Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You pop a naproxen pill in your mouth, swallowing it down with a coke.

Your house is a mess. You can't be bothered to fix it. You usually clean for company, but you just can’t bother. You doubt he would do the same for you anyway, and you don't even wanna know what his mess looks like. Plus, not like he's gonna care about the leftover mess that much when he's too busy with your flesh right? Yeah.

You slip over to your wardrobe, grabbing a more comfortable outfit. He’s never done much to you, except, eat you. Or something. but you usually walk around in shorts and a bra and… You just don’t feel comfortable wearing anything like that with him. You also grab a leather belt. The one you always use. There’s bite marks on it from the past week or two, and all you can really do is stare at them.

Soon he’ll be here, and you’ll be clenching your teeth over the belt.

 It will hurt. 

Your eyes trace the indents of your teeth. They’re uneven, the leather frays where you've drug your teeth. The taste still lingers on your tongue. You’re sure if someone made you smell leather you'd go into a flight or fight response, no matter where you were. Pavlovian response or something. Leather means Bob. Bob means…

You leave your room.

Why did you bother agreeing to this anyway? you won’t get any praise. Any trophy, or badge. Special treatment, not even a “thanks” will be passed your way. It's sickening, watching strangers on the street pass by your apartment, unaware of how you’ve practically saved all their asses. What do you get? Naproxen. Naproxen and a leather belt. clenched teeth and blood. So much blood. So much blood it's sickening, it takes so little effort to wash blood from your sink, but that smell. That feeling. It washes over you like a flood, drowns you.  Chokes you up, more and more blood. You’ll never breathe right again. Never look at that sink right again. Dishes pile up. You only wash them so it can happen again. 

…

Thank god he got to you before you made any proper connections with people.

You sit on the floor of your kitchen. Your stomach churns, and you grip the leather belt. Maybe you could leave and never come back. Is it better to let others die? Maybe. You haven't entertained the thought. It only makes you sick. Too sick. You’re never not sick. Get over yourself.

Two knocks rap at your door.

Your thoughts plummet, your heart races. Why bother. He’d find you even if you did try to leave. You stand up, not bothering to calm yourself down. If you take too long, he’ll find another way in. You know that too well. The doorknob is cold against your body's warmth when you turn it.

Lifting your head up, you're met with those same eyes. Same haircut, same big stature. Swirls of cyan and deep brown trail down your entire body, and then land on your arm. Instinctually, your hand reaches to grab it, holding it to yourself. He meets eyes with you again.

Must mean it's your arm this time.

“Ya gonna let me in?” 

You snap out of it, only then realizing you stood there staring at him. taking in a breath, you slowly step aside, drawing the door wide open with you. He doesn't bother waiting all the way for you, and his side shoves into yours as he walks inside.

“sorry.” your voice is low, quickly shutting the door behind you. He doesn't bother responding to it. Dick.

“So, Angel.” he starts, grinning down at you with that smile, the same smile that's torn your flesh- torn others flesh. His teeth don’t look it, until he opens his mouth. Opens his mouth and purrs that nickname. You hate that stupid nickname. It makes you feel sick. Reminds you of the knife he dragged down your stomach, that first time he said it. That searing pain. Burning you up. Never your stomach. Never again.

“yeah, I’m ready.” you swallow spit, already moving to the sink, eliciting a deep chuckle from him.

“Didn’ know you were so hungry ta get it over with. An’ here I was thinkin’ you enjoyed my company.” He pouted, though you could see his lip twitching up. You refrain from rolling your eyes, last time you did that he almost tore them out. Instead, you just set up the stool next to your sink, and step onto it. Folding the belt over itself, you place it in your mouth.

He lifts up his shirt, grabbing a knife from his tool belt as he adjusts himself behind you. His stomach presses into your back, pushing you against the edge of the sink. He doesn't need the stool, considering he’s a whole foot taller than you, which is really annoying. It’s too easy for him to overpower you, when you're eye to eye with his tits all the damn time. 

“Yer quiet today..”

He trails a hand up your side, sending a shutter of disgust up your spine. You wince away from his hand, but he just grabs your arm and leans you over the sink with a rough tug.

You grunt, gritting your teeth over the belt. his hand is rough with scars and weathering, reaching and dragging it down to your wrist. You try to avoid dragging your tongue over the belt, disgust coiling in your stomach at the taste. Your heart won’t stop pounding in your chest, and with how he's grinning it almost feels like he can hear it. 

“Jus’ gonna take yer arm, stay still.”

You would’ve said “just?” if your mouth wasn’t full of leather. You settle for a grunt.

He holds the knife up to just below your elbow, and doesn't bother to warn you. The knife is carved into your arm, back and forth. It burns. Your arm sears and your cries are muffled by the belt. You’re able to hold in most of the blood curdling ones, somefuckinghow, but still scream every time he goes a little too fast for your arms liking. Your whole body shakes, your legs going weak and buckling. his belly pressed against your back is the only thing that keeps you up, and your screams lessen, and lessen, up into a quiet whimper as time goes by.

Your eyes fuzz out. everything is just blurred, everything is covered in red. You hear a whirring, a ringing. That fades in and out. There’s so much red. Your stomach churns. you keel over the sink, spilling blood from your mouth. You’re choking. Coughing and heaving. Iron is all you can taste. Smell. It's suffocating. Choking you inside and out. Every breath tainted. You hear his muffled voice amidst the ringing in your ears, before your head falls and your consciousness follows.

…

..

.

The muffled sound of someone's voice toys with your ears. Your eyes are slow to open, blurred. Two people’s voices. Is there someone else here? Your eyes feel heavy. Actually- your entire body feels heavy. You’re splayed- somewhere. Your ears are still ringing. You have a searing headache. It pounds at your skull and you groan. 

“Ah, yer up.” His muddled voice interrupts your thoughts, and your headache worsens. You try to lift your arm up to your head, before his hand grips your arm tightly, placing it down.

“Yer other, dibshit.” he grunts, you finally looking down and realizing you lifted the still-healing arm. You watch as your bone slowly but surely crackles into place. Its disgusting. You can see everything. Your bones, your blood, your flesh. With the way Bobs’ eyes glint, you doubt he doesn’t enjoy it.

The TV is on the news. You’re carelessly splayed on the couch, half your body falling off.

your eyes drag to the tv, hazily reading the headline.

‘Cannibalistic murderer disappeared without a trace’ is what you think it says. You scoff. He’s just at your house.

Your eyes heavily follow his arm up to his face. He licks his lips, letting go of your arm to instead go back to the cooked meat in his lap. It looks delicious. Your stomach cramps painfully, and you ignore it. You know damn well what that is.

Dragging your tongue over your cracked lips, the taste of iron is immediate. You shutter.

“...how,, long was I out..?” your words slur a bit, and he snorts.

“Damn near an hour or so. Almost assumed ya wouldn’t wake up.” He’s snickering, and you can’t muster up anything but a grunt. You’re still hungry, and your stomach rumbles in protest.

Something jabs at your mouth. You scowl, opening your eyes that you didn't even realize closed in the first place. A fork with meat on it is pressed against your lips again, and you grimace.

“I’m not eating,, that.” you use the right hand this time to weakly push it back to him.

“Don’t be ungrateful.” He snaps, his voice darkening into a hiss, and you swallow spit anxiously. “I only cooked it fer you. Much better raw, but you can eat it this way. You ‘n yer picky stomach.” 

His finger prods at your stomach, and you wince. He savors that reaction, and disgust writhes in your insides when his finger trails down your stomach.

He doesn't push the fork back to you though, instead tearing it off himself with fervor. You let out a breath when his hand returns to his lap, hopeful in the idea that he didn’t hear it.

“Don’ know why ya bother refusin’ ta eat it. Jus’ meat.” 

Right. Just meat. That's all you are to him, aren't you? Just a hunk of meat. Neverending meal. Just thinking of eating your own arm makes you sick. You don’t bother to think about all the people that actually will. Clueless to your dumb sacrifice.

You hold your arm up again, flesh slowly following bone as it regrows.

“..I wouldn’t be surprised if you got off on watching people eat it.” you admit, shrugging weakly. “Is that why you want me to eat it so bad?”

“...Angel, ya know I don’ like it when ya avoid answerin’.” you can hear the way he grits his teeth as he says it, and your hand twitches. Too comfortable. You’re too tired to properly react how you normally would at the nickname, and instead give a small sigh.

“Sorry. I just, don’t wanna eat right now. Might throw up. Still feel sick from,, it.” You lie through your teeth. You could down just about anything right now. And actually, your body needs it. Regeneration is exhausting, and will only slow the less sleep and less food you get in the process. But you’d rather die than choke down your own arm.

If he knows it was a lie, he doesn't show it. 

“Now, back to the cannibalistic murderer known as “The Red Devil”. He is still missing, but the small town is thankful for the sudden lessen in murders. Cops are stumped but hopeful he has left. Here’s what a few locals think of the situation.”

A few locals you recognize from your job pop up, and you hear a dark chuckle beside you.

“They don’ realize how lucky they are, ain’t that right, Angel.”

“...I don’t need recognition.” you frown, eyes glued to the screen. Nothing to do but that. Or watch him eat. 

“Tha’s why I call ya angel.” he chuckles deeply, “So righteous in yer ways. Pure. Sacrificing yerself for the greater good, jus’ like an Angel would.” 

“..Just like an Angel would.” you swallow. You hate how horrid that makes you feel. Discomfort crawls down your insides like a parasite. How could you think about leaving this town to its devices with him. 

Your eyes are starting to feel heavy again. They drag down slowly, and you let out a long breath of relief as you fall asleep.

Chapter Text

Waking up, you feel like shit.

Your skin is clammy with sweat. Your lips are cracked and dry, throat parched. Everything burns and as you stand up you almost trip straight into your coffee table. Your knees are weak and sore from convulsing, and you grit your teeth through the pain your entire body manages to scream. Your stomach cramps painfully in hunger, and you feel so sick you swear you were seconds from throwing up.

You stumble to the kitchen, your head spinning as you take each step. You drag a cup to the sink and down it the moment you could. You sigh, your coarse and dry throat soothed, for a moment. A little Tupperware container sits on the counter. There's no note but you know who it's from and exactly what it is. You grimace, not even bothering to look inside. Disgust coils dangerously in your throat as you toss it in the trash. 

Just imagining eating such a thing…

You spend a section of the day flushing the toilet after throwing up your guts, again, and another half of the day downing cans of soup and sleeping. You managed to stick a shower in there somewhere, so the dried blood originally attached to your skin is now rushing down the drain. Your arm wasn’t far off from done, so watching that final inch of flesh consume, god it was a blessing. 

You flex your hand, dragging your hands across the newly made skin. Its soft, untouched. Its odd, how your skin almost resets itself. Any rough skin from before is gone. Renewed. 

“Pure.”

…

You slip into a comfortable outfit, dawning a warm jacket as you slide out your front door. Taking a deep breath of fresh air was a blessing. It was cool out, september. Nearing halloween. The fresh air against your skin is a savior, and you stand there for a long minute, letting yourself drown in it. No more iron. No more washing blood down the drain. Just the fresh air. 

You’re living free again. Every breath is yours, and no insane cannibal murderer is using you for produce. It's freeing, to pretend.

You start walking in a random direction, simply moving to move. It feels good, to not think of him.

These small moments are your only savior. The only thing keeping you trucking. Not like you could kill yourself, but you could become a hermit and live the rest of your life on autopilot forever and ever. Die in the only way you can. Absence.

You suck in a breath of cold air, refreshing your thoughts. Enough. He’ll die one day. Not like you haven't choked a few stabbings for a party trick or two before. You can deal with it. 

Speaking of it, the bright sign of “Boys ‘N Grills” interrupts your thoughts. You stare at it.

How many times do you think people have already eaten your flesh? How many people complimented your meat? a couple? Tens? Hundreds maybe?

You glance at a nearby bench, and sit on it. 

Silhouettes of patrons eat, laugh, and drink. How many of them are eating your arm right now? How many are savoring it? How many times has he served you, now. You haven’t been an “Angel” for long but there's gotta be a good chunk of people in this town who’ve already had a taste for you. It's disgusting. You feel disgusting.

The sky darkens, and the air grows colder. More and more patrons leave. Couples, families… you shiver, huffing to yourself at the cold.

Growing closer to holidays means your body has to work overtime to produce. It's sickening. But that's all you can do. 

With a sigh, you stand up, and walk across the street to Boys and Grills. It’s too cold.

It's warm inside, and you shiver. It’s delightfully welcoming, warm lights and the smell of cooking wafting through the diner/butchery. The place has an old fashioned diner feel, tiled floors and red booths and stools. Decoration ranging from antlers hung on the wall to photographs of Bob standing next to his father when he was a young child.

It would be sweet, if you didn’t know what he would become. You wonder for a moment if something was the cause for how he is now. Maybe his father was terrible. Maybe his mother was terrible. Maybe…

Maybe it was nothing and he’s just a terrible person.

You hope it’s that. Less excuses to avoid maybe killing him someday. Is it worth the time in jail…?

You tear your eyes away from the portrait, stepping up to the counter and sitting on a stool. A man a few seats away from you is going to town on a burger, but you don’t get the chance to think about it too hard. 

“Y/n, right?” you startle, heart starting to race as your eyes lock with his. Deep voice vibrating in your chest right next to your racing heart.

Taking a deep breath, your hands drag to fiddle with the hem of your shirt. Why did you come in here? You haven’t come in since…

“Whatcha wanna order?” He grins ear to ear, interrupting your thinking. Right.

“ah.. Just. Um. The fries.”

“I gotcha.” he chuckled, “No meat fer ya today? Last time ya came here I believe ya wouldn’ stop ravin’ about my meat.”

You swallow. You don’t like thinking of that day. That night. Moving on, weird way of wording that. Why is he pushing you on this? Isn’t it more unusual to say something? You give a laugh, it sounds fake. You see his smile twitch.

“Well I’ve just been craving fries alone, today.” you sound nervous. He stares at you for a long moment.

You try to keep your eyes locked on his, but you dart them down, chewing on your lip.

He seems to blink out of his fit, and chortles. 

“Ya sure? You could do with a little more meat on yer bones.” You grimace before you could help it, and dip your head down. Just meat.

“I’m ok.” you grunt, and he hums.

“It’ll be on me.” he says quietly, as if hes pretending its a fucking money problem. You scowl in disgust, and glare at him. Why couldn’t he just be fucking normal about you.

“Just get me the damn fries, please.” you hiss, hand clenched over your shirt hem. You feel sick with anxiety, and your free hand is trembling. “I don’t want anything else, and certainly don’t want any of your ‘meat’.”

He blinks at you, grinning wider. His brow twitches, and he takes in a slow, deliberate breath. His hand on the counter is flexing, and you only then realize how,, odd that sentence sounded. You definitely weren’t vegan, and don’t wanna act like you are. If someone questioned you, you had no excuse. God forbid a cop heard that, they’re already on edge at his “disappearance”.

“Alrigh’.” His eyes stay on you for a moment, burning into your face.

He leaves without another word.

You let out a breath the moment he’s gone. Your hands are shaking, and you swallow spit thickly. Fuck. You’ve gotta get hold of your act in public. You can’t be saying shit like that so openly. Fear spikes in your stomach, and little paralyzing knives pierce your back. Every breath is growing hard, and a plate of fries is slid in front of you.

Quickly, your eyes dart to meet his. He’s leaned down, and your fingers tap against the counter.

“Maybe you should be a little more careful, how ya talk ta me.” he whispers, grinning at you. “I may not be able ta kill ya, but I know how ta do worse.”

He leans away, letting go of your plate.

You’ve lost your appetite. Why did you think it was a good idea to come here anyway. Maybe for a semblance of normalcy. A diner is the biggest normalcy you can manage, but not when everything reminds you of him… including him literally standing a few feet away, conversing with a patron. You bite down a few fries, but ultimately just sit at the counter with your head down.

When he gets caught- if, he gets caught, will you go down too? They’ll probably place you in the same cell. And he’ll tear at your flesh till he dies. Your punishment, a life time of missing limbs and his, dying old in jail.

Sounds fair.

You lift your head up, and slide off the stool. You don’t want to give him any more money than your flesh already has, but basic autopilot does it for you and you leave a ten.

As you leave, you get the feeling you’re being… Watched.

Chapter Text

“you’re serious?”

“Nope! It was the best thing in the world.” Mary sighs dreamily, and you lean back onto the checkout counter. “I’ve never heard anyone say something like that to me before. He wrote me a poem too, do you wanna see it?”

“Uh, yeah, show me.”

She pulls her phone out, tapping around before showing you.

It was a slow day, and that’s what made it good. Your coworkers were just ambling about the supermarket. Usually on days like these you’d be mindlessly organizing shelves or sitting on your phone. But one of your coworkers was rambling to anyone available about her lover, and you don’t blame her all that much. If someone wrote you a poem and told you he’d end war for you or some crap, you'd be beaming and yelling it off the rooftops. 

But you don’t have that, the only active man in your life is feeding off you like a damned parasite. You can’t say you aren’t a little jealous of her joyous normalcy. 

You skim your eyes over the poem, gathering a few sweet lines. It's not fantastic, but it probably means the world to her. You give a smile, and nod. 

“thats- uh, really sweet Mary.” 

she takes her phone back, smiling so hard her cheeks look like they hurt. 

“Do you have someone you’re seeing?” 

Eugh. You grimace at the question.

“a pretty girl like you shouldn’t have any trouble, ya know.” she giggles, poking your side. You wince away immediately, smacking her hand away.

“No, I’m not all that interested either.”

“But look at you! Ya know- if you wanted you could come to one of my parties. Plenty of people there, at the very least you could get a quickie, for some confidence.” she pesters, and you frown.

“not a party person.”

“why not?” she looks you up and down. “you should be.”

“what’s that mean?”

She giggles at you, shaking her head. you’re just glad that she lets it go.

She glances over, see’s another coworker that hasn’t been subjected to her bragging or pestering, and calls over to them as she approaches, leaving you alone again.

You let out a breath of relief, and look around.

Mary was a sweetheart, from what you knew. But she really pushed you on that relationship thing. You cringe, rubbing your arms a little. You don’t actually talk to any of your coworkers that much, she’s more of an acquaintance than a friend. She’ll say hi when it's needed but you aren’t attached at the hip. You could go days without saying anything to each other, and you kinda prefer it that way. The people she does know are always being invited out to get togethers or bars or something with her, and you just… You don’t have the energy for that. Plus, most of your days consist of movies, giving a limb to the worst charity ever, then going to work and pretending it didn’t happen.

God forbid she invites you to a party again so you can get a hookup. You don’t need sex. Sure it’s been a while but you have plenty of toys and other shit for that crap when you need a “quickie”, you don’t need some rando to hump you for two minutes, and then leave when you already know what you like and can do it alone.

It’s not like you could ever actually go anywhere, too. He’d have plans with your body, or you were healing from his plans with your body, or you just don't want to. You have enough of an alibi, everyone thinks you’re just a loner and you suppose you are. It's better to be that then hafta come up with an excuse to replace “yeah I got plans tonight. What plans? Oh just tearing off a limb and feeding it to a man.” all the damn time. 

You sigh a little, and pull up your phone.

“Y/N? You aren’t avoiding your job, are you?”

You startle, jumping and whipping your head around. Oh god it's him he’s here there's no way to avoid it- he’ll know where you work and you’ll never be safe. Your phone stumbles a little in your hand, and like the dumbass you are it immediately falls onto the ground with a loud smack. 

…

It wasn’t him.

You groan, and shakily grab your phone off the floor.

“yeesh, my bad-” the voice- or well, your supervisor or boss or something- interjects again, cringing at you. You glance over your phone, frowning at the crack that laced its way across your phone screen. 

“It’s- uh. It’s fine.” You sigh it out, clearly defeated. “Sorry, been a slow day and I thought it’d be fine.” you huff, pocketing your phone. “Guess it wasn’t.”

He waves you off, grinning at you with a perfect customer service style smile. you give a weary one back. “Ehh that’s quite alright. Just keep it pocketed-”

Clattering of groceries lands on your line, and you startle, a fake smile immediately rushing on your features.

“hello, how’s your day be-”

You freeze.

“Jus’ fine, thanks.” He grins, and your heart sinks.

Well, there goes for him not knowing where you worked. Woulda happened sooner or later anyway.

“that’s good,” you murmur, feeling tense and kinda itchy. You rub your arm, the same one he chopped off, and he just stares at you.

You start scanning his items. You don’t pay attention to what any of it is, just looks like random cooking supplies and crap. Spices, cutlery,- Knives? You blink, staring at the knives. You know he Already has a shit ton of these. They’re marketed as really good knives. Clean cut, no struggle, sharp. You glance at him, and his grin widens.

 Your insides churn.

Usually he breaks the silence by now, says something completely normal or agonizingly cryptic. Both rub you the wrong way. You swear all he could do was say hello to you and it’d feel like a threat equivalent to holding a gun to your head.

Your supervisor helps you bag the items, bless him, and you finally look at him in the eye again.. God, his eyes latched on you like that makes you feel squirmy. You shift in place, chewing on the inside of your mouth.

Was he gonna pay or..?

Something glistens at the edge of his mouth, and you blink a little.

“sir?” your smile turns nervous.

He’s just… Silent.

You know that look.

Maybe before when everyone was food to him it was a little easier. He could just pick someone and chop em up sometime, easier to ignore. But now, it’s you. Only you. Seems like his brain is starting to register that, considering he stares at you like you’re prey. You squirm a little. It would be annoying, if it didnt make your insides churn.

Just meat. Pure meat.

His eyes suddenly darted to your supervisor, then right back on you.

“Sorry, ma’am. Ya jus’ look…” enticing, delicious, yummy, even. A good topping to a burger, perhaps. You sour to yourself. “Pretty. Today. Anyone told ya that yet?” What a cover story. Considering people don’t know he’s a cannibal, that probably just looks like heinous lust. You’re not sure if you prefer it was that either.

He grins wide, using an arm to wipe away the obvious drool from his lip. Your gut twists, and you force a taut smile. He’s gonna come by your house soon, and your supervisor is eyeing you both. Ugh. You hope he doesn’t think anything of it.

“Ah,, um. No, no one has.” you swallow spit, tearing your eyes away from his. Discomfort makes your hands shake, and you grip the hem of your shirt again.

He can’t do anything to you. You’re at work.

“Well, there it is. You have a nice night.” he chuckles darkly, paying and grabbing all his groceries. It takes a minute for him to stop staring at you, before he leaves. Jeez, he got a good lot and isn’t even using a cart, just carrying it all. You let out a breath of relief the moment he’s gone, your heart racing in your chest finally given a moment of peace.

“...Soooo…”

You grimace.

“Bob, huh?”

“I don’t really wanna talk about it.” is all you can muster. Your hands are still shaking, and your breath is a little coarse. Your insides twist and knot into themselves, and you feel sick. Good thing you walk home soon.

—

–

-

Darkness surrounds you, the only light being the blaring streetlight above you. You keep walking, even though you can practically feel his breath down your neck.

The shadow behind you is easy to spot, no doubt he's doing it on purpose. Your heart rate picks up despite your exhaustion, and swallowing gets difficult. Your hands clench, and you try to ignore him.

That proves difficult too, especially when a knife trails up your spine, poking you through your jacket. You wince and bite down a whimper, your gut twisting fearfully. He could. It's dark, you're alone. He could. And that’s all you need to know.

you tilt your head back, meeting eyes with him. The knife gently pressed against the small of your back trails down a little. He’s leaned over you, towering easily. You bite your lip.

“The supermarket, huh, Angel.” he grins smugly, and you glare at him.

“Not everyone has a family business.” you snap, causing him to bark out a laugh. You can’t help the scowl on your face, and you turn so your entire body is properly facing him. Anger and embarrassment mix and you practically bark your next words at him.

“And- you-” you jab your finger into his chest, “-need to fix how you look at me in public. You’re looking at me like you wanna fuck me, to- to everyone else-” you hastily add, “-because no one else is- is gonna assume you wanna eat me-” you whisper it, hissing it out. “and it’s fuckin weird!” you spit the words out like venom, gritting your teeth.

“you- you can’t be drooling all over the damn place when-”

You’re dragged into an alley, one hand on your throat and the other clamped over your mouth. Your back is pressed against a wall, the brick dragging uncomfortably against your skin. Fear and rage knot together furiously, and you kick against him, muffled curses loudly sliding from under his hand.

“Shut the fuck up!” he hisses it out quietly, his expression curled into a deep scowl. You glare, your mouth opening to bite his hand before he kicks your gut in with a harsh jutt of his knee, causing you to wheeze and whimper painfully, your eyes scrunching closed in pain.

There's silence, only filled with his deep dragging breaths. You stare at him through squinted eyes, he opens his mouth, but what it is he was gonna say was soon interrupted with chatter that slowly gets louder. Two girls walk past the opening of the alley, cheerfully chatting with each other. Blissfully unaware of your… predicament.

Your eyes follow them, as does his, and when you two can no longer hear their conversation, he lets go of your mouth.

You almost go to glare at him, before you realize he looks…

Furious.

His hand is still around your neck, and he wrings a hand through his hair, sighing shakily.

“When will ya ever learn ta shut the fuck up fer once, Angel.” he snarled, his hand on your neck tightening ever so slightly. Your eyes widen, and you grit your teeth. Your hands start shaking, and tears sting your eyes. Oh god- oh god you fucked up. He’s gonna torture you forever, and ever. Till the day he dies he’s gonna make your life hell. 

“nno- no no I’m sorry-”

“You don’t get ta fuckin tell me shit- Ya don’t get ta fuckin’ rave to me- I’m not someone you can scold into listenin’ to you- I’m not yer fuckin’ friend.” you whine, his hand tightening and your airflow feels thin. It's sickening. You kick weakly, your mouth opening to pant shallowly as he continues to rant.

“I don’ fuckin’ care what everyone else thinks, yer mine. My fuckin’ meat, my fuckin’ body. You don’ get ta fuckin- fuckin tell ME what to do with ya.” Now he's just spitting out shit to talk, and your hands scrabble against his.

“Bob- bbob- I- I can’t-”

“An’ if they wanna think I’m fuckin’ ya, then it’s yer job ta deal with that.” he hisses, hand finally tearing away from your neck. You gasp wildly, legs shaking and buckling under you. You land on your side, yelping quietly. Tears fall before you can help it, and you sob through gasps, holding your hands to your neck. It stings painfully, each breath hurts and you whimper quiet “ow”s to yourself over and over. He just stands there, breathing deeply. You can hear each one, and he chuckles airily.

“Sorry, Angel. Forget how even if ya don’t die, yer a fuckin’ pathetic little thing.” he soothes, leaning down. You can see the drool drag down his chin, and you clench your teeth. His hand reaches forward, and you cry a little louder, pushing his hand away.

“Pathetic, pure thing.” he mumbles, grinning.

“I’ll see ya tomorrow.” 

Chapter Text

You’re exhausted.

You rub your face with your hand, slumping forward as you sit on the counter. It was 1:37 AM in the god damn morning. And he was here.

Your side is still bruised from a few days ago, when he dropped you onto the rough ground. You contort to rest back awkwardly, attempting to avoid it.

“Pain meds are in uh.. The bathroom. Can you grab them-”

“Whyd’ya bother taking those? Ya passed out last time. Clearly ain’t workin’.” He interjects, grinning at you from behind his shoulder.

Because you couldn't prepare, he’s cleaning the dishes for you. You would wonder if he's angry, but it’s his fault you weren’t ready, and you’re too exhausted to care in the first place. 

“‘Cause it helps in some small way maybe. What if next time I um…” you can’t die. “...Pass out sooner.” you finish, your voice groggy with unfinished sleep.

“I don’ care. Plus, ya look cute when ya sleep.” He chuckles, and you shift uncomfortably. You’re not a fan of the idea of rawdogging his knife, and you’re gonna ignore the twist in your stomach when he said that. You grew embarrassed, in some weird way, and gagged to yourself.

“Can you,, please just… Grab them?”

“Nah, I need the meat now. Can’t wait.” He turns to you, placing the final dish up. His hands reach for your hips, and you widen your eyes. You attempt to shift back, but considering you’re exhausted and his hands firmly pressed into the bruise, you just yelped and it kinda just ended up in him keeping you from falling back. Your hands scrabble at his. They hold tight on your hips. Your bruise stings, and you grit your teeth with a repressed whimper.

“Let- Cmon! Llet go I-I need-” your belt! Your belt you don’t have your belt!

“You’ll be fine, quit’cher whinin’.” He lifts you up easily and your hands claw at his fingers in attempt to pry them. He doesn’t seem affected. Probably because he’s dealt with more threatening things from people who were seconds from dying instead of just losing a limb. Speaking of which-

“Been runnin’ low. Ya already know its gettin’ colder, meanin’ I need a little more from ya for the holidays..” He smiles, and you shutter. What the fuck does that mean? How much will you be giving??

He turns you so you’re sat on the counter, facing the sink. 

“Ya think you can do that?” his hands on your hips trail down to your thigh, thank god your side is free from his grip, and your tired mind kicks into overdrive. A shutter runs up your spine, goosebumps trailing over your skin as you sit up straight, blinking. The dull aching mixing with it made it feel… Weird.

“I said,” he leans closer, brows furrowing. His voice is… Soft. Almost comforting. It makes your sleepy brain calm down, and you hazily look at him.

“Ya think you can do that?” He smiles, and you slowly blink. You give an anxious smile back. Maybe he’s trying to help your anxiety..? How sweet…

Or he’s just trying to keep you calm before he guts you like a pig.

“I,, umnh.. Yeah..” you mumble it, your brows furrowed in confusion at his demeanor, and his smile widens.

“Good.” 

One hand tightens on your thigh, and another clamps over your ankle. Your leg is carefully pulled over the sink, and you’re slowly recognizing what that means.

“M.. My entire leg?!” You scramble in place, twisting and turning, yanking your leg from his grip.

“I’m not- I’m not fucking doing that! I can't I’m not- I can’t!!” Your exhaustion finally fucks off and your scrabbling at anything that isnt him. His hands grab at your leg, dragging your body back.

“Stay fuckin’ still! Or I’ll cut more than jus’ yer leg!” He hisses at you, hands bruising your sides even worse as he grips you and slams you back to sit up. You cry and kick. Each word a slurred sob of no’s and pleads for less, still scrambling to get away when he tears your shorts up to reveal your leg with one hand. the other..?

It wraps around your neck, slamming your head back and against the counter. You cry out, your hands scratching at his. warmth blossoms at the back of your head, and you don’t really need to guess what it is.

His knife traces over your thigh in soft circles, and your brain gets a confusing mix of comfort and aching pain.

“Yer so fuckin’ stupid ya know that? I told ya ta be still. Then I wouldn’tve hurtcha.” He snickers, as if its fucking funny that your head is bleeding all over the counter, and his knife is gently trailing up and down, scraping your skin. It sends shivers up your body, as your exhaustion mixes with the dizzying blood loss. You squirm, but his hand tightens on your throat and you go still. Shuttering a weak breath.

“Tha’s a good girl, stay still.” 

His knife drags a line of fire up from your inner thigh, all the way around in a circle. Normally, your belt would muffle you. Keep you from spouting stupid shit, but… It’s gone.

You scream.

Cries drag out as you squirm. His hand on your neck holds your upper body down, your hands too busy scrabbling for something to grip, but your uninjured thigh shakes and kicks weakly. Pleads blend with each cry, and your eyes squeeze shut. Teeth clenching painfully, you’d be surprised if they didn’t crack. You weren’t really focused on dental hygene. Your entire body shakes with pain and you scream louder than usual.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ- shut yer mouth, someones gonna think yer dyin’ in here!” He growls it through his teeth, and you sob weakly, one hand clamping over your mouth.

Each drag of the blade, each carving of your body, causes another scream of begs to lash out. Your hands clench, reaching for something and eventually resting to gripping onto the arm of the hand around his neck. He hisses, knife dragging harder and roughly carving down. 

You’re so tired.

Your cries are weakening, and his knife just keeps going. He doesn’t stop for you, and in fact, he gets frustrated and hacks the knife at your leg with a grunt, muttering something about “tough meat”. Your voice breaks as you cry, and his hand on your neck grips over your mouth. Its hard to breathe when he does it. You feel light headed. His hand smells like meat. Blood, and raw meat. The bright lights of your kitchen blare in your wide open eyes, and your head tilts back weakly with muffled whimpers. 

…

When you wake up, a bandage is tightly wrapped around both your thigh, and head. You’re on the couch. You feel numb.

You wince as you shift up, headache spiking.

Sitting fully up, you let out a shuttered sigh, swallowing thickly. You regret that immediately however, feeling your dry throat stick to itself. The ache in your head worsens, and you whine.

“Bob..?” You rasp, rubbing your eyes and looking down.

Your leg is gone. Your entire.. Leg.

“Yer up, tha’s good.” He grins, looking over his shoulder. He holds up a pan, proudly showing off a section of meat inside. You can barely focus.

“Hehehh, you alright there Angel?” He snarks, glancing at the food before wiping his hands down on his shirt, and turning around to face you.

Your throat feels sore from screaming, and you rub your throat absentmindedly.

“No worse than usual,, I guess. Did um.. Anyone come check on me?”

“Nope.” He pops the p, grinning at you.

You frown a little. 

“Makes sense.”

He lets out a low chuckle, but says nothing else.

Nor does he move.

He’s just… Staring at you.

You shift your hips, chewing on the chapped skin of your lips.

“Um… Bob.”

He blinks, turning around to focus on the meat again.

“Can you get me some water?” You wheeze a pathetic cough, further driving your point. Seems like it was enough for him, because he moves the meat around for a moment before grabbing a water bottle and tossing it to you. It lands on your stomach, and you huff loudly.

“For turning me into someone who can have a handicapped spot, you sure treat me like I’m invincible.” you grumble, and he snorts.

“You are. Tha’s why I’ve turned ya into this, Angel. You should really get alla that air in your head out, I think it’s affectin’ yer thinkin’.” He chortles, and you grimace at him, swallowing multiple mouthfuls of water. He watches you with an odd expression.

“Ya know, I’m really lookin’ forward to the day I can cut’cher stomach open.” 

You sputter, choking on the water and dribbling it all over yourself. You scowl, wiping off your chin and sitting up roughly to face him.

“excuse me?”

“Well, there’s lotsa good stuff in there.” He turns off your stove, grabbing a sauce and spilling it thickly over the meat. You swallow spit, furrowing your brows and placing the water to the side. “And, it’s… you… Are so enticin’. Yer a walkin’ hunk’a meat, ya know?” he chuckles quietly, wiping off his hands on his wifebeater.

Right. You scoff, rolling your eyes and laying back down. You don’t really feel like listening to him rant about your meat. You hear shuffling, clatters of utensils against plates.

“An’...” He continues, the weight of him suddenly sitting at the end of the couch causing it to dip down. “Ya taste so good. Ya got a certain sweetness…” He hums, and you grimace, tossing in your spot to not look at him. He drags a finger down your thigh. You don’t bother kicking it off.

“I ain’t tastes nuthin’ like it. An’ it’s… Real hard ta not..” His voice grows tight, and you open your eyes. You turn in your spot, sitting up. The tip of his finger is resting against your knee, as he stares at… You. But not really you. You shutter, too anxious to move away. His sudden laugh startles you, and you pull your leg to yourself, staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Hehah, seein’ ya out in public is gettin’... Difficult.” He grins, eyes finally taking you in. They dart along your face, then down your body, landing on your missing leg.

“Yer… Ah,, well. Temptin’, I suppose.” He snickers, taking in a shaky breath. Your heart is racing.

“I jus’... Sometimes I can’t…” His eyes look down at the plate in front of him. following, you only then notice his hands shaking. 

“I jus’ can’t help the urge ta wanna kill ya there. I miss seeing the life run out of my victims eyes. I wanna see ya die. But- but’cha can’t! Hehaha! Ya can’t die! An’- an’ god it jus’ makes it better! Yer so fuckin’- god yer so enticing. I can’ even get what I want outcha but the urge is there anyway.” He rambles, laughing and mumbling indistinctly. Your body starts shaking, and he whips his head to look at you.

“Yer so fuckin’ delicious, I jus’ wanna kill ya.” He chuckles, gripping your ankle and dragging you closer. You yelp, scrambling to sit up right as he basically forces you to lay back down by his pull. His hand rubs over your stomach, right at your womb.

You despise the heat you can feel crawling up your neck.

“I feel like I could jus’... Jus’ eatcha anywhere! God, why do ya do this ta me, Angel?” his voice turns.. Almost desperate. Your eyes don't move from his hand on your stomach, and you chew on your lip to stave the sigh you would've let out as he pressed down.

“I… I would do anythin’ to fuckin’ eatcha every day. Jus’ like this. Carve ya open, riiiiighht here…” He draws up your shirt, then gently drags a finger down the middle. A shiver runs from your stomach to your groin, and you grimace.

“‘N feel yer blood on my hands… Fuck I… Yer so damn pure. Perfect. I almost.. You.. You make me feel like I.. Ihh..”

His smile fades, slowly. As if he’s dawning a realization.

You feel dizzy. His finger is still resting on your stomach, and you quickly glance around the room. So, if he goes feral what's your weapon options? well you could throw your remote at him but it's a bit far, and falling off the couch while missing a leg isn’t a unique escape route. You grumble quietly, looking back at him. He’s looking to the side, dragging a hand through his hair, and letting out a shuttering breath.

Swallowing your anxieties, and other things… you call his name quietly.

He looks over at you after a long minute, and grins.

“You should really try it.”

Oh.

All of that gut feeling suddenly withdraws, and you are left just… Staring at him.

You scowl.

“Bob, I’ve told you I don-” a fork is shoved into your mouth. You block it with your teeth, but he keeps it shoved between your lips.

Sauce drips from the corner of your lip, and his smile widens to a frightening point. You glare at him, reaching to grab the fork from your mouth before he darts to grab your hands and hold them away.

“Swallow.” 

you stare at him.

He doesn’t falter.

…

Your stomach churns with disgust as you wrap your lips over the fork, dragging the meat off.

It tastes like something you cant quite place.

He breathes hard as you chew it, and slowly swallow.

“That’s good. Very good. We’re a team, Y/N.” he chuckles airly, and you resist the urge to gag. You just ate your own meat. From your own god damn leg. And he looks ecstatic.

“Teams don’t leave people out… Do they?”

You nod, reaching a shaking hand to cover your mouth.

“Good girl.”

…

You tasted good.

Chapter Text

You step out of your work, itching the area of your thigh where he hacked it off. Its been a few days, a miracle you haven’t been fired yet, with the sick days you’ve been asking for. You can’t tell if they're desperate or just don’t care. The door jingles as it shuts, and you take the keys around your neck and carefully lock it. With a small click, you step away and begin walking home.

It’s dark out, and the colder months are catching up with you. You shutter, hugging your thin jacket closer to yourself. You probably shoulda planned for it getting colder later in the day, but you didn’t. Huffing, you grumble about the temperature as you walk.

The town is pretty peaceful at night, you have to admit. All of the shops closed except for the few 24/7 places, in which the lights shine pretty in the dark and you can’t help but admire it. The cold feels a little less unbearable, when you’re thinking of the small things.

Maybe that’s what you should do when you’re getting your body carved into. Think of the small things. Gas station neon signs in puddles of rain or something. Though usually you can’t think of much other than Bob’s name, considering you beg for him to stop the whole time.

Speaking of,

You sigh, and stop in place. You tilt your head into the nearby alleyway, squinting.

“Ya caught me.” He chuckles, stepping out of the darkness. He tosses a knife from hand to hand, grinning at you.

However…

Your eyes drag up to eye the pointy horns on his head. He’s in his old get up. You blink. Was- was all of your fucking work for nothing?

“Angel don’ look so scared, I ain’t goin’ back on our promise. This is all fer you.” He sneers, and you scowl, taking a step away from him.

“Why… Why’re you wearing that again? For me?” 

“Don’tcha remember when I found ya?” He snickers, waving his knife at you as he talks, “You were so scared, I chased ya alllll-” he waves the knife in a circle as he steps closer, it eventually landing sharpside on your chest, lightly pressed in. “-around yer house. aheheh- you were so scared, ya poor thing.” He licks his lips, and you step backward, away from his knife. He lets his hand fall down, but takes a step with you.

“But, I need ya ta do me a favor.” He lowers his voice, pocketing his knife. “I been needin’ somethin’ recently and yer the only one who can give it.”

…

What the fuck is up with his innuendos!

You grit your teeth in a scowl, shaking your head.

“whatever the fuck it is, I’m only here to give you meat and that’s all it fucking was! You can take as many of my stupid fucking organs as you want, but- but I’m not-” You stutter, flustering as he steps closer again, you have no choice but to stay still, as right behind you is the street. Not like theres any cars out here anyway, you’d be screaming for them to run him over by now.

“I’m not gonna-”

“Run.”

“wh… What?” You sputter, eyes widening. He steps back, grin wide as he moves out of the way for you.

“Run, Angel.” he gestures the way home, and you stare at him. Your legs shake as you slowly walk to the way he’s gesturing, staring at him the whole way. He grumbles something under his breath and reaches for his knife.

“Sorry, ya got somethin’ in yer ears? Fuckin’ run!” He scowls, Darting forward to latch onto your shirt. However at the first raise of his voice you’d already started sprinting. The silent, calamity of the town at night suddenly feels a lot less calming, as your eyes dart to stare into every dark corner you can’t see into. There’s no sound, no show that he’s even chasing you. But you know better. Your legs burn, painfully so, and you’re already gasping roughly to get each breath.

This is infuriating. You feel like a fucking show animal. it’s humiliating.

Better to get gutted at home then on the street, right?

When your eyes meet your home, you are so relieved you could throw up. Surely this dumb fucking chase would end here. He’d get his fill and you could angry cry yourself to sleep tonight or something.

You threw your front door open, slamming it shut and locking it. Not like that would do much but stall. Your hands scratched at your hair, pulling painfully. Your heart is pounding in your chest, each breath is shallow and does nothing to help, you can’t fucking think. You can’t fucking- you can’t fucking do this anymore.

Weapon. You need a weapon. You may not die but you’re abstained to years of fucking torture by this man. Death cannot grace you with its touch, so you’ll grace him instead. Red hot anger flushes your face, and you scramble to the kitchen, reaching to the wood block of knives.

A hand on your shoulder sends you down however, and you’re shoved to your knees, your head slamming into the edge of the counter, one arm outstretched. You cried angrily, hot tears stinging your vision as you kicked against the clawed hands dragging you back.

“Ahh, how I’ve missed this!” He sneered, his hand gripping over your ankle and dragging you closer. Yelping, you use your other leg to kick his chin up. He grunts, and flips your body over.

“Be fuckin still-” You sob, angry pleas for him to stop overflowing the silence, but he just smiles. A sickening smile that tastes like the bile rising in your throat.

“Game over, Angel. I caught ya.” His one hand on your ankle drags a finger up your leg, slowly drawing circles on your thigh. “Let’s see… What should I get from ya today?” he chuckled, and you…

You kicked him in the dick.

“You fuckin’ bitch!” He keels over immediately, semi losing any threat in this moment as you scramble up, grab the nearest knife and point it at him. He’s groaning painfully, and your hands shake as you smile.

“I- I’m not fucking doing this shit anymore. I don’t wanna- I dont wanna live out your stupid fucking fantasy life.” You laugh, completely losing it, waving the knife at him. “I am not taking back our promise, it’s one I cannot take back! I am resigning from- from whatever it is that makes you think you can fuckin use me like I’m a god damn animal!” You spit, and he lets out a breath, carefully standing up. He towers over you still, and your legs start to shake.

“S… So- fuckin- step back or- or I’ll stab you.” You cringe. That didn’t sound very threatening. He grins, stares at the knife, and then you.

“You don’ have the fuckin’ balls to do shit, Angel.” He laughs loud, placing a hand over his eyes as he snorts. “Yer about as threatenin’ as a bunny! When’re you gonna get it through yer pretty skull, Angel?...” He takes a step closer, and you take one step back. Your back rests against the counter, and every step he takes leads to the tip of the knife eventually resting against his chest, his face inches from yours.

“You are a god damn animal to me. Yer a walking meal, Y/N. What the fuck do ya think I’m gonna do with ya? Really think. What is it?” he sneers, turning up his nose to you as his hands slowly reach under his sweater to the belt of weapons latched to his hip.

Your hands shake

“I… I don’t…”

He cackles, leaning away and rubbing a hand down his face, his knife drawing out.

“Angel I had no fuckin’ clue you were this stupid.” He sighs, resting a hand on one side of you to cage you in your spot. Your hands are sweaty.

“Use you.” He sneers, reaching to trace the knife across your cheek. It sends shutters over your skin, and you weakly cry. You can’t. You- Can’t!

“That’s all yer fuckin’ good for. And god is it a blessin’, aint it? A pretty thing like you givin yerself to me. Aheheh– it’s almost stupi-”

You plunge the knife into his chest.

Chapter Text

Warm, crimson blood seeps from the wound.

His sweater is thick, but you can see it slowly, ever so beautifully soak into the fabric.

Every breath feels not enough, and your hands shake as you slowly slide the knife out of his stomach.

Its… Quiet.

Your brain buzzes in the silence, but you can’t focus on any thought except one.

You loved it.

You loved the way that ruby blood dripped from the rip in his shirt. You love the way he’s just, fucking staring at you, bewildered. He coughs, blood dripping over his lip.

It feels fucking euphoric.

In fact.

You want- no. You need more. You’ve lived so goddamn long, you’ve gone through so fucking much. Not just from him, but from others. And you refrained, you refrained for decades and yet…

What would it even get you, letting him live? continued torture? For forever until his sickening waste of a life ended? You could fucking figure it out. You could hide for years and years, you won’t die from starvation, even if it hurt, you could sleep over and over and over till everyone forgot about you, and him. 

That sounded worth it. 

Actually, it sounded like a blessing.

You clutched your knife with both shaking hands, slowly pointing it at him. He stumbled back, blinking at you. You’re surprised he’s not as angry, but you’re not here for a reaction. 

Lunging forward, you scream. You scream all your frustration at his stupid fucking innuendos, his knives and use of your body. Your fucking meat that he forced you to eat. Tantalizing begs to get it over with whispers in your ear, and you follow him as he tries, you assume, to run away from you.

He tumbled back, falling against his head onto the tile floor. He grunts, but that soon turns to screams as you slide the knife back into his chest. Over, and over. His stomach, his shoulder. Every fucking thing you could manage to see. Blood splatters from each swing. Onto him. Onto you. His body is soaked with blood, and it's seeping all onto the floor in a mess. 

It's beautiful.

Your ears ring, and your eyes go blurry. 

This is what you want. That fucking look on his face, his stupid fucking face as you finally drag his gasps to his last. A smile curls on your face.

Maybe you could cook him. You could chop him up yourself, cook his stupid fucking meat. No- eat it raw. He doesn't deserve that shit. You fantasize to yourself, your arms starting to ache. Wet squelches of flesh follow each swing, and you relish in the sound of his screaming hitching at each one.

your movements eventually slow down. Each stab grows weaker, and weaker, until you realize.

...

He isn’t screaming.

He’s… laughing.

A big, boisterous laugh. His chest bounces, him gasping for breath as his head leans back into the pool of blood surrounding him. The laugh is occasionally interrupted with coughing, him turning his head to the side to spit out blood and giggle.

You…

You drop the knife, the blood on your hands becoming sickening as you stare down at yourself. He’s laying on the kitchen floor, soaked in blood. He's smiling, giddy with laughter. You’re straddling him, your clothes covered in splatters. Red. So much blinding red. You can’t think, you can’t breathe. It’s just… red. Red like his sweater, like his mask and horns. Red like him.

You start hyperventilating, tears sting your eyes as you grip your hands into your hair. Pulling through knots your head aches violently, and you slide away from him, gasping sobs. You need to be as far away from him as possible, but when you try to stand up your knees buckle weakly, your entire body shaking as you slowly drag yourself up against the counter, curling into yourself on the floor, just a few feet away.

Nausea twists your insides into knots, and you suddenly lean to the side, tossing your lunch with a disgusting wrench. You choke, coughing sporadically as your body tenses weakly. Your insides churn, but theres nothing left to give. You cough bile.

His laugh continues to assault your ears, as your panic attack worsens. The taste of bile stains your throat, your hands claw at your scalp, and it stings terribly. You gag, weeping.

“Aw, Angel. Wha’s wrong?” He chokes between chuckles, coughing up spittles of blood and not bothering to clean off his chin.

You’ll never be free. You should have let everyone die. You would rather help him fucking kill people then let him near you again. But hands grip onto your arms, jolting you up from your spot with a harsh tug. You sob, screaming for him to let go. Your brain is dizzy, fogged with anger and despair.

“Ya shoulda seen yer fuckin’ face, aheheheh- ya- ya didn’ even realize whatchu were doin’, didja?” His voice sneers, and you tug your arms against his hold. Pushing weakly, and still gagging over the bile in your throat, you kick.

“I didn’ think you were up to it… I can’t say it wasn’ surprisin’.” he spat blood to the side, and you whined at his grip tightening. Your wrists burn, and you just know they'll bruise. 

“Ya see, I have a few… Connections… Around here. Silly girl, didja think I wouldn’ have a backup plan? Yer cute.” He snickered darkly, 

No amount of gasps is enough for your lungs to feel full, and your brain hazes over. He drags you to the sink, tugging your entire arm over it. You follow blindly, too sick to move.

How could you love it? How could you find such euphoria in ending another human beings life? And he didn't even fucking die! You can't even reap the consequences you sowed, because it meant nothing. Everything you've done, means nothing.

“I.. I ddont… I…” you whimper, choking on sobs as he reaches for his knife. You can’t see. His voice is muffled, covered by the ringing in your ears. You gasp for a proper breath, and yet…

The fog in your mind sinks over your entire body, and your legs buckle, landing you leaning against his blood soaked chest. You sob tiredly, sniffling as you feel his knife drag over your arm.

“Go ta sleep, Angel. Yer done havin’ yer tantrum.”

You happily obliged.

Chapter Text

Groggily, your eyes crack open. Your eyes feel dry, and itchy. You grumble, reaching one hand to-

Nothing happens.

…you sniff, moving to sit up and looking over-

Your head flops back down onto the couch.

…

Is…

You lift your head awkwardly, neck aching as you look to both of your sides.

Both of your arms are missing.

You blink, and lay your head back down with a shaky sigh.

Of course he fucking did that. Especially after what you did. It was practically a punishment. You move to shift your leg, but… He’s there. He’s asleep at the end of your couch, one hand resting on your lower leg. Light snores come off him, and you can’t do much but stare. 

He isn’t wearing his other outfit anymore, he has a black tank top on and shorts. They aren’t stained with blood, or any of the sort. Mask and horns nowhere to be seen.

…

You’re so emotionally constipated at this point, you’re actually not sure how to feel, staring at him. You’ve never had a breakdown like that before, and you almost feel numb. Exhausted. You sigh lightly, and lay your head back down. Maybe you could just go back to sleep.

The blaring music of your phone going off startles you, and you jolt up. with a groan, you lean forward on the couch and awkwardly stand up, glancing at your skin slowly seeping into place on either side of you. Buttt… No hands.

You glare at your phone. It’s your fucking boss- YOURE LATE! You had work today! And you fucking slept in because he decided to be a dick and set you off! You turn and harshly jab Bob's side with your foot.

“Bob! Fucking get up!” you scowl. Your voice is rough and fucked up, and he jumps in his sleep, sitting up and tiredly looking at you. He grins, putting his hand through his hair with a sigh.

“Angel-”

“Answer the fucking phone and put it to my ear, I can’t do it myself!” you grit your teeth, gesturing to your phone with your head. He blinks, before grabbing your phone, clicking answer and putting it on speaker. He raises it to your mouth in case you need to talk, and you keep a firm glare on him the whole time.

He just smiles. Asshole..

“Y/N! Where in the hell are you and why haven’t you responded to any of my messages? My calls? I’ve called you seven fucking times? What the hell could you possibly be doing!”

You cringe, and Bob bites his lip and snickers. You shoot him a scowl before focusing on the phone.

“Sorry- I um. I got super sick last night from um…” you glance at Bob, “eating something bad. I uh- I’m feeling really bad-” your voice being crackly and screwed up definitely helps, and you even cough on your spit. Thanks for ruining your life, Bob, at least it works as an excuse.

A loud sigh plays through the speaker.

“Jesus, you sound like shit.” 

Bob, louder than you want him to be, chuckles and you raise your eyebrows at him, shaking your head with gritted teeth. He stops, and you sigh.

“Yeahh- um. I feel like shit too.”

“...Okkkay.” oh god he heard it. “I’m gonna let you off today but you better come in tomorrow or show me a video of you being wheeled into the damn ambulance. See you tomorrow.” you can hear the grit in his teeth as he accepts it. You need to be more careful… Maybe set multiple alarms for the morning, just in case.

“yeah-”

Bob pulls the phone away, giggling as he ends the call. You glare at him.

“Didja hafta be so fucking loud, Bob? What if he heard you? And do you know how fucking bad it’d be if I lost my job because of you?! I could lose my home!”

He blinks, shrugging. “So what? Embarrassed ta be seen with me? An’ if it really became a problem, I’d handle it.” He waves it off, rolling his eyes.

“Yes. Actually.” you grumble. You don’t wanna hear shit about “ooo who was that in the back” “sounded like Bob, you two a thing?” when you get back. The thought of him doing anything like that in that regard is…

You.. Um. gag to yourself. Yeah.

And “handle it”? The fuck does that even mean? He's gonna hire you? You gonna move in with him? Fuck no.

“Ouch.”

“Fuck you.” you grumble, raising your arm to stare at it. The bone cracks into place stiffly, and you grimace. It's weirdly silent, and your eyes drag back to Bob. He’s staring at you again. You blink, shrinking slightly.

“Say that again?”

“Um.. No,, I don’t. I don’t really want to.”

He hums, frowning but looking away. You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. You’re starting to feel sleepy, and Bob stands up, walking to the kitchen. 

You let yourself sink back down to lay on the couch, listening to the sounds of him clattering around the kitchen absentmindedly.

_____________________________________________

“How come you’re not at your job?” you itch the edge of your arm, your flesh tingling as it wraps around bone.

“Trained someone the past few. Leavin’ him ta deal with it today. All fer you.” He grins, and you frown with an acknowledging hum, not meeting his eyes.

“You’re not wearing your whole… outfit anymore.” you attempt to gesture with your hand, but your upper arm just kinda raises awkwardly. 

“I ain’t gonna wear a blood stained sweater fer forever, an’ that mask gets itchy after a minute.” He chuckles, talking about it easily. You twist in discomfort, but nod. 

“An’ the stab wounds weren’t all that hard ta deal with. Jus’ stitched em up.” He pats your leg, getting you to look at him as he lifts his shirt, showing you the stitched bits across his chest and stomach. You feel disgusting, staring at them. You made those. 

You frown, stomach churning. You look away before the idea of throwing up becomes a threat. At Least your hands aren’t there, meaning you can’t stare at the blood stains on your hands anymore-

Wait. Your clothes. Wouldn’t they still be stained with blood? You shift up, staring down at your shirt. It's different, you’re wearing entirely new clothes. Stainless, clean.

He… Changed your clothes.

“Did… Did you dress me?” You startle at the thought, looking up at him. He blinks, before grinning at you and chuckling. 

“Figured ya wouldn’ wanna be in a blood stained outfit while ya slept, so…” He snickered, waving his hand a little. “I jus’ fixed that up fer ya. They’re in the wash. Cleaned yer kitchen too.” 

“You.. Did? You- you saw me um-”

“Naked? Not the first time I’ve seen a victim naked, ya know. Gettin’ meat means removin’ the covers. Didn’ think you were gonna mind it.” His eyes narrow, grin turning sly. “Was a lot more of an enticin’ view than usual, though.” He purred, and you grimaced, face flushing red as you scramble to sit up properly, but it doesn’t quite work and you just squirm.

“w- what the fuck- what the fuck does that mean?!”

He blinks, before busting out laughing. You squeak, pulling your legs up to yourself as he loudly chortles.

“I think ya know. Yer a good meal, and I’m sure you’d be a good meal in other ways, now that’cha mention it.” He smiles, and you hide your face in your knees. Your stomach twists with conflicting emotions.

For one… His voice is really nice.

For two, you’re missing your fucking arms because of this man, and now he’s- flirting with you? And its working?! You’re fucking disgusting.

You frown, and he snorts.

“I have a question fer you, though.”

Mercy.

You sit up, once your face doesn’t feel as warm and look at him, humming.

“What happened yesterday, hm? Yer lil’ tantrum?”

Oh.

Your insides twist, and you look away from him.

What do you… Even say? You’ve barely thought about yesterday. You don’t even think,, you’re able to. The moment he brought it up, you felt a sick twist in your stomach. The rush you felt yesterday, straddling him and… Trying to kill him.

You struggle to breathe as you think about it. You stare at your arms, slowly inching up.

“It.. I don’t… I don’t know.” you grimace, looking down at your legs. “I didn’t like it.” is all you manage.

He lets out a long hum, and he’s staring at the tv, scratching his cheek when you look up at him.

“But, Angel.” He sighs, turning his head back to you. “You did.”

You blink, eyes widening.

“I- I didn’t. I- I feel disgusting-”

“Because ya liked it. Tha’s why.” He chuckles darkly, leaning closer to you. “It felt good, didn’ it? You liked it. I saw that pretty lil’ smile on yer face when you saw the mess you started.”

You shake, leaning away, keeping your knees up as a block and squirming backwards. 

“N-no– no no I didn’t. I hated- I hated it! I hated it!”

“Angel don’ lie ta yerself.”

You gasp in breaths, tears stinging the edge of your eyes as he gently moves your legs out of the way, scooting closer to you with a curled smile. He starts to speak, when you startle at how close he's gotten and kick his side, pushing yourself farther away from him. He chokes, coughing with a few pained grunts, hand latching onto the leg that kicked him and growling at you.

“You fuckin’ bitch- I knew ya fuckin’ liked it!” He grinned, laughing and holding the area you kicked with one hand, laugh’s being hoarse and broken, manic almost. You grit your teeth, tears stinging as they drip down your cheeks.

“Of course I fucking liked it! You- you’ve tortured me for fucking- the entirety that you’ve been doing this! We coulda- fuck we coulda been on slightly good terms, if fucking anything, if you didn’t treat me like a fucking animal all the damn time! You don’t fucking own me, you don’t- you don’t own my body! I’ve said this shit so damn much! We had a fucking deal. And- and you- god it was so fucking euphoric to watch your stupid fucking face choke on blood for once. To- god to feel your blood instead of mine on my hands.” You spit the words out like acid, jerking your leg out of his hand.

His grin grows wide, threatening, and he laughs. He laughs the same laugh. The one that led you to throwing up over your kitchen floor. You scowl, wiping the tear stains on your cheeks away as he finally calms down, leaning closer to you again.

“Yer damn attractive when ya blow yer top like that, Angel.”

Your eyes widen, scowl dropping as you stare bewildered. You flush, blinking rapidly at him.

“Ya know, been a while since I’ve been cursed out by a victim, an’ yer pretty voice sure would make it feel nice.” He purred, grin curling into something,, sultry? Your insides churn, and hot wax pours deep into your stomach. It piles up, and your leg twitches as he drags a hand over your thigh. “Angel, yer a pure lil’ thing. Gettin’ you of all people to slip a knife in my chest? Hahehh- well-”

You shove your foot against his stomach right at the wounds, kicking him and snapping. “Get the fuck away from me- you- you pervert!”

He coughs, blood spitting over his chin again as he giggles, grinning at you brightly. “Oh, Angel.. Do it again.” His voice turns low, almost slurred as he wipes the blood from his chin.

You flushed, tossing in your spot and refusing to look at him. He busts out a laugh, and coughs a few more spittles of blood on himself.

You want to do it again.

Chapter Text

You adjusted the little box onto the shelf in front of you, reaching back down and grabbing a few more to organize.

“And my friend, Jessie, her boyfriend that I told you about? He’s been a total jerk recently right?” Mary praddles on, organizing boxes onto the shelf with you, “So she finally decided to break up with him, and he totally flipped his shit!” She huffs, clicking her tongue and shaking her head. 

You aah’d, shaking your head absentmindedly, half listening. You two had been re-stocking for a while, moving from shelf to shelf as she titters on about topic after topic. You didn’t really mind, considering it let you space out and all you hafta do is tune in to react properly ever so often. Her voice wasn't half bad to have as background noise, and sometimes what she was talking about was pretty interesting if anything.

“what’d he do?”

“He like, spammed her and shit. Kept calling and calling. Threatened to get his friends to like, kill her or something. She’s filing a restraining order now.”

“Yeesh.” You grumble, grabbing more boxes. You feel a little uncomfortable, considering a few days ago you did try to kill a man. But he deserved it, so you eventually roll it off your shoulders after a twist of sickness dizzies you.

It’s been a few days or so, since you last saw Bob. You refuse to think about the things he said. Or,, or the things you felt. But you're fine with that. You’ve earned some good ol’ fashioned ignorance. Some good ol’ emotional constipation to save your soul-

A tap on your shoulder startles you, and you jolted, dropping the box in your hand with a little yelp.

“Oh-! God, my bad- um.” A male stranger's voice interrupts your shock, and you grab the box from the floor, turning around to face him. Raising an eyebrow, Mary grinned, grabbing onto your arm and leaning into you. You grimace a little, but focus back on him.

He was wearing a little store uniform just like you, from the once over you gave him.

“What’s up? Need help with something? I’m kinda stocking right now but if it’s important I can pause it.” you shrug, using the gesture to move Mary away from your side. She doesn’t react much, just glancing between you and him.

“No- well- I mean. Yes.” He stumbles a little, and you lean on one hip, crossing your arms comfortably.

“mhm?”

“I just- uh… been seeing you around and wanted to know if you’d be open for,, going out to eat? I- I just. I think you look. Nice. My treat! Won't pay for a thing yourself.” He chuckles nervously, slipping over his attempt.

You blink, eyes widening for a moment before you furrow your brows. 

“Uh-”

“Oh my gosh! Y/N! Yes! She would absolutely love t-” 

You smack Mary’s arm, raising your eyebrows before sighing and looking at him.

“Give me uh,, a second.” you grumble, grabbing Mary and dragging her a few isles away. The man stands there bewildered, fiddling with his hands.

“Mary!” you hiss, gritting your teeth. “No. I do not have the energy nor the time to go on a date with some random guy.”

“It’s free food! And don’t lie, you absolutely have the time. And hey, maybe you’ll get energy frroooomm the date.” She grins, jabbing your side. You scowl, and flinch away from her. “Cmon, he looked cute. He’s all nervous, you don’t wanna let him down do you?”

You frown, furrowing your brows.

“Mary…” you start, taking in a breath before sighing.

Free food…

You do have like a pathetic amount of food at your house. You’ve been ignoring the barely lingering state of your food supply for a while, but it was catching up to you. You felt hungry even now…

Bob.

Would you even have the time to entertain him with Bob calling for your little deal? You can’t just be a loner all the time though. Being around him all the time is suspicious, you should have more to your life. You need an alibi afterall, don’t you? 

But what if it annoyed Bob?

…

What if it annoyed Bob?

A smile curls on your face, and Mary shares the same expression immediately, staring at you hopefully.

He couldn’t say shit. He’d probably come back to you for more meat extremely soon. Today, even. But you’re too busy being on a date. Can't run away to him, too busy getting an alibi. You chuckle, imagining his dumb fucking face in a scowl, knowing he can’t do anything.

“I’m gonna do it.”

Mary squeals, grabbing your arms and dragging you back over to the original Isle. He looks up from his phone, startling slightly but immediately pocketing it, grinning sheepishly at you. You give him a smile and nod.

“Yeah. When?”

“Oh! Oh- Um- would tonight work? 7 pm?”

“Sounds perfect.”

You step closer to him, grabbing your phone for him to put his number into.

“I’ll text you my address around 6, so you can prepare.” You nod at your phone, and he nods back eagerly, tapping his number in with bumbling hands before flashing you a flustered grin.

Yeesh, how badly did he want this? You feel a little bad, using him to get back at Bob like this. But hey, it’s a date, you don’t owe him anything more than what you agreed to. And even then, you could easily back out if you changed your mind. That thought comforts you.

You continue the day at work relishing in your fantasies. If you can’t kill him, why not wear him down? Hopefully it won't come back to bite you in the ass, later. 

_______________________

Looking over yourself in the mirror, you hum. You had some of your favorite songs playing on blast in your bedroom as you decided between outfits. It’s difficult to decide, but you eventually land on something a little more girly and showy. You can’t help your love for a good short skirt, especially when your tights underneath make your bare legs look pretty. Tom, as you learned his name was, was gonna be here in a few minutes to pick you up, you were merely adding the last few touch ups.

Plus, it’s not too often when you get to dress up like this. Maybe you should start going out more. So you have an excuse. It’d be a good distraction, if anything. Why think about the man devouring your flesh in his past time when you could be deciding which top flatters you best. Huh. Maybe you could make dates a fun little thing to get on Bobs nerves, AND give you excuses to dress up.

Scratch that. This is the first time you’ve been on a date in years. You grumble to yourself, before glancing at your phone at the little ping that interrupts your music.

> Gonna be there tonight.

Oh Bob.

You giggle gleefully, typing out your response with a racing heart. Who knew pissing off Bob was just this much fun? You could get used to hanging his hunger over him.

> Can’t do it tonight. I have a date. Might be busy all night, don't come over.

Send, and hit the silence button on his contact.

Your phone buzzes quietly a few times, but you ignore it as you fix up your outfit.

I mean... Yeah, you did NOT plan to fuck Tom, He was a little too.. Eh... Scrawny? For your tastes? but... You liked the idea of coming home to silence. And also imagining the pissed off look on his face gives you a fluttering feeling.

Another ping lets you know of Toms arrival, and you happily grab your over-the-shoulder bag, tossing your keys, phone, wallet, etcetc inside. Rushing out the door, you step into Tom's car, the chill of the cold night air relinquishing only slightly once inside.

“H-hey. You look- nice-!” He stutters, something you start to realize is probably a habit for him. It doesn’t annoy you, you actually think it’s kinda cute, but nothing more than a little quirk he has to him.

“Thanks.” You smile, glancing over his outfit. Looks like he didn’t put in as much effort as you. You shrug it off. It’s happened before, you don’t mind overdressing, as long as he doesn’t make a big deal out of it.

Thankfully however, he just looks you over a few times before driving. You do idle chatter about the town as you two leave, but as the drive lulls into a silence, you realize you didn’t even know where you two were eating.

“Uh, hey where are we eating anyways?”

He grins, and happily says:

“Boy’s ‘N Grills.”

Your eyes widen, and you pause. A chill runs down your spine, and your stomach twists uncomfortably. Your mouth suddenly feels a little dry...

“Ah.,, yeah I uh- I know that place.”

Shit. Shit shit shit.

He blinks, glancing from the road to you a few times.

“Sorry- do you- do you um, not like that place?” He stumbles, frowning.

You shake your head lightly, mind hazing with panic but face going stoic.

“Not at all, don’t worry.”

Oh god.

You planned to mess with him a little over text, see his annoyed little messages and maybe his face when he finally got you, but not so soon. You do like the idea of walking in, and seeing his calm and cheery expression for work snap into something of shock- possibly even anger- when you walk in, but you despise the thought of him breathing down your fucking neck the whole night. Especially when you're finally having a good time for once in your eternal life.

You deserve some fun, damnit!

You grit your teeth, heart sputtering when you recognize the car stopping and parking. You sit there, fumbling with your seatbelt for longer than you should as you go over your options.

Maybe you could avoid him like the fucking plague. That would be nice, just not being around him. Go to thr bathroom when it feels like hes thinking of walking over, refuse to acknowledge him other than when needed, etc. I mean- hey, he has a little assistant now, right? He’ll probably be the one focusing on orders n shit, and Bob will be cooking in the back, too busy perfecting burgers to even notice you.

Damn. A little disappointing you won’t get to see his face when he sees you, but it's worth the freedom of him not bothering you. Yeah. It’ll be fine. And hey- if… If anything he can’t… He can’t make too big a scene… Right?

Right?

Your door swings open, and you finally unclasp your seatbelt, startled. He grins.

“ma’lady?”

You give a pathetic laugh, and a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes as you stand up.

The blaring sign teases your eyes.

Boy’s ‘N Grill’s.

With a final sigh, you bring up the courage and wrap your hand around the cold restaurant's door handles, swinging them open with little fanfair.

Here we go. 

Chapter Text

You’re sad to say the first thing you see as the little ring of the doors bell plays in your ears, is Bob, leaning on the counter and chatting away with one of his customers. Though, he glances down at his phone mid conversation, face straining with a furrowed brow before going back to the conversation. You can tell he’s frustrated, considering he’s tapping his fingers on the table loudly. 

You snicker to yourself, any stress you had melting away. He really was just waiting on you. Almost like a dog.

Otherwise, the diner is just as warm and inviting as you remember. The cold from the outside tingles as it melts from your fingers, and you sigh contently, basking in the heat. Maybe your outfit wasn’t great for the weather, but it’s not like you were walking the whole way here.

Patrons chatter away, and Tom happily strolls in front of you, leading you to the front counter. Your shoes click on the pristine tiles as you follow behind him.

“Hey- Bob!” Tom grins, waving over at him. Bob looks up, having not even noticed you yet.

“Tommy,” He chuckles, grin widening. “How ya been?” 

He’s ever so cheerful, just as you imagined. The perfect customer service smile on his face as he stood up straight, giving a mild wave in response to Tom's enthusiastic one. 

His face, voice, everything just screams nonchalance, but you know better. You haven’t bothered to read his messages, that must be why he kept checking his phone, but your eyes follow his body, eyeing the way his hand idly taps fingers against the counter, just as before. Just as loud. Your ears suddenly focus on it, and it's hard to hear over the little thuds.

You only tear away from them when Tom speaks up.

“I uh- been doing good, man. I’m ah- A-actually here with a date tonight.” He smiles, turning to look at you. Bob’s eyes drag over slowly. 

“Oh? Whos the lucky lady-” He pauses, in fact- he chokes slightly, eyes finally landing on your face. You remain calm, even as your heart races with utter glee as he looks at you. Your content smile ticks up into a smug smirk, watching his expression move through a million emotions at once. Oh god, how you relish it.

You wish you could have this feeling more. Something in your chest burns with delight.

His eyes widen, before he furrows his brow. He stares at you, before his eyes drop up and down, as if he’s finally taking in your outfit. You see his expression turn to something a little, surprised? He blinks a little, coughs, looks away, and flashes a tight grin to Tom.

Ever so graciously, you offer him the mercy of speaking up first.

“Y/N. But you already knew that, right, Bob?” you smile, brushing your hands down your skirt as you calmly stare at him.

Tom looks between you two.

“You know Bob? Why didn’t you say so?”

“Didn’t see it as important.” you wave him off, giving him a light smile before you slip a sly glance at Bob. He stares, bewildered. “Everybody knows him.” you finish, and Tom shrugs.

“Suppose you’re right. But- I’m starving, let's get something to eat, yeah?” He chuckles, and focuses on Bob. Bob stares at you a little longer, emotions fuzzing over into his expression. Anger furrows in his brows, but the way his eyes are stuck on you, it makes you feel like an enigma. You can’t help the rush of something that squirms in your chest, like a parasite. He grits his teeth. Your smile grows wider. His fingers tap against the counter sharply, and you can see his expression cave more and more, as if each tap of his fingers is breaking him down, before he drags his hand away from the countertop and reaches into the pocket of his apron. Slowly, he turns to Tom and pulls out a notepad. 

He orders a regular cheeseburger, and you can feel Bob's eyes suddenly boring into you as you realize…

Well, that's your meat, he’d be eating. You’d be eating. 

A twist of disgust suddenly pinches at your insides, and you grimace a little to yourself.

You look down from the menu at Bob, and he grins, tapping his fingers on the counter again. You grit your teeth. His smile grows.

He can tell.

You’re hungry, starved almost. This is a free meal. He can see the conflict in your expression, and the more your crumble, the higher his smile rises.

Just that thought is enough to kick your ass into a high of winning against him, that little parasite in your chest just squirming for more. You smile, saying you’d like the same.

He blinks.

…and furrows his brows.

Raising his pen, he writes it down, glancing at you a few times with an incredulous expression. Almost like he wants to ask if you’re really sure. 

Stepping into a booth with Tom, you two start to chat away, at Bobs expense.

…and to be completely honest, it’s all you can focus on.

Tom titters and chats you up, but your body is too busy feeling Bob's eyes burning into you, to really pay attention. You relish in the attention. So close yet so far out of his grasp. He can’t do anything.

Your insides hitch with delight, and you go stiff for a moment, hand flexing against the counter as you struggle to focus on Toms words. Heat creeps up your neck, as your eyes slowly drag to meet Bobs.

Suddenly, a hand lands over yours, and you startle, not getting the chance to meet his gaze.

Tom's hand wraps over yours, warm, but suffocating. You blink, looking down at his hand, then his face with a startled expression. Did he realize you weren’t listening?

“You okay? You got kinda stiff and quiet.” He furrows his brows, staring at you. His eyes trail along your expression, as if searching for a hint. You’re about to respond, when a gruff sigh, quiet but not enough for you to miss it, comes from the counter.

Blinking, you look to it’s direction, and see Bob, wiping away at the counter with a rather exasperated expression. A grin curls on your face quicker than you could even think.

Oh? That bothers him?

The parasite in your chest squirms, and sinks hot in your stomach, warming you like hot wax. 

You grasp your hand over Toms, and smile sweetly.

“yes, sorry Tom, I just… You look good tonight. Thought I’d point it out, cause it kept distracting me.” you chuckle, already feeling euphoric.

No one’s ever given you attention like this. You squirm in your seat, drawing your hand away from Toms. He had flustered and blubbered some kind of thanks, but you’re too busy watching Bob get physically more and more upset as time passes. 

You can’t help but spend a lot of the night using that to your advantage. 

You compliment Tom from his shirt to his eyes, garnering more fluster and more gruff sighs. When you make a point to lean forward and use what this top was designed for, flattery of your greatest asset, you hear a residual snap of Bobs pen breaking. He curses to himself, and you flash him a smile, raising your voice to get his attention.

“You alright, Bob? Didn’t get ink everywhere did you?”

He grunts in response, pushing the doors to the back open with a scowl.

Oh how you loved it. 

“So- Y/N, I wanted to ask, how long have you been here?”

You blink, focusing back on Tom.

“For a good while, I’d say,, long enough to know a thing or two.” you grin, fiddling with the napkin in front of you. It was kinda boring, when Bob wasn’t watching you. You miss the attention.

“Ah, since you were a kid then? I moved here a year or so ago, when I was looking to just be in a new town.”

“mhm,” you nod, glancing at the back doors for Bob. You pout at his continued disappearance. You had an idea but…

The doors flick open, and that’s all you need to see before you turn to Tom.

“Ya know Tom,” you start, flashing him a lazy smile. “I would be happy to… Show you a thing or two, if you’d like.” 

Eh, you’re not good at this, but it seems to get across well enough. He flushes, blinking rapidly before laughing nervously, looking down and tugging at his collar. Yeesh, he’s easy. It feels a little less rewarding when it’s so simple.

Getting that kinda reaction outta Bob however…

“I… I didn’t- think you’d.. B-be that intere-”

Food is set in front of both of you two loudly, plates clattering against the table. He shoots a not so subtle glare at Tom, who looks embarrassed and slightly confused.

You immediately smile at the present of food, tossing your earlier plan to chow down. Bob is staring at you, almost expectantly, as you grip the burger and bite down.

It’s delicious.

You grin, groaning under your breath as you eat it.

You’ve never tasted so damn good. This night feels like a fever dream. You don’t even care that you’re practically eating your own arm, you’re having such a damn good time that it doesn’t matter.

High on your glee, you don’t even notice how Bob sits frozen, watching you scarf down the burger of your arm meat. He coughs, and you look up, still chewing. He shudders, and looks away, leaving without a word.

Strange. You giggle to yourself. Oh, the glee of surprising him. You feel high on life.

Tom stands up, awkwardly sending you a smile and excusing himself to the restroom, you barely give an acknowledging hum as he goes, focusing purely on the beauty of the meal in front of you.

Free food tastes so much better.

The chair in front of you squeaks, and you look up, prepared to see Tom, but instead meeting Bob's chest. You finish chewing, swallowing and looking up at Bob with a lazy smile. You take a long few sips of your drink.

“Jus’ what do ya think yer doin?” He hisses, grin tight on his face. You raise an eyebrow, wiping off your mouth with a napkin and setting it aside.

“going on a date? Like I said.” You answer easily, sipping your drink.

“No. Ya know that ain’t what I mean. What’re ya doin. Doin’ here, Doin’... That.. That shit’chu were doin’.” He gestures to you, brows furrowing in exasperation. 

You blink.

Biting back a giggle, you pretend to think on it for a minute.

Until you actually do.

What were you doing?

You keep your face mostly in place, though your smile falls slightly.

Teasing Bob, hanging his hunger over him… Until that wasn’t it anymore. Until your chest- no your stomach poured with hot wax, feeling his eyes stare at your every move. You relished in the glee of winning- no. No, not winning. The glee of making him jealous of a man that got to date you.

You stare at Bob, still processing your latest realization.

Jesus. Maybe you do need to fuck someone, or atleast use a toy. All this pent up shit is fucking up your head. You wanna fuck Bob. Bob. Your murderer, the man that cuts your limbs off, and sells them. Eats them. You want him jealous of a man that gets to treat you to dinner, hold your hand, flirt with you and have you flirt back… 

And the thing is?

It worked.

You squint your eyes at Bob. 

It worked.

Your grin curls up, and you hum a little, shrugging.

“I don’t know what you mean. Am I bothering you?” you purr the words, sudden confidence rushing through your chest, and straight into the bubbling warmth that's stabbing down your spine and straight to your groin.

You’re disgusting. 

But it’s working.

Something about that…

It’s. Working.

It churns your insides.

You feel disgusting. Gross, unnatural. You wanna fuck Bob. No, you need to. You can’t help the giggle that leaves your throat.

What the hell has happened to you?

Bob stares at you, his breathing raising to a shaky sigh. 

“You…” He starts, eyes narrowing at you. “Ya ain’t… Ya sure yer,, feelin’ alri-”

“Excuse me!” Toms voice interrupts, grinning down at Bob.

You lean your head down on your hand, watching as Bob stares at you for a long time. You grin.

“well?” You raise an eyebrow.

Reaching down to your food, you finish the last few bites as he stands up. He gives you a light glance, and you lick your lips. He shutters.

“Bob?” You hum, and he flinches at his name coming from your voice, furrowing his brows at you.

Your smile tugs up, and you slide your tongue over your teeth, relishing in the way his eyes follow. 

“Thanks. Your meat always tastes the best.” 

____________________________

The rest of the night is quite uneventful, and you both finish eating and end the night. He drives you home, and you don’t bother giving him any fanfair other than a thank you. He tried quite a lot to come in, but you just laughed and waved him off. You can’t think quite right. You feel dizzy. You tell him this, and you cant quite remember the rest. You blinked and he was gone. You’ll text him later about not wanting any more dates, for right now, you need to find your favorite toy. 

You stumble inside, your legs jello. Before you can even bother entertaining your original plan, you crash onto the couch, the haze of your mind fogging over. 

Moving shouldn’t be this hard… Right?

Your brain slurs over into nothing but a hazy dream, and you hum, curling up happily against the couch. What were you doing? Going to bed, probably. You fall unconscious.

____________________________

Meanwhile, at Boy’s ‘N Grills…

Bob staggered into the back, a shuttered sigh leaving his lips as he slumps into the nearest chair. It groans under his weight, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. The shops closed, everyone’s gone. He’s sent his lil coworker home, it's quiet.

And all he can think of is your voice.

Your meat always tastes the best.

His skin feels hot. Everything suddenly feels restricting, and he’s sweating. He reaches a hand down, palming at his crotch with a light sigh.

Why did you say that to him?

He can’t stop repeating it in his head. The way you licked your lips, the way your tongue drug over your teeth, almost like a tease. His breath grows heavy, and his fingers latch around the zip of his pants, unbuttoning and unzipping and finally getting a bit of mercy from these tight coverings.

He shoves them mostly down, and wraps a hand around his cock, grunting lowly.

Your meat always tastes the best.

A shiver runs up his spine, and a giddy giggle chokes over the static of silence.

Of course it does.

He groans to himself, hips bucking into his hand. You’re a damn tease, a pure little thing that knows what she does to him. He can’t help it, not when she tastes so good. Not when she looks at him like that. Drool pools over his lip, and he gasps, moaning lewdly into the silence. 

He could find a way to get back at’cha. He’s sure of it. He could get you to look at him like that. Maybe on your knees, maybe you'd be crying. Maybe he’d be dragging a knife into your stomach, watch your glistening insides spill out as you bit your lip.

Fuck.

He huffed pants, pressing a finger to the slit of his dick and whining under his breath.

Yeah. Yeah, he could make you look at him like that as he cut you open. He’s sure of it. That’d be fuckin’ good. He could bite the flesh off’a you himself, and he’d hear your pretty voice beg for more-

A flash of your tongue dragging over your teeth interrupts, and suddenly the idea of your teeth latching into his shoulder pops in his head, causing a heavy whimper to choke out as he pumped his cock rougher.

He can’t help his thoughts, as they turn over to something a little less in control he chokes on drool over moans and groans, whines tipping at the edge as his hips snap up into his hand, rough and desperate. His brain hazes over, thinking without his head to make sense of it.

The sting of the knife in your hands, swinging down, slinging blood onto your face. Your hands are covered in it, you’re straddling him. The blood is beautiful. It glistens. It’s his. You’re beautiful. He’s yours. Your knife digs deep, he groans.

And that smile on your face.

The smile on your face is covered in his blood, and you slide your tongue over your teeth, lapping it up. His eyes watching like a devoted follower. Worshiping the thought, his brain replays it, over, and over, and over. 

Your meat always tastes the best.

Chapter Text

Your eyes slowly drag open, dry and groggy. You rub a hand against it, eyes blearily looking around. Your insides feel like they're twisting, your movements feel sluggish. You can feel the itchy texture of your pretty outfit from last night scratching at your skin, yet you can’t quite remember last night. Your brain a haze of fog, you realize you can’t even recall where you are either. Hopefully at home. What time is it?

It’s obscenely dark, yet a lamp on the end table next to your couch, thank god, you are at home, is blaring against your eyes almost painfully. You scowl, looking up and–

You meet his eyes.

Something in your chest squirms. A parasite, but you don’t have the time to think about it.

Wide, swirls of cyan and deep brown. They dart along your face, and your heart rate rises, you take in a short breath, a scream starting to bubble up in your throat before it’s interrupted by his hand smacking over your mouth, his grin widening. 

“You know what I need.”

You grit your teeth, before a stab of pain jerks against your womb, and you yelp, giving a pained grunt as you keel over. Bob furrows his brows, leaning away and standing up straight. With a pathetic groan, you realize your period hasn't started in a while. You haven’t quite thought about it, but the stab in your abdomen has no other explanation. You grumble about it, whining painfully. 

You don’t get the chance to think about it too long however, due to a hand clamping over your arm and dragging you to sit up. Yelping, you glare at him.

“Bob! Fuckinn–” your eyes go black, and you slur, standing up dizzily. Your brain fogs over painfully, and you groan, clutching a hand onto your head with a whine. Your sight goes temporarily fuzzy, and you stumble slightly, huffing.

“II… I’m in a lot of,, of pain right now, Bobb–” Your insides churn, and your eyes widen, startling you into keeling over in his hold, choking down a whimper and covering it with a groan. His grip on your arm falters, and you look up at him, squinting through a scowl. Drool drips down his chin, a wide smile meeting your grimace.

He stays there staring for a long moment, sniffs, furrows his brows, and lets go of your arm with a shove. You stumble back into the couch, yelping.

“Bob–! What the fuck!” You snap, gritting your teeth as you slink your body back over the couch. Your first day was always your most painful. You remember the first time it happened, late middle school. Clutching onto the toilet and begging to a god you didn’t believe in. Ahh, good times.

You refocus, furrowing your brows as you look at his expression.

His eyes are glazed over, darting around the room with furrowed brows. Drool still slips down his chin, till he wipes it away and looks back at you. His nails dig into his arms, and he steps closer.

“Angel- it’s. It’s been a bit, since I’ve gotten what I need. People’ve been askin’ where things like guts ‘n liver are. I need it.”

“You… You know that’s off–” You whine, gripping your arms over your womb and curling up, the scratch of a dagger dragging through your insides as you speak. “o–off limits. Can’t you order,, animal parts instead?? and not feed everyone human for once…?” you frown, and he laughs, loud and shaky.

“Oh– Oh yer cute. That wouldn’t work. Wouldn’ taste the same, an’ I don’ budget for it, because I don’ need to. I have you. And you, Angel, need ta do yer job, and let me get what I need.”

Insides tossed into knots, you feel like throwing up. The pain in your womb is too much to ignore, and you grimace. You can’t do your stomach, not again.

“Bob, I can’t– it- it was horrid the first time… You.. You remember–”

His hand roughly pushes your arms out the way, resting onto your womb. You look up, realizing he’s sat next to you now, and he leans some weight onto his hand, pressing down. You try to grimace, but let out a sigh at the warmth and weight of his hand resting against you, and squirm slightly, looking away. A shaky frown rests on your face, but it doesn’t seem to deter him.

“It’ll make all’a that stop hurtin’.” He grins, carefully pulling his carving knife out from his hip. Your eyes follow it, all the way up and out until the tip is dragging against your stomach. Goosebumps raise along your body, and you shiver, watching the steel glint. Your eyes go wide as it trails farther down, and you can’t help but squirm against the sensation.

“Bob…”

You attempt a protest, but it comes out as more of a sigh, and you grimace to yourself, looking away from him.

“I can help ya. Jus’ lemme cut’cha open. It won’ hurt, fer long. But all that pain will run on out, Angel. Let me help you.” His voice goes soft, and that paired with the knife gently tracing your stomach, creates an oddly soft sensation in your chest. Something inside you squirms, something you can’t quite name. That parasite again.

It makes you sick. You gag mentally, withdrawing from his touch. It simply follows, pressing in harder. You shutter, biting into your lip a bit painfully.

Pain drags its claws in your insides, and you wince, grimacing at him.

“I– I don’t… I don’t want it.”

“Angel… Be honest with yerself.” he chuckles gently, dragging the knife a bit rougher against your skin. It stings, and you shutter out a sigh, swallowing thickly. Heat crawls up your neck, and you bite your cheek. “Jus’ about everythin’ about’cha is sayin’ you want it. Why not let me?” 

You turn your face to the side, mentally following the knife as it drags up your skin. He chuckles, and you’re about to attempt a response, when searing pain drags slowly through your stomach. You yelp, body jolting up and almost knocking foreheads with him. His hand clamps over your chin before you can, and your wide eyes shake as they follow.

The knife drags into your skin, slow and deliberate, it digs and carves. The gentle trace of the edge is a far away dream, as your eyes sting with tears. You scream out a cry, and kick his side. He coughs, startling a curse and letting go of the knife. It clambers to the side, and you curl up, loud sobs rocking your body. Your insides burn, and you feel sick from pain. Throwing up seems like a viable option, and you gag weakly. You haven’t eaten anything to throw up. You retch to the side, dry heaves that make your stomach jerk painfully. Your teeth hurt from gritting, and you hear soft snickering. Blood drips from the little wound onto the couch, but you don’t even bother about the stain.

“It’ll be over soon Angel,” He coos softly, and you whimper sobs, the searing painful and throbbing. You’ve clamped your eyes shut, but sob weakly when you feel a hand grab your hair, tugging you to face him. 

“It’ll make it all stop.” He whispers, hands trailing to your body. Carefully, he pushes you into laying on your back. You give soft pained sobs when he gets too close to pressing at the wound, and he simply shushes you.

“It won’t be like when we first met, I’ll be gentle fer ya.” He hums, moving your arms out of the way. You squirm, whining quietly.

“I don’t– I don’t want it– Please Bob I don’t–”

“I know, I know…” his hand reaches and wipes away the tears staining your cheeks, and you sob quietly, clamping your eyes shut so he can’t see you. Your insides churn at the sweetness in his voice. Your mind going blank from pain and clinging onto the one thing it can, him.

Your hands cling to his arm, nails digging into his skin yet he doesn’t flinch, and he chuckles, reaching and grabbing his knife from the ground. little pathetic sobs jerk your body, causing pained whines from each.

“Shh, Angel. It’ll be all okay. Stay still.”

The tip gently sinks into your skin at the edge of his cut, and begins to carve. You gasp, sobbing pathetically. He uses his hand to hold you down, but you scrabble at his arm, leaving aching red lines against his skin. You cry out, begs and pleads as your mind blanks. You can barely breathe, every breath hurts. Your insides gently tear open, and it burns like fire. It sears and pops, stretches and rips. 

Nothing you do will make it stop. You’ll never be away from him. Never. Never away from his knife, his hands, his smile, his soft voice. Nothing. And you don’t know if you could ever be away. No matter how desperstely you cling to the idea of his leave, you aren’t sure what you’d do after. His knife drags in your stomach, the ultimate end to all cries of privacy. That night, that first night. You remember that face, that laugh he did. The way he tore open your stomach himself. You couldn’t call for help, couldn’t do anything. 

This body isn’t yours, anymore. 

You grapple onto all you can, your words a babble of cries and begging, pathetic useless begging. It fades in and out, your ears ring, the only thing you can focus on are Bobs words. Bobs hands. Bobs knife. Bob.

“I know, Angel. Oh, I know… Yer doin’ perfectly…” a drip of drool lands on your stomach, and he wipes away with his thumb. “I’m the best carver around. Don’ worry, I’ll make it nice and clean.” He hums, cooing quietly and hushing you under his breath. His hand on your side holding you down is painful, gripping you enough to bruise.

This body isn’t yours, anymore.

And ever so carefully, it tips up and away, the deep cut resting from your ribcage all the way down to the start of your mon pubis.

“Angel…”

You sob, staring down at the cut. 

“Angel, I need ya ta look at me.”

You drag your tear filled eyes to his, and his grin goes lazy, hushing your panting gasps for breath.

“It’s almost over. Yer doin’ perfect. I need ya to get through the hard part now, okay? Can ya stay still? Stay quiet?”

“I cann’t- I can’t-” 

Your eyes drag back down, watching as the skin starts to slowly knit itself back togethrr, and you shutter, gasping at the thought of him having to do it again. 

“You’ll do fine…”

His words are breathy, and his vice grip on your side loosens, thumb rubbing small circles on your skin. Breath growing ragged, he chuckles, dragging his tongue over his teeth.

“It’ll be over soon, Angel.” He murmured, drool dripping from his chin and onto your stomach. You shutter, but slowly nod, small gasped cries still jolting your body. His hand grips your side rough again, and you tense. His other tosses his knife aside, and gently presses through the cut of your stomach, fingers digging inside. You gasp, bodly jolting and twitching in pain, screaming until your voice dies out. His voice raises, fingers digging deeper.

“I know, I know Angel oh I know, stay still- quiet down Y/N I need ya ta be quiet like I told ya, wouldn’ wan’t anyone callin’ anyone, would’ja?” He grins, fingers winding around your insides as you cry. You squirm, pathetically kicking. Tears sting painfully and drag down your cheeks, loud sniffles and screams fill the room, sobs wracking your body into jerking painfully, hands scrabbling at his arm as he drags your guts from your stomach.

“Such a good girl,, I know ya hate it. Yer doin’ perfectly, I jus’ need ya ta shut up.” He hums, tearing something from your insides, eliciting a blood curdling scream clawing out from your throat, only interrupted by the blood bubbling up your throat. You cough, sporadically retching over to the side as blood spills from your throat. Your thoughts stretch to blanks, and you watch as the floor stains red. It splatters, dripping against your coffee table. The couch seeps red soaking crimson. You gag, coughing weakly with sobs.

Red lines decorate his arm from your nails scrabbling against it, and you think you can see blood beading at a few scratches. You’re too busy choking on blood mid scream to see that well, though. Blood splatters on his face as he tugs against your insides, his grin ever so wide. You’re starting to lose anything you had. You dizzily lay back, blood choking over your lips as your eyes roll back into your head. Your brain fizzes over, the smell of iron overfilling your senses.

This body isn’t yours, anymore.

_____________________________________________

Bob hums, carefully arranging a string of guts into a container, prepped to be placed in your cooler, temporarily. His hand is stained with blood, and he swipes his fingers against each other, watching it smear and fade into his skin. 

He’s been waiting for this day.

He looks up, grinning over at your sleeping form on the couch. Your head hangs over the edge of the couch, blood and drool dribbling from your mouth onto the carpet. His grin stretches wider, and he shutters out a sigh. Your lips, your chin, it’s stained with smears of blood. Your stomach is slowly intertwining, but he can still see the careful carving of the slit. Some blood is dribbled over your chest, your top is stained in blood and probably ruined. That thought gave him a little chuckle, looking back down at the container in his hand.

He reaches in, pulling out the string of intestines and intertwining it along his fingers. 

So many people have been dragging their ass to his shop and asking when he’d restock. He’d tell them soon, and finally, he has it. He can give them what they want, watch their blissfully unaware expression as they walk off with human guts in their hands and yet.

He doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t want to give these to just anyone. They won’t appreciate them. Won’t appreciate how divine they are, coming from an Angel. They’d eat them like any other meat, no. No he can’t have that.

Your guts, your insides they are practically holy. So rare, he’d been begging, insisting, threatening you to get them. And he finally got them, finally he can twist your pretty little guts around his hand, god it makes his bresth shake at the thought. He chuckles out loud to himself, shaky and sporadic. 

He relishes the memory of his hand inside your stomach. Hot blood warming his hand, the feeling of your body wriggling against his claws. He can’t get enough, not of those screams. Your expression when you retched over the side of your couch. A shiver runs up his spine, and he sighs out, leaning against the kitchen counter.

He can’t believe he’s sold your meat before. Your divinity, so easily. He just didn’t understand what it meant, but it was practically a sin. He can’t forgive himself.

He gently places it back inside the container, sliding it into the freezer and instead focusing on the rest of the meat.

He can’t let it rot and go to waste. He needs to make use of this blessing. He’ll… Yeah. He’ll keep it for himself. All his. He breath hitches at the thought. Yeah. Yeah, why give anyone else your blood, your taste? Maybe your legs and arms, sure. Anyone can get that. But your insides? That’s his. His, and his only. Drool drips over his lip as he shutters, swallowing spit and wiping it away.

What would he do about the people? He can’t be out of stock forever. He… He’ll figure something out. Later.

“.,,Bob..?” coughs and the sound of dull splatters interrupt his thoughts.

Oh, that voice.

He grins, looking up from the container in his hands and over at you. His Angel, keeling over the couch and retching your guts out all over again, coughing weakly and wiping away the drips. His stomach churns, and he grips a hand onto the counter, lazily leaning forward.

“Angel? Ya finally awake?”

“I,,.. Youu..” Your eyes widen as you sit up, hands gently tracing around the edge of the healing slit. You wince, lip trembling as your hands shake, clenching. Tears drag down your face.

“You- You did it- You- You said-”

“Hush, Angel.” He hummed, placing the last container inside the fridge and walking over to the couch, catching your trembling wrists in his hands, and pulling you forward into his chest. “Yer okay, Everythin’s fine. It didn’t hurt fer long, like I said. I’s all over now, Angel.” He wraps his arms around you, dragging you into him.

He shutters in a breath, hands gripping along your body. You smell holy, and he shivers, claws digging into your sides. All his. 

“Bob,,”

“They would only get suspicious.” 

You don’t need to know it’ll be all his.

You tremble in his arms, voice a pathetic croak of a sob. He simply holds you tighter, using the close space to inhale your scent over and over. High off the sensation, he groans quietly, shifting against you, attempting to get any closer than he already is.

All his.

Chapter Text

The sky is still dark when Bob wakes up, an alarm blaring in his ears that makes his head throb in a painful headache. The thin blanket of his bed slipping from his shoulders as he sits up. Gripping his phone and fumbling with the alarm, he tosses it aside with the blanket, swinging his legs over the edge.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he scratches at the stubble on his chin, drooping eyes staring at the floor, though his sight is fuzzy with sleep. Blinking takes a herculean effort, and he sighs heavily, standing. 

Bob's usual routine entirely consists of eating some quickly scrambled together breakfast, most commonly cereal, getting dressed for work, and driving out. But he has more to do, hence the fact it’s 5 am in the goddamn morning, and he’s rummaging through his closet for his black button up.

He scoffs lowly under his breath as he peels off his shirt, getting dressed in his usual uniform for work. 

The cult would be waiting for him, no doubt. With tapping feet and crossed arms. But at this fucking early, he can’t bring himself to kick into high gear for them. Usually they do it at night, but no, they insisted. Something about “needing an early slab of sacrificial meat” and running low. To be honest, he wasn’t fully listening. Bob grabbed his phone and wallet, shoving them into his jean pockets.

Gravel and snow crunched under his boots as he walked to his shed, wringing a hand through his hair and pulling his hat on. The biting cold of the early morning nips at his fingers, and he rubbed his hands together, shoving them into his coat pockets. At least it helped keep the meat extra fresh.

The old door creaks as he opens it, the smell of blood and dust filling his senses. He sucks in a hefty inhale, eyes swooping over the old shed. Each step made the floorboards groan, and dust clung to the very few pieces of furniture there. A chair, a desk, a few coolers… He coughed slightly, waving a hand in the air to hopefully will away the dust and grabbing a cooler he had prepared last night. It was assorted with various meats, all from Y/N’s own. It smelled enticing. His stomach growled.

He could feel a bead of drool slipping down his chin, but he didn’t bother wiping it away. He was surrounded by Y/N’s scent. All bodies smelt the same to him before. Meat, and blood. But Y/N? No, no, she was special. Holy. She just had this… Sweetness to her. A certain essence, a certain… Divinity.

Lugging the large cooler out of the Shed with ease, he shoves it into the trunk of his pickup, slamming the back door. It never seemed to stay shut if you didn’t play rough.

 Y/N. She’s probably healing from their last escapade, right now. About time she’ll be done, if he knows her healing right. 

He slides into the truck, starting it up. The engine sputters. The damn thing is older than he is, really. He huffs quietly, having to turn the key a good few times before it finally rumbled to life. He patted the dashboard as he started to pull out of his driveway, mumbling a praise under his breath.

His old pickup had been his fathers before it was handed down to him. Or well, more suddenly shoved into his hands. The old thing was running on fumes, but he just couldn’t let it go. It was covered in scratches, mud, Dust, and more. Ripped bumper stickers, dusty dashboard and an even dustier empty compartment. Broken radio, a finicky air conditioning and even worse engine. But it was his.

Clicking on the warm air, he fiddled with it as his truck started to wind down the old dirt road. The cult's supplier often met him at this old warehouse they used, so he headed in that direction. 

The drive was a blur of trees, dirt, snow, and the crackle of gravel under his truck's wheels. He doesn’t remember the drive when he arrives, and two figures dart to the back of his pickup the moment he stops.

Sliding from the truck, he shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Bob. Glad to see you’ve made it only 10 minutes late this time.” A man, Daniel, says gruffly. Bob grunts, walking to stand next to him as he eyes the two figures carrying in the cooler. Watching it slowly disappear behind the door of the warehouse, his hands clench to fists. They better make good use of it.

A low hum from Daniel catches his attention again, and he glances down at him, raising an eyebrow.

“What?”

“You’re slacking.” He says simply, turning his head and having to tilt his head up to meet Bob's gaze. “Less meat than usual. Usually there are two coolers.” He turns back to face Bob's pickup. “Unless you're hiding a cooler somewhere.”

Bob scowls. 

“No. I’m not.” He grunts, crossing his arms over his chest. Daniel scoffs.

“Finally losing your touch, Bob?” He raises an eyebrow, frowning, “You’ve been visiting the cult less and less. People are starting to complain about not getting your cooking.” Bob narrows his eyes, teeth gritting. 

“No. It’s just time consuming to have to drive to a whole ‘nother town. Ya know the cops are already on my ass as is.” He snears, and Daniel raises his eyebrows.

“Then put that new hire of yours to work more often.”

“He ain’t ready to run it alone for that long. Ain’t leavin’ my restaurant with him.” He forces out, looking away.

“Still clinging to that restaurant. Why bother? You know you’d have more meat for the cult if you stopped selling half of it. We would give you a place to stay if you go bankrupt. Plenty of our members live together.” he snorts dryly, as if it was obvious.

Bob’s eye twitched, and he shoved his hands in his pockets, a grin curling on his face.

“I suggest ya stop fuckin’ talkin’ about my restaurant.” Bob leans down closer, looming over the shorter man. Daniel stiffens slightly, and shifts on his feet, crossing his arms with a low click of his tongue. He keeps his mouth shut.

Smart boy.

“If all ya wanted ta do was piss me off, then I think we’re done here.” He snears, and Daniel curtly nods, watching Bob leave with a grimace.

—

–

-

Bob’s hand tightened on the wheel of his truck, the cracked and fraying leather digging into his palms.

“Close down my restaurant,” he mutters, scoffing as he turns his truck into the highway. “Fuckin’ stupid.” That restaurant was his heart and soul. He was working at the damned place since he was a boy. It was a family business, like hell he was gonna throw it out the window like that. What would his father think? He trusted him. Absolutely not, he would never leave it. It was the last he had. That and his truck.

Bob's knuckles turn white, before he sucks in a shuddering breath, sighing and adjusting the cap on his head. The cult was convinced he was still murdering anyone he wanted, simply going to a few towns over to do it. It kept them off his and Y/N’s back, and gave him an excuse for his… “Slacking”. 

He didn’t need them knowing about their little… Agreement. His fingers flexed over the wheel. No doubt they’d make a spectacle of her. Use her for some fucked up shit. A never ending sacrificial lamb. Not with care, with worship like he does. No, they wouldn’t make good use of her. She was his to ruin, not theirs. Only he could do it well. Do it right.

She was his, by agreement. No one would make the right use of her. They’d spill her guts without a thought. Without understanding how precious it was.

He shook his head. No, he couldn’t let that happen. He needed to pick up his loose ends. Maybe he could get more meat from her. But he’d need to work around her job, she can’t call in sick everyday. Eventually there’d be questions. And as annoying as it was, she needed to have some kind of job. Keep up appearances. 

Despite how much it made his skin crawl that that little fuckin’ excuse of a guy Tom was there. That he could see her everyday. Talk to her everyday. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to get her fired. Get her away from that.. that worthless, ungrateful, son of a-

He blinked at the sudden sound of honking, realizing the light he was at turned green. He pushed the gas a little harder than necessary, lurching his pickup forward and gripping the wheel tighter. He rubbed a hand over his face, grumbling under his breath.

He can figure out what to do about his meat stocks later. For now, he had a restaurant to run.

—

The sizzling of patties and the smell of spices and other ornate cooking devices, it was comforting. Familiar. As home as home could get. Not even the thrill of a kill could feel as natural as this.

He could space out all he wanted, a whistle of a tune on his lips as he flipped and pressed down the cooking slab of meat. At least his lunch break was soon, the smell was starting to make his mouth water. He brushed a bit of drool off on his arm, setting his spatula aside to grab a slice of cheese to place over the patty.

“Bob?”

He paused for a moment, turning his head to the side as he fixed the cheese over the sizzling meat. Warren, his hire. He was a scraggly teen boy, curly hair. Bundle of nerves, he was. But he followed orders well enough. Bob grunts in acknowledgment, looking back down at the food in front of him.

Warren clears his throat, stepping further into the kitchen. “Someone wants to see you.”

Bob spared him a glance, before nodding his head.

“Aight, gimme a minute.”

“Uh,, they’re…” he glances back through the door, cringing. “I think you should see them now.”

Bob raises an eyebrow, swiping his hands on his apron.

“Fine, you take over here.” He relents, passing Warren the spatula as he passes. Warren flashes him a wry grin, and Bob pushes open the doors to the kitchen, stepping out into the main diner. His breath hitched, eyes immediately locking on Y/N. A grin split his face before he could help it.

“Bob.” She greeted stiffly, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. Her grin— actually, it was more of a baring of teeth than a smile— strained and tight.

Oh how that voice could make his heart sing. 

Chapter Text

Waking up that morning, you could’ve sang from the rooftops. Your healing was finally complete.

Having your guts torn out is as painful as it sounds, of course, but no one thinks about the healing. How your lungs are growing back, and all you can manage is shallow, raspy breaths before you pass out from air loss, stuck in a limbo of just between death. 

Being kick started right back to life the moment you think your torturous life will finally reach its horrid end. The feeling of your stomach acid bubbling inside an already weak gut, the feeling of your intestines filling out the hollow space of your insides- you’ve been doing this for days.

Three, to be exact. You can’t eat without a gut, and the only sleep you get is when you're forced into unconscious but air loss. So it’s been excruciatingly slow. Three, long, abhorrently painful days that you honestly wish you had the honor of being able to disassociate from. But there’s no way to ignore the feeling of your fucking liver squirming as it tries to grow back in right. No way to ignore the way your lungs feel deflated, weak and pathetic on that last day. How every breath was a herculean effort.

How you wished your body would just stop trying.

It’s a process you wished to never go through again.

And yet.

Yet.

He did it anyway.

You made him promise, along with the agreement. That he would never cut open your stomach again. And as lovely as your period being cut short the moment it started was…

You were angry. No, you were furious.

So furious, in fact, you were here. Surrounded by clueless patrons, consuming the very woman standing just a few feet away. But you could give two shits about that right now.

“Excuse me.” you grit out, placing on a smile, and a scraggly teen boy chatting with a patron pauses, turning to you with a slightly anxious one in return. He was trying, you’ll give him that.

“I need to see Bob. Where is he.”

He blinks, and perks up.

“oh, he’s in the back right now! I’m sure he’ll be out in just a few minutes, I can take y-”

“I need to see him now.” you interrupt curtly, only feeling slightly bad for the way he winces.

“Uh- y-yeah, okay,” He stammered, brushing his sweaty hands on his apron before he rushed through the back door. 

You put your hands on your hips, leaning on one side as you glared at the swinging kitchen doors. A few patrons spare you glances, or even glares, but you don’t care. You’re not here for them. 

The smile you slapped on is slipping into more of a scowl, and the moment you see him saunter through, you cross your arms protectively. 

“Bob.” You say slowly, the name tasting like acid on your tongue. His grin is as wide as ever, but you can see it twitching impossibly wider when you say his name. Hook, line, sinker. 

“I’d like to talk with you.” You finish, your grin barely held up.

“Oh? Ya came all this way ta see lil’ ol’ m-”

“Privately.” You snap, interrupting him.

He stiffens, grin going tight. His brows furrow, and you could swear you saw his eye twitch. Whatever. Let him be annoyed.

“...Well, if a private audience is what’cher lookin’ fer.” He says slowly, his gaze lingering on you before he turns and starts to walk to his office. You keep your arms crossed as you follow him, eyes glaring daggers into his back as he uses the lanyard of keys around his neck to unlock it.

He swings the door open, and you don’t bother waiting. Your side shoves into his as you walk in, and he scowls, slamming the door shut. He locks it, and turns to you, mouth opening to speak.

You beat him to it in record time.

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” You snap, shoving your finger against his chest. He blinks, taking a step back. “You promised me, you fucking asshole! I trusted you to have some semblance of conscious, god how stupid that fucking was. You have nothing but blood lust, you love to make my life hell, right? Is that it? I’ve been stuck at home for three fucking days, writhing.” You sneer at him, and his face darkens into a harsh scowl. Opening his mouth, you can hear the start of his retort. You don’t let him get a word in.

“I promised you that I wouldn’t tell anyone, would let you do whatever the fuck you wanted, as long as you didn’t cut into my stomach.” you hiss, leaning closer to him. He backs up into his desk. You follow. “and- I’m sorry, what’d you do again? Remind me?” 

He stares at you, his mouth hung open in his piss poor attempt to retort. He clamped his mouth shut, throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly. He stayed silent.

“I said,” you grit your teeth, leaning so close that you could feel his breath against your face, “Remind me.”

“Yeah, I fuckin’ cut’cher stomach open, but-” he starts to sneer, before you hold up a hand. 

“You cut my fucking stomach open. You understand that, technically, breaks our deal. You know that right? By all means, I have every right to march my ass to the police station and ruin you.” you growl, and he suddenly slams his fist into the desk behind him, making you startle enough for him to get a word in.

“I could make yer life a fuckin’ hell! I could give ya over to the fuckin’ cult! Use yer pretty lil’ body as a fuckin’ sacrifice!” he shouts, backing you up into a wall. “I think you’ve forgotten yer place, Angel.” he snarls, darting a hand to grab your chin. 

“I don’t give a shit anymore! Hand me over! Let them make a sacrifice out of me! I’d rather that, than be around you!” you spat, and his grin widened.

“Oh, is that-”

Knock knock knock.

You both stiffen, and Bob scowls, letting go of your chin with a rough shove that makes your head bump into the wall behind you. You sneer, rubbing the back of your head. He walks to the door, unlocking it and cracking it open slightly.

“What.” he bites out, and you hear Warren’s usual stammer pick up.

“oh- I-I ah- just- someone wants to see you-”

“In a minute.” He interrupts, voice clipped before he slams the office door, locking it over again with a click. When he turns back to you, he runs a hand through his hair, his grin tight and strained with anger.

“you,” he grits, taking a step closer to you. Your hands clenched into fists at your side, and you take a step back, bumping into the wall again. You start to speak, but he interrupts you. Just like you did him. You narrow your eyes, mouth clamping shut in a low grimace. “don’t get ta walk inta my fuckin’ restaurant, and threaten me. I’m fuckin’ immortal like you, you can’t hurt me-” he spits, jabbing a finger at your chest. You bark a harsh laugh, and he blinks.

“Can’t hurt you?! That’s fucking rich-” you start, and he grips your neck, slamming your head back against the wall. You let out a strangled cry of frustration, a headache suddenly slamming into your head like a hammer. Your leg kicked against his, shoes scraping against his knee. He just grabs your thigh, lifting the leg over his hip and effectively stopping you from trying. You start to shout insults at him, but his hand squeezes until all you can manage is a shallow weeze, your face going red as you gasped weakly.

Leaning so close your shallow gasps and his pants intermingle, he grins, so wide and yet it never truly reaches his eyes, wide and glaring, locked on your furious scowl. It’s strangely intimate, and you shutter a raspy breath, glare hardening. You wet your lips, and his eyes dart down, lingering on your tongue.

It’s hard to miss the way his eyebrow twitches, and you do the only thing your brain supplies you.

“Pervert.” you rasp.

He stiffens, his smile faltering and his expression darkening. His hand loosens on your neck, and you pant breaths in greedily, keeping your eyes locked with his.

“What the fuck did you jus’ say ta me…?” He gritted lowly, his eyes now firmly kept on your eyes. You grin, feeling invigorated by his reaction.

“Pervert.” You repeat, louder this time. He leans back away from you, towering over you as his fingers slowly shift higher on your thigh, still holding your leg up. You ignore the way your gut sinks in disappointment at his withdrawal, your hand that was originally scratching at his hand around your neck dropping to your side. His jaw ticks, eyes searching your expression for some kind of hint of what exactly you’re trying to get at.

You grin wider. His brows furrow, hand flexing on your neck, loosening and tightening as if he was unsure. God, you love throwing him off. You relish in his silent glowering, before speaking up.

“C’mon, Bob. You are. How do you explain the way you stare at me? At my meat? I’d be surprised if you didn’t have some kink for gore. You do, don’t you?” you smirk, raising an eyebrow. Your gut twists, hot wax and that same giddy, wriggling feeling. Damned parasite. You start speaking again, before he can bother answering. It’s not like he’s trying to interrupt in the first place.

 “There’s no other explanation. The way you act, the way you describe it. It’s devoted, it’s deranged.” you continue to describe, watching as his eyes widen by a fraction. Almost as if he expected you not to notice.  “I may just be meat to you, but Bob,” you lean your head forward, a hand drawing up to gently grab the front of his button up. His eyes flicker down, before looking at you again. You speak before you can bother attempting to question yourself.

“I think you wanna fuck me.”

You love the way he winces, expression faltering. He opens his mouth, his eyes narrowing at you in confusion. He seems to be stuck speechless, his mouth opening and closing. You tug on the front of his shirt, and his breath hitches.

“Y..Ya can’t.. I..” he scowls, attempting to regain some semblance of control. You grin wider, listening to his stammers.

“Tha’s not tr-” Knock knock knock.

Bob grits his teeth, and your smirk twitches up. He lingers, eyes boring into yours before ge growls lowly, letting go of you and opening the door again. You don’t bother denying the squirm of dissatisfaction in your gut this time. Taunting him was becoming your favorite pasttime, and you had just gotten under his skin. Clicked all the pieces together. And you were interrupted.

“I said gimme a fuckin’ minute.” He snaps, and you snickered quietly. His hand flexes at his side, pointedly ignoring you.

“Sir- it’s- it seems to be really important- it’s the cops-”

Bob stiffens, and lets out a sigh of frustration, shoving the boy aside with a sort of apologetic glance after. You raise an eyebrow, quickly following him out. Warren’s grin falters into a nervous frown, hands fiddling with his uniform as he follows behind the two of you.

Two cops are standing at the diner, chatting idly with their hands on their belts as they wait. One with sunglasses, and one with wide eyes and a bright grin on his face. Bob quickly forces on a smile, but it clearly doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Officers,” he greets, his annoyance still clear in the clipped way he was speaking to them. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

They turn, looking up at him.

“We came to ask if you knew anything about the Cannibal murderers recent disappearance,” Sunglasses says, adjusting his glasses. Wide eyes nods quickly. “Yeah, you know anything?!” He barks, a bit too enthusiastically. You flinch, and Sunglasses hits Wide-eyed over the head, making him yelp and rub the back of his head, grimacing.

Bob shifts uncomfortably, his smile twitching. He leans forward, resting his arms against the diner counter casually. But you didn’t miss the bead of sweat on his brow. The rigid sit of his stature, and the way he pointedly ignored your presence.

You’ve never seen Bob so… nervous. You knew damn well it wasn’t the cops. He’s cleared them off his track easily, considering the way they used to search his restaurant so thoroughly even you were convinced he’d get caught at some point.

So if it isn’t the cops… It’s you. 

You remember what you spat at him. That this broke the deal, that you could easily get him sent to jail. It was cute, watching him squirm as he saw you step closer in the corner of his eye. You had power. You could say everything. And he knew it.

That parasite, your new best friend, squirmed in your gut. Oh, how you loved this. 

“Officers,” you clear your throat, smiling sweetly. “I think I have some information, actually.” you say casually, leaning on one hip. “Could we go somewhere private, so we can talk further on it?” 

Chapter Text

Power is an addictive substance. You’ve never felt control before. Not even when you learned you could escape death, did you feel something like this. It was dread, it was the inability to escape yourself. But this– no, no this is right in the palm of your hands, a writhing, disgusting mass that drips from your fingers. It clings to your skin, it squirms in your gut. A parasite. Power is a parasite. But you have never held anything as dear as this feeling. This burning, delicious taste that clings to your teeth like hard candy.

To make Bob Velseb of all men squirm? Well, you might as well be dreaming. A fever high, a delirious hallucination. The sweat on his brow, the scuff of his boots as he shifted, the way he kept wiping his hands on his apron. It was golden. Addictive. It fueled that little parasite in your core, made it clench and pool warm, delicious wax in your gut. And it was real. It was true. It was infront of you, a show only you’d understand.

The cool air blew from your lips in a wispy reminder of the drawing season, The faint sound of chatter around you was nothing but a foggy background noise to your flowing string of thoughts. You were on the way home, cars and strangers with lives far different from yours passing. You knew damn well you wouldn’t have to worry about Bob on your tail, not today. You walked like a free man, today.

Bob was no threat, not when you had him caught by the tail like that. In his prized possession, right next to him, and the police standing oh so obliviously in front of him. You could have done it. You could have made him watch as you ruined everything he had running for him. Seen the confidence drain, the panic set his eyes all wide. You’ve never seen anything as beautiful as his nerves.

But really, what was the point in cutting this off so short?

Of course you didn’t tell the police anything concrete. You gave them a useless piece of information that would simply come across as you just being paranoid. You saw the way they glanced at each other, the way they placed their notepads down and sighed before disappointingly “comforting” you and excusing you. 

There was no point. It’s happened, it is happening. You’ll never live life the same. And you’ve never felt so in peace as you do now. Your head empty, the street suddenly so quiet. No whirling thoughts. No panic, no fear. For the first time in forever, you don’t question yourself. Why would you ever bother with a peace like anyone else’s? To be left alone? To what, rot alone? Watch the world turn? Go to your job and live a normal life? Without him? There was no point if Bob wasn’t there for you to control. For you to make squirm .

The strangers that pass you? They will never know the peace– the power– in holding a man like him. No, no. The police wouldn’t understand. They wouldn't know what to do with such a sight. With such power. They’d throw him in jail and move on. No, only you knew the relish that sight. 

You give a breathless, bitter laugh to yourself, the cold air biting into your fingers as you walk. You stuff your hands into your jacket pockets. Your stomach twists, and you chalk it up to that parasite. It feels sick. You feel sick. But you’re doing what you should, there was no reason for it. There was nothing wrong with you. You were in the right. He deserves to have someone control him. Make him feel fear. 

Right?

A sudden wave of disgust makes you stagger in a breath, your teeth gritting. The words you said in that office, your thoughts, they all hit you at once. But you dig your fingernails into your palms, leaving crescent marks in your skin.

You refuse to let yourself think anymore about it, sinking into the silent bliss of your decision.

There was no point.

—

Bob sits in his office, his hand rubbing down his face. He swallows hard, a shaky sigh leaving him as he stares at the door across from him. He’s locked it. Set out Warren to take care of orders for now. He’ll give him extra pay for it, he just can’t think the way he is when he’s cooking. His brows furrowed and he puffs out another breath, feeling now like each breath takes a herculean effort to drag in.

The police hadn’t questioned him about anything Y/N could have said. They simply talked, and then left. They gave him slight questioning, but they seemed to leave empty handed. He hopes. He was actually able to pull the rug under them without her breathing down his neck. So considering he wasn't riding in the back of a cop car, he can only assume she didn’t say anything concrete– or didn’t say anything at all. He was safe. For now.

He hated the fear that shot through him when she said that. He had to stop himself from grabbing her arm. Coming up with a split second excuse why she couldn’t. But it would be useless. And suspicious in general. So all he could do was stand helpless at the counter, chatting with patrons. They probably noticed the way his eyes followed her, or the way he kept glancing at the booth the three of them slid into to talk privately.

He had never felt nervous like that in his life. He was Bob fucking Velseb. A murderer, a cannibal, a fucking demon by any right. He was immortal, he was the chef for a damned cult for god’s sake! He didn’t feel fear, he didn’t get nervous, and he damn sure doesn’t get unsure!

…But of course she has to ruin that. Of course she has the power– the knowledge to grab him by the scruff like she did. And she fucking knew it too. Damn it all, she knows what she’s doing. He scowled to himself and raked his fingers through his hair, the hair brushing back messily. She knew what she was doing when he accused him of wanting to… To…

He slammed his fist on his desk and groaned angrily. He couldn’t! He’d never. I mean, sure, she wasn’t too bad to look at when she was yelling at him like that– or when she would kick him– and maybe he did touch himself that one time but…

That wasn’t his fault! She– she’s the one who did that shit to him! Right..? 

“Fuckin’ hell!” he rasped, anger clawing at his insides in a way that made him feel itchy. He made a big talk about her, but it wasn’t supposed to turn into this! He was just– just– trying to get under her skin in more ways than a knife! But here he was, head in his hands, wondering if maybe she was fucking right. Maybe he did want to fuck her. 

This feeling is so… unfamiliar. It tugs at his spine and tingles in his fingers, it clenches his chest and breathing feels so damn hard without her. It’s always a breath of fresh air when he hears her blessed voice, tastes her flesh. A succulent bliss that never felt like others. Is that bloodlust? Or just lust? Or both? The thought of sinking his teeth in her skin and hearing her voice flashes in between his thoughts, and he winces.

He despises himself for letting her wrap him around her finger like this. He’s fucking pathetic, look at him. Having a crisis in his office over some woman, a woman he’s eating for god’s sake! He might as well rip the pendant off and kill himself now. How does he salvage this? Salvage Himself?

He can’t avoid her– he couldn't handle not having her. Tasting her, touching her, the scent of her hair– no, gods he can’t live without it. It’s selfish. He’s selfish. He lets out a delirious laugh to himself, his hands clenching into fists on his desk. He feel like he can’t breathe. What is he to ever do, without her? Her flesh earns reward, earns worship. He cannot live without giving her what she deserves. Is this what he’s made for?

He leans back in his chair, his thoughts spiraling beyond what he knows. He shutters in hoarse breaths, his leg bouncing, the chair creaking. He couldn’t admit this. Then she’d have what she already knows confirmed. She’d use it against him– it was clear from today that she would relish in the opportunity. Call him a pervert again– god why did that make him falter? 

Why did he let her see him wince, see him unsure of himself. Why did he let her see him at his weakest, confused and unsure and hesitant . She knew all the right ways to get under his skin, and it made him feel hot. Too hot. He can’t do this if she acts like that.

He has to let her speculate. Let her assume and lay oblivious to the way his palms itch with the urge to fucking touch her. He doesn’t know what would happen if he confirmed it. 

How is he to live like this?

—

The rest of your night is spent in isolation. It feels so good to be at peace– you ended up taking a warm, sudsy bath, and laying on your couch, watching shitty TV shows as you scrolled your phone. You haven’t taken a day to yourself like this in a long time, and yet, you can’t help but feel a certain tension hang in the air.

You expected him to visit you.

And something about the fact he wasn’t… It was disappointing. 

Where was he?

You shift on the couch boredly, a certain part of you seeking his attention. Maybe it was wrong, but what else was there to do? Nothing could compare to his presence. To the fear, and the undeniable thrill of it all. This was boring. Uneventful. You sprawled over the couch in your soft robe, arms stretched over your head as you arch your back.

A symphony of cracks make you let out a sigh of relief, your body melting onto the couch cushions as you curl up once more. 

Ten minutes pass.

Fifteen.

twenty.

…

Twenty three.

…

Twenty four…

Peace has gone from bliss to boredom. What is the point of silence if it isn’t interrupted? The silence is filled with a need, a want. A longing. The days events replay in your mind like a broken record. Bobs fear, Bobs face, Bobs skin, Bob…

You grit your teeth and reach blindly for your phone, pulling it up to your view. You find his contact, simply staring at it blankly in silence.

There was nothing you could say– or do. What the hell would you say? “I’m bored”? “Come over”? You sound like a booty call.

You really need to get some friends. Actually– what you really need is to stop staring at his contact.

You sigh and let your hand fall down, the phone slipping onto the ground with a soft clatter. You don’t find any point in grabbing it now. 

Your insides feel itchy. The parasite squirms. Your fingers twitch. You feel the blood rush down to your fingers as your arm hands over the edge of the bed. You stay stiff, staring at nothing.

You’re not sure how long you stay there like that. Your thoughts are too much and not enough all at once. The broken record keeps playing. Over and over and over. The confusion, his hand on your thigh, the hitch of breath, the sneer of his voice. Your gut feels warm, and soon enough, you’re standing.

You slide into your bedroom, digging through a drawer full of random items– and ultimately, your vibrator.

There’s a certain bliss in giving in, you think. A certain honor to allowing yourself relief from shame. You feel no regret, no need to backtrack. You simply turn it on, and slid your hand under your robe, pressing it onto your clit.

You let out a shuttering breath and your head falls back against the pillow, hand flexing at your side. You allow yourself mercy. Instead of his hands relinquishing his grip, they trail higher. Your hand on his shirt grips tighter, and you tug him closer. Your lips slant, and his hands pull your legs around his waist. You lock your ankles there, hips rocking and your own hands tangling in his hair.

He shutters your name, something breathless. Not demanding, not angry. But pleading. Reverent. He says it like he’s always been yours in the first place. Your legs tremble and you whimper into the silence of your bedroom, your brows furrowing as you tried to concentrate. You attempt to finish the fantasy, but the whirring in your head, the foggy ringing in your ears makes your thoughts scatter. 

It crashes over you in quick succession, your body falling limp and melting into the thick blankets of your bedding.

With shaking hands, you click it off and slide the vibrater into your drawer and shut it, falling back into your bed.

You don’t give yourself the chance to overthink, eyes fluttering shut and a sigh leaving you as your exhaustion tugs at your senses.

It wasn’t enough.

Chapter Text

Bob has been avoiding you. It’s obvious. He hasn’t come over, snuck inside your house, texted, called, not even for meat. It’s suspicious. It’d disgusting. You feel sick waiting for him. You’ve messaged him a good few times. Called him a few times, even. He never replied. But you see that little ‘seen.’ It’s driving you insane. So insane, in fact, that you’ve even left your house to go and catch him at his restaurant. But even then, he’s still missing. The doors to the back swinging and Warren standing alone at the front, stammering about Bob being busy cooking or in his office. He always got so nervous around you, now, but even still he refuses to let you go to Bobs office anymore. It’s maddening.

You know that Bob told him to hold you off. You can feel it in the sick twist in your gut. It’s infuriating. It’s rude. Why won’t he fucking talk to you? 

You’re at home, pacing in circles in front of your couch. Your TV is on, playing some youtube video that you aren’t paying attention to. All you can do is pace. You feel itchy. You feel wrong, empty. Like something’s missing. Surely, you should be healing by now. You should be stuck on the couch, a limb missing and your lungs failing to support you. But no. You’re completely safe. Fine, even. You should be relieved, you should be hoping he’s forgotten about you. You should be glad.

But you aren’t. You miss it. You miss him. Where’s that familiar sting? Where’s that familiar searing pain? That agony ? The sound of his cruel laughter, the taste of your belt between your teeth. The metallic tang of blood. It’s all missing– and it makes your insides twist. You’re filthy. You shouldn’t be craving this. 

You’re inside the shower.

The water temperature is warm, just warm enough to make your skin prickle. You lather on a generous amount of body wash on your loofah, relishing the suds that slide down your skin. You scrub. And scrub. And scrub. You scrub until your skin turns red. Until it sears. It feels comforting. It feels familiar. You turn up the temperature. Warm. Hot. Scalding. You stand there until your skin feels numb. It burns, and you adore it. You need pain– pain reminds you of him. 

You’re standing in the kitchen, phone in hand.

You open his messages, it’s filled with one sided texts you glance at your most recent.

‘Hello?’

‘You can’t ignore me forever, Bob’

‘Hello’

‘Hellooooo’

‘You’re bound to run out of meat sometime’

‘Don’t you miss me?’

You type out another, hesitating for only a split second, before sending it.

‘Hey’

You wait.

Read.

Silence.

‘I miss you’

Read.

…

‘Can you call?’

…

…

You call him.

It rings.

And rings.

…

And rings…

You call again.

…

You pour yourself a small glass of wine. The crimson liquid sloshes around the glass, a tempting distraction. You down it in a few thick gulps.

You text him again.

You pour another.

You text him a few more times.

You finish another. 

You poor another. 

You call him again. 

You text again.

You finish another.

You stare at your phone.

Another.

Your sight is swimming.

…

Your phone rings.

Before you can even think, you answer it, your fingers fumbling as you hold the phone up to your ear. His deep voice, raspy and annoyed, is a blessing to your ears. You grin sloppily, starting to make your way to the couch as you listen to him talk, abandoning your half empty wine glass at the counter. The words are bleary and you can’t quite process them, but they’re angry. Fuck, it feels good to be yelled at again.

“Y..you should come over,” you slur into the phone, your grin widening. His voice pauses, and the longer the silence stretches, the more your stomach twists. Why isn’t he talking? You miss his voice.

“ Now why in hell would I do that? You don’... Sound too well, ” He chuffed, and you pouted, falling back onto your couch and stretching as you replied.

“Mmm.. meat. Aaaaaaaaand my l-lovely company,” You giggled deliriously, “Don’t you… miss me?”

He pauses again.

“ I.. I ain’t too sure about.. All that, ” He rasped, his voice wavering. He sounds almost afraid, and you snicker to yourself at the idea. “ It’s late, an’... I got work in the mornin’. ” He attempts the excuse sounding as much as a lie to you as it must sound to him. His voice thick and unsure. You cut him off before he can keep trying.

“Bob, since when did you ever care about… about work in the morning??” You retort incredulously, snorting dryly, “Don’t lie to me. Come over.” You insist, furrowing your brows.

“ I said no– ”

“Oh ffffuck off with that. I’ll turn your ass in! C’mere.” You slur with a scoff, glaring at the ceiling from your couch.. It’s silent for a moment.

Actually– it’s silent for a long moment.

…

He hung up on you.

…

You’ll take that as an, ‘On my way.’

—

You’re still laid on the couch, your favorite belt held in your hands, your front door unlocked. You didn’t bother with the pills– he was right. There was no point in them. You’ve texted him a million more times telling him that you’re ready and waiting. Your gut squirms, your best friend ever so excited for the visit. He must be as excited as you, right? He’s bound to be here any minute, right ? You actually don’t know how far away he lives from you. Suddenly, you’re curious of what all you don’t know about him. But that thought process doesn’t last long.

The sound of the front door creaking open is your first indicator, the next, was the familiar thuds and scuffs of his boots against your floor. Your grin crookedly, staggering up from the couch. You lean heavily on the edge of it, your vision swimming and blurring at the edges. But you meet those eyes. Those piercing, addictive eyes. He’s glaring at you. You giggle deliriously.

His hand shoots out to grip your face, clamping over your mouth. It shuts you up long enough for him to speak first.

“ Ya got a real fuckin’ spammin’ problem, ya know that? ” He hisses, and you grin widely under his hand, the crinkling of your hazy eyes enough proof of it.

“ Surely nothing you.. Have going on is as important as me,” You muse, and his gaze narrows. He didn’t like that. His grip on your face lets go roughly, making you stagger back and stumble onto the couch, falling drunkenly. Your brain fogs, your eyes blinking. Suddenly he’s over you, and your face grows warmer, eyes tracing his features before snapping back up. Fuck, he looked good when he was angry. 

“Hey, what was that for,” You chuffed, pouting at him. His glare hardens. You love that look on him.

“ Yer drunk off yer ass, ” He retorts, but still you hear that familiar shing of a blade sliding from his belt. You glance down, only then noticing he had it on. Your insides twist. You try to find your belt, having lost in somewhere in the process of greeting him, but the knife is pushed to your neck, hovering inches from your skin. You decide the belt can wait.

“Thought you’d wanna.. D-do it over the sink,” You blinked up at him, and he scowled.

“ I don’ want’cher meat, ” He growled, but the words melt and slur together. You’re too far gone to listen to whatever he’s saying. You sloppily smirk at him, giving a breathless laugh. Your hands lift to trace from his shoulders down his chest. He blinks rapidly, eyes widening a fraction as he stiffens. He doesn’t stop you, eyes following your hands as they slowly trail down, and up again. You feel his skin at his shoulders prickle under your touch, and your lips twitch up.

He almost seems afraid of the way he shivers at your featherlight touches, swallowing thickly. His throat bobs, and your hands slid from his shoulders down to his arm. The one still holding the knife to your neck. You squeeze his bicep slightly, and his face flushes.

“Do.. do you work out?” You smirk, and he scoffs, averting his gaze for a split second.

“ Yer drunk, ” Is all he says in reply.

Your head falls back lazily, eyes fluttering shut.

“You knoww..” you start, hands trailing father down his arm, “You should fuck me,” you murmur, and he sputters, the knife at your neck faltering.

“ Y-Ya can’ jus’ say that- ” He starts to protest, but you grip his wrist with both hands, and instead of pushing it away, you pull it closer to your neck, the point digging into the soft skin.

Blood beads around the little slit in your flesh, and you open your eyes to see the way his own dart down. The way he instinctively licks his lips. You giggle. He glares at you.

“I mean it,” you rasp, wetting your dry lips. His eyes follow. Of course they do. Your grin turns manic. 

“ You can’t p…possibly be serious, angel, ” He stammers, his glare faltering into something that looks… confused. Scared. His eyes keep darting between the blood at your neck, your lips, and your eyes. He looks to the side. “ I would never.. I.. yer jus’ meat, ” he protests, his expression turning into a pained grimace. “ Jus’ meat, ” He insists again. It sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself more than convince you. 

Your knee lifts, brushing against his groin. His hips twitch, and he winces, hissing under his breath. “If that’s true, then… why’re you hard?” You purr, arching an eyebrow. He still refuses to meet your gaze. “C’mon, Bob,” You insist, pressing your knee against his crotch, holding it there. He flinches, his breath hitching. God, this is delicious. You feel that familiar pool of hot wax in your gut. Warming you from the inside out. You bite your lip. “I’m letting you… I want you to… Don’t leave a girl hanging,” you murmur, hands slipping down from his wrist to instead fall at your sides.

His hand starts to tremble without you holding it still. He grits his teeth, eyes finally meeting yours. He attempts to glare, but it doesn’t work. You lick your lips again.

“Fuck me.” 

He stares at you, eyes darting over your features. His eyes linger on your lips, and you smile. Sucking in a breath, You’re almost sure he’s going to try and insist against it…

And then he tosses the knife aside, gripping your face and slanting his lips against yours. Your groan under your breath, arms wrapping around his neck and your fingers tangling in his hair. He shutters as you scrape your nails against his scalp, a low noise that rumbles at his chest vibrating against yours. He adjusts himself over you, one hand slipping from your chin to the back on your head, gripping your hair and forcing your head to tilt into him, deepening the kiss. His other is set against the couch cushion, caging you in. 

His chest is flush against yours, and you raise your hips, rocking them into his. His grip on your hair tightens until it stings, making you gasp. His tongue shoves past your lips, and he tastes metallic. He groans into your mouth, letting go of your hair to grope down your sides. He squeezes your breast, before sliding farther down, gripping your hip. He pulls it directly against his, the tent in his pants thick and grinding against you.

You moan lowly, panting as he pulls away. His chest heaves, spit linking your lips before he licks it away, leaning down to press kisses down your neck. You arch your back, gripping onto his shoulders and rutting your hips up with a drunken whine. He hums lowly against your neck, tongue dragging against the thin cut there. It stings, and you squirm, whimpering in pain. 

“ Is this whatcha wanted, Angel? ” He sneared, nipping at your neck as his hips continue to rock into yours, driving your brain into a haze. You melt, eyes fluttering shut and your fingers digging into his shoulders. He chuckles at your expense, lavving his tongue over your pulse point. Your heart flutters under his tongue, and he shivers, jaw opening wider to snap down.

Sharp teeth dig into your neck, and you gasp sharply, eyes snapping open. You grip onto his hair, “F-fuck! Hahh.. Bob,, shit..” you tilt your head farther back, grip in his hair tightening until you hear him grunt.

“ I hate you, ” he growls, lapping his tongue over the beading indents in your neck, sending goosebumps over your skin. You arch your back to meet his hands as they pop the button of your jeans. Your brain hazes over, a soothing warmth washing over you. You’re nothing but a doll in his hands as he slides down your jeans.

His palm cups your underwear, fingers tugging it aside and sliding between your slick folds. Your shiver, hips twitching into him. His grin widens into something salacious. His free hand wraps around your neck, your airflow growing thin. You rasp in hoarse pants, fingers falling back to his shoulders. Your nails dig into his skin as his fingers find your clit, rubbing tight circles. You feel.. Far gone.

Everything is dizzy, everything is perfect. His voice is a gravely sound in your ear, a sickening lullaby. You can barely breathe. Your eyes roll back, drunk and barely conscious. Your hips buck up as he slides one thick finger inside you, curling just right to elicit a low moan. Eyes fluttering shut and your fingers digging in, he carefully slides in another. Your insides flutter and clench around his invading fingers, making him lick his lips.

He leans down, breath hot as it washes over your lips “ You’re disgusting ” he murmurs, sending shivers up your spine.

You’re disgusting.

“ How long have you needed this, Angel? ”

Longer than you should have.

His fingers curl. You keen. You barely notice his hand slipping from your neck, air filling your lungs in raspy heaving pants.

“ I bet you missed this, ”

Missed what?

“ Stay still, Angel, ”

As long as you keep touching me.

…

A knife digs into your thigh, searing hot pain making your sight burst into dizzying stars. You whimper, pain and pleasure blurring. You’re writhing. It digs in deeper. So does his fingers. You can barely think. The vulgar noise of your own sobs and squelching of his fingers thrusting in and out of your cunt is all you can hear. That and the ringing in your ears. Your eyes roll back behind your eyelids, head leaning back with shuttering gasps and whines.

“ That’s it, ” 

His voice is a balm, a comfort, a need.

“ You take it so well, ”

It’s raspy. It rumbles in your chest. You feel numb. You can’t stop giggling. Or is it crying? Either way, you can barely breathe.

“ C’mon, darling, ” he coaxes, words breathy and rough as he presses his thumb to your clit. It rubs in addicting, tight circles.

Your hips jerk, and the knife digs in. You cry, words that you can’t make sense of yourself coming out in delirious babbles. “P-Please,” You keen, tears pricking at your eyes. Are you begging him to stop? Are you begging him to go deeper? Whatever it is, he loves it.

“ Almost there… ”

Your hips stiffen and your insides twist, the knife sawing into your thigh. It all snaps in one rough curl of his fingers, and you whimper raspy babbles of his name, and the word please, over and over. Until all you can feel is his fingers thrusting one last time inside you. Until all you can hear is the way he groans under his breath as he slips them into his mouth, licking the mess you made away.

Your body slumps against the couch, your insides aching and empty, and your thigh trembling. Blood is no doubt sliding down your thighs and staining the couch, you can feel the warmth of it against your skin. Bob’s tongue makes quick work of it though, so you don’t have to worry.

“ Good girl. ”

Something must be wrong with you.

Chapter Text

Fuck.

Fucking— shit.

The words repeat like a mantra, something he’s far too familiar with than he likes, as he grips the edge of his grimy sink. Stained, rusted, old. Hairy fingers flexing as he grits his teeth hard enough to warrant a creak from his jaw before he lets go. Dragging a hand over his face, his other darts to start the faucet, grabbing a quick handful of water and splashing it over his face.

He drags it through his hair, sucking in trembling breaths. It’s been barely an hour since he… since that. And he can barely keep his head on straight. He swallows hard, staring at the continuous flow of water coming out from the faucet. The way it slowly twirls down the rusted old drain of his kitchen sink.

He left immediately after, the moment you passed out and he had gotten what he should have came to get first— Only then did he have the silence to truly comprehend what he had done. 

While, yes, god, you tasted euphoric, he wouldn’t dare take that thought any farther. He refused to think about the way his fingers slid out, nor the way he slipped it past his lips out of instinctual curiosity. And especially, he refused to remember the way you tasted.

He shakes his head, shoving the faucet off with more force than necessary, head hanging as he continues to grip onto the surface.

You’re insane. Deranged, even. Impossibly confusing. Call him a hypocrite, but you wanted to— to fuck your… Killer…? Fuck! Why did you insist? Why did you keep talking, and purring, and touching, it made him sick, in ways he did not need to be. The way your hands traced down, from his shoulders to his chest, down, and down, and down…

Why did it scare him? Why was that glint more horrifying than any possible accusation. He’d rather have a gun to his head by your hand, than have you look at him like that again. Because he liked it. And if he likes it— that means he wants it. And if he wants it…

His eyes snap to the freezer door, then the dirty sink he’s grown frustrated looking at. That common fact he’s drawled in many dead men’s ears popping into his head unbidden.

Meat that undergoes a stressful slaughter tastes worse than those in peace before they pass.

His hands grip harder, as if in an attempt to hold himself in place, but he can’t help himself.

Large shaking hands pull open the freezer door.

He had never necessarily concerned himself with a difference in taste.

He finds the right container, labeled with the date, and pulls it out.

There was no point in time where murder wasn’t a stressful experience. 

Hesitantly, like it’s made of glass, he sets it onto his dusty countertop. The freezer door is shut.

But you? You were in utter bliss.

He pops open the container, and grabs a chunk between his fingers.

A pure moment of satisfaction.

He popped it into his mouth, chewing hesitantly.

…

“F…Fuck.”

—

Your head is throbbing.

You’re not surprised by it, but you’re not sure of the reason this time. Your thighs ache, dully. Your body is fuzzy with sleep, your eyes hazily registering the ceiling fan spinning endlessly above. You lick your chapped lips, and as you push a hand behind you to sit up, a wave of nausea hits you.

Your eyes snap wide, body lurching forward as you slap a hand over your mouth. Your stomach is in knots, continuously writhing in disgust of an act you cannot even comprehend. You shoot off the couch, feet—

You smack down onto the hardwood floors, a shuttered gasp leaving you. Your head is screaming at the movement— and you can barely register the way your body jolts before you wretch onto the ground infront of you.

It’s an ugly sight, but, at least it didn’t get on you.

You dry heave for longer than you should, choking on spit and slimy residue. It’s disgusting. But nothing you haven’t seen a million times now. Your body pleads for a million different needs. The restroom, food, water, ibuprofen— your legs are starting to gradually throb harder, and you can barely think. Your arms shake as you push yourself up to lean back against the couch, tired, bleary eyes dragging along the ground to look at your legs that seemingly gave out.

They’re just gone. Of course they are. Your head lolls back against the couch, eyelids dragging down under the weight of nothing but pure mental exhaustion. What could have happened? You thought he was avoiding you. You feel a curl of resentment, remembering slightly how drunk you had gotten, but focus on instead finding your phone.

You crane your neck, finding it abandoned on the table before you. Thank god you didn’t toss it, like you’ve done any other time you got drunk. Tapping it on and squinting through the blaring flashbang of light it gave you— your head is already complaining— you see the many, many texts, and missed calls from your job— you accidentally tap on them, giving it a read receipt. You can feel the next call coming on now.

At this point, who is there to blame but yourself? You sigh, and pull yourself up to the couch with a grunt. Then, a shiver. Of disgust. Something in your shorts is sticky, and cold. It’s uncomfortable, a residue lingering between your thighs…

It all comes back, slamming into your aching head with unwanted vigor. The low rasp of his voice, the way his stubble rasped against your skin before his jaw snapped down, the way his fingers curled, thick, deep, and—

You tremble, tossing your phone down onto the ground in pure fear of your own thoughts. Own memories. Surely it must be a dream, but it wasn’t. You can tell by the way it burns itself in your head, words ringing over and over and over and…

Your phone suddenly rings, loud and clear, interrupting any thought, and easily making your ears ring alongside it. You gasp and crawl to answer it, just barely getting to press the answer button.

You hear the barely intelligible voice of your boss, spouting off so loud that it’s cutting out.

The clearest thing you get is a glitchy, furious, end to your career.

Ah…

Fired.

You stare at your phone as it clicks off, hands slowly clenching into fists against the cheap wooden tile flooring.

—

You’ve been staring at the fan whirring in circles for the past twenty minutes. Your eyes have long since unfocused, in that blissful state of needless staring. Nothing to take in, no noise to register, as nothing as an awake man can get. Until you filter in your thoughts, of course.

Your brain reels with memories, touches burned into your skin like brands. You can still feel the little slit at your throat where his knife dug in, you can still feel the way he lapped at the wound there. It’s a memory that lingers, hot wax pooling even as a grimace instinctively curls on your lips all the same. 

It was good.

It felt like relief. 

How far gone are you, truly? You knew one day immortality would reach you, your existence turning to nothing but meaningless days passing on and on, until you are naught a person, but a shell staring at nothing until the sun itself explodes. And then, continuing on. But it was nothing like you imagined. This wasn’t meant to happen. None of it was, really, but this especially. There’s only so much you can take.

It sickens you, even as your fingers twitch with the urge to talk about it. To call him up, and listen to his trembling voice try to explain himself to you. You’re repulsed by your own neediness. But the predictability of his unpredictable actions— as horrific as they are, is addictive. Life has become mundane, but not when he’s here. No, when he’s here, you get growled insults and squelching fingers digging deep. You feel spent, but more relaxed than you’ve ever been in your life.

Fresh memories, while fuzzy with alcohol and delirium, slur and melt together in your head. You shame the part of you that yearns to know all the little details, without the blur of alcohol, even as you desperately piece all you can together. They play over and over, a never ending tune that you’ve long went past, perhaps, liking.

You slide a hand down into your shorts, hesitantly dragging your fingers along your slit. You shutter. It’s sensitive, aching slightly. No doubt because of the way he pushed one finger after the other inside— he has thick fingers. You’d be impressed with yourself, if you weren’t too busy being disgusted. You tremble a breath, feeling that ever present urge to bite your lip. You deny it, and remove your hand.

With a sigh, you hang your dirtied hand off the edge of the couch, feeling the sticky residue grow cold and grimy on your fingers. You can’t find the energy to wipe it off. Nor do you want to. You deserve the reminder of what you did.

But even so, that ever, addictive thought comes back. Whispered by the gently writhing parasite inside your stomach.

He did it too.

You weren’t alone in this pitiful, cruelly ironic action. He, a man who swore he’d never dare think of you like that, a man who insisted he’d probably rather fuck a bucket of nails than look at you in any type of way, fingered you on your own damn couch.

And he loved it too.

You’re running out of excuses for yourself, but who is there to apologize to? If you stop feeling so guilty, stop pitying yourself for every regretful action you do in this fucked up scenario, maybe you’d feel a little more relaxed. Maybe you wouldn’t have to get some big cannibal to finger you until you fall asleep. Is that really your only way to silence the thoughts? Maybe. At least it worked, at least you have something to silence the thoughts. Your chances of a repeat though, are slim.

Is it really that bad that you need some stress relief? Really, who wouldn’t in this situation.

Your eyes are growing heavy, and you happily let them flutter shut. You’re still hungry, throat still parched, thighs still aching as they inch towards full regeneration, but what can you do about it? Your hand hanging off the couch is beginning to fall asleep, prickling nails swarming under your skin, but you keep it there, fingers flexing to feel the sensation sharpen.

It feels nice.

—

“So?” 

“Just order the drinks,”

Mary shrugged, pivoting on her shoes to go to the counter, an easy smile on her face as she chirped her greeting to the barista.

You sag in your seat the moment she turns away, itching at your thigh restlessly.

Mary invited you out, after hearing about you getting fired. Honestly, what else are you meant to do? You have to keep up appearances, or, whatever you’re supposed to do. You’re not quite sure anymore. You just know that for right now, you have to cope with her smiles and tittered giggles. Your head was already killing you.

You didn’t even bother getting dressed— stuck in some dirty hoodie that you probably should’ve washed before you went out, and a pair of jeans that have the same issue. And you can tell she knows, because when you met her at the door, she glanced you over and just barely stifled her concerned grimace. You appreciate the attempt.

You probably should’ve isolated yourself by now. Become some pathetic little husk for Bob to nibble at. But right now, the thing you really need is some overly social co-worker to buy you coffee and tell you how much she pities you for getting fired.

Or maybe not, now that you’re thinking about it. You sag a little deeper into your chair.

“So,” she repeats, sliding back into the chair across from you now that your drinks were ordered. You have the decency to sit up a bit straighter for her, kind of. “Why didn’t you make it to work?”

“Slept through my alarm,” your eyes drag to the large window near you, before grimacing at the bright light your eyes don’t feel like adjusting to. You turn your focus back to her cringing expression. Not much better.

“You do that a lot, recently,” she points out.

You just nod, “yeah, I know,” unsure how to reply to such a blank statement. She’s clearly going somewhere.

“You sure you’re okay?” Her brows furrow, head tilting to keep your gaze as it falls to the side.

“I’m okay, Mary,” you breathe, feeling a common, insistent ache in your head. You sit up straighter, attempting to get her off topic by clearing your throat, “Don’t you uh… have a party soon?”

She perks up immediately. She’s easy, thank god.

“Oh! Yes I am!” She titters with a bright smile, “for Halloween! Which, speaking of, it’s Halloween soon, you know!”

“Yes, I do know,”

You wish you didn’t.

“Just a week till!”

“Mhm,” you pick a piece of lint from your hoodie, rolling it between your fingers.

“And, since I’m hosting a party… you should come! There’s no better way to get back into the fray than a party!” 

Your nose scrunches up automatically. Hard pass.

“I need to search for jobs—“

“Oh psh, it’s Halloween! You have to!” She insists, only pausing when her name is called for the drinks. But still, as she’s standing, she keeps talking. “Just think about it, you’ve been so,, er, tired lately and…” she hesitates, seeming to pause, before she continues with a light grimace, “Honey, you look like shit,” she finishes plainly.

You can’t even disagree with her.

“One party,” she insists, “if you hate it? Whatevs, but I care about you,” she sighs, frowning at you, “Think about it,”

Then, with that, she turns to grab your drinks from the counter.

You slouch once more, feeling the weight of her words weighing down your chest. You spend the minute she’s busy staring at the table, chewing on your lip.

When she returns, she slides your drink to you, and you meet her gaze with a hesitant, if a little weak, smile.

“I’ll think about it,”