#jack and roger

[gumballavocadoharry]

Lost along the way; Jack Chambers:

*Mentions of very offensive language, domestic abuse,  violent child abuse, aggression, violence, sex, drunkenness, slang terms, curse words, vulgar language, death, grief, emotional abuse, outdated views of women, men and children and cheating. *

A scorching heatwave brazed through the pounding streets of New York. The telephone wires echoed shadows over the heated tar pavement on the roads. Buffalo carried only the mist of the wave, but it still lingered over the Chamber household in mid-August. The sizzles of the heat, radiated through Jack's bedroom; a background noise as he flipped through the latest newspaper issue.

Buffalo was a set neighborhood sat serenely in the crowded busy pond of New York. The houses were only inches apart from one another- which to Jack- was better than the overcrowded insecure Brooklyn apartments.

Fresh faced young Jack- a high school graduate with honors- was only twenty years old, yet had the ambition and clarity that would take others a lifetime or several years to acquire. Body solid against the knobby clotted mattress, scanning intently through the Daily Colum. Jack wasn't shabby- a small rent control to a rickety Virginia trailer park would due. Just not here. Not in this house, with his father…..or mother.

Vivid memories of scattered and thrown around plates and glass cups, forks and knives. Beer bottles, all slammed against the walls with harsh crashes and shatters. Despite it being regular, Jack never accustomed himself to its normalcy. Because it wasn't. It wasn't normal to have run through the home with Vaseline covered soaked in ice to numb any whips or switches being whapped against them. Nor, was it normal to spend the cagy night soaking up the misguided blood from the belt welts with a sterile sheet that Jack had pressed over his sheets to not dampen them with his vertebral sores.

Jack would later learn his tip toeing habits came from his childhood. Tip toeing down the stairs for a glass of water, tip toeing up the stairs back to his bed. Tip toeing across his bedroom floor to study for his upcoming middle school tests. One creak was dulling. One creak could send David from his room out to the steps and into a barrage of curses words and threats hulling themselves at Jack, then being yanked up by the collar and thrown into his bedroom.

A glass had broken from this once and Jack stepped on a cracked piece. A bloody spot trail led back to Jack's room and wasn't cleaned until that following Sunday. Looking at the trail made Jack numb. He didn't understand why, but it did.

Last night- the night Jack made up his mind. Get busy living he decided. It had meaning. Last night was when David had grabbed Jack by his collar and threatened him. Throngs of: Pussy, Bastard, Dickhead- thrown at him with ease as if David was talking to a criminal. He would talk to them and about them like that. One of the most well respected detectives of the Buffalo precinct- hailed as a hero for stopping those two robbers who shot the elderly owner of the drug mart only a few miles from the neighborhood. Jack had heard about this at school, rooting Lawrence Jackson, to spill the latest of what had happened.

Jack liked and despised Lawrence. He was friendly, happy, calm, charming…..he had a good father. His father, Marc, was David's partner. Marc was the laid back and easy going type to get the antiheroes off with parole or a lighter sentence. "They're just kids," He would say. "I remember when I used to feel the same way. Parents should really show their children, just how much they love them. Don't ever leave it to fate or a read between the lines kind of guess for them. They deserve it."

Lawrence would brag about how Marc would take him to the ball game or buy him ice cream on hot summer Saturdays after school. Jack even saw the way Marc wrapped his arms around Lawrence after scoring the touchdown for the season. "Oh Renny! You were amazing! My number one guy!" Jack didn't even realize the smile peering across his face watching the father and son from the crowd. Jack could sometimes imagine David and him like that- but it never lasted.

"Jack, get your ass in the car or I leave without you!" Jack grabbing his baseball glove and bat, would have only a few seconds before David's car sped off. Marc was nice enough to give rides to Jack. But a twisted shame would dawdle through Jack. Maybe because Marc knew how rough David could be. And Jack knew he knew. "You dumb fuck- screwing up the whole fucking game for everyone!" David's eyes narrowed, pushing his face very close to Jacks. "You screw up again, and there won't be another season for you, got it!" Jack swallowed hard. He knew what it meant. Another hospital trip for a broken arm plus a bruised cheekbone. It would ruin his season.

A knock sounded against the door. "Jack?" Lucy entered upon Jack's acceptance. "Hi sweetie." Jack folded the newspaper by his side, lending his full attention to his mother. He watched her scrap over his blotchy paint stained floors, that had years' worth of stains longer than he'd been around. Taking a seat on the bed, Jack was forced to meet her silver rain eyes.  "How is everything?" Jack shook his head. "What do you mean?" Lucy bit the side of her lip. "You know… after last night with your father and everything…."

Jack stared back down at his bed spread. "You know that's never an easy question to answer…" Lucy kept her stare on Jack. Jack recognized that stare: the same one she would always give to him as a small child. A thick arch threatened to spread across his eyebrows. She could never see him as the man he was, just this small little child that needed her hand with everything. Lucy sighed. "I know your father can get a bit…rough at times," She paused. "It's just….when you have a family one day, you'll see that it's not easy providing for them and it can make you tired and irritable-"

"It's not an excuse." Jack shot back. "You don't lose your self-control like…." He thought. "Like an animal in the wild-"

"Watch your tongue!" Jack shook his head. He wouldn't take it back and Lucy knew he couldn't. A sigh escaped from Jack- his mother's eyes still following him. "Was there… anything else about Dad?" With a small hiss of ire, Jack almost demanded the answer. Lucy looked down. "He loves you." Jack scoffed. "Sorry…but…" waving his hand, Jack sat back with a smirk on his face. "I'm serious."

Jack sat back up. "Mom…. It is what it is. I've accepted that one way or another- I learned to accept it one way or another." Jack shook his head. "Dad….. Is Dad." Lucy touched Jack's knee. "I love you very much."

I'm sure Jack thought. He dropped the subject. Lucy's eyes met the newspaper. Jack stiffened. Grabbing the newspaper, Jack flipped to the crime catalogue. "A recent carjacking happened by Manhattan." Lucy scanned the paper before up righting herself and nodding. "It's a troubled world, that's for sure." Biting her lip, she turned to Jack again. "Dinner's ready." Sitting up, Lucy walked to the door, leaving Jack's room. Jack continued to stare at the closed door- darting between the burnt reddish brown door and the matching door jam.

Shaking his head, Jack thought about Lucy. Weak. No other word to describe it. Weak. Jack spent years, silently pleading and begging his mother to grab a suitcase- anything and just…..go. Leave everything and start fresh with just the two of them. No more 'bitch' or 'cunt' would be lunged at her for burning dinner or knocking over one of David's beer bottles. David didn't touch Lucy the way he would with Jack. He could snatch her by her shoulders and shove her against stairwell, or push her towards the kitchen after landing a firm pat to her behind.

Jack would never forget the way his father rebuked Lucy for interrupting his TV show. "You dumb broad!" He yelled. The first time Jack would ever see his father whip his hand to his mother's cheek. Blood trickled down the side of her face as she ran into the kitchen and hid herself away until dinner time. Jack hadn't even sat his backpack down before he ran upstairs and used the rope of robe to tie the door knob to the leg of his desk. The next morning, a foundation covered bruise sat boldly on the side of Lucy's face as did the artificial smile she had. At least….Jack hoped it was fake. Nothing was ever mentioned about it ever. Even if Jack thought about asking his mother if she was okay, something would snag him- grab and shake him to keep silent… like maybe she deserved it for being with him, or maybe because she would tell David and lead him to punch Jack in his face. Either way….nothing was said. No one ever said anything. And that was the last Jack would ever see of that.

Jack came down to dinner. David was sat at the center of the family table with a slight scowl across his face and his hands neatly and firmly pressed together in a noose. Jack took a seat in the middle- David always sat to his right, Lucy sat to his left. Jack sat in the middle- seen, not heard. Just the way David liked it. "You've got too much mouth." He would say. "Shut it!" Jack had only tried to tell him that he was going the wrong way during the dense highway traffic. "Shut up Jack! I told you I don't want to hear it!" So he didn't. But it took him two hours to turn around. Jack was sure he would get hit, but he didn't to his surprise. Instead, David kept silent. As long as no one spoke, he would let it go.

Lucy set the rolls in the middle of the table like a centerpiece. A steamy filled trout sat in front of Jack with carrots, peas. "Delicious!" Jack said. "Thanks Mom." Lucy smiled before taking a seat at the table. "Needs more salt." David said, but still scoffed down the trout without so much as a 'thank you' or even eye contact for that matter.

Dinner was silent. The sounds of forks grinding against the plates and the munching of the food were the only sounds expressed. "Jack… you doing anything with that college education?" Jack furrowed his eyebrows. David let out a gruffy laugh. "That's right, you don't have one." Lucy glared at David. "Yet…" Jack said.

"What?" David eyed Jack over bent over posture. Jack shrugged. "Yeah, I mean- it's not over yet." David narrowed his eyes. "You mean, you're actually gonna do something with your life? Not slaving way at this repair shop forever?" He started chuckling. "I guess my son ain't a loser after all." Jack kept his head down. He didn't say a word. Didn't need to. After dinner, he simply cleared away the plates and set them in the sink.

"You know that's women's work." He turned to Lucy. "Get up and do it." Lucy, like a puppy on demand, settled herself from the chair and gently took the plates from Jack's hand. She gave a small tattered smile and started on filling the sink with hot water and suds. Jack stared at Lucy for a bit before turning upstairs. Locking himself in his room, Jack researched harder on places to live. Crumbling the paper and tossing it, Jack sulked, not finding anything available. Laying back in his bed, Jack wouldn't give up. He couldn't. He decided that tomorrow morning would be a new day. A fresh day for looking. The scouring heatwave would still pour, but to Jack, he would wipe the beads of sweat from his head and continue house hunting.

Monday came, and the heatwave was still lingering through the city. Jack was up- overdue for the morning, settling into his navy blue jumpsuit with 'Bernie's Auto Repair' tattooed on the back. A quick sandwich, apple slices and a lemonade canister later, Jack left a gallant letter for his parents on the fridge.

'Went to work, see you later when I get home'

Love, Jack

Scuffling around the corner to meet the eight o'clock bus, Jack paid the fee before sitting three rows behind the driver- eventually getting up and handing his seat over to an elderly man with groceries. "Thanks sport!" Jack fluttered his dimples to the man before gripping the overhead hook of the bus tightly and concentrating carefully on what street Milton Ave was.

Pulling the string, Jack thanked the driver before hopping off the bus and strolled into the repair shop- clocking in his ticket for the day.

Jack gained Bernie ten new customers within a week. Business boomed more than over the last year when Bernie decided an oil and shine would be only for the price of one. "Sometimes you gotta spend money to make money." He said. Jack nodded along, disappearing back under the firetruck red Buick. He didn't know why, but Jack had this overachieving knack for fixing cars. "It's a gift, boy," Bernie said. "One day, when you get a car of your own- specially in New York- you'll be some driver. That car will be lucky." Jack smiled. Wiping the oil from his hands on the little white handkerchief sticking from his leg pocket. "Thanks Bernie." The older man smiled. "No problem- you know, I appreciate ya so much, lemme know if there's anything I can do for ya."

Jack modestly smiled, before frowning a little. "Say, Bernie…. Are there any newly leased apartments or houses around here?" Bernie arched an eyebrow. "Moving out of your folks place?" Jack kept his smile thin and subtle. "That father of yours is a damn sure hero. He really is, you tell him that, ya hear?"

Jack nodded still keeping his rigid smile. "Well, uh…. I hear this place on Caldara…. It was leased a few days ago because a couple decided that there Palm Springs was better suited for them- took route 66. You interested?"

"Oh yes! I've been looking for over a month now… as long as it's not too expensive." Bernie clicked his tongue. "Well, now- in this city- the cheaper you go, you don't know what you might get."

Jack knew this very well. One apartment that was a few hundred a month had a mouse nest under the kitchen sink. Booted from the apartment before the owner even showed up for the appointment. "I've decided- I'm not interested. Thanks, bye, bye." Jack hung the phone up and decided the owner would need to check for themselves why the place wasn't selling.

But this seemed like a sure thing. Jack knew those Caldara apartments. They lived in Brooklyn- the best side that you can get from it- and they were hunched only a little corner away from King's College. The inside was small but habitable little place with a small kitchen, little living room, a bedroom and bath. All he needed. After his shift, Jack didn't hesitate to find the empty apartment. Once inside, Jack checked under the sink, the bedroom, bathroom and any corner where a mouse would nest or spiderwebs would hang with their families or where any furnaces kept eggs of whatever inside. Nothing. "I'll take it!"

"For three hundred every month?" Jack nodded. "Fits my budget perfectly." Shaking hands with Mr. Veldor, Jack signed the lease and was given the keys to his new apartment officially. The shimmer of the golden key felt good in the palm of Jack's hand. It has the ring of departing clanging through every fiber of his brain. Jack made a solid two hundred with Bernie, counting it up every other week. Combining that with a night job for classes would seal a solid hopeful five hundred dollars into his bank every week. Jack needed to be cautious though.

If David saw the flicker flash of the keys, he would bill on more things for Jack to pay for. Once Jack had reached eighteen, David didn't hesitate. "Your grown now, you can pay your own damn way like everyone else in this country." David has dusted the grass sweeps off his tank top from mowing the lawn. Jack glanced between his mother skirting from the kitchen opening and the dining room. A glower escaped from Jack's eyes as he didn't expect Lucy to pipe up for anything.

"Jack," She tried to stop him on the way up the stairs. He turned back. "I'll figure it out…. I always have." Then he disappeared into his bedroom- snagging the job with Bernie's only a week after.

Jack had made it into the house. The keys were tucked carefully inside his uniform and then hid away. David wasn't home yet, giving Jack the chance to rearrange his closet space. He grabbed trash bags from the kitchen and tucked every item of clothing he owned inside them and hid one bag in his closet and the other under the bed- rolling them up into this ball shape. Watches and rings- delicate accessories were put into trash bags- rolled and knotted into this little bag and the carefully sealed inside the closet bag before being knotted tightly.

"When will Dad be home?" Jack asked, seeing his mother come into the house with grocery bags tucked in both her arms. Jack scurried over and took some of the bags from her arms and placed them onto the counter. "He said 'around 8'. It's a case him and Marc are working on that's very detailed." Jack nodded. "Why, did you need to ask him something?" Jack shook his head. "No, I just… wanted to make sure…." Lucy raised an eyebrow. "Jack…" Jack shook his head with a smile. Looking into his mother's eyes again- He examined them for scepticalness. "Well…. I always keep a watch out for him, yeah."

Lucy took a bag of carrots from the bag. "I-I know. I guess…. I just wanted to make sure you were okay." Jack gawked- deep into Lucy's eyes this time. Enough for her to see the little lines of his green irises and the shrill potency of vigor he held in them. Lucy couldn't stop staring. There was something in Jack's eyes she couldn't ignore. Something inside of them that was so jarring, it scared her.

"I'm fine," Jack said, voice a little quiet. "I'll be fine." Giving a quick kiss to his mother's cheek, Jack left the kitchen leaving Lucy alone with her thoughts. But even she busied herself in sorting the groceries out for dinner- to bury down what she had possibly known about Jack, but was too afraid to admit to herself. Her sight went to the kitchen opening, then back to the counter. Taking a deep breath, Lucy ignored the echoes in her brain and put the milk into the fridge.

Jack thought hard. He needed to be swift and smart about this. No time for purchasing couches or coffee tables- Jack would take what he already had. His bed, clothes, desk- his room would be stripped of everything that would ever remind his parents of him. He would be gone by Friday. David wouldn't see him, Lucy wouldn't see him….. No one would see Jack again. No more 'greatest detective hero' about David. No more meek and mousey housewife and mother- so saturated in her character, that life washes around her- reality passing her by. Jack sat on his bed. Still realizing his uniform was still attached, Jack stripped it off, stuffing it over the closet rack. The empty closet was useful for something. Sudden flashes of pots, pans, oven mitts and curtains and shades struck Jack's mind. Checking the clock that read 6:02, Jack grabbed his house keys.

"I'm going to go meet some friends at the diner!" He yelled, coming down the stairs. Lucy peered through the kitchen doorway. "Where are you going?"

Jack turned to Lucy. "I remembered I promised to meet some friends at the diner later tonight-  I was tired from work, I forgot. I gotta go now." Lucy watched Jack shuffle out the door. Jack rushed through the front door and caught the passing taxi to take him down to the market.

Miller's Place, was always cheap. A few cents for kitchenware, a few cents for food, a few dollars for furniture. Jack would remember that. He would remember Miller's. With his basket already full, Jack was ready to check out. But something nicked his mind. Bags with 'Miller's Place' on the front would be a dead giveaway in case David decided to ransack Jack's bedroom again. But a crate. A sturdy one where all his kitchen supplies and household needs would be well hidden- out of sight from David… out of sight from Lucy. He didn't trust her. Something that was boiling down in the deep pits of his gut had now boiled over in a flash thought at the checkout line, as Jack settled the thick and wide hickory crate into the basket after it was rang up.

His mother. How own mother could never stick up for him when he needed her the most. Even with all the mustered down sorrow of seeing her so appallingly treated, something in Jack- a spark inside him felt this drench of relief to finally be rid of her was well. She stood by on the sidelines watching Jack get helplessly tortured by the man she married. Would she know just how Jack would cry and scream for her when David would beat him because he failed a test, or force him to take stoney cold showers because he didn't like baths at the time. Lucy would deflate this with inept attempts of reading Jack bedtime stories, or making him his favorite cookies. But it wasn't enough. Jack needed more. He wanted more. He wanted better. That was it- Lucy didn't want to give him better. She didn't take him into her arms and run through the teeming swarm of city-goers in the dusk of night, and find shelter- hidden away where David wouldn't hurt them again.

"He doesn't mean it Jack." Or, "He's just tired. But he wants what's best for you and to do well. So, listen to him and don't doubt him." Would ring inside his head like bells through every night, while he tossed and turned in his sheets, or while he would bandage and tend to every blister or bruise or bloody welt from David's 'best wishes'. Jack was careful not to slam his new items into the cart- his anger filled memories were starting to get the best of him. "Have a nice day!" The lady clerk cheered as Jack waved a polite goodbye before leaving the store.

The clock was now 8:30, making Jack rush home- snagging the first bus to back to Buffalo.

"There he is!" Lucy's sweet voice piped from the kitchen. A delicious savory smell of ham was being delivered from the kitchen to the dining room. Mashed potatoes, butter roasted carrots, biscuits, corn pudding and green beans were sidelined by the centerpiece ham in the middle. David, sat in the center as usual with a serious frown over his face. Jack bit his lip before coercing a smile. Carrying his bags towards the stairs. "I'll be right down." Jack carried the bags and shoved them into the crate as best as he could. Closing the closet door, Jack was met with the sound of footsteps stepping closer and closer toward his door. Jack- quick on his feet- swung the door open and was met face to face with Lucy. Somehow… to his slight relief. "Dinner's ready." She scanned the bedroom over Jack's shoulders, trying hard to peer around the gaps of his frame that stood in the middle. "Alright. I'm coming right now."

Jack waited for Lucy to follow him down the stairs- she did, chugging behind him with question curiosity. Jack took a seat at the table. Taking in the aromatic whiff of dinner, Jack grabbed his fork and knife and waited for his turn. A ping pong toss of whether to share the news with his parents or keep hush until he could safely move everything from the home to his apartment. Jack decided to keep silent. Keeping his daze mostly on his dinner, Jack only looked up occassionally into his mother's eyes. But Lucy was detailed. She was scanning for something- anything to conclude the clambering dyspneic thoughts. She could only catch glimpses of Jack's eyes. Like beads of lint in the light that echoed cotton or dust was nearby. But something in his eyes changed- except she couldn't quite place a finger on it. Did it change suddenly? Was it always there? Had she just not have noticed?

It was bogging down inside her deeply, like a stick in quicksand- snatching it down with every second. Something about Jack's deameanor had changed. They way he walked, the way he spoke- the jarring way he would bore into her eyes with every conversation between them. Glancing between Jack and David- the carried the same eyes, similar jaw lines, the same creases around their nose and under their eyes. The same tight stiffness their jaw would hold everytime something upset them. But David's eyes were different. They were firm, fierce and brash. The jade green would mix in this tonic of arrogance- something Lucy found appealing and rebellious when she was younger. But looking into her son's eyes- the didn't shoulder the same weight. They carried its own.

Jack's eyes were firm when angry, cooing when soft, playful and giddy when happy. He could be happy- he could be soft. He could be a man. A real man. 

He would never be like David. Lucy knew that. 

Raised in the era where marriage was something only Lucy could hope for. A good secure future was in the palms of a man who could give her everything she wanted. Money, housing, the exspensive clothes she could only dream of placing over her body. He could give her the love and attention she desired; the girthy gauzy touch over the nape of back, or the twidling fingers brazing over her warm rosy cheeks. David- tall, dark umber hair and jaded green eyes with golden blades sharpening through them and thick muscles with quivering veins that crawled under the flesh of his arms every time he flexed them even a little. 

His hand craddled Lucy's dainty one in his grasp. The way his arms carried her into their new home- the Buffalo one they shelter in now and for decades to come- gently set her down on the couch like drape slung over the back of the chair for modest decor. Honeymoon days were the best- two weeks of David's masculine proclivity filled the home along with her peach cobler in the way she hoped. Then the first fight. 

David's confident voice suddenly became maybe to abrasive or too rasping. The words would fly from his lips and jab themselves into the laceration of her deepest hollow flesh. But, a bank account and a cozy home could sweep those words under the rug and store back into the urn that was always kept on the shelf, but never touched except for sweeping. The perks of being Mrs. Chambers, was everything to Lucy. She once called this out to her friend, Diane Marlow, who she had managed to make a girl's date with- a casual tea time at the Kettle. 

"He does that sometimes." Diane perked up, sipping up her tea with speed as to speak what had just been spoken to her. "Sometimes...." she looked to the side. "Lucy.... I'm not trying to butt into your marriage but- I think.... maybe that's a bit too far." Lucy crooked the side of her head and raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" Diane swallowed. "All I'm saying is... David shouldn't talk to you like that. I know, he has a temper but-"

"Everyone makes mistakes, Diane. David.... is wonderful. He would never hurt me intentionally." "Don't you mean at all?" Lucy huffed. "I suppose Ethan is just perfect, isn't he?" Diane furrowed her eyebrows. "No. He's far from that- but he doesn't call me out of my name everytime he comes home from work tired or hungry, if that's what you mean."

Lucy looked around. "I needed this Diane. Don't you understand? For a woman... the rules are different. This might be the closest I can get into a future."

"Lucy," Diane sighed. "A woman can still dream and want. It's not that she shouldn't have to- it's that if she doesn't want to, then she can decide for herself what type of future she really wants." 

But Diane could understand. She knew how much marriages were watched and scruntinzed closely by the community. A woman could divorce.... and be shunned and looked on as if she were just a failed attempt to what was expected from her. But unlike Lucy, Diane didn't hold herself to such high expectations. She loved Ethan for who he was and what they could both give to each other through love. Lucy would watch they way Ethan pulled out Diane's chair. Or the way he would press butterfly kisses to her blushed cheeks. It scalded Lucy had badly she craved that. But a fire inside her burned heavier. Ethan wasn't the up and coming city dectective to ring in a infallible reputation with the city- nor did he have a house in between the rush of the city. A car was something that wasn't accessible for the couple yet and stung something in Lucy. Seeing the budget made wedding, the careful cost reception and the two layer cake, somehow sent a judgemental snag inside of Lucy that she couldn't rid.

Her wedding- would be perfect. The right crisp white flowers, the perfect four layer cake with the little bride and groom at the tippy top, the perfect dance for the reception afterwards- Lucy could see it all in her head bouncing around like dodge balls. And that's what she did all her life- dodge. Shunning looking too tough for a man to come and allure with her. Dodge stepping outside of the kitchen where her skills would be judged and belittled by her dearing husband, who demanded the best. She felt more readied for it, rather than some disappointing workshop type achievement or doctorate degree that wouldn't suit someone her type. David, the perfect man- muscular and manly man type to fill the role of purpose in her life. Watching her mother, her aunts, her sisters and cousins all court with their fellas, as they strolled down this destined line of marriage, children, cooking, cleaning, sewing- keeping the house together- keeping herself together at all times. It was when Lucy realized outside appearances do matter, and if they didn't, then there would be nothing. Nothing but a hollow shell of herself.

"Kids. Imagine David- a little boy or girl, swinging in the backyard, or running through the kitchen for a snack? It'll be lovely." David didn't exactly deny this fantansy. In fact, he didn't mind children. He just, liked them to be a certain type of child- but wouldn't acutally knock the idea off the table. "Really?" He said, lighting his cigar. Lucy snuggled up next to him. Looking into her eyes, a smile finally spread across David's face. "Alright.... we'll try it."

Jack was born a year later.

Despite the immense pride and sentimentalism that ran through Lucy, it would also be the first time she realized how off track life could go. 

Jack- born a few weeks early, but otherwise healthy- had this raging spirt, even while he lived in a small incubator. This was reassuring to Lucy, as she was told by midwives that premature babies didn't have the best survival rate. But Jack wasn't too early. Born into the hospital's latest technololgy, he thrived in his little glass box. His lungs filled with energy as he would kick and scream when the nurses tried to change his diaper, or how he quickly learned to latch when his hunger got the better of him. "Seems to be perfectly healthy." A delight pecked through both of the new parents. Jack was an easy baby for the most part. But like most wives, Lucy did most of the childrearing to know that. Even though in good health, the occasional worry still slithered through Lucy's mind sometimes of Jack being ill or developing a serious sickness.

But, a perfect little boy nonetheless. But to David, it wasn't until Jack hit one, when Lucy understood that life wasn't perfect again. She could hear Jack's cries and screams from being slapped or whipped for little mistakes. She could feel the tremble in his body when he would get in David's way and cause trouble. But for Lucy, reassurance was enough. It was her role as a mother to doll up the jangling mistakes of the father's temper as misunderstandings or tough love. Looking into those little green eyes- eyes that needed his mommy to swoop in and take control. But all Lucy could find herself doing was rub his chubby cheek and kiss his forehead. "It'll be fine sweetie.... wanna bake with mommy?" 

Sometimes, Jack would stay tied to the apron strings, other times, he would run away to his room and stuff himself in the closet. Her heart twinged. She wanted to scoop her boy into her arms and shield him from the dark world. But the fire- wedged deep inside her kept burning brighter and brighter. A woman had to have it all together at all times. Especially, her household. Jack was made to hush over his father problems. Lucy was made to pretend that everything was all fine, and that David was just tempermental at times. At times, she would dress Jack's wounds with ointment and peroxide- and a dab of her foundation to ease the tender hue of the bruise on his lip or the black eye surrounding his orbital. 

She sent Jack to school that way. And it was harmless. At least, children weren't supposed to be that intelligent- be seen and not heard stood for a reason. So, that's what she would gently remind Jack to do. If no one asks, then keep quiet. If someone does, then pretend like nothing happened. Looking into those innocent eyes- Lucy knew she had underestimated her little boy. He was a smart cookie and tough one. Unlike her, he didn't sit back and let David hit and punch. Sometimes, and eleven year old Jack would swing a bat- trying to intimidate David with his batting skills. Jack could run. Joining little league back in the third grade, Jack knew how to dodge a belt or switch with a sharpness sometimes. He knew where to swing and how hard to hit David- but never did. He was a good boy- a strong boy.

He had guts. He would mouth back- show teeth like a growling dog when provoked. Carrying the same temper his father did, Jack held this certain control in himself that David couldn't. Lucy could see how much Jack knew the ropes of the house. But.... he bite back. David said 'no game' because of a broken vase; Jack would sneak out the door and hit a home run through the yard. David would force a dress on Jack, because if 'Jack wanted to act like a bitch, he would get treated like one.' 

Jack walked to school in his tank top and summer shorts that day in the frigid twenty degree weather. 

If Jack was told to 'shut up', he would be first to pipe a loud shrill scream across the room and run out of David's sight. David burned up Jack's favorite toy truck in the fireplace out of drunkness- no sympathy, just flat callousness. Jack, later than night, smashed all David's beer in the driveway and through the backyard. 

David burned Jack's records; his favorite collectibles from over the years. Stifling the tears, Jack went out later that night- dressed in black on black- and set fire to every desk inside the downtown presinct. Using vodka bottles and lighting them with matches. Jack would forever feel ashamed of this act in the thick billow of teenage hormonal anguish. Something even Roger would have to find out when he as Jack's age. The aftermath was burnt rubble of every last framed honor that was credited to David. "Fireman said, it was a vodka flame. Probably some angry kid over their father going to jail or somthing..." The chief said. No fingers were pointed to Jack- not even David could point. 

As far as everyone knew, Jack was in bed wallowing over his burnt records. But deep inside, Lucy knew. She just didn't tell. And Jack knew she knew.... and he would never say; something....Lucy had to learn to accept.

Jack mellowed as the years went on. But that flame that fanned inside him still burned on and on. It never died. Jack didn't need perfection to be accepted.... he knew what the world was and he accepted that for what it was. 

Lucy could never understand the look in Jack's eyes after winning the seasonal game, or finishing with the honors in high school or scoring the perfect first date with, Ruby Heimen. Had Jack been a more mousey type of child- it would be different. He would've etched himself into his mother's arms- not into the blazing brutal flames of his father's temper, with his own sparks. Quiet and dutiful- like Lucy- obeying every command like how he was supposed to. He was a child, after all. And Lucy was a woman. A dutiful wife and mother- Assimilating into her place like she had wanted. Like she was supposed to.

Don't fan the flames too hard, keep them contained in your little box she thought. Don't let passion burn brighter then your place in the world. Follow the rules- and you'll be safe, like promised. Like her mother promised. So, she promised this to Jack. Never aloud, but subtlety. 

Jack would understand why she couldn't protect him. She hoped he could maybe even agree that she could nurture his childishness with hugs and kisses, fresh baked cookies, and gentle touches and sing song voices. That David was his father, and fathers always knew best. And for that, she knew best. But Jack- had this passion. The simmering flame that Lucy had fought for years, was Jack's fire. It burned brightly in Jack, never dying- even through the thick marsh of jaded sorrow- something in Jack, never died. That spark in his eyes held something that Lucy could only wish. Even her best intentions couldn't credit that from him. Every 'no' was met with a 'I will anyway'. And Lucy could never admit it to herself. She would never admit why it never fizzled. Looking into those eyes-favoring David's- but more. It held something inside them that Lucy could never have. Something she wanted for herself was now sitting in soul of her son.

But Jack was born with it. "I'll be fine Mom." Was something so natural for such an unknown reason, would drip from his lips like they were tattooed on his tongue from birth. Maybe she wanted to believe she would understand- how rooted Jack was in his beliefs. His gut instinct was his compass and that's what he followed. And for that, he would be fine. The outside typical surburan family that consisted of mother, father and son. But on the inside was this push and pull tug-of-war between Jack and David was something that became her everyday; she hated to see it. She couldn't bare for anyone else to see it. But it was there. Lucy didn't know when it started, but it was there. And that's how it always was in the Chamber home.

But years later...she would know. She would see that particular look on the face in every stranger, but Jack's would never change. A certain natural in his eyes that held that flame. An unwafting flame of content... of freedom. He was prisoned by circumstance, but liberated by will.

************************************

A fresh dew early morning; chill and lukewarm without the panging heat of mid morning and afternoon lingering.

Jack was at Bernie's, working on Pontiac- greese stains splashed over his cheeks. "Hey there Jack!" Jack turned for a minute, greeting the old man with a smile. "That lady- you fixed her Ford for- she really loved it. She tipped ya a few cents." A smile fell over Jack. "Thanks Bernie," taking two quarters out of the eighty cents, Jack handed them to Bernie. "You deserve it too." Bernie gave Jack a kind look. He appericated Jack's work ethic a lot, but his kindness the most. "Young fellas," Bernie put it, "don't make much time for an old man like me. You're special Jack, you know that."

Bernie thought for a minute. "You have a car?" Jack looked up and shook his head. "No sir." "Well, you got one now," Bernie ushered Jack with his pointer and led him to the backyard of the shop. "Some man came in and dropped this off. He said it was junk and that it don't work no more." He turned to Jack. "If you can fix it- car's yours." Jack's eyes widened. It was the most gorgeous navy blue Ford he'd ever seen. Sitting amongst the grass and the stacks of tires, Jack could almost picture himself driving it. "Oh thank you so much Bernie! I don't know how to thank you!" Bernie smiled. "You're an excellent worker- I figure that's about enough."

Jack finished up the cars for that day. Then he stayed overtime working on the Ford- fixing the broken shifts, replacing the broken pipes, and oiling the gears. And then- the headlights popped on. Then the engine started. And then..... Jack drove it home. Jack sat in the driveway- thinking up his next move. A new car, a new apartment, small furniture. Jack got out of the car and made his way quietly in the house. It was past dinner, and the house smelled of chili spices and garlic. But Jack ignored that. Instead he tip toed up stairs and moved the crate in the backseat of the car. Making a second trip, Jack grabbed the trash bags of clothes and stuffed in the trunk before peeling over to his new apartment. 

Looking around the empty spaces, Jack decided that in the morning, he would move everything out of his home. He would call some guys over and they would move his bed and desk out of the haunted home he resided in and into his new home. A shrilling chill crawled down Jack's spine. A static shock of excitement and enchantment overflowed him, as he found his legs jumping high and then carefully hitting the ground as not to disturb the sleeping neighbors. Jack would call Bernie and ask for the morning off and that by late afternoon, he would work until late evening. Then he would call Charles and John, to help move his bed and desk with the promise of cold beers and a few dollars. He had it all set. It would be the perfect escape from the years- the 19 years of vigorous maltreat that he suffered at the hands of his father. All the tears, the screams, the fights, the harsh words- all rooted and conjoined in this vein of David. Memories of the smell of  hot leather would sting through his nose from time to time. Sometimes, the hair on his left arm would raise slightly with more goosbumps; David's favorite arm to use when he pressed a hot skillet to it or slap the upper arm when Jack stood in his way a little too long.

Jack stood solid on the floor. His eyes brimming with tears. The hole was deep- deeper than Jack thought... or wanted. Jack could rebel-he always did- but it still didn't take it away. The horror he felt of making David angry and the slew of degrading threats that would be pounded into him for the tiniest mistakes. Jack would never tell anyone of his agility skills origin; he could curl himself into ball, wedging himself in the corners where David couldn't see him. Or how flat he could make his body from laying under his bed for hours until David sobered up. 

Jack fought for his life from day one until today. Jumping out the belt's way to protect his legs, ducking down with sharp speed- protecting his face from punches or shifting himself out of the way from David's slaps. It made David angrier sometimes. He would be chased, sometimes down the neighboorhood blocks- where he would hide in the tree at the park, around the corner of Mr. McGail's house. He was decent. Just watching from his front porch at the spectical sometimes, when David would ask where Jack went, he'd point him in the opposite direction. Although, Jack hadn't found this out until middle school. "I've been beaten a few times in my life..." He started. "I just don't think it's right- and that's my take on that." 

Jack made a habit from that moment on, to be Mr. McGails personal helper on some summer days when the lawn needed mowing or his driveway shoveled after glowering winters. It was an indicate of Jack's personal graditude. And Mr. McGail knew it- up until someone else moved into his home after his passing. It was that fall. And Jack had felt this emptiness nest inside him. A quiet pity of the nice elderly man who never knew how much he saved him. That was also the last summer, Jack would ever be chased by David. His age finally caught up with him- so he simply stopped.

Jack liked to think Mr. McGail was above the clouds, giving him a shady wink for the nonsense they caused in front of his home. Maybe a slight nod of just helping a kid out.

But Jack didn't have too much of it. That's how it always was. Jack defended Jack. Jack barked back, Jack hit back, Jack ran back. He had to. Even with his mother's gentle words and generous touches, it wasn't enough. He needed power- something- anything to shield him from David. He couldn't afford to live life- he had to live on the edge. Ready to spring out of bed when David would come into the house slamming the door. Ready to dart from Andy's house, only a few minutes past curfew. Ready to shove all his teddies and treasured toys into the darkest corners of his closet.

Ready. That's how Jack was born. Ready.

Jack knew pain. He knew survival. But he knew love. He knew how to hug himself on tired nights when his welted back hurt. He knew how to bandage his own elbows and knees, and stitch the rips in clothes after being dragged by the fringes on David's drunk days. Nights were the best. Jack was never a child too afraid of the dark. He loved the solitude. To him, it was thinking time. Time to reflect and ask himself the important questions. What he would do the next time David hit him? Or how should he respond the next time his toy was smashed? In the light of the moon, there was Jack in his little bedroom, spending time with himself. He loved spending hours crafting little robots or figurines from clay or loose screws he would find. Jack- watching his mother- knew how long to press an iron onto a set of jeans before smoothing them out carefully. He knew how long to bake cookies in the oven and what times to check on spagehetti while it boiled in the pot. 

Jack knew that a glass of milk and a little debbie would sometimes make David's internal voices less harsh. He knew hugging your teddy can turn nightmares into dreams. He knew to cursive his name onto a piece of paper and how make paper airplanes fly across the sky- launching from the backyard.

Then by middle school, Jack loved baseball. He tried pitching. It was alright. But batting was perfect. Everyday pent up emotions were the bat, and his problems were the ball. Striking hard against the ball and scoring high points for the team became his field. Well known enough for David to place bets on him with the other fathers. If he even showed up to a game. Sometimes he would, just for the bets. Other times he wouldn't because the bar was open and waiting. Sometimes....Jack would lose. And David- losing a bet- would smack him across his little face. "You fuck everything up. Stupid dumbass little shit!" Spitting in his face, David would grab Jack and throw him in the backseat of the car and drive home cursing his name under his breath.

That's who David was. And Jack accepted that. He held no expectations to him, nor would ever be able to. Jack could look around and see the different fathers displaying their tough love with soppyness to it. He craved it. He nurtured that warm feeling in his heart everytime a male teacher or one of his friend's fathers would give him a gentle pat on the back or and rub their hands over his mop of hair. It was just something about the way Jack's heart would flutter when seeing cartoons of Dads giving squeezing hugs or loud echoing kisses to their offsprings. This sentimental affection was love. Jack- a twenty year old- still felt the same squeeze of his heart everytime a father carried that chunk of affection. His love language.

A language only a few people would understand, like him. How much children needed those kisses on their cheeks or those bear hugs against their bodies. Bedtimes stories on papa's lap and funny silly voices or gentle cooing voices for pleasure or reassurance. 

Jack, promised himself, his children would understand the delicate language of love. His sons and daughters would be wrapped in his arms and his smile would be only for them. His dreams would be of his wife laying against him in the grass while the children ran around the yard happily. And that's all he could want- happiness. Jack, was a happy person. A good person. He would never hurt anyone- not even a little fly. He just... had to protect himself from David. David stood on the other line of wanting to break his spirit. He wanted Jack to sink so low and so deep into the cold slooshy wet mier of pain, that love would die. Happy would die. 

Jack would die.

Jack had dreams. He learned to have them. Just like he learned to sew and cook and make bruises disappear and cuts and scraps stop bleeding. And Jack had those big dreams- high and bright. Like the apartment he stood in- feet strict to the floorboards. And maybe the college he wanted to be apart of; King's College only a few blocks away from his townhouse. Engineering would be his major. He would do what he loved; crafting things from scratch. Making a life of burning down the old and building up the new.

And he would become a bartender to pay for the classes and work for Bernie to pay for the townhouse. And he would one day leave the crowded city- taking route sixty six down to the California hills. Jack knew his wife would be there, and they're home with the lush backyard where their kids would play. A blonde haired little girl- favoring his wife from every detail of her face, and a little brunette boy- vivid eyes like himself with the same ambition that sparked his early arrival into the world. It was all waiting. Everything waited for Jack- motioning him to take that first move- that first step towards the rest of his life. And so.... he would burn it all down.

He had to. He couldn't spend even another night in that house. His future was his escape from the dread decorum that ran the household. He had to prove this to himself. That he could be free. That Jack Chambers, did not suffer in vain. He did not believe that men had to be uptight, or women had to be dainty, or children had to be just mere echos of convenience.

Jack would settle the mental battle he fought for years. He would prove that even before the sense of maturity and experience kicked in, that this gut feeling- stronger than the rest- was his saftey net. That his instinct is what moved him to burn down the presinct, and smash those beer bottles against the hard pavement of the driveway. That sewing the rips in his own jeans was more than childhood education or curiousity of how things were done. That from the moment he heard the rash voice of his father, and weak cries of his mother, that he was correct. That he could do better. He was better.

That he deserved better. Looking into the face of morals before he even understood what they meant, was something inside him all along. Defending himself in the face of bleak iniquity and daring himself in aftermath of consequences became his life. And it would always be apart of it. Unafraid to challange the laws or stomp over bad authority.

Unafraid to take himself over the lines of perfection and duty, and into the blades of a certain unsureness. So for that.... he would set it on fire. He would wake up, stare his parents into their eyes and tell them he was leaving.

And with his hands tied, watch it all blaze and burn down, before resting to a cooling burnt ashed grave. And he would stand in those ashes and look at them. Then he would kick up his sneakers and scrape the ash off his soles and keep walking. Not looking back for a minute, a second or a lifetime. His life- would finally be his own. And his dreams would be his reality. A new perspective on what life truly could be.

Walking out into the hallway, Jack took one last look around at the apartment before closing the door and locking it.

****************************

The wails of firetrucks streamed down the block. Taking a passing corner around the Chamber home, the engines honked and sped only a few blocks down the street towards the left of Central Ave, where someone had set fire to the Jenn residence, 'The porcelain house' as some people called it because of their all white exterior and shiny glass designs inside.

But the Chamber household did boil. 

Jack stood in front of a sobbing Lucy and a disgruntled David as John and Charles moved around them- pulling dresser drawers down the steps and into the back seat of Jack's car. Then the hollow frame of the dresser came and moved around them, and then the mattress, and then the bed, finally halting with Jack's desk.

Professionals, as Jack called them- not missing a beat or dropping one fragile item to the floor.

David turned and scowled at Jack. "After everything we've done- and you're gonna just take off and leave!" Jack kept silent but nodded, closing his eyes briefly and opening them to David's angry ones. "Ungrateful son of a bitch- when I was your age- I worked my ass off to take care of my folks- not just leave them behind in the dust like the way you do!"

Jack knew this wasn't true. David grew up in foster care all his life.

Jack didn't bat an eye. "It's not personal-" "Oh! 'It's not personal' " David mocked. "It is personal! You only care about yourself! Where is this new place anyway?!" Jack shook his head and turned to his mother. "Mom....I'm leaving now." Lucy turned to Jack. Soppy tears dripping down her face with a sorrow filled stare. "Please...." She managed to beg. "Don't go." 

"I have to." David scoffed. "Ungrateful pussy." Jack didn't argue the logic. Clutching his knuckles, Jack had made a promise to himself and he intended to keep it. Looking down, Jack saw the last of his items being placed into the tow along cargo space on the back of his car. Taking a deep breath, Jack narrowed his eyes to David. "Goodbye Dad.... take care." His voice sturdy and unwavering, he brushed past him and hugged Lucy. Placing the house keys in her palm, he looked into his damp and puffy eyes. "Take care Mom...." Kissing her cheek, he continued to stare into her eyes until they were completly empty. "Take care...." 

"I love you Jack!" She called as he stepped aside from her. Turning around and meeting her gaze. "I love you too." 

Jack turned to David, whose eyes were filled with absurd fury. Jack- without thinking- wrapped his arms around David and pressed a small kiss to his cheek, before quickly letting go. David's eyes softened. The crease in his brows became less prominant and his fist unclenched themselves a bit. But Jack still held a certain sterness in his stare. His mind even rambled reasons for his sparodic affection towards his father. Maybe because it was just common decency. Maybe a heat in the moment type gesture. Jack would never know; not changing his feelings of David, he would be left in the dark of his actions until one rainy Sunday when he would sit with his wife staring down at the burnt mahogany box that held what was left of David.

Biting the edge of his lip, Jack waited. Waited for David to respond to what he had just given him. A leaden silence filled the room for a moment, as David was gasping inside to find the right words or the right gesture- anything for this sudden blow of love his son presented him after it being thrown back into his face so many times by himself. But this time was different. Maybe a dense ring of finality rang heavily through his bones. And that touch, would be the last he ever felt of Jack. The last he would smell his seasoned amber and musk cologne against the ridge of his neck. The last time he would feel his son's bulky strong hands touch the delicate pare of his back.

Staring into Jack's eyes- vividly jade and ardent- David couldn't speak. His mouth was paralyzed shut and his lungs were blowing out steam from his nostrils like how they did in a crime scene where the body of whoever laid flat on the ground while the killer ran free and undetected. A survival instinct that he carried all his life, had now promoted itself to something he struggled to comprehend for years. Love. And something about that.... he just couldn't let himself attach to.

Jack tightened the backpack over his back and turned away, taking the final steps through the house, to the front door and then closing it without looking back even once.

The house fell silent and David stood even quieter wondering what he was to do and what he just done.

*****************************

A hawkish chill lingered through the fall air. School was in session; Jack had recently enrolled over the summer into King's College for the semester. Engeineering and mechanics were Jack's primary classes amongst mathamatics and science.

Picking up the night shift with the local tavern only a few streets from his townhouse, Jack worked as the bartender. Pouring drinks and serving them to desperate customers earned him a few hundred dollars every other week along with the gracious tips he would receive from his excellent service. It payed for his semester and earned him extra money for sudden repairs or for a night out in the city for a decent dinner whenever his energy couldn't hold him up to the stove to cook another pasta meal. It was the tavern job that he worked- got him into cigarettes. Lighting one every night after a rough shift with the rowdy patrons. Jack, would sometimes help himself to the swigs of a Bloody Mary from time to time during long hours.

Maybe it was to dull some of the pain he felt inside too. The sudden shift of how life can take such a quick turn into a mucky ditch.

Late September was when Jack had come into work for Bernie. Hours had passed and he hadn't shown up on the usual six o'clock bus he usually took to arrive bright and early for the shift. Jack was always one hour later. But this day, an icky trace dropped into the pit of Jack's stomach. He couldn't pinpoiny exactly when it happened. Maybe while he was fixing Mr. Hoover's Duesenberg, or Ms. Malorie's Bentley- but sometime around that time, Jack had checked his watch and the clock had already struck twelve. It was his lunch break when he drove down to Bernie's tattered old apartment by Central Park. Down the rickety street where he slowly crept up to his floor and found Bernie still in bed. 

Jack's heart fell into his throat. Somehow his feet couldn't move him to Bernie, but pushing himself- almost tripping- he did. Bernie didn't stir once. Trailing back downstairs, Jack alerted Bernie's neighboor, Donna, that Bernie was dead and to call an ambulance. "What's his pulse?"

Jack shook his head. "He doesn't have one.... I'm sorry." 

Waiting to the side as the ambulance drivers cocooned Bernie in the white sheet while on top of the stretcher, Jack felt small tickles against his face. His nose became more labored in his sniffs of air, but Jack hadn't realized he was crying until Donna placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and gently wiped the tears dripping off his chin.

"It'll be alright, child. He was a good man." She turned to Jack and smiled faintly. "You take of yourself, ya hear?" Jack nodded. A sniffle escaping him. He turned to Donna with a somber smile. "Thank you so much.... you take care too." 

A week later, the shop closed. Another week passed- someone bought it. It was no longer a repair shop but a gas station. 

Jack and Donna took the liberty to clear out Bernie's things. Donna with his apartment, and Jack with the shop. Bernie had no family, so the two held a quiet burial for him with candles in his hands and prayers above his grave. After that, they parted ways, but would forever share the moment between them.

Jack however, kept his old uniform. Tucking it away safely in storage, he would always remember the first job that gave him the opportunity of a fresh start.

****************************************

Working half into two in the morning- picking up extra slack- Jack had forced himself out of bed and into the bathroom for a quick shower. Then a solid breakfast of coffee and toast before leaving the apartment and fleetly saying 'hi' to Emily. Evans, who lived a little ways down the hall. She wasn't too old, but rather looked in her early thirties. Tall and curvaceous built, wavy auburn hair and amber eyes. Jack found her sweet, pretty and kind. But, was too busy to fair any attention back her way. 

Skiling down the stairs, Jack piled into his car and drove down to the college and made it inside at the usual fifthteen minutes before class like he always did. Grabbing the books and notebook from his locker, Jack made it into class with ten minutes left to spare. 

May Hollowood. The girl he kept locking eyes with for some reason, just happened to be right across from his desk this morning. May was beautiful, and she knew it. A Dorothy Lee smile and a Marion Davies far away look, as Jack would describe. Thick flamming red bob cut locks, light pearl blue eyes, deeply dimpled cheeky smile with the most reddest lips sealing over the pearly smile she flashed everytime she saw Jack. What could she be doing in this class? Was the though that ran through Jack's mind. Mathematics class- Jack didn't totally care for the class, and held no objections or chauvinism towards a woman wanting to pursue any type course or career.

But, May wasn't the type of girl that took her studies seriously. She talked to every Joe, Paul, and Ben in the college and was always found twirling her hair during class, rather than jotting down notes of any kind. Jack kept his focus keenly on the words of his professor and the equations he wrote on the board. Trying to solve them in his head, Jack found it hard to focus with May's eyes knowingly on him. A last resort: Jack wrote the problems down for later and promised himself that he would work on them before work. Slight exasperation washed through Jack. He decided to politely ignore May for the rest of the day.

May wasn't the only girl to lust herself to Jack. Kelly Henderson loved the way Jack's bangs would appear in front of his face when the strainds of his slicked hair, would nudge over towards the front of his face. Annabelle West was fiercly attracted to Jack's confident posture with his back pressed against the wall, smoking a cigarette, while scanning the students that passed him. The there was Sally Beckett who could almost imagine herself against Jack's tall lanky figure with his bulky arms around her waist while she stared into his emerald eyes and let the heart curve of his lips press on her cheek.

But May followed Jack. She felt more than simple attraction- deeper than the ingenious thought Emily Evans carried everytime she saw Jack lock up his door and stride down the steps. Letting the vision of his protective grasp around her torso enravel her as she stumbled back into her apartment and finish making her morning coffee. 

So, May decided her first approach would be in the college courtyard, around the outside corridors, where Jack would be puffing in his afternoon and mid morning cigarette. "You have a light?" She asked, zipping around to Jack's view. Jack thought for a moment before pulling out a lighter from his pocket. Flicking the flame up to her cigarette, May smiled. "Thanks. Not too many gentlemen around here." Jack raised his eyebrows in agreement. Some of the guys did only think about one thing when they saw a pretty girl they liked.

Taking a puff of her cigarette, May smiled wider to Jack. "So you-" The bell rang, signaling classes to begin again. As Jack excused himself, May bit her lip and watched as Jack ran aimlessly though the throngs of students, tossing and stomping out his bud before disappearing inside the building. 

*******************************

It was Saturday night. Jack didn't work weekends. Sitting at the bar with his friends, Andy, Charles and Jude, Jack was downing a martini. Scanning the night scene, the rush of people swinging in and out of the bar with their drinks and booming chatter and boisterous laughter. Reaching for a cigarette, Jack pressed it between his lips. Flicking his lighter back and forth- no fire rooting from it. "Light?" A saultry voice next to him spoke.

Turning and seeing May there, holding her lit lighter out in front of Jack's cigarette. Taking a puff, Jack smiled cautiously. "Thank you." May shrugged. "Just thought I'd return the favor." Jack gave a small arched smile and tried to go back to his drink. But May hovered next to him, letting the spicy blossom perfume swim through Jack's space. Feeling her soft hands touch his arm, she flashed him the same pearly smile she always did. Jack hadn't noticed the sparkle that twinkled inside her eyes. Bright sky blue eyes when settled in the mundane light. Easy and alluring with reason. Pressing her shiny red lips to Jack's cheek, leaving the red residue stain there, Jack felt this tingle through his spine.

May's soft presence eased Jack more than he would've liked. A comforting illumine wrapped around the two of them- becoming the only two people in sight. Jack could soon only see May's face. Her soft gentle face met his in a way he couldn't describe. Letting her lean in closely, Jack let his lips touch hers and soon, even a few drinks couldn't intoxicate Jack the way May did. Leading her to his car, Jack and May drove to Jack's townhouse.

Leading her upstairs, Jack had comepletly missed Emily coming from her apartment with a freshly baked cherry pie- whipped cream dolloped on top perfectly- only to see Jack and May making out against the door jam of Jack's door, before disappearing inside his place. Emily quietly went back inside her apartment, turning off her lights for the evening.

Meanwhile, in Jack's apartment......

May and Jack slammed into every corner of the room, tossing their clothes to the floor: against the chair, over the couch, by the TV, in the hallway. Making it into the room, naked May leaped into Jack's arms- arms clinging to his neck, legs wrapped around his waist, letting his body press into hers tightly. Her soft moans became louder as they trailed into Jack's bedroom. Their bare bodies heaved on top of each other- Jack kissing her neck ferociously as her naked body laid under his, pressing itself against his, until her nails finally scratched his back and hands clung to the sides of her back, letting their breaths fall and gasp into each others with a heavy final howl of breathless words. Jack slid to May's side, looking into her eyes with the fluff of his own. May's smirk played through Jack's mind. A memory he'd never forget- his first time. May would forever be the girl he gave himself to. 

He'd never forget the sweetnes of her eyes and gentleness of her lips. How she clung to him for comfort and pleasure and how she let him take the control. Fanning herself and fixing the messy strainds of hair, May finally locked eyes with Jack. "You were good." She breathed. "So were you....." Jack wanted to tell May of his pride in her being his one, but bit his tongue. Instead, he fell asleep with May tracing his back with her finger and to the sounds of her soft humming breath.

By morning, Jack turned around and his bed and felt nothing. Opening his eyes slowly, May was gone. Grabbing his nylon briefs from the couch, Jack saw that all of May's clothes were gone. The front door was closed and she had comepletly disappeared. Like she had never exsisted. Jack threw on his clothes, and went into the hallway. Emily's door was closed. Jack didn't notice too much, but found it unusal considering how she would always be there to open her door when she heard Jack's door open. Jack spent the Sunday inside the apartment mostly, but eventually went out for dinner. 

Jack wanted to know where May's apartment was. Was she staying in a dorm with roomates? Did she still live with her parents? He needed to know. His mind flickered between the picture show that played inside his mind of May's soft body pressed against his. It swayed through the night, misting through his brain and in his dreams. His heart sped when thinking of May. Her soft hair, her gentle skin, the sureness of her eyes. It all lived inside Jack's head rent free- no strings attached. Jack didn't realize the rosation of his cheeks in his sleep- sizzling deeply in his skin the more he dreamed of her lilac scent pressing deeply into his collar. No number, no address, no way to reach May or understand her. Jack endorsed that he would greet May in the corridors at school Monday. She would be there in floral pink dress, her white little heels and cherry lipstick, lacing her arm around his and walking around the college to showcase themselves to everyone like golden trophies in a glass case. Jack fell asleep, dreaming of May- hoping silently she'll return to him tomorrow.

***************************************

Monday came. Jack arrived up and early- fixing his breakfast, stepping into the shower and dressing in a slick polo with dockers- dabbing on some cologne on his neck, and fixing his collar neatly.

Stepping outside, Jack met eyes with Emily. Giving her a polite smile, she gave a tightend half one before brisking herse;f down the stairs. An arch crossed over Jack's eyebrow, but he shook it off, passing her while exiting the townhouse.

Jack made a point to arrive twenty minutes early to college, hoping to spot May somewhere outside in the courtyard, or by her locker chatting with her friends. Maybe she's thinking of me Jack thought. Maybe she'll be talking about us as her latest hookup. She put in so much effort to follow me, she's gotta be interested.

A familiar chuckle grabbed Jack's attention. It was around the corner of chemistry class on the second floor. The halls were bare and the students were either just getting to the school or probably haven't even awoken from the dorms yet. But, Jack turned the corner. Quietly and vigilant- bracing himself against something unexpected. He always got enough of those when he turned corners and was smacked with a surprise boy and girl coition. But this time, he caught the firery fringes of May's hair. Her slender frame, her diverting laugh- all in light of the corner that Jack peered around. May- making out with some guy- lips locked deeply into his without hesitation. Jack went unnoticed, but was paralyzed to the scene. His legs felt wobbly like jelly, but were somehow still bolted onto the floor. His eyes frozen on the bewitching act play out right in front of him as if he didn't matter.

And he didn't Not to May anyway.

Carefully walking away, Jack's blushing wishful cheeks had become a face filled shade of red. Bright echoing red from anger mixed in utter humilation. Of all the broken pieces that still lived in Jack, the one honest one, the one bold one, the one hopeful and sensitive piece of himself had been wasted. Fully wasted, like money being flushed down the toliet, or fresh beer being poured out onto the pavement of the ground. Jack felt wasted. Used up and broken. Shattered to the ground like crystals. Jack didn't understand how he stayed in class that whole day. Maybe because of the deep determination he had to his goal. His passion to be what he wanted. Never making eye contact with May the entire day- and somehow, she was okay with that. She never looked in Jack's direction anyway. She was already on to someone else. It all singed inside Jack deeper than he wanted it to. 

Shame layed over his body like a blanket, making him want to hide himself- cover himself over like he was naked, walking around the school for everyone to see his nakedness. Once school ended, Jack smoked down three cigarettes and gluped down a whole beer pack. Drunk and sloppy, Jack took himself to bed and decided that his Monday studies would become his Tuesday ones.

Jack woke up and hour before work. Sober, he took another shower, grabbed a quick dinner -a peanut butter and jelly sandwich - before grabbing his keys and rushing out the door. 

"Where's that one girl?" Jack raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Emily swallowed. "Oh, there was this one woman- she said hi and we talked and... I didn't know if she lived in the apartment or not." Emily regretted what she said. Jack blinked, cheeks becoming flushed again. "Oh, uh... no she doesn't." Jack let his eyebrows furrow. He looked up again, forcing a smile across his face. "Yeah.. she was just visiting." Jack smirked. "Your apartment's always looks so cozy." Emily let a smile spread over her face. "Thanks, I love your apartment too! It's so sensual and artistic..." Emily bit her tongue. She kicked herself for allowing her lips to speak so out of term. Her heart skipping a beat- her face flushed and dampening with her sweat. Jack smiled. "Thanks.... I really apperciate it." Looking at his watch, Jack signaled his need to leave. 

"It was nice talking to you." Emily smiled, letting Jack pass her through the hall. Watching him trail down the stairs, she let herself oogle the way his body- sturdy and broad- gait out the door. A blush pecked through her face. A flash of heat swam through her body while a thick patch of fuzz sizzled through her heart. Emily walked back inside her apartment, melting into her couch as she let the image of Jack flow through her brain once again.

*********************************

The shift was tough. Two fights between drunks guys held things up in the tavern, like they always did, leaving extra work for Jack. Jack was a natural at plastering on a polite smile with polite small talk and a good mood persona to get through the days. 

Serving drinks and earning tips for the night until three in the morning when he needed the extra overtime hour to make up the difference on a surprise electric bill charge. Stumbling back home, Jack plopped down on the couch, wide awake. Counting the timeline of how Sunday evening, all he could think about was May; astethic with fondness and a prancing dote. Now, the last thing he wanted to think about was May. And how she used him. How she betrayed him and shattered his self worth into a million pieces. But... Jack blamed himself too. How dare he walk into such a situation where his logic and reasoning where thrown to the side over and ardent dream of a one night stand passion. How he threw his dignity over edge just feel an eccentric fill of love for a few moments only to be lower than rock bottom when it was all over.

While Jack could hate himself, he also pitied himself. The first genuine gash of love he felt from someone- anyone, willing to be intimate with him and hold onto him for the same needy reason he carried for years. How much he needed someone to be interested in him and show him love and suffocate him in it for such a big price. Jack knew he needed it. He knew it wasn't over. The same reason he allowed his cigarette to be lit by the woman, was at the root of where he was now. Alone and sitting in the dark with only a lightly lit living room lamp, whose bulb needed replacing.

But Jack liked being alone. At least that's what he thought. He did though. But.... he still carried that craving. A constant crave of affection. In a world where if you were in a certain position- mostly of circumstance- then, you wouldn't get it. Sexual vibes were the only piece of affection that you could obtain- as much, whenever, how ever you like it.

But Jack didn't want it. Not always. Sure he loved the feeling of May's body, but he needed something more. He wanted something more which was why he was in college in the first place. But....what if that wasn't enough? What if dreams had to just stay dreams? The flame could never be sparked into a fire, but contained inside- safely so you don't hurt yourself. 

Follow the rules- is what lingered through his head. Don't fan the flames, and you'll be okay. Keep your head down and do what's expected.

Repeated all through his life in subtle, yet blunt ways. His mother's coddling of David. His father's roughness with him. These things played through Jack's brain- unstopping or unhooking itself into this merry-go-round of melancholy.

But Jack pinched himself. Not physically, but mentally. He would never allow this to tinker through his body like they had been right. Like the cages they imprisoned themselves in were for best interest. Jack shook himself awake. Pounding the thoughts of May, Lucy, David, Bernie, the guy May was kissing, Donna, Emily and everyone and everything else out of his brain. Jack sat up, grabbed his books, his notebook and sat down at his kitchen nook with a cup of coffee, a timer and a pencil

Monday's work would stay Monday's work.

**********************************************

New's Years day rang in at midnight. Two years had passed, old neighbors left- Emily got married and moved up to Nebraska with her new husband- a ginger tabby had made himself into Jack's new roomate- spolied with warm milk, forehead rubs and kisses, a fuzzy warm bed and a thick red collar against the fat of his neck- earning himself the name, Simba. The perfect name Jack thought for such a spolied kitten. But Jack adored him. Walking across the window seal of his apartment, Jack nabbed the little kitty before it could fall and made it his duty to care for him from then on. "He's too little to be on his own." He cooed, rubbing his nose against his own.

Jack was also working extra hard- his last year of college was really grinding him as the last final would determine whether he would have to repeat the course over. 

January rang in with frosty breezes and sloshy crisp snow, that crunched when your boots clomped it. The shoveled streets where clear. Mostly people walking on the sidewalks to catch in the morning air of mid winter. Jack could remember the feeling of the cold slapping against his face as he and his friends were lined up at Time's Square to watch the clock strike and the ball drop at midnight after the countdown. A stream of tickling snowflakes fell from the sky on that exact moment, leaving Jack to ponder the miracle. He wished for happiness and a week later, Simba was welcomed into his home.

Winter break was still extant; Jack and his friends decided a day out at the pub in Albany- after sight seeing and exotic food tasting- they settled down in the heart of the early evening for a dinner in one of the pubs. Jack explained his lastest class- Mr. Barret made the class do a math exercise with a tennis ball. It was fun, but rather difficult to keep up. As Charles was explaining a funny story- how some girl led him to her home for sex, while her parents were still at the house. "They flipped out when they saw me come through the door!" The boys let out a haughty chuckle. 

A man entered the pub. He met eyes with Jack for a quick second before turning back to a table at the bar. Furrowing his eyebrows, the man turned back to Jack- laughing and talking with his friends- scoffing down the hefty club sandwiches and beer with them, all smiles and cheers. The man was Wayne Hedel. David's friend from high school, who worked only a few corners away from the presinct, at the construction ground. Eyeing Jack, carefully- making sure he caught the familiar face correctly. The same chocolate slicked back hair with the tuff asloped over to the side over his face, curtaining his eye. The same alluring vivid green eyes that could bore holes into you or snatch you into a net of reassuring sympathy when you need it.

Wayne kept focus on the beer he held in front of him. But his mind wandered to one thing: May. His niece- in the same college Jack was in, had accidentally disclosed how she let one guy take her back to his place and showed him a good time after signaling him in class and offering him a lit for his cigarette after he did for her in the college courtyard. Laughing, she exclaimed how Bruce was a better lover, but Jack gave her the satisfaction.

Wayne hadn't told David; conflicted with whether he should- his temper flaring upon the realization of his son hooking up with a 'broad' like the cocotte boy he was. Wayne let the indesicion eat at him for the night. He slept in his misery, not knowing what he could say to David. Seeing him everyday, making small talk while drinking beers against the pillar of an old factory, just didn't seem right as long as he held in this news. He liked Jack. He knew how hard he had it at home and couldn't bare to see any more pain come to him. But David would find out. He knew he would eventually- and hurt him. David would hurt Jack if he found out himself. Maybe Wayne could head him off- telling Jack, David knew. Telling David to calm down and reason it out. They would reason it out together. Somehow, it made it okay. If Wayne headed him off, David might be rational for once. David might make amends with Jack and explain how everyone makes mistakes and how much he loved him. That this would be something between him and Jack- Lucy wouldn't know. She didn't have to.

Wayne slept better the rest of the night. He would tell David. He would tell him the truth and they could make up- like true father and son. 

Shuttling his position in bed, Wayne turned over toward the window, letting the moon hit his face. Letting the tranquil trill of the night soothe him.

*******************************************

"OPEN THE DOOR, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" 

Jack was huddled on his couch, cradling Simba in his arms as the hurls and pounding threat of his door being kicked down ran through him like a jagged opening in the stomach. Carefully stepping onto the floor, Jack locked Simba inside the bathroom and tip toed to the door. "JACK I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!" Jack grabbed the phone a dialed for the police of a disturbance. A sour flush bled over his face; neighbors inside their complexes thinking the worst of him upon hearing the loud pounding of his door. Only his door and no one elses. It made rage crawl through Jack like ants over a picnic. 

Slamming the phone against the base, Jack carefully made his way back to the couch and just waited. Left fate in the hands of the universe- hoping they would send the police as soon as possible. Hopefully, catching David in the act and not letting his badge of a detective meddle in their protocol to their job.

Sets of footsteps traced the stairs of the apartment, hearing them shuffle to Jack's door, where David had parked himself there. A knock on the door sounded. A regular knock- not a pounding beat that echoed through the door frame. "Hello? Someone called?" Jack ran to the door, opening it with his body skirting a little through the sliver where the chain lock would allow. "Yes! I called because of this man- my father- he's pounding on my door- harassing me and is acting very aggressive." David, yanked his wallet out from his back pocket and pulled out his police I.D. Jack somehow knew this, and unlocked his door, allowing himself to stand in the face of the officers and David.

The police scanned the I.D. and then turned to Jack. "I want him removed from my residence." Stiff and stern, Jack didn't even look into the eyes of David. The sudden door burst open of Emily's place. The police officers turned to her. "Did you happen to see anything?" Emily looked at Jack, then at David, then at the officers. "I didn't see anything, but I heard someone screaming my neighbors name while pounding hard against his door." Another door swung open. Mr. Richardson's. "I was in my home when this man," pointing to David, "came to this young's man's door and was causing a bunch of disturbance." 

Soon, almost everyone's doors opened and saw the chaos happening. "Alright sir," one of the officers grabbed David's arm. "You're under arrest for the trespassing and violent disturbance of the building." Taking David away quickly while he yelled profanites, Jack looked to everyone- smiling and letting his vision blur- with graciousness. "Thank you all so much! You have no idea what that means to me." 

Mr. Richardson smiled. "Aw, don't worry about it sonny, you're a good neighbor and we appericate you." Jack kept the smile over his face as he disappeared back inside his apartment with everyone else. Jack could be thankful for the support. But he could know that what happened would never be forgotten. Jack grabbed Simba from the bathroom and rocked him in his arms gently. Not so much to soothe the crying cat, but to stifle the looming tears of Jack. 

Anger bubbled over his fear. His shame, his public embarrassment of his father storming up to his townhouse and making a scene. And for what? For nothing. Jack couldn't possibly understand why David would decide all of a sudden to make a scene. How did he even know where his apartment was? How did he even know he lived in the Brooklyn Cladar apartments? How did he even know he lived in Brooklyn? All these questions with no answers swirled around Jack's mind like a ring-around-the-rosie type of circle.

Why? Why did David have to do this? What did Jack do to make it happen? These questions needed to be answered. They needed solance. And Jack decided he would find it.

***********************************************

"Jack... it's mom. I want you to come home okay?" She wimpered. "Your father's in jail..... I don't know what happened- but he needs to be bailed out.... oh Jack, if you could just spare something-"

"Mom.... it's Jack. Dad's in jail, because I called the police on him for disturbing the peace at my apartment." A pause stood over the line. "What?" 

"Dad, marched up to my townhouse-" "Jack I don't understand-"

"Mom! Listen, I called the cops on Dad because he lost his mind!" Jack broke. "He stormed up to my apartment and caused a big scene- enough for the neighbors to have to come out and explain what happened! Do you know why he did it?!" 

"No. I didn't know that happened. You called the police?" "Yes! I had no choice!" 

"But Jack... he's your father."

"Yeah... yes he is." 

"Your poor father.... rotting in that cell. Oh Jack... please!"

"No."

"Jack!"

"Mom! Dad needs to be there! After everything he caused, he deserves more!" "Don't you dare speak like that about him! He loves you- he provided for you- you show him some respect!"

"He loves me...... you know-"

"I don't wanna hear it Jack!"

"I don't care! He's abusive Mom! He abused you! He abused me! He still fucking does! You can say someone loves you- you can say you love someone.... that doesn't make it true. It doesn't mean anything as long as you can't show it. Tough love doesn't exsist with Dad. He's mean, cold, violent.....he's not a nice person. He's not a good father.... and he's not a good husband. He's not a good man, Mom. But... you have to believe that- you have to see something better for yourself in order to see the ugly in him. But you don't.... you defend him like it doesn't exsist and it does! It's all around you, but you refuse to let yourself see it! So.. no. No bail money. No 'I'm sorrys'. Nothing..... get out while you can. If you can value that... then leave him now. That's all I can do. I love you.... but I can't do this. I have to go.... bye."

Lucy let the humming sound of the dead line beep through her. Tears tricked down her cheeks. Her heart felt hollow and heavy. Her breath, steady and rhythm like- as to keep her breath going for consciousness. Setting the phone down onto the base, Lucy soaked in the silence of her home. A wail rose from her throat, releasing itself into the bitter thick marsh of tension she accumulated inside her body. Strolling up to Jack's room, she finally let the door open. 

Nothing. Just like Jack said. Nothing was there. Not his bed, or his desk or his curtains that bellowed in the spring breeze, nor the little chifforobe dresser he had over towards the corner of his room. Empty. Everything snatched and ripped away from his room- starved of Jack's presense of every corner, every little speak or dust that settled- nothing was Jack's. Jack was wiped clean from the home. Not by any influance, but his own. He hated the house, he hated the family he was given.... he hated his life here. And for the first time, something unsettled itself inside Lucy. Something had made the frothing understanding of who Jack was to her, settle in its place.

The deeply webbed interior of Jack that she held in her mind, suddenly started to fade. Those eyes that would search every stranger for, every young man she met, would never be Jack's eyes. Only a representive of what they were and how she saw them. The same net that she thought she had found in David was just a lie. Jack's eyes carried that safety. Because he was safe. He truly held the idea of the unknown- the unattained. Jack- kicked the dust off his jeans, stiched the holes in the soles of his shoes and walked away. He made something better. Jack didn't let David bury him.

Jack.... gave himself what he needed and carried himself that way. And for that... he was stronger than Lucy. He was stronger than David.

Stronger... then what she could have ever been. And for some reason- all those years of tug-of-war between father and son, had incidently carried another standing in mother and son. For all that time until today, it never settled deeply into Lucy as much as did now. Being alone in an empty room held this other presence. She failed. She knew she did...

But not so much to Jack. Not so much to David, or Diane, or her mother or her family or anyone else.

But to her. For the first time.... Lucy would have to finally feel the blades of the lumpy mattress of her bed that she made up.

And lay there. All alone. 

"Jack...." was all she could whisper. "Jack...... Jack..... Jack...." But he was long gone. She would never be there with him. 

And somehow.... in some way...... that's what he wanted her to feel. To understand... to feel. Deep inside herself.

Lucy would always be the woman she envisioned herself to be, not the one she could've dreamed to become. She let it die out. And for that.... she lost Jack. She knew she did. She knew he would never come back... she knew.... the little boy she could only comfort in time of distress was gone. All that was left was the hollow memory of what never was. And she had to live in it.

She had to learn to live without those pieces of her desires. She lived without herself for so long... 

Lucy couldn't even fanthom where to begin now. And that.... is why she laid down on the hard wooden floor of the Jack's old bedroom and cried. 

Alone. All alone. And crying. With nothing. Nothing to show for who she was.... or who she allowed herself to become.

**************************************

"I'm so sorry, Jack. I had no idea David would react like that." Wayne said. Jack bit his lip. Looking down towards the floor, he jolted himself back into Wayne's eyes. "I truly am." Thinking for a moment, Jack realized Wayne was a good man. He was an honest man, and Jack could respect that. 

Sticking his hand out, Wayne shook it. "It's alright." Jack was simple in what was said.

Not mentioning how Jack decided that last month, an apartment in the heart of Manhatten seemed more fitting. More easily able to disappear into the gush of New yorkers, where nobody knew your business- and no one cared about it either. Jack would never tell how he gave Mr. Richardson a lemon meringue pie- his favorite- as a thank you. Or how, he surprised Emily with fresh baked brownies from his oven and a gentle peck on her cheek for graditude. "Oh, thank you Jack.... these are lovely!" Emily couldn't contain the blush color her cheeks became the minute Jack even appeared at her front door. Her smile so big, even her teeth stretched themselves wider.

Packing Simba away in a box, Jack took him and their furniture to their new Manhatten place where the living was twice the size of his old place and he was given two bedrooms- one for him, one as his office- a bathroom and a terrace. Simba was negoiated extra ten dollars, but Jack didn't mind. The tavern he worked at caught fire after some drunk threw a flamming vodka bottle through the window one night.

So, Jack took the job as a stage prop manager with a theater. The most intellectual plays took place there and being centerfield of the Manhatten arts, Jack snagged the job faster than they could ask. He worked nights- where most of the shows took place anyway.

As Jack settled into his last year of college, he held his breath. Cramming in study after study- he hoped it would be enough for what he learned over those three years. He just hoped as finals just around the corner.

***********************************

A perfect score. Jack passed the finals with one of the highest scores in the class. Graduating with honors, Jack couldn't contain his smile as he crossed the stage reaching for his diploma. Glancing out towards the auidence, Jack swore he spotted a face. A familiar face in the crowd of his mother's frame and his father's scowl. 

Squinting- with the little time he had- he scanned the crowd very carefully. But nothing. His parents probably didn't even know he was enrolled in the first place. His friends were there; Charles and Andy were clapping over to the sidelines, watching their friend receive his honors with pride.

Pride. A feeling that Jack couldn't shake, even if he was the only one. Even if he had to do this by himself...... and that made it more special. Jack proved something to himself. To everyone that stood along his path- he did it. Jack had dreams, he had ambitions, he had.... strength. 

Jack stood among the crowd, taking one last look into the crowd of claps and cheers before walking off the stage. Seperating himself through the throngs of people, Jack stood highly. He gave himself a pat on the shoulder, a kiss on the cheek, a sweet word of endearment. Jack loved himself enough to say: "I did it!"

And.....he did. Letting in the bright aroma of his future set in, staring his dreams bluntly in the face, Jack had set himself free. Free of pain, of doubts, of hopeless prisons, of heartbreak. 

Jack held his diploma tightly. Getting into his car, and driving off into the city, Jack couldn't shake the smile from his face. He couldn't spit out the lingering taste of freedom from his lungs. 

Jack- like he promised- burned it down and builded it up again. Killing off himself, then resurrecting his new self back. Jack carried his passion. He ran with it, and would keep running until he never had to run again. He wouldn't have to find it in the face of a stranger. He wouldn't have to go far. Jack wouldn't have to find it in the night or hope for it in the light.

Jack could look inside himself. And it would live there. It would be there.

Just like it always was. And always would be.

[adaki]

Sry I’m late, I was being held in a maximum security prison on a secluded island and they had no wifi.

[imalovernotabiter]

Random drawings I did while in the hospital

Drawing a biblically accurate Jeff is satisfying af

Plz give my other art some Sugar too

Vacation sketches: 30th july 2024

Drawing them so cartoony feels so nostalgic

[fishiteeth]

Tf is this guy doing

[rainrot4me]

Ticci Toby General Headcannons

Summary: Basic, SFW, and NSFW head-cannons. My personal thoughts, feelings, and opinions about Toby as a character.

TW: NSFW below the cut, minors dni! Above the cut is sfw!

Words: 1.6k

Basic:

- Even though he is socially awkward and tense, he’s a master at people watching. Can read a room and know more details about a person within seconds of watching them interact.

- Likes his alone time.

- He would probably say Tim and Brian are his closest friends, the same can’t be said about Masky and Hoodie, however.

- A pro at zoning out. Takes you waving your hand in his face before he snaps back.

- Bipolar? More-so emotional switch. Tends to be soft-spoken and awkward, trying his best to keep conversation while fidgeting his hands, looking anywhere but at your face. Otherwise, he’s an in-your-face, aggressive, no emotional resistance when that flip is switched. Lots of teeth gritting and yelling, swings his ax around like it’s a toy to intimidate. It takes a lot for him to get to that point, but it takes double the time for him to come back down from it.

- Not easily scared. Will throw himself into a fight and come out victorious somehow.

- Sleeper build. Wears lots of baggy clothing and layers so you can’t tell, but secretly he’s jacked. He may look scrawny, but don’t be fooled. Really strong shoulder and chest muscles from dually swinging his ax and dragging bodies around. He doesn’t think it’s all that impressive. Wishes he was bigger.

- The worst posture you’ve ever seen.

- Let his facial hair grow out from time to time. Thinks it makes him look too mature, but appreciates the compliments he gets.

- Has a secret hobby of playing a guitar he found on a mission. His tics mess him up a lot, but it’s worth the trip out deeper into the woods where no one can hear to practice a little.

- A little shit.

- Hates the heat. Would rather freeze to death than spend one moment in the too hot sun. Favorite season is late fall, around the first snowfall time.

- Big on territory. Never had privacy or respect as a kid so he values having his own things and belongs that nobody else can touch.

- Definitely shy, but not in the “UwU” way, in the “Can you get this from the gas station for me? The girl in there looks mean.”

- Bites his nails, the skin around his nails, and his cuticles LIKE A MF.

- Very light sleeper. Unless he’s absolutely dead beat exhausted, he’ll wake up from just the floorboards creaking. Has to be physically exhausted to actually rest.

- When listening to music, he needs it as loud and close as possible. Headphones are a must and they must be at max. He wants to feel that bass.

- A stray animal lover, feels similar to them in a way.

- Breaks down a lot. Hard to console or even talk to in those moments but some time alone in his room will do the trick.

- Has the education level of a middle schooler.

- Enjoys Gorillaz, Rainbow Kitten Surprise, and surprisingly, older country artists like Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson. “Outlaw shit.”

Dating Him/SFW:

- “Love” “Y/N…” “Baby”

- Loves when he touches you and you don’t pull away. Like when his knee accidentally rests against yours or his elbow bumps your arm while sitting on the couch and you don’t tug away, just sitting there letting him rest. He gets all giddy.

- Playing with your hair. Currently trying to learn how to braid.

- “Wait. O- Okay, so, right th- then left? No? F- Fuck, okay…”

- Favorite sleeping position is with you wrapping around each other, legs and arms tangled together as he hooks his chin onto the top of your head, rubbing your back. Even though you both get extremely hot and sweaty after a while, Toby enjoys the moment before you eventually shove him off.

- Likes to feel your body weight on him, whether it’s laying or sitting, he just likes the pressure and warmth you give.

- Big on physical touch, could really care less if he’s mad or not, just needs to have some part of his body touching yours.

- You could wear or look like absolutely anything and he’d still think you’re the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen.

- Loves how you smell after getting out of the shower, can’t get enough of it while he kisses your warm, damp skin.

- Loves the way it feels when you comb through his hair with your fingers, practically purrs as he melts into your warmth, angling his head so you have better access.

- An admirer for sure, stares even when you catch on, studying every freckle or sunspot on your cheek.

- Self conscious about being your boyfriend. In reality, he’s an amazing lover, but he’s been conditioned his whole life that he’s not good enough and that ideal carries over.

- Tried to lick you through the hole in his cheek once, you both freaked out.

- Sensitive to high stress situations or loud noises so constantly reaches for your hand or crams himself into your side to block out the panic he can feel oncoming. You really help.

- Slasher movie date nights are always a bust because he’ll describe just how inaccurate that blood splatter was, followed by what would actually happen in detail.

- “If he c- cut the arm like that, it wou- wouldn’t spray out that far. This g- guy doesn’t even l- look like he’s ever even he- held an ax before.”

- Didn’t have a favorite color until you told him yours. Says his is the same, just cause it’s your favorite.

- Very immature in the sense of relationship problems. He thinks everything can be solved if he just avoids it, and that includes you. It takes a lot of bickering and patience, but he’ll eventually get over himself and force a solution.

- Doesn’t open up about anything ever. You’ve gotta fight tooth and nail for him to even mention his mother’s name. Will tell you all about his latest mission, however, whether you want to hear or not.

- Throws things or hits you playfully just to turn around and go “Who did that??”

Dating Him/NSFW:

- Boobs. Tits. Breasts. He needs them in his palms immediately.

- A big biter. Will never bite hard enough to draw blood but gets so turned on at seeing his teeth marks in your skin. Big territory thing.

- “Mine. See, I m- marked ‘ya. You’re mine.”

- His dream is to fuck your tits, too shy to ask though.

- Always been a “jerk off as fast as you can” kind of guy, fisting his cock fast to just get off. So when you slowly slide down his cock for the first time, taking your time to adjust and grind your hips at a steady pace, he nearly cums on the spot from how overwhelming it is.

- Bisexual, definitely.

- Starts at a fast pace at first, thrusting and grinding until both of your hips hurt, but then slowly his pace changes, more intentional movements and sinking deeper, more focused on stretching you out then getting deep. Just wants to get you dizzy before he gives you the good stuff lol.

- “Th- That feel good? You’re sq- squeezin’ so tight, ah-”

- His fingernail imprints all over your skin from how hard he holds you.

- Pervert but not in a creepy way. Pervert as in gets a boner from just watching your ass as you walk across the room. Has to clench his fists every time you bend over or raise your shirt up. Can barely breathe if you’re showing too much skin.

- Not big on degradation, but is very big on affirmation, loves to be told he’s doing good.

- Secretly, sooooo secretly loves the idea of anal. For both you and him. He wants to be buried in your ass, your back laid into his chest as he shoves his fingers into your cunt, panting into your neck. But at the same time, wishes you would just read his mind and push your fingers into his, fisting his cock as you stretched him so well.

- Surprisingly, very flexible. Whatever position you’re in he can easily contort to get the best angle to sink his cock in.

- Jealousy sex. Another resident of the mansion catches your glance for too long and suddenly you’re shoved into the bathroom, pants at your ankles as the brunette swipes the pads of his fingers against your clit, biting against your shoulder as he ruts into your ass.

- “Mine, mine, m- mine, nobody els- else makes you feel this good. Right? R- Right? Yeah?”

- A WHINER. Grade A pro at burying his face into your neck/pillow/chest and just sobbing his pleasure through tears and moans. He’s so loud, obnoxiously groaning and huffing as you slap your hand over his mouth. It doesn’t help though, as soon as your hand pushes down his tongue is already out and licking your palms.

- You in his hoodie? Yeah, it’s the only thing you’re wearing while he snaps his hips, pushing your knees back as far as they’ll go to get even deeper, mewling about how good you look.

- Loves to sit back and watch you suck his cock, his fingers pushing strands of hair out of your face as you try to take it all in, eyes twitching the further down you get. He’s not insanely big, just lengthy enough to make you choke and reach all the best parts. Likes to put his goggles on your forehead and watch them dangle as you bob up and down.

- Cumming in you? No. Cumming on you? Every single time. Goes absolutely crazy when he sees his seed shot across your stomach or thighs, your flushed skin and post-orgasm twitches getting him so turned on he can’t focus.

- “You ju- just look so good… Couldn’t he- help myself, okay? Sorry… Can we, u- uh… Can we go ag- again?”

Thank you for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[glazeliights]

what the helllll who are these guys

[dirtflunk]

drawpile pastas yayyyy

[cheydlerarts]

[blackkatdraws2]

[Toon x Mobster] Only he can make him laugh like that...

Jack Desmond is the silly guy. Gavriel Huffman is the scary guy. They come from different worlds that has contrasting genres, one more cartoonishly comedic and the other much dramatically darker.

It's kind of a running gag that Sir Huffman is unable to laugh without looking absolutely wicked. Both in the cartoon world and his own world.

That doesn't stop Jack from being completely smitten with him though, his voice is the most mind-melting thing he's ever had the pleasure to hear

[AUDIO USED:] Men I Trust - show me how

[justsomedumbstuff]

Old favs (and Jeff /j)

[notzawzark]

pisting(haha pisting, im not fixin this mistype) for old fandoms is always kinda embarrassing, cause yeaahhh im still rabid about this shit 6 years later

anwyays radical fucking creepypasta art drop

[gumballavocadoharry]

Unjust Corporate; Jack Chambers:

*This is the 50s, so corporal punishment was around and that meant teachers were allowed to administer swats with paddles or canes then. It's unethical, but I have to be historically correct to set the scene. I do not agree with this, and it's a trigger containing: mentions of abuse, abusive childhood, student abuse, hitting, beating, some racisms, bad parenting and bad educational system. *

Mr. Driscoll. Hated by every student (and teacher) in the building. Possibly the district. 

A very strict and callous type who would punish for even the simplest infringements. Assignment was a day late- an F. One word misspelled on a paper- F. Whispering in class- a hard paddle against your backside. None of the teachers in the school used the paddle or the cane. But Mr. Driscoll did. He expected perfection from every student, despite even if their best attempts couldn't come to par. A painly thin older man with white hair, a thin pasty mustache and liver spots all over his hands. A slight slouch in his posture, but still managed to stand a solid six foot in a half.

Then he met Roger Chambers. The boy swore he hated him from day one. His name was spoken stringent against his lips. Sharp and stern looks into Roger's mischievous but innocuous green eyes where filled with this utter disgust like the way you spot maggots in rotted fruit. "ROGER! STOP TALKING!" Roger wouldn't say a word. 

"ROGER STOP DAYDREAMING AND PAY ATTENTION!" Roger would force himself out of his gaze through the classroom window and snap back to the teacher's lesson. It was during class that Roger realized he could use both hands when writing. Left and right.

Finishing the last piece of his Benjamin Franklin- using his left hand- a harsh burning sting was slapped to his wrist. "Ow!" grabbing his wrist and looking up to Mr. Driscoll. "Use your right hand, Mr. Chambers!" Tapping the ruler against his palm, Mr. Driscoll gave Roger a acrimonious glare. Tears brimming his eyes, Roger slowly picked up his pencil with his right hand; ignoring the mordant pain that was shooting through his wrist. 

The walk home from school was quiet. "Hey Roger, what did you get on that Algebra test?" Roger shrugged. "Maybe, a 56- I don't know." Susan glanced to Roger with a slight furrow. "Did Matthew Malkin give you wedgie?"

"I don't know, probably." "Did Mom and Dad jump across the moon and into a pile of turnips that shoot out raisins?"

"Yeah, probably." A laugh escaped from Susan. "Did you even hear what I just said?" Roger turned sharply to Susan, almost ringing himself out of his world. "Uh... what?" Susan crooked her head to the side. "Roger, what's wrong?" Roger scratched the side of his head. "Oh, nothing. It's just.... I have a lot of homework." Susan bit the edge of her lip and kept quiet. Letting the sound of the swishing spring wind bellow her skirt, Susan would occasionally look to Roger and then back to the sidewalk. "Hi sweeties," Alice wiped the last path of suds off the tables from the cleaner. "I'll make you a snack in just a minute."

"Thanks." Susan said, taking a seat on the couch. Roger smiled before charging toward his bedroom. His wrist brushed against his slacks, twinging the boy with pain. Roger scanned his left wrist again. A thick red welt formed in the center of a purplish-pink bruise. Roger stared at the sore. Watching it ooze from his skin like an ugly patch. Changing into a droopy maroon sweater that hovered over his legs, making them look little under the cloak of garment. Roger trollied down the stairs, ignoring the stares from his sister and mother. "Roger, you changed your shirt." Roger smiled and took a seat at the bar, reaching for the fresh baked cookies on the platter in front of him. Alice let a slight furrow arch through her eyebrows. "I got cold, so I changed my shirt." As if Roger could sense Alice's buried question. Alice raised an eyebrow. "Okay...." Roger kept his gaze on the counter. A fear slithered through him- wafting in this musky glower of already having blown his cover.

Roger perked himself up with a smile. "Sorry, if I'm coming off mysterious.... it's been a long day." Alice gave Roger a small smile. She leaned in closer, pouting her lip a bit. "Are you alright honey? Feeling okay?" Alice put her hand on Roger's left wrist and rubbed- pressuring the fore of it against the brim of the counter. Roger bit the inside of his bottom lip. "I'm fine- it's just that- my new history teacher had us doing a lot of work in class today." Alice smiled wider. Rubbing her hand against Roger's cheek, she leaned back and went back to the stove. Roger kept his stare on her a bit longer- wondering if her mind was already made up. And.... it was.

Jack came home and hour later. Roger was already at his grainy oak desk, finishing the last of his assingment. Signing the last cursive word on the paper, Roger's heartbeat sped up. A warm patch heated against the nath of his neck. A burning heat flashed through his skin. Mr. Driscoll taught history. Mr. Driscoll would fail him for one mistake. Or maybe not one at all. He hated Roger after all. He would cane his wrist again. Or berate him in front of the entire class. Roger didn't tell anyone of how Mr. Driscoll seperated his desk to the outside of the classroom for laughing too much. The memory burned deep into his brain- sauntering the grimness of how he couldn't even cry because of the passing students and teachers. Embarrassed and angry, Roger was banished to the outskirts of the class until lunch, where his desk was brought back inside, but with his crayons sprawled out over the hallway. They were swept up and thrown into the garbage when asked about them.

Roger scratched the itch by his eye. His finger became wet, letting the realization of brimming tears that trickled down his face sink in. He swallowed hard- letting the hollow of his woe slide down into his gut to loll there.

A knock on the door sounded. "Rogie?" Jack's soft voice was both a reassurance, and a parcel. Roger couldn't afford to carry a burden. His mind was weighted with Mr. Driscoll's rasping jarring voice. Jack invited himself in. He always did that when he thought the problem was big. It annoyed the children, but it would disperse with realization of Jack's love and concern. He took a seat on the bed, letting his eyes- filled with worry- bore into Roger's. "Hey bud.... you've been quiet today... everything okay?" 

"Yeah. Why, why wouldn't it be?" He frowned. "Because, you came home and didn't say anything-"

"I was tired. Mr. Driscoll piled on a lot of homework." Jack raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Driscoll?" Roger nodded. Jack rememberd Mr. Driscoll. He hated him too.

He never taught Jack's grade as a child, but when he moved to California as an adult, he found Mr. Driscoll to be the biggest prick of an educator he met. Uttering several words about him behind his back, the old man was embittered, in Jack's mind. He hated how he demanded unquestioned respect, despite never showing it back to anyone. Sometimes, even to his own superiors. Jack never forgot how in the line at a supermarket, Mr. Driscoll glared at the young ebony man, a bagger, who was extraordinarily polite and kind. His name tag read, Dan, and Jack didn't think twice about him. He just thought good business was good business. 

"I bet he steals from the registers." Mr. Driscoll snarled. Jack puncated his frown to the elderly man, who was in his early sixties at the time. "He probably has kids all over with different woman." Mr. Driscoll didn't say this to anyone but himself. But Jack heard him. He heard everything the man said. "I think he's doing a good job." Jack wished he hadn't opened his mouth. But was still glad he did. Mr. Driscoll turned around, but Jack stared straight ahead. "Respect your elders." He said before turning back towards the line. Jack towered over the man slightly. He stared deep into the back of his head like he wanted to burn holes through it. He did want to.

Mr. Driscoll turned around with a scowl over his face. "Maybe you could learn something from us elders, hm?" Jack smirked. "I think society's already beat me to it, hm?" 

"I can help the next customer!" A lady clerk yelled. Jack happily took his cart to the next line. Ringing up faster, Jack pulled an extra five from his wallet. Handing it to Dan, he smiled. "Thank you very much sir, have a nice day." Dan smiled. "You too!" Mr. Driscoll watched as Jack walked out of the store with the biggest smile across his face, before turning around to share one last smart alec smile toward the old man. 

The name sent this ping of anger through Jack. "Mr. Driscoll." He repeated. "He's your new history teacher?" Roger's eyebrows furrowed as he gave another nod. "Racist bastard." Roger gasped. "Oh! I'm sorry Roger! Don't repeat that, okay?"

"Mr. Driscoll's racist?" Jack nodded. "I know him. Don't worry it'll be okay." Roger felt reassured. A warm glow had illumentated through him like a candle in the dark night. Jack's face was set serious. Serious into this deep rigid frown. Jack turned back to Roger after staring at the specks of carpet for too long. "What did he do in class?" A cool fanned through Roger's chest. He didn't want to tell him what happened today. But he knew Jack would find out. He would come to the classroom and surveillance Mr. Driscoll like a prison guard. And he would deserve it. But it wouldn't help Roger forever. It wouldn't etch the pain from his mind, or the fear in his gut... or the twinge of heat from his bruised wrist.

"Roger?" Jack's voice softened and warm. "He.... was strict. Very strict- he always is with everyone. Even some of the teachers." Jack narrowed his eyes. "But what did he do to you?" Roger swallowed. 

"I was talking too much in class. So....." Roger looked down. Jack wanted Roger to come closer to him, but couldn't choke out the words to say so. "What did he do Roger?" His voice laced more thickly in concern. 

"He yelled at me." Roger held in his tears. But Jack could sense them. He could sense the pain snaking through Roger, while his head was held down and his voice as frail as parchment paper. "What else?" Jack knew. Roger didn't know how, but he did.

"He put my desk....." Roger choked. Tears- not even having time to brim- begin dripping onto the carpet. He looked back up with tears and a wobbly mouth. "He made me sit out in the hall because I was laughing too much!" He brokedown. "Today in class, I decided I could use my left hand to write. And I did pretty good. Mr. Driscoll- ow!" Jack perked up. Roger had brushed a particular sensitive part of his wrist against his pants. "Ow.. ow...ow." He cried. Jack hurled himself up from the bed and grabbed Roger's wrist without question.

A big welt on his wrist. Bruising and burning with pain. The sight shattered Jack's heart to a million pieces. David would whip Jack's legs with a thick belt, till welts would sprout over his little calves. Sometimes, he whip his bare back or strike a paddle against his bare bottom. Coupled with slaps across the face and a throng of curses thrown at him, the sight of Roger's wrist nearly made Jack sick. He never bragged about his disciplines- there was nothing to brag about. Who could take pleasure in being beaten senseless for pratically nothing? Some boys at his school would laugh or brag about how many beatings they took from their fathers. Jack never joined in and in fact, would judge the boys. 

"What's so great about that?" he said once. Steward Hollister looked around before piping up. "Well, hasn't your dad ever beat ya?" 

"Yeah. I just don't laugh about it. It's ridiculous and abusive..... I'd much rather take pleasure in striking him back." He said, before walking back to his locker. "Sensitive little pussy." Steward laughed along with his friends. Jack slammed the books into locker and continued to the bleachers for the rally.

Looking at Roger's little wrist- his soft little wrist that was hurting, causing his little boy to welp in pain- sent an angry shiver through his spine. A muderous desire to wrap his bulky hands around Driscoll's neck and choke the life out of him until his face was as blue and purple as the bruise forming around the welt. 

"He... caned me." Roger's voice was so little. So innocent and fragile. Jack looked into Roger's eyes before cuffing his little lanky body into a bear hug. "Oh my little baby.... it'll be okay. Daddy's here. I'm so sorry.... I'm so sorry." Jack sounded regretful, despite not doing anything. "We'll take care of the boo boo." Roger didn't mind Jack's baby puns. In fact, he wanted it. He needed it. Clinging to Jack as he took him into the bathroom, Jack smoothed an ointment onto the welt before applying some kitchen ice. Placing a gentle hand on Roger's cheek, Jack looked into Roger's eyes with unfathomable sympathy and blazing fury. "Just hold it onto the welt and the bruising will go down in no time." Roger nodded, still sniffling. Jack placed a long big whistling smooch to Roger's cheek. Then another one, then another one. He didn't want to leave Roger's side for a second and would rather hold him in the hollow of his chest, placing candy kisses onto the ridge of his forehead.

Caned. It stuck out in Jack's brain all night. He would cane Mr. Driscoll. What he did to Roger, Jack would do to him thrice as hard. Jack kept his fists balled up all night, making the knuckles stiff in the morning. Jack finally hit it.

He would surprise Driscoll. He had no idea Roger was his son... but he would soon find out. Today... in the middle of history class.

Roger was sitting quietly at his desk. Mr. Driscoll spiting out nonsense facts about the british war of whatever. "ROGER! SIT UP STRAIGHT!" 

Jack could hear the harsh address from down the hall. Storming harder up to the classroom door- Jack dressed in his navy blue office suit, neat matching black dress shoes with a very stern look- peeked through the window of the classroom. 

"Roger come up here now!" Roger gulped, taking little steps up towards Mr. Driscoll. "It's funny. It's really funny how you think class is a joke? That all these students don't deserve to learn in peace!"

"But-"

"Hush up!" Grabbing a thick wooden paddle, Roger's eyes widened. "Turn around." Mr. Driscoll's voice venomed with hatered. Grabbing Roger's arm and snatching him around, Jack barged through the door- without thinking and yanked up Mr. Driscoll's arm- dragging him out of the classroom.

He practically slammed the old man against the walls of the corridor. "How dare you!" Jack hissed. "How dare you even lay a fingernail on my son like that!"

Mr. Driscoll straightend his suitjacket. "I didn't paddle him for your information- I was about to and he deserved it!" Jack came closer to the teacher's face. "I don't care what he did or didn't do. I saw you. I'll be the one to decide how and whether my child gets punished or not!"

"I am fully qualified to do my job, sir!" "To hell with your job- you ever touch my son again, it'll be the last time, you ever touch him... is that clear?"

Mr. Driscoll squinted his eyes. "Do I know you?" Jack didn't respond. His gruff breaths puffed out like steam out of the nostrils of a dragon. "That man.... you were in the supermarket- defending that colored boy-"

"He was a man. A grown man." Jack hissed. "How dare you." His voice trailed a little. "And yes! It's me! And that's my son."

Mr. Driscoll scoffed. "No wonder. The boy never knws when to keep his mouth shut- I'd pop him if I could." Even the burning glare from Mr. Driscoll, didn't save him from being lifted by the fringed of his collar.

"You're lucky I don't break your jaw into a million pieces! If you ever take that paddle out again- then you can shove it up your ass, because that's the first place I'm gonna come looking for it!" Dropping Mr. Driscoll back to earth, feet pinging so hard against the ground, that an ache begin to radiate. Jack's deadly glare riveted the man, before he whizzed past and into the classroom.

"Roger," Jack took Roger's hand and led him back outside. "How about you and me take the day off? Just the two of us?" A bright smile fell over Roger. "Oh boy! You mean it?!" Jack bent down and hugged Roger tightly. "Of course! I thought you could use some fun after that awful day you had." Jack cooed. Kissing the side of his temple, Jack took Roger's hand- both skipping down the hall with peps in their step. 

For Mr. Driscoll, this would surely be a day that would go down in history for him. He counted that as walked back into the classroom, wobbly and red faced.

The same way he left Roger yesterday, but with more vigour. Not able to look the class in the eye. He picked the paddle from the ground and set it on his desk.

"Class dismissed." He said shakily. As the classroom emptied out, Mr. Driscoll sat his desk and started his resignation letter. Somehow, he believed Jack. And he didn't want to take that risk.

[crushedsweets]

Whaaaat why do you care

[gh0st0o]

my creepypasta redesigns and marble hornets too(hoodie is saying hi yall :D)

[tryingtofindava]

OMG , OMG, Are you an expert in creepypasta, I want to give you my request If you don't mind ... May i've a request for Jeff the killer,ticcy toby , Laughing Jack ( if you write for him ) and eyeless Jack please?!

With sweet fem s/o who don't know they are serial killers and only give them affection (like kisses every day) NSFW

Preatty please, love you baby

── 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 & 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭! 𝐒/𝐎

: ̗̀➛Back to Source

INCLUDES: Jeff the Killer, Ticci Toby, and Eyeless Jack.

srry pookie bear not touching the nsfw today :c might come back to this idea later with just NSFW tho >:)

╰┈➤ 𝐉𝐞𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

You definitely got his eye when he first saw you, immediately taking in your sweet bubbly aura. (You were definitely on his bucket list of victims after he stalked you for a bit)

But one day, he got a little too cocky and you caught him. And to his surprise you didn’t seem to mind at all when you found this questionable looking stranger stalking around outside your bedroom window.

You’re guys difference in aesthetic in personality is what made you guys hit it off. YOU GUYS ARE THE DEFINITION OF SUNSHINE X MOON.

He thinks you’re too sweet to actually be sweet tbh, but you never fail to prove him wrong.

He’s cocky and arrogant, and the god complex on this man is UNBELIEVABLE… The only reason you’re alive in his head is because he was gracious enough to let you continue with your life. Not that he’d tell you that ofc!!

“Do you think I’m beautiful?”

“Of course, you’re so handsome!!”

He likes that you agree he’s beautiful for sure. (He fishes for compliments all the time, anything to stroke his ego.)

He’s possessive, and borderline obsessive. You’re his. And that’s that.

He takes you where he wants, when he wants. The woods? Yep. The shitty convenience store toilets? Double yep yep. Anywhere you guys could get caught in general? YUP.

Double life points because you don’t even know he’s a literal serial killer, like, even though all the signs and red flags are there.

When you guys started to date, he did soften up a bit, not as cruel and mean. But only a little bit. He LIVES for the surprise kisses.

Typa guy who’d ask ‘where’s my hug at?’

╰┈➤𝐓𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐢 𝐓𝐨𝐛𝐲

This boy THRIVES off how sweet you are, it all works in his favour really. Your house is like his hide out spot, away from his… ‘work’ and honestly just everything.

You’re his safe space. His home.

He does think you’re a bitty dull though, and he often wonders how long his ‘I’m a hunter’ excuse will work.

He’d try his very hardest to keep you a secret from the others, but his Tourette’s to make him tic and stutter put your name and nicknames. Which definitely raises some questions on who this ‘Y/n’ and ‘Schatz’ is.

“A-a-and then he- Y/n- fuh-fuck…”

Please, please, please help him through his episodes and tic attacks. He’ll cherish you forever and ever. (He already did but it’s set in stone now.)

He likes that you’re nice to him, he feels so super duper special that he’s getting love and affection, him! Of all ppl!! (poor boy just needs some loving yall)

He’s ECSTATIC when you guys start to date, he’s not very experienced since he’s only dated Clockwork (my beloved) BUT HE’S A FAST LEARNER AND PICKS UP ON EVERYTHING QUICKLY!! ^^

He was so super shocked when you started giving him little kisses here and there, and it soon becomes a game of who can get the most surprise kisses in a day. (He’s proper pouncing on you to get to ur neck)

╰┈➤ 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤

When you guys first met, it was around 9pm. It was dark outside, the street lamps Turing on one by one. We’re carrying home some grocery bags, and when you bumped into a tall, dark and mysterious man with an eerie mask… you immediately compliment his cosplay.

“Ohhh, cool cosplay!!”

“What…?”

Okiii, so anyways you guys are dating now<3

He’s a sneaky one for sure, out of him, Toby and Jeff, he’s the best at keeping what he does a secret. Not that’d you’d notice either way but… yh.

He’s a possessive bastard like Jeff though, he worries about how sweet you are to everyone, he’d hate if someone were to upset you or even worse, hurt you… (And if they do he’d take care of them for you)

He likes that you don’t question his grey skin, empty eye sockets, the sharp teeth, 3 tongues, and ESPECIALLY the tar dripping from where his eyes should be. Less work for him to make up excuses.

But, that doesn’t stop you from questioning his eating habits…

Always questioning him and lecturing him of he shouldn’t feast on raw ‘animals’. Yeah… you bet your ass he’s not telling you about the cannibal or demon thing. And it’s gonna stay like that.

You’re too sweet and pure to him to be revealed to the horrors that is himself. How he longs to be in a universe with you were he can be normal so you guys could live the white picket fence life style.

But, he doesn’t get that. But at least he gets you all to himself, demon or not.

He’s more stunned by your surprise kisses against his mask, but he does find it adorable, how couldn’t he? The way you lean up on your tippy toes with puckered lips. He can’t help himself but slide his mask up and take you right then and there.

wowee was this long, can u tell I had to get this out of my system:3

[rainrot4me]

My Muse - Halloween Special

Summary: What if the Creepypasta characters were real life killers idolized the same way horror movie slashers were? Kids dressing up as Ghostface or Pennywise? More like kids decorated as Jeff the Killer or Slenderman! You chose to dress as your favorite mass murderer, Ticci Toby- and, oh, how he couldn’t get enough of it. He had never seen someone look so good in his goggles.

Characters: Ticci Toby x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Vaginal, fluff and smut, fluff, vaginal fingering, handjobs, use of a condom, slight stalking, slight obsession, praise, alcohol, slight bullying, Jeff being a big brother, slight miscommunication, slight panic attacks, decompression, Toby is obsessive but we knew that, first time?

Tag: #rainykinktober2024

Words: 12k

A/N: Happy Halloween everyone! This work is based off of @h3llw1’s request made a while ago that I felt fit perfectly with a good spooky special! I will tag the request! Please be responsible and have fun tonight and this weekend!

Find the original request for this story here!

“Wait, so… Who are you dressed up as, again?”

You shuffled the goggles off of your eyes, pushing them onto your forehead and messing into your hair, turning back to your friend.

“Toby Rogers- y’know, that kid who burned all those houses down? Serial killer, dude.” You smiled awkwardly, turning back to your vanity mirror and pressing the makeup brush against your cheek, trying to recreate the infamous cheek gash in the image you had pulled up. You were almost done, detailing the fake teeth at the corner of your lips. “Was really obsessed with him in middle school…”

“Oh, right.” Your roommate, Avery, rolled her eyes, curling the strands of her hair into big voluptuous rolls, making sure each piece looked nice under her hat. She was supposed to be Strawberry Shortcake, you think, it was hard to tell with how little she was wearing of the actual costume. It was really more of a bikini topped off with a strawberry hat.

“You’re still planning on going to AJ’s party, right?” She chirped, flipping the curling iron off and lying it on the counter, reaching back to grab her phone. You paused, giving yourself a once-over in the mirror- your costume really wasn’t the ‘AJ’s party’ type. You turned around in your chair, a little overwhelmed with how messy your bedroom floor was, but promising yourself you would clean it up later tonight.

“Uh, sure- If you guys are still going.” Avery tapped away at her phone, your own lighting up with text messages to your group chat sent by her. You were waiting on the rest of her friends, some people she had become close with in her classes.

It would be fun… you hoped.

“Oh, they’re here.” Stepping out of your room, you followed her to the front door, making sure your makeup looked good in the mirror. Standing on your front step, the rest of the group was there, chittering their excitement as Avery swung the door wide.

You stood awkwardly as they all hugged, complimenting each other on their matching costumes- the other two girls were supposed to be Orange Blossom and Blueberry Muffin, but they more or less matched with Avery’s.

They each had a guy with them, the tallest one wrapping his arm around your roommate’s shoulder, the Ghostface costume he had on making her all giggly. You cringed, fidgeting with the hem of the hoodie you had stitched to look like Toby’s, the stripes on your sleeves were the hardest part.

“Oh! This is my roommate [Y/N], she’s gonna come with us tonight.” You nodded, giving a small wave as they all turned to you. Brushing your hair behind your ear, they all smiled sweetly, but you could tell they were a little put off by the outfit you were wearing.

“Ah, what’re you dressed up as?” The Ghostface guy chuckled, shuffling his mask up to get a better look. 

“Oh- uhm, Toby Rogers? Like, that serial killer. Yeah.” None of them had a clue, you could see it in the weird glances they cast at one another. Avery waved them off, jingling through her keys to pull the door shut and locking it behind you. “We should get going, I don’t wanna miss anyone.”

Nodding, everyone began to walk down the hallway of your apartment building, the guys carrying six-packs of beer under their arms. Sighing, you followed behind, taking the fabric mask from under your chin and pulling it over your mouth.

You would try to have fun tonight, you swore it.

-

“Listen, kid, if you don’t hurry up I’m leaving you here.” 

Jeff crossed his arms, a scowl on his face as he watched poor Sally try and adjust her costume. Toby shoved him, kneeling beside her and reaching back to tie the little bow around her waist, casting a nasty look at the killer.

She was dressed as Annabelle, the creepy dress splattered with fake blood, making the real blood pooling from her forehead look like nothing more than some face paint. Her hair was tied into two neat little braids, Nina’s doing. Sally turned to look at herself in the reflection of EJ’s truck- Jeff had stolen it for the night, claiming he wasn’t going to walk all the way into town just for some candy. She finally nodded, holding her little basket tight in her hands.

This was her first Halloween, with Jeff of all people, so she was a little anxious. The killer, on the other hand, found this holiday to be his favorite. He could waltz the streets of the small town closest to the mansion, hood down and everything, snagging as much candy and compliments as he wanted. People really admired his ‘makeup.’

Toby decided to tag along this year, curious to see all the costumes and jack-o-lanterns. He really loved this night as a kid, he wanted to make sure it was good for Sally, too.

“I’m ready now.” She hummed, skipping forward to wrap her hand around Jeff’s hoodie sleeve, the killer rolling his eyes as he began to walk. Toby followed behind, admiring the decorations and darkly colored leaves littering the ground, a surge of excitement coursing through him. It felt just like one of those older scary movies, the sun dipping just low enough to cast an orangish hue across the clouds, kids running around giggling and screaming, parents tossing out candy left and right- he missed this feeling, what it was like to be normal.

He was older now, officially ‘candy handing-out’ age. He used to relish these days, promising that he would dress up for Halloween until he was sixty- now he had much more important things to worry about than what costume he was going to wear. If only his younger self knew how much of a genuine horror his life would become.

“C’mon, twitch, I ain’t waitin’ on you, too,” Jeff called, snapping Toby out of his trance as he watched kids race across the road, some mother yelling about being careful. He nodded, pushing his mask up over his nose, shimmying his goggles off of his forehead and over his eyes. He was still too paranoid to go outright, the covers made him feel more secure, like fewer people’s eyes were boring into him. He felt that swell of anxiety, having to remind himself that people would be far more concerned with Jeff’s look than his. Shoving his hands into his pocket, he took a deep breath- he had to calm down.

He wouldn’t lose himself tonight, he swore it.

-

“Wh- What’d you get?” Toby helped carry Sally’s basket, the thing nearly overflowing with how much she was getting, everyone was loving her costume. They were nearly done with this neighborhood, but Jeff heard some kids yelling about a Baptist church’s trunk-or-treat, and he was more than excited to show up somewhere holy. It was getting late, the sun almost nearly disappeared, so Toby knew it was almost time to wrap things up.

“Lots’a chocolate. Jeff keeps stealing the good stuff, though.” Glancing up, the killer was popping a tiny box of nerds into his mouth, tossing the cardboard onto someone’s yard when he shrugged his shoulders. “You’ve got like, six more of ‘em- you’ll be fine, squirt.”

It was turning out a lot better than Toby had thought, the brunette’s worries nearly washed away as the night grew more crowded. Jeff had spotted some middle-schooler dressed as Slenderman, the killer nearly doubling over in laughter as Toby hauled his phone out to take a picture. The brunette had forgotten just how popular their boss really was, more of an internet spectacle than folklore now. A meme? Yeah, his big scary boss was a meme. Tim and Brian were going to get a crack out of it. 

Teenagers were out now, older kids walking in packs with their friends, not so much worried about getting candy as they were trying to hide the alcohol they were carrying. Toby had forgotten just how much different Halloween was when you got older- girls dressed in skimpy outfits of cartoon characters, guys trying to play cool as some movie slasher chasing everyone around, and then you had the ones who just didn’t dress up at all. It was weird.

“Damn, when did Strawberry Shortcake lose the baker getup and start wearing lingerie?” Jeff snickered, crossing his arms and nodding towards a group across the street. Toby scanned them, the orangish tint of his goggles obscuring them, but he could easily make out who the killer was talking about. He gave the rest of the pack a once-over, their outfits more or less the same as guys clung to their hips, flirty little touches as they all walked.

He almost missed it though, the one in the middle of the group, unaccompanied. Jeff must’ve seen it at the same time because he was slapping Toby’s arm like crazy.

“Oh fuck, isn’t that supposed to be you?” Toby shoved his goggles off of his face, ruffling them into his bangs just like how you had them, looking utterly bored as your group quickly began to get out of his eyesight. The brunette looked down at himself, wearing that same hoodie that every popular image depicted him in, the stripes on his sleeves the telltale sign. There was no mistaking it, you were dressed up as him.

The brunette didn’t know how to feel, didn’t even really know what to say as Jeff’s teasing went unheard beside him. He couldn’t peel his eyes away, couldn’t stop his hands from flexing and fidgeting with utter excitement.

He had to get a better look at you.

“Hey! Where are you going?!” Jeff yelled across the road, Toby shoving the candy basket into the killer’s hands and jogging in the direction your friends were going.

“I’ll catch up with you guys later! Don’t wa- wait up!”

He disappeared into another block, Jeff letting out an exasperated sigh as he took Sally’s hand. “C’mon, kid. We’ve got some Baptists to freak out.”

-

It was already loud inside the house, music thumping against the walls as people tried to shout to hear one another. 

You hung against the wall of the living room, sipping slowly on whatever alcohol-filled punch they were serving in the kitchen. People were spilling out everywhere, the front yard just as busy as the rest of the rooms of AJ’s house.

It was barely even 9 PM, but nearly everyone from your school was here, familiar faces passing by with glances or cheesy small talk. Avery and her friends had disappeared into the crowd near the speakers, couples dancing and talking with one another, the pulsing neon lights, cheers following every finished game of beer pong, and the atmosphere heavy with vodka and laughter. It was nice, a little overwhelming, but nice.

You could feel the buzz in the back of your head, the tipsy dizziness you held making it a little easier to relax, the music swaying your hips gently.

You couldn’t see through the crowd, but Toby rested his shoulders back on the wall across from you, tapping his fingers across his thigh as he surveyed the crowd. He didn’t even have a drink, awkwardly trying to pretend like he was supposed to be here amongst the buzzed-out college kids.

He had followed you there, staying a comfortable distance behind your group and out of your curious eyes. It was hard not to notice the way your eyes lingered on the houses you passed, smiling at the kids who ran by, and pointing out the overzealous house decorations. You really stood out from your group, a sore thumb from the rest of them. 

What was he doing? Why was he even here? Following some girl because she was dressed as him? Toby knew he was popular, Ben reminding him every time some new post went up on the internet trying to debunk his whereabouts. It didn’t bother him, with his job came weirdos who idolized him- he had just never seen it in person before. 

It really was surreal. 

“Oh my god.”

Toby shot up, straightening as he looked to his side, panic sweeping over him.

Lost in his thoughts and the rush of the party, he hadn’t noticed you pushing to his side of the room, shuffling past to get back into the kitchen for more of whatever you were drinking. You had your mask tugged down under your chin, the facepaint on the left side of your cheek standing out against your flushed cheeks. You even had torn tissue paper to make it look realistic- God, he was going to freak out.

Holding your hands out, you look down at yourself and then at him, comparing your almost identical outfits with a bright smile. “Nice costume, man.” 

Of course, you were cute. He was trying to register you, eyes flinching across your sweet face smiling up at him.

Toby teetered, shoulder flinching just enough to make you glance, but not enough to take the excitement away from your face. He also realized he was just staring and not saying anything- “Oh! Yea- Yeah, hah-” The cool metal of his mask pressed against his cheeks, staring oddly at the fabric one you had.

“Oh damn, you’ve got like- the legit facemask. I just got mine from Spirit, it’s pretty crappy.” You laughed to yourself, holding the solo cup awkwardly in your hands, fidgeting with the lid. Toby immediately regretted his decision, wracking through his brain for some way to get out of here- he forgot how painful small talk was. “I didn’t know anybody else even knew who Ticci Toby was.”

God, that nickname. The play on words was supposed to be funny, but its holder didn’t think it was all that humorous. He smiled at you anyway; there was just something about the way you said it, all giddy.

“Ah, yeah. Mine’s pre- pretty old.” He was fidgeting again, unprepared for how you snuck up on him. “I, uhm, tried my best. Haven’t re- really dressed up in a while.” You complimented him heftily, pointing out the ‘fake’ dirt and blood stains across his hoodie, the great quality of his goggles, and even how he got his makeup to that weird milky-gray skin color. To you, it was just a very well-done costume. 

“No, I get it. I don’t usually go all out like this,” Looking down at yourself, you put on sort of a blush, nervous chirping about how niche it was. Toby couldn’t help but smile. “I just have always really loved his story, so I wanted to make one of my last Halloween’s memorable, y’know?” Ah, candy-handing-out age. A million thoughts ran in the brunette’s mind, but he found himself relaxing again, shoulder pressed onto the wall as you rambled. “I’m just glad I’m not the only one who likes him.”

With you, this close, cheery little features continuing to blab on about the rest of the small details of your own costume, he couldn’t help but find himself listening so intently. A fan? Is that what you were? It felt weird to think about it like that, but the brunette found himself blushing at the thought of an admirer.

“-And I fringed the bottom of his hoodie with a lighter. It was hard to get it to look right, but I really liked how it came out. Y’know, for like him burning his house and stuff- I thought it was a nice detail.” Toby was nodding along, surprised by the little burn holes near the pockets of your lookalike hoodie, the attention to detail far more than he was expecting. “That’s really cool, uh-”

“[Y/N].”

“Uh- Toby.” Was that going to give it away-

“Even got the name down too, huh? Man, I see why you dressed up as him- you fit everything to a T.” He relaxed, your obliviousness laughable, but also a heavy relief.

People brushed by, bumping into both of your shoulders and shimmying their way through. You refocused again, pointing back over your shoulder with a shy smile. “Would you, uh, wanna get some more to drink? I was going anyway-”

Woah- You were inviting him to hang out longer? He was about to refuse, come up with some weird excuse to get back to Jeff and Sally, but the way you gleamed up at him, flashing lights and overstimulating music, it felt so odd.

He was going to let himself give in. He was wearing a ‘costume’ after all, so why not play up the act and enjoy himself a little bit? Slender would have him out running these woods by tomorrow, so why not just take the night and at least pretend like he was still a normal kid? Like all those bad things never happened, being a proxy never happened… He was just a kid who grew up, spending Halloween how normal teenagers did now. Yeah, he was going to let himself have this one night if nothing else.

Toby nodded, pushing off of the wall as you led the way, pushing through the mess of wildly dressed people into the kitchen. Behind you, now, Toby could see the way you still stood out amongst everyone, odd glances being cast in your direction. Just like him, almost, a freak in a sea of hateful eyes. You get it.

“I don’t really know what this stuff is, but it tastes pretty good.” You laugh, flipping the nozzle of the jug holding whatever concoction was mixed with red Kool-Aid, pouring some into two cups. You handed it to Toby, the brunette awkwardly swirling the liquid around with a nervous stare. You giggled at him, wrapping your hand around the sleeve of his hoodie, and guiding him out the back door and onto the patio.

The atmosphere was much calmer than inside, the muffled thumping of whatever song was playing giving a nice rhythmic atmosphere as you sat on top of the stairs leading out into the backyard. You both watched friends and couples dare each other to jump into the pool, the chilly autumn air guiding you to believe the water wasn’t much warmer. Toby sat next to you, mask still snug on his face, revealing nothing for your curious mind.

“So, Toby, what’re you doing here?” You sipped lightly on the drink, contrasting flavors of vodka swirling in the fruity punch, the sting of alcohol making you cringe. Toby hesitated, still tapping his fingers on the side of the plastic cup, trying his best to calm his rushing nerves.

“Uhm- well, y’know… Halloween par- party stuff…” Even though you had taken notice of his stutter ages ago, you forcefully ignored it. You knew better than anyone about nerves, you didn’t want the poor guy to feel any worse about it. Still, his answer made you laugh.

“You’re not supposed to be here, are you?” You smile as he shakes his head, leaning back to glance up at the sky, the moon hanging bright and casting a milky glow across the clouds. Toby really enjoyed it when it was like this, made it easier to see where he was going at night. “That’s alright, I don’t really belong here, either.” You enjoyed the moon because it was pretty. Same worlds, different perspectives.

“How come?” Toby leaned back, too, kicking his legs out as he relaxed, easing into the conversation. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “I only came because my roommate invited me, I didn’t really want to come. These things aren’t really my deal.” You took another sip, Toby taking in every inch of your face, studying every detail as you spoke. “I would’ve much rather gone trick-or-treating. I guess we’re all a little too old for that now, though, huh?”

The breeze ruffled your hair, wrapping your knees in tight against your chest as the air chilled you. Toby caught himself admiring- it was almost like you were wearing his hoodie, the top just a little oversized on you- he could imagine it. “Nah, I used to love it. Wish it wasn’t we- weird to go when you got a certain age like there’s a time lim- limit on when you can ask for candy.” He smiled, flinching his leg a little.

Toby felt his phone buzz in his back pocket, leaning over to dig it out, flipping the screen up to see a text message from Jeff.

“wtf r u?????” “party. dont wait up.” “😡🖕🙄”

Just to make sure, Toby shared his location with the killer, flipping his phone off and shoving it back into his pocket.

You gave him a sideways glance, smacking him on the shoulder playfully. “You haven’t even drank anything- at least try it. It’s not all that bad.” Clearly, considering you were throwing the cup back to finish off presumably your second glass.

Toby awkwardly cupped his hand onto the metal of his mask, sliding it down below his chin. Thankfully, he had remembered to get EJ to redo the bandages on the corner of his mouth, the gaudy wound becoming irritating to deal with. He wishes it was just cool makeup like yours.

Taking a sip from the cup, he cringed, brows knotting as he shut his eyes. “God- That’s like- straight vodka with fru- fruit syrup- Fuck-” It burned his tongue, your laughter so sweet beside him, resting your hand on his shoulder. He made a funny face, fake gagging on the terrible thing.

He sat straight when you gasped, cupping your hands onto his cheeks and turning his head forcefully. His instincts kicked, hands flexing to grab at you, to slam you down across the pavement below- 

Until you were rubbing your thumb across his bandages gently, flattening out the ends that had become soiled with dried blood. Toby forced himself to relax, his heart thudding in his chest with adrenaline. No one usually got this close- touched him- unless they were clawing for their life. It was like a whiplash, having to condition himself differently for your ignorance.

“Dude, no way you’ve been hiding these all night! Fuck, even these look real- how in the world are you so good at dressing up?” You were taking in every detail of his face, assuming the scars across his lips and cheekbones were merely good makeup skills or a talented friend, Toby trying his best not to freak out with you this close.

You seemed to notice it too, because you were snapping your hands back, eyes blowing wide-

“Shit- sorry- I get real excited about these things… The drinks probably aren’t helping either.” You chuckled, awkwardly sitting back and tucking your knees against your chest, silently cursing yourself for making him uncomfortable with your weird obsession. Toby noticed it, immediately catching the switch-up in your attitude.

Holding his palm out, he levels it in front of you, catching your attention. “I’ve, uhm, got the weird hand bandages, too.” He sheepishly smiled, watching as you slowly lit up again, taking his hand between your own.

“No way…” You picked at the medical wrap clinging around his hand, little bandaids and medical tape snugged tight around his fingers to hide the terrible bite marks and scars he had given himself, that gaudy proxy symbol etched into his flesh. He wanted to compliment your makeup, to say something about how realistic it looked-

Until you both heard a piercing scream from across the patio.

“Tyler!”

Snapping your gaze to the noise, you watched as a tall jockey guy hauled a tiny blonde girl over his shoulders, taking two heavy steps before he jumped into the pool, dragging her along with him. Toby was concerned but was quickly caught off guard when you began to laugh, slapping his arm.

“Avery! Are you okay?!” The other girls on the side of the pool knelt down beside the water, reaching their arms out to help the poor girl back onto solid land. They quickly had a towel wrapped around her, and the guy, Tyler, hopped up onto the side, high-fiving the similar-looking guys accompanying them.

You were still laughing, Toby smiling even when the girl came over to the steps, hurriedly trying to get back inside.

“Ah- [Y/N]? Who’s this?” Your roommate gave Toby a once-over, casting a sideways glance as she noticed you both were wearing the same outfit.

“Uh, This is Toby- we’re dressed as the same thing, see?” You were all cheery, smiling up at her even as she dripped water everywhere. Toby recognized them now, the skimpy group you were walking with, the ones who left you alone almost immediately after getting to the party. You tried to act like it didn’t hurt you, but the brunette had seen it all, catching every time you longingly stared at them through the crowd- the way you still did now.

“Right… Well, I’m glad you guys found each other,” You could hear the sarcasm in her voice, her friends hanging behind her and giving you both funny looks, whispering to one another as she talked. Toby knew you noticed it, too. You were pressing your knees against your chest again, shriveling up into yourself. “Look, we’re leaving. Probably going to finish the night out at some bars if you want to head on back to the apartment.”

You began to nod, giving Toby a half-glance of defeat, taking your empty cup in hand as you began to stand up.

“Uh- Ac- Actually, we’re going trick-or-treating. So, don’t wa- wait up.” Toby stared daggers into the girl, unapologetically snagging your hand in his as he stood, taking his cup in hand. Avery watched him with a sour look, glancing back and forth between you two before stepping up the rest of the stairs. “You two have fun, then. Freaks.”

She definitely said the last part louder than she meant to, because her friends were giggling as they trailed behind her, quickly scuttling into the crowded house. You rolled your eyes, trying not to let it show, but the pang in your chest was heavy.

Toby looked at you, took a firm grip on the solo cup, and closed his eyes. You watched with bright eyes as he chugged the rest, throat burning as he groaned, crushing the cup in his fist and tossing it behind him. You smiled, forgetting that your hand was still tucked neatly into his as you both raced off the patio, pushing through the fence gate, and climbing out onto the road. The street lights were on now, kids dwindling as houses stopped handing out candy, but Toby was determined to get you some.

“Are we actually trick-or-treating?” You laughed, Toby dragging you along with him, pulling his mask back up and over his nose. “Dude, we’re like, totally too old for this stuff, now-”

“And? Just cause I’m older doesn’t me- mean I stopped loving candy.” He hollered. You clung against his side, the breeze pushing through your hair and giving your nose a cute little blush, eyes bright with excitement as you gripped his hand tighter. You tugged your own mask up, shimmying your plastic goggles off of your head and over your eyes, completing the entire look. Toby stalled, heart whirling in his chest as you raced down the sidewalk, excitement buzzing in the air.

Jeff was going to kill him, but it would be worth it.

-

“Trick or treat!”

You held out a plastic Walmart bag, the thing nearly busting with how many pieces of candy it was holding. You both had meant to stop five houses ago, but when you somehow wound up in the nicer neighborhood four blocks over, you couldn’t pass up the full-size candy bars they were giving out.

The tipsiness was really hitting now, you both holding onto one another as concerned glances from parents dumping the rest of their candy into your bag. You always hated those obnoxious people who laughed or talked too loud in public, but now, you found yourself doubling over, cackling at the mean comments Toby was dishing out to little kids’ costumes.

“Tha- That’s supposed to be Spiderman? Yeesh.” It wasn’t even that funny, but you nearly hit your knees from lack of air, laughing so hard that your chest was hurting. Toby’s eyes were heavy, neck jerking and body twitching from the overstimulation, his cheeks a rosy color from the swirl of alcohol in his bloodstream.

“Okay, okay,” You raised up, catching your breath as you leaned against his arm, the rusty smell of his cologne surrounding you. “I think if we get any more- hic- we’re gonna be picking all of it up off the ground.” You pointed at the sack, the plastic stretching and threatening to bust out everywhere. Toby nodded, reaching in and snagging a Hershey’s kiss, popping the sweet chocolate into his mouth. You acted offended, holding the bag close as you both laughed.

The streets were nearly empty now, most of the houses’ lights being turned off and decorations unplugged, the only sign of activity from cars driving by or random groups of kids racing back home to review their hauls. You could feel your own room calling to you, your intoxication pulsing sleepiness into your mind.

Toby noted when you yawned, taking that as a silent sign that the night was ending, preparing to part ways with you. He nearly reached back into his pocket, going to give Jeff a call to come pick him up.

“Wanna go back to my place?”

He paused, your heavy eyes grinning up at him.

“Uh- What?” He could feel himself blushing. Was it just the vodka? He hoped so.

“Well, I ain’t gonna eat all of this by myself. Besides, I’m not trusting myself to get back without crashing out in a bush somewhere.” Toby laughed, rolling his eyes as you waited for his answer, shifting your weight nervously. You smiled when he nodded, your arm quickly wrapping around his and dragging him down the rest of the street.

Reaching over, he took the bag of candy from your hands, stuffing it under his arm. You walked slowly, taking in the dulled-out character inflatables and oversized skeletons in people’s yards, pointing out the Spirit Halloween animatronics that you found so cool. He couldn’t help but find himself staring, encapsulated with you. You found such beauty in what everyone else found offputting, admiring what even he would call strange.

“You’re so weird.” He huffed with a grin.

You glanced up at him, rolling your eyes. “You like it.”

Toby couldn’t find a good answer, turning his attention back to the street lights out front. He did like it. 

“So, I never asked about you- Like, really. What do you do when you’re not wearing the best Toby Rogers cosplay ever?” Toby glanced at you, stalling out mentally as he tried to come up with something.

“Uh, I travel a lo- lot. Kinda like an on-call thing. Uhm… Yeah.” You nodded along, but the brunette wasn’t entirely sure you were hearing what he was saying. You were just looking at him, eyelids hanging low as you took in every detail of his face. He smiled, reaching his free hand to tug your mask down under your chin, your sly grin hidden underneath.

“Tell me abo- about you, [Y/N]. What is Ms. Rogers doing when she’s not ob- obsessing over me?”

Toby paused, a dead stare into your eyes as he choked on his words. He slipped up- Did you notice, would you care? He could feel the panic rising in his chest, jerks twinging at the back of his neck, anxiety swelling-

“Woah, easy tiger-” You’re giggling, pushing the strands of hair that fell in your face when you did an unbalanced little bow. “Didn’t know I was in the presence of such a celebrity.”

Toby was already relaxing, shoulders untensing faster than they wound, trying his best to settle his shaky hands. “But, I don’t know. I’m in between jobs? School?” You fidgeted with your hands, your arm still wrapped tightly around his. The weight was comforting. “I’m only still here because it’s where I grew up, but I don’t know what I’m doin’ now…” Your stare was distant, fidgeting with the fabric of his sleeve as you talked. 

He was about to say something, trying to muster up some affirming speech that Tim used to tell him when things got rough. But you were tugging him off of the sidewalk, skipping towards some apartment complex building. “We’re hereee…”

He followed you through the neat hallways, the stout smell of clean and tacky air fresheners strong on the brightly colored carpet. Toby didn’t know if he had ever been in a place so nice, dozens of doors lining everywhere you went, feeling like he could get lost if you weren’t dragging him into an elevator.

Pressing your floor button, he leaned back against the brassy walls, your hands rummaging through your pockets and hauling out a set of keys. Cute little keychains were hooked onto the loop, reaching back into your pocket for your phone, swiping across the screen.

“Here, smile-” You were leaning back against him, holding your hand high in the air to take a selfie, Toby grinning goofily up into the camera. Looking over the picture, you smiled, never moving off of his shoulder as the elevator took you up, Toby’s heart soaring much higher.

-

“How many of those are you going to eat?” You gasped, tossing another Skittles wrapper onto your floor, adding to the mess that you swore you were going to clean up.

Alternatively, you were lying on your back, laid out on your even messier bed, stuffing your face with possibly the most unhealthy amounts of sweets. Toby sat on the floor, his back pressed against your footboard, rummaging his hands through the sack and tossing pieces up to you. 

He looks really good in just a t-shirt, you thought, catching yourself staring at his toned shoulders.

“As many as I want.” He grinned, popping another jawbreaker into his mouth. Your twin pairs of goggles and masks lay scattered on the floor, hoodies bunched at his feet. Toby was in bliss, the sweet smell of your perfume and clothes soaked in all around him, pieces of you everywhere he looked. Posters of your favorite bands, corkboard full of keychains and polaroids, even your wall-mounted TV playing some older murder mystery documentary. He loved how normal it felt, how comfortable, and different.

In his mind, he could see you going through the motions every day, the boy longing for even just a taste of that. In the way you admired his weirdness, he admired your normality. Same worlds, different perspectives.

“I’m officially cutting myself off until Christmas.” You huffed, climbing off of the bed and staggering to your vanity. Toby watched as you fiddled through your makeup, popping open the box of makeup wipes and taking one out. Pushing your hair behind your ears, you began to wipe the design on your cheek off, rubbing the wipe over your eyes and cleansing your skin of the fake deep-set eyes. The brunette was lost, mesmerized by how your rosy cheeks looked so sweet in the warm light of your bedside lamp, eyes brighter than ever.

Sitting off your chair, Toby sat up a little when you grabbed another wipe, kneeling next to him. “Your turn.”

He stuttered, glancing from your now-clean face to the wipe in hand, nervousness creeping up in his throat. The wipe was cold, pressing it against his as you tried to clean him off, Toby watching through worried eyes when your face started to contort, confusion heavy in your features. “Dude, like, none of this is coming off. What kind of makeup did you use?”

“Hah- Uh, the good stuff, y’know?” He could tell you weren’t convinced, scrubbing just a little harder on his cheekbone until the grayish skin became littered with red irritation. You sat back on your heels, cupping the side of his cheek with your free hand, running your thumb across the skin under his eye. Toby flinched, your other hand coming up to cup the other side of his head, eyes tensed in focus. 

Fuck, here it goes.

“This isn’t makeup, is it?”

Toby cringed, refusing to look you directly in the eyes. His fingers flexed, the outline of his pocketknife pressing against his leg, a silent reminder. He didn’t want to do it, God, he silently begged not to, prayed for you to brush it off so he could get out of here. The room felt so small now, your closeness becoming increasingly irritating the longer you stared.

But the brunette knew that if you reacted how everyone else did, with panicked screams that would have your curious neighbors come knocking, he knew what he would have to do. Even someone as awestruck as you couldn’t keep him from the inevitable.

He clenched his jaw when you dropped your hands, parting your lips like you wanted to say something, but getting tangled in your own thoughts.

“[Y/N]. I’m- uhm- I’m him, okay?”

You just kept staring, “I get it, your costume was good- okay? I don’t-”

“No, I’m not- Jeez,” He slid his hand up the side of his thigh, finally forcing himself to look at your confused face, eyes snagging onto every detail. “I’m Ro- Rogers. Like- Toby, Toby Rogers… I’m Ticci Toby.”

Tapping his heel on your carpeted floor, the brunette waited, collecting every twitch of your eyes or shaky breath that you took. He was ready for the yelling, the panic, taking calculated measurements in his head of just how many steps it would take for you to get to your bedroom door. He had done it a million times, ended someone’s life a million times. He would force this time not to be different.

His hand flexed around the indent of his pocketknife, ready to flip the metal open as you sat up onto your knees.

Your hands moved slowly, following the same motion you had been making all night, but this time it was more meaningful. Toby flinched as your warm fingertips brushed along his jaw, wrapping gently around his cheeks as you said nothing, the brunette trying to keep the floodgates of panic from cracking open in his mind.

That’s when he felt your fingernails picking at the bandage on his cheek, pinching the edge, and slowly, carefully removing the sterile cloth underneath, the fabric spotty with dried blood. Toby let his eyes shut, his facial wound now on full display, slowly ticking the seconds of silence by in his mind, relishing in the fleeting feeling of his ‘normality.’

He was a fool to ever think he could have something so nice-

“The pictures on the internet do not do you justice.”

The rush came to a stop, eyes slowly flinching open as he looked at you, his brows knitted in confusion. “What?”

“There’s these pictures on Twitter, really blurry, but still- of you. They don’t make this thing look half as cool as it really is.” As if to confirm it for yourself, you brushed your thumb across the edge of his skin where the flesh broke off in torn tissue and exposed the side of his gums. You watched to see if he would flinch, carefully pressing the softness of his cheek to watch the skin stretch and move- it was real.

Toby watched as you sat back, setting your hands down in your lap. It was strange how the brunette found himself missing the warmth of your touch, already.

“Toby… Toby… How the fuck did I not see it sooner?” You repeated his name over and over, rolling the syllables off your tongue and stapling them in your mind. “How did I not notice? I’ve seen your face a million times.”

Toby could barely register any of it, his heart thudding a mile a minute as you carried on like everything was normal, more angry with yourself for not noticing it was him than anything. It was almost a blur as you scooted forward, leaning in close to wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him in so gently. 

He could feel himself melt, hand unraveling from his knife as the panic dissipated, the sweet, lovely smell of your perfume heavy in his nose. He had to be dreaming, he thought, slowly coaxing his hands around your back and pulling you in closer, forgetting the last time he had even had a hug at all.

But then it ends all too quickly, your hands pushing back on his shoulders, a panicked look in your eyes.

“I must seem insane.” And then you’re standing up, running your hands through your hair, pacing back and forth across the messiness of your bedroom. Toby shakes his head, standing off the ground, reaching out to you. “I’ve been going on and on about you all night- I must seem so psycho and crazy. This is so embarrassing- What the fuck?” 

He’s grabbing your arms, pulling you back over to the foot of your bed, and sitting you down, an exasperated smile on his face. He was so worried about you freaking out or becoming terrified that he completely forgot who you were. You had been rambling about him all night, unknowingly complimenting the boy right to his face, and Toby was scared you wouldn’t like him. Just like how you’re worried about looking crazy, embarrassment flooding your face as you hide your palms in your hands.

“[Y/N], lo- look at me.” He tugs your hands away, sitting beside you on the bed, leaning down so you’re forced to look at him. You nervously hold his gaze, face so red and flustered, he’s smiling at you like a little kid. “It’s cute.”

And then you’re flopping back onto the bed, screaming into your hands as Toby laughs, running his hands through his hair.

Is this what it’s like? Teenagers hiding out in their rooms, casting sheepish glances at one another all night until one of them cracks, everything flooding out. He should be taking a priority, getting the hell out of your room and out of your life before he gets mixed up with something he can’t pull himself away from. But the flirty touches, teasing, and everything else that got him here clouds his judgment.

Then you’re sitting back up, scooting closer, and throwing your arms around his neck, abandoning every thought he was just brushing over in his mind. He holds you close, your face hiding in the crook of his neck, taking uneven, steady breaths as you try and rationalize it all, before giving up. “I’m sorry, Toby.”

And now it’s his turn to be confused, leaning back to look you in the face. “For?”

“Everything. The things even I couldn’t have controlled, the things that made you this way- Nobody’s probably ever told you before, so I will: I’m sorry. I’ve studied your story so many times, went over every detail, ran your perspective in my dreams- but even still, I can’t possibly imagine.”

The brunette can’t feel pain, he doesn’t understand the cut of a knife or the sting of a bullet. But the pang that snags in his chest, this heavy weight that feels like all the pain he's ever missed out on- that hurts worse than anything. But looking into your eyes, his hands planted firm on your skin, the solid weight beside him- It’s like it's all never even mattered in the first place.

For the first time in his life, he’s being seen. Viewed as more than just a weapon.

Screw the different perspective, screw the polar opposites, he’s in the here and now. It doesn’t matter if he’s been pretending tonight or his entire life, right now is real. He’s not going to lose it.

“Ca- Can I kiss you…?” It’s nearly a whisper, his voice so quiet and nervous as he leans forward on your bed.

You glance from his eyes down to his lips, heart thumping so loud you’re scared he might be able to hear it. You nod anyway, blinking slowly as you hold his gaze. “Y- Yeah.”

Toby brings his hand up nice and slow, cupping the side of your cheek as he leans in, fingers trembling against your skin. Your hand reaches to cup his, warm fingers relaxing atop his, a satisfying weight that has the boy swooning. Then you’re leaning in, too, slowly fluttering your eyes shut.

And then your lips touch, and everything just holds for a moment.

All the rush of the night, the nervousness, the excitement, it stops for just this one second.

You’re leaning into his touch, soft lips pressed firmly against his rough ones, slowly twinging your jaw to coax him deeper. He feels like he’s melting, skin so hot to the touch when you reel him in, your free hand snaking up the backside of his neck and into his messy curls.

He groans into your mouth, breaking the kiss and leaning back, breathing heavily. Your face is so flushed, cheeks a deep vermillion that makes Toby smile a little, grinning as he still cups your cheek. Your fingers brush through his hair, coaxing his head into your hand with such gentle touches. It’s so sweet, so calm, a complete turn from what the brunette is used to.

He knows pain, and rough, and cold- but you- there’s only sweetness, and caring, and warmth behind those eyes. He wants more of it, to feel more of it, he has to have it- to have you.

It doesn’t hit him what just happened until you’re giggling in front of him. Then that hold snaps, his conscience rushing back into him, and he’s leaning back further-

“I’m so so sorry- Oh my god- I don’t kn- know what I was thinking- I- Gah- I’m so sorry-”

“Toby.”

“If I should go- or- Oh, my god- I’m sorry- I should-”

“Toby.”

“I’m just so-”

And then your hands are wrapped into his hair, pushing forward until your lips collide, hurried, loud kisses that have the brunette spiraling, eyes fluttering shut again. There’s that warmth, your body leaning in to press close to his, arms wrapping around his neck, he thinks he might pass away.

You pull back, taking a deep breath as Toby collects himself, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. He’s a mess, brain running a mile a minute, his body having a hard time catching up as he twitches and jerks. 

Throwing your leg over his, you straddle his thighs, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck and holding him close. He’s swallowed by the sweet smell of your perfume, resting his chin on your shoulder as he wraps onto your back, heart thumping against your chest. He finds the thoughts flooding, dissipating the more he breathes, disappearing into this blanket of quiet.

“You alright?” You whisper, brushing your fingers through the back of his hair, his skin tingling with your touch. He hums low against your shoulder, running his fingers up and down your spine, the touch making you sigh. He could live forever in this moment, could die happy right here.

But when his fingers mindlessly dip a little too low, brushing your lower back right above the waistline of your jeans, Toby mewls at the way you grip onto tufts of his hair. It’s abrupt, a reaction, but he feeds into it anyway. He brushes that spot again, right above your tailbone, and you’re taking a deep, shaky breath against his neck. He likes that a lot.

Gently, he tugs the hem of your shirt up, just enough to see a peak of your skin. You pause, hitching a breath when you feel his cold fingers wind up under your shirt and press against your back.

“Toby-” He promises he’ll stop if you ask him to, making sure you know that- but you’re shaking your head, gripping onto his arm as he pushes his hand higher, snaking his fingers along the bony press of your back. You let out a low groan, quiet, but just enough to have Toby aching for more. He stops when his fingers brush the strap of your bra, dipping back down to caress the curve of your skin, studying every detail you’ll let him get.

“You’re so pretty…” He whispers, the dull lamp glowing across your flushed face making him blush, your body relaxing against his hold. Your noises are like a drug, he wants to hear them over and over, the softness of your voice so intoxicating. But more than that, he wants you. If this is all he gets, he’ll cherish it for the rest of his days.

Wrapping an arm around your back, he’s flipping you over, pushing you up to the center of your plush bed and towering over you. “Toby…” He drinks in your sweet gasps as he intertwined his lips with yours, tasting how sinfully delicious you were with a swipe of his tongue across your lower lip. Toby’s hands wandered the expanse of your body, cupping your head to kiss you deeper, snaking down to rub your waist. It’s so greedy, so hurried and eager, but doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out.

Your fingers run through his curls, following his head as he moves off your lips, slowly pressing a trail of gentle, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck. You’re gasping, running your hands across his shoulders, digging your nails in when he kisses just above your collarbone- but then he’s sitting back, pushing up and off of you with a worried look.

“Fu- Fuck, I’m sorry-” And then you’re sitting up on your elbows, a concerned look on your face. “I’m not be- bein’ myself tonight- I don’t know what’s wrong. Shit, [Y/N], I’m sorry-”

“Toby, it’s alright-” You laugh, pushing up to sit in front of him, reaching out before he takes your wrists in his hands, holding them down.

“No- I just, never do any- anything like this- It’s like I can’t stop-” Even through his apologies he’s staring at your lips, that hunger pooling in his chest for another sweet taste.

“You’re telling me I get to kiss the boy I’ve had a crush on for years, and he’s worried about not being able to stop?” Exasperation was heavy on your face, it’s almost laughable how much playful irritation was in your voice. Toby caught that last part though, the words going straight to his head.

“You gotta crush on me?” He smiles, redness tinting his cheeks. He’s still holding your wrists, your eyes slowly widening as the heat settles on your face.

“I, uhm- Well, you see-” You’re scrambling for words, the cheesy smile on Toby’s face not helping your case at all. “I mean, I thought it was kinda obvious. I dressed up as you for Halloween, man.”

He doesn’t let his conscience weigh him down anymore, pulling your hands to wrap around his neck before he pushes you back down onto the bed, swallowing the sweet taste of your lips against him. He can still taste the sourness of the candy you were eating on your tongue, too. He licks at the plush of your lips, drinking in your gasps as he intertwines his tongue with yours. Kissing you like he’ll never be able to again. Because, God, knowing his luck- he probably won’t.

You’re a giggly mess, spreading your knees for him to slot between them, his muscled arms wrapping around the small of your waist. “And I’ve nev- never seen someone be able to pull off my go- goggles so well.” He prays you won’t be able to feel the bulge he’s sporting, but when your legs wrap around his hips, he loses all hope.

Your stomach flutters, tingles across your skin as he’s back on your neck, little nips and kisses that have your back arching off of the comforter, arms tightening around him. He would kiss you forever, marking every inch of your skin with a delicate brush of his lips, he could waste his time like that forever. You wrap your legs around Toby’s waist to pull him closer, feeling the outline of his cock. He grinds against you, letting out low groans at the snag of your clothed core. Both of you knew it- he needed you so badly.

But then you’re pushing your warm hands up the back of his shirt, fingers scorching across his toned muscles and scratching your nails into his skin. You push the top off of his shoulders, up and over his head before throwing it to the side, glancing down at the slim but strong figure looming above you. Scars adorn his skin, long gashes or scattered fragments of bullets that have clipped him, not to mention the littered cigarette burns all down his abdomen. He finds it disgusting, blemishes that he can’t stand to look at.

But you’re tracing them with your fingers, rubbing your thumbs across the blistered burns that made him sick, taking in every inch of him. And smiling. Was it possible to fall in love this fast?

“They’re disgusting.”

“They’re so cool.”

He can’t muster the words to fight you as you’re reaching deeper, pushing your hands further down his torso to snag onto his jeans, reaching for his belt. Toby’s body comes to a rushing halt, his heart beating so hard, the feeling of his cock finally getting the attention it wanted.

His hands rest on either side of your shoulders, a dark shadow over you as you slowly undo his belt, unbuttoning his jeans hastily. Hands dipping past the band of his boxers-

He was big- so mouthwateringly big. Flushed a deep shade of pink at his tip, pulsing in your hand so comfortably- every part of Toby was so endlessly pretty to you. He was gasping, eyes trained on how your fist slowly moved, so hot and heavy in your grasp as you pumped him at a steady, methodical pace. “Ah- Shit…”

Glancing back up to you, your face is so red, lips parted as Toby takes your jaw into his grasp, forcing you to look up at him before he bullies his tongue past your lips, little groans slipping past. Your back arches into him as his hands snake up your shirt, parting from your lips only to push the fabric over your head, capturing your kiss quickly again. He thinks he can manage, thinks he can keep his composure- but then your thumb runs over his slit, precum dribbling out onto your finger, and he's moaning into your mouth like he's never been touched before.

He hasn’t, not like this, not this gentle.

“[Y/N]- Oh God-” You’re biting his bottom lip, fingers clenched tight around the swollen head of his cock and pumping gently, his hips twitching and jerking for more. He pushes off of you, the breathless flush of your face so pretty under him, but then he’s glancing down.

And, fuck.

Your tits sit so pretty in your bra, blushed skin laid out beneath him as shaky hands reach to unbutton your jeans, jerky fingers quickly tugging them down your thighs and onto the floor below. And then he can’t believe how he's gone this long without you, or how he'll be able to survive another night if you’re not with him. 

Where you admire his blemishes, he admires your perfection. Not a nasty knife scar or bullet nip anywhere on you, skin so soft and warm, his cold hands running across your smooth hips. “Gorgeous.” It’s the only thing he can think to say, but it doesn't do you any justice.

“Let me- Can I touch you? Pl- Please-”

You don’t answer, just rising up off of the bed to reach behind your back, unclipping your bra so seamlessly as it falls off your shoulders. Toby nearly moans when you toss the fabric to the side, chest rising and falling with shaky breaths, tits so round and heavy- so pretty.

Falling to your side, he’s holding you close, one leg draping over his bony hip as he shimmies his jeans off. Your legs spread wide, hands gripped tight into the softness of his curls as rough lips wrap around your nipple. You’re gasping, skin fluttering with every touch across your abdomen, cold fingers slowly trailing down just below your belly button. He stays there, tongue pressing flat across your nipple as the pads of his digits line the hem of your panties, teasing as you buck your hips up, silently begging for him to go lower.

The brunette’s fingers were now rubbing against your folds through your panties, causing you to jerk at the friction. He playfully nipped at your collarbone before glancing up at you through heavy eyelids. “My turn, pretty girl.”

“Toby- hah- Yeah-” His free hand wraps behind your back, cradling you into his side as he pinches at your unattended nipple, rolling the bud between his fingers. He smiles against your tit, a long sigh of relief when you feel his fingers break past the line of your panties.

His fingers dip into the warm folds of your cunt, dipping down to collect your arousal on his digits, messily swiping across your plushy lips. You’re already soaked just from kissing, Toby popping off of your nipple to snag your lips, kissing you hungrily as you pant into his mouth. His fingers circle your clit, the nub pulsing and jerking at his touch, hips rising and falling as they chase the sensation. “Jesus- You’re soaked.”

Swirling deftly around the sensitive nub, you gasp, heat so prominent on your cheeks. “Don’t worry, I go- got you.” He’s unable to decide between sucking harshly on your poor nipples, or soaking his tongue in the warmness of your mouth, lips glistening with his saliva. And it’s driving you mad, keening and pulling at his soft locks. You’ve never been touched like this before, and Toby didn’t know if he would be able to stop.

Then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your gummy pussy, the tips of his long fingers massaging your plushy walls. You cry out, breaking from his kiss and giving him a good excuse to snag back onto your tit, gently biting on your reddened nipple.

He’s pumping his fingers rhythmically, curling them in a way that has your eyes fluttering shut, fingers tugging his hair so hard it makes him groan at the pressure. His digits glisten in the low light, hand stretching the fabric of your panties He’s hitting that little spot each and every time., looking like he was absolutely in heaven as he rolls and swirls his tongue against your nipple, lips wrapped tight around the skin.

“Sh- Shit, Toby-” You groan, grinding your hips down as he stuffs his fingers all the way to the knuckle, the two middle digits spreading and pressing against your walls, coaxing your legs to spread wider. His palm bumps against your clit, holding his hand there to press firm against the bundle of nerves, your jaw hanging loose when he leans up to go in for more kisses. He is all over you, barely able to breathe as he ravages your skin, fingers bullying their way deeper until you can feel yourself gushing across his palm. The noises are so lewd, the schlick, schlick of your wet cunt taking him back in, walls clenching around his thick fingers. You can’t stand it, can’t take it anymore-

Toby can see it in your face, in the way you stop kissing him back to let out a long, guttural moan that has him in bliss. His fingers beat faster, fucking your swollen cunt open as his unattended cock throbs and leaks against your thigh, begging to replace his fingers.

“S’good Toby. Fuck. Right there- Don’t stop.” And then your arms are wrapping around his head, cradling his face into your neck as you fall apart on his fingers, pussy gushing and practically dripping with your orgasm. You think maybe you see stars, or it’s just the freckles on the brunette’s skin when he captures your lips, drinking up every moan you feed him.

His cock is wilting, throbbing, and twitching against your leg as you finally settle out, breathy groans that have you both staring at each other through heavy gazes. He slips his hand from your ruined panties, pulling your knee up higher to spread your legs more as he slides the fabric from your hips and tosses them somewhere unseen, taking his cock in his soaked fingers. 

Your breath hitches at the way he drags his swollen head teasingly across your slit, pooling your slick on his achingly hard tip, smearing your juices with his cockhead as he pumps himself lazily. It’s so torturously good, his face disappearing into the crook of your neck as he gently nibbles your burning skin. “Need you so bad, Toby.” You breathe out, nearly panting. “Co- Condom. In the nightstand-”

Despite wanting to feel you, really feel you wrapped around him, he kisses just below your jaw before rolling over. Fishing for a condom in your drawer, he misses you sitting up, fresh orgasm giving you a rush of need as you watch him haul the packet in between his fingers.

Because then you’re pushing his shoulders down onto the bed, straddling his thighs as you snag the condom from him, quickly tearing open the packet. Toby watches with excitement, hands reaching to cradle against the sides of your thighs, fingers digging into your plush skin when you slowly slide the latex down his throbbing length. It’s snug, but thin, able to feel every pulse of your cunt as you take the base of him in your hand, swiping his tip along your folds, wetting himself. It was all the preparation you were going to give yourself because fuck Toby needed to be inside your pussy right now.

Then you feel like you’re being split apart- Toby’s cock was slowly pushing up into your warmth as he presses through the first ring of muscle. Before you can overthink, you’re nudging your hips down gently. So agonizingly gentle that Toby has to stop his hips from riding off the bed. And you can do nothing more than let out barely-audible whispers of his name as you seat yourself on his throbbing cock into your snug cunt. “Ah- Hah-”

You feel so full. So drunk off of the delicious burn of your pussy, hands resting on his chest as he watches you. 

You’re so nauseously tight, gripping his length in a way that had his eyes rolling back, fingers digging red marks into your skin. You’re both breathless, eyes clamped shut and bodies shaky when your hips finally meet his, so utterly full of him. Toby can’t even find the words for it.

That’s when you hear voices from outside your closed bedroom door, Avery and her friends returning from whatever drunken night they had, loud as ever.

In a panic, you push your hands over Toby’s mouth, the brunette’s hot breath fogging against your skin as he smiles, waiting patiently as they all file into Avery’s room, voices slowly dwindling out. Meanwhile, you’re pulsing around him, cunt clenching as you’re forced to wait.

But eventually it's all clear, palm slowly letting off of his mouth, a teasingly smile plastered on his face. You roll your eyes, quietly laughing as you steady yourself, pushing your knees further against his sides. You’re pulling your hips up eagerly, achingly fucking yourself at a slow, sensual pace. His tip kisses your cervix as you roll your hips sensually against his, making sure you feel every vein and twitch against your tight walls.

“Y’looked so beau- beautiful tonight. So pretty dressing up as me.” Toby gasps, running his hands across your thighs, up the sides of your waist as you dig your knees into the mattress. It sends shivers down your spine, ones that go directly to your clit as you lean forward, pressing your chest against his. Sweaty forehead meeting his, he leans up to meet your pitiful kiss, hips still pushing back as your clit rubs against his abs.

Surprised moans get choked in his throat as you rock your hips back and forth, pulling all the way up till his furiously flushed tip is teasing your sloppy hole, slick glistening on his length, just to nudge yourself down again, relishing in that full feeling. 

Wrapping his hands around the back of your thighs, he massages the plushness of your ass, smiling to himself when you wrap your arms around his neck and hide your face into the crook of his neck. “More, Toby.”

“O- Okay…” He breathes, bending his knees to get a better angle, the divot of his cock pressing against that sweet spot and making you mewl. The weight of you on top of him is so satisfying.

Toby starts up a satisfyingly good pace, thrusts get deeper and deeper until he finally buries his cock into you as deep as it could go. Throaty groans spill out of his mouth, he looks over and kisses your forehead gently, taking in every moan and whine you muffle into his neck. “Oh- hah! Yeah, yeah, yeah-”

Even if his body was exhausted, he couldn’t feel it. All he could tell was that your cunt was gripping him so hard his jaw was clenched, grinding his teeth as he fucked himself up into that sweet warmth. “So good- Oh, feels so good-”

“Oh god. Toby, right there-” You gasp out in pleasure, starting to move in shallow thrusts that have your eyes rolling to the back of your head, the curve of his cock knocking that swollen sweet spot over and over, each thrust more prominent than the last. You bounce your ass back on him, meeting every thrust that he delivers so deep into the swell of your pussy, clit aching and throbbing as it rubs against his hard abs. “You’re so- doing so good, baby-” He huffs.

Feeling that very familiar coil in your abdomen, you mewl, “Toby- I’m gonna-”

But then his thrusts halt, hands reaching further up your back to hold onto you tightly, sitting both you and him up as he crawls up onto his knees. He’s got your weight in his arms, cock still nestled so deeply inside of you as you wrap your limbs around him, leaning in to kiss along his jawline sticky with sweat.

He gives up thrusting now, hips rutting and grinding into you in a way that has you moaning deep and long, cunt throbbing with the ache for release. He’s in so deep- so full. 

Kissing against your rose cheeks, he looks at you with fucked-out eyes, trying his best to ride out the last of this moment as he feels his gut pool with warmth. His arms reach around your slender back to dig his nails into the unblemished skin, holding you as close as he physically could. It felt so perfect. Your hips grind back to meet Toby’s, thighs trembling as they cling to his hips. “Shit, [Y/N], I think yo- you were made for me.”

And then you’re capturing his lips, breathy moans as you feel him throb inside you.

“Close?” 

“Mhm…” He sighs, leaning down to kiss along your shoulder.

You grind your hips deeper, chasing that heavy feeling that builds in your gut, clinging onto whatever you can grab of his skin, brushing your hands up into his hair and pulling. “Hngh- Toby. Inside- ” You whimper, overstimulated, and your senses filled with only the brunette, you finally cum, riding it out on his deep thrusts. “Oh, fu- fuck. Gonna cum. Gonna cum, my pretty girl- Hngh-” He moans out as your pussy clenches down on him, finally tipping over the edge as well.

You feel Toby cum in hot spurts into the condom, rasping your name over and over as if it was the only word he knew. He collapses onto you, careful not to crush you with his full body weight as he pants against your neck, slowly tugging himself from your gooey warmth.

As you both come down from your highs, he quickly removes the condom and hugs your sweaty body closer to his, kissing along your neck and up to the corner of your mouth. Eventually, he climbs off of your bed, searching your messy floor for his boxers, tossing you his t-shirt which you happily pull on. 

He fishes new panties from your dresser- quietly spazzing out at all the different colored bras and matching bottoms you had to choose from- and tugs on his own boxers.

Every movement after that is laced with exhaustion, tired, sticky bodies shuffling under the covers as you cling to his side, breathing in his smell like it’ll be the last time you do. He’ll make sure it’s not.

Flipping your lamp off, the only glow is from your TV, dim lights reflecting off of your still-rosy skin. He takes every moment to kiss along your cheeks, brushing your hair from your face, and cradling your body tight against him. He doesn’t really remember how you coaxed him into taking off the wrap on his hand- with the false promise that you would change the soiled bandages out tomorrow- but you do, unraveling the fabric until that horrific proxy symbol contrasted against his pale skin. A mark, a reminder of who he was returning to when the sun rose tomorrow.

He promised to let himself have tonight, but he knew that tonight wasn’t going to last forever.

But then you’re bringing his hand to your lips, placing a sweet, deep kiss right at the center of his palm. And he melts. He wasn’t lying when he said he thought you were made for him, the sour look on his face disappearing when he was cupping your cheeks, pulling you impossibly closer to kiss against your skin.

You kissed against the scar on his cheek, soft lips on jagged flesh, and he knew.

You spend the rest of the night fishing stories from him, things he promised he would never tell, but find your reactions just too good at the mention of Masky and Tim. Your obsession seemed to run deeper than him, but he was your favorite.

-

Toby would have never felt the dip in the bed beside him, or the fingers that messed in his hair, but he did feel the fist that clenched onto his jaw much harder than you ever could’ve.

“Rise and shine, twitch.” Jeff, in all of his ugliness, sat on the edge of the bed, teasingly patting Toby’s cheeks. The brunette sat up, pushing the killer off of him and out of the bed, hoarse little chuckles erupting as he felt you stir next to him.

“How the fuck did you get here?”

“Front door, duh. You sent me your location last night, remember?” Toby noticed through your open bedroom door that your front door was swung wide open, the killer smiling with satisfaction, but his face slowly dropped when he saw you slowly sit up.

“Toby? Wha-” You see Jeff, Toby ready to reach out and clamp your mouth shut, prepping for a terrified scream. But then you’re sitting up, Jeff awkwardly glancing back and forth between you two as your lips part. “No way.”

Toby should’ve known better.

Because then you’re bombarding the killer, sitting on the edge of the bed, and studying every detail of his face, fangirling, of all things. Toby smiles, laughing to himself as you banter on and on about newsletters and obscure websites, Jeff casting you concerning looks as you recount his entire backstory. 

-

It’s well into the afternoon by the time Jeff finally pushes Toby to leave, barking about how he was supposed to have him back hours ago. The killer would never admit it, but they were only there that long because he enjoyed hearing someone harp on how good of a killer he was, complimenting him like he had always wanted.

Jeff’s already in the truck waiting as Toby kisses your face, kissing against your hands as fear courses him, fear that this will be the last time. But then you’re grabbing his phone, typing in your number, and sending yourself a text. A promise.

“For whenever you want to stop by ;)”

Followed by your address.

And then he’s back on the road, Jeff harping on and on about how ‘you weren’t that bad’ or ‘if Toby wasn’t careful he’d snatch you up.’ He couldn’t hear him though, too busy studying every detail of the photo you had sent him, the two of you smiling half-drunk in that elevator. It was already his wallpaper by the time they made it back to the mansion.

And he was already making plans on how he could sneak away tonight to come see you.

God, how he loved Halloween.

Thanks for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

Thanks to my wonderful editors @h3llw1 and @solarbites!

Happy Halloween!