Marcy

The room was stifling, smelling like a trash fire and old habits. Jeff stood there, his face twisted in that typical look of pure annoyance as he shoved his greasy black hair out of his eyes.

"Don't lie to me," he growled, the words coming out like a threat. "Who the fuck were you wearing those for?" He stepped into her space, his height looming over her. "Was it Toby? Was it because that motherfucker gave you a second of attention?"

y/n didn't back down. She stepped into his room, the smell of rot and stale cigarettes hitting her like a wall. "Does it even matter, Jeff?" she taunted, her jaw tight. "I wasn't wearing them for you, asshole. You’re the last person I’d dress up for."

Jeff’s eyes went dark. In a blur of movement, he lunged, his hand slamming around her throat and pinning her against the wall. y/n didn't just take it. She snarled, her hands flying up to his chest. Her nails dug deep into his skin, dragging down and leaving bright, burning red scratches across his chest.

"You're pathetic," y/n choked out, her pulse racing under his thumb.

"I'm pathetic?" Jeff hissed, leaning in so close she could feel the heat off him. "Just because I hate your guts doesn't mean I'm gonna let everyone in this house eye-fuck you. You're mine to hate, no one else's."

He shoved her onto the bed, the mattress spring groaning. y/n tried to scramble back, but he was on top of her in a second, pinning her wrists over her head. She kneed him hard in the ribs, but Jeff barely flinched, his weight crushing her down.

"If you think you're gonna fuck me, think again," y/n spat, thrashing under him.

"You think I’d want to fuck you?" He laughed, a dry, jagged sound, as he pulled a knife from under the mattress. The steel was cold against her skin. "I'm just taking what doesn't belong to you anymore."

He used the tip of the blade to hook the first strap of her dress, snapping it easily. y/n sucked in a sharp breath. Jeff sat back on his haunches, his eyes scanning her body with a look that was pure venom. He sliced the second strap and then ran the blade down the middle of the dress. "Flimsy little thing. Piece of garbage, just like you."

He pulled one of her legs over his shoulder, his face brushing against the silk of her thigh-highs. The knife point pressed into her stomach, dragging a thin, stinging line just above her panties. y/n watched, her breathing heavy, as he leaned down and slowly licked the blood off her skin.

"Jeff," y/n gasped, her hand breaking free and grabbing a handful of his hair, tensing.

"What? Afraid you're actually liking this?" he murmured, nipping at the waistband of her underwear. "You say you hate me, but you're fucking soaked." He grabbed the handle of the knife, shoving the hard pommel against her through the lace and rubbing it firmly. "Isn't that right? Tell me you fucking hate me, y/n. Say it while you're shaking for me."

"I hate you," she hissed, her back arching despite herself. "I fucking hate you."

"Good," he whispered. "Keep saying it."

Jeff didn't even flinch at the raw, stinging scratches y/n had ripped into his chest. If anything, the sight of his own blood smeared against her fingernails made his grin widen, turning into something jagged and manic. He looked like he was vibrating under his own skin, fueled by pure, unadulterated spite.

"You like marking me up, don't you?" he hissed, his voice dropping into a raspy, glottal growl. "Keep that same energy when I'm done with you."

He didn't hesitate. He hooked the serrated edge of the blade into the waistband of y/n’s panties. With one violent, fluid jerk, the lace shrieked as it parted, the cold steel grazing her hip just enough to leave a ghostly white line blood beading before the fabric was tossed aside like trash. y/n bucked her hips, her heels slamming into the mattress as she tried to shove him off, but he was a dead weight, pinning her down with a inhumane strength.

"Stop struggling," he commanded, his eyes blown wide, the pupils swallowing the iris. "You’re pathetic when you fight back like this."

Before she could spit another insult, Jeff dropped his head between her legs. There was nothing sensual about it; it was a territorial, aggressive assault. He used his tongue with a punishing, rhythmic force that made y/n’s hands fly to the headboard, her knuckles turning white as she tried to find some kind of leverage.

"Jeff—stop—" she choked out, her voice breaking. Her fingers tangled in his oily, black hair, meant to shove him away, but her grip only tightened, pulling him harder against her.

"Make me," he mumbled against her skin, his breath a feverish heat. He looked up at her for a split second, no emotion behind his hallowed eyes "You claim to loathe my existence, but you’re falling apart under me. You’re a fucking hypocrite, y/n."

He didn't give her a second to breathe. He sat back on his haunches, flipping the knife in his grip with a practiced, familiar twitch of his wrist. He grabbed the blade itself, his palm bleeding slightly as he ignored the edge, and positioned the heavy, freezing pommel of the handle right at her entrance.

"You want to keep playing the victim?" Jeff challenged, his voice thick with a, jagged pride. "Let's see how much you hate this."

He shoved the handle inside her in one blunt, invasive motion. y/n let out a sharp, strangled gasp, her back arching violently off the bed as the unyielding metal stretched her. It was cold, mechanical, and utterly wrong—a harsh contrast to the heat of his body. Jeff began to pump the handle in and out with a ruthless, jarring rhythm that made the old bedframe scream.

"Tell me again," Jeff hissed, leaning over so his face was inches from hers, his sweat dripping onto her collarbone. "Tell me how much you fucking despise me while I’m fucking you with this."

y/n’s eyes were glassy, her breathing coming in ragged, shallow bursts that sounded like sobbing. "I... I fucking hate you," she grounded out through gritted teeth, even as her body betrayed her, her hips stuttering upward to meet the cold steel. "I hate every goddamn inch of you, Jeff.”

The bonfire in the backyard crackled loud, smoke twisting into the black canopy of trees. String lights hung from the branches, gold against the dark, swaying in the night breeze. They were Sally and Jane’s touch—“to make it warm and welcoming,” like this house needed anything of the sort.

The vodka burned going down, but Liu needed it to burn. Beer wouldn’t cut through the noise in his head. He gripped the bottle tight, knuckles white, jaw set as he stared from the porch.

Jeff.

Jeff and (y/n).

Her laugh caught on the firelight, warm in a way Liu hadn’t seen in months. Jeff’s hand was at her ribs, slow, deliberate, his thumb dragging over the fabric of her shirt like he owned her. She flinched, barely, and leaned in closer.

“That should be you,” Sully’s voice snarled in the hollow of Liu’s skull. “She was yours first. He stole her. He always steals.”

Liu dragged another drink, though it did nothing to drown out the truth in Sully’s words. Jeff had taken everything. He’d taken their childhood, his safety, his life in pieces. He’d almost taken Liu’s life.

And now—this.

Jeff’s mouth lowered to (y/n)’s neck. Her shoulders stiffened at the touch, but she didn’t stop him. His lips moved slow, deliberate, painting ownership down the curve of her skin in front of everyone.

The bottle slipped from Liu’s hand.

It thudded into the grass, forgotten. His feet carried him forward, uneven, stumbling—but heavy with something that wasn’t just the vodka. Sully hummed vicious satisfaction.

“Let me. Let me crush his fucking throat. Let me put him down.”

Liu pushed the voice away and kept moving.

Jeff noticed him only when his shadow blocked the firelight. His mouth left her skin, his head lifting with that smug, poisonous grin.

“Problem, brother?”

Liu didn’t answer. His body did. His hands clamped around Jeff’s throat, squeezing tight enough to feel the pulse hammer against his palms. He drove him back off the log, into the dirt, knees pinning Jeff down.

Jeff’s eyes went wide, lips parting in a wheeze. His nails raked at Liu’s skin.

“Kill him. Kill him now.” Sully’s voice was thunder.

“Get the fuck—off—me!” Jeff snarled, thrashing, his hand darting for his pocket.

The knife flashed silver in the firelight, but Liu’s elbow knocked it away before steel could kiss his ribs. It clattered to the dirt.

Liu’s grip tightened. Jeff’s face mottled red. His lips peeled back in an ugly grin even as he choked.

Then his fist cracked against Liu’s jaw. Another followed. Liu’s head whipped sideways, blood flooding his mouth. The world spun, but he refused to let go.

“Mine!” Jeff roared, each word punctuated with another brutal punch.

(y/n) screamed his name. She grabbed at Jeff’s arm, tugging, but Jeff swung her off like she was nothing. She hit the log, toppled over it, skin tearing as she caught herself.

The sight split Liu’s vision with rage. He surged, but Jeff’s fists beat him down again, hammering into his face until sparks burst white behind his eyes.

It took Toby and Masky to tear Jeff off him, dragging him back as he fought to lunge again, spit flying from his mouth. Liu lay sprawled in the dirt, chest heaving, face a bloody ruin. His nose was crooked. His brow split wide. Blood poured hot and sticky down his chin.

Jeff spat at him, lip curled. “Pathetic.” Then his eyes slid to (y/n). “We’re leaving.”

But she didn’t move.

Her teeth caught her lip, trembling. Her eyes flicked to Liu, broken on the ground. Jeff’s glare darkened.

When she didn’t rise, he shoved past Toby, storming into the trees with his fists still bloody.

Silence. Just the crackle of fire. Just the stars overhead.

Then—her hands. Soft at his shoulders, sliding under him, coaxing him upright.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Her voice cracked between anger and fear.

Liu smiled despite the blood in his teeth. The liquor dulled everything, except the warmth of her touch. He let himself sag into her, his arm heavy across her waist. “You chose me.”

She didn’t answer, not with words. Just bore his weight, step by stumbling step, toward the mansion.

The staircase loomed. “One step at a time,” she muttered, her shoulder under his chest, steady when he wasn’t.

By the time they reached his room, he collapsed onto the mattress, shirt riding up, jeans low on his hips. He sprawled there, wrecked, but his eyes never left her.

She fetched the gauze, the thread, the bottle of rubbing alcohol. Her hands shook.

“Move over,” she said softly. He didn’t.

She leaned close, her knees brushing the bedframe. His hand found her thigh, fingers curling. He rubbed circles into the denim without thinking, like his body knew hers before his head could catch up.

The alcohol pad burned. He hissed, but never looked away.

“You’ll need stitches.” Her voice was careful, clinical, but her hands faltered when his eyes lingered too long.

“You’re beautiful,” he rasped.

Her brow furrowed. “You’re drunk. And bleeding.” She threaded the needle, lips tight. “Stop talking.”

“I was thinking…” His words slurred as his fingers crept higher, tracing the slope of her ribs. “…why does he get to touch you here?”

“Liu.” Her voice cracked. She caught his wrist, shoved it down. “Because me and Jeff—”

“He doesn’t deserve you.”

The needle pierced skin. His breath caught, but he kept staring. She worked slow, trembling, trying to focus.

“I think I’ve loved you since you walked into this house,” he whispered. “Since the first laugh I heard from you. Since the first time you looked at me and didn’t see a monster.” His thumb lifted her chin, gentle against the bruise swelling his knuckle.

“I’ll wait. But I can’t promise I won’t hurt him if he touches you like that again.”

Her lips parted, breath shaky. “I’m with him.”

He pushed himself upright, face inches from hers, pain forgotten. Her hands fisted his shirt. His fingers tangled in her hair, dragging her forward. His mouth crashed onto hers.

For a heartbeat she froze, eyes wide. His lips were hot, bloody, desperate. The taste of vodka and iron filled her mouth. His teeth tugged at her bottom lip, begging entry.

Her brain screamed to pull back. But her body betrayed her. Her lips parted. His tongue slid against hers, clumsy and drunk, but hungry. He groaned into her mouth, dragging her flush to him.

His hands wandered—waist, ribs, jaw—possessive, frantic. His lips trailed down her cheek, teeth grazing skin. “Do you like me gentle?” he breathed into her ear. His thumb brushed her throat. “Or rough, like him?”

His hand closed around her neck, just enough to make her gasp.

“N-no…” she stuttered, breathless.

“No?” His forehead pressed against hers, their breaths mingling. “Admit it. You want this as much as I do.”

His mouth marked her throat, sucking bruises deep into her skin. She gasped, a broken sound, caught between fear and want. Her hands pressed to his chest—but not hard enough to push him away.

Then silence.

Her breathing ragged, his lips swollen, their faces inches apart.

Her eyes shifted, the gold flecks catching the lamplight. But the heat in them drained. Regret pooled there, cold and heavy.

She pulled back, just enough. Her lips were red from his kiss, her skin marked where his teeth had been. She stared at him like he’d taken something she couldn’t get back.

And Liu—he saw it. Even drunk, even hazy—he saw the look.

The gas station's fluorescent lights buzzed like angry wasps, casting everything in that weird, sickly glow that made even normal things look wrong. Jeff needed cigarettes and booze - simple enough errands if you weren't plastered across every police station's wall. That's where (Y/N) came in handy.

He hung back, watching her between the aisles of chips and energy drinks. Fucking Mountain Dew - how many flavors did one drink need? The light above him flickered, and he tugged his hood lower, keeping his face in shadow. Can't be too careful, even in this middle-of-nowhere shithole.

(Y/N) moved toward the liquor section, and Jeff's eyes followed. She reached for the vodka, and he couldn't help but notice how her shirt rode up, showing a slice of skin above her waistband. The store's bell jingled, breaking his concentration.

Two drunk idiots stumbled in, laughing too loud for the empty store.

Their boots squeaked against the dirty floor as they made their way to the beer cooler. One of them - tall, wearing a stained trucker cap - brushed past (Y/N).

"Well damn, look what we got here," Trucker Cap slurred, his eyes running over her like oil. His hand shot out, making contact. "Ain't you just the prettiest thing?"

"Get your fucking hands off me," (Y/N) snapped, jerking away. Her voice was steady, but Jeff saw the flash of fear in her eyes.

Trucker Cap moved closer, backing her against the cooler. His breath reeked of cheap beer and cheaper cigarettes. "Come on, baby. Got a nice truck outside-"

Jeff moved before he could finish. His fingers wrapped around Trucker Cap's wrist, squeezing until he felt bones grind together. The drunk's face went white.

"You just made the biggest mistake of your life," Jeff whispered, voice low enough that only Trucker Cap could hear the promise in it. He twisted, and the drunk screamed as something popped in his wrist.

Jeff slammed him into the beer cooler. Bottles rattled like teeth. The drunk's friend had already bolted, the bell jingling his escape.

His hand found (Y/N)'s lower back, pulling her against him. She fit perfectly there, like she was made for it. His lips brushed her ear as he growled, "Take the vodka. We're leaving."

He guided her out, past the terrified cashier who suddenly found the floor fascinating. The night air hit them like a slap, carrying the smell of gasoline and upcoming rain.

The bathroom door creaked when Jeff shoved it open. Graffiti covered the walls, years of crude drawings and desperate messages. A single bulb swung overhead, throwing weird shadows across the cracked tiles.

"Jeff, he was just some drunk asshole," (Y/N) said, her voice bouncing off the grimy walls. "It wasn't-"

He spun her around, one hand tangling in her hair as he pressed her against the mirror. His knife appeared in his other hand, catching the swinging light. Her breath hitched when the cool metal traced her jaw.

"You think I care what he was?" Jeff's voice was dangerously soft. His lips found her neck, and she shivered. "You think being drunk makes it okay?"

His free hand gripped her hip, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. The knife traveled down her throat, not breaking skin but promising it could. (Y/N) couldn't look away from their reflection - her wide eyes, his dangerous smile.

"I'm going to find him," Jeff whispered against her skin. "Going to make him wish he never learned how to walk." His teeth grazed her pulse point, and she gasped. "Because you're mine, (Y/N). Nobody touches what's mine."

She could feel his heart hammering against her back, matching her own wild rhythm. His grip tightened possessively as he pressed closer, the knife never stopping its deadly dance across her skin.

"When I find him," he continued, voice rough with promise, "I'm going to take my time. Make it slow. Make it hurt." His lips brushed her ear. "And then I'm going to come back to you, and show you exactly who you belong to."

Thunder rolled in the distance, like the sky itself was responding to his threats. The bathroom's single bulb swung lazily overhead, making shadows dance across their faces in the mirror. (Y/N) watched as Jeff's eyes met hers in the reflection, dark and hungry and full of violent promises.

His knife traced back up to her throat, gentle enough not to cut but firm enough to remind her it was there. "Tell me who you belong to," he demanded, voice barely above a whisper.

"You," she breathed, the word fogging the mirror.

Glass shattered against the wall as Jane hurled another empty bottle in frustration. The sound echoed through her room like a gunshot, matching the thunder in her veins.

"Where the fuck is it?" she snarled, upending an entire drawer onto the floor. Makeup scattered like shrapnel, but her prized black lipstick was nowhere to be found. "I swear to god, when I find out who—" She stopped, nostrils flaring as she caught a familiar scent. Her scent.

The door clicked open.

"Don't you fucking dare," Jane warned, not bothering to turn around. She knew that presence, could feel those eyes on her back like a physical touch.

(y/n) stepped in anyway, boots crunching over broken glass. "Redecorating?"

"Get out before I make you regret having legs," Jane growled, finally turning to face her roommate.

The sight made her blood boil. There, on (y/n)'s perfect lips, was the unmistakable shade of her black lipstick.

"Make me," (y/n) purred, leaning against the doorframe with deliberate insolence.

Jane crossed the room in three swift strides, pinning (y/n) against the wall with an arm across her chest.

"You've got exactly five seconds to explain why you're wearing my lipstick before I remind you who runs this show."

"Maybe I just wanted to look pretty for you," (y/n) teased, not even trying to hide her smirk.

"Four seconds." Jane's rings caught the light as she flexed her fingers.

"You know black's my color too—"(y/n)'s breath hitched as Jane pressed closer, the leather of her jacket creaking.

"Three." The floorboards groaned beneath them as Jane shifted her weight.

"—and you never share—" (y/n)'s back arched slightly off the wall, her shirt riding up to reveal a strip of skin.

"Two." Jane's free hand traced down (y/n)'s side, making her shiver.

"What happens at zero?" (y/n)'s whisper was almost lost beneath the patter of rain against their window.

"One." Jane's hand found her pocket, retrieving the stolen lipstick. The metal tube was still warm from (y/n)'s body heat. "You little thief," she breathed, pressing closer. "Did you really think you could take what's mine without consequences?"

(y/n) tilted her chin up defiantly, the motion causing her silver necklace to catch the light."Maybe I wanted the consequences."

"Oh, sweetheart," Jane laughed darkly, the sound echoing off the room's exposed brick wall. Her rings scraped against the wallpaper as she leaned in closer. "You have no idea what you're asking for." She grabbed (y/n)'s jaw with one hand, thumb pressing against those black-stained lips. The lipstick had been applied messily, like (y/n) had done it in a hurry. "Look at the mess you've made. Black really isn't your shade."

"Seems to work just fine on you," (y/n) managed, breath hitching as Jane's grip tightened. (Y/n) hands found purchase on Jane's leather jacket, fingers curling into the worn material.

Jane released her suddenly, stepping back. The floorboards creaked beneath her heels as she moved, the sound sharp in the tension-filled air "Wipe it off."

"What?" (y/n) remained against the wall, looking deliciously disheveled.

"The lipstick. Take it off. Now." Jane's voice carried an edge that made (y/n) shiver.

"Make me."

The challenge hung in the air for exactly one heartbeat before Jane surged forward, crushing their bodies together. The impact sent a framed poster rattling against the wall as she grabbed a handful of (y/n)'s hair, yanking her head back. "You really want to play this game?"

"Already winning," (y/n) gasped, eyes gleaming with defiance.

Jane spun them around, marching (y/n) backward until her legs hit the vanity. Makeup clattered to the floor as Jane lifted her onto the surface. "Let's see how smart that mouth is when I'm done with it."

She uncapped the lipstick with her teeth, never breaking eye contact. "Hold. Still."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll make you." Jane traced the black stick across (y/n)'s lips with excruciating slowness. "See? Much better when you behave."

(y/n)'s hand shot up, deliberately smearing the fresh application across Jane's mask. "Oops."

"You're really pushing it," Jane growled, grabbing both of (y/n)'s wrists and pinning them above her head.

"Maybe that's the point," (y/n) breathed, arching up against her.

Jane's free hand yanked her own mask up just enough to expose her lips. "Last chance to back down."

"I never back down."

"Your funeral." Jane crashed their lips together, claiming (y/n)'s mouth with bruising force. She bit down on her lower lip, drawing a whimper that sent electricity down her spine.

(y/n) wrapped her legs around Jane's waist, pulling her closer. "Is this supposed to be punishment?"

Jane broke the kiss, leaving them both gasping. "Oh, baby," she purred, trailing black-stained lips down (y/n)'s neck, "we haven't even started the punishment yet."

"Promise?" (y/n) challenged, voice breaking as Jane's teeth found her pulse point.

"Shut up," Jane commanded, releasing (y/n)'s wrists to grab her hips instead. "You've done enough talking for one day."

"Make me."

Jane's laugh was dark velvet against (y/n)'s skin. "That's exactly what I intend to do."

The night had left Jack ravenous, but not just for food. Three days of hunting had ended in a messy chase—his prey proving more trouble than they were worth. His three tongues, each with a mind of their own, writhed restlessly behind his teeth as he finally made his way home, his combat boots heavy on the wooden floors. The scent of (y/n) hit him before he even reached their bedroom—sweet, intoxicating, alive.

His heightened senses picked up every detail of her: the soft whisper of her breath, the subtle shift of fabric as she moved in her sleep, the thundering drumbeat of her heart that called to him. The blue mask that concealed his face felt suffocating now, trapping his desire behind its cool surface. He removed it slowly, fingers trailing over the familiar contours before setting it on the nightstand.

"You smell like blood," (y/n) murmured, her voice thick with sleep but tinged with something darker. The sound sent shivers down his spine.

"Messy eat," he growled, his dirty brown hair falling forward as he stripped off his grey sweater. The fabric caught briefly on his scarred skin before dropping to the floor beside his boots. His grey jeans followed, leaving him in just his boxers as he crawled into bed.

(y/n)'s breath hitched as his cool skin met hers. "Missed you," she whispered, pressing back against him. The contact made all three of his tongues press against his teeth, desperate to taste her.

"Dangerous," he warned, but his arms were already wrapping around her waist, pulling her flush against him. One hand splayed across her stomach, the other gripping her hip with barely contained need. "Shouldn't tempt me when I'm hungry." He kissed her jaw

(Y/n) laughed softly, the sound making his grip tighten. "Maybe I like dangerous."

Morning came too soon, but (y/n) had plans of her own. She studied Jack's sleeping form—the way his lips parted slightly, revealing hints of his extraordinary anatomy, the scars that mapped stories across his skin. With deliberate care, she decorated his mask with lipstick kisses, each one a promise of what was to come.

When Jack woke, the house was alive with knowing snickers. Jeff's mocking tone, Jane's attempted warning, but it was (y/n)'s heartbeat that caught his attention—faster than usual, excited.

"Made you coffee," she said innocently, but her pulse betrayed her mischief.

The kitchen air was thick with tension as Sally's giggling revealed the prank. “Why is there kisses on his mask!” Sally howled with laughter.

Jack's fingers found the lipstick marks, and something stirred inside him. He moved through the kitchen with predatory grace, his blindness forgotten as he tracked (y/n) by sound and scent.

The whipped cream was cold in his hand as he sprayed it across her neck, her shriek of surprise mixing with breathless laughter. But Jack wasn't laughing as he cornered her against the counter, his body caging her in.

"Playing games, little one?" His voice was rough, dangerous. He lifted his mask just enough to expose his mouth, all three tongues emerging to taste the air between them. The first tongue traced her jaw, the second followed the line of whipped cream down her neck, and the third flicked teasingly against her pulse point.

(y/n)'s hands fisted in his grey sweater, her body trembling. "Jack," she gasped, the sound nearly his undoing.

"You marked my mask," he growled against her skin, each tongue leaving its own wet trail. "Marked what's mine." His hands gripped the counter on either side of her, the wood creaking under his strength. "Should show you what real marking feels like."

Sally's rapid retreat went unnoticed as Jack's tongues worked in tandem, tasting, teasing, claiming. (y/n)'s heart raced beneath his ministrations, her body arching into his touch.

"Next time," he promised darkly, one tongue flicking out to catch a drop of whipped cream at her collarbone, "I won't just be late." Another tongue traced the shell of her ear as he whispered, "I'll take my time devouring every..." The third tongue dragged slowly up her throat. "Single..." His teeth grazed her pulse point. "Inch."

(Y/N) had been meaning to show Clockwork the lip gloss for a while now. It had been sitting in her pocket since she nicked it from the corner store—a sticky-sweet reminder of her impatience. But between Clockwork's constant fixing and tinkering around the mansion, (Y/N) hadn’t found the right moment—until now.

From the porch, (Y/N) watched Clockwork under the car, her legs stretched out, grease smudging the worn denim of her jeans.

The white tank top clung to her back, stained with oil, and the way her hands moved—precise, confident—left (Y/N) a little mesmerized. The creeper squeaked when Clockwork shifted, her toned arms flexing as she twisted a wrench. (Y/N) couldn’t help but smirk, biting her lip before finally deciding to make her move.

(Y/N) approached quietly, the gravel crunching under her boots, and stopped just behind Clockwork's legs. She straddled her, one knee on either side of her hips. At first, Clockwork startled, pushing herself out from under the car with a quick shove, wrench gripped like a weapon.

When she realized it was (Y/N), her tense expression softened, and a crooked smile tugged at her lips.

“Well, look who decided to interrupt,” she grunted, eyes flicking up at (Y/N) through her messy hair. Grease smeared her cheek, and there was a streak along the side of her neck. She didn’t seem to notice, too busy letting her hands slide up (Y/N)'s thighs, the calloused tips of her fingers brushing over (Y/N)'s bare skin and leaving dark smudges behind.

“I’m trying to work, trouble,” she murmured, but her hands tightened on (Y/N)’s belt loops, tugging her closer until (Y/N)'s hips pressed against her stomach.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but grin, feeling a bit bolder than usual. She let her hands trail from Clockwork’s shoulders down her arms, tracing the veins on her forearms, still warm from the effort. Her fingers came away a little greasy, but she didn’t care. She twirled one of Clockwork’s curls around her finger, brushing it off her forehead.

“I found a new lip gloss,” (Y/N) said, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“Supposedly, it tastes like cotton candy.”

Clockwork hummed, the sound deep and approving. “That so?” One of her hands abandoned (Y/N)'s belt loop to skim up her side, sliding under the hem of (Y/N)'s shirt. The warmth of her palm on (Y/N)'s skin made her shiver. “Then let me taste.”

(Y/N) leaned down slowly, a little unsure, but when Clockwork’s hands guided her, their lips met. At first, it was just a brush—soft and hesitant. Clockwork tilted her head, and her mouth moved against (Y/N)’s with a bit more confidence. Her tongue traced (Y/N)'s bottom lip before she nipped at it, catching the faint taste of sugar.

(Y/N) couldn’t help the small gasp that slipped out, and Clockwork took advantage, kissing her deeper.

Clockwork’s lips were slightly chapped but warm, tasting like cigarettes and engine oil, mixing with the artificial sweetness of the gloss. Her other hand left (Y/N)'s hip to cup the back of (Y/N)’s neck, holding her there as she kissed her harder, like she was trying to drown herself in the taste.

When (Y/N) finally pulled back, her lips were tingling, their breaths mingling between them. Clockwork swiped her thumb over the corner of (Y/N)’s mouth, smearing some of the gloss across her cheek with a smirk. “Think I need more than that,” she murmured, dragging her thumb down to (Y/N)’s chin.

(Y/N) didn’t have time to respond before Clockwork tugged her down again, lips parting eagerly. This time, Clockwork’s hands roamed, fingertips grazing (Y/N)’s ribs, tracing her spine. (Y/N)’s own hands slid up into Clockwork’s hair, tugging just enough to make her groan into the kiss. (Y/N) could feel the grease on Clockwork’s skin, smearing as she dragged her closer, and the roughness of Clockwork’s hands made her pulse race.

Clockwork’s lips left (Y/N)’s for a moment, kissing the corner of her mouth before moving to her jaw, biting down lightly. “You taste good,” she muttered, and there was a slight awkwardness in her tone, like she was trying too hard to sound cool. It made (Y/N) laugh, and Clockwork huffed, nudging (Y/N)’s thigh with hers.

“Shut up,” Clockwork grumbled, but the way she kissed (Y/N) after was rougher, more determined, as if trying to distract (Y/N) from the flush creeping up her neck. (Y/N) let her, melting against her touch, fingers curling tighter in her hair as Clockwork’s mouth moved over hers with renewed intensity.

Toby was out in the backyard, the rhythmic sound of wood splitting filling the warm, sunlit air. His shirt was long gone, tossed aside earlier as the work became more taxing, leaving his toned chest bare and glistening with sweat. Each powerful swing of the hatchet made his muscles ripple under his flushed skin, his cargo pants hanging low on his hips, just barely clinging as he worked. The sunlight caught on the droplets running down his torso, tracing the curve of his abs and vanishing into the waistband.

He let out a grunt, pausing for a moment to catch his breath, his chest heaving. As he steadied himself, (y/n) approached from behind, unable to resist the sight in front of her. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she pressed her face against the warm, damp skin of his back, inhaling his earthy, slightly smoky scent. Toby didn’t startle—just grunted softly, acknowledging her presence, and drove the hatchet into the stump to free his hands.

He felt (y/n)’s lips against his back—soft, almost testing—before they pressed against his ribs. A shiver rolled through his body despite the heat. Confused, Toby furrowed his brow, cracking his neck as he tried to make sense of the sudden affection. A flicker of red caught his attention. “W-what are you d-doing?” he muttered, his voice rough and unsteady, another tick making him jerk his shoulder.

He glanced down at her lips, noticing the smudged crimson, and his pulse quickened. “A-are you b-bleeding?” he stammered, concern slipping into his tone.

(y/n) pulled back just enough for him to see the lipstick smeared across her mouth. Toby swallowed hard, his throat tightening as his eyes traced the color staining her skin. He licked his bottom lip absentmindedly, his gloved hand moving on its own to touch her mouth. “W-what’s that?” he whispered, voice dropping, his thumb dragging across her lower lip. (y/n) kissed his thumb, a playful gleam in her eyes, and guided his hand to her waist.

“Do you like it?” she asked in a low, sultry voice, leaning closer.

Toby’s breath hitched, his hands instinctively tightening on her hips, gloved fingers pressing into her curves. Her lips brushed his neck, slow and purposeful, tracing the vein that throbbed just beneath his skin. His heart pounded like a war drum, and his fingers twitched against her waist, another tick slipping past his control. “F-fuck,” he whispered, his head falling back as she kissed up the column of his throat.

His hips jerked forward as her lips continued to explore, pressing heated kisses down his chest, over the faint line of hair trailing from his navel to his waistband. He was barely holding on, his body betraying him with shivers and involuntary tics. His hands slid up into her hair, rough and eager, and a guttural noise left his throat. “B-baby... a-anyone could s-see us,” he mumbled, but his words lacked conviction, especially when his hips bucked toward her again, seeking friction.

(y/n) just smiled, trailing her hands down his sides, nails scraping lightly over his damp skin. Toby grunted, his face burning, trying to bite back a moan as her lips followed the path down his stomach. His chest was now covered in smeared lipstick marks—evidence of how thoroughly she was claiming him. Toby couldn’t help the way his hands gripped her hair tighter, his knees almost buckling as she kissed just above his waistband.

A sharp intake of breath escaped him, and he pulled her back, the intensity overwhelming, his eyes dark with frustration and need. “I-I swear, if you keep that up...” he growled, words cut off by a stuttered moan as she nipped at his hip bone. He couldn’t look at her without his pulse racing, couldn’t think straight with how hot his skin felt.

When she finally drew back, he glanced down at the faded lipstick on his chest, disappointment flickering in his gaze. “D-do you have more of that?” he asked, his voice rough with lingering desire.

(y/n) smirked and pulled the lipstick from her bra, holding it up to his flushed face. The way she looked at him—so smug and knowing—had his stomach tightening, his hands itching to drag her back and make her finish what she started.

The summer night wrapped around Jeff like a second skin as he slouched on the back porch, cigarette dangling from his lips. Shadows danced across his features, broken only by the glowing ember that brightened with each deep drag. His body radiated tension.

(Y/n) approached silently, drawn to him like a moth to flame. The wooden boards creaked beneath her feet, matching the thunder of her heartbeat. His foot tapped an impatient rhythm against the steps, the only sign he'd noticed her presence.

"I'm not in the fucking mood, (y/n)." His voice came out rough, sending shivers down her spine.

Instead of backing away, she leaned down, her breath ghosting across his face as she plucked the cigarette from his lips. Their eyes locked as she brought it to her mouth, taking a long, deliberate drag. His gaze dropped to her lips, watching as she exhaled slowly before returning the cigarette. Her fingers found their way into his dark hair, nails scraping gently against his scalp in the way that usually made him melt.

But tonight was different. His jaw clenched as he brought the cigarette back to his mouth, tasting the sweet cherry she'd left behind. "Didn't I fucking tell you not to wear that shit?" The words came out as a growl that made heat pool in her stomach.

She stepped down, positioning herself between his spread legs, using her height to look down at him. The air crackled between them. "What's your fucking problem?" Her voice came out breathy despite her attempt at anger. "You vanish all day and come back like this?"

His hand shot up, fingers gripping her chin and pulling her down until their faces were inches apart. His thumb smeared across her bottom lip, destroying her careful application of gloss. Before she could protest, he pushed his thumb past her lips, the pad rough against her tongue.

"Fucking taste it and tell me if you think I want that on my cigarette." Moonlight caught the dangerous glint in his eyes, making her pulse race. "I said fucking taste it," he demanded, voice dropping to a tone that made her knees weak.

She ran her tongue along his thumb, the artificial cherry mixing with the salt of his skin. His eyes darkened as he watched her, pupils blown wide with something more than anger.

In one fluid motion, he yanked her down onto his knee, the friction making her gasp.

A fresh cigarette appeared between his lips, flicking his zippo open, his hand found her jaw again, fingers pressing into sensitive skin as he tilted her head. When his mouth met hers, it wasn't gentle – it was pure need. Smoke rolled from his lips to hers as he claimed her mouth, his tongue following to chase away the sweetness.

She coughed softly but didn't pull away, her arms wrapping around his neck as she pressed closer, wanting more.

Every night, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the same mantra looping in his head: ‘I can’t get close to her. I’ll only hurt her.’ His jaw clenched, a muscle in his cheek twitching as the ceiling fan spun lazily above him. It did nothing to relieve the tightness in his chest. Why did they have to sell the damn house? The thought lingered in his mind like a nagging itch.

His eyes wandered to the window, the familiar red brick house across the street. It had been his home. His sanctuary. Now, it was nothing more than a distant memory. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see Jeff. The way Jeff would shove him off the porch, eager to get to the bus first. The same tire swing still swayed from the old oak tree, memories of their childhood woven into the threads of the rope.

‘Whoever gets to the top first wins!’ Jeff’s voice echoed in his mind, the sound of his laughter bittersweet. Jeff always had the advantage, always so quick, so sure of himself. Liu had to be smarter. He tugged at Jeff’s sneakers, throwing him off balance, just enough to slip past. The victory was his, and for a moment, it felt like the world made sense.

But the memory faded as quickly as it came, replaced with the one thing that always consumed him now. The thing he couldn’t escape. Her.

Her face. The way she smiled, the way she moved, the way her laugh lingered in the air like sweet perfume. It had started so innocently. He’d seen her around—at the store, around town, but over time, those brief moments had turned into a fixation. An obsession. He couldn’t get close to her, he told himself. But the more he tried to push the thoughts away, the stronger they became.

He had to stay away. He couldn’t risk hurting her. Yet, in the back of his mind, that voice whispered constantly: ‘She’s yours. You just need to get close. You just need to take her.’

He'd convinced himself he was being careful. He was protecting her. After all, he never went inside when she was there, right? But when she wasn’t? When she was at college, with those loud, obnoxious friends who had no idea how to treat her?

That’s when he’d sneak in. When she was at class, he’d come through the back, slipping into the house as quietly as a shadow. He knew her routine. He knew the pattern of her days better than she did.

Her room was just down the hall his old bedroom, the door always left unlocked. Sometimes, she would leave her windows open when she was gone, a small crack where the light would spill in, and Liu would sit there for hours. His eyes glued to the window as he watched the cars pass, listening to the quiet. Waiting. He would touch her things—her books, her hairbrush, the necklace she had carelessly tossed on the desk. His fingers would linger on the fabric of her clothes, the soft cotton of her favorite shirt, the panties that she would toss carelessly on the floor in a rush. the ones that had a faint trace of her scent. He would close his eyes, breathing in deeply. He didn’t want to admit the amount of times he’d gotten off to them.

‘Just a little longer, just a little closer.’

He wasn’t a creep, he told himself. He just had to protect her. It was for her safety. He couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to her.

The evenings were the hardest. The nights when she came home late, stumbling slightly, the weight of the world on her shoulders. He would watch from the shadows, waiting until her friends had dropped her off, until they left and she was alone. That’s when he would act.

His heart would race as he crept up the side of the house. The window—the one that opened into her room—was his way in. He had done this so many times, it was almost second nature now. His fingers would scrape along the old wood of the window frame, lifting it just enough to slide through. The familiar smell of her room hit him like a drug. The scent of lavender, of soap, of something deeper he couldn’t quite place.

She never remembered. Not really. She’d be so drunk sometimes, swaying on her feet, laughing too loud, her mind lost in the haze of the night. The smell of alcohol would be heavy on her breath, but Liu never minded. In those moments, he would sit by the window, watching her, making sure she didn’t choke on her own vomit, making sure she was safe.

He told himself it wasn’t a violation. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was protecting her. After all, she was too vulnerable. She didn’t know how dangerous the world was. He had to watch over her.

There were nights when she’d drift into a deep sleep, her breathing slow and steady, and Liu would just sit there, staring at her, the desire bubbling up in his chest like a poison. His eyes would track her every movement. Her soft, relaxed expression, the rise and fall of her chest. The way her lips parted ever so slightly in her sleep.

He couldn’t help himself.

Sometimes, when she passed out on her bed, so drunk she wouldn’t remember the next morning, he would slip closer, just for a second. His fingers would brush against her arm, her wrist. He would touch her clothes, tugging at the hem of her shirt, imagining what it would feel like to hold her, to take what he knew was his.

And every time, he would pull back, the weight of his desire too much to bear.

‘Not yet. Not yet.’

But the nights grew harder. The cravings, the need—it gnawed at him like a constant hunger, an ache that could never be satisfied. He had to get closer.

It wasn’t enough to watch anymore.

One night, he waited until she’d come back late, laughing too loudly with some guy—someone who didn’t deserve to be near her. Someone who touched her like he had the right. Liu’s fingers clenched into fists, his teeth grinding together. ‘He’s touching her.’ The thought made his blood run cold.

By the time she stumbled up the porch steps, the man trailing behind her, Liu was already watching from the shadows of the house across the street, his heart thundering in his chest. His eyes narrowed. He didn’t trust that guy. No one was going to touch her like that.

Liu couldn’t wait any longer. He was already climbing up the side of the house, his boots sinking into the ivy, the leaves scratching his hands as he moved. The window beckoned.

‘She’s yours. She just doesn’t know it yet.’

His breath hitched as he reached the window, prying it open, slipping inside. Her room, dark but familiar, felt like a tomb. And she was there—drunk, swaying, her eyes unfocused as the guy tried to guide her to the bed. His pulse quickened.

But this time—this time was different.

She needed him to save her.

Liu pulled out the pocket knife from his boot, the blade glinting in the moonlight. The sound of her breathing, slow and shallow, filled his ears as he took a step toward the bed.

His hands shook—tremors too violent to hide. His chest ached as every breath burned with the rage, the heat of it making his skin feel like it was on fire. His vision spun, everything warping, pulling him under.

And then, as if the world had finally split in two, the darkness consumed him completely.

When his eyes opened again, he wasn’t alone.

It wasn’t Liu anymore.

It was Sully.

The shift was like ice water flooding through his veins. The rage wasn’t just an emotion anymore—it was a voice, a presence. Something else—dark, hungry, and pulsing with violent need.

There was a man in front of him, standing too close to her. Hands on her, touching her like she belonged to him. And the sight of it twisted something in Sully—something deep and dark that had been festering in the corners of his mind. A sort of anger he hadn’t felt since Jeff.

Sully didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. His smile was slow, too slow. A thing of shadows.

“No one,” he growled, voice a low rasp like a blade scraping bone. “No one touches what’s mine.”

The man didn’t hear him at first, too focused on her. Her face was flushed, disoriented, drunk. And there he was, pushing her toward the bed like she was a thing—like she was just another conquest.

That sickening feeling, the need to kill, to slice this mother fuckers throat and make him choke on his on blood, overtook Sully. His breath came in jagged bursts now, his hands curling into fists, nails digging into his own skin. He wanted to feel it. Wanted to make this moment last.

Sully took a step forward, and it was as if the air itself thickened around him. The man’s head snapped up, but too late.

“I’ll carve every finger off that touched her,” Sully hissed, the words slipping out of his mouth like poison. “One by one. Then I’ll make you eat them. Taste them.“