Sin City
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Release date

17th December, 2013

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50 First Dates

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Trigger warnings apply for this chapter

Sin City

"Hey, you made it!" Jet's exuberant greeting at the front door made Toph feel a little better, and she smirked up at him. He had expected her to be there, and hoped she would. It was... nice, if she said so herself.

"Wouldn't miss it," she grinned, absolutely lying through her teeth as he opened the door a little wider, inviting her through. Usually it made her feel kinda bad, lying, but that was usually when she was able to feel worse. Until about an hour prior, Toph had absolutely no intention of coming to Jet's party, but the idea had cemented itself in her mind as she wandered through the neighbourhood.

Even after walking through random streets for a few hours, it hadn't been as difficult as she thought to find the house Jet had directed her to only the night before. It was one of his old foster homes that hadn't been too cruel to him. Jet made sure nobody broke anything, at the very least, and she knew he usually left a note for them to wash the sheets.

Toph was roused from her thoughts as she heard Jet flick a lighter on, and she held two fingers out expectantly. He completely ignored her outstretched hand, instead popping the lit stick directly between her lips. The anger that had burned in Toph earlier seemed to float away each time she exhaled the noxious smoke, and she didn't hand the cigarette back. Jet walked around behind her and let his hand glide slide through the collar of her shirt.

"Believe me, you're going to be owing me by the end of the night," she told him with a grin that wasn't entirely real, and Jet reluctantly removed his hand. He didn't see Toph bit her lip, unsure for the first time since meeting him if that was what she actually wanted. The question from earlier came back to her. Would she regret this? Was it worth it?

Toph took a final breath of the cigarette before passing it back. "Any newbies?" she asked. Jet had slung his arms over her shoulders—spirits she hated being short sometimes—and she felt his hot breath wash over the crown of her head. He spun her around, hands gliding down her sides to rest on her lower back, pulling her close.

"Nah. No one'll try anything with you. They know who you are," he said, and she gave a strong nod, lifting her arms to wrap around his neck.


With a grin, he leant down, grinding their hips together as he placed a rough, heavy kiss on her lips. "Come find me at the Circle," he murmured into her mouth, before pulling away.

Despite the state of their non-relationship, Toph had always held some respect for Jet. Losing his parents as a boy to one of the more violent street gangs, and being thrown into a system that completely ignored him (and his cries for justice), he had developed a hatred for any type of authority. He was the authority, and his band of dispossessed teenagers knew it. Anything he said went, and if he told them that she was off-limits, no one would even touch her, unless she gave permission. She wouldn't, of course. She owed him, not them, and if she ever wanted anything, he was the one to go to.

It wasn't that he was protecting her—he wasn't, because she didn't need or want it—but rather, he just made it clear that no one else was allowed to have her. He had never done anything to hurt her, so why wouldn't she listen to him?

Making her way through the house, she followed the sounds of people talking and glasses clinking. Someone handed her a shot and she took it without a thought, appreciating the burn as she indicated another. No one said anything to her as the shoved another into her hand. Throwing this one to the back of her throat, she brushed off another glass and instead began feeling her way around the room. The effects of the alcohol was already beginning to mess with her head a little, making her feel a little lighter than she should be, and it didn't take too much scrabbling to find the beer. She grabbed two bottles and accepted another shot before making her way towards Jet's voice. The 'circle' he mentioned was really just a group of people all splayed out in various positions in the living room. Jet was sitting on the couch, and as soon as he noticed Toph, he jumped up and pulled her close. The stumbled back to the couch and she landed roughly on his lap.

"Mmm, Tophie," he moaned hair, handing her a joint. She took a drag, exhaling deeply and passing over the second bottle of beer. This was what she needed. Beer in one hand, weed in another, and sitting on a boy who would do pretty much whatever she wanted. She alternated between smoking and drinking, slowly losing herself in the feeling inside her, of Jet's warm body pressed against her, the music thumping through her bones (when did they turn that on?).

She could feel her muscles relaxing pleasantly, the goopy feeling something almost forgotten. How long had it been? Three weeks? Four? She hadn't even noticed, being with Sokka. He had been just as good, she had thought, as the drugs. She couldn't- couldn't remember, because suddenly she was giggling and the music was lighting her throat on fire. Her legs grew heavy and suddenly it was too hot, too still, too loud, even as she felt movement around her, other people coming together.

Toph felt light and foggy, but not happy. She was so used to the euphoric feeling that came with sharing a joint with Jet that without it, she was left startlingly empty. Twisting around on his lap, foot nudging the bare skin of someone on the floor, she faced him with half-lidded eyes.

Jet leaned forward, mouth missing her lips and kissing the skin beneath her nose. Toph angled her head up slightly as he pulled back a fraction and she whispered throatily, voice husky from need and the smoke wafting around them, "Fuck, Jet. I need you." She let her hand fall to his lap, sliding beneath his waistband.

"You do owe me, eh?" he asked, feeling the blood heading south. Toph didn't say anything to this, slowly pulling her hand away as she leaned forward, trapping her hand between their bodies.

This time, he kissed her, hard and rough. The music had faded into the background; the only thing in existence was Jet and his lips on hers, his fingers digging into her hips. They were largely ignored by everyone, and it didn't take long for Jet to thrust his tongue into her mouth, pressing her head closer.

Slowly, Toph pulled back before standing up and tugging Jet to his feet. "Not here," she said, and he took the hint, grabbing her arm and leading her from the room. She never put on a show for anyone else, even as they passed other moaning, writhing bodies.

Jet pulled her down a hallway, the air clearing with each hurried step. He tugged her sideways into another room, walking backwards towards the centre. Toph felt him drop suddenly, and it took her a few moments to realise that he was sitting on a bed. She moved forward to sit on his lap, legs draped on either side.

Each touch was amplified, sending violent shivers through her body. She attacked his face greedily, moving her body deliciously against his as she masked her moans beneath his.

Jet's jaw scraped along hers, stubble scratching the soft skin of her cheeks. "Your beard is too long," she said, reaching up to rub his face with short nails.

"Your tits are tiny," he retorted, hissing as her fingernails dug into his cheek. He grabbed the hem of her shirt and tugged it over her head, throwing it into one corner of the room. "Why do you even bother with bras?" he asked as he skilfully unclasped hers and pulled it away. Toph heard him sigh for a moment as he looked at her

It took Toph less than a minute to divest herself of her clothing, and less than half that time to remove Jet's. It wouldn't even have taken that long, except Jet became unusually pre-occupied with her hair. It didn't matter, because soon he was up against the pillows, her sitting on his lap. She spent a moment sitting there before he began to move, taking her breast between his teeth and sucking gently. Her hands wound through his hair, and then he really began moving, forcing little moans from her. It wasn't until afterwards, as he slept and the balmy air washed over them, that the doubt crept into her chest again.


The answer to the question she had asked herself only mere hours earlier. No, it wasn't worth it. She felt sick and disgusted, emotions not ones she was used to. Why did one boy have to throw everything out of whack? Her equilibrium was destroyed—where once she would feel, if not relieved, at least wanted in one sense, there was just... emptiness. It wasn't enough anymore.

Carefully, so she wouldn't wake him, Toph pulled a cigarette from the box on the nightstand, taking a delightful drag as soon as it was lit. Shaking fingers, she noted with some dismay. She wasn't sure if it was withdrawal or nerves. She had told him 'freebie', but she also knew he wouldn't mind if she stole one of his cigarettes. The 'owing' system meant nothing, really. He would always give her something she wasn't allowed, she would always sleep with him. It was their system. She wasn't a complete whore—they had dated—but she couldn't call it a 'relationship' when there was nothing more than the sexual gratification they shared with one another.

Toph squeezed her eyes shut, reaching out again for another cigarette. Her hand hit something far more valuable, though, and it took only a moment for her to realise it was a bottle of vodka. A grin appeared on her face at this, and she took a deep swig, holding back the cough as it burnt her throat. Ah, pain. Real pain, if only mild. She took another one, this gulp only marginally less painful. She didn't know why she had to steel herself—she had done this a thousand times before. In this very bedroom. Hell, Jet had even walked in on her a few times.

After shrugging on one of his long shirts, Toph made her way down the hall and into the bathroom. It didn't take her long to find what she was looking for and, unwilling to be caught by someone else, she snuck back into Jet's room.

Suicide was an interesting concept, she mused as she sat on the edge of his bed. When did everything stop becoming 'bearable', and become too hard instead? Was it truly the belief that no one would care if said person disappeared from the world? Or that they would be leaving a world that hurt too much to stay in? She had often asked herself those questions, but she realised now that there was only one person she wanted to give the answer.

The shaking hadn't been nerves or anxiety—the need for another smoke. It wasn't withdrawal, either. Both those would have solved the problem, but as Toph held up her hand, nerves twitching as she took in a deep breath, she knew. It was her willpower slowly crumbling, breaking down; like the wall of a dam, it broke hard and fast, the minute cracks becoming gaping chasms in the blink of an eye.

Toph used the last of her strength to pull the razor sideways across the flesh of her arm, before descending into guttural sobs.

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