhaling deeply, then let his tongue graze across your skinâwarm and impossibly long, like silk and static. You shivered, your hand instinctively grabbing at the front of his suspender shirt, fingers curling into that ridiculous fabric ruffle beneath his throat.
He smiled at that, manic and pleased. âYou like this, donât you? Even if youâre scared.â
âIâm not scared,â you lied, voice tight.
That earned a laughâsoft and delighted, as if he could feel the war in your chest.
âYouâre shaking,â he said, claws slipping lower, curved around your hips now, pulling you flush against his frame. âBut not like before. Not like when you wanted to run. Now youâre trembling like⌠like I make your chest flutter, too.â
You didnât answer, but your body didâarching when his hips settled against yours.
Jesus fucking Christ. You felt the boneyness of his hips, the slimness of his torso, and the absolutelyâdevastatingly, mouthwateringlyâcurve of his erection against his hip. Your hips jerked immediately at the feeling, eyes shooting wide when you felt him grind down just the slighted bit. There was no fucking way.
Jack groaned low, almost surprised by his own reaction, his clawed hand catching your thigh and hiking it up around his waist. âSo little,â he hissed, voice shaking with something deeper now. âSo small and warm in my handsâŚâ
His head dipped, tongue trailing up your throat, stopping just beneath your jaw. âWant to taste your skin again. Is that okay? You said I need to ask permission.â
You managed a nod, your fingers still clinging to him. He pulled back just enough to look at you, and the manic glee that bloomed across his face was both terrifying and beautiful.
There was nothing gentle about it.
Jack kissed like a creature whoâd only just discovered the act existed and couldnât fathom living without itâwhich was mostly true. His mouth was hot and desperate, his tongue curling past your lips like he needed to taste everything youâd ever spoken. He moaned against youâguttural, starvedâas he dragged your hips closer into his, arms caging you in completely.
The room spun, your senses burning, and when he finally pulled back for air, a string of spit clung between your mouths. His chest rose and fell like heâd run miles, pupils blown wide with something that wasnât entirely sane.
âI want more,â he whispered. âLet me have more.â Jack gasps, chasing hotly after your lips. Eyes half-lidded to watch the snapping of those delicate strings of saliva, âYouâreâ youâre soââ And heâs way too impatient to get out his words, licking heatedly at the slit of your mouth, over and over and over. âI canât help it.â
And the both of you are stuck on the way Jackâs moving again, hips fucking up in jagged, mindless little grinds. Like he doesnât even realize heâs doing it, like he didnât even feel the way his twitching erection was smearing along the insides of your thighs. Youâre erratic, entire body shaking every time the tip of his cock catches your clit through layers of clothes. How was this even happening?
âI rememberââ Jack started, tugging his hips off of you, leaning back, your legs still spread wide around his hips. âI remember what Ollieâs parents used to do. I remember seeing it. I think that was the first time I felt like this.â His voice is shaky, like heâs barely containing something running rampant behind those stripes and monochrome.
âWhat do youââ
Jackâs claws ran under your shirt, pushing the fabric all the way up until it bunched under your chin. You seized, hands letting go of his shirt and moving to cover your chest, bra slightly askew from all the prior movement. Jack didnât like thatâhe wrapped a hand around your wrists, tugging them away with a huff. âI want to show you.â
He pushes your shirt over your head, throwing it somewhere against the wall, before heâs snagging one long, sharp finger under the main band of your bra. Your breath catches, hand wrapping around his wristâbefore heâs snapping it up.
Your tits fall free, bra bunched onto your chest, nipples hard from the chilled air and rampant energy of your body. You shuffle in embarrassment, pressing your arm over your chest, âJackââ
He stalks towards your trembling figure as if hypnotized, âOh, you look even prettier this way.â
You donât even have time to react. Jackâs painted lips are latching onto one nipple, giant claw snagging the other. You can fill the pinprick of his jagged teeth against your skin, and it elicits goosebumps all over. Heâs groaning, humming sweetly against your nipple as that bastardous tongue laps and snakes against the nub.
âJackâhahâoh godââ
His bright eyes meet yours through heavy lids, chittery little grumbles as he sucks and swirls and makes your head dizzy. Your hands curl into his hair, brushing the strands from his face as he pops off one tit and immediately locks onto the other. A thin ring of black circles your nipple, evidence of his dark lips that sucked a red spot onto your skin. You can hardly catch your breath, arching up into the feeling.
âTastes⌠so good. Youâre so sweetâŚâ he moans against you, licking a thick stripe across one mound, then to the other. But heâs back up at your lips before you know it, slipping that tongue through your teeth and messing with your own. He forces his way into your mouth, dragging the muscle across your inner cheeks like heâs trying to memorize it.
You feel him slipping down, dragging your hips with him in a firm hold, until you hear the thud of his knees hitting the carpet at the side of the bed. He smacks one, hard kiss across your lips before retreating down your jaw, then to your throat. You gasp out, craning your neck as he nips and sears his teeth across your veins.
Then you feel the tug of your pants, thick claws snagging the fabric and pulling them down your thighs. You try to maneuver, moving to grab his shoulders, but Jack retreatsâleaving your mouth and throat alone.
âO-Oh.â
Jack settles between your spread legs, tugging your waistband down your knees and off your ankles. You have enough mind to lean up onto your elbows, unclasping your bra and tugging it off your chest before it becomes too uncomfortable.
Despite your thoughts, despite the way your heart hammered so violently in your chestâLaughing Jack looked so pretty when he knelt obediently at the edge of the bed. A thin sliver of sweat sliding down his temple, breaths coming out in heated gusts, clawed hands balling into a fist and shivering once you smear your legs open just a fraction more. Twitching, white-knuckled like he was forcing himself to not just ruin you right then and there.Â
âLet me taste you.â Jack said sternly, an edge of hesitation in his voice. âIâll be gentle, I promise. I know what to do. Let me show you.â His words got faster as he spoke, frantic. Like if he couldnât convince you in this moment, youâd up and leave. Your thighs shook, mind dizzy between right and wrong.
But the sight of him there, claws sneaking up to brush against the inside of your calf as your legs dangled off the side of the bedânot your bed, youâd have to make sure to tidy up. There was no point in stopping now.
âOkay.â Youâre nodding, and the very action is enough for him to snap his eyes down where your cotton panties were starting to dampen and swallow. âPleaseâpleaseâbe gentle.â
With so much pent-up eagerness, Jackâs lips twist into a sleazy grinâcrawling himself the few inches it was to stuff himself nose-deep between your pretty legs. First it was the tiniest tug on your restless hips, then it was a sniffâand then it was a bite of his sharp, pearly whites over the waistband of your underwear. A throaty groan snarling through his teeth, âOh, sweet girl, I promise.â
Quick as a flash, heâs snagging his teeth on the flimsy fabric of your panties and all but tearing it off of you. Ripping to simply push its tatters to the side, Jack doesnât even fully take it off before he was simply drooling.Â
âSweet,â he gasps out, tongue flicking past his lips to taste the air. You shrieked, gripping your fingers tight into the sheets, but he just smiled lazily, âSo sweet.â
The fattened pad of his thumb sears down on your swollen folds and spreads you wide open, cock twitching at the deafening wet squelch that chimes.
âAnd mine.â
âOhâ oh fuckââ Youâre shrilling out a syrupy moan once his singing tongue flicks at your clit like a lollipop, taking extra care to press down hard so that it has you thrashing.
âThere? Sâthat good?â Heâs roaming his mouth over your puffed-up lips eagerly, yearning, not knowing what he was doing, just addicted. âYouâre so wet, sweetheart. Sâthis for me? A-All for me?â
The only answer heâs getting is a few soft gasps of oh! and yes! You couldnât help but nod your head down and admire just how drunk Jack was as heâs sucked away on your twitching clit. The hollows of his pale cheeks sucked-in, spit-glossed mouth wrapped snugly around your sensitive nub. âSo⌠so goodâŚâ
Your legs try to clamp around his head.
âE-Easy, Jackââ You mewl out in a tone that makes his tensed hips rut forward like an animal, immediately grinding against the firm base of the bedframe. You snake a hand down to intertwine with his messy hair, tugging the strands until his eyes snap up to meet yours. âEasy.â
Jack nods against your cunt, lips bumping your clit and smearing your arousal across your folds. You try to tug his head off, just to give yourself a momentâ
âI want it.â He grumbles, popping off your clit, hanging his head back as he pants into the air. His eyes are so glassy, the tip of his tongue flashing across his bottom lipâuntil itâs not the tip anymoreâwaitâ
The curly, dark end of it stingingly slaps down on your thigh, Jackâs tongue is so long enough that he can lace it all over your shivering leg and wrench them further and further open. You nearly faint.
âI want in.â
And then it feels like youâre being split apartâjust a few solid, thorough inches of Jackâs slimy tongue burrowing past your puffy folds, keeping your jolting legs pinned firmly by his sharp claws digging in. Your head slams back against the mattress, hands taking a blinding hold on Jackâs hair. Youâre being rendered utterly stupid by the jerky flicks of his pointed muscle stirring up your insides, wriggling in circular patterns around and around your gummy walls. Scarfing you down until his tongue reaches the very gooey bottom of your cunt and kisses your cervix so hard that youâre pushed up the mattress and heâs forced to reel you back down again.Â
âWhatâ ohâŚoh my godââ Tears drip down from your heavy lids, wailing whimpers breaking off from your lips at every smack he left on that spongy end, further pushing aside your panties. Then itâs retracting all the way back out, only to thrust in again. âJackâ itâs so bigâ your tongueââ
He grumbles his agreement, smacking his lips back against your folds, sucking your clit. Heâs slashing his tongue almost aggressively inside, knocking your g-spot in-between his journey to fuck you with his tongue. You could feel the ridges of his tongue, feel how it had to bend and curve to fit all of it inside of you. It angled to the shape of your walls, making you feel so full.
âN-ngh please!â You could feel your resolve breaking, nearly hear the sound of your fear shattering and getting rebuilt into uncontrollable lust. You canât help but rock into every second of his frenzied cadence, creeping down one of your hands to hook on the underside of his jaw, angling his head so that he could go even deeper, âI-itâs so goodâ donât stop, donât stop.â
And the look in Jackâs shiny eyes is the most raw glint of disbelief that youâve ever seen.
His thighs clench as he hits his erection against the wooden board of the bed and grinds, unwilling to yank the button of his pants down, unwilling to take his hands off of you for a mere second.
He throws your thighs over his shoulder, your trembly hands guided through his sweaty scalp, mouth hungry. You nearly scream every time the sharp ends of his fangs snag on your clit, tongue fucking into your sopping cunt like heâs addicted to the mere taste and sounds of itâbecause he is.
Your noises, your smell, your taste. How did he go so long without you?
âFuck- fuck, youâre making such a mess, Jack.â
âMhmmmmââ
âI canâtâ I canâtââ And you donât know whether itâs the sight of slicked saliva falling from Jackâs mouth or the sheer overstimulation that has you jumbling up your syllablesâbut itâs enough to make Jack grin against your folds. âSâtoo muchâ hold onââ
Your brainâs fuzzily numb by the time you finally recognize that familiar twist at the bottom of your gut. Blubbering out an unsteady, âH-Hold onâ Just giveâaghâ give me a minute.â
âI knowâ I know I know I knowâ make a mess.â Heâs tugging his tongue out, letting a wad of saliva stream straight down your slit and licking it all up before he returns to probe your entrance fully, swirling every fold of his tongue until it was like he was stuffing you with his taste buds.
Tears pool from your eyes, hands jerks two thick strands of his hair and pullingâand your body absolutely shatters under him.
Jack picks it up immediatelyâkeenly aware of the way your walls clamp down with a searing grip on his lashing tongue, flooding his tastes with such a sweet, sweet taste. You could practically see the fireworks exploding behind his eyes, eyelashing fluttering and lips twitching as he only shoves his jaw closer to your skin.
Your hips roll at the primal way Jackâs prominent Adamâs apple bobs with each eager swallow. Thin lines of sappy slick falling from the black, puckered corners of his lips and waterfalling all down the side of his throat.Â
âGoodâ Good girlââ His sopping wet tongue drags up and down your open folds to pull you through your euphoria, every lolling flick of the curled end jostling against your thoroughly-stuffed cunt. âThisâ this is all for me?â Heâs crooning out, dazed, letting his jaw fall open with every quiver youâre instinctively clenching with your cunt, âAll for me. Moreâ more, sweetheart.â
The waves of absolute pleasure ran through your gut, through your legs, until it slowly fizzled into sharp, jerking twitches of your legs clamping around his head. Jack let you, too busy tasting your orgasm to worry about his head getting squished between your shaky thighs. He wasnât stopping, his tongue making it a point to clean every inch of your insides, to taste every sweet drop.
His tongue kept thrusting, lips continually sucking on your weeping clit. Your eyes rolled back, hips jerking off the bed and slamming back down into the sheets with every curl of the muscle inside you.
It wasnât until you were hitting your fist against his head and pressing the bottoms of your feet against his shoulders that he flicked his eyes up at you, catching the absolutely fucked-out expression that lay before him.
âJackâ sâtoo much, too muchââ
And heâs perking his head up like the thought didnât even occur to himâslowly retracting his tongue from your folds and back to his own mouth. His glistening tongue licks his lips, catching all the spit and slick that got absolutely everywhere all over his face. His eyes are locked into yours, despite you rapidly blinking away tears. He smiled, innocently, all sharp teeth and giddy eyes, âWas that good?â
Your eyes flicked back and forth between his face and your bodyâyour inner thighs and center absolutely covered in smears of white and black facepaint. You could see where a black O shape circled right around your cunt, where his cheekbones has pressed right into the meat of your thighs. It was an absolute messâand that wasnât even counting all the drool and slick accompanying it. But your eyes flicked back to his face.
Fuck. He was pretty.
Granted, you always saw him in the shade of shadows or in faint passing, but right nowâwith Jackâs dark strands of hair hooding his half-lidded gaze, what little you could see of his eyes gleaming, chest rising and falling rapidlyâhe was dreamy.
One gangly limb after the other, Jack crawls back up into the bedâwell, grinds right between your legs so that heâs putting pressure on your throbbing cunt. He doesnât even look like he knows that heâs doing it, not when heâs gripping your flushed cheeks in one claw and puffing your lips together.
Looming over top of you, his other claw grips into the askew bedding near your head, face quickly lowering toward yours as he catches your mouth again.
Itâs all spit and tongues and the taste of you on his lips. Youâre both panting into each otherâs mouthâs, his sharp teeth catching against your lips and making you hiss. He grinds down again, making your hands grip into his ruffled collar, rutting his hips and dampening the front of his trousers with your wetness.
Heâs whimpering into your mouth, eyes clenched tightly shut as you feel the head of his cocktip smear through your folds over thin layers of fabric. Your hands move before your brain does, fishing for the waistband of his trousers and finding the metal clasp that holds the layers together.
Jack feels your hands against stomach, knuckles running across those bandages tight around his waist, and angles his hips upwards. He canât figure out why he feels so warm, why the fluttering in his chest has traveled southâbut when your fingers latch on and snag the clasp open, feeling as his length bobs out from behind the fabric and smacks against your belly-buttonâitâs like he just touched a live-wire.
âWhatââ he started, popping off your lips to look at the space between you. His face is twitching, like he canât pinpoint what expression heâs supposed to have, watching at his cock twitches and smears pre-cum against your stomach. Itâs only when you let go of the fabric of his pants, mindlessly darting over to swipe your thumb across a pearly bead of pre that glistened on his slitâthat Jackâs hips jerk at the feeling, chasing your hand.
âO-oh.â Jack grunts at the look on your gorgeous face once your hand wraps around the head of his cock, twisting slowly. His hips stutter, brow knotting as you slowly stroke your hand on his tip, smearing his arousal on his bulbous head. âNo oneâs ever touched me like thisâhah!â You pump your hand lower, gaping at the way your fingers have to separate to get a grip on him, jerking his cock lazily while you drool over the sight.
âItâs okay, Jackâ Mm, does that feel good?â You hum, shuffling up to press a wet kiss against his jaw, his eyes still glued on your hand.
âYe-Yeah. Reallyâhnmâreally good.â
âYeah?â
Heâs nodding frantically, rolling his hips until his tip is knocking against your stomach. Heâs so long, so thick that you can see exactly where heâs going to end up inside of you, see exactly where the tip of his goes past your belly-button. Your stomach rolled with excitement.
You push against his shoulder, minding the ruffles and feathers, and wrap your leg onto his hip, rolling the two of you over.
âOh.â Heâs gaspingâyou settle on top of him, legs bracketing his hips as his length sits heavy against the curve of your ass. Youâre completely naked above him except for the shredded remnants of your torn panties still hanging on. You couldnât care less about them, not when heâs panting underneath you, staring up with wide, anxious eyes.
âJackâŚâ Youâre sliding the curve of your ass gingerly against his aching hot length, shudders skittering down your spine at the sheer size of him pressing up against you. âY-youâre so big. I donât know if itâll fit.â
âFit? F-Fit where?â Heâs whispering, in awe. Watching with damply bated breath as you reach between your legs, gripping the base of himâfingers not even close to touchingâand dragging him to point that curved, bulbous tip right between your folds and sliding it up and down, collecting all your sweet arousal. Jack nearly snaps his hips up, if not for the weight of you on top of him.
âRight here,â you purr, grinding your clit against his weeping slit.
âAmâAm I really that b-big?â Heâs panting at the first squeeze of his reddened, blushing tip against your entrance, his chittery voice wavers almost as much as his heavy eyelids, falling apart with just that first taste of your perfect cunt. âYou got itâuh huh, yeah, you got itâShow me how good it feels.â Jackâs voice cracks with a whimper at that snug resistance, âYou can take itâyou can take it. Iâll make it fit.â
âOhâoh my godâJack, Jacâ!â
âIs it too big for my sweet girl? Hm?â He giggles under you, claws latching tight onto your waist, pushing you down each and every time Jack jerks his hips off the bed and pushes just to fit in. âSweetheartââ Jack gasps as you throw your head back with a mewl at the sheer size of him, planting your hands into his forearms.
His painfully-aching cock was so big that just the mere first inch being bullied inside was enough to make your vision blotch with black specs. His rounded head was stretching your slick-flooded walls so bad it burned, âIâm sorry, sweet girlâ Mâsorry Iâm so big. But youâre my girlâ my girl can take itâ you canâŚyou can take it.â
You canât even move, let alone think very hard. Where all your teasing was prominent moments ago, it all fissiled the second Jack learned what he was meant to do, realized he could feel good too. Youâre just limp in his hands down, stuttering fucked-out whimpers and tears dripping down your chin onto his frilly clothes. It was pathetic.
He had to be almost inâhe had to be.
Your heart nearly fell to your ass when you looked down, eyes cracking open just enough to see when the two of you were connectedâand realize he was hardly half way.
âJackâ oh my godâ oh my god.â
âSo tight, so tight, soâ so warmâ tightââ
âMhmââ And youâre just letting out the cutest cry once he finally eases himself all the way in, practically impaling you. Your cunt gushes around him, thighs trembling as you feel both of your bodies untense.
Tenderly caressing your palm down his chest, you whine, âI-itâs in?â Your hitched tone makes his eyes flutter shut, and yet, heâs fighting to bring them back open and watch as you grind against him. âItâs in. O-oh my god, I can feel youâ so deep.â
âIt burns,â he whines, clamping his claws tight around your waist as he begins to haul you up, the bells on his clothes jingling as he shifts you higher on his length. Heâs stretching you so wide, rubbing against every curve and sensitive spot inside of you, making you dizzy. âNeedâa move.â Youâre jostled ever-so-slightly on top of him as heâs sucking in a deep breath.
One jerk of his hips has you falling forward, draping across his long body, youâre nothing against his over eight foot height. He takes advantage of the angle, wraps his gangly arms around your back, and thrusts.
You feel the wind knock out of your lungs, feel your spine arch at the sheer fullness that erupts your thoughts. âJackââ you cry out, gazing up to see his gleaming teeth on display, a feral snarl painting his features.
âSweet girlââ Planting a rattling thrust youâre feeling all the way in your chest, his twitching length is so widely thick that Jack has to bite down on his lips and manhandle you for his thrusts to move to and fro, fighting the sheer tightness of your walls.
âNghhhâJack! Fuck, y-youâre in so deepââ
He nods, painfully so, and reaches to wrap a claw around your jaw, forcing you to lean up to him. âKiss me, please.â
âShouldâveâ shouldâve done this soonerââ He hisses out through a narrowed pant, tongue flashing angrily across his lips as he pushes the tip between your lips. âShouldâa had you like this from the start.â
âO-oh fuck fuck fuckââ The backs of your thighs ache after every slamming thrust youâre bouncing back into his bony hips, pounding away like he was crazed, every jackhammer only makes Jack grow more feral. The sounds, the absolute vulgarness of your skin slapping together.
His rummaging, fat-tipped shaft was so large that you could feel the way his ridged cockhead scraped your cervix, bumping against the end like he desperately needed to get deeper, impossibly deeper.
Facepaint practically smearing down his cheeks now, âShouldâve fuh-fucked you the moment Iâhnnghâsaw you. Shouldâve dragged you into that closetâ sh-shouldâveââ Youâre squealing once his sharp claws dart down to toy and pull at the curve of your ass. âI knew from that first nightâ Yeah, I knew itâ Youâre perfect.â
Oh, heâs babbling.Â
Cooing, you slither one of your hands through the tangled strands of his dark hair, âAwwwâ itâs okay, Iâm here. Youâveâhahâyouâve got me now.â
âYes.â Heâs seething, heaving thick swallows of air against your lips. Your smell was driving him mad, he canât help but bite against your lips and pull. âAre you feeling good, too?â
Pace growing sloppier by the minute, he barely even noticed when you nodded, too worried about tugging you lips open with his jagged teeth and shoving his tongue back into your mouth. Itâs almost as if you didnât know if it was you bouncing back on his cock on him thrusting up into you, only fucked dumb with every sharp jut. His cock curved just right, targeting your g-spot over and over with his bruising tip.
You could barely breathe, especially when his tongue was yawning in your mouth, pushing to the tightness of your throat. It took your hand on his face, pushing his forehead back before you could gag. âI-Iâm so closeââ Youâre hiccuping through your salty tears, brows scrunching at the overwhelming coil at the base of your gut. âF-fuck! Jack mâgonna cum.â
âAgain? Hahâ again?â His response comes out guttural, and itâs just so cute the way that heâs forced to gnaw on his bottom lip to stop himself from shoving his tongue back into your pretty mouth.
Youâre nodding frantically, pressing your hands into his chest to raise yourself, fucking your hips back to match the unrelenting pace Jack was setting into your weeping cunt. The sounds had grown more lewd, slick and arousal coating your inner thighs, nails dragging along the bandaged wrap of his waist. Shocked, Jack sounds as if he could still barely even believe this was all real. âThat feelingâ the, the fluttering,â he whines, legs kicking out from under you like heâs trying to get away from some foreign feeling, âItâs worseâhahâit hurts, it hurtsââ
His claws sear against your skin, pace faltering as his brow twists with unease, eyes flickering to your face and your cunt with panic. You reach to grab his face, forcing his shaky eyes on you, your fingernails pressing into his white-coated face.
âDonât stop. Jackâaghhâ donât stop.â Youâre grinning like wild, tear-heavy lashes fluttering so fast your vision blurs with flashes of monochrome. âYouâre gonna cum. Insideâ please, inside.â
âAhâAlrightâ Oh, sweet girl. Oh, goodness.â You could feel the rumbling under his skin as his teeth pull back into a primal snarl, tear-glinted eyes locked permanently where his red, swollen cock was disappearing between your legs. âIt hurts, it hurts. Need it to come outâhahâneed it.â
But between all of his babbling and all of his jittery movements, Jack doesnât even realize itâdoesnât even remember to breathe the very moment youâre creaming all down his monstrous cock. Violent twitches take over your body as you shut your eyes and ride it all out.Â
The sheer amount of slick that pools out of your cunt is mind-numbing, every drop coating Jackâs cock for him to piston even faster up into you. You fall limp in his hands, your orgasm shattering every ounce of willpower you had left, reduced to nothing but a drooling fucktoy on his chest.
And, god, he cums. So thick, so much, straight into the gummy walls that constricted around him like a vice. He gnashed his teeth, claws scratching down your sides and gripping hard into the meat of your ass as he holds you there, forcing you to sit and feel every shot of cum that pumps into your cervix. Heâs whimpering, teeth chattering so hard you were afraid heâd pass out.
And youâre just tapering off from your own orgasm, finally mustering enough energy to look up at him, you slur your words, âDidnât that feel good? Ahâ good job, good job, Jack.â
Heâs not listening.
âAgain. Again, again, againââ Urgent, rapidly heâs flipping the two of you immediately over to hover on top of you and rut like an animal. Youâre gasping once your back slams down on the soft bedding, heels struggling to cling onto Jackâs slim hips until heâs wrapping his long arms underneath your knees and hauling them over his shoulders. You feel your back bend, and bend, and bendâ
He had you manhandled like some toy into a mating press. All the air gets pressed out of your lungs as your heels hook onto his shoulders, ruffled feathers on his collar tickling your bare skin. Youâre so open, so powerless, so⌠braindead.
âNeed to make you cum againââ Growling through the tiniest gaps of his grit teeth, he presses his forehead to yours, his striped nose poking against your cheek, and inhales that sweet scent of yours still permeating the thick air. The straps of his suspenders rub against your skin as he begins to move again, searing his hips back to thrust back into you again. He laughs, rough and low and tired, chittering his teeth, âI want to feel it over and over. Want to make my sweet girl feel good again.â
He struggles to even focus his eyes on you properly, and Jackâs teeth grit at the lead squelch your pussy makes once he sinks all the way back in, drools of cum and slick pooling onto the mattress below.Â
He picks up a brutal pace again, planting his claws on either side of your head, your hands wrapping around his wrists as you try to hold on for dear fucking life. The angle, the position, the sheer force of his hips have your jaw going slack, eyes rolling into the back of your skull. Jackâs length bumps into your g-spot so bruisingly that with only a few more strokes youâre cumming again.Â
Itâs only when you cry out, a shrill noise bubbling out of your throat, that Jack realizes it. A wide smile paints his face, every sharp tooth shining in the dim light as he watches every twist and turn of your expression, refusing to slow his pace even when fat tears roll down your cheeks. âYes. Yeah, yeah, yeahâ Yes, sweet girl. Give it to me, give it to meââ
He canât even finish the damn sentence before heâs following right behind you, your cunt clenching so tight that he canât thrust again before heâs spilling into youâeven more. You can tell heâs sensitive, can feel the way his hips fight his mind to pull out, whimpering so pitifully as he fucks him cum into the already stuffed cavern of your walls.
âSo good for meâ so good. Feel how full you are, so full andâ and warmâŚâ He was practically twitching, trembling. âItâs so hot insideâŚâ
You couldnât even move without feeling cum slip down the curve of your ass, spilling onto the bed. You prayed Mrs. Daltonâs comforter was washable.
Yelping, your legs struggle to shut once his sloppy cadence turns even sloppier. Lazier. Heels slipping off of his shoulders and crooking onto his elbows. âO-one moreââ Jackâs whining, black tongue lolling between his teeth, licking up the drool that pools onto his lips, âKeepâ keep those pretty legs open fâme. Mâbeggingâ take it, sweetheart.â
One claw wiggles its way under your back, arching your body off the bed and pressing your chest to his, face-first into the ruffles of his collar. The other claw plants at the top of your head, and pushes you down.
âJackâ!â Your legs were shaking so violently every snap of his hips made you weep openly. So overstimulated, you could barely even be touched without lighting cracking through your veins.Â
âYeah? Feel good? Sâall for youâ only for youââ Purposefully pressing up close so that your poor clit gets rubbed over by the wrap of bandages that stop at his pelvis, the rough fabric tugging the sensitive bud. He probably didnât even realize what he was doing, totally focused on making you as full as possible.
He was fucking you like he couldnât get enoughâwould never possibly be able to get enough. Every thrust had him pushing you down once more after the stuttering recoil, grinding your bodies against each other because Jack couldnât bear to part. âYouâre never leaving againâneverâNeed you all the time.â
You canât help but nod, canât even think straight, mind completely full of the skin slapping and the strong smells and the horrible way you knew you were going to be so bruised after this. This was going to hurt so bad tomorrow.
âCum. Cum on me, sweetheart. All over me.â
âJackâ pleaseââ you cry, mouth falling into an obscene O shape as you feel your legs going numb.
âNow.â You could hear the grit in his voice, hear the absolute need. But more than that, more than his voice, you could feel the heavy tongue that slithered across your throat, across your shoulders, all the way into your mouth and to the back of your throatâchoking you.
Feel it as you squirt.
âYes.â
Simply spraying him with a searing flood of your sweet, soaking juices. Jack has the mindless audacity to crane his head and look between you, wide eyes catching just as your wetness sprays onto his hips and trousers and just everywhere.
âFuuuckâŚâ You feel like youâve been dragged through the 6 rings of hell with the way your body absolutely burns. Gushing and gushingâitâs almost embarrassing how much youâre leaking around Jackâs creamy base.Â
Jack didnât seem to think so, though.
He was mesmerized, hypnotized. A glistening few droplets of drool slipped from the corner of his mouth as he just watched himself get drenched in all your gushing orgasm whilst he cums for who knows how many times.
âYes, yes, yes, yesââ Jack is absolutely losing his mind, every languid pump of his flinching cock sending massive shockwaves through both of you. He canât even draw his hips back anymore, canât even thrust, âYes.â
He just grinds, just pumps you full again, this round of cum not even trying to fit into your cunt and just spilling out. Jack falls limp on top of you, muttering yes, yes, yes like a mantra, like his mouth canât form another word. You both just lay there for a moment, all heaving breaths and shaky limbs, clinging to each other like you never want to let go.
âSo full⌠Jack⌠soo fullâŚâ You mumble against his chest, tears and spit staining the white fabric. He nods against your hair, taking deep breaths of the sweet smell of you.Â
The room was still heavy with heat and haze, the air thick and sweet as your chest rose and fell beneath him. Jackâs weight was heavy, his long, wild hair a curtain around your flushed face, his hands still curled loosely at either side of your head, claws twitching with the remnants of adrenaline.
You were boneless beneath him, throat raw from panting, lips swollen from being kissed breathless. Every inch of you felt claimedâtouched, tasted, adored in that chaotic, frenzied way only he could manage.
Jack licked his lips, then leaned down to nose against your neck, humming softly to himself, as though delighted by the sheen of sweat on your skin. âYou were⌠so good,â he murmured, voice thick with pride and possessive warmth. âSo warm. So soft. I didnât know⌠I didnât know anything could feel that good.â
You swallowed hard, heart still hammering in your chest as you tried to blink the daze from your eyes. His tongue flicked out, dragging slowly along your collarbone, tasting you again. âJackââ you breathed, trying to lift your hand, but he caught it midair, pressing it to his chest like a treasure.
He slowly lifted his hips, pushing your legs open so he could ease out of you with the least amount of pain possible. It was useless, your hips still stuttered upwards when the head of him caught in your entrance, snagging a shrill cry from your lips that he immediately swallowed up.
His cum gushed out of you, thick globs of him pulling out of you and pooling onto the bedding below. You felt your whole body shiver, felt Jackâs eyes rove over every curve and surge of your body.
âYou felt good,â he repeated, more urgently now, almost reverent. âLike magic. Like you were made for me. Were you?â
Your throat tightened. âI⌠donât know.â
âYou are now.â He leaned down again, licking along the swell of your breast before trailing down your ribs, slow and unhurried, as though savoring the salt of your skin. His voice was muffled, cheek pressed against your stomach. âMine now. Canât give you back. Wonât.â
You twitched when his tongue dipped a little lower, lazily tracing over the marks heâd left. His claws gently held your thighs open as he worked, less frenzied nowâjust curious, affectionate. Worshipful. He pressed the thick curve of his tongue through your folds, across your lips, careful not to let your hips jerk away from him.Â
You squirmed under him, both flushed and too sensitive to bear it. âJackâenough, pleaseââ
He huffed, nuzzling your hip as if reluctant to stop. âBut you taste like strawberries,â he whined. âAnd you let me, didnât you? You let me do everything.â
âI was trying to help you understand,â you said, voice thin and shaky, though you couldnât quite meet his eyes. âTrying to make sense of⌠whatever this is.â
Jack blinked, resting his chin on your belly, his eyes wide and unusually soft.
âI donât want to make sense of it anymore,â he murmured. âI just want you.â
There was a beat of silence.
âI love you.â
You felt your throat choke up.
âI love you,â His tongue moved easily, cleaning your inner thighs, cleaning your cunt, careful not to hurt you when he pressed the muscle against your entrance and into your pitiful walls. âI love you, I love you,â he muffled against your center. You squealed, tears hot and heavy against your cheeks. But Jack held your thighs, swiped his thumbs over your skin in comfort, easy as he cleaned every curve and slope of your cunt. âMm love you.â
When you felt lightheaded, when you didnât know if you would be able to open your eyes every time you blinkedâJack finally let up, licking his maw, and planting one, gentle kiss against your spoiled clit.
His hands slid up, wrapping tightly around your waist, pulling you up against him again. You collapsed into his chest, exhausted and limp, your fingers curling into the soft, ruffled fabric of his shirt. Jack purred in his throat, the vibration sinking into your bones.
âIâ hahââ you whispered. âI love you, Jack.â
Jack hissed quietly, pleased by the mentionâbut he didnât stir you. He only curled tighter around you, his limbs tangling with yours like string and shadow, pressing soft, lazy kisses into your temple.
And as you lay there, sleep creeping in at the corners of your mind, you realized something terrifying: You didnât feel scared anymore. You felt claimed.
ââ .âŚ
The first rays of sunrise spilled through the curtains in delicate streaks of gold, turning the bedroom air hazy and warm. You blinked groggily into the soft morning light, eyelids heavy, body sore in all the places that had been handledâheld, touched, claimed.
But when you moved, it was with a jarring realization: Your clothes were back on. Neat. Clean. Smoothed over your skin as if nothing had happened at all.
The bedding beneath you was immaculate tooâfluffed and freshly tucked like someone had come in during the night and changed the sheets around your sleeping body. There was no trace of feathers, no smudges of face paint, no claw marks in the mattress. No lingering shadow in the corners.
No Jack.
You sat up too fast. A bolt of dizziness slammed through you, your legs swinging over the side of the bed on instinct, your feet hitting the floorâonly for your knees to buckle immediately, muscles trembling from the night before.
âShitâ!â
You pitched forward, panic flooding your chest, the carpet rushing up to meet youâ
âbut something caught you.
Sharp clawsâlong as branches, strong as iron. They snaked around your waist mid-fall and reeled you back up into the air like a ragdoll. You let out a yelp, twisting in surprise.
âCareful, sweetheart!â Jackâs voice cooed near your ear, syrupy with delight. âCanât have you break yourself again so soon. I just put you back together.â
You looked up, heart hammering against your ribs. He held you easily in his arms, your feet dangling slightly above the floor as he giggledâa glittering grin splitting his face beneath that mess of black and white scruff. His long nose brushed your cheek affectionately, lips pressing a hot kiss there, and then another at your temple.
âYou wore yourself out, silly thing. All that shaking and moaning and screaming my nameââ he grinned wider, if that were possible, voice practically a purr. His eyes gleamed, lids heavy with smugness. âIâve never seen such a generous girl before.â
You flushed furiously, pushing lightly at his chest. âJackâshhh!â
But he only hummed, spinning you effortlessly in his arms like a toy ballerina before cradling you bridal-style once again. âCome on then,â he murmured. âLetâs go see our boy.â
With a gentle lurch, he carried you through the hall, humming a wilted lullaby that made the hairs on your arms stand up. And yet⌠you didnât resist. You let your cheek rest against the soft feathered scruff of his collar, hands curled into the frilled edge of his sleeve.
The door to Oliverâs room creaked open on its own as Jack approached, and he stepped inside with a kind of reverence. You could feel the difference nowâthis wasnât just a childâs bedroom. It was a sanctuary. A space Jack had claimed as sacred.
He placed you carefully on the edge of the bed, his clawed fingers brushing your cheek with startling tenderness.
You turned immediately to check on Oliver. The little boy stirred beneath his covers, his tiny fists rubbing at sleepy eyes. His hair was tousled, cheeks warm and pink from dreams, and when he saw youâhis whole face lit up.
âYouâre still here,â he whispered, beaming.
âI told you I would,â you said, smoothing his hair with a soft smile.
Oliver blinked up at you, voice quiet and dreamlike. âJack says⌠heâs really happy now. He said he likes the way you smell when youâre sleepy. He said he wants you to stay forever.â
Your heart skipped. You turned over your shoulderâbut the room was empty. No creak of footsteps, no swish of feathers, no glint of a manic smile from the corner. Just the soft hush of morning light, Oliverâs sleepy breathing, and the distant jingle of keys at the front door.
ââ .âŚ
It had been just over a week since that first night backâsince the floodgates had opened. The days blurred together now in a soft, steady rhythm. Every evening, the sun dipped low over the Daltonsâ quiet street, and you found yourself there, ringing the doorbell with your overnight bag slung over your shoulder. Mrs. Dalton had grown warmer, more relaxed around you. You understood her now, why she left so often, why her shoulders never quite fell from that constant state of tension.
The mornings were slower. You and Mrs. Dalton had even begun grabbing coffee at the little shop a block from the house before she left for work. She never asked questions, never made you explain the way your shirt sometimes looked hastily thrown on or how you wore the same dazed smile every morning. Maybe she didnât want the details. Maybe she already knew with the way the energy around the house had completely shifted.
But tonight, something was different.
Oliver was already in his pajamas when you arrived, swinging his legs off the couch and grinning ear to ear.
âGuess what!â he chirped, bouncing up to meet you at the door. You smiled, setting the bag down and slipping off your shoes. âWhatâs up, bud?â
âI made a friend at school!â he announced proudly. âA real one! Her name is Ellie, and she has a pet lizard and everything.â
Your heart bloomed with warmth. It was the first time Oliver had mentioned a friend who wasnât invisible or feathered or from some half-imagined memory. âThatâs amazing, Ollie! Iâm so proud of you.â
âWeâre having a playdate tomorrow! Her mom and my mom set it up. Sheâs gonna come over after school.â He beamed up at you with all the brightness of someone whoâd waited too long for something this simple. âYouâll be here, right?â
You nodded. âWouldnât miss it.â
Oliver hesitated then, tugging at the edge of his pajama top. Something in his expression changedâless excitement, more careful consideration.
âI think⌠I think I want you to keep Jack,â he said softly.
You blinked, crouching down to be eye-level with him. âWhat do you mean?â
âI think he likes you better,â Oliver said plainly, like it was the most obvious truth in the world. âHe always tells me how pretty you are. How you smell like strawberries. And heâs really, really happy when you stay. He used to be sad all the time. But not anymore.â
A small, fluttering ache pressed against your ribs. âOllie⌠Jackâs your friend.â
âHe is,â Oliver said, with a tiny, knowing smile. âBut now heâs yours too. So you gotta take care of him.â He wrapped his little arms around your neck then, tight and firm the way kids do when they want to say something big without using words.
You held him close, whispering, âIâll take good care of him. Promise.â
Later that night, after brushing Oliverâs teeth and reading through the last pages of Where the Wild Things Are for the fourth time that week, you tucked him in, kissed his forehead, and switched off the light. The house was quiet when you padded into the living room, curling up on the couch with a blanket drawn over your legs. You waited, like you always did nowâbreath slow, heart expectant.
The air stirred. And then, gentle as a whisper, black claws slithered around your shoulders, a familiar heat blooming against your back.
Jackâs claws slipped around your shoulders with slow, deliberate weight, his touch always somewhere between possessive and reverent. You let him pull you back against the solid press of his chest, feeling the faint ruffle of feathers brush your cheek as his breath ghosted along your ear.
âYou heard him, didnât you?â you murmured quietly, not needing to look. âOliver⌠he said I should take care of you now.â
Jack didnât answer at first. Just held you a little tighter. His long legs coiled beside yours as he crouched on the back of the couch, half-lurking, half-nesting.
âI heard,â he said at last, his voice lower than usual. âBut Iâll still watch over him. Always. Even if Iâm⌠with you now.â
You tilted your head back to rest against his collar, smiling softly. âYouâre not gonna sneak around in my closet, are you?â
Jack snorted, the sound bubbling out of him like a hiccupy laugh. âYour closetâs much bigger than Ollieâs. Iâd have space to stretch out⌠but it smells like laundry detergent and dryer sheets. Not strawberries.â
You smacked his arm lightly, and he giggled, his limbs shifting around you like a jungle gym. âMaybe I like the closet,â he said dramatically. âBut I think Iâd rather sleep in your bed.â
You narrowed your eyes at him. âOh, would you now?â
Jack leaned closer, feathered collar tickling your jaw as he pressed the side of his face to yours. âMhm. I like it when you get all squishy and warm and sigh real soft. I like your hair.â
You groaned, laughing despite yourself. âYouâre so weird.â
âIâm yours,â he replied easily, chin now resting on your shoulder as his arms draped fully around your waist. âThatâs what Ollie said. And I love being yours.â
A warm ache bloomed in your chest as he stepped over the back of the couch and sat next to you, pulling you into his lap like a ragdoll, curling himself around you like a giant predatory housecat. His weight settled, limbs folding over yours, as if making a cocoon.
The quiet stretched, and you leaned into him, no longer startled by his touch, by his presenceâby what he was.
âYouâre really staying with me?â you asked, voice hushed.
Jack made a low hum in his throat, his clawed fingers tracing idle shapes into the fabric of your sleeve. âOnly if I get to sleep in your bed.â
You rolled your eyes but smiled as your head rested against his chest, the rhythmic thrum of something not-quite-human but not entirely monstrous beating beneath your ear. Outside, the world was turning slowly toward morning. Inside, the couch creaked beneath two bodies tangled together, something real and strange and maybe a little bit of magic settling in.
Or maybe itâs just your imagination.
This was a request from @valinpariss!
Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated!
ŕš back to my masterlists
ââ .⌠rainrot4me2025, all rights reserved. ęŠ .á
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââ smokey eyes - lincoln
ââ .⌠do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. dividers by me.
CONTAINS NSFW, MINORS DNI
⌠. Summary: Beneath late summer nights, Jack always found you. Human and monster, two different worlds separated by a picket fence. But when he didn't return, you set out to look for him. You find him in rut, in pain, in the ache of something like loveâand what kind of friend would you be if you refused him?
⌠. Note: Monster fucker nation please stand, this one is for you. Very gross, very scary, but ohhhhhhh so good and yum and UGHHHHH. Feast my children. Donât tell the others, hurry hurry hurry, we canât let them know that this is what weâre into.
It was one of those syrupy summer nights, the air thick and soft, clinging to skin like a second, invisible layer. Cicadas droned lazily from somewhere deep in the woods, their chorus blending with the distant hum of traffic beyond the trees. The sun had long dipped behind the hills, but the heat of the day clung on, reluctant to let the world rest.
Your backyard was a patchwork of dim porch light and moonlight, the fence throwing long shadows across the brittle grass. Beyond the fence stretched the treeline, thick and dark as spilled ink, pulsing with the unseen eyes of the forest.
The fence was oldâweather-worn wood, sun-bleached, as tall as your chest, and starting to splinter in spotsâbut it was your fence. Your spot. The place where every night, like clockwork, you would stand on one side with the glow of your kitchen lights behind you, and he would linger on the other, half-concealed by the darkness of the pines.
You heard the faint scuff of boots on dried leaves, the rustle of branches catching on old denim. You didnât even have to look. You knew it was him.
âLate again,â you teased, leaning against the picketed wood. Fireflies darted around overhead, slow and golden, tiny lanterns against the night.
Jack shifted closer. Tall, broad-shouldered, the faintest glint of moonlight catching the wet curve of the dark mask he wore, the slits where eyes should have been yawning and blackâjust two gaping sockets, still managing somehow to see you. The copper tang of dried blood still clung faintly to him, mingling with the loamy smell of the forest and his favorite cologne. All wrapped up in an oversized gray hoodie and old wrangler jeans.
âI hadâŚbusiness,â he rasped, voice rough like something left too long in the dark.
You studied him, heart twisting. Once, things had been different.Â
You met Jack in college, before everything changed.
He was Eyeless Jack to the world nowâa name passed around in hushed rumors and panicked police briefingsâbut once, he was just Jack. Jack Nyras, pre-med major, scruffy-haired and half-insomniac from too many late-night study sessions. Youâd first bumped into him, literally, outside your genetics class when you spilled an entire iced coffee down the front of his hoodie.
Instead of getting mad, he laughed. That laugh, even now, you remembered with a painful fondness: easy, warm, too big for his slight, lanky frame.
After that, you were inseparable. You sat in labs together, sharing notes, studying for hours until your brains turned to mush. Sometimes youâd catch him drawing twisted little sketches of incredibly detailed body parts in the margins of his anatomy book, black ink dripping from his pen like nightmares, doodling hearts and vein patterns and every bone you could think of. Heâd grin sheepishly if you pointed it out.
âJust to blow off steam,â heâd told you.
If only it had stayed that way.
But something was off that last semester.
It started with Jenny. A bright-eyed, over-eager girl with too many questions about death, about gods, about what might live on the other side of everything. Youâd seen her hanging around Jack, pressing him for his knowledge of anatomy and the occult. You hadnât thought much of itâshe was a weird kid, but who wasnât in college?
Until the night they took Jack to a ritual.
You hadnât known where he went, at first. A text left on read. A worried voicemail. Then nothing. You had no clue.
Theyâd dragged him to an abandoned house on the outskirts of town, where Jenny and her cult had tried to summon a demonâand theyâd needed a human sacrifice to open the door. Jack. Your Jack.
They had held him down, cut his eyelids away so he could never look away, and scooped out his eyes with brutal, surgical precision. You would have nightmares about that for years: those empty, bleeding sockets. Then they poured something black and slick, like tar, into the holesâa living thing that pulsed and smoked, thick with hatred.
It was supposed to let a demon pass through him, a doorway wearing a human face. But something went wrong.
Instead of a perfect vessel, Jack became the demonâs prison. The possession took root, warping him, twisting flesh and bone. His skin turned an unnatural gray, hard like stone. The black voids where his eyes once were never stopped weeping that tar-like ichor. Needle-sharp teeth split his mouth, rabid and hungry.
Jack was the only one to survive, if you could call it surviving.
When he came to you after, it was in the dead of night, half-collapsed against your back porch door, trying to hold his guts inside his ribs with clawed, shaking hands. He was weeping. Youâd never heard a sound like it, the noise of someone whose soul had been torn in half.
âDonât look at me,â he begged, voice raw, inhuman already. âPlease.â
But you did. You looked. You saw him for what he had become, and refused to turn away.
You kept him alive those first weeks, when he didnât know what to eat, didnât understand the pull inside him. You watched him break down on your kitchen floor, apologizing over and over. You helped him find ways to stay hidden, to scavenge what he needed to keep from losing his mind completely.
When Slenderman came for himâa towering, impossible shape between your backyard trees one nightâyou thought youâd lose Jack for good. But even that faceless horror couldnât break the bond youâd built. Jack still came back, slipping from his grip in brief windows, always returning to the same spot at the back fence, where your world met the dark.
You wondered if part of him fought that puppet-string control just to see you again.
The truth was, you had every reason to fear him. Youâd seen the news reports, the evidence photos, the torn bodies left in his wake. The world would call you naive, maybe even insane. But you knew him. Youâd seen him laugh over spilled coffee. Youâd watched him hold a scared freshmanâs hand in a bio lab when they passed out during a dissection.
That Jack was still there, tangled in the ruin.
So you never turned him away. Even now, years later, you stood by your back fence on humid summer nights, waiting for the quiet scuff of his boots through the weeds. You told him about your boring, safe lifeâair conditioners and late shifts and microwave dinnersâand he told you, in broken pieces, about the horrors he couldnât help but feed on.
And despite all of it, despite the monsters clawing at his mind, you stayed. Because sometimes being a friend wasnât bright or easy. Sometimes it was raw and heavy and stubborn, refusing to let go of someone even when the world said you should.
If you wanted, you could forget that night heâd stumbled from the woods, half-monster and half your friend. You could pretend this fence was a line dividing your worlds.
But you didnât.
Because he was Jack. A biology major, obsessed with genetics and a little too competitive at beer pong. Now, the woods had become his kingdom, the darkness his only safe harbor. But some things hadnât changed: the way he still leaned forward a little when you spoke, or how he listened more than he talked.
âRough night?â you asked gently.
He tilted his head, a gesture oddly canine in its curiosity, âRougher for them.â
You sighed, but there was no real fear in it. If there was one truth in your world, it was that heâd never hurt you.
âI had a pretty boring day,â you offered, voice light, trying to balance out the shadows in his. âWork was slow. Mrs. Carterâs cat had kittens, I saw them in her yard. Ohâand I got a sunburn.â
His head dipped, as if acknowledging the small tragedies of a normal human life. âShow me,â he said quietly.
You laughed, brushing your sleeve up to reveal pink skin. âSee? Totally my fault. I fell asleep in the hammock.â
He reached forward, clawed hand resting on top of the fence, close but not quite touching. âYou should be careful,â he murmured. âThe sun can be quite dangerous this time of year.â
That startled a laugh out of youâa small, real sound. âWow, Jack, you going to lecture me on skin cancer now?â
A faint, rasping chuckle answered, like dry leaves scraping together.
You both fell into silence, the comfortable kind. The night seemed to wrap around you, humming with late-summer heat, thick with scents of honeysuckle and crushed grass. Somewhere far off, an owl called.
You studied him across the fence, trying to read the shape of him. You could still see the slope of his shoulders, the faint twitch in his jaw when he was worried. The eyeless mask made him look monstrousâbut youâd stopped seeing it that way long ago. Nowadays, you were just upset you couldnât see his cute smile.
âJack,â you said after a while, softer now, âare youâŚokay?â
His shoulders rose and fell. A sigh? Maybe.
âI donât know if I even remember what âokayâ feels like,â he murmured. âBut⌠this. Talking to you. It helps.â
Your heart pinched, warm and a little sad. âThen Iâm not going anywhere.â
You saw him shift closer, a whisper of movement, enough that the shadows seemed to lean toward you. You swallowed, wishing you could reach over the fence and touch him, just once. Instead you let your fingers curl against the peeling paint. âIâm glad you still come back,â you smiled. He just nodded.
âYou should go inside soon,â he rasped. âItâs too warm to sleep, but⌠safer. You should eat some dinner.â
âWill you stay out here a while?â you asked.
He dipped his chin, the faintest promise. âYeah. Iâll keep watch.â
It was nothing, and it was everything.
Crickets sang to fill the hush that followed.
You stepped a little closer, pressing your palm to the wood between you, pretending you could feel his heartbeat through the fence. If he even still had one.
âSame time tomorrow?â you asked, trying to smile.
He nodded once again, a barely-there motion. âSame time.â
âGoodnight, Jack,â you said softly.
âGoodnight,â he answered, voice steady, a vow carried on the warm summer air.
And then, like a dream dissolving, he stepped back into the gloom of the pines. You caught one last glimpse of his silhouette before the night swallowed him whole.
The fence was still warm under your hand, the cicadas still singing. You exhaled, steadying herself, knowing that tomorrow heâd be there againâyour friend in the woods, monster and boy, killer and companion.
And you would be there too, waiting for him.
ââ .âŚ
The day crawled by, the hours sticky and dull. Youâd scrubbed your kitchen counters twice, answered a handful of emails for work you barely remembered, and even tried to read a book on the back stepsâbut the words blurred in the heavy evening heat.
All you could think about was Jack.
Ever since that night, years ago, your days felt incomplete until you met him at the fence. Those small conversations, traded across weather-ruined ply-wood, had become your strange ritual, your fragile thread of normal.
Tonight was no different. As the sun began to drop, you practically inhaled your dinnerâpasta gone rubbery from the microwave, but you didnât even taste itâswallowing mouthfuls so fast you nearly choked. Then you ran a hand through your hair, smoothed the wrinkles from your shirt, and stepped outside.
The air was still and damp, the kind that made your arms itch. The cicadas thrummed their endless song, hiding the hush of the woods. You leaned on the fence, peering into the tree line.
Nothing.
You waited, shifting your weight from foot to foot, hoping youâd see the pale glint of his mask moving between the trunks. But the woods stayed silent, the sky growing darker by the minute.
Maybe something came up. Maybe Slenderman needed him. Maybe he was hunting. He was usually late anyway.
You tried to reason with yourself, but the night stretched on, thick and empty, until the mosquitoes started biting and you had no choice but to go inside.
The next night, you came out early, practically running through the kitchen just to get to the fence faster. But againânothing. The woods felt wrong, like a silent accusation, each leaf unmoving in the hot breeze.
The third night, you could barely stand to eat. You pushed your food around the plate, your stomach a hard knot, fingers picking at the torn edge of your thumbnail until it bled. The skin around your cuticles was raw from worry, your breathing shallow and thin.
Three days, you thought, three days is too long.
He had never gone three days without showing up, not since that night you saved him from bleeding out in your basement.
A cold panic clawed at your throat. You pictured him cornered somewhere, wounded, or worseâdevoured by whatever lived inside him. You pictured Slenderman tearing him apart like a dog with a ragdoll, or the police finally catching him, gunning him down before he could explain he was more victim than monster.
Your fork clattered to the plate. You couldnât take it.
You stood so fast your chair scraped a painful shriek across the floor. You grabbed your flashlight, heart pounding against your ribs like it wanted out, and stalked out into the night.
The fence gate to the woods creaked open, a hesitant protest that felt far too loud. The path beyond was half-eaten by weeds and dark as ink, but you forced yourself through, lungs full of warm, wet air that smelled like dirt and dying leaves.
If Jack wasnât coming to youâthen you would go to him.
You stepped across the fence line, your safe little world snapping shut behind you like a broken jaw, and let the darkness swallow you whole.
ââ .âŚ
The woods closed in around you the moment you crossed the fence line, swallowing up the distant hum of the highway and the yellow glow of your back porch light. Out here, everything was shadow layered on shadow, the air thick enough to choke.
You stepped carefully, branches scratching your shins, the beam of your flashlight bouncing across the undergrowth. Every so often you caught a flash of colorâa scrap of paper, a mushroom cap, a piece of trashâand your heart would leap in false hope, only to crash back down when it wasnât him.
Where are you, Jack?
You tried to keep your breathing quiet, tried not to think about the thousands of unseen things rustling in the tall grass. Your imagination filled the darkness with monsters: faceless giants and hollow-eyed shapes, hands reaching.
A branch snapped somewhere ahead, sharp and loud. You flinched, heart hammering up into your throat. Your flashlight jerked wildly, sending yellow arcs of light through the undergrowth.
âJack?â you called, voice soft and strangled.
No answer. Only the startled flutter of birds erupting from the canopy, taking to the sky in a rush of frantic wings. You staggered back, hand clamped over your chest, adrenaline scalding through you.
You swept the beam of the flashlight across the trees, willing him to be thereâa dark mask, a familiar slouch, anythingâbut the woods only gave you more silence.
Panic built behind your ribs like a scream. You tried to swallow it down.
âJack?â you called again, a little louder this time, your voice carrying through the trees.
Nothing.
The darkness pressed in. Every stick crack, every scuttle of an animal felt like claws reaching for you. You forced yourself forward, one step at a time, your sneakers sinking into damp earth.
You called again, and again, each time a little braver, though the sound of your own voice nearly terrified you more than the silence did.
âJack,â you pleaded, âif you can hear me⌠please answer.â
The flashlight beam wobbled as you clenched your shaking hand around it. The woods felt too big, swallowing your words whole. You had no idea how deep Jack had gone, or if he was even alive, or if youâd ever find him again.
But you had to try.
You would keep going. Even if it meant walking straight into a nightmare, you would keep looking for him, because Jack had never left you alone, even at his worst.
And you refused to leave him alone now.
You kept walking.
The night felt endless, the same dark trees repeating over and over until your legs burned and your feet throbbed inside your sneakers. Branches snagged at your sleeves, tearing tiny holes you barely registered. Bugs droned in the heavy air, the only thing keeping you company.
You lost track of how long youâd been out thereâforty minutes, an hour, maybe more. Every step felt like you were sinking deeper into something that didnât want you there.
Then your flashlight caught a rounded shape in the dirt.
You froze, breath stuttering, and dropped to your knees. The beam landed on it properly this time, and your heart broke in a single, sharp crack.
Jackâs mask.
It lay half-buried under leaves and mud, one side split down the cheek like something had struck it hard, the once-smooth paint now chipped and stained. It looked wrong, abandoned, like a piece of him torn away, like it had been sitting here for a couple of days.
âNo,â you whispered, fingers trembling as you picked it up. It was heavier than you expected, damp with rain and sweat, smelling faintly of earth and blood.
âJack!â you shouted, panic swallowing every scrap of caution you had left. âJack! Where are you?â
Your voice rang off the trees, harsh and desperate.
Nothing answered.
You shoved the mask under your arm and pushed onward, scanning the cliff runoffs and dry creekbeds where you knew animals liked to hide, searching the tangled roots along the old trails, calling his name again and again.
âJack! Pleaseâanswer me!â
The woods felt different now. As you climbed another steep rise, lungs burning, you realized it had gotten⌠quiet.
Way too quiet.
The cicadas were gone. No crickets. No night birds. Nothing.
Like the entire forest had been smothered under a heavy, waiting hush.
Your footsteps sounded painfully loud, each broken twig echoing off the trunks around you. You forced yourself to keep moving, scanning every hollow, every patch of shadow for a flash of gray skin or those ink-black tearsâanything to prove he was still here.
But the silence felt absolute.
Crushing.
Wrong.
You swallowed, hard, the edges of the quiet closing around you until it felt like the woods themselves were holding their breath.
The stillness was so heavy it pressed on your eardrums, leaving you dizzy and unsteady. You clutched the broken mask tighter to your chest, heart hammering, flashlight flicking from one twisted branch to another.
That was when you heard it.
A wet, tearing sound, slick and raw, like someone wringing out a soaked rag. Then another noiseâa sharp pop, like cartilage snapping.
Your stomach lurched.
You turned your flashlight toward the sound, its pale circle shaking so badly it barely held focus. You swallowed, took a single step, then another, trying not to crack any twigs, the silence around you making every breath sound huge.
You crept forward, through brambles that snagged your jeans, and finally reached the thick trunk of a pine tree. Its bark was rough against your palm as you steadied yourself, heart about to pound out of your chest.
The noises were louder hereâslurping, chewing, flesh pulling away from bone.
You squeezed your eyes shut for a heartbeat, steeling yourself, then leaned to peek around the tree.
The sight made your legs go out from under you.
Jack was crouched low, his claws sunk deep in somethingâsomeoneâsprawled in the mud. His face was buried in the corpseâs stomach, his mask gone, the ruined hollow of his sockets pressed to ruined flesh as he tore through it with those glinting, animal-sharp teeth.
Wet, black gore streaked his chin. Strings of it dripped from his mouth as he devoured what was left of the personâs organs.
He looked monstrous, more beast than man, moving in a brutal, mindless rhythm that made bile rise in your throat.
A scream clawed its way up before you could stop it, raw and terrified, tearing itself from your lungs.
The flashlight fell from your hands, clattering against a rock. Jackâs broken mask slipped after it, landing in the dirt.
Your knees buckled and you crashed to the ground, hands braced in the leaves as you gasped, the scream still echoing through the dead, silent woods.
Jackâs head snapped up, raw and slick with gore, strands of dark tissue clinging to his torn lips. For a moment, he just staredâor aimed those hollow sockets at you, emptier than any night youâd ever seen.
Then he let out a sound.
It was a low, throaty grunt, bubbling through whatever remained of the manâs organs, followed by a choked, strangled whine.
He shoved the corpse aside in a jerking, hungry motion, the wet smack of it hitting the ground making you flinch. Jackâs claws scraped through the dirt as he pushed upright, swaying on his feet. The moon caught the raw gleam of his teeth, stained black-red and sharp as glass. The front of his gray hoodie was stained dark, blood covering his chest and collar.
He took a staggering step toward you, hunched, moving in fits and startsâa predator not quite remembering how to use its limbs.
âJâJack,â you stammered, voice cracking under the weight of your own terror.
Another grunt, this one higher, confused, almost hurt. But he kept coming, head tilted like he was trying to place you, thick lines of blood still running from his mouth.
You scrambled to your feet, hands scraping against sticks and dirt. Your flashlight lay where it had fallen, but you didnât dare grab itâthe thought of wasting a single second made your heart seize.
You ran.
Your legs barely worked at first, a jolt of panic burning through them so violently you stumbled. Behind you, Jack howledâa horrible, broken sound, like a wolf choking on its own killâand then he charged.
You heard him crashing through the brush, smashing into trees hard enough to shake the branches overhead, snarling and sobbing all at once.
Your lungs tore with each gulp of damp air, your feet tangling in vines and roots. The world blurred, branches whipping your face and arms, your pulse a screaming rhythm in your ears.
You glanced over your shoulderâmistake.
Jack was close, horrifyingly close, lurching forward on all fours at times, then staggering upright, drool and blood flinging off his chin with every strangled cry.
The sound of him was horrible, like a nightmare given voice: gasping, wet snarls, a boyâs whimper trapped in a monsterâs throat.
You pushed harder, legs on fire, tripping through a creek bed and nearly going down. Behind you, Jack crashed in after, water splashing like a thunderclap. He slammed against the bank and scrabbled up again, claws raking mud, his body moving with a terrifying, unstoppable hunger.
The night around you felt like it shrank, every tree too close, every shadow reaching. You could hear him breathingâwet, ragged, sharpâright behind you, the animal panic of a predator whose prey was slipping away.
Tears spilled hot down your cheeks, half from terror, half from heartbreak. Jack. Your Jack. Reduced to this. Hunting you like he didnât even know your name.
He wailed again, an echoing, desperate sound that sent a fresh spike of adrenaline through your spine.
You scrambled up a hill, nails tearing into the dirt for grip, and felt him slam into the slope behind you, sending rocks and dead leaves skittering down around your heels. He tripped on a root, crashing to his knees with a scream of frustration, but he was already dragging himself up, unstoppable.
You felt pathetic, small and breakable, every instinct screaming to run run run runâ
But there was nowhere to go, nowhere safe. The forest was a cage, and Jack was filling every inch of it, his cries ripping through the dark, hunting you down with mindless, monstrous determination.
You ran anyway, because you had to.
And behind you, he followedâcrashing, wailing, unstoppable.
It only took one misstep of your foot, one tripâa rush of air and the thunder of clawed feet, and then he crashed into you with the force of a falling tree.
You hit the ground hard, the breath punched out of your lungs, dirt grinding into your palms. Before you could even scream, Jack was on top of you, pinning you to the forest floor with all his unnatural weight.
He snarled inches from your face, the sound raw and animal, splattering you with thick, foul-smelling gore. Blood dripped from his wide lips, fat droplets falling onto your cheek, sliding warm and sticky into your hair. You noticed it then, the absolute richness of his smell. Like his cologne, but so stout and thick you couldâve choked on it.
You froze, terror swallowing you whole, every muscle locked in place. His claws curled into the ground beside your head, framing you like steel traps.
âJack,â you choked out, your voice breaking under the fear, âJack, itâs meâplease, please, itâs me!â
He leaned closer, so close you could smell rotted copper and damp earth on his breath. His hollow sockets flared wide, a horrible, empty focus. Another snarl tore out of him, spraying more blood across your face. Even the tips of his pointed ears were speckled with the stuff.
You raised your hands, palms open, pressing against the dampened fabric of his hoodie, feeling the quivering, rigid muscles beneath.
âJackâJack, please,â you sobbed, âyou know meâitâs me, itâs meââ
Something in him stuttered.
The endless growling broke off, replaced by a high, confused whine. His head twitched, tilting to one side, like a dog trying to understand a new word.
His breath hitched, and then he bent down, nosing against your cheek, sucking in deep, shaky lungfuls of your scent.
His three black tongues emerged, slick and twitching, and began to sweep over your face in long, wet strokes, gathering up the blood heâd splattered there. It was revoltingâwarm, sticky, and far too intimateâand you flinched as he moved lower, tongues pressing to your neck, tasting, cleaning.
He breathed you in so desperately you thought he might inhale your entire soul. His chest heaved against your hands, shuddering with each inhale.
âSsrââ he tried, voice grinding out of a throat that sounded half broken, âMmnâHahââ
You could hear it, buried in the monstrous ruin of his voice, âSo-Sorr-eyâMmn-sorrâMnn-Miss yewhhââ
He kept trying to form the words, but they came out in garbled sobs and animal rasping, drool and blood dripping onto your skin.
You couldnât move. You couldnât even breathe.
His tongues kept working, lapping gently at your throat, tasting, nuzzling, his claws scraping at the dirt on either side of your head. A pitiful whimper rattled through him every time he pulled away and tried to speak again.
It was like being pinned by a hurricaneâsomething impossibly powerful and terrifying, but also heartbreakingly confused, lost, wanting only you.
You stared up at the empty sockets inches from your eyes, mind screaming, every nerve alight with raw, animal terror.
Jackâs blood-slick mouth hovered above you, trying so hard to shape human words, but all that came was a broken, hopeless cry.
Your heart pounded so hard you thought it might crack your ribs. Jackâs weight felt endless on top of you, a monstrous, crushing presence that smelled of blood and rot and something older, darker.
But⌠this was Jack.
You tried to remember thatâyour Jack, even buried in this nightmare. You preached about loving him and being there for him no matter what, but as soon as youâre faced with a horror, what did you do? Stupid.
You drew in a weary, shaking breath and reached up, fingers threading through the wild, tangled strands of his dark hair. The roots were tacky with drying blood, but you ignored it, combing gently, soothing.
He whimpered against your throat, the monstrous rumble of his chest vibrating against yours. His tongues tried to drag across your cheeks again, desperate and sloppy, but you pushed him back with a shaking hand, steadying him.
âStopâhey, itâs okay,â you tried again, voice firm but soft, like talking to a wounded animal.
He froze, breathing you in so deeply it hurt to hear, then slowly lowered his head until his brow touched yours. The blood was sticky between you, but the contact steadied him, just a little. Youâd never have thought touching him, seeing him without his mask for the first time in months wouldâve been like this. Fate has a weird way of working things out.
You kept your hand moving through his hair, gentle, grounding, and after another moment he shifted, claws pulling out of the dirt beside your head and instead curling around you, wrapping you in a terrifying, protective cage.
His handsâbloodied and sharp and so wrongâtrembled as they ghosted under your shirt, rough against your waist, pulling you closer, pressing your ribs against his chest.
His entire body shook as he settled, breath ragged and uneven, the smell of iron so strong you wanted to gag. Still, you stayed, letting him hold you, even when every terrified instinct screamed to run.
Moonlight spilled through a break in the canopy, falling on the two of you in a cold, pale wash. It caught the gore still clinging to his jaw, the unnatural gray of his ruined skin, the inky stain of his hollow eyes.
Jack clung tighter, claws pricking your sides, breathing hard against your neck, confused sounds still rumbling in the back of his throat.
He didnât understand. You could feel it in the frantic rhythm of his touchâhe didnât know why his body felt so raw, so starving, so desperate.
Jack stayed wrapped around you, claws trembling against your back, his breathing raw and frantic. His face was buried at your neck, those horrible tongues twitching against your skin, tasting you over and over as if it was the only thing keeping him sane.
Your head spun. He was so strongâyou could feel it in every twitch of those monstrous hands, how easily he could have broken you. But he didnât.
He was shaking, whimpering, lost.
âJack,â you tried, voice cracking, âwhat is this? Whatâs happening to you?â
He made a mangled sound, low in his chest, trying to force words through a throat that wasnât made for them anymore.
âCa-c-canâtââ he rasped, wet and torn. âCanât⌠s-stop.â
You swallowed, panic still clawing at your ribs. His claws flexed under your shirt, not hurting, but clutching at you like a lifeline.
âCanât stop what?â you asked, heart hammering, âHurting? Hunting?â
He shook his head, a violent, jerky movement against your neck, a fresh whimper breaking free.
âSmh-smell⌠y-youâŚâ he gasped, voice breaking. âC-c-canât⌠st-stop.â
Your mind was spinning, trying to piece it together. You thought of how heâd tracked you down, how he couldnât stop licking you, couldnât get enough of your scent, the way he was holding you now like he needed you to keep breathing.
Your stomach dropped.
Was this⌠heat? The word felt alien, but close. Or something like it. He was⌠an animal, twisted by what theyâd done to him. Maybe his body had gone feral in more ways than just hunger.
âJack,â you whispered, dread crawling up your spine, âare you⌠in some kind of⌠rut?â
He went still, pressed against you. A miserable, pained whimper came out, low and helpless.
âDha-d-donât⌠know,â he stuttered, voice thick with something raw and pathetic. âI⌠s-smell⌠yo-ou⌠needâŚâ
It made your head swim. Of course he didnât know. How could he? No one ever taught a monster about instincts like this.
His claws scrabbled at your back again, then curled around your waist, pulling you even tighter. His face pressed into your collarbone, those tongues working against your throat like he was trying to memorize you.
It was terrifying. It was heartbreaking.
âItâs okay, Jack,â you whispered again, voice catching, âIâm here. Iâm right here.â
Jack trembled against you, his claws flexing and unflexing along your ribs, scraping your skin just enough to sting. His entire body was rigid, shaking, the way a bowstring might before it finally snapped.
A raw, pained groan crawled up his ruined throat, and thenâhe moved.
He shifted, his hips dragging against yours, grinding down, slow and clumsy, a desperate friction that made your blood run cold and your spine bow off the ground. He did it again, harder, a broken sob rattling out of him. He was hard, and so painfully, terrifyingly big.Â
It was so wrongâbut so heartbreakingly human in a twisted way.
He didnât know what he was doing. You could feel it in how he shook, how his claws fluttered against your skin like he was afraid to hurt you. But some dark, feral instinct had its claws in him now, and it wouldnât let go.
âJ-Jackââ you stammered, terror slicing through you like a blade, âJack, waitâwait, pleaseââ
He didnât seem to hear you. Or maybe he couldnât.
He only whimpered, grinding down again, more frantic, his entire body surging with confused, alien need. The weight of him pinned you, crushing you into the damp earth, making it impossible to squirm away.
Your words turned to babbling, desperate, tears spilling from your eyes.
âJack, please, wait, j-justâjust hold onâyou donât have toâ!â
But he needed to.
His tongue, the longest of the three, licked up the side of your neck, tasting your tears, and his whole body shuddered in something close to ecstasy.
You were perfectâyou smelled so good, so alive, so his.
Jack keened against you, hips ramming forward again against the center of your thighs, a hopeless rhythm he didnât understand, only that it made the gnawing ache inside ease for the briefest second. You grunted with every press, legs clamping to close around his hips, but it was no use.
His claws roved under your shirt, skittering against your bare skin, so hot and feverish it felt like they might burn you.
You tried to hold on to him, hands bracing against his chest, trying to reason with him, but he was gone to youâlost to instincts so deep and cruel they drowned out everything else.
âP-please, Jack,â you cried, voice catching on a sob, âI know youâre in thereâI know youâre in there, please justââ
He didnât answer.
He buried his face in your neck, inhaling with a desperate, shaking gasp, then ground into you again, a brutal, guttural snarl tearing from his chest.
There was hunger, yesâbut not for organs, not this time. It was a hunger that was aching, tearing him apart in places he didnât even have names for anymore.
He needed you. And he couldnât stop.
The heat in his body was a firestorm, swallowing everything that made sense, leaving only need. You smelled so goodâthe salt of your skin, the sweet tang of your fear, the soft, warm human scent that had always belonged to you.
His claws scraped against your ribs as he ground down, again and again, unable to stop, each movement more desperate than the last. A whine rattled out of him, high and pained, like it physically hurt to be this close and not inside you somehow. You matched his whines, your thighs shaking with how his cock rubbed against your cunt through layers of thick clothing.
Your hands clutched at his hair, pulling, nails digging into his scalp. You were crying, babbling, your voice cracking with half-formed pleasâbut you werenât fighting him, you didnât think you could anyhow.
He latched onto that with something feral, something primal. You wanted him, some buried part of you did, or at least you werenât kicking him off, and that was enough to break what was left of his reason.
His tongues flicked over your neck, tasting sweat and tears and heat, making him snarl in frustrated ecstasy. The sound vibrated through your chest, and you arched up against him without meaning to, hips meeting his with a helpless grind that made his claws clench hard enough to bruise.
The world was spinning, dizzy and molten, your voice cracking again as you gasped, âJ-Jackââ
He couldnât stop.
âMhnnâMâsorryââ
He bit you.
His jaws snapped down on your shoulder, too hard, the sharp points of his monstrous teeth tearing straight through the thin cotton of your shirt and sinking into flesh.
You screamedâa sound tangled between pain and something far, far darker, some twisted surge of relief that made you go limp under him.
He tasted your blood, hot and coppery, and moaned against you, rutting his hips so hard you could barely breathe.
Your head fell back, tears streaming, your body alight with panic and arousal and a hundred things you couldnât name.
âAhâFuckâ!â you sobbed, hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer even as you trembled from the agony of his bite.
He whined around the mouthful of your skin, drool and blood spilling down your shoulder, tongues fluttering against the broken flesh. His claws skittered under your back, catching on the fabric, desperate to feel you, to anchor himself before he tore you apart completely.
The smell of you, the taste, the way you moved against himâit was too much. It was everything.
Jackâs grinding grew more frantic, more nasty, sloppy and desperate, like an animal starved of touch for centuries, driven by something so foreign he couldnât even name it.
You moved with him, rutting up to meet his rhythm, your voice breaking into half-sobbed moans as you clutched him closer, dizzy from pain and heat and the horrible, unbearable need radiating off of him.
It was messy, violent, a collision of instincts and terror and some warped, twisted need to save him.
It built like a storm, each frantic thrust of his hips dragging you closer to a precipice you couldnât see, didnât even know it was there until you felt the coil in your stomach. Jack was panting, growling, his claws scoring lines onto your ribs and back and all over as he rutted against you, mindless and unstoppable.
You were barely breathing, the pain in your shoulder mixing with something hot and carnal that had your hips moving up to meet his every time, your voice caught in your throat in sobs and broken cries. Your thighs feel open, legs coming around his broad hips to wrap around him, locking your feet together at the base of his back.
The smell of blood, sweat, the damp soilâit all blurred around you, your entire world narrowed to the way his hips slid against yours, his length pressed against your aching clit.
Jackâs tongues lashed against your skin, tasting you, claiming you, his breath so ragged it rattled his chest. His hips stuttered, harder, faster, his growl climbing into something high and keeningâ
You felt the tension snap inside you like a frayed wire, every nerve flaring white-hot as you choked on a sob, your hips jerking up, caught in that same unstoppable rhythm.
Your orgasm crashed through you, messy and raw, pain and pleasure and terror all tangled together until you didnât know what you were feeling except that you couldnât handle the pressure any longer.
He felt it too.
Jackâs whole body went rigid, a strangled, animalistic cry bursting out of him as he ground down hard, shoving you into the dirt so rough your bones ached. He shuddered, every muscle seizing, the heat of him smothering you as he came, mindlessly rutting through the last frantic pulses until his hips slowed to stutters.
For a long moment, there was only pantingâhis huge body draped over yours, twitching, shaking.
The forest was silent except for your breathing, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, the coppery sting of blood sharp under your nose.
Jack went still, finally, the frantic, feral madness draining out of him all at once like a burst dam. He slumped against you, heavy and limp, rasping out broken, rattling breaths.
You felt his face move against your neck, those horrible tongues twitching sluggishly, no longer hungry, just back to cleaning the blood that trickled from your bite.
A low, almost human voice crawled out of him, helpless and raw.
âC-cou-couldnâtââ he tried to say, and choked on a sob, âcouldnât s-stopâŚâ
Your shaking hands found his hair again, combing through the blood-matted strands. Your voice was thin, ruined from crying, but you managed to get words past your cracked lips.
âI-I know,â you whispered, âJack, I knowâŚâ
He let out a hoarse, broken whine, pressing his face harder into your throat. The pressure of his claws, still tucked under your shirt, turned gentle, almost soothing, stroking your bare skin in a clumsy mimic of affection.
The blind, animalistic need had quieted, leaving something raw and battered in its place.
He was Jack again, for nowâshaky and confused and so, so sorry.
âD-didnât⌠want to⌠h-hurtâŚâ he stammered, one of his tongues licking a stripe up your jaw as if trying to apologize, âyou smelled so-soo goodâŚâ
You swallowed hard, blinking against the tears.
âItâs okay,â you whined, voice paper-thin, âitâs⌠itâs okay. Weâll⌠weâll figure it out.â
He let out a low, pitiful whimper and curled tighter around you, as if even after all that, he couldnât bear to let you go.
You felt the heat of him, the ragged exhaustion, the sloppy, dazed nuzzles as he licked at the bite heâd left on your shoulder.
But thenâyou felt it.
Hard. Still hard.
Thick and throbbing, pressed against the curve of your hip, pulsing with a need that clearly hadnât burned itself out yet. The realization shot a cold spear of panic through your gut, even as your mind reeled from the aftershocks of what youâd already survived.
âJack,â you breathed, voice breaking, âwaitââ
But he was moving again. A slow, rolling grind against you, the heavy ridge of him rutting over your thigh. You flinched, a fresh spike of sensitivity bursting through your half-numb body.
He whinedâhigher, clearer, more Jack than the animalâbut still desperate.
âC-canât stopâŚâ he stammered, his voice raw and torn, but understandable now, âplease⌠I need⌠moreâŚâ
Your heart lurched, hammering so hard you thought it might crack your ribs. You put your hands against his chest, trying to push him back.
âJ-Jackâwaitâjustâjust hold on a secondââ
But he didnât. Couldnât.
He loomed up over you, gray skin catching in a shaft of moonlight, eyes still hollow and leaking that inky blackness, but somehow so full of you, focused only on you.
A clumsy claw caught the hem of your shirt, tugging, tearing the cotton easily as if it were paper. Another hand fumbled at your waistband, his movements frantic, awkward, scraping your skin as he tried to pull your pants down. He tore his claw through your shirt, ripping the fabric in half, shoving it off your chest. The air was warm, but your flesh still crawled with goosebumps, crossing your arms across your bra.
âJ-Jackââ you pleaded, voice cracking, âslow downââ
He shook his head, a course growl pulling out of his ruined throat, all three tongues lolling and quivering as he nosed at your bare shoulder, inhaling you like your scent was the sweetest perfume known to man.
âSm-mells so⌠g-goodâŚâ he slurred, breath shivering across your damp skin, âIt hurts⌠I needâŚâ
He sat up off of you onto his knees and tugged harder, practically ripping your pants down your hips, dragging the fabric across your thighs and off your ankles, leaving you shivering in the warm night air, half-covered in blood and dirt and his own desperate scent.
Your head spun, panic and some horrible spark of want twisting in your belly.
His claws raked down your sides, leaving angry red lines in their wake, but his grip gentled near your hips, as if trying, clumsily, to be careful with you.
âPlease,â he whispered, voice cracking around the word like glass, âI need itâŚâ
You barely had time to catch your breath before he was tearing at what was left of your clothes, his claws hooking into your panties and ripping them in a single, impatient pull. The elastic snapped, leaving you bare beneath him, the humid night air kissing every inch of your trembling skin.
Jack leaned back, just enough to see you fullyâthe sight of you exposed made him snarl, low and guttural, his hips twitching in a spasm of aching need.
You gasped when he tore at your bra, the clasps giving way to those claws so easily, leaving you naked, splayed out beneath him in the mud and leaves. His tongues ran over his lips, shivering in the night air, and he lowered his face to your chest, sniffing so deep it made your skin prickle.
Jack shifted above you, still breathing in those ragged, animal-edged huffs of air. His claws twitched at the edge of his hoodie, scrabbling almost clumsily as he started trying to yank it off, frustration roughening his voice.
âToo⌠h-hot,â he snarled, voice breaking as he tried to pull the oversized fabric over his shoulders, âcanâtâtoo tightââ
It was ridiculous, in a wayâthe thing was big on him, he had to roll up the sleeves for crying out loud, but with the way his body strained and trembled now, even that roomy cloth felt suffocating.
You watched, dazed and shaking, as he finally managed to drag it over his head, the hood catching for a second on his head before he ripped it free with a growl.
The air hit his skin and he shivered, shoulders rolling. His body was⌠terrifying, and yet so painfully, heartbreakingly familiar.
His skin, that strange ashy blue-gray, gleamed with sweat, muscles standing out in sharp, tense lines. Broad shoulders, roped with lean, powerful definition, his chest heaving, his ribs showing the slightest hollow from days of half-starved hunting. Scars ran across him in jagged, uneven tracks, some healed rough, others still pink and new.
The moonlight skimmed over his abdomen, tracing hard-cut muscle under a shimmer of sweat, each breath flexing the taut cords of his stomach. His hips were narrow, but thick with power, and every line of him looked made for violenceâbut somehow so vulnerable in this raw, exposed moment. But the pièce de rĂŠsistance was the trail of hair that started under his belly button and traveled down to somewhere unknown beneath his waistband.
He tossed the hoodie aside and leaned back over you, hair matted and damp around his forehead, claws spreading on either side of your waist as he growled, breath ghosting over your chest.
âHold on now, w-waitââ you stammered, but the words barely left your lips before his mouth was on you.
He licked a broad, hungry stripe up the slope of your breast, then latched on, three tongues working over your nipple at onceâhot, slick, inhuman. You cried out, body arching up, nails digging into his shoulders as the wet heat sent a jolt of electricity through you.
He moaned at the taste of you, his voice raw and desperate, his hands splaying out over your hips to pin you down as he moved lower, lower still, dragging those horrible, clever tongues across every inch of you.
When he settled between your thighs, you tried to close themâbut his claws kept you open, spreading you wide, your body so exposed you could hardly stand it. You leaned up onto your elbows, fingers digging into the grass.
Jack paused for just a second, panting, his face hovering over your slick, his tongues twitching with anticipation. He let out a broken, hungry little whimper. Was he⌠was he fucking drooling?
âP-prettyâŚâ he slurred, the syllables barely holding together, âso⌠prettyâŚâ
And then he lunged, mouth burying itself against you with no finesse, no mercy.
You screamed, your back bowing off the ground as those three tongues moved with wild, sloppy desperation, lapping at you like he was starving. It was too muchâthe rough flicks, the obscene wetness, the teeth scraping gently at sensitive skin, sending shockwaves of pleasure and terror straight through your core.
You gasped, hips jerking, the spark of pleasure sharp as lightning through your belly. Jack let out a deep, satisfied growl at the reaction, circling your clit with the tip of one of his tongues, soft at first, then firmer, more insistent, making your muscles clench under him.
You fisted his hair, gasping, voice cracking as you tried to guide him, tried to survive the hurricane of sensation.
The second tongue joined the first, working in a counter-rhythm, stroking and licking at you until you were shaking again, barely able to think. He was playing with youâgreedy and clumsy, but somehow still so achingly precise, watching you break apart under every drag of his tongues.
âJ-Jackâoh my godâslowâpleaseâ!â
He didnât slow. Couldnât.
He added another.
His monstrous hands pinned your thighs even wider, his growls vibrating right through you, and he sucked at your clit with all three tongues, so intense you almost blacked out, eyes rolling far beyond the back of your head.
âFuckkây-youâtasteââ he babbled into you, lost in it, âso fucking good.â
You felt his hips rutt against the ground while he devoured you, grinding for relief even as he tore every ounce of yours from you with terrifying devotion.
It was savage. Beautiful.
You were helpless, caught under him, trembling as the pleasure built again and again, nowhere to go, nothing to do but cling to him and pray you survived.
And Jackâhe just kept going, lost in you, a monster starved for more than flesh.
Then, with a hungry deliberation, he shifted, tongues drawing lower, to the dripping entrance of your core. One slick tongue traced around the tight ring of muscle, circling, then gently pushed insideâthe stretch was strange, hot, noticeable, and you cried out, fisting the dirt, hips rolling helplessly.
Jack shuddered like he could feel it, letting out a sound halfway between a moan and a growl that vibrated against your cunt.
Then a second tongue slid in next to the first, thicker, the two of them twisting, writhing, pressing against places inside you that made your toes curl and your spine curl off the forest floor.
âF-fuckâJackâ!â you sobbed, barely holding on.
He whined, eager, desperate to please, and a third tongue pushed at your entrance, stretching you even more, making you feel so full and so impossibly overwhelmed. He fed them in deeper, deeper still, moving them in slow, obscene thrusts as your body fluttered helplessly around them.
His claws dug into your hips, holding you steady, and he watched you break apart, those empty sockets somehow burning with a savage, possessive adoration.
âCant stopâI canâtââ he stammered, voice shaking as much as you were, âSo warmââ
The tongues twisted inside you, slick and hot and everywhere, while the tip of one still worked your clit in perfect, punishing circlesâuntil your mind was nothing but static. You could feel your restraint dissolve, feel every muscle coming unbound with every pass of the muscles roiling around inside your gummy walls. All you could do was hiccup through tears that spilt down your cheeks, hands lost between fisting the grass and Jackâs messy hair.
He wouldnât make you decide for long.
Jack finally slowed, his three tongues pulsing one last time inside you before starting to pull freeâinch by inch, painfully slow, the writhing muscle dragging slick and hot against your walls.
You cried out, hands scrabbling through the dirt, thighs shivering so hard they nearly clamped shut around his head. Jack lifted, and the sight of him made your stomach twistâhis face was covered in you, slick and glistening all the way to the hollows of his cheeks, dripping down the edges of his jaw.
He panted, claws still gripping your hips, and thenâalmost absentlyâhe used those tongues to clean himself. They swept up over his chin, lapping across his cheeks, curling to drag away every trace of you with obscene thoroughness.
The longest tongue curled all the way up to the corner of his eye socket, slicking away a streak of blood, while the others worked over his lips and down to his throat, catching every drop.
It was monstrous, horrifyingâbut something about it was also devoted, his noises soft and grateful as he tasted you over and over again.
When he was finished, his face shone faintly in the moonlight, wiped clean by nothing but his own inhuman hunger, and he looked down at you with those hollow, endless sockets, panting, starved, still wanting.
âTaste so⌠mhnnâso go-goodââ he stammered, voice breaking apart, almost overwhelmed himself.
Then, shaking, he leaned back on his haunches, claws fumbling at the button of his jeans, breath coming out in deep, stripped huffs. The denim was already soaked with sweat and stained with little flecks of gore, clinging to his muscled thighs.
âC-canâtâtoo tightâneedâŚâ he growled, frustrated, claws almost tearing the button clean off before he finally managed to wrench it open and shove the jeans down.
The second they fell, your breath hitched. You felt your stomach roll over on itself.
His cock was monstrous, huge even by impossible standards, flushed a dark bruised-blue that almost glowed in the slivered moonlight. Thick ridges ran along the underside, pulsing faintly, and the head was slick and shiny, drooling a bead of clear precum that dripped to the dirt below. Veins wrapped around the shaft like dark ropes, throbbing with each frantic beat of his inhuman heart.
It was obscene, the sheer size of it, the way it twitched and jumped with the smallest movement of his hips. Your body tensed, terrified and aching all at once, while Jack looked down at you with those endless, hungry sockets, a guttural, whiny sound escaping his throat. A noise a dog would make if you held food above its head.
âSweet girl,â he rasped, voice shaking, âWantâhnnâwant inside⌠please⌠pl-please.â
He was so hard he looked in pain, the length of him bobbing forward, heavy, glistening, terrifyingly perfect in its brutality. One clawed hand wrapped around the base, a poor attempt to steady himself as he leaned over you, every muscle in his lean, powerful frame quivering with raw, feral need.
You could barely breathe, heart hammering against your ribs, as Jack loomed over youâhuge, starved, and desperate to make you his.
A wave of terror slammed into you, cutting through every dazed, sweet ache in your body. Your instincts screamed run, and before you could even think, you rolled over onto your stomach, dirt scraping your skin, legs wobbling as you tried to get your knees under you.
You were so weak, so shaky from everything heâd already done to you, but you managed to crawl forward, dragging yourself clumsy and frantic through the leaves. No fucking way were you going to take that thing.
âJack, noââ you gasped, voice breaking.
But he snarled behind you, a sound so deep and hungry it rattled your bones.
âDonât runâŚâ he growled, words wet and cracked, ââŚdonât run, pretty girlâŚâ
You made it only a few feet before his claws closed around your calf, the rough grip tearing a desperate cry from your lungs. Jack hauled you backward with terrifying ease, your fingernails clawing at the dirt as he dragged you until you were flush against him, your back pressed to the heat of his bare chest, his hips crowding up behind you.
He leaned over, breath scalding against your ear, and you felt the monstrous weight of his cock slide along the curve of your ass, so heavy and thick it made your whole body clench up.
It rested there, pulsing hot against your skin, smearing precum over your lower back and leaving your mind reeling with just how deep he was going to go.
âDonât runâŚâ Jack repeated, lower, almost a begging whimper tangled with the snarl, ân-need youâŚneed all of youâŚâ
He ground forward, letting the head of his cock catch between your cheeks, then angling his hips, slid his length between your thighs, pressing against your entrance just enough for you to feel the impossible stretch waiting.
Your breath came in sharp, terrified gasps, the world a dizzy blur as his claws dug into your hips, holding you pinned, his voice breaking as he panted into your hair.
âP-prettyâŚdonât runâŚgonna make you f-fullâŚso fullâŚâ
The sheer heat of him, the solid, inhuman girth twitching and drooling against you, made your head spin. Your heart thundered like prey under a predatorâs pawâhelpless, trembling, trapped.
You tried to squirm againâa panicked, half-blind attempt to drag yourself away, the leaves and damp earth clinging to your elbows. But Jackâs low, animal snarl made your heart stop, vibrating through your ribs like thunder.
âDonât,â he rasped, breath raw and uneven, âdonât runâgonna take youââ
His hips rolled, the bulging head of his cock catching against your clit, making you yelp and arch from the sudden jolt of raw, overwhelming pleasure. He dragged it up and down your slit, soaking you with slick precum, smearing it across your folds until you were trembling so hard you could hardly breathe.
Then he shifted, the tip nudging against your entrance, parting you, teasing just enough to send another bolt of fear straight through your spine.
You tried to move again, legs kicking weaklyâbut that only seemed to annoy him. A harsh growl ripped out of Jackâs throat, and before you could even scream, he slammed both hands onto your back, claws spreading wide across your shoulder blades and pinning you flat against the earth.
He pushed, his massive weight bearing down, forcing your spine into a sharp arch so your ass was high in the air and your chest crushed to the dirt. It was a humiliating, bestial poseâyour body forced to submit, trembling, fully exposed.
âStay,â he snarled, voice cracking around a broken whimper, âstay stillâdonât squirmâŚâ
You felt the head of his cock pressing again, harder this time, nudging into you with enough force to steal your breath, the tight muscle of your cunt burning already. You could barely process the stretch, barely believe it would fit, your walls already fighting the impossible intrusion.
Jackâs hips flexed, and the head started to push in, painfully slow, prying you open one quivering inch at a time.
âF-fuckâso tightâsoâŚwarmâŚâ he stammered, panting above you, his claws tightening on your shoulders until they dug sharp enough to sting.
The pain was blinding, a burn that radiated through your hips and made tears prick your eyes. Your body shook, helpless, every muscle trying to clamp down and push him outâbut he wouldnât stop.
Jack rocked his hips forward, the head bobbing deeper, pulling out a fraction only to shove in again, each movement nudging him further and further inside until your walls were clinging to the first few inches of that monstrous, ridged length.
Your mind blurred, terror and overstimulation crashing together, as the stretch split you wider and widerâand Jackâs heavy breaths grew more desperate, his voice breaking into wild, devoted praise.
âYeahâso goodâso goodâtake meâneed you t-to take all of meâŚâ
And you realized, in that moment of absolute terror and helplessness, that he meant to fill every aching, breaking inch of you, no matter how much it hurt.
âOh fuckâ Oh, Godâwait, Jackââ
Jackâs rhythm grew steadier, more determined, as he worked deeperâeach push splitting you a fraction more, the obscene stretch lighting up every nerve in your body. Your breath came in ragged, sobbing pants, eyes screwed shut against the tears as your walls spasmed helplessly around him.
He was relentless, hips rocking, drawing out and then pushing a little deeper each time, forcing your body to mold around him. You could barely process how much was already insideâit felt like too much, so impossibly full, and still he hadnât bottomed out.
âHold onâhold onâjust wait,â you hiccuped, reaching your arms behind you to plant against his hips, trying to stop him from going any further. You could already feel him bumping against your cervix, drooling tip nudging the deepest parts inside of you.
âAlmost, pretty girlâalmost there,â Jack rasped, voice wet and fractured.
You choked out a half-formed plea again, but it was lost in the dark as he pressed closer, his sweaty chest crushing against your back. He shifted his claws from your shoulders to dig into the dirt on either side of your head, caging you, pinning you, leaving you nowhere to go as you trembled under him.
And thenâwith a low, guttural growlâhe leaned down and bit into the other side of your shoulder, teeth tearing your skin, white-hot agony blinding you. He locked his jaw tight.
Your scream broke the night, ripping from your throat, echoing through the trees. You pressed your forehead to the ground, heaving and panting into the grass.
In that moment of your rawest, most helpless pain, Jack shoved forward, burying the final brutal inches in one unforgiving thrust. The monstrous cock slammed home, hilting inside you so deep you could barely comprehend it, your body jolting forward from the force as if he meant to split you in two.
Your walls convulsed, spasming wildly around his impossible girth, every nerve alight with pain and pressure and a sick, brutal pleasure that made your head spin.
Jackâs breath rattled against your neck, hot and frantic, his tongues slipping out to lap at the blood welling from his bite as he held himself buried to the hilt, trembling over you like a beast barely chained.
âSoâso warm,â he whined against your torn shoulder, voice shaking, âFeels so g-good, baby. So tightââ
And you felt everything inside you go tight and molten and unbearably full, helpless under the weight of him, pinned in a way you could never escape, your body forced to take every impossible inch.
You felt him shiftâa subtle grind of his hips, the head of that monstrous cock grinding even deeper, making you jolt with a strangled cry. He couldnât even wait until you got adjusted.
He let out a wet, shattered moan. âG-gonna moveâcanâtâcanât stopâhold stillââ
And then he pulled back. Slowly at first, dragging that inhuman length from your spasming, quivering walls until only the tip was left stretching you wide, and for a heartbeat you thought he might let you rest.
But then he slammed back in, the force of it making your eyes roll up, punching the air out of your lungs in a weak sob.
âF-fuckâsoâtightââ Jack stammered, voice raw, animalistic, clawed hands braced on either side of your head as he started to fuck down into you.
Each thrust was brutal, making you lurch forward, the wet slap of his hips against your ass echoing through the dead-silent woods. He was so deep, so thick, dragging against spots inside you that left your mind spinning, the pain a white-hot brand with every punishing push.
You tried to crawl away againâan instinct, a desperate, animal attempt to surviveâbut Jack caught you by the hips and slammed you back against him, snarling in your ear, âDonât runâdonât you run from me. Youâre mineâmineââ
His claws dug into your sides, angling you up so every thrust hit a new nerve deep inside, making your stomach tighten painfully around him. You could barely breathe, your body forced to take it over and over as he fucked into you like a starved animal.
Jackâs moans started to crumble, breaking apart into sharp whimpers and cries, his teeth dragging over the bite-mark on your shoulder, licking the blood and sweat. You felt him trembling, desperate, the force behind his thrusts growing frantic and messy, cock twitching with every pull out.
He couldnât stop. He wouldnât stop.
And under the moonlight, pressed into the dirt with his massive length tearing you open over and over, you realized neither could you.
It hurt. God, it hurtâbut something in the pain had started to shift, twisting deep in your belly until it burned into something hotter, something needier. Each time Jack slammed forward, your cunt clenched, not just from the brutal stretch but from a raw, wicked spark that left you reeling.
You couldnât help itâyour hips began to rock back to meet him, your battered body chasing the next drag of that searing cock as it raked through your oversensitive walls.
Jack stuttered for a second, stunned, a growling noise pulling out of his throat as he realized you were pushing back. That you wanted more.
âYeah, yeahâsweet girlââ he stammered, voice breaking, âfeel soâso goodââ
Your hands scrambled backward, clinging to the thick muscle of his arms, then up to dig your fingers into his shoulders, nails dragging across hot, sweaty skin. He was burning behind you, feverish, the broad line of his chest flexing with every ragged breath.
âJack,â you gasped, voice catching, ât-touch meâpleaseâJack, pleaseââ
That was all it took.
He let out a deep, snarling whimper, the sound rolling through his chest and into you, and then he was moving even harder, rutting into you with sloppy, frantic thrusts that made your thighs spasm and your vision blur.
His claws scraped the earth beside you as he tried to keep from ripping you apart, every thrust wet and obsceneâslick squelching, drool dripping from his mouths down onto your back, strings of precum and slick soaking your thighs as his jeans pooled around his knees.
The raw, nasty sounds of him splitting you open filled the air, sticky and wet and feral, each thrust making you clench tighter, wanting more, more, no matter how much it hurt.
Jackâs hips smacked against your ass again and again, leaving stinging bruises, and still you pushed back, desperate to meet every brutal stroke. Your hands clung to him like a lifeline, nails raking across his skin, your body screaming for more even as it trembled under the onslaught.
Jackâs tongues slipped out again, drooling, laving down your spine, tasting your sweat, your skin, your painâunable to stop devouring you in every way.
âDonâtâdonât stopââ you choked out, and he let out a hoarse, shattered laugh that broke halfway to a growl.
âCanâtâneverânever stopping,â he gasped, rutting forward until your knees buckled, forcing you to collapse under him, pinned to the dirt by his weight and the vicious, monstrous cock ripping you apart.
It was filthy, raw, a primal mess of slick and sweat and drool and blood, and neither of you could seem to get enough.
Jackâs thrusts slowed momentarily, a slurred, choked sound catching on his tongues as he pulled out, dragging that massive length from your trembling, ruined body inch by inch. You gasped, nearly sobbing, empty in a way that made your insides clench desperately around nothing.
But before you could catch your breath, Jackâs claws wrapped around your hips, hauling you over like you weighed nothing, flipping you onto your back. The warm night air bit into your sweat-slicked skin, making you groanâthen his shadow fell over you, huge and monstrous, his eyes boring down like twin bottomless holes.
You reached up, arms instinctively curling around his shoulders, holding onto the thick, corded muscle under his burning skin. His lean, powerful torso flexed with every breath, still dripping with sweat.
He lined up again, the fat head of his cock dragging through your slick folds, and you both moaned, bodies shaking with raw, hungry need.
âJack,â you whimpered, voice small and cracked, âfuck me, câmonââ
âGonnaâgonna put it back in, prettyâso warmâso goodââ he rasped, leaning over you, three tongues lapping from his mouth and twitching as he stared down, almost mesmerized.
Then he pushed.
It was every bit as brutal, every bit as overwhelming as the first time, the massive length stretching you to your limit and then beyond, the head forcing your walls open until you thought youâd break.
Your back arched, a scream caught in your throatâbut it didnât get out, because Jack was already sinking deeper, deeper still, until you felt a tight, blunt pressure so far inside you that it made your vision white out.
His eyes went wide, hollow sockets somehow hungry, staring right at your stomach.
âLook,â he panted, a grin tearing across his blood-streaked lips, âlook at youââ
You followed his gaze, and nearly brokeâa distinct bulge pressing up under the roundness of your belly, obscene and impossible, shifting every time he moved.
âOh my godâJackââ you cried, eyes glassy, âthatâsâfuckââ
âInside,â he growled, voice reverent and broken, his claw pressing right against that bulge. You felt it, felt the way it shifted with the head of his cock, and a raw, helpless sob tore out of you.
âCan you feel me?â he crooned, barely human, claws stroking your hips, pressing harder against the bump in your stomach. âCan you feel me all the way here?âS-so deep, pretty girlâmineââ
You shook, nodding, tears slipping from your lashes as the pleasure spiked unbearably.
âYesâyes, Jackâyoursâyoursââ
He let out a hoarse, ecstatic snarl and started pounding into you again, faster, harder, the force of each thrust making that stomach bulge jump under his hand. You wrapped your arms tighter around his shoulders, gripping for dear life as he rutted you into the dirt, tongues lapping at your face and neck, worshipping you. Each thrust knocked his cock against your g-spot.
âNever gonnaâhahâlet goââ he grunted between sloppy, punishing thrusts, âgonna fill youâmake you fullâof my babiesââ
You couldnât even answer, your body was on fire, arching and breaking under him, every nerve screaming for more as the woods spun around you.
It came faster than you could even register.
You couldnât take any moreâeach brutal, slamming thrust was a lightning strike, fire rolling through your veins until everything inside you clenched, burned, and finally broke.
Your back arched hard off the ground, arms locked around Jackâs shoulders, mouth open in a silent cry as a devastating orgasm ripped through you.
âJackâ!â
Your walls squeezed him so tight he nearly lost his mind, your core fluttering and gripping him in pulsing waves, slick and scorching. Jackâs claws immediately wrapped around your back, holding you close against him as if he could fuse your bodies together.
He let out a strangled, desperate growl, eyes locked on you, breathing so ragged it almost didnât sound human. Something in him seemed to snapâa feral instinct flooding through every monstrous inch of him.
âPrettyâso goodââ he babbled, voice raw and cracking, âmineâmineâmineââ
Then he lurched down, seizing your mouth with a ferocity that stunned you.
His tongues plunged inside all at once, stretching your lips wide, thick and powerful as they explored every inch of your mouth. One curled under your tongue, another ran across your teeth, the third so deep it made you gag, stealing your breath.
You choked on the sheer overwhelming invasion, tears spilling down your cheeks, but couldnât pull awayâJackâs hands were iron around your waist, crushing you to him, the feverish heat of him radiating through your trembling body.
His tongues moved with a filthy rhythm, tasting you, claiming you, drool mixing with your tears until everything was slick and desperate. He moaned right into your throat, rutting his hips hard against you while his tongues tangled deeper, worshipping you like you were air, water, salvation.
Your climax was still crashing through you, making your legs weak and shaky as you tried to breathe through the frantic kissâbut Jack wouldnât let go, wouldnât stop, lost in that blinding animal need to own you completely.
Your lungs burned as his tongues kept invading, every inch of you claimed and devoured. The taste of himâcoppery, inhuman, mixed with the salt of your own tearsâfilled your senses until you couldnât think, couldnât breathe.
His cock was still pounding into you with a punishing rhythm, the tip punching so deep inside you that your stomach bulged again and again. Every thrust made your sensitive walls clench helplessly, overstimulated, still pulsing.
Jack moaned into your mouth, frantic, tongues twisting and licking and fucking into you while he fucked harder, losing any semblance of control. His claws dug into your hips, pinning you in place, pace stuttering as he chased the final edge.
âMâgonnaââ he gasped, voice barely even a voice, just a devastating, hungry snarl against your lips, âgonna fill youâmake youâmineâ!â
You felt him tense, the length of him swelling impossibly inside youâthen he buried himself to the hilt, the head smashing up against your cervix, and roared.
Hot, thick cum poured into you in heavy pulses, stretching you so full you could feel every gush, every wave crashing deep inside. Jackâs whole body shook above you, tongues still gagging your mouth, drool and tears mixing on your face as he pumped you full.
Your walls fluttered again, clamping down on him instinctively, milking every drop until he finally slowed, breathing ragged and wild.
He collapsed against you, still inside, still impossibly hard, arms curling around you protectively like heâd never let you go. His tongues finally pulled free of your mouth, leaving you gasping for air, lips bruised and slick with spit.
Jack buried his face against your neck, panting, lost and shaking, whispering in a hoarse, cracked growl, âMineâŚalways mineâŚâ
You thoughtâprayedâhe was done, but then you felt it: a new pressure, deep in your gut, stretching you wider from the inside.
Your eyes flew wide, panic spiking again.
âJ-Jack? Whatâs happening?â you rasped, voice shaking, but he only whined into your neck, his hips rocking against yours, grinding in short, desperate ruts.
You felt it swellingâsomething solid, something burning, growing right at the base of him.
Oh god.
You tried to move, to shift, but his claws curled around your hips, locking you down hard.
âStay,â he snarled, voice a warped echo against your throat, âdonât run.â
You gasped as that thick knot stretched you, forcing you even wider, burning with a brutal, almost cruel fullness. Your walls spasmed helplessly, trying to reject it, but Jack was strongerâso much strongerâand he held you down while he forced the growing bulb past the tightest part of your entrance.
It finally popped inside with a wet, obscene sound, lodging deep against your cunt, locking you to him.
You screamed, back arching off the ground, mind breaking under the sheer bruising invasion.
Jack moanedâmoanedâa weary, needy cry, shoving his face against yours as if to soothe you.
âCanâtâcanât let goââ he babbled, voice dripping hunger and desperation, âmineâmineâstayâstay hereââ
He ground his knot deeper, each tiny thrust making it swell even bigger until you felt like youâd burst. The fullness was blinding, overwhelming, his cock jerking and twitching inside you as another pulse of hot cum flooded you, trapped by the knot, locked away.
Your hips shook, pinned, no escape as Jack licked and bit at your neck, rutting slow, greedy circles against you even with the knot sealing you tight.
âDonâtâdonât run, sweet girl,â he panted, voice trembling, âcanâtâŚcanât let you goâŚâ
You felt every throb, every pulse, the unbearable stretch, your whole body trembling and on the verge of breaking apart under him.
Jack was still, but you could feel him tremblingâmuscles locked tight, claws flexing against your hips as though afraid you might vanish if he let go for even a second.
You squirmed, a whimper tearing from your throat as the knot shifted painfully, the pressure pressing right up against your cervix.
âJack,â you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, âJack, itâs too muchââ
He whined, the sound broken and needy, burying his face against your cheek, tongues tracing clumsy, comforting patterns over your sweaty skin.
âCanâtâcanât let go yet,â he slurred, voice ragged and half-human, âfeels too goodâcanâtââ
You felt him try to rut again, short, choppy motions that only made the knot grind harshly against every raw, sensitive part of you. A shocked moan escaped your lips, your body arching under him, pleasure and pain blurring together until you couldnât separate them. You slammed your fist against his shoulder.
âShh,â he crooned, breath hot against your face, âsâokayâsâgoodâso warmâso warm insideââ
His hips stuttered, forcing the knot to jerk inside you, and you could swear you felt another faint gush of heat flood your battered, filled-up core.
Your walls fluttered around him helplessly, milking every drop.
Jack whimpered again, as if even he couldnât stand the feeling, and wrapped his arms fully around your waist, drawing you up against him until your chests were smashed together. You could feel his heart hammering through your skin, a wild, frantic rhythm that matched your own.
âDonât leave me,â he begged, voice warbled and broken, âpleaseâpretty pleaseâdonât leaveââ
You could barely breathe, dizzy from being stretched and locked in place, but you nodded, trembling, stroking through his sweat-slicked hair.
âIâm here,â you whispered, voice cracking, âJack, Iâm here, Iâm not leaving.â
He made a sound like a sobâpart growl, part weepâand curled around you, knot twitching inside you, sealing you so perfectly you could feel every tremor of his body through the hot, thick lock of him.
And there, under the hush of the woods and the silver light of the moon, you stayed tangled together, your breath mixing, no escape, no space left between you.
ââ .âŚ
The woods felt endless, but you clung to him like an anchor, your hands tangled in his hair, your cheek pressed against the rough planes of his shoulder. His knot still held you in place, keeping every inch of him buried deep, a constant, heavy pressure that refused to ease for what felt like an eternity.
Neither of you could move much, so you talked, your voices small and exhausted under the wide, quiet dark.
âWhereâŚwhere did you go, Jack?â you asked, trying to steady your breathing as another aftershock rolled through you.
He rumbled softly, claws smoothing along your spine. âDidnât know,â he rasped, sounding like himself again, raw and worn-out. âFeltâŚwrong. Everything was red. Loud. Inside my head.â
You nodded, heart twisting. âI thought you were dead,â you admitted, a tear slipping out, catching on the blood drying across your cheek. âWhen you didnât come, Iâ I thoughtââ
His arms tightened around you, a protective squeeze. âNot dead,â he said, pressing his forehead to yours, âI couldnât control much, but⌠I knew I had to stay away. Knew if I saw you I would hurt you.â
You sniffled, breathing in the rich, earthy scent of him, still faintly metallic from all the blood. It was terribleâbut it was him, and that was enough.
âI came looking,â you whispered, voice breaking, âI couldnât just sit there, Jack, Iâ I needed you to come back.â
A pained groan rattled in his chest, his claws dragging up to cradle your face as best he could. âPretty girl,â he rasped, almost gentle, âmineâŚalways mine. Mâso sorryâŚâ
You felt him shift, hips jerking, the knot giving a final, deep pulse inside you. It made you cry out softly, but then you felt it: the swelling finally, blessedly going down. Inch by inch, the brutal stretch began to ease, and you could feel the heavy, wet fullness slipping from your body with a messy, shuddering slide.
Jack grunted as the knot popped free, and you whimpered at the sudden emptiness, legs trembling uncontrollably.
For a moment you just lay there, both of you breathing hard, staring at each other. Then Jack leaned down, pressing a surprisingly sweet kiss to your cheek before sitting up, guiding you carefully.
âCome,â he murmured, voice steadier now, âletâsâletâs go.â
You nodded weakly, your body aching and filthy, but still reaching for him.Â
Jack helped you with fumbling claws, reached for your jeans with shaky claws to help tug your them back onto your ankles and into place, grimacing at the mud-smeared fabric. He growled under his breath, pulling your ruined panties out of the way and scowling at the torn, limp scraps.
âShit,â you laughed weakly, voice hoarse and a little hysterical, âJack, those were my favorite pair.â
He shot you a look through his hollow sockets, a low, embarrassed huff.
âAnd my bra?â you added, smirking despite the soreness. âGuess thatâs toast too.â
Jack shifted, claws fumbling with the remains of your bra, what was left of the cups shredded and hanging from one strap. âDidnâtââ he rasped, voice cracking, âdidnât mean to.â
You snorted, half delirious, letting him help pull your dirty t-shirt back down over your shoulders, trying to keep what modesty you had left.
âYeah, well,â you sighed, âyou owe me a shopping trip.â
A surprised sound rumbled from himâalmost a laughâbefore he bent to fix his own jeans, dragging them back up around his hips, claws clumsy from lingering adrenaline. He tried to tug his hoodie over his head, only to growl when it stuck to his sweaty back, the sleeves twisted.
âHot,â he grunted, voice frustrated, trying to shrug out of it. âTooâŚtight.â
You had to bite your lip to keep from giggling as you watched him wrestle with the oversized, shredded hoodie, muscles flexing and straining as sweat dripped down the lean, scarred lines of his back and chest.
âJack,â you teased softly, âyouâre gonna rip that too.â
He shot you a sulky look, then finally tossed the hoodie aside, leaving his bare skin gleaming under the moonlight.
You spotted his mask in the dirt, cracked and stained, and you picked it up with a shaky hand.
âHere,â you whispered, offering it to him.
He stared at it, hollow eye sockets softening, then took it gently from you. Jack sighed, then leaned down and scooped you into his arms like you weighed no more than a feather.
You couldnât help a startled little laugh, clinging to his neck. âJackâ!â
âMy sweet girl,â he repeated, voice quieter now, more sure. âTaking you home.â
Your heart ached at thatâso familiar, so safe despite everything.
He turned, stepping carefully through the underbrush, still clutching you close as if youâd vanish if he let go. You rested your head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed, hearing only the rhythmic pounding of his heart and the slow, steady steps through the woods.
The broken flashlight swung from his claw, the cracked mask tucked into the crook of his elbow, a battered promise that somehow, the two of you had survived one more night together.
The night air clung to your skin as Jack stepped carefully along the familiar path, carrying you easily in his arms. When you saw the glow of your porch lights through the trees, you almost sobbed with relief, clinging to him tighterâand he just kept walking, carrying you still. You could see the silhouette of your fence ahead, the place where, for so many nights, youâd waited on one side while he stayed on the other, the fragile, invisible line youâd both respected all this time.
But nowâ
Jack shifted you in his hold, reaching out with one clawed hand to unlatch the fence gate. It creaked open, spilling a pool of soft porch light across the grass. And just like that, he stepped through, crossing the boundary heâd never dared to cross before. It was almost ceremonial, the moment so huge it stole your breath.
He came through, you thought in a daze. He finally came through.
He didnât pause, didnât hesitate, just carried you straight toward the back door, nudging it open with his shoulder. The house was cool inside, smelling of candle wax and lemon dish soapâso normal, so safe compared to the horror outside. The floorboards were faintly warm from the dayâs sun, and the air conditioners hummed, washing over your sticky, bruised skin.
Jack set you down gently, claws steady even if you could feel him trembling. Then, without a word, he guided you to the bathroom, flipping on the light with an awkward flick of his elbow. You winced at the sudden brightness.
You didnât even have to ask, he handled everything. Undressing you again, running warm water over your washcloth, holding you tight. He knelt in front of you, running the damp cloth across your arms, your belly, carefully dabbing away the drying blood and mess between your legs. His gray skin was flushed darker in patches, his eye sockets soft around the edges, hollow but somehow tender.
âStay still,â he mumbled, voice low and rough, so much clearer now.
You let him clean you, trembling, heart pounding at every careful sweep of the cloth. He undressed too, cleaning the still bloodied and slick-stained parts of his body, running the rag over his jaw and neck. When he was done, you leaned against him, boneless and trusting, letting him gather you back up into his arms.
This time he carried you to your room, the house dim and quiet except for the chirping bugs outside. He paused at the foot of your bed, as if making sure you really wanted him there, the question unspoken.
You reached up and cupped his jaw. âJack⌠just get in,â you whispered.
His shoulders slumped in relief, and he eased you down onto the mattress, then crawled in after youâstill completely naked, still warm with the sticky night air and smelling of earth and moonlight and something feral you couldnât name.
The sheets tangled around you both as he curled protectively against your back, claws twitching, breath tickling your ear. You could feel every line of his strong, scarred body pressed to yours, his skin so hot it almost burned.
He buried his face against your shoulder, exhaling shakily. âNo more gate,â he rasped, like it was a confession. âNo more fence.â
You nodded, tears pricking your eyes. âNo more fence,â you agreed, voice soft and breaking.
Jackâs breathing slowed at your back, his chin nestled against the crook of your shoulder as if he might melt right into you. The cicadas outside carried on their summer song, but your room felt impossibly calm, impossibly still.
He shifted, clawed fingers brushing across your ribs, a hesitant stroke. ââŚMissed you,â he rasped, the words broken but more human than youâd heard in days.
You swallowed hard, reaching down to lace your fingers with his. âI missed you too. I was so worried.â
A pained noise rattled out of him, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh. âDidnâtâŚknow where I was,â he admitted, his voice cracking. âFeltâŚwrong. Everything smelled and looked wrong.â
You turned in his arms, close enough to see the faint scars along his lips, the smear of blood heâd missed near one temple. âLikeâŚa haze?â
He nodded stiffly. âA dream. A bad dream.â His claws flexed in yours. âCouldnâtâŚstop. NeededâNeed you.â
Your heart pinched at that, at how raw he sounded. You reached to smooth his damp hair away from his forehead. âThatâs why you didnât come to the fence?â
âDidnât want you to see,â he rasped, ashamed, looking away for a second. âDidnâtâŚtrust myself.â
You hugged him tighter, pressing your forehead against his. âJack, I came looking for you. I wanted to see you. Even if you were⌠messed up.â
His body shuddered, swallowing a rough, pained sound. âCameâŚthrough the gate,â he mumbled, voice almost childlike, like he couldnât believe it himself.
You smiled, despite everything. âYeah. You finally crossed my fence.â
A huff of air against your cheekâmaybe the closest Jack could get to a laugh. Then he shifted closer, pressing his hips into yours. You could still feel the heavy weight of him, even now, half-hard where he lay against you.
âStillâŚfeel it,â he admitted, cheeks darkening, as if shy.
You gave a nervous little laugh, brushing your fingers through his sweaty hair. âYeah, I can tell.â
He ducked his head, almost hiding against your neck, mumbling something soft.
âWhat, baby?â you asked, gentle.
His voice was so raw it cracked in the middle. ââŚNever gonna leave again.â
Your chest went tight, tears pricking your eyes. You cupped the side of his face. âGood,â you whispered, letting him hear how much you meant it. âGood, Jack. Iâm not leaving, either.â
He exhaled like heâd been holding that breath for years, then buried his face against your shoulder again, arms banding around your waist. The two of you lay tangled together in the sticky summer night, hearts pounding, no fences, no gates, no walls left between you.
ââ .âŚ
You woke slowly, warmth and stickiness pulling at your senses before your mind could even register what time it was. The curtains glowed with that syrupy gold of a sunrise, a hint of last night still vibrating in the walls.
But what really forced you awake was the strange, achingly sweet pull deep between your legsâa wet, rhythmic swirl that nearly made you arch right out of the bed.
Your eyes shot open, breath lodging in your throat, and you gasped as you fumbled the sheets off your chestâonly to see a dark, familiar shadow moving below the covers, a low, wet slurping sound vibrating straight through your bones.
âJ-Jackââ you whimpered, voice a strangled mess as you dug trembling fingers into the sheets.
The shape below the blanket shifted, and then a sudden, precise flick of a tongue against your clit made your vision explode in white. You barely managed to shove your hands down to find his hair, grabbing at the strands, when your body snappedâthe orgasm crashing over you so hard your knees tried to slam together, your hips twisting helplessly.
Jack didnât even stop, if anything, his hands pinned your thighs down harder, clawed fingertips dimpling your soft skin as he let you ride the crest of that wave. You were writhing, shaking, trying to push him away, but he only rumbled deep in his chestâa possessive growl that left your body going limp.
When he finally surfaced, crawling up over your body, the blanket fell away to show his faceâdrool smeared his chin, along with your slick, and all three of his tongues curled out to lap at the air before sliding back behind sharp teeth.
He was panting, like heâd been starved all night.
âJ-Jack,â you tried to breathe, grabbing his shoulders as he hovered over you, âdidnât we⌠didnât we handle this last night?â
A pitiful, rough whine left him, one of his hands curling against the pillow beside your head. âNot enough,â he croaked, voice shredded, raw. âNeedâŚmore.â
His hips dipped against yours, and you felt the hard, achingly hot length of him, smearing against your thigh. A tremor shot through you, panic mixing with want.
âJack, pleaseââ
âNeed you,â he repeated, lower this time, a snarl clawing through his words as his claws scraped the bedding beside your head, inches from your skin. âMore.â
His body pressed you down into the mattress, wild, unstoppable, like the night had barely scratched the surface of what he needed.
Your breath caught in your throat, tangled between fear and something so shamefully eager you could hardly stand it. Jack loomed over you, the heat rolling off his body, eyes like pits of pitch and night, starved even after everything.
He lowered his head, nosing along your jaw, breathing you in like you were the only thing left on earth that could save him. âPretty,â he rasped, tongues flicking out to taste the salt of your sweat, âsmell so goodâŚcanât stopâŚâ
His hips rolled against yours again, grinding, thick and hard, and you felt him shiver all the way down to the bones. His claws dug into the sheets beside your ribs, trying to hold himself back, but you knew there was no holding him back.
A flicker of sunlight broke through the curtains then, kissing the two of you in the warm glowâhim hunched over you like a beast out of a half-forgotten dream, you trembling and wide-eyed, your hands knotted in his hair.
You swallowed, voice breaking as you dared to smile through the haze.
âThen donât stop,â you whispered, and you meant itâeven if you were terrified, even if everything hurt and burned and ached, you still meant it.
His head bowed, shoulders heaving, and a relieved, broken sound fell from him, more human than youâd heard yet. He pressed his forehead to yours, panting, clutching you like you were the last tether to what was left of him.
And then he surged forward, capturing your lips, those monstrous tongues wrapping around yours, and in that feral, messy kiss you felt every unspoken word he couldnât formâhow he loved you, how heâd always come back, how he could never leave you again.
The world outside kept turningâbirdsong and heat, soft light and the creak of old woodâbut you were wrapped in him, in that terrifying, impossible devotion.
There was no fence anymore. No boundary.
Just the two of you, locked together, in all the ruin and the tenderness youâd built. Your Jack.
Thanks for reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated!
ŕš back to my masterlists
ââ .⌠rainrot4me2025, all rights reserved. ęŠ .á
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââ biblical love - flower face
ââ .⌠do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. dividers by me.
CONTAINS NSFW, MINORS DNI
⌠. Summary: When your name appears in your late great-uncleâs will, you sell your house and move out to the Estate. A victorian manor, an endless garden, and too many candles to keep up with now belong to youâand so do the groundskeepers that come with it. But behind all the intricate furniture and shiny tile, you find that all things have secretsâeven the handsome ones.
⌠. Characters: Tim Wright/Masky & Brian Thomas/Hoodie & Ticci Toby x Female Reader
⌠. Note: Well, finally! This part, in fact, took me two months to write, so please excuse any inconsistencies or odd additions (probably because I forgot and had to edit it later). At least it's done! Two parts have become three, but trust, the next part is the finisher! Thank you for reading!
There had always been something off. Some slant to their smiles, something unsaid behind their eyes. But you were so caught up in the charm of it allâthe old house, the strange peace of the woods, the comfort of company who provided solely for youâyou didnât see itâdidnât want to.
The strange remarks. The subtle glances.
The way Toby always seemed to have offhanded remarks about the house. The way Tim only had a small garden to tend to, but would vanish for hours and return smelling like rust. The way Brian never falteredâeven when glass shattered or thunder cracked or you joked about the house being alive.
Little things. Little red flags.
You remembered nowâTim, digging into the soil of his garden, murmuring, âDonât worry. You havenât seen haunted yet,â after you had mentioned the creepiness of the manor.
You had laughed. You thought he meant weird ghost stories or a strange feeling towards the place. Maybe even meant you.
But now?
Now you laid in the middle of the fog-soaked grass, the outline of the manor glowing behind you like some cursed cathedral, and they were all staring at you. Toby still stood over the mangled body of the thing heâd killedâsome twisted, eyeless, gray-skinned thing that didnât look real. Blood painted the fog. His hatchet dripped.
And BrianâBrian with his pistol held low and steady, face unreadable beneath his hood, watching you like someone evaluating a threat. Like someone used to this.
Tim, closest of all, white mask catching the light, standing still as stone with a shotgun pointed directly at your face.
They werenât speaking. They werenât smiling. You realized then that the pressure youâd been feeling since you arrivedâthe unease at night, the sense of being watchedâit hadnât been the house. It had never been the house.
It was them.
You swallowed hard, your breath catching on the edge of a sob. ââŚWhat the fuck is that?â you asked, voice barely above a whisper.
No answer. Just the crackling of Tobyâs breath behind the muzzle. The slow sound of wind through the pines. And three sets of eyesâhidden, masked, hardenedâtrained on you like they didnât know what you were going to do next.
Like they werenât sure if theyâd let you leave this clearing at all.
You could hardly feel the grass beneath you. Cold had crawled under your skin like something alive, like it belonged there now, and your breath came sharp and shallow as your eyes moved between themâToby, now cleaning the blood from his hatchet on his pant-leg like he did this every other Tuesday. Brian, still as a statue beneath his hood, unreadable, unmoving. And Tim, pointer finger resting on the trigger like he was ready to blow your head off.
You didnât dare retaliate.
Your voice shook as the words left you, stammered and half-broken. ââŚW-What the fuck was that thing?â you asked again, pointing at the corpseâor what was left of it. âWhat the fuck is going on? Why are you wearing those thingsâwhat is happeningââ
None of them answered. Toby didnât even look at you. He just wiped another long streak of red across his thigh, the blood soaking into the already-stained denim, then adjusted the muzzle strapped tight over his face, orange goggles tinting his gaze.
You looked at Tim nextâbowed up like it hurt to breathe. He hadnât moved an inch. His stance was firm, trigger finger ready, watching you like he didnât trust you anymore.
And then there was Brian. He stood furthest back, half-shadowed, gloved hands relaxed, pistol pointed down at his sideâbut he was the one you knew to be careful with. The quiet ones are always the most dangerous.
You stared at him, desperation cracking through your voice. âPlease. Tell me what the hell is going on.â
He hesitated. A flicker of something passed behind his body. Conflict, maybe. Or guilt. Then he finally spoke. âGo back inside.â
You blinked. âWhat?â
âNow.â His tone was low, almost regretful. âJustâŚgo back inside, miss.â
âNo!â you snapped, tears welling in your eyes now. âNo, Iâm not going back inside. I just watched thatâthat thing get butchered, and now youâre all standing around like this is normal! You were all lying to me, this whole time, what the fuck are youââ
Brian barked your name, his voice raised a notchâstern, like a warning.
You froze.
He took a step forward, boots flattening the damp grass. âYou need to calm down.â
âCalmâ?â Your voice cracked. âCalm down? Youâve been living on my property in secret fucking costumes, with guns and weapons, and something just tried to kill me!â
Tim finally shifted, lowering the shotgun just slightly. Not out of mercyâmore likeâŚcalculation. Measuring distance. Weighing your reaction. His voice, when he spoke, was rough and muffled behind the porcelain. âYou need to start listening to us right now or shit is just going to get worse.â
The grass was wet under your palms when you scrambled up, heart in your throat, every inch of you screaming. They were talking, trying to relieve youâwords that shouldâve made sense but didnât, voices layered over each other, circling you like wolves around a wounded animal.
âMiss, itâs not what you think,â Brianâs voice, low, coaxing.
âCâmon, itâs f-fine,â Toby, voice and limbs entirely too shaky for you to remain comfortable.
But it wasnât fine. It would never be fine again. That thing. ThatâŚcreature. Its body was still sprawled a few yards from you, limbs bent wrong, skull split open like firewood under Tobyâs hatchet. You couldnât stop looking at itâlong arms, pale stretched skin, the mouth that was still parted like it might scream again if given half a chance. It was wrong. Unnatural. A nightmare wearing skin.
How many more were there? How long had they been doing this? How many nights?
You backed away, breath shuddering. âStay the fuck away from meââ
âMiss,â Brianâs voice softened like he was handling a spooked horse. He even lifted his hands slowly, palms out, holstering his pistol for the moment, as if to show he wasnât armed. âWe donât want to hurt you. Justâgo inside. Weâll take care of the rest.â
The rest?
The rest?
A dry laugh broke from your throat, raw and cracked. âTake care of the rest? Do you even hear yourselves? Youâre wearingââ You gestured wildly, eyes burning. âYouâre dressed up likeâlike fucking psychos, thereâs a dead thing in my yard, and youâyou want me to just go inside?â
Toby shifted, taking steps closer to you, goggles glinting in the moonlight. âYouâre safe,â he said simply, like that explained everything. âWe got it. N-Nothingâs gonna touch you.â
Safe.
You almost choked. You flinched so hard when he leaned closer, trying to reach for your shaky hands, and then you were stumbling backward, your legs shaking like they didnât even belong to you anymore.
They all froze as you moved.
Your brain screamed leave. Your heart screamed run. And your body obeyed before thought could catch up.
You bolted.
The cold air tore at your lungs as you sprinted, legs burning, shoes slipping in the damp grass as you made a straight line for the carport across the lawn. The manor loomed still, its windows black like watching eyes. The cabins glowed in the fog on your right, warm lights burning like lighthouses you would never trust again.
Brianâs voice barked behind you.
âStop!â Timâs sharper, closer. The crunch of boots pounded the earth. They were following.
You didnât look back. You couldnât. The second you saw them coming after you, youâd fall apart completely.
Your car. That old beat-up thing that suddenly looked like salvation, like freedom. If you could just get to it, if you could just slam the door and shove the keys in the ignitionâ
Your chest squeezed, panic clawing its way up your throat. Your sanity was dangling by threads, the night breaking into pieces around you. What had you let into your life? All this timeâlaughing, drinking, planting sunflowers, kissingâyour mind tripped on thatâkissing them. You had kissed monsters.
Tears blurred your vision.
Your feet hit the gravel of the carport hard, sending little rocks skittering. You yanked at the handle, your hands slick with sweat. The metal burned cold against your fingers as you clawed for the door.
It was locked.
âFuckâfuck, no, no, noââ you gasped, frantically patting yourself down, searching for your keys. You didnât even remember where they were. You hadnât touched your car since the day you arrived here, and there was no telling where your keys would be now. Your hands trembled so violently you could barely make sense of your own body.
The car door rattled under your grip. Your still held onto the handle as if squeezing it tight enough would magically pop it open. You swore you could hear your own sanity snapping in little fibers, like wires stretched too far. This was it. There was no rational explanation left. No comforting lie you could spin to calm yourself. There were creatures in the woods. And the only people for milesâpeople you had trusted, laughed with, let touch youâwere strangers all over again. You had let this magical little world swallow you whole, and now you were stuck right in the middle of all of it. You should have seen it coming.
You pressed your forehead against the window of your car, chest heaving, whispering over and over, âNo, no, no, no, noâŚâ
You squeezed your eyes shut. If you turned around, you werenât sure youâd come back from what youâd see. Your chest heaved like it was trying to split open, the cold air tearing through you as your mind clawed for escape. Your car was a lost causeâthe keys werenât thereâand panic devoured you whole. Then, your eyes flicked upward, and you saw it.
Timâs truck.
The old pickup sat parked at the edge of the carport, mud splattered across its tires from town trips, bed half-loaded with empty feed sacks and old cigarette cartons. It was salvation.
You didnât think. You just moved.
Your legs jolted forward, carrying you with a surge of raw desperation. Gravel kicked up beneath your shoes as you sprinted for the truck, pulse hammering in your ears. You heard them behind youâvoices cracking sharp against the night.
âWaitâstop!â
âGet away from there!â
Their warnings sliced through the dark, but they only made you run faster.
Your palms slapped the door, scrambling for the handle. You yanked, the old hinges groaning, and practically threw yourself inside. The seat springs squeaked under your weight as you slammed the door shut, pushing the door latch closed and locking yourself inside, trembling hands reaching for the ignition. The keys were there, still in the ignition.
Your heart leapt, blood pounding in your skull. For once, luck was on your side.
With a violent twist of your wrist, the engine coughed, then roared to life, rattling the cab. The sound tore through the silence of the courtyard, deep and loud, vibrating in your bones. The headlights flickered, then flared bright, slicing across the fog.
You exhaled a ragged sob of reliefâuntil you looked through the windshield.
Because in the beam of those blinding lights, something moved. It wasnât a shadow. It wasnât a trick of your panicked brain. It was another one.
Tall, hunched, long-limbed, its skin pale and glistening in the glow. Its eyesâor what you swore should have been eyesâcaught the light and gleamed back. It froze at first, twitching at the sound, head cocked unnaturally to the side like an insect testing the air. Then, slowly, its limbs began to drag it closer, a jerking gait that was almost too fast, its body crawling forward on all fours like some rabid predator.
Your breath hitched in your throat.
Your hands were locked on the wheel, knuckles white, body screaming to go, to slam your foot down and get the hell out of there. But terror pinned you in place as the rakeâs body shuddered closer, drawn by the rumble of the truck and the glare of its headlights.
Beside you, fists slammed against the outside of the truckâBrianâs voice muffled through the glass, rough with urgency, âTurn it offâturn it off, now!â
The world was collapsing in on itself.
The creature lurched forward in the beams of the headlights, its long, spidery limbs working in horrifying jerks, teeth glinting wet in the light. You couldnât breathe. You couldnât think. All you could do was sit frozen in the cab, your hands strangling the steering wheel like it might save you.
âDammit, shut it off!â Brianâs voice cracked through the night, sharp with desperation.
Timâs shotgun fired, the deafening blast tearing through your chest as much as the airâbut the rake only staggered, then kept moving.
Tim pumped the action againâclick. Empty. His mask tipped down in disbelief, body stiff with sudden panic as he threw the useless weapon aside. âShitâshit, shit, shitâ!â
The rake shrieked, the sound like metal tearing and a scream all at once, its limbs clawing up speed as it hurtled toward the truck.
You shrieked with it, fumbling for the gear shift, ready to ram the damn thing if you had toâbut suddenly something slammed against the glass of your driverâs side door.
It was Toby.
But not Toby. Not the boy who helped you stay warm at night or stumbled with you drunk into a kiss. It was the weaponâthe orange goggles gleaming under the headlights, the muzzle tight across his face.
âOpen the door!â he barked through muffled leather, voice a ragged edge.
You shook your head violently, tears blurring your vision as you looked back and forth between one monster and another.
ThenâCRASH.
His fist went straight through the glass. Shards rained inside, some cutting across your sleeve, some glinting like diamonds in your hair. He didnât flinch. He didnât feel the blood already trickling down his knuckles. He just ripped the lock up with the same hand and wrenched the door open with a force that made the whole truck rock.
You screamed, scrambling back in the seat, but Toby didnât even look at you. He dropped low, arm shoving between your legs and under the seat in a hurried, desperate movement. Your mind blanked at the sudden closeness, the smell of gun oil and blood filling the cabâand then he was upright again, hauling out a heavy rifle like it had always been hidden there.
The rake was a blur now, closing in fast, the sound of its limbs slapping the dirt unbearable.
Toby braced the rifle against the doorframe, shoulders steady, eyes aimed square at the charging thing. He was always so shaky, always fumbling things and twitching so hard his bones crackedâbut now, he was as steady as a stone. His finger pulled the trigger.
BOOM.
The buckshot cracked the night open. The rake shrieked in agony, its body twisting as the blast tore into it, sending pale flesh ripping backward. It stumbled, clawed at the dirt, and then scurried off in a frenzy, vanishing into the trees with another unholy scream.
Silence crashed down heavyâexcept for your ragged sobs. You sat stiff, locked against the wheel, shards of glass glittering around you, your whole body trembling so violently you thought your bones might rattle apart. Toby slowly lowered the rifle, his chest heaving under the fabric of his hoodie, goggles glinting as he finally glanced at you.
But you didnât want to look at him. Not any of them.
The silence after the rake fled was unbearable. The only sound was your ragged breathing, the occasional soft clink of glass settling in the seat. The men stood outside the truck like statues, masked and armed, all three pairs of eyes fixed on you. You pressed yourself back against the seat, trembling so hard it made your teeth chatter. You wanted to scream at them, to bolt into the dark, but every shadow in the fog looked like it could lurch to life.
Brian was the first to move. He stepped closer, slowly, like he was approaching a cornered animal. He pulled his hood up, letting the mask sit at his forehead. His voice was low, careful, like he knew he was standing on ice.
âMiss⌠you need to go inside. Please.â
You shook your head furiously. âNoâyouâyou lied to me! All of you. I trusted you andâand what the fuck was that thing?â Your voice cracked, and tears burned at the corners of your eyes. âWhat the fuck are you?â
Tim shifted, mask still on, his shotgun slung uselessly at his back. His voice was steady but cold through the porcelain, âDoesnât matter right now. More of those things will come if we stay out here.â
âMore?â you choked, gripping the wheel like it was your lifeline.
Brianâs jaw clenched. He wanted to reach for you, you could tell, but didnât dare. âWeâll explain. I swear to God we will. But not out here.â
Toby hadnât moved from where he leaned on the doorframe, rifle still in hand, goggles gleaming. The ticking had returned, his neck snapping to the side as he spoke, voice muffled through the muzzle, âYouâre not s-safe here. Not without u-us.â
The words stabbed deeper than anything else. Because as much as you wanted to deny it, as much as you wanted to scream and tell them to go to hellâyou knew it was true. You had seen the thing, felt it chasing you. If Toby hadnât pulled that rifleâyour stomach twisted.
âWhy didnât you tell me?â you whispered, broken, not even sure who you were asking.
The three of them looked at one another. No one answered.
Finally, Brian exhaled, shoulders sagging. âBecause we didnât want you to look at us the way you are right now. The same way your uncle did.â
That hit harder than the gunshot had. You swallowed down the panic, wiping the smattering of shattered glass off your lap and clothes. Their bodies went taut, ready for you to run, but you didnât. You stepped out slowly, knees wobbling, eyes flicking to the treeline like the shadows might move again at any second.
Tim lowered his mask then, finally, revealing tired eyes and a mouth pressed tight. âCome inside. Just⌠stay where itâs lit. Weâll talk.â
You nodded once, jerky and stiff, and followed them back toward the manor. Not because you trusted themânot anymoreâbut because the dark was worse.
ââ .âŚ
The kitchen felt wrong. Too bright, too ordinary. The same wooden table where youâd laughed with them, spilled drinks, argued over how to season the roastânow it was where you sat stiff, arms crossed tight, pulse hammering through your skull.
The three of them lingered near the doorway at first, masks and hoods and goggles removed, shifting like they werenât sure how close they were allowed to get to you anymore. Finally, Brian pulled out a chair across from you and sat. His movements were slow, careful, like you might bolt if he breathed too loud. Tim leaned against the counter, arms folded, while Toby crouched on the floor near the far wall, fiddling with the muzzle strap at his neck, silent.
You stared at them, waiting. Your throat ached from holding in the questions, from the scream you still wanted to let loose.
Brian finally broke the silence. His voice was rough but soft, the kind of tone that begged for belief. âWeâre not here to hurt you, miss.â
Your laugh came out sharp and cracked. âYou killed something in front of me like it was a Tuesday errand.â
Timâs jaw worked. âBecause if we hadnât, it wouldâve killed you.â
âThen what was it? What was that thing?â
Silence. For too long. Until Brian sighed and rubbed at his face.
âTheyâre called Rakes. Theyâre a big problem deep in the forest like this. Pale things, fast as shit, look like they crawled out of hell itself. Except theyâre real.â
The word stuck in your gut like a stone. Real.
âAndâŚâ your voice wavered. âAnd my uncle? You mentioned him. Heâhe didnât justâŚâ
Brianâs gaze flicked up, guilt shining. âHe didnât die in his sleep. He ignored our warnings. He wanted to study them, to find out where they came from, why theyâre here. He went out on his own. One got him before we could stop it.â
It felt like the floor tilted under you. You pressed your nails into your palms until the sting grounded you.
No wonder there wasnât a funeral. They probably never even found a fingerâs worth left of him.
Timâs voice cut in, matter-of-fact, like he wanted to keep you from spiraling. âWe were sent here because of it. Not by your family, not by the town, but by Him.â
âWho the fuck is him?â
They all went quiet again. You hated how they did thatâlike they had to agree silently on how much truth you were allowed to have.
Brian nodded slowly, expression grim. âHeâs our⌠boss. Our tether. Whatever word you want. He sent us here to guard this manor, to keep it from falling to the rakes. Because if it does, this whole stretch of woods goes with it.â
Your stomach turned. âWhat do you mean, âgoes with itâ?â
Timâs mouth pressed into a thin line. âThese arenât just woods, miss. This is the Operatorâs territory. Your uncleâs manor just happens to sit dead center in the middle of it. He refused to give it up, so we made an alliance instead of kicking him to the curb. He fed us and housed us in return.â
The words hit you one by one, like stones thrown at your chest. Operator. Rakes. Dead uncle. Alliance.
You looked down at your hands on the table. They didnât feel like yours anymore.
Brian leaned forward, searching your face. âI know this is a lot. But weâre not your enemy. Weâre the reason youâve been safe here. The reason youâre still breathing tonight.â
But the dread coiled tighter in your stomach, because as much as his voice begged you to believe it, as much as your body shook with the leftover fear of the rakeâs claws nearly finding youâ
You couldnât help but think:
If this was safety⌠what the hell did danger look like?
Your throat closed up, your heartbeat kicked into overdrive, and the air in the kitchen suddenly felt too thin, like the whole manor was shrinking in around you.
âIâno, no, noââ The words came out choked, and you pushed back from the table so hard the chair screeched.
âMissââ Brianâs voice reached for you, but you were already stumbling toward the door.
âDonâtââ You raised a hand, shaking, as if the gesture could keep them at bay. You saw Toby move first, quick and instinctive, like he always was, but the moment he reached toward you, you flinched so violently it made him freeze in place.
âLeave me aloneââ Your voice cracked high, raw with panic. âDonâtâjust donâtââ
Brian stood up, hands lifted in a placating gesture. âWeâre notââ
But you couldnât listen, couldnât hear. The air sawed in and out of your lungs in broken bursts, chest heaving, vision tunneling in and out. Their shapes blurred together, too close, too wrong. You shoved past them, every nerve screaming, bolting for the stairs.
âChrist almightyââ Timâs voice, sharp, an order more than a plea. âStop.â
But you didnât. You flew up the steps two at a time, legs threatening to buckle under you, slammed into your room, and shoved the door closed so hard the frame rattled. The lock clicked beneath your trembling fingers and you stumbled backward until your knees hit the bed.
And then you folded. You yanked the blanket up and over yourself like a child, burying into the cocoon of it, hiding from the house, the woods, from them. From everything.
But the curtain was still open. And through the slat of moonlight, through the sheer fabric, you could still see it.
The rake.
Dead. Twisted in the grass like something unnatural left out in the sun. Limbs splayed wrong. Its pale skin caught in the light, waxy and alien. It shouldâve been comforting that it wasnât moving. That it wasnât coming for you anymore. But all it did was burn the image deeper into your skull.
You curled tighter, pulling the blanket over your head until the air was hot and damp against your face.
Itâs not real. Itâs not real. This is a dream. Iâm gonna wake up. Itâs just a bad dreamâ
The voices came next.
âMiss.â Brianâs, low, strained through the door.
âCâmon, maâam.â Tobyâs, softer than usual, almost coaxing.
âYou need to stay put,â Timâs, firm, lacking remorse, as it often did.
You pressed your hands to your ears, muffling them, shaking your head against the mattress. You didnât want to hear, didnât want to believe. Your heart thudded hard enough to make your body rock with it. Every muscle trembled. You couldnât tell if you were sweating or freezing, but your skin crawled like it was both.
Eventually, the voices stopped. The creak of the floorboards retreated. Silence, except for the ragged pull of your own breath. For a moment, you thought theyâd given up.
Until you saw it.Â
Through the open curtain, faint beams of light flickered across the yard. Flashlights. The three of them stepping back out into the fog, their shadows moving long against the grass. They didnât even glance toward your window as they approached the body. Tools in hand. Masks back on. Like it was routine. Like theyâd done this before.
You clutched the blanket tighter.
Because for the first time, you realized they had.
ââ .âŚ
The days bled together.
Sunlight dragged itself across the walls, shadows shifted with the passing hours, but you barely marked the difference anymore. Your roomâonce cozy, once yoursâhad turned into a bunker. You kept the blanket pulled to your chin, eyes trained on the door as if something might slip through the lock at any second.
The manor itself had changed too. The high ceilings, the curling banisters, the endless doors and rooms that had once felt like treasure hunts now loomed over you like watchful eyes. The beauty of it was gone. What was left was suffocating, oppressive. Has this house always been so dark and loud? The fog pressed against the windows day and night like a living thing, and the silence of the house creaked with every step they took downstairs.Â
They tried. God, they tried.
You could hear them through the door sometimes, soft voices muffled by the wood.
Tim, one morning, tapping against the frame with his knuckles, âYou should come outside. I could use an extra pair of hands in the garden.â His voice calm, practical, like asking you to water plants could undo everything youâd seen.
Later, Toby, his tone careful in a way it never used to be, âYâknow, you w-were sayinâ you wanted to help w-with the firewood? Could do that t-today. Get some air.â You pictured his goggles, the way the lenses had glinted in the night while he buried a hatchet in somethingâs skull, and your stomach turned.
And then Brian, the worst of allâbecause he didnât knock, didnât ask. He just left plates by the door. Sometimes you caught the scrape of ceramic against the floorboards and the quiet retreat of his boots. You hated how much you wanted to open it, just to see if heâd still look at you the way he had in the kitchen that day, before the world had cracked in half.
But you couldnât. You didnât trust them. Couldnât trust them. They were liars.
Every time you closed your eyes, you saw it again: Toby covered in blood, Tim with his shotgun leveled, Brian watching you like he already knew what youâd do before you did it. Their faces were masks now, even when they werenât wearing them.
You thought about leaving. Hell, you thought about it constantly. Packing a bag, walking until your legs gave out, flagging down the first car you saw, even if it meant never coming back.
But when you searched for your car keysâyour one ticket out of hereâthey were gone. Not in your pockets. Not in your jacket. Not in the drawer where you swore youâd left them. You tore through your room in a panic one night, drawers ripped out, clothes thrown across the floor, hands shaking as you clawed through every cornerânothing.
The realization hit like a stone in your stomach.
You were trapped.
The manor, the boys, the fog outside that pressed against the windows like it wanted inâit all caged you here.
So you stayed in bed. Curled up. Drained, terrified, jumping at every creak of the floorboards, every groan of the wood. A bird hit the window once and you screamed so hard your throat burned. You didnât even recognize yourself anymore.
The house youâd inherited, the one that had once felt like magic and freedom, was now a prison. A ball and chain. A hellscape patrolled by three men you didnât know at all.
At first, you refused to touch the plates Brian left you. They sat there on the floorboards, steaming quietly, the scent drifting under your door until it was too much. You waited until the footsteps retreated before snatching the dish up, scarfing the food down like a starved animal, and leaving the empty plate outside again.
It became a routine. You didnât want to depend on them, but your body betrayed you. You couldnât live on fear alone.
The bathroom attached to your room became your only refuge outside the bed. Youâd stand under the spray of hot water until it ran lukewarm, your palms pressed against the tile, forehead leaning on the wall. Sometimes you just sat in the porcelain tub with the water running, knees pulled to your chest, staring at nothing.
And always, always, when you came back into your bedroom, your eyes went to the windows.
Youâd yank the curtains closed, then open them again, unable to stop yourself from looking. The fog was always there, clinging to the glass, blanketing the trees. You half-expected to see something in itâsomething crawling, lurking, watching. Sometimes you thought you did. Shapes that moved in ways the fog shouldnât. Your breath would hitch, your body going cold, but nothing ever stepped forward.
Almost a week passed this way.
A week without gunshots. A week without blood on the grass. A week without monsters.
And in the silence, your fear didnât vanishâit changed. The panic attacks gave way toâŚsomething hollower. You didnât scream at every creak anymore. You didnât jolt at every shifting shadow. Instead, the weight in your chest was quieter, heavier.
Loneliness.
The manor, vast and echoing, was suffocating in its emptiness. The walls hummed with silence, broken only by the occasional sound of a floorboard groaning downstairs, or conversation carried in faintly from outside. The boys still moved through the place, you knew thatâthey had toâbut to you, it was like the house had swallowed them whole.
You hated yourself for it, but you missed them. Their constant chatter. The casual way Toby would crash into a room, or Timâs steady voice grounding you, or Brianâs quiet reassurances no matter what. All of it felt like another lifetime.
Now it was just you and the fog pressing against the windows. And though fear still twisted in your gut whenever you remembered that night, something else was beginning to twist alongside it: a gnawing, hollow ache for company.
Lying in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, you realized the fear wasnât the only thing keeping you awake anymore. It was the quiet. Too much of it. The manor had always been old and creaky, a place where silence still felt aliveâbreathing, whispering through the halls. But now it pressed in on you differently, like it wanted to crush the air out of your chest.
You rolled onto your side, pulling the covers tighter. And without meaning to, your mind betrayed you.Â
It wandered back. Not to the gunshot. Not to the blood. But to before.
The warmth of Tobyâs laugh when he teased you. The way Brianâs eyes lingered every time the two of you talked. The way Tim caught you when you stumbled in the garden, how his gloved hand pulled dirt across your cheek like a dare for more.
You remembered the heat. Their nearness. The weight of them, the dizzying closeness. Their smellâeach so different, but so incredibly them. And before you could stop it, you remembered kissing them.
Your breath hitched. The memory was like touching a live wireâshame, want, and dread all tangled together. Youâd been flustered and anxious, but youâd let it happen. God, youâd wanted it, hadnât you? The proof was there, stitched into your bones: the taste of Brianâs mouth, the desperate way Tim kissed you like heâd been holding back for years, the electric snap of Tobyâs lips against yours, so sudden it left you burning.
You pressed your hands to your face, groaning softly into the dark.
That had been just before everything went south. Just before the world turned sideways. Before you knew what they were. But even now, curled up in bed, dread gnawing your ribs rawâyou still couldnât stop the flush that crawled up your neck.
They were liars. Dangerous. Killers with pretty faces.
And yetâŚ
They were also the only people youâd had in over a month. The only ones whoâd shared your meals, filled your empty halls with life, pulled laughter from your chest when you thought youâd never have company again.
That ache in your chest deepened. It wasnât just fear anymore. It was missing them.
You hated it, but in the quiet, you found yourself wondering what they were doing right now. Sitting together at their table? Talking in low voices outside by the fire pit? Were they thinking of you, the way you couldnât stop thinking of them?
Your fingers curled in the sheets. For the first time since that night, the first thought youâd had of them in admiration rather than fear slipped in. And it left you feeling warm in a way you hadnât allowed yourself to in a long, long time.
â
By morning, the air in your room felt poisonous. Stale. Too close. Every corner looked darker than it should, every creak of the floorboards like a threat. You lay there for hours, suffocating in it, until the ache in your chest finally won out. Loneliness pressed harder than fear.
So you slipped out of bed.
The floor felt cold against your bare feet as you padded to the door. Your hand hovered on the knob for longer than it should have, every nerve screaming donât, but you twisted it anyway.
The hallway yawned openâlong, empty, heavy with silence. You crept down the stairs one at a time, shoulders tight, eyes flicking to every shadow as though something might peel away from the walls. The air was still. Too still. You checked behind you more times than you could count, convinced someone was at your back, but it was only you.
The manor was empty. The boys were gone, off doing whatever they did out there during the day. You were completely alone downstairs.
Your chest rose and fell in shaky breaths as you made yourself breakfastâjust something simple, toast and eggs. Your hands trembled when you cracked the shells, but you forced yourself through it, moving carefully, listening for sounds that werenât there.
When you finally sat down at the table, the weight shifted. The hollowness of your room started to ease. This was the tableâthe one youâd eaten at with them dozens of times now. You could almost hear their voices layered into the wood, see the way Toby picked at his food, Brian leaning back and smoking out the window, Tim muttering about seasoning under his breath.
For a few fragile minutes, you almost felt⌠better. Grounded. Like maybe the house was tilting back toward normal.
But then you looked outside.
The yard spread out before you, soft with the cool air, the grass still damp with morning dew. And your eyesâtraitorous, unwillingâdragged to the far patch by the treeline.
The spot.
Your stomach turned. The grass was ruined there, dead in the shape of something once sprawled. Brown, twisted, pressed into the earth like a scar.
The Rake.
Your fork clattered against the plate. Suddenly you werenât at the table anymoreâyou were back there, on the ground, lungs screaming for air, watching Toby hack into the thing again and again, the spray of dark blood cutting the night. Your body tensed, a violent shudder wracking through you, and you grabbed the table edge to keep yourself from sliding right onto the floor.
The toast turned to ash in your mouth. The kitchen blurred. All you could see was that body, twitching, limbs too long, mouth open in a snarl that should not have belonged to anything human.
You dragged your gaze away, chest heaving, but the imprint of it stayed stamped behind your eyes. The breakfast that had been so grounding a minute ago sat untouched in front of you now, the warmth of it leeching away with your appetite.
The panic was rising sharp in your throat, chest heaving like you couldnât drag in enough air. The walls of the kitchen felt too close, the memory of that blackened grass clawing at the back of your skull.
Then the door creaked open.
You jolted so hard the chair legs scraped across the floor.
âEasy,â a voice cut through the panic, low and steady.
Tim stepped inside, shoulders broad beneath his jacket, a wooden crate of vegetables balanced in his arms. He nudged the door shut with his boot, setting the weight down on the counter with a thud. The sound grounded you. The sight of him grounded you.
You sucked in air like youâd been drowning.
His eyes flicked over you, sharp and assessing. âChrist, you look like youâve seen a ghost.â He stripped off his gloves, brow furrowing as he took in the pallor of your skin, the dark circles carved under your eyes. âOr maybe you havenât seen anything at all. Been hiding in that room, huh?â
You opened your mouth, but words caught in your throat. He sighed, tugging off his jacket and tossing it onto the chair across from you. âCâmon. Enough of this.â
You blinked, confused. âWhat?â
âYouâre wound so tight youâre about to snap.â He motioned toward the door with his chin, already rolling his sleeves up. âFresh air. You need it. Iâm not asking.â
âIâTim, I canâtââ
âYes, you can,â he cut you off, voice firmer now, the same tone he used when he was correcting your clumsy hand in the garden rows. âNo oneâs out there. Nothingâs gonna touch you. Not with me here.â
Your hands shook in your lap. The instinct was to refuse, to bolt back upstairs, bury yourself under blankets. But something about the steadiness in his tone held you in place. Before you could second-guess it, he was at your side, holding out a hand.
âCome on,â he said again, quieter this time. Not a command, but an anchor.
You hesitatedâthen took it.
The sun hit you like a brand when you stepped outside. The air smelled green and sharp, earth and mist. You flinched at every shadow, every ripple of fog curling across the grass, but Tim kept you moving, his hand steady on the small of your back. You felt like a brittle dog being dragged to the vet.
He led you past the patch that still made your stomach lurch, not letting your gaze linger.
âLook,â he murmured once you reached the garden beds. Your eyes followed his gestureâand your breath hitched.
Tiny stalks, pale green, had broken through the soil. Straight lines of them, catching sunlight like little veins of hope. The sunflower seeds.
âTheyâre up,â Tim said simply, crouching down to brush a hand over the fragile sprouts. His voice was softer now, almost proud. âTold you they wouldnât take long.â
You sank to your knees beside him, eyes burning. After days of seeing nothing but dead spots and nightmares, this was⌠different. Proof that you had once thought this place magical, proof that it still could be.
Tim glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, catching the way your shoulders finally sagged a little, the way your lips parted like you might actually breathe easy for the first time in days.
âThere,â he said, his voice steady as bedrock. âBetter than four walls, huh?â
You nodded, swallowing past the knot in your throat, eyes flicking from the tender green sprouts to Timâs steady profile. He was wearing a red flannel, it suited him. For the first time in days, your voice didnât sound like it belonged to a stranger.
ââŚWhy are they here?â you whispered.
Tim didnât pretend not to know what you meant. He leaned back on his heels, resting his forearms on his knees, eyes scanning the rows of soil instead of your face. âItâs not really a simple answer,â he said after a beat. âTheyâre kind of like badly trained dogs. They were put in these woods to protect it, but they grew restless. They multiplied, and now theyâre trying to plant territory here. Theyâre⌠parasites, almost. They hunt, they tear apart whatever they can get their claws on. They donât stop until something makes them stop.â His jaw flexed. âThatâs what Toby was doing. Making it stop.â
Your stomach twisted. You hugged your arms around yourself. âAnd youâyouâre notâŚâ you faltered, the word caught between fear and shame. âYouâre not like them?â
That made him look at you. Sharp eyes cutting into yours, unreadable. Then his mouth quirked, bitter at the edges. âNo. Weâre human. Just⌠different kinds of human.â He leaned down, plucked a sprout of grass from the dirt and rolled it between his fingers. âWeâve seen things. Lived through things. The kind of shit that makes you useful for a boss like ours.â
ââŚThe Operator,â you murmured, remembering the name from that awful night in the kitchen. Tim gave a single nod.
Silence stretched between you, filled with birdsong and the wind tugging through the trees. You almost didnât want to ask the next question. But it burned in you, ugly and desperate.
âMy uncle,â you whispered. âWhat really happened to him?â
Tim exhaled slowly through his nose, shoulders rising and falling. His answer came low, deliberate, like every word was a stone he had to lay carefully. âHe didnât die in his sleep. Thatâs what they told your family so you wouldnât go digging. Truth is⌠he stopped listening. We warned him to stay inside certain nights, warned him not to wander the woods. He thought he knew better.â
Your chest tightened, heart crawling into your throat. âSoââ
âThe rake got him,â Tim said flatly, but his eyes softened when he saw the way you flinched. âQuick. Quicker than most.â He ran a hand through his hair, like he hated saying it but hated lying even more. âBrian found him. We cleaned it up before word spread and buried him. Your family was told he passed peacefully. It was kinder that way.â
Your eyes stung. You stared down at the sprouts, blinking hard, until the blur sharpened back into green.
Tim sighed, shifting closer, his voice lower now. âI know you donât trust us right now. Youâve got every reason not to. But weâre not your enemy, and weâre not here to hurt you. The only reason this place is still standing is because of us.â
His words shouldâve scared you more. But the way he said themâsteady, unflinching, stripped of egoâmade something in you waver. You swallowed hard. âSo my uncle⌠heâhe died because he didnât listen.â The words felt foreign in your mouth. Wrong.
Tim didnât answer right away. Just brushed the dirt from his clothes, his head bent slightly like he was bracing for you to cry or scream. âYeah,â he said finally. âBut you donât have to make his mistakes.â
Your chest rose sharp with breath. You wanted to spit at him, wanted to tell him he was wrong, that he was cruel for saying it so plainly. But instead your voice came out shaky, almost pleading. âWhy didnât you tell me? Why keep me in the dark? You knew I trusted you guys. Was it better I found out like that?â
Timâs eyes lifted, and for once there was no hard mask, no guardâjust a tired man who looked as though he carried too much and just found another thing to add onto it. âBecause trusting us is dangerous. Because you deserved to believe this place was just⌠yours.â His jaw tightened. âI wanted you to have that. Even if it was a lie. Even if I knew youâd find out eventually.â
The words hit you in a way you didnât expect, making your throat burn. You looked away quickly, blinking hard at the little sunflower sprouts poking through the dirt. They were so fragile. So green. So alive. Your lips parted before you could stop them. ââŚIt feels different with you guys here.â
Timâs brow furrowed, but he didnât press. He just tilted his head slightly, waiting.
You shook your head, cheeks warm, ashamed of yourself. âI meanâbefore, when I first moved in, it felt like a dream. Like the house was magic or something. But then it was the three of you too, andâŚâ You hesitated, heart thudding hard in your chest. âI donât know. It didnât feel like I was alone there anymore. It felt like it was our house.â
Silence. His gaze lingered on you, heavy, searching, until you dropped your eyes to your knees. You wanted to hate him. You wanted to hate all of them. But the warmth crept back in despite the fearâthe memory of his gloved hand brushing dirt off your face, of laughter spilling between you in the garden only days ago. You felt unmoored, torn in half.
âI donât know if I can trust you,â you whispered.
âI donât blame you,â Tim said, and there was no hesitation, no defensivenessâjust truth. He didnât move, didnât push, didnât even try to bridge the distance between you. He just stayed steady, watching, like he knew that if he reached for you now, youâd bolt. That steadiness should have comforted you, but instead it made your chest tight.
Your gaze flicked once more to his, and for a fleeting second you saw the same man who had caught you when you fell, who had kissed you like he was afraid youâd vanish if he didnât hold you close. Your stomach knotted. Too much. It was all too much.
âI should⌠I should go inside,â you muttered, the words stumbling out uneven.
Tim gave a small nod, like heâd expected it. âAlright. Do what you need.â
You rose quickly, your boots crunching over the gravel path, heart hammering in your throat. Each step back to the manor felt heavy, dragged down by invisible weight. When you reached the door and slipped inside, you pressed your back against it, clutching the handle like you could hold the whole house shut around you.
The silence rang. Empty. Oppressive. And for all your desperation to be away from him, from them, from everythingâyou couldnât shake the sickening pull in your chest. The way his words clung to you. The way the air had shifted when you thought, for a moment, that maybe you werenât as alone as you feared.
It scared you worse than the rake ever had. You shoved the thought down, dragging yourself upstairs.Â
ââ .âŚ
You didnât lock yourself away anymore. That had felt too much like suffocating, like the four walls of your bedroom were trying to eat you alive. Instead, you drifted through the house the way fog rolled through the manor grounds: quiet, cautious, and never quite settling. You swept the floors, washed dishes, straightened the shelves in your uncleâs old studyâanything to keep your hands busy, to keep your mind from spinning too fast. You refused to look at the drawings in there, deciding that stuffing them into a drawer was the better option.
But no matter what you did, it was always there. That knot in your stomach. That pulse of awareness. Because eventually, one of them would always appear.
Brian passing through the hall with a coil of wire slung over his shoulder, nodding as if to silently greet you. Toby kicking mud off his boots at the door, his hair messy from the woods, muttering something about needing to grab water. Tim carrying a basket of herbs into the kitchen, his voice gruff when he told you to watch your step as if he still expected you to trip everywhere you went.
Each time, your body betrayed you. The first response was always fear: your shoulders tight, your breath caught sharp in your chest, fingers clutching the nearest counter or chair. They felt like shadows looming over you, reminders of the masks, the blood, the rake.
But then, almost cruelly, the fear softened into something else.
Your gaze lingered on Brianâs hands as he workedâsteady, clever hands that had cradled yours. You found yourself watching the swing of Tobyâs shoulders, the way he filled a doorway with his energy even when he said nothing at all. And Tim, sharp edges and all, made your stomach twist when he brushed past you, the scent of cigarette smoke trailing behind him.
It made no sense. You hated it. Sometimes you caught yourself staring too long, zoning out with your heart in your throat, fidgeting with your sleeves or a stray thread on your shirt until you snapped yourself back. Other times youâd feel heat crawl up your neck at the sound of their voices, the low timbre of their laughter echoing through the halls, and youâd retreat to another room before they could notice.
You wanted them gone. You wanted them closer. The contradiction gnawed at you.
They tried, in small ways, to bridge the gap. Brian offering a half-smile when you passed in the kitchen. Toby cracking a joke that earned him nothing but your stiff silence. Tim tossing a casual, âYou eating today?â over his shoulder like it wasnât meant to matter. They didnât press, didnât demand answers, but the weight of their attempts hung in the air between you. Every time you caught their eyes, you saw something there you didnât want to name. Patience. Concern. Something warmer, steadier. It terrified you.
Because in the quiet corners of your mind, when the manor groaned and the candles guttered low, you realized the truth: the only people who could make you feel safe in this place were the same ones who had shattered that safety. And stillâdespite everythingâyour chest ached for them.
The longing crept in slow, threading through your fear until you couldnât tell one from the other anymore. It was like reaching for a flame with an open palm. You knew it would burn, but you couldnât stop yourself from wanting to feel its heat.
So you kept your distance, but not too far. Close enough to catch the shape of their shadows in the hallway, close enough to hear their voices drift in from outside. Close enough to keep wanting what you swore you didnât. And every night, when you lay down in your bed, you felt the ache of it thrum in your ribsâa hollow that wasnât just fear anymore, but something darker, hungrierâŚ
Want.
ââ .âŚ
The storm had rolled in like a beast. Rain lashed the tall windows, rattling against the glass with a steady violence, the manor groaning as though the water alone might break it apart. You were folding the last of your fresh laundry in your bedroom, the soft crackle of a record spinning in the corner from a bin of old vinyls you had found, when the knock came.
Sharp. Three quick raps.
You froze mid-fold, heartbeat leaping into your throat. For a long moment you just stood there, staring at the door, the shadows bending in the flicker of candlelight. Then you forced yourself to move. You pulled it open just a crack.
Brian stood there, rain clinging to his hoodie in damp patches, his hair a little mussed. His expression softened the moment your eyes met.
âHey,â he said, voice low, careful. âWasnât sure if you were up. Just wanted to check in. You doing alright?â
The question landed heavier than it should have. You blinked at him, throat dry, trying to summon an easy answer, but nothing about this was easy. âI⌠I guess. Just keeping busy.â
Brian nodded once, stepping just close enough to lean against the doorframe. The light behind you threw his face into half-shadow, the other half all sharp cheekbones and soft eyes. âNeed anything? Food, tea, whatever. Figured Iâd ask before we head out.â
The words snagged you. Head out.
Your eyes flickered down without meaning to, catching the edges of things he hadnât hidden: the black balaclava stuffed into his pocket, the flashlight clipped to his belt. The sight made your stomach turn.
You swallowed hard. âYouâre⌠hunting?â The word nearly caught in your throat, shaky and brittle.
Brianâs eyes followed yours, and for a second, his jaw tightened. Then he sighed, quiet and steady, pushing off the frame to face you fully. âYeah,â he admitted. No excuses, no softening of the truth. Just the weight of it placed between you.
The sight of the gear, the reminder of what it meantâof the horrorsâhad your hands trembling. Your breath picked up, chest hitching. You shook your head, backing a step into your room without realizing it.
âHey, heyââ Brianâs voice caught softer now, urgent but not harsh. He stepped forward, careful, palms open, and reached for your arms. His fingers closed gently around your sleeves, grounding you with the warmth of his grip. âItâs alright.â
You stared at him, wide-eyed, panic and unease crashing in waves over you, but the steadiness of his hands on your arms made you pause. Made you realize you hadnât let anyone this close in days. Rain pounded the manor, lightning flashed faint and far through the windows, and Brian stood in front of you, as terrifying as the storm but unshakable. His eyes searched yours, calm and certain.
Your throat burned with the pressure of words you didnât want to say, but couldnât hold back anymore. The dam was finally cracking, and there was nothing you could do to hold back the roar that was coming with it.
âPlease,â you whispered, voice breaking, âdonâtâdonât let them near here.â Your fingers curled around the fabric of his hoodie like you needed something to anchor you. âDonât let those things come close. Iââ Your breath hitched, a sob caught in your throat before you could stop it. âI canâtââ
Brianâs brow furrowed, his grip tightening just slightly as if to keep you from unraveling completely.
âHey,â he said softly, bending closer. âBreathe. Câmon nowâŚâ
But you shook your head violently, tears brimming before you even realized theyâd gathered. âNo, youâre not listening, I meanâwhat if something happens? What if you donât come back? What if itâs worse than that thing in the yardââ
Your voice cracked, and you clutched at him harder, burying your fingers into the fabric at his chest. âBrian, you canâtâyou have to come back. All of you. You canât justâleave me in this place and notââ You broke off again, swallowing hard as you met his eyes. The steadiness there, the calm resolve, made your stomach twist.
The fear wasnât just for you anymore. It was for them.
Brianâs face softened, the sharpness of his features gentled by the stormlight filtering in from the hall. Slowly, he lifted one hand from your arm to press against the back of your head, guiding you forward until your forehead brushed against his chest. His voice rumbled low above you, steady as the rain outside.
âWeâll come back,â he murmured. âWeâve done this forever. Weâll be right here. Always.â
You let out a shaky laugh that wasnât really a laugh at all, pressing your fists tighter into him. âYou donât know that. You donât. Donât make promises like that.â
Brian exhaled, the sound almost like a sigh, but his hand didnât move. âThen Iâll make it a vow instead.â
Something in you twistedâfear, longing, reliefâand you hated that it felt like your chest might split open with it all. You hated more that you believed him, at least a little.
You nodded against him, breath shuddering, clutching tighter to his hoodie like maybe you could hold him here forever if you just didnât let go. But eventually, he eased you back, just enough to see your face. His thumb brushed under your eye, catching the wet there before it could fall. âIâll be careful,â he said quietly, like it was a secret between the two of you. âThat, I can promise.â
The thunder cracked again, loud enough to shake the glass, and the manor felt too empty already. You finally let your hands fall away, weakly nodding. âJustâcome back,â you whispered.
Brian gave the faintest smile, one corner of his mouth lifting, though his eyes stayed serious. âAlways.â And then he slipped from your room, leaving you with nothing but the storm and the echo of his words.
ââ .âŚ
The night stretched cruelly long.
You tried lying down, tried closing your eyes, but every sound from outside jerked you awake again. The crack of gunfire splitting the storm, the distant echoes of shouting that bled through the walls, the occasional slice of light cutting through the fog like a ghost. Each time, your heart jumped, your hands clutched at the sheets, waiting for the manor itself to shake apart around you.
And then silence.
The storm eased to a drizzle around 3 a.m., and with it came a kind of unbearable stillness. You sat on the edge of your bed, your record player silent, clutching your knees to your chest as you stared at the clock. Every tick felt like another knife carving time into you.
When the shouting returned, you nearly screamed.
You bolted to the window, fumbling the curtain aside with shaking hands. Lightning cracked faintly in the distance, enough to illuminate the scene below: Brian and Tim struggling across the sodden courtyard, rain streaking their figures, their arms braced tight under Tobyâs shoulders as they dragged him between them. Tobyâs head lolled forward, his goggles askew, mud and blood smeared across his chest.
Your stomach lurched.
You didnât thinkâyou just ran. Down the stairs, nearly tripping on the last step, your bare feet skidding against the polished floor as you reached the back doors. You flung them open just as Brian barked, âMove!â and the two men staggered inside with their weight.
The air filled with the smell of wet earth and blood.
âWhatâwhat happened?!â you demanded, your voice strangled, but neither of them answered at first. Timâs jaw was locked, eyes narrowed with grim focus, while Brian kept Toby braced high against him, adjusting his grip as they pushed through into the manorâs mudroom and toward the kitchen.
âShut the door,â Tim snapped, his voice tight. âNow.â
You shoved it closed, the latch clanging, rain cutting off into muffled silence behind the heavy wood. Your pulse thundered louder than the storm had, and all you could do was stare at Tobyâhalf-conscious, skin pale beneath the bruises and bandages, blood trailing down from somewhere under his clothes.
Panic clawed your throat raw. âWhat do I doâwhat can Iââ
Brianâs gaze cut to you, sharp and unwavering despite the strain in his arms. âKitchen. Clear the table.â
Your body jolted into motion, heart in your mouth, fear and helplessness gnawing at your ribs as you spun toward the kitchen. You had the table cleared before you even realized what you were doingâfruit bowl shoved aside, candlesticks clattering to the floor, anything in the way swept off with frantic hands. Your whole body trembled as Brian and Tim wrestled Toby onto the wood surface, his boots leaving streaks of wet mud across the floor.
The moment his back hit the table, Toby laughed. It was a warped, half-slurred giggle that crawled under your skin. He tilted his head toward you, his orange goggles hanging cracked around his neck now, his wild eyes half-lidded. âHeeey⌠look a-at youâŚâ
Your stomach dropped. Blood had soaked through his shirtâdark, spreading from his lower abdomen where claw marks tore jagged across his skin. You could see raw edges of flesh, glistening under the bright lights Tim snapped on. Heâd also taken a brutal hit to the headâhis temple swelling purple, a gash matting his curls with blood.
But thatâs when you saw itâthe strip of patched cloth that had always covered his left cheek, torn loose in the fight. At first, you thought it was just another wound. But when the fabric slid off completely, your breath caught in your throat.
The skin beneath was split wide, ragged, old but raw all the sameâan unhealed wound that carved through his cheek, exposing his teeth all the way up to the hinge of his jaw. You could see them glinting faintly under the lamplight, the wet pink of his gums flashing whenever he giggled.
âOh, God,â you whispered before you could stop yourself.
Toby turned his head lazily toward you, eyes half-lidded, his grin sloppy. âWh-what?â he slurred, blood still smeared at the corner of his mouth. âUgly, huh?â He let out a breathless laugh that bubbled into a cough.
Brianâs jaw tightened, his movement pausing just for a second before he forced himself to keep moving. âDonât,â he muttered under his breath, as much to Toby as to you.
But you couldnât tear your eyes away. All this timeâevery grin, every joke, every quick glanceâyouâd never realized he was hiding something so jagged, so brutal, right under that patch.Â
And yet, he just kept laughing.
Brian yanked off his gloves with his teeth, his hands steady and precise as he tore at Tobyâs ruined shirt. Splotches of scars and tense muscles sat above his belt line, all covered in a horrid sheen of red. âHold him down,â he barked to Tim.
âIâve got him.â Timâs gloved hands pinned Tobyâs shoulders as he squirmed, still trying to sit up like a drunk kid refusing bedtime. âChrist, kid, stay still.â
You hovered uselessly at the end of the table, wringing your hands until Tobyâs blood-smeared one suddenly shot out toward you. His fingers caught your wrist, sticky and warm, tugging weakly.
âPretty girl,â he slurred, grin wide despite the blood staining his teeth. âYou c-came down for m-meâŚâ
You froze, pulse stuttering in your throat. Brian didnât even look up as he pressed a rag hard to Tobyâs abdomen, blood seeping instantly through. âDonât listen to him. Heâs concussed.â
But Toby giggled again, forcing himself up despite Timâs grip, his hand sliding clumsy against your arm. âKnew y-youâd care⌠knew it.â
Your throat tightened, torn between the terror of the wound, the strangeness of his unfeeling laughter, and the sheer surrealism of him grabbing at you like nothing was wrong while blood poured out of him. Brianâs voice cut sharp. âGet me more cloths. Towels. Anything thick. Hurry.â
You scrambled for the drawer, your hands shaking so badly you nearly dropped the dish towels. By the time you rushed back, Toby had twisted his head toward you again, eyes glassy and grin somehow wider. âDonât look so s-scared,â he mumbled, his words slurring but his tone almost soft. âI canât f-feel a t-thing.â
Then his body shuddered as Brian pressed harder into the wound, his giggles cutting into a sharp hiss of breath before dissolving into another eerie laugh. You nearly dropped the towels, your legs threatening to give out, thrusting them with shaking hands. Brian snatched them without missing a beat, already layering fresh cloth against Tobyâs stomach. Blood soaked through instantly, turning bright white fabric into maroon.
âTim, tilt his headâkeep him steady, heâs gonna choke if he throws up.â
âI know,â Tim snapped, his mask shoved up just enough for his voice to carry clearer. His gloved fingers locked around Tobyâs jaw, keeping him in place while the younger manâs body jolted against the table. Toby fought them with the strength of a ragdoll, limp in some ways but twitching and jerking in others. His legs kicked weakly against the wood, heels knocking over and over again. He giggled, a breathless wheeze that scraped your ears raw. Droplets of water flung from his clothes and his hair, the smell of damp earth and rust suffocating the room.
âFeels f-funny,â he slurred, eyes rolling back before snapping forward again, finding you like he couldnât help it. His bloody hand smeared against the table until it found yours again, his fingers curling sticky around your wrist. âDonât⌠donât look a-away. Missed y-your face.â
You couldnât move. Every instinct told you to rip your arm away, but the way his grip softened, desperate instead of forceful, kept you frozen in place. Brian cursed low, his hands soaked now, his forearms streaked crimson to the elbow. âShitâclaws got him deep. Punctured muscle. We need stitches.â
âThen stitch him,â Tim growled, tightening his hold on Tobyâs chin when he tried to thrash sideways.
âI willâbut I need him still, not a damn earthquake.â
For a moment, the kitchen was only the sound of rain hammering the roof and Tobyâs warped laughter cutting through it. He blinked at you, unfocused, pupils blown. âY-Youâre shaking,â he murmured, as though he could feel the tremor running through your body. His thumb dragged lazily across your skin, leaving a streak of blood like war paint. âDonât be s-scared. Not of me.â
Your chest squeezed tight, a sob clawing up your throat, but Brianâs voice snapped you out of it. âHold this.â
You startled as he shoved your hands onto the thick cloth already pressed into Tobyâs stomach. The instant your palms met the hot, slick wound beneath, your whole body recoiledâuntil Brianâs voice went sharp. âDonât move. You want him to bleed out?â
Your knees nearly gave, but you pressed down, teeth clenched, nausea clawing at your stomach as warmth spread beneath your fingers. Toby wheezed, twitching, but instead of crying out he only smiled through it, his head lolling toward you.
âSee? Youâre g-good at this,â he muttered, almost tender if not for the blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. âKnew youâd t-take care of m-me.â
You couldnât speak. Couldnât look away from his unfocused eyes and the terrifying comfort in his voice, even as Brian moved around you with grim efficiency. Heâd already torn open an aid kit from the cabinet, the needle glinting in the light. Tim held Tobyâs head steady, murmuring something low and sharp under his breathâmaybe curses, maybe easing words, you couldnât tell. And Brian, steady as stone, knelt to stitch, his hands sure even as blood dripped from his wrists to the floor.
But it was youâyour hands pinning the cloth against Tobyâs abdomenâthat kept him alive, even while his bloody fingers tangled with yours, and he giggled through the stitches like it was all some sick joke only he understood. The kitchen had turned into a battlefieldâblood pooling across the table, the storm still howling outside, rainwater dripping from their coats onto the tile. Everything smelled like iron and wet earth, like thunder itself had crawled indoors.
Tobyâs body jerked against the table as Brian threaded the needle, his hands trembling from cold, fatigue, and frustration. The first puncture made Tobyâs back bow like a live wire, a ragged cough bursting from his lips, more of a muscle reaction than something he did intentionally.
âDonâtâdonât t-tickle,â he slurred, eyelids fluttering.
âChrist, Toby, shut up,â Brian muttered, voice taut. His stitches came slower than he liked, clumsy even with his practiced handsâhis soaked sleeves clung and slipped, fingers too numb to work with perfect precision. Tobyâs head lolled sideways, eyes unfocused until they found you again. His bloody grin widened. âYouâre c-cute, maâam,â he whispered, thumb dragging sluggishly over the back of your hand where it held the cloth down.
Your breath caught. You wanted to recoil, but instead you forced yourself to speak, to keep him occupied. âIf you donât hold still, he wonât finish,â you said, your voice shaking as much as your hands. âCome on, Toby. Just⌠just stay with me.â
His giggle cracked into a sigh, eyelids heavy. For a heartbeat you thought he was goneâuntil Tim barked low. âHeyâeyes open, kid. Look at her. Donât you dare close âem.â
You looked up at himâhis hand stayed firm under Tobyâs jaw, keeping him steady. But his eyes flicked to you, softer, urging. âYouâre doing good,â he muttered, and for a second it was like his words werenât just for Tobyâthey were for you, too.
Your throat ached as you nodded quickly, bending down closer so Toby could see you better. His glazed eyes locked clumsily on yours.
âThatâs it,â you whispered, trying to keep your voice even though your stomach was rolling. âStay here. Donât move. Just listen to me. Please.â
Another stitch tugged through, and Toby hissed a laugh that broke into coughing when a thick clot of blood soaked through to your palms. Brian cursed under his breath, wiping at the wound with his sleeve before leaning back in. âAlmost there,â he muttered, though you could hear the edge of doubt in his tone.
Toby, even half-gone, smirked faintly at you through the pain. âKnew y-you⌠liked⌠me,â he mumbled, before his head tipped back again.
âToby!â you gasped, leaning forward, clutching his hand tighter. Tim pressed down firmer on his shoulder, his voice steady, commanding. âFocus, Toby. Quit scaring the girl.â
Brianâs breath rattled through his teeth as he forced the last stitch through. The thread snapped taut, the flesh pinched together, ugly but secure. He tied it off with trembling fingers, the knot sloppy, but it would hold. âThere,â he muttered, almost to himself. âThatâs it. Done.â
Toby gave a sluggish chuckle, head rolling weakly toward you. âTold ya⌠jusâ a s-scratchâŚâ His bloody grin was crooked, dazed.
âScratch, my ass,â Tim growled, finally letting go of his shoulder. His hands were steady, but his voice was roughâtoo tight, too relieved. âYouâre lucky youâve got Brianâs hands on you. Anyone else, youâd be gutted open.â
Brian wiped the needle on a cloth, exhaling hard as though heâd been holding his breath for an hour. âSit him up slow,â he ordered.
You and Tim eased Toby upright. His body sagged heavy between you both, his laughter faint now, almost airy. His head lolled toward you again, his damp curls sticking to his forehead. âSheâshe m-makes a good nurse,â he slurred.
Your heart thudded in your throat. You couldnât tell if it was fear, anger, or the ache of something else, something softer. âJust⌠shut up, Toby,â you whispered, your voice breaking as you brushed sweat from his temple. You tried so desperately not to look at the hole in his cheek, but you glanced anyway. His eyelids flickered once, twice. And then they shut, his body going limp against Timâs chest.
Panic shot through you. âNo, no, noââ
âHeâs out,â Brian cut in firmly, checking his pulse with bloodied fingers. His shoulders finally dropped, the fight draining out of him. âUnconscious. But heâs breathing. Heâll live.â
The words hit you like a floodgate breaking. Your hands shook so badly you pressed them against your face, smearing blood across your skin. A pained laugh slipped from your throat, sharp and brittle, as relief and horror twisted together in your chest. Tim guided Tobyâs body down onto the bench against the wall, pulling off his soaked jacket and draping it over him. âWeâll move him to the cabin when the rain lets up.â
Brian leaned heavily against the table, dripping water and blood onto the floor, his jaw slack with exhaustion. For a long moment, the kitchen was nothing but the crackle of the storm and the sound of all your breathing. You looked at themâtheir wet hair plastered down, their soaked clothes clinging, the blood smeared across their skinâand realized they looked more like soldiers than the workmen youâd once thought they were.
âDonâtâdonât go back out,â you blurted, your voice sharper than you meant. Both men froze, glancing up from where they were arranging Toby on the bench. You swallowed hard, blinking back the tears burning at your eyes. âPlease. Just⌠just stay here tonight. Use a spare room. Shower. I donât care. Justâdonât go back out there.â
Timâs brows furrowed, his mask hanging loose around his neck now, his shirt soaked through to his skin. He looked at you for a long moment, searching, then glanced at Brian. Brian opened his mouth, like he was about to argue, but the exhaustion written across his face betrayed him. His shoulders slumped. âThereâs no needââ he started, then stopped when he saw the way your hands were shaking. The fight in him ebbed away. ââŚAlright.â
It was like telling dogs who always slept in the doghouse that they were allowed to stay inside tonight.
âGood,â you said, trying to sound firm even though your voice cracked. You moved toward Toby, who was still out cold, his head tilted against the wall. His lips twitched faintly, as if even in sleep he couldnât stop smirking. You brushed his damp hair from his forehead with trembling fingers. âPut him in my room. Iâll keep an eye on him.â
âPlease,â you whispered, cutting him off. âI canâtâI canât sit in there alone after all this. Just⌠let me do this.â
The room went quiet, except for the pounding rain outside. Finally, Brian crouched, hooking his arms under Toby again with a grunt. âFine. But only because youâre rightâhe needs watching.â He lifted Toby as if he were a ragdoll, adjusting his limp weight over his shoulder.
Tim rubbed at his face, sighing low. âAlright. But donât say I didnât warn you when he drives you insane in his sleep.â
You almost smiledâalmostâbut the knot in your chest wouldnât let you. You led them up the stairs, the floorboards creaking under the weight of two soaked, blood-streaked men and one unconscious one. You helped Tim drag off the heavy pieces of clothing, unstrapping his boots, and drying the blood and mud from his body. He didnât stir once.
When Toby was finally settled into your bed, damp curls spread across your pillow, you stood back, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The room smelled of rain and smoke and iron, but for the first time in days, it wasnât empty.
You wrung out a wet cloth from your bathroom and began carefully wiping the grime from Tobyâs chest and stomach, clearing away the blood that clung stubbornly to his skin. He flinched faintly, but only to huff under his breath, muttering something incoherent.
Brian and Tim both stood nearby, dripping onto your floorboards. You glanced up at them, your throat tightening. âWhat⌠what happened?â
The only light in the room was the candleâs that stayed constantly lit, so they looked even more disheveled and worn than normal. Tim was tugging his gloves off, tossing them to the side. His jaw worked, the muscles in his neck tight. âWe got caught in a nest. Shouldâve cleared the woods earlier in the week, butâŚâ He trailed off with a frustrated growl.
You swallowed, turning your attention back to Toby. Your eyes caught on his faceâhis cheek in particular, and the horrid new discovery that had been revealed. âAnd this?â you whispered, brushing at the blood there with your cloth.
Brian exhaled heavily through his nose. He glanced at Tim before answering, his voice low. âThat wasnât tonight. He⌠does that to himself. Sometimes. When it gets too much in his head.â
Your hand stilled. The cloth went slack between your fingers. ââŚHe chews at his own face?â
Brian nodded once, curt. âHe canât feel it. Doesnât stop himself.â
Your stomach lurched. You blinked rapidly, your vision swimmingânot with fear this time, but with something sharper, deeper, sadder. You dragged the cloth across Tobyâs jaw again, softer this time, like if you were careful enough you could undo every wound on him.
âGod,â you whispered, your voice breaking. âHe couldâveâyou all couldâve died out there.â
Tim, still standing near the door, sighed and rubbed at his eyes. âThatâs the job.â
You looked at him sharply, and he held up a hand before you could speak. âIâm not saying itâs fine. Iâm saying we all know the risk every time we step outside. So does he. Weâre soldiers.â
You turned back to Toby, your chest tight and aching as you brushed his curls off his forehead. He shifted faintly in his sleep, lips twitching, a faint chuckle leaving his throat like he was dreaming something absurd. It gutted you.
You forced yourself to straighten, turning to Brian and Tim. âThereâs a spare room down the hall. I cleaned the sheets earlier this week. You can take it. Both of you. Please justâdonât go back out tonight.â
Tim arched a brow, but didnât argue. Brian only nodded, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.
You moved past them, pulling open your wardrobe and grabbing two clean towels. You thrust them forward with shaking hands. âShower. Dry clothes. And you donât have to work tomorrow⌠if you donât want to. Relax. Justâtake care of yourselves for once.â
Brian accepted his with a small, weary âthank you.â Tim muttered something under his breath, but you caught the flicker of relief in his eyes as he took his too.
You lingered at the side of your bed, watching Toby breathe, his chest rising and falling steadily. And for the first time since the night you saw what they truly were, your fear shifted, cracked, reformed into something new.
You werenât scared of them. You were scared for them.
ââ .âŚ
The room was thick with silence after Brian and Tim slipped out, their boots heavy across the hardwood as they disappeared down the winding hallway.
You dragged the lounge chair in the corner of your room across the floorboards, wincing at the scrape but refusing to stop until it was wedged against the side of your bed. You sank into it with a heavy exhale, arms crossed tight, eyes darting between Toby and the window.
Outside, rain still sheeted down, fat drops smearing across the glass. The grass below gleamed slick and dead where the dead rake had once lain days ago. Every shift in the fog made your pulse jump, but nothing moved. Nothing lurked. Still, you couldnât rest.
Your gaze slid back to Toby. He lay on his back, sprawled carelessly across your sheets like he owned them, shirtless under the bandages Brian had tied across his stomach. The gash there still seeped faintly through the wrappings, dark and damp against the white cloth. He jerked in his sleep every couple seconds, but nothing more than his usual tics.
And everywhere elseâscars. Dozens. Thin white lines crossing his ribs, deep puckered marks on his side, a jagged run across his shoulder. Youâd seen him shirtless before, chopping wood in the sun, but back then youâd told yourself they were just accidents. Work injuries. Maybe old fights. Something normal.
You now wondered how many Tim and Brian had. Did they also have some inhuman hole in their chest, or terrifying marks across their backs. How many cuts on their hands or arms had you dismissed as accidents?
Now, you knew better. Every scar was a tally mark. A near miss. A night where they might not have come back.
Your throat clenched. You leaned closer, the chair groaning under your shift of weight. Tobyâs face twitched faintly, lips pulling in the ghost of a smile even in sleep. Thatâs when you saw it: the torn edge of his cheek, scarred but raw, one of the secrets he had been so good at keeping. You leaned down, curiosity curling in your chest like a fist. Carefully, you brushed your thumb along the edge of his jaw where tiny bits of shaven stubble hid, then pressed lightly at the skin near the wound. His lips parted slightly, slack. You swallowed, steeling yourself, and nudged a finger closerâjust enough to peek past his teeth.
The flesh inside was ragged, gnawed down, trying its best to heal. You pulled back fast, your breath catching in your throat. Heâd done this to himself. Without thinking, you reached again, prodding gently against his lips with the pad of your finger. His mouth fell open, warm breath spilling against your skin, and there it was on full displayâthe damage. Jagged, raw, a hollow pocket where his cheek shouldâve been whole.
Your stomach twisted. Your chest burned. You wanted to recoil, to shut your eyes and pretend you hadnât seenâbut instead you stayed there, staring, your fingertip trembling against the sharp edge of his canine when, suddenly, his teeth snapped shutâjust a hairâs breadth from your skin.
âAh!â you yelped, jerking your hand back so fast you nearly tumbled from the chair.
Toby laughedâhalf delirious, half triumphantâa rough, breathless sound that still made your chest tighten. âR-Relax, maâam⌠wasnât g-gonna hurt ya,â he slurred, his grin crooked but genuine now that the bleeding had stopped.
You huffed, crossing your arms, still flushed. âYou really shouldâve told me about this.â
His eyes flickered toward the gash in his cheek. âDidnât⌠want y-you worrying.â His voice softened, quieter than usual, and you caught a hint of vulnerability beneath the bravado.
You leaned closer, tilting your head. âIs that the only thing youâve been hiding from me? Or are there other secrets I should know about? Seems I didnât know you guys as well as I thought I did.â
His grin returned, slow and mischievous. âDepends⌠y-you asking for t-trouble?â He lifted his head off the pillow, eyes glinting under your candlelight. âMaybe some t-things Iâll tell if y-youâre niceâŚâ
Your cheeks warmed, but you couldnât help but ask, âLike what?â
âAh⌠maybe later,â he murmured, brushing a curl from his forehead, âfor now, just k-know⌠thanks. You kept me from g-going under there t-tonight.â
You felt your stomach tighten at his words, the mix of sincerity and the half-flirtatious glint in his eyes. âDonât get me wrong,â you said, gesturing at the mess of bloodied towels and rain-soaked sheets around you, âIâm not exactly thrilled about being up to my elbows in all this. But⌠Iâm glad youâre okay.â
Toby shifted, lifting himself slowly against the pillows, and you moved instinctively to support him. He gave a weak chuckle. âI can move, I s-swear⌠but I should⌠I dunno, get o-out of your hair. Youâve got your hands f-full.â
âStay,â you said firmly, planting your hand on his shoulder before he could climb out of bed. âYouâre not going anywhere yet. We need to talk about⌠tonight. About what happened.â
His grin softened into something almost tender, head resting back against the pillow. âFine⌠fine. Guess I owe you an explanation.â
And so you stayed there, the storm drumming against the windows, and slowly the conversation unfoldedâhalf laughter, half tense reflectionâabout the rake, the chase, the wounds heâd hidden, and the small, terrifying ways their lives had changed since youâd arrived.
ââ .âŚ
You blinked awake, the lounge chair cold and stiff beneath you, limbs aching from sleeping in it. Tobyâs side of the bed was empty, and a faint smell of rain and smoke lingered in the room. Your fingers flexed against the fabric of the chair, realizing your muscles ached from tension as much as from the position.
Dragging yourself to the stairs, you paused at the top, ears straining against the dull patter of rain outside. The manor felt⌠normal. For a moment.
Downstairs, the sight that greeted you almost made you stumble: Toby, still shirtless and without his patch, crouched in front of your pantry, tearing into a jar of something you hadnât even noticed before. The bandages around his stomach had since been changed, too. He looked up briefly, grinning. âMorning,â he mumbled, crumbs on his lips.
Brian stood at the stove, stirring scrambled eggs and bacon, the smell warm and comforting. He had on new clothes, sleeves rolled up, hair messy and sleep-ridden. He glanced at you over his shoulder. âSleep well?â
You nodded faintly, still blinking away last nightâs nightmares. Tim was leaning against the open back door, smoke curling lazily from his cigarette, rain splattering on the mat beneath his boots. He didnât glance at you, but the faint tilt of his head acknowledged your presence.
And to your surprise, the kitchen was clean. No blood, no muddy footprints, no chaosâjust the muted hum of the rain, the hiss of the stove, the gentle smell of breakfast.
You swallowed, nerves still tight, but the domestic normality made your chest ease slightly. âGood morning,â you said, voice quiet but steady.
Toby hummed, pulling out a piece of bread from the pantry. âI took the d-day off,â he said lazily, slouching against the counter. âYou s-said not to work, anywayâ
âBut youâre still eating my food, I see,â you muttered, a small smirk tugging at your lips.
Brian glanced at you, offering a plate of scrambled eggs. âSorry, kind of took over the place, miss. I thought you could use the sleep.â
You moved closer to the stove, grabbing a spatula and helping him fold eggs and bacon onto the plates. Toby leaned lazily against the counter, munching slowly and grinning at you when your elbow brushed his side.
Tim flicked ash from his cigarette, voice low. âToo difficult to work in the rain, anyway.â
The four of you settled into a rhythmâBrian cooking, you helping, Toby snacking and joking half-heartedly, Tim leaning against the doorframe and occasionally muttering commentary.
And suddenly you realizedâthis was the first time you all had been in this room together since that night. No blood, no fear, no arguing.
Just you and your friends, like it always used to be.
ââ .âŚ
Over the next week, the manor slowly returned to a rhythm. The storm that had hammered the grounds the night of Tobyâs injury faded into a persistent drizzle, washing the hedges and garden beds until everything glimmered wet and green. Inside, the grand hallways felt less like a gauntlet and more like a place to inhabitâsunlight spilling weakly through the tall windows, dust that hadnât yet been disturbed catching the light like faint flecks of gold. The candlelight along the banisters still flickered each evening, but it no longer felt like a warning; it felt like home again.
You found yourself moving more freely through the rooms again. The once-imposing staircase was no longer a challenge to climbâyou traced your hands along the smooth banisters, absorbing the scent of polished wood and old stone. The art on the walls that had made your chest tighten now drew your gaze with curiosity: portraits of stern-faced men and women, landscapes of places youâd never been, scenes of life that felt foreign but alive. Every artifact, every sculpture, told you your great-uncle had lived surrounded by beauty and darkness alike, and now it was yours to touch, to explore, not to be afraid of.
The boys stayed inside more often again, taking your insistence to rest to heart. Tim leaned in from time to time, joking about chores or your sunflowers, but there was an ease to him now that hadnât been there before, a subtle gentleness behind the brashness. Brian, still meticulous, began lingering longer at breakfast, pouring coffee and pausing to talk quietly about something trivial yet meaningfulâwhether it was a sketch your uncle had made or the way the rain washed the garden. And Toby⌠Toby was different, too. He moved more slowly, more deliberately. His usual stutter softened around you, and the constant flirtatious jokes you had once been hyper-aware of seemed almost manageable now.
You noticed the little ways in which their presence permeated the manor. Timâs laughter in the garden carried through the windows, bouncing faintly against the high ceilings. Brianâs careful footsteps across the hardwood floors sounded like a rhythm you could follow when the monsters outside were relentless. Tobyâs deep exhalations as he chopped firewood in the yard seeped into the quiet of the house in the early morning. You had once flinched at every sound, every shadow, but now it was a kind of music, a background hum that you understood again.
It was becoming your home again. All of your home.
And yet⌠you were still aware. A sharp awareness that ran through your chest every time they touched you casually, every time you passed in the halls. You had kissed each of them. You had flirted, leaned into warmth you were not supposed to seek, and now every glance carried weight. When Toby leaned over to grab something from a high shelf, brushing his arm against yours, your pulse quickened. When Brian handed you a knife, the fingers brushing your palm lingered longer than necessary, and you felt the memory of his lips on your small wound rise unbidden. And Tim⌠his rough teasing, the way he caught your eye when you werenât expecting it, made you remember the scrape of his glove across your cheek in the dirt.
It was complicated. Scary. And intoxicating.
So your interactions became deliberate. Not cautious in fear, but deliberate in curiosity and care. When you sat in the kitchen with Brian, chopping vegetables for lunch, you asked about the manor, about his work, about things he hadnât shared before. He would pause mid-chop, eyes flicking to yours, and you knew the thread of connection was longer, thicker nowâbuilt not on naĂŻve trust but on understanding.
With Tim, you lingered in the garden. You helped him pull weeds, planted seedlings, and let him talk while your hands were dirt-stained. He laughed easily now, teasing less sharply, letting you see glimpses of the boy beneath the brash exterior, the one who had stayed behind in the shadows when rakes approached, the one who cared in ways he wouldnât admit outright.
And Toby⌠Toby became the hardest. He would sit in the lounge with you in the evenings, casual at first, feet on the table, joking and subtly scooting closer. But every time he laughed, every time he leaned in, your mind snapped briefly to memory: the last night in your bedroom, the whiskey, the fire, your lips meeting. Now, in the sober, quiet light of the manor, those memories were warm embers you couldnât quite smother. And yet, you craved them, craved him, the others too, while knowing the danger and weight of it all.
Slowly, over the week, the manor ceased to feel suffocating. The once-haunted halls were filled with life: the sound of running water in the kitchen sink, the soft thump of Toby moving about, Brian humming under his breath as he sorted tools, Tim tossing a cigarette butt out into the ashtrays. You walked freely now, aware but not tense, learning each corner, each shadow, each familiar creak. Refamiliarizing yourself.
And you found yourself noticing them more than ever. The small scar along Tobyâs shoulder. The faint line of a bruise on Brianâs forearm. The way Timâs hands always gripped a little too hard on the handle of his shovel. Every detail told a story, a life full of danger and near misses, of survival. You felt protective, anxious, and drawn to them all at once, aware that you had feelings for each, that your heart and mind were tangled in a web you couldnât yet disentangle.
Yet it was different now. You didnât flinch when they entered a room. You didnât hide in your bedroom. Your fear still lingered at the edges, yes, a quiet drumbeat under your pulse, but it had softened into concern, into longing, into attention and care that had substance.
The manor had changed. So had they. And slowly, tentatively, so had you.
But you still kept a secret from them. You still ran circles around them, flirted, and played house like you didnât have secret turmoil internally. Like you didnât feel heat in your chest for each of them. Like you didnât stare at their hands, at their backs, at their facesâ
They had told you their secrets, had laid their truth bare.
And with each lingering look, with each unspoken claim, you realized you were running out of excuses to hide yours any longer.
You werenât sure what would eat you alive first: the rakes, or your need to have them all to yourself.
This was going to be hell.
Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated!
ŕš back to my masterlists
ââ .⌠rainrot4me2025, all rights reserved. ęŠ .á
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââ i love you - fontaines d.c.
ââ .⌠do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. dividers by me.
CONTAINS NSFW, MINORS DNI
⌠. Summary: When your name appears in your late great-uncleâs will, you sell your house and move out to the Estate. A victorian manor, an endless garden, and too many candles to keep up with now belong to youâand so do the groundskeepers that come with it. But behind all the intricate furniture and shiny tile, you find that all things have secretsâeven the handsome ones.
⌠. Characters: Tim Wright/Masky & Brian Thomas/Hoodie & Ticci Toby x Female Reader
⌠. Warning: Lore/canon-adjacent, gardener!Tim, woodworker!Toby, maintenance!Brian, fear, stalking, romantic tension, love square (lol), eventual smut, weapons, blood, alcohol, drunk make outs, risky make outs, talks of grief and mourning
⌠. Words: 17.6k
⌠. Note: Finally! I had to cut this fic into two parts because the setup and story became way longer than intended, but trust, the smut in the next part will make up for all the reading. Very not canon, but also not an AU?? Youâll see, youâll see. Anyway, thank you again Angie for the beautiful art, and I canât wait to see what yaâll think!
Grief is a weird feeling to have about someone you barely even knew.
The forest had grown thicker the farther you drove. Roads narrowed. Trees leaned inward like sentinels, their black limbs threading above your car like rib bones. The GPS had lost signal over twenty minutes ago, replaced by static and silenceâbut it was clear where you needed to go. The road dwindled until it barely fit your car alone, then the asphalt turned to packed gravel and weed-ridden dips. Until eventually, it all cleared out.
When the gates came into view, you didnât even realize youâd been holding your breath.
Tall wrought ironâlaced with crawling ivy and something white growing through the slats, maybe fungiâstood wide open as if expecting you. Past them, the long gravel drive curled like a spine through mist that sat heavy on the ground, never quite clearing. It clung to the trees, to the stones, to the windows of your car like breath on glass. A crow watched from a crooked wooden post as you passed, unmoving, eyes beady and coal-black.
And then the manor revealed itselfâhuge, victorian, timeless.
It loomed at the top of the hill, its grey stones slick with dew and age. Ivy bloomed like veins across the façade. Balconies with wrought-iron railings curved out like ribs. Candlesâreal, flickering candlesâlit the windowpanes, casting warm amber light through the dusk. Even from the drive, you could see the tall banisters inside the grand entry. The flames along them shivered into being as you approached, one by one. Unlitâthen lit. Unlitâthen lit.
The house was aliveâsort of. Motion sensors are the face of the future nowadays.
You still werenât sure why heâd left it to you.
Your great-uncle on your motherâs sideâa man you hadnât seen since you were sevenâhad died quietly in his sleep three months ago. No funeral. No obituary. Just a letter from an estate lawyer in an envelope that looked like it had been typed on a typewriter and licked shut.
âThe Estate now belongs to you, as dictated in the will. The property is in your name. Immediate possession granted upon arrival. All expenses pertaining to the upkeep, facilities, and maintenance of the Estate shall be covered by the remaining balance of the previous ownerâs account, per his final wishes.â
That was it. No explanation. No fine print. Just a manor no one in the family had spoken about in decades, and a name barely remembered from a childhood photo album.
But something in you hadnât questioned it. Not really. Not when you saw the photos. Not when you sold your old place in less than a month. Not when you packed your life into a car and followed the map into fog.
Who gets a chance like this, right?
You parked beneath the massive archway, engine sputtering as you shut it off. You stepped out, the cool air hitting your face like a whip, the smell of gravel and moisture heavy in the dense air. For a moment, there was only silenceâso full and thick it almost rang. Then the soft crunch of gravel behind your car.
You turned quickly.
A tall man in a thick ochre jacket stood just beyond the back of the vehicle, his arms crossed, the black of his gloves matching the dark mess of his hair. He looked rough around the edgesâbroad-shouldered, with tired eyes and a permanent scowl carved into his scruffy face. He has dark facial hair and a scowl that could kill.
ââBout time,â he muttered, not unkindlyâmore matter-of-fact. âYou drive like an old woman.â
ââŚExcuse me?â
He jerked his head toward the house, already walking past you. âTim. Iâm the groundskeeper. Youâll meet the others eventually. I told âem youâd be late. You are.â
Charming.
You rolled your eyes, but there was something oddly comforting about how blunt he was. No sugar-coating. No fake sympathy about the death of your great-uncleâwhom you hadnât seen since you were seven and barely remembered. Just blunt honesty and a noticeable scent of soil, herbs, and faint cigarette smoke trailing behind him.
You popped the trunk and started pulling your suitcases out, straining with the last one when another figure appeared from the fog near the left side of the manor.
This one was leaner, a little taller, wearing a layered brown hoodie with a tool belt slung diagonally across his torso. Shorter light brown hair, less facial hair, and a better demeanor. His face was tense too, but not nearly as much as Timâsâjust the face of a man who worked all day. There was something⌠still about him. Gentle, but unreadable. He came forward quietly, gave you a nod, and took your last suitcase without a word.
âUhâthanks,â you said, a little startled.
He looked at you for a beat longer than most people would. Not creepy. Just⌠deliberate. Like he was learning your shape. âBrian,â he finally said, voice low and smooth. âI handle the house, miss.â
And then, just as quiet as heâd arrived, he turned and headed up the wide stone stairs, suitcase in hand like it weighed nothing. His boots made no sound. Tim took a larger duffle bag in your hand, and made his way inside too.
Okay then.
You followed after them, feet echoing slightly on the stone. The doors were already openâenormous double slabs of oak carved with swirls and vines, polished but ancient. The inside of the manor was even more beautiful than youâd imagined.
It was like stepping into another century.
Marble floors half-covered in velvet rugs. Staircases that twisted up to balconies you couldnât yet see. A chandelier that glittered like it was dripping crystals. Paintings of people you didnât recognize lined the wallsâeyes too lifelike, almost following you. And everywhere: those damn candles. Lit. Flickering, soft, and low like breath on skin.
âN-Nice, huh?â
A new voice behind youâlighter, raspier, but playful.
You turned to see a man standing in the wide hallway with a hatchet strapped to his belt and sleeves rolled to his elbows. He had on a flannel jacket over a hoodie, one side of his mouth pulled into a sharp grin. His eyes were bright and wild behind shaggy brown hair and orange safety goggles, and his head tilted just slightly when he looked you over. A large medical patch was taped over his left cheek, obviously covering some injury underneath. Height wise, he was in-between the two others, but was more muscular if the veins in his forearms had anything to say about it.
âYouâre smaller than I th-thought youâd be,â he added, then stuck out his hand, bandages and tape covering most of his digits. âToby, maâam. Iâm the one that makes shh-sure the place doesnât get eaten by the fo-forest.â
He seemed to have a stutter, accompanied by the occasional jerk of his neck or pulse of his arm, but you ignored it. You took his hand, firm grip. âNice to meet you.â
He snorted. âYou say that now.â
ââŚWhat?â
âJ-Joking.â He winked. âMostly.â
Tim passed behind him with your second bag, muttering, âDonât scare the damn girl yet, boy.â
âIâm not scared,â you said flatly, shifting your bag on your shoulder.
Brian, who had disappeared around the corner, reappeared beside the bannister. âWeâve got your room ready. East wing. End of the hall. Itâs the only one with a red door. Youâll find it.â
That last part sent a chill down your spine. ââŚFind it?â
His head tilted. âYouâll see.â
And then, without another word, he turned and vanished up the stairs. You stood in the grand hall for a momentâyour bags by your feet, your heart a low thrum behind your ribsâas the fog outside thickened against the windows like steam.
The manor wasnât crumbling. It wasnât rotting. It wasn't disgusting and falling apart like you predicted it would be. It was thrumming with life, with energy. Evidently, these men had taken care of it in your great-uncleâs wake.Â
It made the unease in your stomach dwindleâif only a little.
By the time Tim sauntered back down the steps, slightly out of breath, you decided it was time to settle in.
The grand staircase curved like a serpentâs spine, the banister warm beneath your palm as you ascended. Brian had said east wing, end of the hall, red doorâbut you hadnât expected the house to feel like a cathedral inside a labyrinth. Every turn led into a new corridor. Every wall held art that didnât look hung, but placed with purpose.
Your footsteps echoed as you walked. The silence swallowed them just as fast.
Candles flared to life as you passedâalways just ahead, as if the house anticipated you. The flame never flickered when you got close. It simply burned steady, golden and watching.
You passed tall windows with thick velvet curtains, some drawn closed despite the dusk. The ones left open showed nothing beyond the glass but fog. No trees. No horizon. Just the endless, soft swirl of grey.
The walls were paneled in dark wood, inlaid with carvings of ivy and thorns, suns and moons, spirals and strange, knotted symbols you didnât recognize. Beneath your boots, the floor shifted from rug to tile to smooth, gleaming wood again.
Then there were the paintings.
One hall was lined with portraits of people in archaic clothingâVictorian corsets, fur-lined coats, high collars and hollow eyes. The longer you looked at them, the more it felt like they werenât portraits at all. Like theyâd been preserved.
A woman in crimson lace. A boy holding a raven. A man with a scar beneath one blind eye. None of them smiled. All of them stone and stern. They looked like pieces youâd find in a haunted house.
You swallowed hard and kept walking, turning what felt like your third corner when you saw it: a tall, narrow door painted a dark oxblood red. The only color in the whole corridor wasnât mahogany or black.
Brian had said the door would be red. You gripped the handle. It was ironâcool, almost damp. You pushed.
The room beyond was enormous.
Your shoes sank into an old but pristine rug patterned with intricate swirls and designs. The walls were a smoky, soft green, the ceilings high with beams that stretched like arms above your head. A chandelier hung here, tooâsmaller than the one in the entry, but full of dusty crystals that caught the candlelight and scattered it across the room in warm, golden webs.
There was a canopy bed, dark wood and velvet drapes, tall as you and made up with sheets that looked untouched. A writing desk sat in front of a window, and beside it, a small table cluttered with books. The spines were cracked and hand-bound. Some of them had no titles at all.
And everythingâeverythingâlooked too valuable to belong to someone like you.
You set your bag on the bed and stared for a second.
This was yours now.
All of it. The velvet. The crystals. The creaking floorboards and carved lintels and echoing halls.
It felt impossible.
And yet⌠right.
You opened your suitcase, started unpackingâfolding clothes into drawers that looked untouched for decades, placing a few familiar things on the desk: a small photo frame, a worn notebook, the brass key your great-uncleâs lawyer had mailed you with the deed. The only thing in the envelope aside from that eerie letter.
For a moment, as you placed the key down, the candle beside it flaredânot wildly, but like it had sighed. There really wasnât any electrical lighting in the building from what you could see, so even now, the candles swirled and shifted the shadows around the thing.
You stared at it.
Your manor. Your estate. Your workmen taking care of it.
You smiled.
ââ .âŚ
You nearly got lost on your way back downânearlyâbut you found your way.
The door at the back of the manor opened with a groanâdeep and deliberate, like it hadnât been used in years, yet still expected to swing open for you. A chill crept in through the frame, damp and heavy with mist, and you stepped out into the fog like crossing into a dream.
The air smelled like moss and wet stone. Somewhere, a wind chime rang softly, even though the air was still.
The backyard, if you could even call it that, unfurled in soft, uneven layersâstone paths winding through hedges and overgrown rose bushes, patches of ivy crawling over marble statues half-swallowed by time. The fog was thinner here, but still present, blanketing everything in that same quiet veil. It didnât obscure so much as⌠blur.
You followed a winding path with grass growing between the stones, passing under an old iron arch where climbing roses had once bloomed. Now only a few deep crimson buds clung to the vines like drops of blood.
And then the garden opened wide. It was vast. Wild.
Bushes trimmed into winding mazes. Tiered flower beds that had long since spilled into one another. Tall wrought-iron trellises swallowed by tangled vines. A dry fountain with a statue of a weeping angel at its center, moss growing at her feet.
It looked like someone had manifested the pages of The Secret Garden right before your eyesâuntamed but alive. Like it was waiting for someone to bring it back.
You smiled to yourself and wandered deeper.
Farther down the slope of the property, just beyond the edge of the garden, you spotted themâold horse stables, sunken slightly into the earth, their wooden frames dark with age but not ruin. You imagined them alive again: the soft sound of hooves on hay, the glow of lanterns, the scent of saddle oil and cedar shavings. Youâd never owned a horse in your life, but the fantasy settled in your chest like a childhood wish remembered.
Maybe someday.
And then you noticed the lights.
Not in the manorâbut past the stables, nestled beneath the trees. Three small homes. One with string lights blinking dimly around the porch. One with smoke curling from a chimney. One with an open window and the distant flicker of a lamp.
Tim. Brian. Toby.
Each of them lived just far enough to be separate, but close enough that the house was still central. Like planets orbiting the same haunted sun.
You watched the lights flicker for a few seconds before the cold began to settle into your arms. Evening had started its slow descent. The sun would vanish behind the trees soon, and you hadnât eaten since morning.
You turned back toward the manor.
The kitchen, as you found it, was toward the backâthrough a side hall lit with lower, warmer candles and lined with faded cookbooks and hanging bundles of dried herbs. The door was thick and swinging, and it opened to reveal a space that looked untouched by time but somehow still in use.
It was enormousâlong wooden counters, copper pots hanging from a ceiling rack, a cast-iron stove the size of a small car tucked into the far corner. The stone walls were smooth and soot-darkened, the floor a patchwork of cool brick. There was a wide sink with a spout shaped like a lionâs head, and an old-fashioned icebox humming softly in the corner like it shouldnât even still work.
A long wooden table sat near the center, clearly used more for prep than dining. A thick butcherâs block was stained with time and something darker. But it was warm. Comforting, even. Like this place had fed generations.
You moved slowly through it, your fingers trailing across aged surfaces, and opened one of the cabinets to find a neat row of mismatched mugs and stoneware dishes. Another held jars labeled in someoneâs looping scriptâdried lavender, thyme, dried lemon peel, powdered boneâ
You closed that one quickly.
Your stomach gave a soft growl, and you leaned back against the counter with a slow exhale, still adjusting to the fact that this was yours. All of it.
Even the strange parts.
Especially the strange parts.
You rummaged until you found a pantry hidden behind an old cabinet door, stacked with dried goods and preserved jars. Salted meats wrapped in wax paper, bundles of dried root vegetables, and jars of cloudy olive oil lined the shelves beside sealed tins of flour and herbs.
You found a small iron pan, lit the stove with one of the long matches in the ceramic jar, and started cookingânothing fancy. Just some chopped root veg in oil, crisped alongside strips of cured venison. The smell was rich and earthy, grounding. By the time you slid everything onto a plate and sat at the long wooden prep table, the sun had fully dipped behind the trees. The fog outside pressed thicker against the windows. The only sign of life being those three little lights in the distance.
Youâd just taken your second bite when the kitchen door swung open with a loud creak and a gust of cold air.
You jumped, nearly dropping your fork. âWoahââ
There in the doorway stood Toby, orange goggles pressed up into his curly hair, boots muddy, cheeks flushed from the cold. He carried a huge bundle of chopped wood in his arms, his sleeves dusted in bark shavings and tiny splinters. He didnât even notice you until he looked up.
âOhâs-sorry,â he said, voice scratchy with fatigue. He stepped carefully around your chair. âDidnât m-mean to freak you out. D-Doors around hereânever shut r-right.â
âItâs okay,â you said quickly, setting your fork down. âI just wasnât expecting anyone. Whatâs the wood for?â
âYou havenât seen?â He shifted the bundle in his arms, nudging it higher against his chest. âFor the f-fireplace. Main one. B-Brian says if we d-donât keep it lit, the d-damp creeps in too fast. Makes th-the whole place⌠w-weird.â
You raised a brow. âWeirder than it already is?â
That earned a low laugh from himâhalf-muffled, like he didnât quite mean to let it out. âC-Come on. Iâll show you.â
Abandoning your plate, you followed him through the side hall, past narrow windows and walls lined with dusty trimmings, until you reached a massive arched doorway you hadnât noticed earlier. Toby shifted the firewood to one arm and pushed it open with his shoulder.
What lay beyond nearly took your breath away.
The living roomâif you could even call it thatâwas huge. The ceiling stretched two stories up, supported by beams carved with twisting flowers and vines. Velvet armchairs and an enormous, half-moon couch faced the grand fireplaceâa gothic structure carved into the far wall, its stone mantle etched with wolves and trees and a crescent moon overhead. It looked big enough to walk into.
âThis used to be the h-heart of the house,â Toby said, dropping the firewood into a copper bin beside the hearth. âB-Brian says it was the first room built, like⌠b-before the rest of it. S-So, uh. It d-doesnât like being empty.â
You watched as he crouched near the hearth and began arranging kindling with practiced ease. He struck a match and lit the fire slowly, methodicallyâlike a ritual.
âSo, are you guys all⌠like⌠hired workers? Or did you know my uncle?â
Toby paused as he fed in a piece of bark, letting the flames catch. âW-Weâve b-been here a long time,â he said slowly, without looking back at you. âNot hired. Not really. M-More like⌠we s-stay. Keep the place g-going. Make sure it d-doesnât fall in on itself. We knew your uncle, though. He was a go-good guy.â
âThat sounds⌠ominous.â
Toby snorted and tossed in a larger log. The fire flared golden, shadows dancing up the walls.
âItâs not so b-bad. Beats working in town.â He stood and dusted off his hands. âLess p-people. More ghosts.â
You gave him a look, trying to decide if he was joking.
âIâuh, Iâm k-k-kinda kidding,â he added, rubbing the back of his neck. âI mean. S-Sort of.â
A soft silence settled between you. The fire cracked and popped, filling the room with heat and flickering light. The velvet cushions looked more inviting now, less like relics and more like they belonged to someone real.
âSo, uhâŚâ Toby glanced at you, then away. âY-You like it here? Or is it all t-too⌠creepy?â
You sat on the edge of the couch, curling your hands in your lap. âI think⌠itâs weird. But beautiful. And a little overwhelming. Iâve never had this much space. Or⌠history. Or silence. I used to live in town before this.â
He nodded, shuffling his boot across the rug. âItâs a lot. Y-Youâll get used to it. The h-houseâs kinda like a dog. If you d-donât freak out, it wonât either.â
That made you laugh quietly. âSo I just have to let it sniff me and offer it a treat?â
Toby grinned. âE-Exactly.â
You both sat for a moment in the warm, flickering quiet. It was still awkwardâbut nice. Like two people orbiting the same strange world, slowly working up the courage to say more.
âThanks for the fire,â you said softly.
He shrugged, eyes still on the flames. âYeah. Any t-time.â
ââ .âŚ
The next morning, the sun filtered through the tall windows in slanted beams, catching the dust in the air like floating gold. For the first time since arriving, you could see the full shape of the manorâs interior in daylightâand now, it felt less like a haunted fairytale and more like a massive, elegant mess.
So, naturally⌠you grabbed a broom.
It started small. One corner. One rug. But by midday you had swept the grand hall, dusted two of the massive stair banisters, wiped cobwebs from the corners of three corridors, and even mopped the kitchenâs stone floorânearly breaking your back with the old wooden mop you found hanging in the pantry like a forgotten relic. The house didnât resist it, either. In fact, it almost felt like it appreciated the attention.
When you finally stopped for a break, your face was flushed and your arms ached.
You rolled your sleeves up, dug out a few actual lemons youâd found in a ceramic bowl in the pantryâclearly freshâand squeezed them into an old pitcher youâd washed clean. The sugar was slightly clumped, the mint was just a little wilted, but the icebox had cubes in its tray, and somehow, miraculously, the lemonade turned out perfect.
You sipped once. Then twice. Cold. Tart. Sweet.
You stared at the glass. ââŚHow the hell are these lemons fresh?â
And then the thought hit you. Tim. Maybe the boys would want some.
You werenât sure what their dynamic was with one anotherâroommates? coworkers? allied cult members?âbut there was something grounding about them. Like each had a place here and welcomed you smoothly. And after Tobyâs kindness the night before, it felt right to offer.
You made your way out the back again, pitcher in one hand, two mismatched glasses in the other, and followed the path toward the garden. The fog was lighter in the daylight, but still hung low like a lazy ghost on the lawn. The breeze smelled of basil, wet stone, and rosemary.
You found Tim kneeling in the main garden bed.
His jacket was slung over the fence post, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hands deep in the earth as he repotted a thick clump of herbs beside a basket already filled with tomatoes, squash, andâyepâlemons.
So thatâs where they came from.
You approached slowly. âHey.â
He didnât look up at first, just kept working the soil between his fingers. âYou clean the whole damn house or just beat it into submission?â
You blinked, then laughed. âBoth.â
That made him glance up, dark eyes narrowing slightly against the sun. His face was ruddy from the heat, jaw dusted with stubble, hair mussed from sweat and wind. Despite his constant scowl, there was something steady about him. Like a wall you werenât meant to get pastâbut if you did, you might find something behind it.
âI made lemonade,â you offered, lifting the pitcher a little. âFrom your lemons, apparently.â
He grunted and wiped his gloves on his jeans. âGuess you didnât poison it. Iâll bite.â
You poured him a glass and handed it over. He took it, sipped onceâand let out a very small, very faint huff of satisfaction. ââŚItâs good,â he admitted. âBetter than the crap Toby tries to make.â
âOh? Whatâs his specialty?â
âFilling the pitcher halfway with sugar.â
You laughed again, and Tim smirked into his glass. He leaned against the garden fence and nodded toward the manor.
âSo. You settlinâ in?â
âI think so,â you said, looking back at the looming silhouette of the estate. âStill feels like a dream. Or maybe a hallucination. One with antique rugs and self-lighting candles.â
Tim tilted his head, expression unreadable. âYou donât remember it? From when you were a kid?â
You shook your head. âNot really. My great-uncle didnât visit often. The few memories I do have feel⌠blurry. I definitely donât remember it being this bigâ
He looked back at the soil, swirling the lemonade in his glass. âHouse has a way of messing with memory. Not on purpose, just⌠thatâs what time does here. Gets soft around the edges.â
You didnât answer right away. Just watched him press a few leaves flat against his palm and sniff them, as if checking their oil. His movements were efficient, practiced. You realized thenâhe didnât just tend the garden. He knew it.
âSo all the herbs and things in the kitchen are from you?â you asked, curious.
âYeah,â he said simply. âIf we donât have the soil to grow it here, I make runs to town and restock on the weekends. Brian rigged up the cellar to keep things fresh longer. I grow it, he preserves it. Toby tries not to eat it raw.â
You giggled, and he looked vaguely amused at that. âI appreciate it,â you said sincerely. âThe food, the garden, everything. It makes this place feel less⌠haunted.â
Tim raised a brow. âDonât worry. You havenât seen haunted yet.â
The way he said itâcasual, with a smirkâmade you shiver just slightly. He downed the rest of his lemonade and handed you the glass. âThanks for the drink,â he said, already moving back to his plot. âAnd for cleaning. House hasnât looked that awake in years.â
You blinked. âAwake?â
He crouched again in the dirt. âYeah. Youâll see.â
ââ .âŚ
You wandered farther beyond the garden, past the sun-dappled hedges and the old stables, where the sound of rhythmic chop⌠chop⌠chop echoed between the trees. The scent of pine and cedar lingered in the warm air, carried on a breeze that whispered through the taller grass near the edge of the property.
Thereâbeneath a crooked elm tree, stood Toby.
A heap of split logs lay stacked at his feet, the head of his axe buried in the next round of wood. He stood with his back toward you, moving with casual precision. Swing. Split. Breathe. Repeat.
Heâd shed his jacket and hoodie, leaving only a pair of low-slung work jeans held by a belt and scuffed boots. His torso was lean but corded with muscleânot bulky, but built like someone who worked. Real work. Outdoor, constant, unforgiving work. His skin was pale beneath the sun but marked with the story of old violence: scars, some deep and thick, others more chaoticâslashing, jagged. A faded bruise bloomed low on one side of his ribs, yellowed at the edges like it had been there for weeks.
Were those from chopping wood? Or maybe losing a grip on his axe once in a while.
You swallowed, caught somewhere between curiosity and concern. âHey,â you called gently, lifting the pitcher. âBrought you something.â
He turned, surprisedâbut only for a second. His orange safety goggles were high on the bridge of his nose, but he pushed them up into the mess of his hair and out of the way. A grin spread across his face as he wiped his hands on his pants and crossed the grass toward you.
âYouâre just makinâ the r-rounds today, huh, maâam?â he said, his voice lighter than yesterday. âLet me guess. B-Bribing the help?â
âI prefer the term being friendly.â You handed him a glass. âItâs lemonade. Your friend Tim said you have a habit of eating things raw, so I figured this was safer.â
Toby barked out a laugh. âFair.â
He took the glass and tipped it back without hesitation, drinking deep. A small sound escaped himâsomewhere between a sigh and a growl of satisfaction.
âHoly s-shit, thatâs good.â
You smiled. âYouâve been out here a while?â
âMmhm.â He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. âCouple hours, g-give or take. Need to s-stock up before sunset. Fires keep the ro-rooms warm, and Brian gets pissy when the h-hearth runs cold.â
Your eyes lingered a little too long on the lines of his shoulders, the thin sheen of dirt across his forearms, the livid scarring at the base of his throat. It wasnât just that he was shirtlessâit was the contrast. The way he looked so at home out here, in the open air, alone with the work and the trees and the sound of his own breath.
âYouâre not sweating,â you said before you could stop yourself. âYouâve been chopping wood in full sun and thereâs nothing. Youâre completely dry.â
Toby shrugged one shoulder, his smile still crooked but looser now. âAh. Y-Yeah. I donât really⌠d-do that.â
You blinked. âDonât do what? Sweat?â
He scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the trees. âGot this we-weird thing. Got a lotta weird things, a-actually. Basically means I donât feel pain, and my b-body doesnât know how to cool itself. S-Sweatingâs for fancy people with functioning nerves.â
âOh,â you said softly, surprised by his bluntness. âDoes it bother you?â
He shrugged again. âNot really. Gets dangerous sometimes. Gotta be careful not to o-overheat, but I grew up with it. You l-learn.â
There was something in the way he said itâmatter-of-fact, no self-pity. Like this was just another fact of his body, same as height or eye color. You respected that.
âWell, I think youâre officially the most interesting groundskeeper Iâve ever met,â you said lightly, sipping from your own glass.
He smirked. âWhat, y-you meet a lotta g-gr-groundskeepers in your spare time?â
You raised a brow. âRecently, yeah.â
That pulled another laugh from him, softer this time. He stepped back to his chopping block, gripping the axe again but not lifting it yet. âYou h-headinâ back in soon?â
âYeah. Thought Iâd find Brian before lunch.â
Toby gave you a lookâstill playful, but more pointed. âHeâll probably be d-down in the basement. Or the attic. Or inside the w-walls, depending on his mood.â
You smiled. âDuly noted.â
âSee you t-tonight?â
The question hung in the air a little longer than it needed to.
You nodded. âSee you tonight.â
Toby tilted his head, grin widening, then brought the axe down with a solid crack that echoed through the clearing as you turned and started back toward the manor.
ââ .âŚ
Back inside the manor, the temperature shifted againâcooler near the baseboards, warmer near the windows. You set the empty lemonade glasses in the sink, then wandered deeper through the halls, listening for any sound of life.
But the house had gone still again.
Brian hadnât been in the kitchen. Or the study. Or any of the main rooms youâd passed on your first night. You called his name onceâsoftlyâbut the silence felt too thick for your voice to carry. Like the house was holding its breath.
You were halfway up the second staircase when you noticed the attic door was cracked open. Faint scraping sounds drifted down from above. Metal against wood. A low, intermittent hum. You crept upward, hand brushing the railing, and carefully pushed open the door at the top.
The attic stretched wideâlong beams crisscrossed beneath the sloped ceiling, and narrow windows filtered in beams of afternoon light muted by fog. Dust motes danced in the air, and the scent of old cedar and metal filled your lungs.
Near the far wall, surrounded by tangled cords and open toolboxes, was Brian.
He was crouched with his back half to you, one gloved hand propping his weight, holding a flashlight between his teeth, and the other arm elbow-deep in a fuse box heâd clearly carved into the paneling himself. Wires looped over his shoulders, slung like bandoliers across his chest. A bundle of bulbs and a roll of copper wiring sat nearby, along with an ancient notebook opened to a sketched schematic of the manor.
You stepped into the room. âWow. This is⌠intense.â
He paused, flashlight still clenched in his mouth. Then, without turning around, he pulled it free and said simply, âDidnât hear you come up, miss.â
âDidnât mean to scare you.â
âYou didnât.â
He sat back on his heels, then finally looked over his shoulder. A black balaclava covered his face, pushed up above his noseâbut even from here, you could tell he was flushed and dusty, a smudge of soot on his jaw. He dusted off his hands on his thighs and pulled the balaclava up over his eyesâclean-shaven, pale, and faintly freckled, though dust clung to the edge of his lip like heâd been breathing in drywall for hours. His face was flushed from the heat of the attic, but he didnât seem to mind.
You looked at him sideways. âYou always wear that thing while you work?â
âHelps with insulation dust,â he said simply, tugging off one glove with his teeth. âAnd anonymity. Never know when you might need to do something suspicious.â
You stepped closer, eyeing the schematic. âSo, youâre installing power? I thought this place ran on candlelight and ten-thousand windows.â
Brian gave a quiet huffâhis version of a laugh. âMost of it does. But some rooms donât hold flame well. Too damp, too old. Wiringâs a messâwoodâs not standard, walls shift more than youâd think. Takes work to keep it functional. Trying to at least get wiring set up.
You noticed the marks on his hands as he peeled off his second gloveâfaint burns, small healed cuts, calluses thick across his palms. This wasnât a hobby. This was his life.
You took a few steps closer, careful not to trip on the wires, and held out the last glass of lemonade youâd saved. âIâve been passing these out like a traveling salesman. Youâre my final stop.â
He accepted the glass without hesitation, fingertips brushing yours briefly. âI knew I smelt something good in the kitchen earlier.â
He drank slowly, savoring it. You watched his throat work as he swallowed, the soft sigh of contentment that followed.
âAnd you do this all yourself?â
âNo one else wants to. Tobyâs a hazard with anything that sparks, and Tim gets bored and walks off halfway through. So itâs me.â
You watched him reconnect a copper strand and twist it into place, working with efficient silence. âDo you like it?â you asked after a moment.
He glanced up. âThe house?â
You nodded.
Brian leaned back slightly, resting one hand on his knee. His eyes were unreadableâgrey, but storm-dark, thoughtful. He looked past you for a moment, toward the narrow attic windows where the fog curled thick around the edges of the glass. ââŚItâs alive,â he said finally. âNot in the fairy tale way. More like a forest. Or an animal. Old. Temperamental. But loyal.â
You let that settle, then smiled. âYou sound like Toby talking about the fireplace.â
Brian smirked faintly, then stoodâslow and fluid, brushing dust from his thighs as he did. âSo youâve been making the rounds,â he said. âCleaning, lemonade, talking to the help.â
âIâm trying to settle in. Or make friends. Or at least figure out what kind of weird energy field I walked into.â
He tilted his head. âHowâs that going?â
You gave a half-smile. âItâs all weird. But⌠nice. You and your friends are kind.â
He considered that for a moment, then pulled the balaclava back down over the lower half of his face, just as casually as one might tuck away a strand of hair. âItâs lunch.â
You blinked. âWhat?â
âYouâve been at it since morning. So has everyone else. We usually raid the pantry for lunch, but itâs been a bit since weâve had an actual person living here. Still putting my bets that Toby is in the kitchen, though. Come on, miss.â He turned toward the attic door, already descending without looking back.
You stared after him, eyebrows lifted, then followed, suddenly aware of how hungry you really were.
ââ .âŚ
The kitchen door creaked open as you and Brian stepped inside, the familiar scent of lemon peel and old stone greeting you like an old coat. The light had shiftedâafternoon now, golden and slanting through the small windows, catching dust motes dancing lazily in the air.
You sat the now-empty pitcher into the deep sink, finding that two empty cups were also there.
Toby was already at the prep table, chewing on something that looked suspiciously like a raw root vegetable. He blinked at the both of you, eyes bright behind his shaggy hair.
âI d-didnât wanna wait,â he said around the bite. âW-Wasnât sure if anyone was actually cominâ to feed me.â
âThatâs a turnip,â Brian said flatly, dropping his toolbox near the door. âYouâre not a rabbit.â
Tim followed a second later, stepping in through the back with dirt still on his hands and a cigarette tucked behind his ear. âItâs better than that jerky he found in the cellar. Looked like it was from the civil war.â
You set your hands on your hips. âOkay. Donât worry. Iâll cook something.â
That made all three of them pause. Brian raised an eyebrow. Toby tilted his head like a curious dog. Tim blinked, as if processing the idea of being cooked for was not something that happened often around here.
âI mean. If youâre okay with that?â you added, unsure. âJust something simple.â
Tim grunted and lit his cigarette, exhaling through his nose like a dragon. âLong as itâs not raw.â
You laughed, rolled up your sleeves, and made your way to the pantry. The garden haul was still fresh on the counterâsquash, some greens, and a bundle of tomatoes. There were eggs in the icebox, too. A cast-iron skillet and a few minutes later, something vaguely resembling a vegetable hash with fried eggs was sizzling on the stove.
The boys stayed seated while you cooked, lounging like tired lions around the kitchen table. Tim smoked slowly and passed the cigarette over to Brian, who took a pull and said nothing as the smoke curled around his jaw. Toby kicked his boots up on the bench and tapped the side of his glass of water with a rhythm that mightâve been a song if it werenât so off-beat.
âSo,â Tim said, looking at you as he handed the cigarette across the table to Toby. âYou still freaked out?â
You flipped something in the pan. âDefine freaked out.â
âNew house. Dead relative. Haunted furniture.â
You snorted. âI think Iâm still waiting for it to hit me. My great-uncle was basically a ghost in my memory. Nice enough guy when I met him as a kid, but I didnât know him. Just stories and whispers from family reunions.â
âYou ever visit the manor back then?â Brian asked, voice soft.
You shook your head. âNo. I think my mom didnât want us here. Something about it spooked her, but she never said much. He sent me letters once or twice when I was littleâsuper formal, written like he was from another time.â
âSounds like him,â Tim muttered.
âI didnât expect to be left all this,â you said, more quietly now. âIt doesnât feel real. Like Iâm house-sitting for someone whoâs just⌠gone forever.â
The kitchen settled for a momentâjust the sizzle of the skillet, the soft knock of Toby setting his boots back on the floor.
âHe mustâve l-liked you,â Toby offered after a second. âPeople donât leave big fancy m-manor houses to folks they hate.â
You glanced over your shoulder at him. âMaybe. Or maybe the house picked me.â
Tim grunted. âWouldnât put it past it.â
You plated the food and set it down in front of them, one after the other. It wasnât muchâjust hot, real foodâbut the way they looked at it, you wouldâve thought youâd handed them steak and gold.
âOkay,â you said, grabbing your own plate and sliding into a seat. âAs long as you guys keep this place from falling apart, meals are on me.â
Toby immediately dug in with no hesitation. âMarry me,â he mumbled through a mouthful of squash.
Brian chuckled, quiet and low, and Tim actually gave a gruff, âNot bad.â
The four of you ate in warm silence, broken only by the occasional scrape of fork against plate or soft exhale from one of them. There was something peaceful about itâsomething unspoken and good. You didnât feel like a stranger anymore. Not really.
Just⌠someone sitting at a worn wooden table with three men who belonged to a house that mightâve just decided to keep you, too.
ââ .âŚ
Later that night, the manor had settled into its usual hushâthe kind that pressed into your ears and made even your own heartbeat sound too loud.
You padded barefoot through the parlor in your sleep shirt, arms folded loosely as you stepped into the familiar glow of the main hearth. Toby was already there, kneeling in front of the massive fireplace, stacking wood with one hand and shielding the sparks from catching his hoodie with the other.
He glanced over his shoulder as you entered, his hair falling into his face and eyes flickering in the firelight.
âW-Wasnât sure if youâd be up, maâam,â he said, reaching for the iron poker. âBut I figured youâd wanna w-wake up warm.â
You offered him a small smile, arms hugging your sides. âI appreciate that.â
Toby gave a short nod, pushing one last log into place and prodding the fire until it flared and caught fully. The light bloomed across the room, casting shadows behind every antique and over every tapestry like they were breathing.
You hesitated before speaking again. âIs this all you do? All day, every day?â
âMhm. Nothing m-much else to do.â
That made your brow knit slightly, but before you could talk further, Toby stood up and brushed ash from his palms onto his jeans.
âIâll l-leave you to it,â he muttered, jerking his chin toward the stairs. âDonât stay up too l-late.â
And just like that, he was goneâboots creaking faintly down the east corridor as the fire cracked behind you.
You lingered for a moment, watching the flames twist, before taking a deep breath and heading for the stairs. The candles along the banisters were already lit, flickering gently in their iron sconces. You didnât remember lighting them.
The house felt different tonight.
Still, you made your way up the stairs, letting your hand trail the smooth wood of the railing, eyes flicking from room to room as you passed. The air had cooled. The quiet was too quiet.
And that feelingâthat skittish, crawling feelingâhad started just halfway up the second floor.
The sensation of being watched. Not from a doorway. Not from the windows. From behind.
You paused on the landing, turning sharply, expecting to see someoneâor somethingâlurking just out of view. Nothing. Just the usual dim hallway behind you, cluttered with towering paintings and narrow furniture too old to move without it groaning.
You swallowed and walked faster, arms crossed now, fingers clenched.
Your door was an even deeper red during the night. You reached it quickly, opened it quicker, and stepped inside.
But the feeling followed.
You shut the door. Locked it. Turned slowly, eyes scanning the room. You checked behind the wardrobe. The curtains. Even peeked under your bed with a half-nervous laugh.
There was nothing there.
But your skin prickled. The air had shifted. The warmth from the hearth hadnât followed you up here. And the candlelight didnât seem to push back the dark in quite the same way. You crossed the room and stood in front of the large arched window, pulling the heavy curtain aside to let the cool air in through the old glass.
The garden stretched wide below you, cloaked in fog, silvered in moonlight.
At first, there was nothing.
And thenâmovement. A low, fast shape darting between the edge of the hedges and the tree line. It skittered unnaturally, fast and hunched, limbs too long, too bent. Animal-like, but not quite right. Not quite animal.
You blinked, breath caught in your throat.
Gone.
Just like thatâwhatever it was had vanished into the mist, leaving only the rippling hush of the trees and the slow churn of fog behind it.
You stood at the window long after it disappeared, heart beating too loud, hand still clutched around the curtain.
This place was beautiful.
But beautiful things always have ugly secrets.
ââ .âŚ
The days began to blur, in that soft, timeless way that only came with old places and new beginnings.
Each morning started the same: the manor bathed in cold light, the fog peeling back just enough to make out the treetops from your window. The air always smelled like moss and stone and smoke from last nightâs fire.
Youâd wake, dress, and wander through the halls with a hand grazing the banister, slowly learning the rhythm of the house. You knew now that the second door on the left in the east wing led to a linen closet that always creaked when you opened it. That the library had a slant in the floor that pulled your steps just slightly downhill. That the attic moaned louder on rainy days.
Andâmost importantlyâthat the back kitchen always got the best light come late morning.
You cooked there more often now. It had become a kind of ritual. Every day around noon, youâd gather what you could from the pantry or the garden haul left near the sink, and make something simple but warm. Always enough for four. Toby started showing up early, tracking dirt and twigs through the hall. Tim came in with his sleeves rolled and arms flecked in soil. Brian, reliably, walked in lastâquiet, steady, with his tool belt slung low and a smudge of dust near his jaw.
You talked over meals now. Little things.
Toby cracked dumb jokes and asked you about your favorite horror movies. Tim corrected your technique when chopping herbs but grunted approvingly when the food came out good anyway. Brian listened more than he spoke, but when he did, he always made you feel like you were the only person in the room.
And it was good. Better than good. It felt normal in a place that refused to be.
But when the sun went down⌠thatâs when the house changed.
You told yourself it was the shadows. The candlelight. The wind through the rafters. You didnât want to be dramatic. But the sense of being watched hadnât gone awayâit had only grown. Like something just outside the light was waiting for you to pass by. Some nights you couldnât shake the thought that the house itself was testing you. Watching how you moved. What you touched.
And then came the window.
It had been four or five days since you arrived. Youâd just finished washing the dishes from dinner and had said goodnight to Toby at the fireplace. The manor was dark now, lit only by flickering wall sconces and the low burn of the fire still dying in the main room. You were halfway up the staircase, your hand brushing the banister, eyes on your feet so you didnât tripâ
SLAM.
Something hit your window. Hard. Glass rattled. Wood groaned. Your heart nearly tore out of your chest.
You stopped cold on the stairs, breath caught in your throat. Your room was on the second floor. Nothing shouldâve been able to hit your window. A bird, maybe. But what would a bird be doing flying around at this time of night?
You waited. Listening. Chest heaving. But there was no follow-up. No footsteps. No scraping. Just the fire crackling below, and your own blood thudding behind your ears.
You didnât go to your room right away. You waited, perched halfway up the stairs with your back to the wall like it would protect you. You watched the hallway. Watched the ceiling. Watched the window across the corridor in case something tried again.
Eventually, you climbed the rest of the stairs and locked your door. You didnât even peek outside. Not this time.
You slept with the candles lit and the covers pulled up tight.
And in the morning, when the sun finally reached your windows and the world felt solid againâŚ
You knew you had to tell someone.
ââ .âŚ
You stood beside Brian at the window, arms folded tight across your chest as the early morning light filtered through the glass. The fog hadnât burned off yet. It never did this early. The world outside still looked bleached and still, like it was holding its breath.
Brian thumbed the latch and pushed the window open with a soft groan of old hinges. The cool air rolled in, sharp with pine and wet earth. He leaned halfway out, peering around the frame, his gloved fingers dragging carefully over the wood.
âNo cracks,â he muttered, inspecting the pane from the inside now. âSealâs still good. No warping. If something hit it, it didnât leave a mark.â
âI know something hit it.â You didnât mean to sound so insistent, but the memory of itâthe sound of itâwas still buzzing under your skin. âIt wasnât a branch or some little bird. It hit like a body.â
Brian glanced at you, eyes stern and inspecting, his balaclava pushed up above his forehead. âA bat, maybe,â he offered gently. âSometimes they clip the glass on a dive.â
You shook your head. âNo. Too heavy. I heard the weight in it.â
He studied you for a moment, expression unreadable.
The manor groaned above your heads, one of its long, slow creaks that had no clear source. The sound felt like a sigh in the bones of the house.
Brian turned fully to you, closing the window with a soft click. âThis place⌠itâs old,â he said finally. âBuilt with too many corners and not enough insulation. It creaks, and talks, and stretches. Gets inside your head if you let it, miss.â
You didnât answer right away. Just looked back at the glass, as if something might still be out there, watching from the fog.
Brian stepped a little closer, tilting his head to your eye level, lowering his voice. âBut just in case,â he said, âIâll do a sweep.â
Your brows lifted slightly. âA sweep?â you repeated.
He nodded once. âTop to bottom. Every locked door, every loose board. Iâll even check the cellar if that makes you feel better.â
You exhaled slowly. The knot in your stomach didnât unravel, but it loosened enough to let you breathe. âThanks, Brian,â you said, voice soft. âI know it sounds crazy, but⌠I just need to know itâs only me in here.â
Brian looked at you for a beat longer, then gave the smallest nodâfirm, final. âIâll make sure of it.â
ââ .âŚ
You couldnât sit still.
Your hands ached from scrubbing. Your shirt was damp with sweat from dragging rugs across the floors and beating dust from the curtains. The bucket sloshed at your side as you scrubbed down a banister that hadnât done anything to deserve it.
The manor felt like it was pressing in on you. Like every wall had inched closer. Like the air was just a little too heavy to breathe.
Somewhere above you, Brian was still checking the upper floors. You could hear the occasional creak of boots overhead. The creak of doors opening. Closing. The quiet, focused hum of him doing his job for you.
You stayed on the main level, brushing cobwebs from molding and muttering to yourself as you wiped a smudge that wasnât coming out.
âThis fuckinâ⌠Damn piece ofâŚâ you said to no one, shoving the rag harder against the banister.
âYou know youâre talkinâ to yourself, right?â
The voice made you jump, nearly dropping the rag. You turned to see Tim standing just inside the hall, shoulder propped against the doorframe and a sweat-damp towel slung around his neck. Dirt clung to the knees of his jeans. His arms were still dusted with the morningâs garden work.
He watched you for a beat, then glanced down at the overly-clean railing. âPlace looks like itâs about to sparkle off the foundation,â he said. âYou alright?â
You gave him a weak smile. âYeah. Just⌠keeping busy.â
Tim grunted. âI can see that.â He took a few steps closer, eyes narrowing slightly. âOr youâre spiraling. Hard to tell.â
Your smile wavered.
âWanna get out of here?â he asked bluntly.
You blinked. âWhat?â
âCâmon,â he said, already turning back toward the hall. âI know a spot. You need fresh air, and this place isnât gonna give it to you.â
You hesitated, rag still in hand, heartbeat too fast from everythingânot just the window, but the sense of something looming. Like waiting inside too long would rot you from the inside out.
You dropped the rag into the bucket and followed him.
Tim didnât talk much as you walked. He led you through the kitchen, out the back door, down past the garden rows where tomatoes were just starting to bloom fat and red on the vine. The fog had thinned, but the air was still cool and wet with mist.
You followed him through a break in the hedges you hadnât noticed before, tall green walls parting like a quiet secret, and ducked beneath an old iron gate barely hanging on its hinges.
Beyond it was a pocket of quiet earth. The path widened into a small, shaded clearing, half-eaten by time. And there, rising from the center like a breath held for a hundred years, was an enormous willow tree. Its sweeping branches curved down to kiss the ground, green veils of hanging limbs dancing gently in the windless air.
You stepped into the space like stepping into a memory.
Tim watched your face as you looked around. He didnât smile, but he did seem⌠softer.
âUsed to keep horses back this way,â he said, nodding toward the leaning remains of a corral beyond the willow. âGateâs been rusted shut for years now. No one really comes back here. Figured you could use a place the house hasnât sunk its claws into yet.â
You turned to him, your voice quieter now. âHow did you know?â
Tim shrugged, looking away. âYou clean like someone whoâs tryna stop thinking. And you keep looking around like youâre being followed.â
You swallowed, arms folding loosely across your chest. The sound of the willowâs leaves whispering overhead filled the silence.
âSomething hit my window last night,â you murmured.
Timâs jaw twitched, but he didnât say anything.
âIt was loud. Heavy. And weâre not talking about a squirrel kind of hit. It felt like someone threw themselves at the glass.â
He was quiet for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he walked to the edge of the clearing and plucked a long reed of grass, chewing on the end thoughtfully.
âBrianâs got the house,â he said finally. âIf something was inside, heâll find it. But out hereâŚâ He glanced up toward the tree line beyond the clearing. âOut here, sometimes things pass through.â
You followed his gaze, but the trees offered no answers. Only shadow. âI donât like that,â you admitted quietly.
âGood,â he said, flicking the grass aside. âMeans youâre smart.â
You gave a weak chuckle. He nudged your arm gently with his elbow. âYouâre not alone here, yâknow. Even when it feels like it. Weâre all just down the path if you ever need company at night.â
You looked over at him. He wasnât looking backâjust staring at the tree, brow furrowed like he was looking for something.
Still, the words stuck with you.
ââ .âŚ
The clink of dishes in the sink echoed lightly through the kitchen as you wiped your hands on a towel and glanced toward the table. Tim and Brian sat opposite each other, both half-reclined in that unbothered, post-dinner kind of wayâfull stomachs, tired limbs, quiet minds. The air was warm with the smell of roasted root vegetables and fried herbs, smoke curling faintly from the open window where Tim had lit another cigarette.
Brian leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, eyes half-lidded under the pulled-up balaclava. âDid a sweep top to bottom,â he said, his voice that same low, gravel-soft hum. âNo one in the house but us. A few mice in the attic, but I scared âem off.â
You nodded, your hands pausing over a plate. âNothing in the cellar?â
Brian shook his head. âDidnât check the cellar. Thought Iâd leave that to the guy who actually enjoys being in it.â
Tim snorted. âOr the guy whoâs not scared of black mold.â
Right on cue, the back door creaked open.
Toby stepped inside, arms full of chopped logs, boots leaving faint mud prints on the tile that you would have to mop tomorrow. His shirt was still grimy with dirt across the collarbone, and a few wood shavings clung to his forearms. He dropped the load with a thunk near the door, then stretched with a groan and popped his neck side to side.
âF-fireâs gonna feel good tonight,â he said, brushing off his palms.
Brian stood, and Tim followed, stretching his back with a wince. The three of them wandered to the main room, you trailing behind after flicking off the kitchen light that Brian has recently installedâa single swinging bulb above the prep table. You had thanked him vigorously for actual lighting.
The living room glowed dimly in the candlelight, the grand hearth yawning cold in its frame. Toby knelt in front of it and began arranging the wood with jerky hands. The kind of casual rhythm that came from years of repetitionâstack, crumple, spark. He muttered something under his breath as the kindling caught, and soon the flames licked high, warm and golden.
They all settled on the old furnitureâworn velvet armchairs, the moon-shaped grand couch, the kind of low coffee table that had probably held everything from chamber music sheet music to ashtrays. You perched near the edge of the couch, leaning back as the fire cracked.
Tim lit another cigarette and passed it lazily between himself and Brian. Toby, cross-legged on the rug, stared into the fire.
Then, casuallyâtoo casuallyâhe said, âWas down in the c-cellar earlier. Thought Iâd check the foundation near theâuh, near the south wall.â
Brian raised a brow. âSince when do you care about the foundation?â
Toby smirked. âI d-donât. But I do care about the crate of whisky I found tucked behind an old wine rack.â
Tim straightened a bit. âYouâre shitting me.â
âNope,â Toby said, popping the âp.â âUnopened. Labeled. Looks like it hasnât been touched since⌠I d-dunno. Prohibition?â
You blinked. âSeriously?â
Toby looked up at you and grinned, a little sideways and lazy. âI mean, w-would be a shame to let it go to waste. C-call it a housewarming gift. Or aâuhâa rite of passage, since no oneâs drunk in th-this house in⌠hell, probably a hundred years.â
Brian gave a short, amused grunt. âIâm not carrying your ass back to your place if you go blind.â
âIâll g-get my own ass back home, thank you very much.â
He stood with a groan, brushing ash from his jeans and glancing toward you. âCâmon, maâam. You wanna see the scariest r-room in the house?â
You hesitated for half a secondâbut only half.
âLead the way,â you said, rising to your feet and grabbing a candle off the mantle.
Tim chuckled as you passed. âIf you come back with a ghost attachment, Iâm not helping you do an exorcism.â
âD-donât listen to him,â Toby muttered as he opened the cellar door for you, grinning. âThe ghosts down there are friendly. M-Mostly.â
The stone steps creaked beneath your feet as you followed Toby into the cellar, candlelight dancing against the old walls. The air shifted as you descendedâcool, dense, and heavy with the scent of soil and something metallic. Your breath fogged faintly as you exhaled.
The cellar was cluttered chaos. Dust-covered furniture leaned against each other like drunk old men at a bar, and crates were stacked two or three high, marked with fading labels and water stains. Cobwebs stretched across the ceiling beams like forgotten lace, and somewhere to your left, something scurried behind a box.
âCozy,â you muttered.
Toby snorted. âW-wait till you see the whiskey.â
You ducked under a low archway as he led you to a darkened corner of the room. He tugged an old steamer trunk aside with a grunt, then leaned over a wooden crate tucked behind it. The top creaked as he pried it open with a pocket knife, and when it gave, you both leaned in.
Eight bottles, dark amber liquid sealed and labeled, nestled in straw like buried treasure.
âHoly shit,â you whispered.
Toby let out a breathy, delighted laugh. âStill sealed. Damn near g-glorious.â
He reached in and pulled out a bottle, holding it up to the candlelight. âYou think this still tastes like p-piss, orâ?â
âThereâs only one way to find out,â you grinned.
He looked at you, his expression playful, then uncorked the bottle with a pop and took a swig without hesitation. His face soured, then relaxed into something pleasantly surprised.
âOh, thatâs smooth,â he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
âGimme,â you said, already holding out your hand.
You took the bottle, tilted it back, and let the warmth slide down your throat. It burned, but in that satisfying way that made you cough once and then grin like an idiot.
When you looked back at Toby, he was smirking. âS-so, does that count as our first kiss? OrâŚâ
You choked on your laugh and turned away, waving the bottle at him. âShut up.â
He just laughed harder, the sound bouncing off the stone walls.
You both kept grinning like fools as you plucked a second bottle from the crate and wandered deeper into the cellar, passing shelves full of dusty wine bottles, old books, and water-damaged boxes. It was oddly quiet down here, peaceful evenâuntil your foot nudged a crate shoved beneath an old table.
You knelt, bottle tucked under your arm, and pulled it out. The lid was loose, and inside were piles of brittle folders, Polaroids faded to shades of yellow, and a black leather sketchbook with a name embossed faintly on the corner.
Your great-uncleâs name.
âHeyâŚâ you said, flipping it open. âI think this was his.â
Toby had gone still. You glanced upâhis eyes were fixed on the sketchbook, his body tense like a wire pulled too tight.
You frowned. âWhatâs with the face?â
âN-nothing,â he said too fast. âJustâuh. Could be p-personal.â
You ignored him gently and flipped through the pages. At first, it was harmlessâdrawings of birds, floorplans, some messy handwritingâbut then you paused.
Page after page of⌠something.
Thin, contorted creatures. Eyes too big, mouths too wide. Lanky limbs and claws and hunched poses crouched in unnatural positions. One stood on two legs like a person, but its face was bareâno eyes, no lips, just skin stretched over nothing. Your stomach turned a little.
âWhat the hell,â you murmured, eyebrows lifting. âOkay, yeah, my uncle was always kinda a freak. My mom used to say he lived in âhis own little world.â This is some kind of nightmare fuel.â
Toby gave a dry chuckle but didnât look amused. He stepped forward, took the sketchbook gently from your hands, and without another word, tossed it onto the pile of blankets and boxes nearby.
âTrust me, maâam,â he said, voice lower now. âItâs just sketches. D-donât let your head make it worse than it is.â
You narrowed your eyes at him, but before you could ask anything else, he tapped your shoulder with the back of his hand.
âCâmon. Weâve got w-whiskey, and a fire upstairs, and I d-donât feel like staying sober tonight.â
You hesitated just a second longer, glancing back at the sketchbook where it had landed, the corner of a monsterâs limbs still peeking from the page.
Then you followed Toby up the stairsâtwo bottles in hand, heart just a little heavier than before.
The fire crackled to life by the time you both returned to the main room, each with a bottle tucked under your arm like some ancient treasure trove. Tim and Brian were already thereâTim sprawled on one of the deep velvet armchairs with his boots kicked up, and Brian perched more neatly on the edge of the couch, examining a set of crystal shot glasses he mustâve pulled from one of the manorâs many gilded display cabinets.
âYou werenât kidding,â Tim muttered, holding up a glass to the firelight as you entered. âI think this oneâs older than I am.â
âTechnically,â Brian said without looking up, âall of this is.â
Toby dropped into one of the armchairs with a grunt, already working the cork loose from the first bottle. âT-then weâre doinâ it justice.â
With a satisfying pop, the whiskey bottle opened. You passed the second to Brian, who poured for everyone with careful handsâfour glasses, thick cut-crystal shining orange with firelight and anticipation.
The first round hit your throat like a match struck inside your chest. You coughed. Brian only flinched slightly. Tim winced and grimaced and immediately lit a cigarette to chase the burn away.
Toby? Toby barely blinked.
âYou didnât even make a face,â you accused, half-laughing.
âW-well, I donât feel it,â he replied with a shrug. âT-tastes like spicy tree bark. Thatâs about it.â
Tim chuckled, raising his glass again. âBastardâs cheating. He doesnât feel pain, so the burnâs nothing. Bet he could drink a whole bottle and barely stumble.â
âYou say that l-like itâs not a skill,â Toby said with a grin, clinking his glass against yours before throwing another shot back.
The fire burned brighter, casting long shadows against the dark, high walls. Layers of coats were shrugged off and draped over the couches. Boots untied. Someone opened a window just a crack to let the cold air mingle with the warmth and smoke. Brian leaned back with his second glass, quiet but relaxed, one leg crossed over the other. Tim was still nursing his cigarette between his fingers, occasionally tapping the ash into a cracked ceramic dish.
Conversation shiftedâsmall stories, shared work gripes, little observations about the manor. You learned that Tim once tried to plant a pear tree and was âpersonally offendedâ when a deer ate them. Brian admitted he doesnât hang around much in the manor because the wiring hums too loud at night. Toby, half-slouched in his seat, mentioned offhandedly that he once got locked in the cellar for three hours and just decided to nap.
âOf course you napped,â you snorted. âThat place is like⌠haunted and musty. You didnât even freak out?â
He stretched his legs out in front of him and shrugged. âIf something wanted to c-c-come get me, it missed its chance.â
Tim let out a bark of laughter. âThe only thing thatâs gonna get you, boy, is tetanus.â
âL-l-lotta overlap there, actually.â
The whiskey flowed in slow waves. Nobody rushed it, but it warmed everything. The room, your limbs, the tension you hadnât realized had been knotted in your shoulders since the window incident. You leaned into the couch cushions, eyes fluttering closed for a second as the fire snapped and the others kept talking.
And in that momentâjust a flickerâyou felt like you belonged here. With them. In this big, haunted house in the woods, surrounded by fog and secrets and soft-spoken strangers who were slowly becoming something else.
It finally felt like your home. Maybe.
ââ .âŚ
The fire had dwindled to low, glowing embersâthe kind that whispered instead of roared, casting flickering shadows that danced along the high stone mantle. The warmth still held, lingering like the comfort of thick blankets and shared laughter.
Brian stretched with a soft grunt, rising from the couch and setting his now-empty glass back on the side table. âIâm heading out,â he murmured, grabbing his things, rubbing at his neck. âIf I stay any longer, Iâll fall asleep on that damn chair.â
Tim was already up, swiping his jacket off the back of the couch. âYeah, âm done too. You two try not to fall into the fire or whatever.â
Toby offered a lazy wave from his spot beside you, his legs splayed, head tipping slightly to the side. You giggled and returned it, feeling delightfully heavy and light at onceâlike your limbs werenât quite connected to your body.
The door clicked shut behind the other two, leaving you and Toby in the amber haze of the manorâs massive sitting room.
You shifted to stand and promptly tripped over the edge of the couch.
âWoahâwh-whoa, easy,â Toby said, catching your elbow with one hand and half-laughing, half-hiccupping. âY-youâre not allowed to get a c-concussion your first week here.â
âIâm fine,â you giggled, swaying into his side. âItâs the rugâs fault.â
He smirked, slipping an arm around your waist and nudging you toward the hallway. âCâmon, l-letâs get you to bed, light-weight.â
You leaned into him without resistance, your body warm and soft with buzzed comfort, the steady rhythm of your footsteps echoing against the old walls. The flicker of the candles guiding the way shimmered a little more than usual.
At your door, Toby reached out to push it open and half-led, half-carried you inside. The room welcomed you with its familiar scentâaged wood, cool linen, candle wax.
âI got it, I got it,â you mumbled, trying to wriggle free to climb onto the bed yourself.
But he followed, hands still on your arms, trying to help youâand then his foot caught on the edge of the rug.
You both toppledâonto the mattress.
His weight pressed into youânot crushing, but grounding, and for a moment, the two of you just lay there, breathless with stunned laughter. âOh my God,â you wheezed, âYou tackled me!â
Toby laughed, nose scrunching, his forehead resting against yours. âI tr-tr-tried to helpâth-the damn rugâs out for blood.â
You giggled again, chest rising and falling beneath his. His laughter slowed. So did yours. And when your eyes metâwide and glassy in the low candlelightâeverything shifted.
The air thinned. The laughter settled into something slower. Quieter.
Tobyâs gaze dropped to your lips. He blinked, breath hitching. âS-s-sorry, maâam,â he mumbled, but didnât move.
Your heart thumped hard in your chest. His hands were on either side of your head, arms braced, holding himself upâbut barely.
ââŚDonât be,â you said softly.
The distance closedâtentative, but magnetic.
His lips met yours, uncertain at first, as if checking you were still okay with it. Then deeper, a little hungrier. One of his hands slid up into your hair, the other curling into the sheet beneath you. He tasted strongly like smoke and whiskey, and when you sighed against him, he pulled you just a little closer.
The kiss lingered, warm and real, like something neither of you meant to do but somehow needed to happen.
He was about to lift himself off youâmuttering a soft, stuttered apologyâwhen your hand found the front of his shirt. You sat up slowly, the room swaying just a bit with the motion, and before he could step back, you tugged him down again.
âToby,â you whispered, voice low. âStay.â
âM-Maâam?â His eyes flicked to yours, wide and caught between hesitation and wantâbut when you leaned in again, kissing him deeper this time, that hesitation crumbled.
The second kiss wasnât gentle.
It was hot, desperate, heady. His hands found your waist, sliding under the hem of your shirt, callused palms dragging across your skin. You gasped softly into his mouth, fingers curling into his jacket as he leaned you back onto the mattress, bodies tangled.
You felt him everywhereâhis breath, the weight of him, the tremble in his touch that wasnât quite from nerves. He pushed your shirt higher, mouth trailing clumsy, hungry kisses along your jaw and throat, and you arched into him like youâd been waiting for this since the moment you met.
But thenâ
The room tilted. Not in the way it had before. The wave of alcohol that had been simmering in your bloodstream surged forward all at onceâyour limbs going heavy, your chest tightening with a sudden, unsteady breath.
Your fingers faltered.
Toby froze instantly. He pulled back just enough to see your face, stilling as his breath came hard and fast between you.
âYou okay, maâam?â he asked, voice hoarse.
You blinked slowly, heart pounding. âJust⌠dizzy. It hit me all at once.â
A beat passed. And then Toby moved off you. Not in a rushâbut carefully, like something inside him had just shifted. He sat at the edge of the bed and ran a hand down his face before adjusting his jeans, trying to catch his breath. The patch on his cheek was slightly ruffled, pulling at the edges.
âIââ he started, then cleared his throat. âI sh-shouldnâtâve done that. I shouldnât b-beâtaking a-advantage of you like that. Youâre my boss.â
âYou werenât,â you said quickly, sitting up beside him, shirt still rumpled, your skin still buzzing with heat. âIt was me too. I wanted to.â
He gave you a long, unreadable lookâtorn between guilt and longing.
ââŚStill,â he murmured, eyes flicking to the floor. âYouâve had a l-lot to drink. Iâdonât wanna do anything youâd regret in the m-morning.â
You didnât say anything right away. Just studied his profile, the slight flush in his cheeks, the tension in his jaw, the way his hands had curled into fists in his lap.
âI wonât regret it,â you said softly.
He didnât respond, just exhaled, slow and quiet.
Then, finally, he stood. You followed him to the door, still half-stumbling and dizzy. Toby looked back at you with something that wasnât quite a smile. Something softer. A little sad.
âNight,â he said, voice low and rough.
You nodded. âNight.â
Neither of you moved for a second too long. And then he stepped out, closing the door behind him with the same care he did everything elseâbut now it felt heavier.
A week. Youâve been here a week and youâre already trying to fuck the help.
You turned and buried your face into the velvet pillows, grumbling until you fell asleep.
ââ .âŚ
Things got normal again.
Not normalânothing about the manor quite fit that wordâbut familiar. You woke with the sun filtering through gauzy curtains, made coffee in a robe that dragged across boot-scraped floors, and opened windows to let in the wet scent of pine and fog. The eerie quiet was less eerie nowâmore like a hush, a secret being kept just for you.
And nothing exceptionally creepy had happened since Brian swept the place, which was a plus.
Toby still chopped wood past the edge of the garden. Tim still muttered to himself while trimming basil and pinching off squash blossoms. And Brian⌠well, Brian always seemed to be nearby, half in shadow, doing some quiet task no one had asked him to do.
Toby had been distant since that nightâpolite, gentle, even funnyâbut different. He didnât linger like he used to. Still smiled when he passed you, still brought in logs every night, still let his shoulder brush yours sometimes when no one was looking. But the energy between you had shifted. Neither of you said anything about it.
And yet⌠he was still kind.
They all were.
The guys had started dropping in moreânever lingering long, but always stopping in for something. Brian would bring a box of old bulbs and tinker with the kitchen sconces while you made tea. Tim would wipe dirt on your shirt just to make you swear at him, then duck in to ask if you needed anything from the garden. And Toby would pop by with mushrooms or cool rocks heâd found in the woods, only to âaccidentallyâ stay for half an hour while you made lunch.
You liked it. The quiet company. The slow growing of something that felt almost like home.
And then you found the keys. A ring of them, heavy and old, hidden in the very back of a kitchen cupboard behind dusty linens and a chipped porcelain soup tureen. They jingled like they were singingâthick iron ones, tiny ornate ones, long bronze ones with curling teeth.
The exploring began that afternoon.
You unlocked a narrow room with stained glass windows and a dozen abandoned easelsâyour great-uncleâs forgotten artist studio, the paint still cracked dry on the palettes like ghosts of color.
Two more bathrooms were revealed, one with a velvet fainting couch and a mirror too tall to clean.
And thenâyour uncleâs office.
The door creaked open like it hadnât in years. Dust danced in the sunlight pooling through tall windows. You saw more of those drawings tucked in desk drawersâstrange, lean figures with hollow eyes and gaping mouths, crouched and twisted in impossible shapes. You stared at them for a moment, uneasy, but eventually tucked them back and turned the key in the lock once more.
You didnât tell the guys. You donât really know why.
And things⌠stayed normal.
Until lunch.
Tim was in the garden. Toby was somewhere in the woods, you assumed. That left just you and Brian.
Heâd wandered in through the back door, quiet as usual, stripping off his gloves and balaclava and setting them beside the old bread box without a word. You stood at the stove, stirring something simpleârosemary chicken, a side of boiled potatoes, some roasted carrots Tim had left on the counter with a note that just said âeat these.â
He stepped forward, pulling a chair out at the kitchen table and sitting down backward in it, arms resting across the top like he was settling in.
âSmells good,â he said. âHave you always cooked for people?â
âOnly the people who donât scare me,â you teased, tossing him a wink over your shoulder.
He huffed a small laugh, head tilting. ââŚSo not Toby, then.â
You snorted. âTobyâs just awkward.â
Brianâs eyes flicked toward the floor. âHeâs been quieter.â
You didnât answer. The moment stretched long and warm with the scent of herbs and firewood. Outside, the fog pressed softly against the windows, as if waiting to be let in.
âI found a bunch of old keys earlier,â you said after a beat, just to fill the quiet. âUnlocked some weird rooms.â
That got his attention. âYeah?â
âMhm. A whole art room. My uncle was definitely a painter.â
âPainter, hunter, craftsmanâbit of everything.â
The rosemary clung to your fingers as you moved to slice the last of the carrots, humming quietly to yourself. The kitchen was warmâsteam curling from the pot on the stove, the sound of a ticking clock mingling with the crackle of the oven. Brian said nothing, but you could feel him watching. His silence filled the corners of the room.
Your knife slipped.
âShit,â you hissed, jerking your hand back from the cutting board.
Brian was on his feet in seconds. You barely had time to turn before his fingers curled around your wristâgentle, but firmâas he brought your hand closer to his eyes.
âItâs nothing,â you started, embarrassed by the sting and the sudden attention, but he shook his head.
âDonât move,â he murmured, already pulling something from his back pocketâa worn handkerchief, navy with fraying edges. He licked it without hesitation, then gently dabbed at the smear of blood on the side of your finger.
You blinked.
His touch was⌠soft. Careful. You stared at him while he worked, at the way his eyelids lowered, at the faint crinkle of his brow beneath a singular smudge of dirt.
âIâm sorry,â he muttered, glancing up at you. âWasnât watching you close enough.â
You gave a breathless laugh. âItâs not your fault Iâm clumsy.â
He looked down at your hand again, cradled in his palm like something breakable. And thenâwithout thinkingâhe leaned forward and kissed the tip of your finger. It was feather-light, almost nothing. âAll better.â
But your breath caught. His eyes flicked up, and the change in the room was immediate.
Brian froze. ââŚShit,â he muttered, straightening slightly, hand still on yours. âI donât know why the fuck I did thatâSorry, miss.â
You didnât move. Didnât speak. He watched you a second longerâthen his voice lowered, uncertain. ââŚWas that okay?â
You nodded before you could stop yourself.
You only realized how close heâd gotten when his other hand rose slowlyâfingertips brushing your jaw, then coaxing you forward. The touch was barely there, as if asking permission.
And then he kissed you. Just a soft, tentative press of his mouth to yours. A test. A moment.
You leaned in before he could pull away.
His hand slipped to your waist, guiding you back gently, until your hips met the edge of the counter and the breath left your lungs. His mouth moved against yours againâslow, easy, but deepening, pulling a sound from you that surprised both of you.
His fingers curled tighter against your side, your arms finding his chest, fisting in the worn fabric of his hoodie. He tasted like cigars and woodsmoke, felt like fire and hit coals, and kissed like heâd been holding his breath for days.
Brian didnât pull away. In fact, he leaned in harder.
His hand slid beneath your thighs, strong and steady, and before you could react, heâd lifted you clean off your feet and set you on the counter with a soft thudâcool wood meeting the backs of your legs, your breath catching.
He stepped between your knees like heâd done it before, like he belonged there, and kissed you deeper. Hungrier.
Your arms locked around his shoulders, fingers digging into the back of his hoodie as he pressed flush against you. His hands gripped your thighs, thumbs dragging slow, thoughtless circles into your skin through the fabric of your shorts. You felt himâall of himâthrough his jeans as he rutted forward once, twice, a soft, strangled sound escaping from the back of his throat into your mouth.
He kissed like he wanted to climb inside you and burn the memory into his tongue.
Your head tilted back, a quiet gasp slipping out. And thenâ
Pop. A sharp sizzle. A curl of smoke. Then the unmistakable, nostril-burning scent of burning oil and meat.
You both froze. You turned in unison toward the stove. The skillet hissed violently, thick black smoke rising from where the chicken had completely charred on one side.
âShit,â you barked, hopping down from the counter.
Brian stumbled back as you grabbed the pan, yanking it off the burner with a dishrag and blowing at the smoke. The kitchen window fogged as the scent of scorched garlic, meat, and herbs thickened the air.
You groaned, laughing behind your hands as you set the pan down in the sink. âWell,â you muttered, still breathless, âguess thatâs lunch ruined.â
Brian stood off to the side, rubbing the back of his neck, his face red and tense, âThatâs my bad,â he said, voice low and rough. âShouldnâtâve distracted you, miss.â
You looked at each other. Long. Quiet. Still tasting one another.
His eyes flicked down to your hand. ââŚYouâre not bleeding anymore,â he murmured. âThatâs good.â
You nodded mutely.
He shifted, like he wanted to say something elseâdo something elseâbut then glanced toward the door and cleared his throat.
âI should⌠go check the attic wiring. Make sure weâre not about to have an electrical fire on top of a kitchen one.â
You nodded again. âYeah. Yeah, go⌠do that.â
He hesitated. Then gave a tight, unreadable smile before slipping out into the hallway. You stared after him, wide-eyed, heart thudding in your ears. Then you turned to the table, dropped into the nearest chair, and planted your face in your hands.
âMmhmm,â you groaned, muffled against your arms. âCool. Awesome. Love this for me.â You sat there for a moment, the smell of burnt food still hanging in the air like a guilty fog, and let your thoughts spin out of control.
You had just kissed Brian. Properly. After kissing Toby. On the mouth. In your bed.
You groaned again. You were living in a crumbling manor, isolated in the woods, with three ridiculously attractive men who couldnât seem to stay out of your kitchen or your personal space.
This was getting out of hand.
ââ .âŚ
The laundry was warm in your hands, soft from the sun, your fingers folding shirt after shirt in the hush of your room. The manor was quietâeerily soâas it always was in the late mornings, the old floorboards creaking beneath your bare feet as you moved. A candle on the dresser flickered even though there was no breeze, and a distant grandfather clock ticked steady from somewhere down the hall.
You were just halfway through organizing socks when the sharp honk of a truck horn cut through the silence.
Your head snapped up. That wasnât usual.
You padded over to the window and pulled back the sheer curtain. Across the courtyard and around the bend of the fog-lined gravel drive, a beat-up, pale red pickup was crawling around the side of the manorâold, boxy, and definitely vintage. You squinted.
Curious, you tugged on your shoes and hurried down the stairs, the back door swinging open with a long groan. The air was warm, a little muggy with the heat, and sure enough, Tim had parked in the shaded gravel behind the manor, hopping down from the driverâs seat with his usual scowl and an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips.
You approached as he pulled open the tailgate, revealing the small mountain of brown paper sacks in the truck bed.
âGroceries?â you asked, blinking.
âTown run,â he grunted, reaching in for a crate of canned goods. âNo one grows pork or tobacco out here, shockingly.â
You laughed. âNeed help?â
He jerked his chin. âSure. You know where the pantry is.â
You both got to work, hauling bags in pairs, stepping in and out of the fog-cooled shade of the house. The scent of fresh dirt clung to the bagsâroot vegetables, herbs, hand-wrapped cheeses, wax paper packages of smoked meat. The manorâs ancient kitchen felt alive as you moved through it, pantry doors swinging open, cupboards filled with new life after you stripped them bare for meals.
You reached into one of the last bags near the cab and pulled something small and unexpected: a thick brown paper envelope with a bold, hand-labeled sticker on the front. You turned it over.
âSunflower seeds?â you asked, confused.
Tim looked over his shoulder as he slid a new carton of eggs into the icebox. âYeah. Theyâre in season. Thought maybe youâd wanna see something outside thatâs not brown or gray for once.â
You blinked. He didnât say it with any sentimentâhis voice was rough and offhand, like he hadnât even thought twice about itâbut something warm tugged in your chest all the same.
âIâd love to plant them,â you said quietly, fingers curling around the seed packet.
He gave a little shrug, grabbing the last crate. âThen letâs do it. Dirtâs soft from the rain yesterday.â
You tucked the envelope into your pocket and followed him outside, down past the thinning garden rows and tangled vines, your shoes brushing against grass and clover. Tim led you to a space just past the last vegetable bedâa patch of rough soil along the back fence line that caught a good bit of sun in the afternoon hours. The willow tree swayed far in the distance.
You both knelt in the dirt, side by side, working quietly, fingers digging into the earth.
The sunflower seeds were smooth and pale, and you tucked them carefully into the ground one by one, pressing them into little cradles of soil. Tim didnât say muchâjust made quiet little comments about spacing and depthâbut it was nice, the silence. Companionable.
The warm scent of damp earth lingered thick around you both as you tucked the last of the sunflower seeds into their little patches of turned soil. A soft breeze passed over the back garden, stirring your hair and making the willow leaves rustle in the distance. Tim worked quietly, sleeves rolled to the elbows and thick gloves caked in dirt, occasionally glancing over at your techniqueâthough he didnât correct it much after the first time.
You reached for the last handful of seeds and caught him watching.
âWhat?â you asked, brushing hair behind your ear.
He gave a low grunt and pulled his gloves tighter at the wrist. âNothinâ. Just thinkinâ Iâll have to get you a pair of gloves if youâre so hellbent on helpinâ all the damn time.â
You smiled, digging your hands into the dirt anyway. âWhat, these?â you wiggled your muddy fingers. âThis is half the fun.â
ââTil youâre cryinâ about a splinter,â he muttered, but there was a faint smirk pulling at his mouth.
When the last seed was pressed into the soil and the garden patch looked neat and content, you sat back with a sigh, brushing your hands on your thighs. Tim stood and stretched his back, cracking his neck and watching the plot like he could already see the golden blooms rising.
âYouâve got dirt on your face,â he said suddenly.
Your brows pinched. âWhere?â
He stepped closer. âRight here.â
Before you could react, he swiped one gloved finger across your cheekânot brushing the dirt off, but smearing it more, dragging a streak of soil across your skin.
Your jaw dropped. âTim!â
âWhat?â he said innocently, tugging his glove tighter.
With a mock gasp, you scooped up a little handful of loose soil and chucked it at his chest. The dirt splattered across his shirt, leaving brown specks on his already stained flannel.
His eyes narrowedâbut the corners of his mouth twitched with amusement. âOh, thatâs how itâs gonna be?â
You gave him a smug look just before he bent down and lobbed a clump of soil right back at you, hitting your shoulder with a soft thud. A laugh broke from your chest, and then the two of you were at warâducking behind planting beds, flinging dirt with your bare hands, shrieking and dodging with abandon. The whole back garden filled with laughter and the shuffle of boots and sneakers on grass and soil.
You scooped up a particularly wet clump and turned to throw itâ
But your foot caught on the edge of a planting bed. You yelped, pitching forward, hands instinctively flailing for balanceâ
Timâs arms shot out fast, catching you by the waist as you stumbled into him. He pulled you up quick, steadying you like it was nothing.
But now you were right there. Panting. Dirt smeared across your face. Your palms flat against his chest, his hands gripping your waist. The sun hung warm behind you both, haze pooling at the edges of the woods, and suddenly the garden felt very small.
You glanced up at himâhe was already looking down at you. Close enough to see the specks of dirt on his cheekbones, the sweat at his brow, the heat behind his tired eyes. His breath brushed your skin. Neither of you moved.
You swallowed hard.
Your fingers twitched against his chest as the moment hung heavyâmuddy clothes, pounding hearts, breath caught in your throat. You felt it when he tensed slightly, like he wasnât sure what to do either, but then you began to pull back, heat crawling up your neck, preparing to laugh it offâ
But Tim reached up, tugging his glove off with his teeth in one smooth motion, then tucking it in his pocket.
âHold still,â he muttered, voice low and rough.
You froze as he reached out, calloused, bare fingers brushing gently across your cheekâwiping the dirt smear away with a care that startled you. You blinked up at him, mouth parting slightly, and his lips quirked in something almost fond.
âYouâre so damn clumsy,â he said, shaking his head.
You let out a breathy laugh, unsure how else to respond, eyes darting awayâbut he caught your jaw, firm but not rough, guiding your face back to his.
âNuh uh,â he said softly. âDonât look away.â
You stared at him, nerves buzzing beneath your skin, lips parting to say somethingâto make a joke, or tease, or shut it down before your heart leapt out of your ribsâbut his fingers slid down to your neck, warm and anchoring.
âYou always do that,â he muttered. âDeflect when you get nervous.â
Your eyes widened. âI do notââ
But the words died on your lips.
Because Tim silenced you with his. It was hotâsuddenâhis hand tightening at your waist and the other still beneath your jaw, pulling you in like heâd been holding back for days. You gasped softly against him, his mouth rough and certain, lips parting yours as he tugged you flush to his body, every inch of him pressed warm and solid against you.
You curled your hands into the front of his shirt instinctively, half-steadying yourself, half-dragging him closer as his teeth grazed your lower lip. You tasted sweat, earth, and cigarettesâand under it all, him. Tim kissed like he workedâwith full intent and no hesitation once heâd started.
When he finally pulled back, barely an inch, his breath was ragged and warm against your cheek. His hand still cradled your jaw. You just stared at each other, caught, trembling slightly in the fading heat of the afternoon.
ââŚStill nervous?â he asked, voice husky.
You swallowed hard, lips swollen, cheeks burning. ââŚA little,â you breathed.
And he just smirked.
Your breath caught in your throat the second his lips curled, and it was like the weight of everything suddenly crashed down.
Holy. Shit.
You stepped back like youâd touched fire.
âIâI have to go,â you blurted, already untangling yourself from his arms. âSorryâI didnât meanâI mean I didâbut I didnâtâoh my god.â
âHey, waitââ Tim started, reaching for you. But you were already scrambling toward the manor, shoes slapping the dirt path, heart pounding so hard in your chest it sounded like thunder in your ears.
You didnât stop until you were back inside, up the stairs, down the hall, and flinging yourself into your bedroom like something was chasing you. You hit the bed face-first with a muffled scream.
Then rolled.Â
Then screamed againâthis time into a pillow. You flailed, limbs a mess across the duvet, before groaning and yanking at your hair in both hands, whispering frantic, breathless nonsense like âOh my god, oh my god, what the fuck is happeningââ
You slammed your head gentlyâbut repeatedlyâinto your mattress.
âWhat am I even doing?â you groaned, rolling again, now hanging halfway off the bed. âOh my god, what the hell is wrong with me?â
Your hands dragged down your face as everything came flooding back with horrifying clarity.
Tobyâon your bed, after the firelight and whiskey.
Brianâagainst the counter, your finger still stinging, the smoke curling behind you.
And now Tim, just outside, with sun and soil and heat still clinging to your clothes.
Youâd kissed each of them. You werenât sure if you were the luckiest person alive or absolutely doomed.
And dusk was in two hours. You stared blankly at the ceiling.
Dinner was going to be hell.
ââ .âŚ
Dinner time rolled around, and the silence was louder than anything you couldâve cooked.
Youâd made too much foodâroasted potatoes, seared green beans from Timâs garden, that lemon-pepper chicken recipe you were weirdly proud ofâbut no one came. No knock. No thump of boots in the hall. No door creaking open with a muttered âsmells good in here.â
Not even Toby dragging in firewood.
Your stomach sat tight in your belly as the minutes ticked by. You kept glancing at the door, willing it to open, practically begging for one of them to appearâeven if it was just to yell.
But the manor remained still.
âMaybe theyâre mad,â you whispered, poking at your food with the side of your fork. âMaybe theyâre talking. Figuring out what to do with the idiot who kissed all three of them.â
The thought made you wince. Rip each other apart, or rip you instead. You barely ate. The chicken dried out, the beans went cold, and your whiskey glass stayed untouched. It all felt like some sort of punishment. You washed the dishes in silence, the clang of ceramic against sink echoing too loud, too empty, as if the walls were holding their breath.
And when the fire never started in the main room, you knewâthey werenât coming.
Upstairs, your pacing felt frantic. You chewed your thumbnail, dragged your hands down your face, cursed at the floorboards and the ceiling and yourself.
âThis is stupid,â you hissed. âTheyâre grown men. Itâs not like I planned for any of this to happen! I justââ You bit off your sentence. âI should go down there. Just check in. Make sure theyâre notâfighting or something.â
But when you pulled the curtain aside, peeking through your bedroom window, you froze. The cabins were glowing softlyâthree little stars in the fog, warm and yellow through the mist. Lights on in each one. They were there. Alive. Not dead. Not bleeding.
Just⌠absent from your space.
You let out a breathârelief and guilt tangled in your chest like briars.
Then something movedâfast.
Your eyes snapped to the right, and you sworeâyou sworeâyou saw something skitter across the edge of the fog, just beyond the garden. Thin. Pale. Animal-likeâbut not an animal. The legs bent wrong. The way it moved was wrong.
And thenâ
A shadow sprinted after itâa human silhouette.
Your breath hitched.
âWhat the fuckââ you whispered, heart slamming into your ribs. You staggered back from the window, breath ragged, ears ringing.
Something was out there. And someone was chasing it.
You tried to rationalize.
Maybe it was a stray dog. Some hunter going after an animal. MaybeâGod, maybe someone lost their pet, and it slipped through the woods and they justâ
But no one lived out here. There were no neighbors. No houses for miles. Just trees, fog, and the wind biting through the gaps in the manorâs old windows.
Your breath started to come faster. You moved back toward the window, hands trembling as you reached for the curtain again, trying to calm yourself, to seeâto prove to your own damn brain that there was nothing out there. Thenâ
BANG.
A single, deafening gunshot cracked through the courtyard. You screamed.
The windows rattled in their frames, the sound echoing off the trees like it had split the ground in two. You dropped back, stumbling, your hand flying to your chest as your heart tried to burst free.
No no no no noâ
You whipped back to the window, scanning franticallyâbut there was nothing. Just thick mist. Shifting branches. But the cabin lights were still on, glowing like weak lighthouses in a sea of gray.
Your hands moved before your thoughts could catch up. You grabbed the first jacket you saw, yanking it over your shoulders. You didnât even bother with shoes. Your hand smacked against the bannister as you bolted down the stairs, breath ragged, throat dry.
Whoeverâwhateverâwas out there had a gun. That meant this wasnât some animal. This wasnât some illusion brought on by isolation and guilt and the ache in your chest.
This was real. And it meant one of two things.
Someone was here to rob youâor someone was here to hurt you.
The manorâs back doors groaned as you flung them open, and the air outside hit you like a bucket of ice water. Your breath turned to fog as you sprinted into the night, the gravel biting at your bare feet, eyes scanning, searchingâ
You had to get to someone. Anyone. You didnât care who. Tim, Toby, Brianâhell, all three. Just someone real, someone armed, someone who knew what to do. Thereâs no way they didnât hear the shot.
The fog felt thicker tonight. The kind that clung to your skin like a damp sheet, swallowing sound and vision whole. Your pulse pounded behind your eyes as you ran across the grass, your head whipping around at every creak, every twig snap.
The cabins were up ahead. Yellow lights. Them.
And something moved in the trees to your left.
You faltered. Your steps stuttered on the dewy grass, and your body jerked to a stop, chest heaving with the rush of adrenaline as your eyes locked on the shape.
A figure. Human-sized. Standing motionless at the edge of the tree line just beyond the veil of fog. Still. Too still.
Your heart surged, panic curling up your throat like bile, but stillâyou called out, voice cracking, âT-Toby? Brian? Tim?â
No response. The figure didnât moveâjust shifted. The kind of shift that makes your instincts scream. A slow tilt of the head like a dog confused, or a curious predator.
Your heart skipped. Then stuttered. You called again, louder, more desperate now. âHey! This isnât fucking funny guys! Is this some prank or something?!â
The thing stood up. No⌠it unfolded.
Long. Too long. Limbs stretching like they werenât made for a human frame. Slender arms reaching toward the dirt. A body hunched and sickly in silhouette, pale and sinewy and wrong.
Your brain was already screaming, but your legs stayed locked. Your eyes immediately welled with tears, lips parting to scream, to shout, to call for anybodyâ
Until it moved on all fours. Fast. Not a lurch. Not a shuffle.
A sprintâstraight at you.
You shrieked, a sharp, raw sound that tore up your throat as you spun and bolted, feet slamming the grass, sprinting so hard your lungs burned. The fog seemed to clutch at your legs, dragging you back with every step. You screamed their names again, over and over, begging,
âTOBY! BRIAN! TIMâHELP!!â
Behind you, that thing tore through the grass like knives through silk. Heavy, wet thuds of too-long limbs slamming the earth. You could feel it closing in.
The cabins were just ahead. Closerâcloserâ
You screamedâbut no sound made it out.
One second, sprinting full speed toward the cabins, lungs burning, throat raw from shoutingâand the next, a pair of arms slammed into you from the side, snatching you mid-stride and throwing you to the ground.
You hit the grass hard, dirt scraping your elbows and back as you rolled with the momentum. The breath whooshed out of you, replaced instantly with pure, primal terror. You kicked, tried to scramble back, chest rising and falling like you were drowning.
It got me. It got me. It gotâ
Then you saw him. Not himânot right away. A shapeâcrouched, lean. Orange goggles glinting in the fog, and a metal muzzle strapped over his mouth. Broad shoulders, stained hoodie. A hatchet in one gloved hand, twitching fingers on the other. Your brain scrambled to identify it, to rationalize, but nothing came.
And he was already gone, sprinting into the fog like a goddamn feral animal. The creature was mid-lunge. You saw it rear up, gangly limbs arching, the sharp silhouette of it rising like a nightmare.
ThenâCRACK.
The blade of his hatchet buried deep in the side of its head with a wet, awful thud. The thing spasmed, a shriek escaping itâinhuman, high-pitched, wrong.
And he didnât stop. He yanked the hatchet freeâthen slammed it down again. Again. And again. Over and over until blood and black matter sprayed into the fog like a horror show. You saw its limbs twitch once. Then stop. And he just kept chopping.
You could only watch. Your body refused to move. Then it didâall at once, violentlyâyour limbs shaking as you scrambled backwards through the grass, breath ripping through your chest like glass shards, full-blown panic setting in.
You didnât know where to look, what to do, your vision going fuzzy at the edges.
Click.
The cold, metallic cock of a shotgun behind you froze your blood. You twisted, gasping, eyes wide.
And there they were. Two silhouettes walking slowly through the fog like something out of a fever dream. The one in front wore a dirty white mask with ink-black eyes and a painted mouth. A taller figure flanked him, face hidden under his yellow hood and black balaclava. One carried a shotgun. The other a pistol. They joined the third figure panting over the creature, digging his boot into the side of it before jerking his hatchet out.
And they were all staring at you.
Your heart thudded in your chest like a war drum, and the realization hit you like a slap.
Tim. Brian. Toby. But not like youâd ever seen them before.
And for the first time, you realizedâ
You didnât know a damn thing about the men living on this land.
Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated!
ŕš back to my masterlists
ââ .⌠rainrot4me2025, all rights reserved. ęŠ .á
âąâ ââ about: Nightly Rendezvous card, but now we finally understand why rafayel was so desperate when he came back to the hotel room.
âąâ ââ word count: 6.7k
âąâ ââ warnings: mdni, smut, porn with some plot, the belt scene, slight exhibisionism, fem! masterbation, sooo much kissing, slight oral fixation, Lemurian mating bond, needy raf
art credit to @/khouxy on instagram
You swear Rafayel is doing this on purpose.Â
The first time it happens is right after your flight, the two of you only just managing to check into your hotel and change for dinner.
It's a fancy restaurant overlooking the vast desert, and the outdoor patio offered a clear view to gorgeous sunset. Furious spirals of orange and vermillion cast their light across the sand, making it appear to glow as winds kick up waves of golden dust along the horizon.
Itâs beautiful, almost as much so as the man across you, who is still staring longingly into the distance as though committing every color to memory. As if repainting it entirely in his mind.Â
Not hues of warmth, but those of the deep sea. Blues and purples and colors so dark theyâd only come to life in the night.Â
âHowâs your drawing?âÂ
Rafayel sighs at your voice, tossing his pen across the dinner table with a huff before leaning back against the sofa. A stack of crumpled sketches litter your table among half-finished plates of food. He insisted on traveling here to relax, and yet he seems to be doing everything but.Â
âIf a few lines count as a drawing, then wonderfully.â Sassy as ever.
He sighs again, but this one sounds more pained, and you notice the red tinge highlighting his ears and neck as he leans against your shoulder.Â
âYou still donât feel good?â You ask, voice hushed as you place a kiss against his temple, the skin burning beneath your lips. Raising a hand, Rafayel immediately nuzzles into your palm as you pull his chin up towards you, feeling the rising temperature along his cheek and forehead. âWe can head back if youâd like. Take a bath, or shower?âÂ
You hoped the together was implicit by now.
But Rafayel only nods, placing a chaste kiss against your exposed shoulder. âWhat about the sunset? I saw you admiring it, and squandering a beautiful view is unacceptable for an artist. Itâs one of the greatest offenses.â
Rafayelâs breath is minty and dry against your ear, and when you turn to look at him, his face is doused in the fiery hues of the sunset, each one casting deep purple shadows that only make his features all the sharper, half his face veiled in darkness.Â
Some days you wish you were an artist as well, if only to capture moments like thisâto show Rafayel just how gorgeous he was.Â
Perhaps itâs only natural for a god. After all, no mortal could ever need beauty so violently arresting, so worthy of worship.Â
Youâre leaning in despite yourself.Â
Rafayel meets you halfway, one hand on your waist as the other traces your jaw and bottom lip. But as soon as you feel the brush of his lips across yours, he pulls away.Â
You open your eyes in confusion. Rafayelâs never denied you before.Â
When you look at him in question, he only gives you a tired smile and pulls you to your feet with a chaste kiss on your cheek. âSorry. Iâll feel better as long as Iâm close to you like this.â
The second time it happens is when the hotel reception mixes up your and Rafayelâs rooms, leaving you to deliver some sort of formal invitation to him.Â
But the letter is soon forgotten; you canât be bothered thinking about it, not when Rafayel still looks so absent.
Heâs right next to you, knees brushing yours as you sit side by side on the couch, and yet he seems to be miles away, gazing out the window as the dunes shift and rise like waves under the moonlight. Â
"I used to really enjoy scenic spots before," Rafayel says, voice barely rising above the hum of the heater. "Catching sights of subtle things that might be easily overlooked used to feel like enough. More satisfying than finishing a painting, even."
A laugh. Dry, humorless.Â
His fingers grazed the edge of his glass, tracing the condensation absentmindedly. A droplet trails down his wrist. "But now, sometimes, I forget why I even decided to travel in the first place.âÂ
You watch him, waiting. He doesnât meet your gaze.
"I think," Rafayel continues, "somewhere along the way, I stopped just... noticing things. And I started needing them. Like the world wasnât worth looking at unless I could turn it into something. Capture it, hold it in my hands, and call it mine." He shakes his head, a shadow of a smile crossing his lips. "Itâs not a very generous way to live, is it?"
"You donât need to be generous with everything," you say carefully. "Some things are just... for you to enjoy."
"Enjoy," he repeats, like the word doesnât quite fit in his mouth. A pout. "It doesnât feel like enjoyment anymore. It feels more like... hunger.âÂ
Like heâs always fucking starving.
Rafayel finally turns to look at you, eyes eclipsed in the dark. Nearly dilated black.Â
âSometimes Iâm afraid that if I feed it, itâll only grow worse.â
You turn to face him on the couch, sliding your leg between his thighs before perching yourself on Rafayelâs lap. Itâs not lost on you how his heartbeat picks up, chest rising and falling rapidly as each shallow breath hits your lips. Perhaps itâs cruel, but you canât help but touch him again, fingers tracing his full lips, up his jaw, fluttering against his eyelashes and into his hair.
âYou think hunger gets worse when you feed it?" You finally ask, voice quiet, slow, daring to push back. "Doesn't it stop when you're full?"
Rafayelâs mouth quirks, a sharp, fleeting twist of a smile. "Not always. Sometimes it makes you realize just how much more you want. Or how much more you could take."
You frown. âYouâre not demanding anything. Not from the world, not from me."
"Maybe not yet. But, if one day, I become someone who only takes⌠If I were like that, would you leave me?"
The confession hangs for a moment, the truth of it hidden. Something about the way his shoulders tense under your touchâ like he's bracing for something, but it hasnât yet arrived. A phantom pain from centuries ago, and a pain to come for a thousand years more.Â
âSilly fishie, Iâd never leave you.âÂ
Rafayel smiles in a way you know all too well, lopsided and teasing and empty.
âThank youâŚâ he hums, finally pulling you closer as his lips skim alongside the curve of your neck. âfor accepting me the way I am.â
His breaths come out in desperate huffs against your skin, and he inhales sharply, freezing, before finally placing a kiss against the crook of your neck. And then another, and another.Â
âYouâre just anxious,â you whisper, sucking a mark into Rafayelâs neck as he moans so sweetly against your ear. âI can help you relax.â
You wiggle your hips to better balance yourself on his lap and Rafayel looks almost near tears, one hand forcing you still while the other grabs your wrist, trailing kisses from your fingertips back up to your neck.
More. You need more. Rushing, your hands fly up into his hair, about to tug Rafayel to lay down on the couch when a crack echoes behind you.Â
The glass lays shattered against the floor.Â
Panting, Rafayel stares at the spilled water for a long moment before pulling away. You feel his erection digging into your thigh, the warmth of his fever spiking yet again as his skin burns against yours, yet he still refuses.Â
âAs you said, Iâm anxiousâŚâ Still panting, Rafayel picks you up, gently lifting you up as he stands from the couch. âOr, more like restless. In every sense of the word.âÂ
The need in his eyes almost makes your knees buckle. He looks at you like youâre the only thing he could ever crave, like a bite would both be salvation and leave him hungry forever.Â
âBut see, now I canât stand the idea of letting you go again, and you donât want me to either.â He sets you down just a little farther than necessary, but his hands donât leave your waist, trembling, waiting. âWhat should we do?â
âRafayelâŚâ You want him. You want him so badly it hurts.Â
âFuck.âÂ
You nearly jump at that. Rafayel curses again, his head falling onto your shoulder as his breath hitches. âI can feel your concern. That andâŚâ another convulsion, his body burning up. âFuck. You have to leave.â
You donât even have time to retort before youâre pushed out of his hotel room, and the door slams shut behind you.Â
By the third time, you know something is wrong.Â
Itâs not that you and Rafayel havenât kissed yet. Hell, youâve had sex before. The last time was quite literally on the night before you were supposed to leave for this trip. Obviously, Rafayel suggested that you stay at his place for the nightâinsisting he was closer to the airport and getting an Uber would be quicker this wayâand one thing led to another, as is what happens nearly every time Rafayel and you are left alone for too long.Â
But now itâs been nearly a week and Rafayel has barely touched you, let alone picked up on your not-so-subtle clues.Â
So yes, it's safe to say youâve become rather pent up.Â
Youâve fallen asleep in the off-roader the two of you rented out for the day, bobbing up and down the dunes like waves flecked white not with seafoam but snow. Thereâs a chill as you drift off, but your dreams are anything but, plagued with memories of Rafayel.Â
His hands, deft and talented with a brush, are even more so when teasing your skin, knowing exactly how to trace delicate circles against your thighs before roughly curling into your cunt. His tongue, every smartass comment and teasing grin now silenced as he licks and sucks against your clit. His body, the warmth of it, bearing down on you with every thrust, or perhaps writhing beneath you as you take him again and again and againâÂ
Itâs the cold that wakes you up.Â
Your eyes flutter open, first noticing the dim light of the hotel parking lot, and second, the burning desire still aching between your legs.Â
âRafayel?â
A shuffle makes you turn, and you find said man still seated in the driverâs seat, unbuckled as he sits with his head resting on his hand.Â
âYes, cutie?â Rafayelâs tone is teasing, but the way he stares down at you feels like anything but. The hunger is back.Â
Sitting up, you clear your throat. âHow long have I been asleep? Why didnât you wake me up?â
âYou seemed like you were having such a nice dream, I didnât want to disturb you.âÂ
You inhale sharply. Glaring, you try and see if heâs teasing again or being serious, but Rafayel doesnât let you read him for long, already leaning over the middle console.Â
He places his lips gently on your temple, brushing over the skin, and then moves down to your cheek, his breath warm against your neck. He whispers your name, so softly you almost think it was a trick of your imagination.
Your mind goes blank when he kisses your jaw, a small noise escaping the back of your throat as you feel his hair tickle your skin.
"Raf," you mumble under your breath, but you know he hears it because he exhales sharply against you.
Rafayel trails a series of kisses up your neck, "I know, I know. I'm sorry, cutie." His body temperature is rising again, and the air in the van feels dangerously thin as he sways in your grasp. "I'm trying."
The hunger is back, all-consuming and hot as you genuinely fear you might burn up. A wave of dizziness washes over you, and you finally cup Rafayel's jaw, leading him towards your lips.
Yet again, he stops you halfway.
âDo you want to go back to your room first?â
At first you think heâs suggesting moving there before continuing, but you know better at this point.Â
âYouâre not coming with me?âÂ
Rafayel pulls out the invitation from before, waving it between the two of you as if all this was the letterâs fault. âI still have to attend my friendâs salon thing.â
âBut youâre still burning up! Forget this, I canât let you go out to who knows where when youâre still acting strange. Maybe we can see a doctorââ
âCutieâŚâ
ââNo, no. Or maybe I can come with you.â
Rafayel says your name this time. Firmer. Cutting off your rambling as he places his forehead against yours.Â
âDo you want me to turn into a sea creature thatâs beached on the sand after the ocean recedes? Leaving me to suffocate when I come out of the water?âÂ
You donât quite know how to respond to that, feeling his desperation in every word even as you struggle to make sense of it.
Rafayel continues, pulling away from you again. âDonât you trust me? How about we make a promise?â
âWhat kind of promise?â
A smile. âI promise⌠Iâll be okay without you tonight.â
Thereâs no joke, no hidden meaning, just Rafayel who so violently hopes that this promise will hold true.Â
So you relent. âOkay, just take care of yourself.â
Finally, Rafayel opens the car door, letting the desert night winds sweep in with a biting chill as he leans back against the driverâs seat. He lets out an almost inaudible sigh. âYou can head back. Iâll be back before you know it.â
Rafayel promised heâd be okay without you tonight, but you donât think the opposite could hold true.Â
Not when the dizziness Rafayel caused remained. Not when you still feel the phantom touch of his lips and hands all over your body, burning you up, leaving you cold and empty and aching.Â
Youâve been burning for the better part of a week now. Â
Something stuck between a laugh and a cry of pure frustration leaves you as you fall onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. âThis is pathetic.â
Even the damned sheets smell like Rafayel, pillows deeply laced with his shampoo and the smell of his cologneâamber, yuzu, and something salty like the oceanâsurrounding you as though this were his hotel room and not yours.
Desert nights were cold, but even the room's chill could do nothing to quell your desire, arms shaking with it as you quickly stripped yourself of your shirt and bra. The room spins as you stumble around, leaving your clothes on the floor, another delirious whimper seizing you as you sprawl against the silk sheets.Â
You need him.Â
Fuck, you need him, and you hate him for leaving you while the growing ache between your thighs threatens to swallow you whole.
The sheets are deliciously cool against your flushed skin, and you turn your head to rest your cheek in the cool embrace of the pillow. But it only needs a second to heat from your desire.Â
And then the room is all too hot once again.Â
Kicking off your pants, your hand snakes down your bare torso, leaving half-hearted squeezes to your breasts and hips, failing to replicate the touch Rafayel already has you addicted to. The memory only makes you more frustrated.Â
A hand slips beneath your soaked underwear, and fuck, youâre dripping enough to ease your fingers in already. You force yourself to slow down, rubbing slow circles around your entrance, the mere friction enough to have your hips bucking up against nothing.Â
Inhaling sharply, you slide a finger into your weeping cunt, a moan pushing from your lungs as you do. Not enough. Itâs not enough.
You force yourself to draw each movement out, the curl of your wrist accompanied by your muffled cries and the slick, obscene sounds echoing alongside your ragged breath. Withdrawing your finger nearly to the fingertip, two plunge back in this time, and your back arches off the bed with violent tremors as you imagine it was Rafayel's hand instead.
How heâd tease you in the early mornings to wake you up, how heâd take special care of every sensitive spot on your body, how heâd draw his fingers along your clit just the way that will make you come undone.
And as your fingers find that sensitive bundle of nerves, the way you cry his name into the empty room is no different.
Your head is spinning, falling, your thighs shake, and it's not long before you're gasping out, "Rafayel, please.â
Still not enough. Every rough thrust of your fingers brings you higher and higher, but without the pressure of Rafayel's chest pressed to yours, or his hot breath ghosting across your ear, his voice, his lips, his touchâ
Without him.
A sob rips from your throat, your hips bucking uselessly against the air as you fuck yourself harder, deeper. But your fingers are only so long, and your free hand, fisting the sheets, is unable to make up the difference. "No, no please," a whine, and your free hand rushes to circle your clit, the other picking up pace.
You're close, so close, sobbing his name when the dizziness from the car returns tenfold, overtaking your body in waves as your eyes roll back. "Please, ah! Rafayel, mâcumming-"
The world goes silent as pleasure surges through you, muscles convulsing, a choked, garbled sound escaping as you come. Collapsing back against the sheets, you struggle to catch your breath, the stickiness of both the heat and your orgasm coating your thighs.Â
Thereâs another tug, a violent pull against your chest, but the dizziness remains.Â
You know you should change the sheets or at least move them aside, but you canât manage to do either as you rush to shower before Rafayel returns from his friendâs exhibition.Â
Itâs only when you stumble into the bathroom that you notice it.Â
Shit. This is Rafayelâs room.Â
You must be trying to kill him.
Surely, this is the gods' cruelest trialâa final test of his resolveâto see if heâd bow once more, forsaking divinity and succumbing to the temptation of you.
Because itâs been barely an hour, and Rafayel has already resigned himself from the party, passing blank smiles and empty compliments as he quietly counts down the minutes until he can return to the hotel, when suddenly he feels it.
The tug of your bond flashes through his body as his dick aches.
Rafayel freezes mid-sentence, the polite smile he'd been wearing slipping from his face. The conversation at the bar around him, something about chiaroscuro in the artistâs latest piece, become muffled static as the chains tighten, digging into his heart.Â
Itâs unmistakable now. The rhythm, the rising intensity, the waves of pleasure that donât belong to him but still manage to spark delirious heat up his veins.
Rafayelâs breaths quicken, body temperature rising as his Evol flickers out of his control. He glances around the room, feigning interest in the conversation, the glittering glasses of champagne, the faint hum of the crowd. It doesnât work. The only thing he can focus on is you.
He should leave. Go outside, breathe in the night air, and let the tether between you both loosen, just to regain control. Just to prove to himself itâs not too late.
But the bond tightens, as invasive as it is intoxicating, demanding Rafayelâs attention like a leash coiled around his neck. Itâs not gentle. Itâs not kind. Itâs primal, every nerve in his body pulled taut like youâre screaming his name over and over into the depths of his soul.Â
Itâs not fair.
No god can deny the prayer of a worshipper.
Your pleasure becomes his, and when Rafayel closes his eyes, he swears he can feel your phantom hands on him, dick already heavy and throbbing, leaking through his expensive trousers.
Are you in bed, thighs trembling as you grind against your own palm? Or maybe the shower, steam curling around you as you chase release? Or worseâare you riding something of his? His shirt? His pillow? Is this vengeance a cruel punishment meant to shatter what little resolve he has left?Â
Shit. Heâs hard.
âHey man, whatâs wrong? You good?âÂ
The slam of a glass brings him back. Gods, he hates these rich socialites.Â
The champagne glass Rafayel was holding is now covered in cracks, blood trickling down his ring finger. Heâs unraveling, composure fracturing with every pulse of your pleasure surging in and out as violently as a full moonâs tide.Â
Rafayel looks up, smiling. âStress. And apparently a very needy pet.â
The man laughs at what he assumed was a joke, but Rafayel sees his hesitation, the type animals give when they pick up rustling in the bush. Fear.Â
Rafayelâs grin only widens, all teeth. âI should probably go check on her. Wonderful party,â he adds, lifting his glass in a half-hearted toast before setting it down with a sharp clink.
As he steps outside, the desert air does nothing to soothe him. If anything, the dryness makes it worse as the pull becomes sharper, like youâre reaching for him, your need coiling tighter around his chest.
A growl, almost feral, rumbles low in his throat as he staggers down the cobblestone streets. He doesnât need directions. He doesnât even need to think. His body moves instinctively, guided by the bond, by you.Â
Rafayel swears he can feel you all across his body, your heartbeat picking up as you get closer, the smell of your skin and arousal, the cries of his name that only become more and more desperate as you fail to bring yourself over the edge without him.Â
Youâre begging for him in a way his bond mistakes for worship, because Rafayelâs body feels like itâs burning. Like blood spilled on his altar, an offering of yourself to your god, your husband.
The thought that you might be doing so unintentionally only drives him further into madness.
But, beneath the frustration, thereâs something else. A glimmer of something Rafayel hates to name but knows all too well: relief.
Because as much as he might deny it, Rafayel could never leave you. And now that youâve reciprocated, now that youâve begged for him oh so sweetly, he would gladly submit to his bond and become chained to you once again, forever at your mercy, unable to escape the inevitability of his fate.
He doesnât even knock when he reaches the hotel room door. It swings open under the force of his hand, and the sight of you standing thereâwide-eyed, startled, only in a bath towelâhits him like a blow to the chest.
There's a soft click as Rafayel locks the door. A hurried shuffle of shoes as he all but stumbles toward you, closing the distance between you in one hurried, unstoppable motion. A startled gasp as he grabs your face in his hands.
It's the last breath you take.
An arm wraps around your waist, blocked by only a flimsy hotel towel as Rafayel violently spins you around. Your surprise is swallowed by his lips as youâre pinned against the window, the chill of the desert snow, frosted against the glass, a harsh contrast to the burn of his touch. His hand pins yours at the wrist as he stares down at your fingers.
âRafayel? What are you doing here?âÂ
The question barely gets out, not before he rushes forward to claim you in a kiss, if it was even that. A desperate, consuming need overtakes him, Rafayel pushing you back so insistently that your head hits the window with a thud, pain immediately distracted as his clothed knee grinds up between your bare thighs.Â
Holy fuck, just a towel. Right.
You try to push him back, one hand pressing against his chest as the other flies back to tighten the towel. âWaitââ
Rafayel kisses you again. And again. And again.Â
You can feel the cloth slipping.
But Rafayel makes it very hard to care. His hand traces your throat, your heartbeat, then drags you closer by your hips as he thrusts forward in time, still caging you against the window. Heâs relentless, every kiss only broken with a ragged breath or gasp as though heâs given up on breathing entirely, content to consume you instead, his tongue sweeping against your lip before it coaxes yours to meet it halfway, licking and sucking into your mouth.
Itâs obscene, animalistic, and you swear that there has to be something wrong with you because the dizziness is back, and this time itâs enough to make your knees buckle, the two of you blindly stumbling across the hotel room.
So you bite him.Â
âWhyââ Breathe. Remember how to breathe. âWhy are you here?â
Rafayel almost looks offended, thumbing his bitten lip before licking away the smudge of blood with a lopsided smile.Â
Fuck, heâs hard. You feel the heat of his cock jolt against your thigh, pressing into you as he surges forward again, kissing you as his hands squeeze and cup your waist, lifting you up.
"Why?" Rafayel laughs, roughly grinding up against you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his hips. "This is my room, remember? Youâre the one who decided to come in here." He growls the last part, licking, biting, sucking at your throat.Â
âOr was that intentional?â
The look in his eyes is feral.Â
Thereâs no hesitation left, no half-riddled questions, no sweet praises, no semblance of your devoted lover. Just hunger. Heâs rushing, pushing forward even with nowhere to go, almost in revenge. In punishment. Your teeth click together, foreheads bumping, unable to talk because when you try to open your mouth his tongue only slides in deeper.Â
The wet sounds echo against your ears alongside your racing heartbeat, only causing you to grind harder, rougher, before Rafayel ungracefully drops you onto the bed.Â
Your body bounces on the mattress, but it gives you a moment, and you scramble to cover Rafayelâs lips with your palm before he can begin devouring you again.Â
âWhat I meant was, shouldnât you still be at that art salon?â
He all but collapses into your touch. Lips parted, he grabs your wrist, tongue darting out as he licks up your middle and ring fingers, moaning against your skin.Â
âI tried. I tried going, leaving.â He's panting, breathing in your scent before biting your palm. âBut you called me back, you cruel, selfish human. And now Iâll never leave again.â
Your words come out between moans, unable to look away. âI called? I didnât doââ Youâre cut off as Rafayel licks up your skin, sucking lightly at your fingertips as his eyes, half-lidded and blown out stare down into yours.Â
Oh.
A hot flush of embarrassment seizes you and Rafayel must sense it because his eyes flutter closed. His hips snap forward, grinding his erection into the side of the bed, and he lets out a low whine.
Gods, the taste of your cum lingers in Rafayelâs mouth. Every dry swallow, every inhale, every damn breath tastes like you, and it makes him want to submit to every horrid urge and simply consume untilâ
âYou don't think I know? Don't think I canât tell?â Rafayel goes back to kissing your wrist, needing something more, something stronger. His hand ventures to the edge of your towel. âCan feel everything you do, no matter how far away I go. Gods, I feel it, feel everything, and it drives me insane. Need you so bad, need to hear you, feel you, taste you..."
A shudder runs up Rafayelâs spine at the mere thought, and he can't stop himself anymore, leaning down to suck your fingers into his mouth, tongue curling around the digits, saliva coating your fingertips. He rips the towel from your body.
"Say you need me too," Heâs begging, sinking down to your knees. "Say you need me just as badly. Iâah fuckâI can smell how much you want me."
Throwing the towel to the floor, Rafayel runs his hands down your chest, rougher, long fingers cupping and massaging your breasts as his mouth trails wet kisses down your stomach, his tongue dragging against the smooth skin, a clear goal in mind as he settles between your thighs, looking up at you as though you were a thing worthy of worship. His Goddess.Â
Heâd offer himself to your alter time and time again. So long as he was the only one who got to bleed for you.Â
âYes.â Youâre already soaked, the sight of Rafayel panting between your thighs enough to have you babbling, âYes, Rafayel. I needed you so, so badly all week. Couldnât help mâself, please.â
He freezes at that, pouting. âRight, you already came, didnât you. So mean, cutie. Leaving me out.â
Before you can argue, Rafayel dips his head, dragging his tongue up your cunt before sucking roughly at your clit.Â
Your legs thrash above his shoulders. âAhâ wait, not so!â Itâs too much too soon. Still sensitive from your prior orgasm, your back arches violently off the mattress, but Rafayel pays it no heed, deaf to your cries as he sloppily makes out with your pussy, drool and slick connecting his lips to you in sticky strands even as he pulls away just far enough to talk.Â
âSheâs already so sensitive, sânot fair,â he pouts, mouthing against your thigh as he flicks your throbbing bundle of nerves. You jolt, gasping at the sharp jolt of pain. At the same time, Rafayel fucks his tongue into your cunt, just barely dipping in before he moves back to rub nonsensical patterns on your clit. âBut this is mine. I donât want you touching it without permission anymore.â
Fuck, if you had any semblance of a coherent thought you would have argued, maybe even laughed at the sheer audacity of the man.
Instead, all you can manage is a pathetic whine of his name, because the strange swirls and harsh lines heâs licking into your clit arenât patterns at all but letters, spelling something over and over and over again.Â
R-A-F-A-Y-E-L-R-A-F-A-Y-E-L-R-A-F-A-Yâ
The ring of the hotel phone buzzes from the nightstand. Itâs the artist whose party Rafayel left only minutes ago.
âTch,â Rafayel scoffs in annoyance, whiping his chin as he goes to decline the call.
But this gives you a moment to breathe, and all you can think of is getting revenge. Especially on the bastard who tried to take Rafayel from you tonight.Â
âWait,â you grab his wrist. âYouâre just going to hang up? What if it was something important?â
Rafayel turns to you with narrowed eyes, knowing thereâs no good intent behind your wicked smile. It turns you on more than you can admit, the sight of his glare, mad at both the call and you interrupting his feast. But Rafayel can't deny you anything and does as heâs told, pressing accept.Â
âThe guest of this room is unable to answer. Please leave a message.â
Instantly, you have Rafayel on his back.Â
His neck looks far too bare, and you climb onto his lap, enjoying the way his pulse kicks up under your palm.
Ripping his shirtâs buttons off, you begin biting dark spots down the pale expanse of his chest and neck. Youâre about to aim right for the glowing mark on his chest when the phone beeps again, playing a voice recording of a clearly very drunk man.Â
âWhy did you leave, bro? Come back here rânow. One more round of drinks aââ Incoherent laughter and sounds of clinking glasses.Â
No. No, Rafayelâs not allowed to leave you, not again.Â
You donât know where the fear comes from, but you force yourself closer on top of him, breasts pressing into his abs as Rafayel shivers beneath you. Leaning down, you kiss the glowing mark atop his heart, admiring the way it flickers and glows when Rafayel bucks into your touch, moaning as you begin to nip and suck in earnest.Â
And then youâre flipped onto the mattress once more.Â
Rafayelâs heaving, arms trembling to keep himself up. Away. â...Are you sure?â
âIf I donât, then you might actually leave. What will you say if youâre asked why you didnât go back?â
Rafayel smirks, and you catch a glimpse of fangs as he sits back on his knees. Thereâs a click, the rough sound of metal on metal as he undoes his belt, unzipping his trousers with one hand as the other cups the inside of your thigh, yanking it over his shoulder as he drags you down the bed. âIâm busy.â
And then heâs kissing you.Â
Youâre lost, so hopelessly lost in each other that you fail to notice the phone beep once again, the monotone voice of the machine saying, âPlease leave a message at the tone,â before flashing twice, still running.Â
Again, Rafayel seems to forget the concept of breathing, gasping into your lips as he ruts his hips into yours. âYouâre not leaving me, right?â Fuck, heâs leaking all over his stomach, pre-cum splattering across your thighs.
âNever. Iâll never leave you, Rafayel.â
âThen tell me youâre mine. Tell me, please, pleaseâhahâtell me and Iâll do anything, promise cutie, promise.â Heâs all but gasping between kisses, cock trapped between his body and yours as he grinds forward, voice a pitch or so higher than it usually would be. âSay it, say you're mine, tell me, I need to hear it again."
He's talking in circles, rambling, the desperation in his voice palpable. Grasping the base of his cock, he sloppily fisting himself once, twice, before thumping against your entrance.
âIâm yours, Rafayel.â You writhe, grinding yourself up against him in hopes that heâs just hurry the fuck up.
âAgain.â
âIâm yours, yours Rafayel.â
âAgain, ahâagain,â heâs nuzzling into your neck, lifting your leg higher and higher, pinning it to your head as he folds you into a matting press. Still, he refuses to press in, cock throbbing against your clit as he hugs you tight, every muscle in your body screaming in protest and pleasure. âAgain, please, please.â
âIâm-â Youâre either gasping or crying, words flooding out, âRafayelâs, Iâm Rafayelâs.â
At that, Rafayelâs entire body convulses. He sobs, finally thrusting forward, bullying up into you bit by bit, forcing you to count every inch as the entirety of his weight bares down onto you.Â
You can feel the way his muscles shift, the way his arms bulge and contract as he holds himself above you, hips flush against yours. The desert air must be infecting him, because Rafayel is dripping sweat, flushed from his ears to his chest as he begins to pull out and slowly grind himself back in.Â
His voice is wrecked, breathless as he tries to kiss you, missing slightly as he sucks against your bottom lip, drooling. "I'm yours too, I'm yours." At the same time, his cock jerks in you, burying deeper with every filthy roll of his hips, throbbing against your sweet spots.Â
Then something snaps, Rafayelâs lips sealed back on yours, and the rhythm he sets is brutal.
Rafayel's cock drags over your walls, molding you in ways you never thought possible. Each thrust is hard, deep, and leaves you gasping, eyes rolling back into your head as you arch off the mattress, nowhere to go as his body folds yours damn near in half, weight bearing down on you.
It's all you can do to wrap your arms around him, nails scratching into his back, drawing thin lines of blood across his shoulder blades as you try to stay grounded, keep your mind from being swept away as the dizziness returns.
But the pressure building up in the pit of your stomach makes it hard.
Harder still as Rafayel begins mumbling into your lips, the filth pouring from his mouth making you clench, cunt fluttering around his cock as he pounds into you.
He can see and feel everything like this. Unable to look away from your face only inches away, watching every expression with love-drunk eyes, hugging you closer, fucking you harder.
"Can feel you, can feel you getting tighter. You're close right? Say you're close, please, mhm fuck." he's panting, and if you focus hard enough you can hear the sloppy noises of him sliding in and out, wet and obscene, the harsh slap of his balls against the curve of your ass.
But then Rafayelâs pushing himself lower, your legs dangling uselessly in the air as his chest is pressed so tight against yours you can barely take a breath.
"You're mine, only I can touch you like this, feel this. My wife. Say it, say you're mine, wanna hear it, please. Please, ah, Iâll do anything, say it."
He's barely pulling out anymore, resigning to quick, deep grinds as though he canât bear to part.
Too uncoordinated to kiss you, Rafayel's head falls to your neck, sobbing into your marked-up skin before messily kissing atop the bruises.
"Yours. Yours. I'm yours, your wife," the words spill from your lips before you can even think, and Rafayel nearly passes out trying to stop himself from cumming then and there.Â
Itâs like youâre trying to milk him, hugging him closer and ankles wrapped around his neck as heâs lifting your hips right off the bed. But now he needs to see it.
Needs to know the way you'll cry out his name, how your eyes will glaze over and roll back into your head, the way your chest will heave, the sweat that will pool at the valley between your breasts, the way the skin will flush from a soft pink to a burning red as you lose yourself in the feeling. To him.
It's the only thing he's able to concentrate on, the only thing he's able to think of. The feeling of your body beneath him, the sound of his name on your lips.Â
And that alone is enough.
Rafayelâs orgasm is sudden, a jolt of pleasure that surges up his spine with enough intensity to have him collapse, pinning your body beneath him. You can feel it, the way his cum splatters against the walls of your womb, painting your insides, filling you up until the excess squirts out around his cock and your intertwined thighs. He can't stop his hips, can't stop the way he grinds his pelvis against yours, trying to get deeper and deeper still.Â
"Mine, mine, mine," is all he can say, eyes wide and pupils blown out as he watches the way your body twitches, a mixture of sweat and cum painting your body as you nearly pass out in exhaustion. "Gonna- gonna fill you up, fuck, so pretty, my pretty girl, pretty wife, gonna make sure it sticks, so Iâll never leave. So youâll never leave me again."
You're cumming.
He can feel the way your cunt spasms, the way your walls lure him back in, the way you tremble and shake as you throw your head back with tears.Â
Rafayel can't stop himself from leaning down and biting, teeth sinking into the crook of your neck, his hands grabbing at any bit of flesh he can find. All the while he fucks you through your orgasm, the mess of fluids creating the most obscene noises as they squish and bubble out, pooling out from between your bodies.Â
As youâre swaying in and out of reality, you think you see it. A field of red flame lilies, a poison so sweet that when you drink it, you lick your lips and thank the gods.Â
God. Just one, the one of the sea and the flaming sun.Â
âąâ ââ a/n: Uber now canonically exists in the lnds universe, thanks. Also, I would have included the absolutely gut-wrenching aftercare included in the card with MC asking Rafayel to sing for her, but honestly I would not change that scene in the slightest and am content to believe that is exactly what happened next.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Synopsis. The two things they donât tell you about a hot emo half-curse? 1. Heâs in heat. 2 He needs you badly.
Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, slight omĂŠgaverse, HEATS, roommates-to-Iovers, he goes FĂRAL, matĂng presses, size kĂnk, knots, heâs huge, squĂrting, dĂşmbifĂcation, Choso with piercings nâ tattoos, pheromones, use of jujutsu, MARATHONS, creampĂes, cĂşmplay, matĂng marks, stopping you from running, proposals, pet names, swĂŠaring.
Word count. 7.6k
A/N. Sheâs BACK and she wrote this during a power cut ummm?
âChoso, are you in there?â
Youâre nervously gnawing on the inside of your cheek, feet shuffling as you wait outside of your strange new roommateâs bedroom.
Summer.Â
And the scorched air outside wasnât the only thing that was sizzling, it felt like your skin was pricked with countless goosebumps at the temperature inside of your cozy lilâ apartment. Each heady wave of heat originating from his room.
Half-wondering whether you should call his pink-haired little brother for assistance, your fingers rap once more on the firmly shut mahogany door. Calling out, âIâm coming in, okay?â
Thereâs a noise from inside- a gasp.Â
And then something that sounded like a low, gutturalâŚmoan at the very sound of your voice. The humidity only rising. Brows furrowing, warmth creeping, you just barely start turning that doorknob openââChoso, what is-â
Oh.Â
.
.
.
Seventy-four days.
Seventy-four days since Choso had started rooming with you, thanks to your associates higher up at Jujutsu High. And seventy four days since heâd wanted to tear off your tiny sleep shorts and wrench your pretty legs apart to stuff you all full of his-
Fuck.Â
And just like that, heâd been hit with his annual heat cycle on the hottest day of the month.Â
All part of being half a curse, he grouches.Â
Maybe it was the paper-thin t-shirt youâd been wearing this morning, maybe it was just how youâd batted your lashes as you greeted him in the hallway.
Maybe it was the way all he had to do was fucking stand next to you to smell how sweet that pussy of yours was, throbbing away between your thighs. Thump! Thump! Thump!Â
But here he was- one step inside of his sweltering bedroom, only a single inch that youâre toeing past the door frame, and heâs bolted out of the bed to slam against you. Heaving chest to chest, back to wall.Â
Mouth crashing-
You donât know what burns more - the push of his toned, rippling flesh radiating pure heat, crushing against you, or his lips. Choso grabs you, Adamâs apple bobbing dryly as he damn near sobs at the contact of your spit-glossed lips.
âCh-Chooosoâ!â Youâre squealing, kissing back in earnest. Your rationality only a faint inkling now, âWhatâs gotten- hah! into y- fuck!âÂ
Before you know it, heâs fisted his shaking, prolonged fingers into your shirt to rip the fabric down the middle-
Gasping, your knees knock together weakly once he sticks a clammy palm to the valley between your tits and tears up. Your wetly ajar maw breaking away from his own with a sultry dampened noise, followed almost instantly by a strained whine as Choso registers the feeling of his attack on your mouth dwindling.Â
Just about the only thing he could be struck with right now.Â
CRASH!
One of his big, beefy forearms slams on the patch of wall above you, flecks of plaster snowing down at his sheer inhuman strength. âStayâŚâ And his other arm greedily claws at your throat, jolting at the sound of your oh-so-cute gasp as if your voice made something deep nâ dark down inside him twitch. â-away.â
And you might not have known him the longest, but Choso Kamo never sounded so rough. SoâŚgone.
Rugged and husky.Â
Heâs peering down at you through his towering height with semi-widened hazel eyes like he couldnât dare look away and oh-
Oh, Choso looked ruined.
Youâre gazing up at him for the first time now - really, really gazing up at him - in all his desperate, clammy glory. Heat sticking to him like a second skin. Mouth parted. Throat parched.Â
His expression was almost dazed, still drinking in the sight of you as if he was just seeing a phantom walk into his bedroom.Â
Chosoâs skin was simmering with a blush that made him look feverish, the cracks between his bangs the only thing revealing his dark, half-lidded stare. Heâd hounded you like a predator closing in on his prey.Â
Ready to pounce.Â
And you gulp, squirming at the scraping itch of his pointed nails. The pads of his fingers plant pressure on your airway as if he didnât want you to even speak, couldnât handle it. âWanna stay, Choââ
Ah, that did it.
Choso had been shivering- shuddering viscerally as he loomed above you, fawny lashes fluttering like he was holding himself painfully back. Away - only to snap the very second his nickname stumbles out of your beautiful, beautiful mouth so that he has to shut you up before you cause any more damage to his sanity.
Whimpering, the bite of his extra-honed canines makes your lips sting. âOh- ngh, slow down-âÂ
âCanât.â
His voice cracks.Â
âF-fuckâŚâ Just the sound of his lilted, crazed bass is enough for your thighs to clamp yearningly together. Chasing just the slightest friction, he sounded so sensual that it made your pussy so-
âOh.â
This time, itâs Choso whoâs breaking off the lurid kiss with a sticky mwah! The syrup of your saliva gluing to his rosy, puckered lips when he lurches his head downwards and sniffs.Â
Right between your legs.Â
Itâs as if he could sense something you couldnât, jaw slowly unhinging further open the wetter you became. Until your inner thighs were sheened with a splotchy puddle of your slick and Choso was drooling.Â
âOh.â Heâs repeating, like a broken record. Itâs just then at the air grows murky, as if your roommate had suddenly emptied out your most favorite syrupy bodyspray then and there. Body twitching, âOh.â
And before you could blink away the haze in your eyes and say something about the glittery sprinkle of spittle travelling down the side of his mouth, Chosoâs powerful knees hit the floor with a booming bang!Â
If he could feel any pain then he doesnât show it, canât even manage to twist his expression into anything but a look of utter fucking hunger. Rabid at the mouth.
âO-oh my god are youâŚâ You had half the mind to push his face back and ask whether he was okay- but the harrowed look in Chosoâs peripheries stopped you. He needed this. And he needed this now.Â
He looked just as surprised as you, almost as if he was in disbelief at the way his trembling fingers were digging into your flimsy skirt. The battle-worn calluses of his fingertips slicing through the cute satin cloth like it was butter, Choso barely even hesitates a second to breathe before heâs stuffing his face into your sopping, clothed pussy.
Nose-deep, and Choso cups the cheeks of your ass to push himself even deeper.Â
Lips meeting puffy, achinâ lips.Â
âH-nghhhââ Dribbles from your mouth stain your lips all dewy wet, and you canât do anything but sift your fingers through Chosoâs auburn locks and pull-Â
âDonât.â
You watch in awe when heâs surging forwards to crush the tip-top of his straight nosebridge into the slope of your pussy. Rubbing lightly against that cute lilâ bow decorating the hemline of your panties, âBut you canât even breathe like that-â
âDonât.â Comes out his growling warning again. Before Chosoâs taking a final deep inhale of your saccharine sweetness- fuck, your tight cunt just smelled so sweet that he can feel his cock jolting already. Gulping back a bucketload of ravenous spit, âDonât.â He doesnât have to breathe.Â
Tone hitched. Tastebuds parched. Itâs the last thing that heâs mutteringââStarvedâŚâ
Before Choso crushes the underside of his tongue past your sodden panties and tastes you- just a singular drop of your syrupy sweet slick, a singular ounce, and you think you may have broken him.
Because his broad back stills, dark eyes widening. And youâre just about to wrench your mouth open in question before heâs back flopping his tongue past your underwear.
Caressing your swollen pussylips with his pointed tip in a French kiss, Choso swats your stupid lilâ panties aside - why did you even need those - to drink you in. To sluuuurp up every given droplet of your dewy wet juices like he was a man starved.Â
And his eyes were still widened, damn near bulging out of his poor sockets once heâs tilting his head sexily to the side nâ flicking your sloppy entrance.Â
Grunting at the slight friction of your cotton panties, âPuh-pussy.â His husky utterance makes your thighs clench- something that Choso can not fucking bear because heâs pushing himself even deeper. Further. âPussy.â
âSh-shitââ Youâd have easily collapsed onto his bedroom floor if it wasnât for the way that one of his roughened palms was cupping your ass to hold you up. Supporting your weight like a feather. âChoso myâŚmy panties.â
And it was true- oh, he didnât give a fuck about those.Â
Letting them skid over his jaw, Chosoâs just barely blinking his glassy eyes down at the now-transparent piece of cloth covering your pussymound like heâd just realized that was still there.Â
Sounding out your cute shriek, âP-pantiesâŚâ Even if he wanted to, it was such torture to even think about pulling away. Still lugging his tastebuds down the glittering crevice of your slit, one of his indexes creeps forward to tease the elastic of your underwear and let it spring back with a resounding snap!
âHey- rude-â
Barely even letting the syllables escape your mouth, Chosoâs lips curl into a feral smirk whilst he nibbles down on the edge of your panties and rip-rip-riiiiips!
All with his canines.
Heâs undressing you like he was unwrapping his next meal - on his knees, eyes boring up at you and- shit. Shit shit shit- itâs just then that youâre hit with the thought that you might not even make it out of this alive.Â
Because within a singular bat of your lashes, Chosoâs bolting up with your pliable body in tow, pushing you onto the nearby bed, throwing your legs wiiide open.
So fast you wonder whether heâd lost control of his powers and somehow teleported - you wouldnât be surprised.Â
Yelping, âOh- what- oh my nghh- Choso!â
âYour p-pussy.â Heâs keening out, dark brows scrunching with aching need whilst youâre barely done bouncing on the bed before heâs smearing your pussylips apart and taking a gooood long look at you.Â
Hypnotic, the plump ends of his lips hover oh-so-close near your slippery slit. And you wonder whether heâs trying to drive you mad by trawling that horizontal shape of his nose tattoo across the top of your cunt. Panting, âMy babyâs pussy.â
The fringe of Chosoâs rovering tongue is so fat, stuffed thickly between your folds so that it felt like your hole was being stretched to the maximum. A low whimper breaks at the back of his throat when heâs feeling the resistance, snarlingââInside. Need- inside.â
âB-butââ And that primal shrill of yours turns into a sob once Chosoâs only keepinâ your thighs pushed further apart. The mountains of his palm bruising five straight lines of his fingers as he gropes on.
âNo- no.â Striking the curve of his chin against your pussy, when Choso was in heat - he was thirsty. Nipping your outer cunt with the edges of his fangs, âLet me. Let me let me let me- oh.â
Push after push, his half-closed eyes are so blurry with lust that your cursed roommate is acting on pure, animalistic instinct. Gnawing on the left of your bloated labia like a gum before he draaaags it backwards and plunges his tongue in deeper.
Choso takes one look at the way your glistening hole was all wet nâ clamping down over nothing before he canât help but hold your folds open whilst he fills you up stupid. âWetâŚsoâŚâ
He canât even finish his sentences - his thoughts, just that drunk on your treacly pussy.
Wailing, âSlow down, Choâ!â Youâre nearly choking on the heady wave of pheromones that gust from down below just at that simple nickname. Tugging on his clammy bangs, âY-youâre gonnaââ
âDonât care.â Heâs groaning out a throaty answer, each syllable punctured with a lick of his textured tongue past your entrance like he didnât even realize he was talking. âDonât care. Donât need to- breathe. Just needâŚâ
And the next thing you hear is the wettest, rawest squeeeelch! emanating into the tense air once Choso snakes his right hand upwards to pluck a ringed finger between your lips.Â
He hisses, fighting with himself for possessive reign over whose lapping up more of your sleek juices. Cheeks hollowed, heâs latching onto your clit and playfully biting as the slimy crown of his digit rovers inside.Â
And the stretch- oh, the fucking stretch had your pupils whirling dizzily inside the whites of your eyes.Â
âSh-shit- w-were your hands always this ngh- big?â
Because, really, Chosoâs hunched-over back only seemed to flex bigger the more heâs tasting you. His fingers longer, pearly whites sharper. Eyes gleamingâ
âBig?â Choso breathes from below you, long lashes shuttering as his eyes widen. Oh, he was just realizing- and that tone did not bode well for your poor, impaling pussy.Â
âB-big.â Because he shifts, he jerks his head just the slightest inch to register his sudden strength nâ size. Before grinningââThen take-â Slurring, your roommate tugs your puffed-up folds just barely enough to the side so that he could slip in the knobbly ends of a second finger. â-take it, my baby.â
Itâs like you were made to take it.Â
Your elastic hole snagging on the ridges of his slender fingers, you throw your head back and moan at the sudden impact of Choso pursing his pretty pink lips and spitting on your pussy.Â
âY-you know what else the head of the Choso clan can control?âÂ
Just about the longest sentence his heat-filled mind has managed so far, heâs snagging the caps of his nail polish-chipped fingertips into the side of your walls and spreeading your cunt apart to let his pearly glob of saliva slither inside.Â
Immediately making you feel hypnotized, making you feel as if you were sweltering.
Oh, shit.Â
The realization makes your head lift off of your dampened pillows- he controls blood andâŚ
He has the audacity to grin when the slimy ribbon of his saliva stirs in circles âround and âround your snug channel. Controlled. Filthy.Â
Watching your every minute squirm with bated breath, Choso nestles that droplet against your tenderest weeping orifices. Shocked. Ready. Like a wolf stumbling upon resh blood heâs breathingââThereâ
Something in him twitches.Â
Something in him awakens, hips grinding against the bed.Â
And then youâre watching Chosoâs nosebridge tattoo deepen, youâre watching him lazily flicker his pinkish tongue over the perked nub of your clit while his fingers were ravaging you from the inside out. He wanted to ruin you.Â
He was whacking his cold metallic rings against the gummy insides of your cunt and hoping that it bruised. Carving a cute lilâ âCâ right at the edge of your g-spot where you needed him the most, his high cheekbones flush. âCan control this. You. Her.â
Quirking the wide end of his index against your sweetest spot, Choso stuffs a third finger and lets all three rounded curves treat your g-spot like a bullseye. Probinâ so deep with their frigid designs into your every nook and cranny, Choso elbows your thighs open once the pressure makes you thrash.
Youâre bucking off of the silken sheets, your slick-plastered thighs smushing each side of his handsome cheeks. âThere- o-ohhh my god k-keep going-â
âTh-there.â Chosoâs smiling. Something feral. âThere- there- there.â Hit after hit, heâs sticking his maw against your slit and makinâ out with your sappy lips with a dopey smile. Unfocused. Throat relaxing to let the miry wads of your sweet, sweet sap flood his tastebuds.
Theyâre damn near sizzling as they stick to your puckering hole as if made of adhesive, slashes of his refined tongue making your cunt sing almost as much as your voice box was. âF-fuck, mânot gonna last, Choââ
Heâd noticed - that sixth, sensual sense of his cursed energy that was making him scour your walls with his curvaceous digits. That primal sense in him.
And thatâs all he needed to hear.
The ringed bands of his rings spanking your g-spot like he was maddened, lips wrapped so hard as he sucks on your throbbing clit that theyâre starting to ache.Â
More.
More more more- he needed fucking more of you before youâre cumming all over his face. And ah- how much more would you drench his snogging mouth when you reach your high?
Choso unfastens his jaw all wiiide and lets your slobbering drags push against his chin. Pushed so nose-deep between your twitching thighs that you can barely even understand him. âCum.â
âPleaseââ Youâre whimpering out shrilly, fucking music in his ears that makes him spread his meaty thighs apart and push his aching erection into the mattress. âChoâ Iâm gonna mmm- mâgonna-â
You donât get to finish your sentence before Chosoâs finishing you off.Â
With a few more vulgar, sloppy strokes that set your teeth on edge. Your roommate doesnât care for any method, he doesnât care for any technique because heâs lavishing his velvety mouth everywhere.Â
From your pulsating clit, to the gasping circle of your entrance, to right past where three of his lengthy fingers were already filling you up because Choso just couldnât get enough. And heâs laying his craned neck out across one of your trembling thighs, mouth burning with the cloying taste of you while you cum and cum harder than any of your toys have ever made you.Â
âI-it feels soâŚâ Words fail you, and your hands stay firmly wrapped through the valleys of his sweaty scalp for dear life. â-so- nghhh- canât even d-do anything.â
It was devastating- your vision splotchy with white, toes curling. And the half-curse was so plowed between your pert pussylips that he couldnât even rear himself back to moan.Â
Letting out each moistened âfuckâ and âohâ into your gushing pussy.Â
Blinded, itâs the only thing he can do to let your rose-shaped insides clench around his dexterous muscle. A sweet lilâ ba-dumpâ! that matched in carnal synchronization with the beat of your rapid heart, and Chosoâs counting about twelve before he finally feels your high bating.Â
âNo.â He grunts out instantly, eyes widening. Panicked. With a grope to the left side of your waist, Choso latches on a death grip and immediately pulls your restless hips back onto his mouth. Lips wobbling, âNo no no no- come back.â
Yelping, âShit mâso- hck! sensitive, Choso.â Even the slightest pinch of his coral pink lips right over your clit left you seeing stars.Â
But he didnât listen.
He didnât care.
Heâs pushinâ his tongue back between your wet slit with a growl and eyeing how it makes you shudder. âCanât-â Laughing - laughing - Choso alternates between bumping his rounded index against your g-spot and stretching out his rubbery tongue to lap at your walls.Â
Smack after smack every time he flaps his lips, all dangling with gleaming streaks of your hot orgasm. Heâs trying to get you to cum once more, but heâs too impatient.Â
Too needy for it that all he can do is slash his tongue across your sweetest spots and watch as it only edges you until youâre all dizzy. Sniffing your pussy like youâre his favorite scent, âCanât fucking stop.â
âWant- ngh! want youââ Youâre keening, pushing on the perspiration-sprayed surface of his forehead to no avail. Choso only manhandles your body to glue his lips to yours even further, âWant your cock.â
âH-huh?â
For the first time, your roommate lifts his head from the sinful heaven between your legs with a loud plop! Itâs the most lecherous noise, and the only thing wetter than that sound was how wet Choso was.
Heâs dripping with syrupy slick from the apples of his high cheekbones down to his sharp jaw, beaded drops of slick hitting your thighs with a pitter-patter. He was flushed. Pheromones burning. Slightly shivering.Â
And it looked like the very second you opened your mouth - not even from the sound of your voice, just the mere notion of it - Chosoâs nose scrunches and he flinches. âWanâ your cockâŚâ
âO-oh.â
Oh.
Oh.
You were done for.Â
You were absolutely and completely done for- because no sooner are the words out of your mouth that your snug pussy walls are left empty nâ hollow. Void of when heâs dragging his fingers back, making sure to leave a rovering little caress as he pulls out with a soppy slurp!
And then heâs slouching over you, heâs bending you.Â
Fully clothed and yet itâs like his heat-melted mind doesnât even register that, Chosoâs holdinâ your dangling ankles spread open while he grinds his swollen, aching cock against your core and groans.Â
âFuck- fuck-âÂ
He was so fucking hard, and your pussy had felt so damn tight around his tongue.Â
Just once. Twice- Choso ruts between your legs like an animal before heâs fumbling for the silvery latch of his belt. Unfreezing, youâre finally helping his dazed fingers through it- whining as you tug on his off-white undershirt, âTake it- off.â
Moaning- he thinks heâs going to die if he doesnât listen to every word you say. âPlease.â
Itâs like each sound of your needy voice only makes his weight cock sag further, so itâs such a relief when heâs shoving the rest of his trousers down and letting his red, bulbous tip swab his abs with a stripe of glittering pre.Â
You only get a flash of Chosoâs cock - rock-fucking-hard, engorged, looking so painful as his lengthy shaft hangs between his pale legs. The mushroomed tip of his cock was burninâ red and weeping, and- was that- a shiny silver piercing right next to his orifice?
 Like a pretty pink lollipop that you wanted to reach out and-
âLater.â
And then heâs pushing in.Â
Then heâs letting his ballooned-up shaft twitch primally at the noise of your sweet, sweet voice, before spreading his meaty thighs and pushing between your tight, glistening cunt.Â
âI know-â Heâs rasping out, two of his veiny forearms planting underneath your legs to lift them bonelessly onto his shoulders. Ankles hitting his back muscles, âI know I know I know- fuck!â
Nearly screaming at the way your cozy hole was just too small for his pierced tip, resisting the way Choso fits the very reddened point of his cock between your folds and pushes and pushes. Ruts. âO-oh my goddd- nghhh- sâsooo bigggâ!â
But your adorable huffing and puffing was only making every ounce of blood pound to his aching cock and make it even bigger.Â
Tightly pushing against the rubbery outer edge of your pussy, your pussylips get smeared apart sooo fucking widely by his rigid circumference.Â
And no matter how much youâre thrashing and mewling, Choso only tugs apart your cunt with a thumbing of his ringed digit. Deeper, fitting just an inch.Â
He gasps- he whines. Just so desperate, and youâre hypnotized by both that ecstatic look on his face to the sweetened, humid atmosphere.Â
âCho! O-oh my god sânot gonna mmm- fit-â
âNo.â Choso repeats it like a mantra, and heâs begging with those hooded chestnut eyes of his. Probing your gaze with his dilated pupils, heels digging into your rickety mattress, the head of his swollen shaft squeezed where he was bullying inside. âNo no no no- hafta take it. You need to, my baby.â
Long lashes shuttering, you swear you see Chosoâs eyeliner run with tears when he makes your pussy gulp down a single solid few inches.Â
His cock so fucking big that just this slightest swallowed measurement made you feel a round bruise at your throat, your mouth overflooding with heated saliva. âNeed to take it inside just-â
Babbling, Choso glues his clammy palms upon either side of your birthing hips and bends you in half.Â
All the way until the globes of your ass nearly werenât touching the bed, all the way until heâs pressuring you with the weight of his muscular body and holding you still whilst you take him in deeper.Â
In a mating press.
And give him an inch, heâll take a mile.Â
âFuh-fuuuuck!â Because Choso was thrusting, not even waiting - he couldnât. Your gooey pussy was just so soft and warm around his barreling girth that it was driving him wild. âYouâre just sooooââ
âInside. Inside.â
âWhat if I canât fit-â
âIâll make it fit.â
Heâs holding onto your mounds of flesh like it would stop him from losing control, thighs shivering at his inner quads once heâs punishing your squelching cunt with half-ruts. Bucks. Humps like an animal all just to fit and fit his swollen, red cock inside.Â
Eyes dazed, mouth slack.Â
Chosoâs already drilling into you, whacking your bubblegum insides with everything he could fit.Â
From the geysering divot homed on the middle of his tip to just where one of his prominent veins was tickling your outer folds. His Prince Albertâs was so cold where heâs slimy mazing along your textured walls, âTight-â He dares to let one of his hands caress your tummy, pushing down to feel himself. âFucking tight.â
Struggling, and so when Chosoâs finally tugging further on your dewy slick cunt to sheath in more more more- all he can do is stutter his breath to a labored hold and cum. Just by bottoming out.
Your eyes widen, âDid you just-â
âI-inside.â Choso croaks out, strained. Raw groans hatching, he presses down on your body with his toned upper strength and keeps you there as heâs pumping you full.Â
Itâs so much of his thick, ribbony white sap splashing âround that youâre wondering whether your puffy hole was flooding already.Â
Not that Choso would ever let you- no, his familiar ringed thumb spanks down on your slit and makes sure that not even one ivory drop leaks out.Â
Driving and driving every vein-covered inch in half-thrusts that leave your knees weak, âInside.â Heâs panting like he was feverish, brown irises murky. So hot inside of you with all his syrup, heâd just bottomed out and he was still planting his feet flat on the bedsprings to maze his glistening cock further.Â
Octaves higher, cracked. Heâs in disbelief when heâs sliding his globular piercing in a straight line down your cervix, âInside.â
âMhmmmâ all inside, Choso.â Youâre managing to strangle out, your twitchy fingertips reaching up to push away a few strands of his soft bangs from his sweaty forehead. âAll better now?â
Youâve no idea what had gotten into him today, but anything to help your hot half-curse roommate-
âAll better?â
Itâs posed as a question, but Choso wasnât looking for an answer.
Heâs poring down at you with bulging eyeballs, gaze smudged with eyeliner. âAllâŚbetter?â Before letting out a sudden, strained bark of laughter.Â
And before you know it, Chosoâs curling the tips of his fingers around your throat and grabbing you to halt in your journey to squirm away. Squealing, you let yourself be dragged down to hit his hard pelvis with a spank.
Leaning down, down, down every inch that heâs closing in the scorching distance between you two made your cum-glazed pussy let off a talkative slurp! âAll better.âÂ
âWh- oh!â
He doesnât let you speak.
He doesnât even let you breathe before ramming into you with all the vein-patterned, roaming length of his girth. âAll better?â Choso echoes breathlessly, âYou- think- Iâm all better?â
As you whine, the headlock of his palm tugs your lolling scalp forwards to stare back up at him. Holding the deepest, most lecherous eye contact with you as he sliiiides his zig-zagging veins against the roof of your pussy.Â
Spit flying, Choso crashes his maw into your open mouth. âDo I look fucking better?â
Oh.
Thatâs when it finally hits you- that short, hastened paragraph youâd skimmed over in your book on cursed - Choso was in heat.
âP-please!â It was almost comical the way he had you mewling all stupidly on his cock, your heart-eyed pupils swirlinâ inside of your eyes with each poke into the bottom of your pussy. His stout, frigidly pierced tip furiously thumping away, âFeels so good, Cho- can feel you all the way ngh- here.â
And he was not letting you go.Â
Choso looked like he was losing his sanity when youâre mindlessly tracing a hand up the valley of your tits, touching your throat.Â
âTh-there, huh?â He questions, dryly. With a final swab of his bulging length where you were most sensitive, heâs suckinâ on your quivering lower lip with a hum. âYou know I ngh- respect you, right, my baby? Riiightâ?â
Confused, youâre noddingââYes?â
âGood.â
Because Choso wasnât going to fuck you like it.
Heâs departing his hoarse breath in gusts, letting out a barely-audible littleââFlowing Red Scale: Stack.â
The jujutsu technique to increase speed. Endurance.Â
Before the air around the two of you tightens with electricity, with every atom around the two of you coating with a layer of cursed energy. Something so rabid and desperate that seeps through Chosoâs body like he almost wasnât in control, coating the ends of his upright erection when heâs bucking.Â
âThere-â The rounded circle of his piercing is plowing you open like a searchlight, mazing your velvety walls in a lilâ zig-zag. The underside of his shaft sticks to you like a second skin, striking your g-spot dead on. â-there.â
Rovering his hand right on top of the sultry rounded bulge he was pounding away into you, âMâhere.â
He was there right inside of you and he was everywhere.Â
Weighing in on the splotch of your nerved walls, pushing away the creamy white layer of seed on top of your lips so that he could see himself being sucked in even deeper. âMe me me me-â
âO-oh please!â You scream out in time with the creaking racket of your aged bedcoils, it was making the most protesting noises as he bucks his hips deeper. Hands clawing across his deltoidsâhis chilling piercing whacks your g-spot and you can only reach for the wooden headboard with a babble.Â
âNo- no no come back-â Chosoâs free hand creeps from your cute tummy bulge to claw at your scalp, pushing you down. Pulling you all the way down, âNo running.â
No running.
Again and again and again.
Chosoâs got a hold on your head, a knee trapping your thigh. Pinning you down so that he can smack his tensed core down on your front and leave your heated flesh stinging.Â
âNo running no running no- hah! Youâre gonna be mine, my babyââ Angrily, he swats your partly-opened lips with a great dollop of spit, feeling the sultry trickle swirl itâs way circlinâ your mouth.Â
The entrapping hand on your head tightens like a vice and you squeak something unintelligible, something that makes his pinkish cockhead swerve and his body heave with a great, visceral shudder.Â
âWhat was- hah- what was that, my baby?â
âCh-Chosoâ!â Comes out your shrilling calls, âMore.â
And he almost stops. He almost freezesââWhat?â
âMore!â
âM-more?â Choso can only repeat through a harrowed gasp, letting his heavy, hard cock slide niiiice and easy between your legs. Echoing, âMore.â And itâs like heâs agonizingly fucking you slow nâ steady- hard and rough.Â
Alternating, itâs hard to keep himself in check.
Hard to even force himself into a constant sloppy cadence when youâre looking up at him like that.
Begging for him, your mouth unfastens open at the way Chosoâs pretty hazel eyes only seem to glowâŚanimalistically. A cursed, powerful tinge taking over his gaze, claws sharpening, body bulging with even more sexy muscles as if that was possible.Â
He was almost transforming in front of your very eyes and the only thing you can do is throw your oversaturated head back and take it.Â
âMore.â
Choso whacks his bulbous, cold Prince Albertâs against the side of your g-spot and hopes that pretty area of your cunt remembers it. Bruising you.Â
Your thighs on his shoulders, his dick shoveling into tender orifices inside of you that no oneâs ever reached before. Your cute roommateâs damn near laughing himself hoarse whilst moaning away that singular syllable youâd uttered out. âMore- more. What the fuck- more.â
âFuckââ Your doughy heels dig in eagerly where his back muscles were rippling, lungs filling with all his heated scent. âMâgettinâ so ngh- sensitive, Cho.â
But itâs not like he could hear you.
Choso Kamo knew your lips were moving, but he was too deeply-stuffed inside your dripping wet cunt to even pretend to listen. All he could think as he shuffles all his fat, roaming inches inside, creaming out a generous helping of buttery pre, was that he wanted to make your gorgeous mouth fall into an oh! of pleasure.
Fuck, talking- heâs fucking you like heâs trying to make sure that you couldnât.
Merciless thrust after thrust, the power clinging onto the air around you two was becoming stifling.
âMoreâ Choso utters, two of his ringed fingers skimming your bulged folds open and kissinâ your clit with a sweet hello. âMore.â Before pinching, harder. Sloppier. His bulbously swollen red erection stirs your insides like heâs trying to melt his body onto yours, âTight lilâ hole canât g-get enough of me- she wants more-â
Oh.
Ohâ
You werenât the only one caught off guard by just how ragged Choso was becoming - just how ragged his ruthless hips were becoming. Because with only one, two, three precise glides of his rotund cockhead stirrinâ your g-spot, your poor pussy is bullied into a second orgasm.Â
You see white.Â
Surprised. Hitting you like four semi-trucks, all you can do is gnaw your lolling maw down on the tempting curve of his shoulder and cum.
âO-oh, my baby.â Choso whispers out from above, gasping once heâs registering your high. Your bite- marking him up in a way that makes his cursed heat flare.Â
Cumming.
Cumming and cumming so hard that your roommateâs feeling his heavy breeder balls drain with each sploshing wire of sap being pumped into you.Â
You hear him grunt over nâ over through your popped eardrums, âMy baby-â Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! goes the slap of his cum-glazed balls digging into the backs of your ass. And you swear you feel his frigid piercing draw out a loooong âCâ on your sponged cervix, âMy baby my baby my baby- alllâŚâ
Dazed, youâre watching when his ringed hand lets go of your head to caress your tummy bulge. Now only inflated further with his knotted wads of cum, â-here.â
OhâŚ
He didnât just mean that you were his baby- he meant that he was going to fuck a baby into you.
And thatâs exactly how heâs milking you through your high, letting the sparks of your bliss overtake you as his driveling cock fucks away lazily. Sensually rubbinâ the curve of his piercing over your g-spot to overstimulate you.Â
âNever f-felt this good, Choâ!â Your criss-crossed eyes scrunch with a few warm tears, feeling the gooey puddle of white stagnant below you.
He reels his plump girth back just the slightest smidge and watches as a torrent of sap splashes out wetly.Â
Choso only grins, âSâmy first time-â Planting a lingering smooch over your gaped lips. âMy first kiss. My firstâŚâ
And absolutely nothing - nothing - couldâve prepared you for the word that attaches to the tail-end of his groaned sentence.Â
â-mate.â
His only mate. His one and only.Â
And he was groping the underside of your ass cheeks to make sure that his loving mate wasnât squirming away. Getting a good handhold for your pretty, pliant body to be held up and dragged backwards.Â
Choso wasnât in the right headspace to even pretend he was pushinâ you into a cute mating pressing right now.
Only melting the ridges of each chiseled ab into your front, glissading easily with the sheen of his perspiration.
Choso creeps his bruised, red lips right up to your ear.Â
âAnd mânot letting you walk out of this hah- bed not pregnant.â As if struck by the sudden thought, he rolls his sloppy cock between your saturated pussylips once more and grunts. Dark eyes sliiiding backwards, brows scrunching with need. âA-actually- mânot letting you walk at all.â
Gasping, âNot walking- th-that meansâŚâ
Itâs all you can get out before the cursed energy sticking to your bodies heightens twofold.Â
And Choso gets harder. Chosoâs pushing you down.
Choso cups your spilling pussy to smear apart your bloated folds, slimily weaving his rounded mushroom tip to circle back to your entrance and pushâ
âMore.âÂ
Your tongue feels sticky with all the pheromones of his saccharine heat, âM-more?âÂ
âGonna fuck you more.â Seemingly able to utter more than just three words now, âFill you up more.â Shaking - both his voice and his thighs pushing you into missionary now. âGet- get you pregnant more.â
Blood manipulation to make his prolonged, split-ended shaft harder. Reverse cursed technique to make sure you two don't break bones.Â
But neither of you can stop the way his creaking bed frame shatters.
And Choso doesnât care- his knee hikes further to keep your legs open. Fist pumping the fattened excess of his ravaged cock furiously to pump nâ pump himself to a merciless hardness. Heâs hissing as his cursed energy forces every ounce of blood in his sparking mind to rush to his plummy, weeping crown.Â
âI-is this even safe, Choâ?â Youâre whining, trying to nudge yourself to some sort of rationality before Choso completely ruined you all over again.Â
âSafe? Safe?â Heâs giggling out, hissing between your parted lips. âWho knowsâŚ?â
The last thing youâre managing to hear before his slender hips snap forwards and meet your pussylips with a tender few strings of even more cum. Pouring out a thick paste that damn near covers the slope of your cunt an opaque ivory, âI donât know- I have no idea- a-all mâgonna do sâfuck youââ
Just at that moment your pussy lets out a sappy few squelches as he shovels inside and Chosoâs nodding.
âY-yeeees, my baby.â Slobber trickles down either side of his lips and marks him all glittering, the round orb of his piercing cleaning off your pussy of seed. âAll pregnant. A-all mine. All pregnant.â
Chosoâs still so damn big- growing even bigger thanks to his jujutsu that every rummaging inch makes him slick your skin with cum. Creaming you. Milking himself.Â
Bulging cock so layered with jujutsu that it almost zaps the inside of your silky smooth cunt like a vibrator to have him pummeling you deeply.
The more heâs pounding away like heâs crazed, the more and more he does become crazed. Rasping tone breathless, gone. âYes- yes yes yes thaâs right-â Heâs sounding out, trekking a hand down to thumb over your jiggling cum-inflated tummy bulge. âPregnant. Pregnant pregnant- pregnantââ
âS-slow down Cho, or mâgonnaângh! again.â You wail, hips bucking up shallowly - just about all you can manage right now, but the mere idea has Choso breathing all labored.Â
Hands twisting on the lecherous nub of your clit, âYeah- yeahhh, mamaâs gotta cum.â Heâs reciting off- it wasnât just the heat, it was some second primal nature that made him want to make that drenched pussy of yours squeeze his cock to death.
And fuck, was that instinct strong.Â
Because Chosoâs hitting your deep cunt with gushing whacks, angling his pelvis just right to curl the left-leaning spheroid of his cockhead against your g-spot and-
âCum- cum. Cum.â
When you do, itâs in carnal unison with him. For the nth time this night.
So hard that the two of you can only throw your heads back and moanâ
Long, stringy ribbons of sap entering your filthy hole right in time with each peak of your high. You count one, two, three- four.Â
âCumâing.â Your voice cracks, eyes rolling. Nails clawing fresh crimson marks down his pale shoulder blades, ones that the man himself smells and drools at. Yeah- all he wanted in his heated haze was for you to ruin him. âChoso- oh.âÂ
âSâmy name- whatâs this say?â
You yelp, feeling him guide his pierced cocktip to swab your most tender orifices. Grunting- âTell me. Spell.â
That fucking animal inside of his cursed body was makinâ him tease your bruised and battered cervix with an outlined âCâ, then an âHâ, and then an âOâ-âSâ -âOâ.
C-H-O-S-O
C-H-O-S-O
C-H-O-S-O
You think you might be cumming again, you think you might be grinding your hips back down without even thinking to help him spell out his name. âChoso- Choso! Choâ!â Mindlessly whining and whining that very word whilst your orgasm hits you like a freight train.Â
And Choso knew it was coming- oh, he saw.Â
The lecherous part of his cursed technique growing in tune with your body enough that heâs sensing the waves of your impending bliss, and gifing your pussy with a rigid thrash against your g-spot that leaves you squirting.Â
Dampened, streaming gushes of sap coat Chosoâs shaft, and itâs a damn miracle that heâs able to stop himself from pulling out right now just to taste the wetness of your dewy soft walls as you ride him through your high. His own orgasm nothing more than numerous dry spurts of white liquid when heâs fucking you even sloppier.Â
Still fucking you when heâs muttering the incantation underneath his breath for his blood manipulation technique sugring down to his fattening girth. Overstimulated. Overworked.Â
Gasping, something wet hits your shoulder and it takes you every shred of will in your body to wrench your teary lashes open and look. Only to realize that Choso Kamo was crying.
Whimpering, sucking himself dry on you.Â
You didnât know who was more drunken as heâs lazily dragging his veiny cock along your channel in a third- fourth? round. âI finally have- have you in my ngh- bed and-â Toying the flared edge of his mushroom tip right where your g-spot was, back nâ forth, back nâ forth. He makes you squeeze down on the rounded swelling at his hilt, â-you think mâletting you go that easy?â
Teeth on edge, bangs sweat-stuck, eyeliner running.
Heavy balls tightening.
Before you can even register it, Choso has you face-planted into the pillows - his hand at the base of your arched spine, cock taking you from behind, foot firmly seated on top of your head.Â
And heâs collapsing his body down onto yours and pushing, pushing, pushing.Â
So hard that you think you hear a faint pop!
âN-no breaking bonesâŚâ Comes out his throaty tut, followed by the cool breeze of even more reverse cursed energy bleeding into your bones. The expanse of his heated skin buzzing with electricity, he almost made you bolt to the touch.
And suddenly this mean position on all fours doesnât feel so bad anymore-
Finishing off, âNeed the f-future mother of my kids safe.â You can only drench his silky pink pillowcase with pure saliva and tears, whimpering when he dabs a finger over a dribbling wad of cum thatâd started to spray from your folds.Â
Delicately massaging over your overstimulated slope, Choso brings his glazed fingertip over to stick to the ring finger on your left hand and draw. A cute lilâ wedding band.Â
âAâŚproposal?â Youâre questioning, head cocked where youâre all laid out prettily on top of the cushy surface.Â
And maybe itâs by the fourth round when the two of you can barely even speak, and the massage of his soaked chocolate happy trail had started irritating the cheeks of your ass. Maybe itâs by the fifth when itâs barely even fucking and more so Choso making sure that his high leaves him dry, nothing but a pearly droplet of seed escaping his strawberry divot before heâs pinning you down to the mattress.Â
Maybe itâs by the sixth when heâs laying you side by side and gluing his slobbery mouth against yours while his raw, red cock lazily gyrates inside of your sensitive walls.Â
Plugged up with a swollen girth homed at the base of his red shaft that youâre slowly realizing is his wide knot so that all he can do is swirl nâ fill each slick, creamy crevice. Not having the strength to thrust even with his use of reverse cursed energy.Â
âYouâre mine now.â Itâs the last thing you hear as the two of you are on the precipice of passing out. Your bed shattered. Your apartment lights charred with the overuse of jujutsu.
Sending out a wave of cursed energy strong enough that itâs a wonder sorcerers arenât knocking down your door - and yet, Choso still wouldnât be able to stop his hips.Â
His sharp canines sink into the sweaty crook of your neck, much like yours had on his all those hours and hours ago. Yet, something about his bite feltâŚanimalistically permanent.Â
Like his infamously venomous technique was flowing through you and marking you. Though, you barely even feel the sting with his reverse cursed technique- not out of his control.
Through a crack of your tear-dewed eyelids, youâre taking in with awe at the way that your dear half-curse roommateâs nosebridge tattoo only grows wider. Stronger. Suddenly matching with a new one thatâd started to formulate at the base of his soft, mahogany happy trail - like an incubus tattoo.
He was all yours now.Â
Length throbbing harder as his tastebuds sizzle with your crimson, âForever.â Choso takes oooone good look at you with loving, heart-shaped eyes. And you wonder whether his heat was finally, finally-
Before heâs inhaling your saccharine sweet scent, and you watch in real time as Chosoâs molten peripherals dilate. Wide. Panting. Cock twitching. âO-oh, my baby, think mâgettingâŚhard again.â
A/N. Mwahaha summer is coming up so I simply had to.
a/n: this was technically a request, but I've had this WIP planned since I started the anime, so thank you @icedlemonlatte for giving me an excuse to write it!<3
Words: 4.5k
CW: Jinshi x Fem!Reader - Minors DNI - (reader insert but written with some of Maomao's personality and background in mind) Aphrodisiacs, sub!jinshi, praise kink, mouth spitting, dry humping, unprotected sex
--
âMaster Jinshi requests your presence.â Gaoshunâs calm voice captures your attention. He's standing in the doorway with his usual stance, arms folded and back straight, but there was a minute anxiety in his brow you had almost written off as a trick of the flickering candlelight. A weary sigh leaves your lips while lifting a hand to pinch at the stress pulsing deep in your sinuses. A needy one, Master Jinshi was. Always nipping at your heels when he wasnât charming the court ladies.Â
âWhat does he need now? Iâve had a long day.â
âI understand.â Gaoshun bows to signal his apologies at the intrusion so late into the night. âBut you see, Master Jinshi is unwell, and wellâŚâ A bead of sweat rolls over his temple while ruminating which words to use since the current situation required the utmost care of confidentiality for a man of his stature, but the growing silence only annoys you further. Youâve become well accustomed to Master Gaoshun and have therefore chosen to abandon decorum.
âPlease, just spit it out.â
Master Gaoshunâs back stands at attention. âItâs an emergency. Iâm unsure howâ uh, long he will last through the night. We need our apothecary.â
Gaoshuns buttering did convince you, just a little, since he always treated you with respect as if you werenât of inferior birthâ someone as lowly as a simple maid-turned-apothecary in the Rear Court, but you also knew that it would be easier to see Master Jinshi and corral him back into place so you may finally get a moment's reprieve. So, with reluctance, you agree. Before you know it, a carriage brings you to Master Jinshis home within the Inner Palace.Â
In hindsight, you should have been suspicious with the way you were rushed out of the carriage and ushered inside. It would have been an even greater sign to be wary of the way Suiren was seemingly absent, since she was an omnipresent force within his home. And more than that, the quickened apology muttered from Gaoshun before he scurried off should of been the biggest waving red flag of them all, but your habit of ignoring warnings and cautions in favor of the ânot my businessâ attitude you so stubbornly held onto had you staring at the large doubles doors in front of you with nary an alarm bell.
âAlrightâŚâ You mutter with a deep sigh to collect yourself before pushing the heavy doors open, revealing⌠nothing.
Suspicious eyes flit around the room, toeing past the threshold with cautious steps. Thereâs a tangible shift in the atmosphere that youâre not exactly too eager to place, but it feels heavy, thick with an unnamed feeling that clings to your back and crawls up your neck. The sound of hushed whimpers alert you, shifting yourself to look at the large wooden canopy bed. Thereâs a nagging voice echoing in your head to turn around, to pretend you didnât hear anything and inform Gaoshun that Master Jinshi wasnât on premises and go about your night to save yourself the headache⌠Although, if you didnât do your due diligence as a newly-appointed apothecary for someone as important as Master Jinshi, it could result in never having a headache again⌠because it could very well be detached from your body. A puff of annoyed air leaves your lungs as you turn around to peek past the wooden walls to investigate.
The sight that greets you was one you shouldnât have seen. Master Jinshi was halfway disrobed, sweaty, and flushed. His broad chest, usually hidden away by layers of fine robing, was on display, glistening with a sheer gleam of sweat, and his chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace. His hair, which was normally pulled back into a neat silken half bun, was now spilling over the pillows in dismay while the shorter plum colored silk strands clung to his forehead. Was it poison? What poisons had this sort of effect? It was apparent his heart rate was elevated, and while he showed signs of labored breathing, he had no indication of nausea, sunken skink, orâ
âA-apothecaryââ Jinshiâs strained voice broke through the whirlwind of thoughts. âYou need⌠you need to leave at onceââ
He immediately shifts his body and coils away from you. Itâs curious how the muscles in his back flex and bow, heâs extremely well built for a eunuch. In fact, now that you think about it. There were many curious things about him that didnât quite fit for a typical eunuch, perhaps you shouldnât delve too far into that. So you will thought away by shaking your head, focusing more on the task at hand. Your knee comes up to climb into the large bedded space, but as if Jinshi is hyper-aware of his surroundings, he flinches and curls further into his defensive fetal position.
âI said go away! Please.â A pregnant pause fills the enclosed oaken space. â...For your safety. Please, just take your leave.â He sounds like heâs on the verge of tears, whatever illness had befallen him must have been serious.Â
There was a sliver of concern that started creeping into your bones and settling into your lip, subconsciously you took the soft flesh of your bottom lip in between your teeth, gnawing idly to soothe your worry and focus on whittling down any remedies he may need. With a hesitant hand, you bring it forward to attempt to soothe him, but a speed at which he turns over and clasps it with urgency startles you. Somehow, in the blink of an eye he was looming above, you could feel your quickened pulse under his strong fingertips.
âI donât know if I could hold myself back any longer.â Jinshi brings your palm to rest onto his cheek, his shoulders rise with the deep breath he takes and leans into the touch. His skin is hot, burning even. And you saw a flash of his eyes, even if they were hidden coyly underneath the long lashes that kissed the apples of his cheeks; his pupils were blown wide, a void of hunger that overtook and swallowed aubergine irises until they were all but a sliver. Everything began adding up, quick calculations of everything that transpired in the past few minutes pointed to the worst case scenario:
Master Jinshi was under the effects of an aphrodisiacâ a powerful one at that.Â
But that begged a question: Could eunuchs be subject to aphrodisiacs? It was a peculiar situation; the effects hadnât really been studied before, and since they were missing the main component of sex, it now opened a floodgate that poured in a hundred new questions of how sex and attractionâ the very human component of it, actually worked. Did it reside in the brain? Hormones? And even so, how would a eunuch satisfy the desire? With missing parts, would they simply whither and succumb to it? What could possibly be the cure?
What fortuitous opportunity for research, you thinkâ
âApothecary.âÂ
You jump at his strained voice. Shit. You had gotten too caught up in treating him like a lab rat, and you were here to do a job, although the nature of his situation changed everything. There wasnât a cure-all for aphrodisiacs, at least one hasnât been discovered yet.
Jinshi collapses onto your torso and wraps his arms around your waist, tightening his arms and locking you into a vice grip, like he was holding onto the last thread of self control. He buries his face into the crook of your neck and mutters something.
â...Whatâs that?âÂ
âI said,â Jinshi angles his face so his lips are unobstructed. âYou always look at me like Iâm some little bug.âÂ
Whoops. Were you really so awful at managing your expressions? You remember when Gaoshun had a little talk about it with you, you had really thought you got better about it.
âI like it.â He admits while his back rolls upwards.
Okayâ you think, while attempting to writhe out of his grasp. Heâs been handy before, but this has been quite enough intimate proximity to him to last a lifetime.
âAlright Master Jinââ Youâre interrupted by his heavy body weight pressing further into your lungs, the dead weight pinned your limbs into the firm mattress below.Â
âPlease.â He begs.Â
You continue trying to writhe out of his grasp while he keeps whispering apologies into your chest, but making no move to rectify himself. Itâs as if his body is moving on his own; as if he knows what heâs doing is wrong and wishes he could control himself. In the struggle, limbs are lost in the fight for dominance, he apologizes when he catches your wrists and pins them down, using his leg to press in between your own to pin you down, and in that struggle you feel something hard and decently sized pressing against your core.Â
âWh-â
âI-Iâm sorry!â Jinshi is panicked. Salt brine spills from over his lashes as he buries his face further into you ashamed. âI- I never meant⌠for you to find out this way.â
Time suspends momentarily, and suddenly every spare and seemingly out of place puzzle piece falls into place. Have you really been so blind? No, you were willfully ignorant and you knew it, but now that the truth was so blatantly in your face, or rather pressed in between your thighs. The once silent alarm bells begin to ring, just a little too late. Just how the hell is he allowed into the Rear Palace? And just who is Master Jinshi? The nature of his identity didnât open a jar of worms, it dug out the entire garden and plucked every unsavory bug from the soil and thrust it into the burning sunlight.
Jinshi knew he fucked up, he knew you were tasked with making the high-ranking concubine Gyokyu aphrodisiacs for her little visit with the emperor. His mischievous nature would always be the end of him, giving nary a thought as he plucked a small treat from the bag before they were delivered. He had severely underestimated how powerful they would be, all he wanted was to feel a little needy and send for you. He had no ill intentions, he simply wanted to capture your attention since it was so hard to come by. Every lady in court ould fawn over him, but never you. Not the Apothecary who would cast a venomous glance toward him, it sent a shiver down his spine. He just wanted an excuse to see it again, and his wish was granted tenfold.Â
His body wracked with need, the room boiled, his heart begged for freedom, beating wildly against its cage. Panic flooded his nervous system, freezing ice crystals spreading down his veins as time passed. Stupid, stupidâ he repeats the scalding mantra to himself. He could feel his control slipping away with each passing second, and he was terrified what would happen when he saw you. And when he finally did, his limbs became their own, reaching for solace despite his mind screaming for mercy.
It was tortuous to be held prisoner within his own body. Every nerve under his skin was a blazing torch alight with urgency. And now you were pressed against him, your scent dancing around his nose, your heat blanketing him while he feels your heartbeat against his own in rhythm. He knew then, he would throw everything away just to have a taste, he would do so gladly even if it meant living a life without you.
âPlease. Just for tonight. Just this once.â His plea was a hushed whisper against your skin.
This wasnât normal for him, you think back to his usual fleeting and aloof demeanor around the palace walls, there was no sign of this in sight. He was stripped bare and flayed to the bone in his most vulnerable state. It twisted something in you, whether it was pity or affectionâ you decided not to place. But who were you to deny him? You were brought here to take care of him after all. And while your chastity was intact, you were no stranger to sex and intimacy, growing up around a brothel. All your sisters were well known and highly sought after courtesans, and they taught you all the tricks and trades of the career despite being younger. It came with the times and life you were born into, even though you preferred to have your nose buried in research books and poisonous herbs rather than a man's pelvis. Still, you knew a thing or two to satiate him.Â
So, after a not so careful consideration, you supply your answer:
âAlright.â
Heâs on you in an instant, his weight pressing you further into the mattress as his lips press against your neck in urgency. Whatever gratitudes that spilled from his lips were lost against the surface of your skin, and as much as you didnât care for his antics you would be hard pressed to say you werenât enjoying his praise and the way he crumbled against you. It felt good. Living a simple life while watching luxury and power from a far distance was the normal, but to taste a sample of it being reversed into your favor prickled your skin in a delightful way, it stoked your ego as bellow against a roaring hearth would ignite the white hot coals. While the iron was hot you struck, hooking your leg around his hip and using momentum to your advantage, Jinshi whimpers as heâs pinned against the mattress. You bring your knee to rest in between his thighs and press into his bulge, your hands grip his wrists at the side of his head.Â
âYou want it so bad, then stay still and be good.âÂ
Jinshiâs fingers twitch, feeling the tendons beneath his wrist fex under your finger tips and he moans. His hips involuntarily roll as they search for relief, which is quickly chastised by the way you press your knee further into his crotch.Â
âWhat did I just say?â You ask with a little venom behind your inquisition, as if you were scolding a petulant child.Â
âStay- stay still andâŚâ He moves his face away and stares at the wall in shame. âAnd be good.â
âThat's right, so you do have a brain underneath all that silky hair. Thatâs good.â Perhaps you were being a little harsh as you lifted your robes and climbed into his lap, but he did always seem to have a knack for being told what to do, even if he pretended otherwise.Â
With your robes pooled around your hips you settle onto his pelvis, feeling the way his length twitched under your heat. Damn, if that doesnât feel kind of goodâŚ
Your eyes fall closed for a moment as you breathe slowly, collecting yourself and recalling the advice your sisters had given so long ago before lifting your hips and pressing, dragging your clothed core against his hard length. And then again, again, the motions soon coming as naturally as the seas waves against shore. Jinshiâs hands fly and make a landing onto your hips, his fingertips making divots into your flesh with the strength of his grip to ground himself.Â
âY-yes, please, m-more, please.â His warm breath fans against your chest as your chest lowers, anchoring yourself with a palm splayed next to his hand on the mattress. âFeels so good.â Jinshi continues to babble in a sweaty haze, his praises while welcome, were a bit foreign and overloaded your brain. Between him and the thick atmosphere in the room you began to feel dizzy as well, frustrated at feeling like you were losing a little bit of control. You snatch your hair ribbon and let the loose strands fall free as you quickly loop it around the back of his head and tie a neat little bow in between his lips. Cute.Â
You lean back to appreciate your work, it wasnât like anyone was around to see you gawk anyway. But damn, his flushed skin and soft hair spilling over the pillows and the way his brows scrunched in pleasure was a sight to behold. One that would start wars, even. Intrigued eyes rake down his form, landing on his broad chest that was still partially hidden by his robes, and slowly, you bring your palms to feel his breathing, noticing the way he flinches and whimpers under your touch. The way his chest shakes with ragged breaths as you spread your palms away and push the remaining fabric to undress him makes you grin deviously before raking your nails back across and taking his blushed nipples in between your fingertips to pinch and roll them in tandem.Â
âHnnnggg!â Jinshiâs cry is muffled by the fabric taken between his teeth, his hips buck hard enough to feel the blunt head of his cock press into your clit and now youâre the one that has to bite back a sound.Â
Jinshiâs fingertips dig deeper into your hips, and with another whine there's a wordless question reflected in his watery eyes and worried brow. Heâs begging, pleading, to feel all of you against him. You tsk at his beseeching but nevertheless raise your hips up to undress, nearly snorting at the eager squeal that leaves his throat.
The thing about Jinshi was that he seemed easy to read. A flirtatious, aloof, eunuch that enjoyed his charm and had a distaste for serious work. Oftentimes you could find him in tow with Gaoshun walking around the rear palace, leaving the various ladies fawning and fainting behind the long amethyst hair that trailed behind him. It was easy to be irritated by such a man, one who was of higher birth than yourself, but as you spent more time with him, the facade had slowly cracked away. Granted, his boastful and carefree outlook still made your skin crawl, but you canât help but recall times where you spent time together and you got to know him deeper, and start to piece together his true nature. Even if you spackled and patched the wall that crumbled day by day, it was still easy to see that at the core of it all, the two of you were basically the same; trying to find your place in the world, and if allowed, to find a sliver of peace in it.Â
And right now, the way heâs been looking at you feels as if you were the very oasis at the end of a long and jaded journey. Itâs just the effects of the aphrodisiac, you barter, attempting to talk yourself down from the ledge of such dangerous thoughts. But then you recall the same look from past times, on the road with him, late at night when you crossed paths and no one was around. A soft, comforting thumb touches your cheek, dispelling the cloud of thoughts swirling above, itâs Jinshi, reaching out with a question in his gaze. Itâs warm, comforting, as if heâs asking if everything is alright, as if he needs to know if you want this as much as he does.Â
A smile graces your lips, one youâre unaware is displayed. You lean down to untie the ribbon, perhaps itâs an olive branch, perhaps itâs pity. You don't dwell on it.Â
âYou want to feel good?â You begin to lower yourself onto his hard cock, wincing at the pressure as you sink deeper. Soothing circles are rubbed into your side, momentarily distracting you from the stretch that began to sting at the intrusion.Â
Jinshi himself is holding himself together at the seams, biting his lip so his fingers wouldn't bruise you. His eyes roll into the abc of his head in bliss while he mutters âyes, please, please.â
Your back arches, head falling back and taking a breath, eyes falling closed while you center yourself and adjust to his size. What a sight to behold from below, Jinshi himself feels like heâs died and seen the afterlife. The way your breasts sit on your chest, the curves and lines of your arms that anchor yourself as youâre sheathed on him, like youâre one soul melding together. Heâs dreamed of this often, and if itâs another dream he hopes heâll never wake up.Â
âThen make me feel good, then you can kiss me.â
Leaning over to trace the curve of his jaw, your fingers make way to thread themselves into his hair, wrapping the fine silk around your fingertips until they hit his scalp. His mouth falls open silently before finally moaning when you give him a firm tug while rolling your hips, riding him until tears prick the corners of his eyes. It feels divine.
âOpen your mouth.â Your demand is firm, but soothed by a gentle thumb tracing his bottom lip, and he complies eagerly. You lean in close, just a breadth above his lips, and let a long trail of spit fall into his mouth, and he bucks his hips and swallows it greedily, groaning at the sweet taste.Â
âGood boy.â Your praise ignites him further, he plants his heels into the mattress to raise his hips and meet your rhythm to hit your sweet spot.Â
The resolve you held began to slip away with each thrust, your nails dug further into him and broke his skin, as if you were trying to hold onto the control you felt slipping away.
âFuck.â
He swears he could almost blow his entire load right there on the spot, watching you begin to come undone onto him, heâs the one making you feel this good, and the way your walls are squeezing him tight has him begging for mercy, but he wants nothing more than to seize the opportunity youâve graced him with. He would let his body break apart and put himself back together once more to hear you scream his name.Â
Blissful moans filled the enclosed space until the last drops of candlelight burned and spilled hot wax over the table. Limbs tangled with silk sheets as your heartbeats synched while your bodies writhed against each other, with only the salt of sweat and musk of sex filling your senses. When you finally screamed his name and collapsed on him he gave mercy, just for a beat.Â
âYou said I could kiss you if I made you feel goodâŚâ Jinshi mutters in between your breasts while pressing saccharine sweet kisses to your skin. All you can provide is a weary nod in agreement.Â
His frame cages you underneath him, his back arched as he leans closer to brush his nose with yours, while the warmth from his palm sears into your thigh. His fingers are splayed wide to claim as much of your flesh as they can, running them underside your thigh to guide it up and secure it over his hip, effectively pressing himself deeper into you. Heâs lost in you; your touch, your scent, the sound of your breath.
âLike this?â He whispers above your lips, giving a firm squeeze to your thigh while pressing his cock harder so his pelvis brushes your clit. He makes no further move, but observes with a watchful gaze as your lips fall open and eyes flutter. God, does he want to do it again, to burn the image of your delirium into his eyelids so he could see it every moment his eyes were closed.Â
Your hands roam the expanse of his back, it was a useless attempt to gain your bearings in the thick blanket of bliss that suffocated the both of you, and when he whispered gentle questions begging for an answer, you looked into his lidded gaze and muttered a pleading âyes.â
That single word was all he needed before his lips crashed into yours, tongue darting out to drag against your lips begging for permission to part them and take you whole. You can feel his arms release your limbs and wrap underneath your shoulder to pull you close, feeling the breath knocked from your lungs as he lets his full body weight collapse onto you while his hips begin to piston desperately and chase his second high.Â
Every part of Jinshi is melting into you, youâre surrounded by the storm of his need and all you can do is surrender. And you know what? It felt divine. Your entire life was set by the pace of caution, to always look over your shoulder and take care of yourself, you had spent the night desperately clinging to your control, and now that the threads that bound yourself to such responsibility were snapped and fell past your limbs it felt like you were able to take flight. His lips kissed every inch they could find, his hands caressed every dip and curve as if he wanted to memorize every freckle and bone, and honeyed words of devotion spilled from his lips until they coated your body in sickly sweet tar.Â
Praise left your throat before you could catch the words; butterflies that had flown free from itâs net:
âSo good, Master Jinshi. So, so good.âÂ
The words trailed fire along his back, standing every hair at attention; your attention, and his rhythm faltered, becoming sloppy and desperate to bring you both to the mountain's edge. A sharp pain resounds from your neck and travels down your spine before pooling into your abdomen and sloshing into pleasure. The source was his teeth, clamping onto your pulse point while he continued pistoning his cock against the spongy spot nestled into your core. He was dangerously close, only using the feeling of your pussy clenching around him to hold out strong and push himself to the end to take you with him.Â
He brings a hand around the small of your back to angle your hips upwards, allowing the new angle to grind against your clit with his thrusting in a last ditch effort to hasten your peak. And with each movement, the coil wound tight in your belly snaps; blinding white light fills your vision as the free fall begins. Pleasure rips from your throats in perfect cadence to one another as the pace slows with the shared decent, shaking limbs and lips dance with each other as Jinshi gives one, two, three last hard thrusts, cherishing the little squeaks that beg mercy before he rolls over and pulls you into his side.Â
He presses one last kiss into your hairline.
âI said just for tonight, but the sun hasnât risen yet. So you have to stay with me tonight.â
His arms tighten around you in possession, although his words carry a bite that matches his usual demeanor, there's a tone hidden underneath that begs a question, a plea. He didnât want to let you go just yet. And instead of questioning the implications, you simply let sleep sprinkle its sand into your eyes, and feel his breath against your own. Whatever came with the sun would be dealt with then.