#Tobias Rodger’s

[skullbowz]

General!Ticci Toby HCs. . .

This took longer than expected . . Read till the end for a lil blurb <3 reminder ! English isn’t my first language.

—Clothing;

It depends on how old Toby is.. at first he only wore the clothes Slenderman “found” him in and whatever other articles of clothing he was able to scavenge up. It wasn’t until a few years later he felt safe enough to venture out and buy some clothes from the thrift. (with stolen money cuz bitch don’t get paid to be a lumberjack,,, a human lumberjack that is.)

I’m so bad at describing; just think of Will Graham's season 1 outfit n shit. 😭 I feel like he’d probably dress like a grandpa. Oversized Grandpa sweaters, those button-ups/dress shirts under w collars that peep out, any baggy pants in general. Work/toe steel boots >> .

He just doesn’t bother much w dressing up! It’s also so he doesn’t stand out much whenever trying to go somewhere in public — sometimes he’d get lucky and find band tees of bands he likes or Jeff lets him borrow some of his own.

—music;

A firm believer that he loves metal. Something about the chaotic-icy helps him “soothe the voices.” his favorite bands would be Sevendust, Rammstein, and Lamb of god!

Once when he was on a mission he accidentally broke into the wrong house and lucky him it was a middle-aged white dad who had a thing for 2000s rock and metal. Killed that fucker and stole as many albums and CDs as he possibly could :p.

He’d DIY a bunch of studded leather bracelets and give a few away to Natalie and Jeffery. Gifting is his love language tbh

—interests;

Most residents of the manor (when he ‘lived’ there) don’t/didn’t know much about Toby since he doesn’t bother socializing much. He seems pretty disinterested to the rest but the dude really has some great hobbies and things he enjoys. For one he loves crafting, especially wood carving! He also has a habit of collecting animal bones/remains to clean and use them as decor. His favorites prob have to be fox skulls :). Very much a trinket collector as well. Just a odd man :3

Besides hobbies, oddly enough he enjoys Sanrio-related things—specifically cinnamon roll. (Since it’s the only character he knows,) he will convince you that the cinnamoroll is a bunny, not a dog. He refuses to accept that the little cartoon character is not a bunny as he first assumed. Of course he likes music music,, he’s given poetry a chance, isn’t the great at it but really enjoys it!

—Biography;

Toby is Dominican-German. His mom was Dominican while his dad was German! He’s fluent in Spanish and somewhat broken German. Around 5’9 to 6’0 foot tall. Late teens and early twenties he was more scrawny than anything but after 13 years of labor and trying to survive he obv grew some muscle mass and like… isn’t built like a 17-year-old boy idfk. Ofc, he was born on April 28th 1994. Toby grew up in more southern states (specifically Alabama) and has a slighht southern accent.

—Proxy experiences;

Toby is a runaway proxy; one of the very few that managed to escape Slendermans (or the operators, depending on which) grasp. Though he isn’t exactly safe cuz of this, If he gets too close to the terrority of Slenderman or the operator he starts developing symptoms and illness. Course the main being static n amnesia, waking up in random places covered in blood, etc. Toby can’t feel pain so the static doesn’t cause immense headaches but it’s dangerous for that exact reason; he can never tell when his nose starts to bleed or his ears rupture.

Toby only got involved with the operator in his later years (maybe around midish late 20’s) when he was in the minced of escaping Slenderman, and just so happened to meet Tim Wight. He spiraled into a REDACTED hell hole from there.

—Love interest(s) ?;

Oh boy, , it really depends on how quirky im feeling. Ticciwork and TicciJeff tbh. He loves ppl with no sanity 🫶🫶 Thankfully Jeff isn’t involved with Slender because he’s too much of a loose cannon to be controlled, much like EJ, the rake, seed, smile, grinny, etc. and Slenderman doesn’t take interest in Clockwork but since she has connections with some of slendermans valuable tyrants and or proxies, the entity leaves her be.

Jeff was the one to help Toby escape slenderman, and snapped him out of his “devotion” era. Clock is just amazing girlfriend and always there for him :p.

extra . . . .

[ REDACTED ! ! ]

This Deja vu feeling haunts him. He doesn’t understand why he’s being searched for. Why do the cops know who he is? Why is he? Who was he?

Childhood didn’t exist. Was he always grown ?

Why is it when he passes down that neighborhood, it feels so nostalgic . Nothing left but ashes and decaying foundations of homes, homes that were once were preoccupied by happy families. He call still smell the remains of the burnt buildings. Strange. It’s like he could never forget.

Jeff always went quiet whenever they were talking and the topic of this neighborhood was brought up, does he know something the EX proxy doesn’t?

What’s more confusing is that fateful night with Natalie, he found himself driving down a dark road that one night. It shared similar sentiment much like the abandoned neighborhood, only much more sinister. He was with Clocky, Pretty brunette with a clock for one eye,, the other an odd emerald green. Over time, the twitchy man taught himself to read clocks just so he wouldn’t have to check his phone for the time. Natalie’s eye always went tick tock, tick tock.

It was only him and Nat against the world at that moment,, so who was the mauled looking blonde in his rear view window? Sitting in the back of his car as well, it was strange. Jeff usually hoarded up the back seats. . He wouldn’t share it with a victim.

But it isn’t just a victim. Toby found himself struggling to catch his breath, who is she? Nat. It’s not Nat. It’s not Jeff. It’s just some blonde girl. A young adult that resembles someone he doesn’t know. Does he know ? ? ?

Who is she?

What was once a soft and familiar safe touch was now ghostly and evocative ? ?

Everything is blurry around him. He doesn’t hear her asking if he’s okay.

He doesn’t feel her cold touch, her hand covering his on the steering wheel.

One moment he’s on the road

The next he’s out cold

.

What caused him to swerve into that tree ?

Why did he put their lives at risk ?

.

Panting. He heard harsh panting. Was that him? Was that her? His hands were completely thrown off the steering wheel and replaced with paler, somewhat smaller ones. Not so gentle though. Something warm was dripping down from his nose. Metallic scent wafted and clogged his nostrils. He licked his lips and wasn’t surprised to be met with blood - he looked in the rear view mirror - NO BLONDIE IN SIGHT

He looked out the window. Did he just barely manage to swerve away from that tree? No. He didn’t save their lives. He looked to his right. A singular green eye met his. She’s unharmed, unlike REDACTED but shooken up. What brought him back to his senses was that familiar disoriented voice.

“Toby, what the fuck ??”

[fantasydoctor]

it’s him,,,, toby the killer

[noctiva]

Training Day

Toby Rogers x F!Reader [NSFW!]

This is a commission! Pronouns + names have been changed for your viewing pleasure! If you’re interested in something like this for yourself, hit me up once my commissions are open again!

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WC: 6.7k

Summary: Toby’s taken one of his fellow proxies under his wing. Looks to him like she needs a lot more training.

- commission prompt: toby x proxy!reader hatefuck situation. coworkers at best enemies at worst. have toby hold a hatchet to the readers neck during the act

CW: 18+ content, explicit sexual content, CNC, noncon elements, threats and violence, rough handling, semi-clothed sex, outdoor sex, semi-public sex, degradation, definitely toxic relationship, unsafe sex, creampie, sadism + masochism, power dynamics, lowkey dom/sub undertones, mocking, hatefucking lollll, toby and reader hate eachother and then fuck about it

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NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

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Being a proxy is already a tough job.

Late nights, long hours, an erratic schedule, and a complete lack of free will. It’s the type of profession that no one would willingly choose to be a part of, if they could help it. And, if they were roped into it somehow, it would be a constant day to day battle of just trying to make ends meet whilst being pushed and pulled around by an entity beyond your comprehension.

It’s not something easy by any means, but most find ways to make the strenuous lifestyle a little bit easier to bear. Little victories. Glimpses of sunshine through the fog.

For a proxy like you, finding respite amongst the complete gorefest that was day to day life used to be an easy task. It was easy when you first began - staying far away from all of the other monsters you shared an occupation with. Keeping close to yourself and no one else, it was a breeze to mindlessly drag your feet through the day, just to curl up in bed and do it all over again when the sun rose.

It was glamorous. It wasn’t luxury. But, it was tolerable.

Or, at least it used to be.

Two weeks into being a proxy, your little bubble of solitude was broken. Violently popped by a force so obnoxious, so erratic, that you found herself scrunching your nose up in distaste before the perpetrator even opened their mouth for an introduction.

”H-hey.” He had approached her while you were sat outside your cabin, sewing up a ripped patch in the pair of jeans she was wearing. Now more patches than untainted material, something the man had raised a judging eyebrow at on first glance. “You’re a b-bit of a recluse, aren’t ya’?”

What an amazing first impression.

You could still remember what he had looked like when you first laid eyes on him up close. Shaggy, messy brown hair pushed off of his forehead by a pair of cracked orange goggles. What looked to be a mouth guard hung around his neck, leaving his face completely bare for her viewing. Scarred horribly, like somebody had thrown him through a woodchipper and tugged him back out. A slash in his eyebrow, a crooked nose that looked as if it never healed properly from a fracture. But, the cherry on top was definitely the gash tearing through the left half of his face.

Staring at the corner of his lips and stretching up towards his cheekbone, it was a gnarly sight. Flesh torn from gums to reveal a row of chipped back molars - visibly not properly taken care of, the skin around it jagged and torn.

“What do you want?” Were the first words you had ever spoke to him, each letter packed with as much annoyance as you could muster up.

You knew who he was. Everyone did. Toby rogers. The boss’s golden boy. Some six foot tank of a man who could take the hardest hits, and deal back even more lethal ones in return. He got the hardest missions, had the largest kill count under his belt, and - he had let it get to his head. Leaning into the fact that he was a chosen favourite by some eldritch entity like it was a blessing, not an absolutely abhorrent title to uphold.

You didn’t like him. Hadn’t even met him before you came up with that conclusion. You had seen him work before, trailing behind him, Tim, and Brian when you were still a greenie, learning from them before you went on your own missions. Watched how apathetically he sliced down victims, listened to that wheezing laughter he’d let out as blood dripped onto the lenses of his goggles.

Took note of the way he talked to people. So cocky and apathetic. Completely detached from the lifestyle he lived - like it was all just a game.

Like it was all effortlessly easy.

You hated him for it. Wanted nothing to do with him because of it. And yet here he was, standing in front of you, gazing down at you with that same arrogant twinkle in his eye that made your skin crawl.

”I-It’s not what I want.” Toby had laughed, taking a step closer. “It’s w-what the boss wants.” He lifted his foot to nudge your hand with his muddy boot, knocking the sewing needle you were holding into the dirt. “Better re-results. You’re slow, a-and you suck.” He spoke so bluntly it made your blood boil in your veins, teeth grit as you looked up at him with narrowed green eyes. “Couple other reasons but I d-don’t feel like listing them all. Long story short, you-you’re working with me now.” His lips twitched up into a sinister smile. “You know, someone wh-who actually knows what they’re doing?”

The words he spoke were horrid already, but the knowing look of amusement he paired them with was worse. Like he was aware he had just walked up to you and presented your very worst nightmare all wrapped up in a bloody orange bow. There was nothing more that you’d rather do than shoo Toby away and tell him to simply ‘fuck off’ and find someone else to bother, but if what he said was true, and this was actually an order from Slender themself, then there was no point in fighting. Everyone knew that orders from the boss were non-negotiable, no matter how difficult (or annoying) they were.

And so, that was how it began.

Every single day, whether you liked it or not, you were forced into being Toby’s tag along partner. Accompanying him on missions, having him glued to your side and muttering insults under his breath as you tried to mind your own business. Toby was inescapable. A constant force that persisted even when you wanted him around the least.

It was a constant war whenever you were around each other. Who could deal the worst insults, who could stun the other one into silence from the absolute absurdity of their actions. Both forced into a partnership that neither wanted.

You, were more accustomed to working on your own. Toby, was more accustomed to working with Tim and Brian - who were used to his antics by now. It was almost laughable how easily he could wriggle his way under your skin, a feat that was difficult for him with the other proxies who knew him better. He was a shit-disturber, a nuisance, someone who poked and prodded just to get reactions for the fun of it. People who were used to his attitude didn’t bat an eye at his antics or abrasive nature - so you were the perfect victim.

Easily annoyed. Even more easily flustered. A toy that he could bat around, one that refused to break no matter how rough he got. It was a perfect arrangement, though some people would definitely beg to differ.

He’d spit out an insult and you would just deal back one that was ten times worse. Trip you up while you’re walking, and you’re picking yourself back up just to elbow him in the rib cage. If only he could feel the pain, but the wheeze he’d let out from being winded was enough to satisfy you.

Toby was insufferable, and he knew it. He was a nuisance at best and an absolute hindrance at worst. Missions together were the worst of it. Barely ever able to get a kill in for yourself before Toby was shoving you out of the way and flinging a hatchet at their skull. The ‘teaching experience’ he had advertised this partnership as was barely anything of the sort - more so just you being forced to sit back and watch as he split open another poor victim’s rib cage. Giggling to himself as he reached into the viscera and pulled out a lung or heart, just to fling it in your direction with a cackle slipping from his lips.

Horrible. He was horrible. That opinion of yours didn’t change in the slightest, even as the weeks ticked on. He was barely even a human at all, more so just a hollow shell filled to the brim with bloodlust and spite.

Someone who abided by Slender's every will because he wanted to, not because he was forced to. It was sickening. A way of life that you could never imagine for yourself. If the day ever came that you followed in Toby’s footsteps, finding a sick pleasure in the blood and gore that coated your clothing, you’d much rather be on the receiving end of his hatchet.

But, that day hadn’t come yet.

It’s a cold winter day - frigid winds, ankle deep snow caked to the soles of her boots and seeping into the gap between your pants and socks. The air is brisk, blooming a rosy tint on your pale cheeks as you trekked through the forest - leaving a trail of footprints for Toby to follow in as he trailed behind her closely. You could feel his gaze on your back, hear the sound of his heavy breathing with each step that he took, smell the acrid scent of cigarette smoke wafting off from the smoke perched between his lips. “Hey…” You heard him call, his voice soft and playful, forcing a tenseness into your muscles. Fingers clenched tight around the strap of the bag draped over your body, your jaw clenched, a shaky breath leaving your lungs before visualizing in the air as a cloud of condensation

”What?” You grit out, her voice dripping with that same distaste that you always wore when she was around Toby. An annoyance that you couldn’t shake.

“Y-You can talk to me you know.” Toby huffed out from behind her, his gaze trained on the back of you as he trudged through the snow in front of him. The way the cold December wind tousled the curly tufts of ginger hair atop your head, how your limbs were so frigid and stiff. From the cold, or from him? It was hard to tell. “You’re m-makin’ this harder on yourself by constantly being b-bitchy with me.”

”I’m not being bitchy.” You snapped back to him, turning your head back towards him for just a moment, only to cut him a deadly glare. “You’re just hellbent on being an asshole. Sorry for not wanting to hold a conversation with a prick like you.”

Toby barks out a harsh laugh, the sound echoing the vacant forest they were both traversing. Not a single soul in sight - not except for the two of them. Just miles and miles of snow and dying wood, not even the howl of a wolf in the distance to break up the silence. Just her, him, and the whistle of the wind between them.

”Harsh.” Toby snorts, one eyebrow raising as his eyes scan the figure before him. You were practically the exact opposite of him. Toby - tall and lean, you - short and stout. He often asked himself how you even managed your way around as a proxy. From his perspective, you looked like a weak link. Someone easily thrown around and tossed to the side. The idea of you actually subduing and killing someone was laughable at best, and he honestly wouldn’t believe it was possible if he hadn’t seen it happen with his own eyes. “Y-Y’know, if it weren’t for me you’d probably be dead.” He mutters. “S-Some useless fuck like you sh-shoulda been dealt with a long time ago.” He takes a drag, the hatches on his belt clinking with each step he took. “I-If I wasn’t nice, and I ss-said no to taking you under my wing - the boss would-woulda just axed you.”

”Begging for a ‘thank you’ makes you sound desperate.” You snort, rolling your eyes as you tug your coat further over yourself. “You’re not a hero, Toby. You never have been. You’ve just deluded yourself into thinking you are.”

The words are harsh enough to cut deep, slicing straight through Toby’s tough exterior to seep straight into his bones. Rising goosebumps on his arms, reigniting the fire of guilt he had (thought he had) snuffed out long ago. Such a chilling read on his entire nature, that he found himself faltering in his steps, his jaw going slack before his cigarette fell from his lips - extinguishing against the snow beneath him with a hiss.

“Yeah, well, you’re not a victim - l-like you seem to think you are.” Toby snaps back, eyeing his fallen smoke for just a second before he lets out a scoff and trudges past it. Just another reason for him to be pissed. It wasn’t easy coming across a cigarette, as a wanted criminal. He’d have to go rummaging through Tim’s bag for the third time this week. “Y-You hate me because you’re just like me. A c-cold hearted killer with bodies upon bodies under your belt.” His fingers twitch as he slowly reaches downwards, before closing around the handle of one of his hatchets. “Cry and m-moan about it all you want, but you can’t hide from the truth. You’re just as bad as me. Maybe even worse, because you re-refuse to accept the reality of it.”

You could feel your eye twitch in annoyance. That familiar, white hot sensation of anger brewing in your stomach and making your limbs tremble. He just forced it out so easily, like you was a marionette on strings and he was the puppet master - tugging and pulling you around until you were cracking from the strain.

And so you just can’t help yourself when you’re stopping in your tracks abruptly, whipping around with a scowl on your lips before you hiss out;

”Can you shut the fuck u-“

The whistle of metal cutting through air stops your sentence short. It happened so fast that you could barely even process it, your eyes not even having the chance to lock onto Toby’s weapon before it was flying straight past your skull - only missing you by a hair before it lodged itself in a tree just a few feet away.

The shock was palpable. Wide eyes and breathing cut off abruptly. Silence so deafening that if you really paid close attention, you may just hear the sound of your heart starting to pound in your chest - slowly coming up to speed with the rest of your body as the realization of what’s just happened washes over you like a bucket of ice water.

Stray auburn hairs sliced at the tip, fallen against the snow beneath your feet. Wood, cracked and splintering around the hatchet newly lodged within the trunk of a tree. Toby’s tool belt, uneven on one side now - starkly missing a weapon.

Finally piecing all of the parts together just makes your blood burn hotter.

And the perpetrator? Well, he’s stood before you as if nothing was amiss. As if he hadn’t just taken a shot at your life. Shoulders lax, eyes playful, carelessly toying with the now empty loop on his belt. Horrible. “Are you fucking insane?” You hiss out, eyes wide and manic - darting between Toby’s face and the weapon that had just barely missed your skull. “What the hell is wrong with you, you psycho?“

”T-Target practice.” Toby snorts, his lips curled up into a sly smile. “Treating you l-like the victim you think you are.” Snow crunches under his boots as he takes a few steps closer to you, the cool breeze whipping through his hair. “You luh-look like one, now that I’ve really got m-my eyes peeled.” Closer. Too close, he approaches. Standing tall before her like a pack wolf, his mouth widening into a toothy grin. “Verängstigtes k-kleines Kaninchen.”

In one quick movement, Toby’s darting a hand out to reach behind you - bruised knuckles grasping the handle of his discarded hatchet once more before he’s ripping it back out of the tree with a firm tug, splintered pieces of wood following it and raining down onto the snowy ground. “Sie glaubt, ss-sie sei so stark.” Toby chuckles softly, leaning his head down lower to encroach further on your space. “So kräftig.” Though her blood was rushing in her ears, you couldn’t find it in yourself to back down. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him watch you shrink. “Aber sie ist nichts weiter als eine k-kleine Maus. Jemand, d-den ich unter meinem Stiefel zerquetschen könnte.”

The fact that you hadn’t a single clue what he was saying, added a strange sort of fear to the interaction that you just couldn’t wrap your head around. Voice low and gravelly, you knew that those words were threats - but what kind of threats? On your life? Your livelihood? Worse? Goosebumps rise on your neck and trickle down your spine, and this time, you know it's not from the cold. But again, to give him that satisfaction? To roll over and lay down like he wanted you to? It wasn’t happening. Over your dead body.

”Yeah, act like I can understand you, dumbass.” You spit out before rolling your eyes and turning on your heel. Partially, to end the interaction sooner. Partially, to escape his paralyzing gaze. Soulless brown eyes, looking damn near black under the overcast sky - scrutinizing you, mocking you, sizing you up. “Don’t fuckin’ pull a stunt like that again. If my blood’s on your hands when you get back, you’ll be in shit and you know it.”

A challenge? Maybe, maybe not. But Toby’s brain viewed it more so as the latter. Weeks of pushing you, weeks of trying to stamp down that nasty attitude of yours, and nothing had worked. Not insults, not humiliation, not even badmouthing you to Slender themself. Was it even really his fault, that he was leaning more towards drastic measures now? Had you not forced it out of him? Goading him with that piercing glare and lips tugged down into a perpetual scowl?

No, it was your fault. Your fault for bringing this out in him.

So when his arms stretch out towards you, one of which wielding his hatchet - that’s your fault too.

You only see a flash of metal and a glimpse of Toby’s sweater sleeve before it happens. Before what happens? Well, your beheading was what you expected - eyes widening at the sight of your fellow proxy’s weapon coming so close to your throat. But, that wasn’t what you were dealt. Because that would be too fast. Too easy. Unfulfilling.

Instead you’re left wheezing for air as the handle of Toby’s hatchet presses firm to your throat from behind, the worn wood digging into your windpipe as he pulls you back to him. You’re gasping when his back meets his chest, frantic hands flying up to claw at the handle of the weapon slowly but surely choking you out. It’s a firm, unrelenting pressure. One that made every single breath a chore. And your attempts to free yourself weren’t doing a thing to help. Nails scratching at Toby’s hands, digging in deep enough to draw blood - but Toby wasn’t phased even a little bit.

Of course he wouldn’t be. His arrogance had some merit to it. “Toby-“ Your voice comes out choked off and hoarse, throat feeling dry and scratchy as you struggle to take in air. “Fuck- Fuck’s wrong with you? Let me go! This- This isn’t funny!”

“O-Oh, it totally is.” Toby’s voice meets her ears as stark contrast to your own. Playful. Composed. Amused as he leans his head down lower, his breath brushing against the shell of your ear as he speaks. “You ss-see what I’m talkin’ about now? You’re pathetic. I’m barely even t-trying and you can’t do a thing to help yourself.” His hands tug the hatchet back further, forcing a strained cough out of your lungs. “Sind Sie w-wirklich so schwach? Oder liegt es daran, dass Sie es tatsächlich mögen?”

He starts to walk backwards, dragging you along with him as you kick your feet and flail your arms. Trying absolutely anything to wriggle free, but not a single thing was working. Not with the beast you had fallen into the clutches of. “H-How’d you even get this far, huh?” Using his hatchet as leverage, he spins you around quick enough that there’s no chance to wiggle away before the handle of his weapon is back to your neck. This time, pinning you completely when your back comes into contact with one of the many trees surrounding the two of you. “You o-obviously don’t fight well, so how’d you even get a kill under your b-belt?”

Face to face with him now, it’s hard for you not to shrink. Purpling lips quivering from the force of your scowl, eyebrows pinched together as you breathe raggedly through her nose. “Did ya’ go all ‘femme fatale’ on them? Wh-Whore yourself out to get their guard lowered, then spill their b-brains when they’re deep up in it?”

”You fucking freak.” You hiss out, trying again to kick at him - this time aiming for his groin - but again, nothing comes of it. God, was he indestructible? “Bet that’s a fantasy of yours isn’t it? You sick fuck.”

Toby cracks a grin, his eyes gleaming with a twisted form of amusement before he lets out a chilling chuckle. It’s menacing. A sound that nothing good could come from, and you knew it.

”C-Caught me.” Toby hums. “Wanna indulge me, hase?” His gaze roams free as his thoughts wander, flicking up and down your body with a scrutinizing gaze before landing back on your face. Your face, pale skin going pink from the lack of circulation - your freckles becoming swallowed up by the flush. “Only, here’s the thing - you w-wouldn’t be winning against me. I th-think you know that already.”

The look in Toby’s eyes is subjugating. Hidden beneath layers and layers of snark and sarcasm, but he’s serious - the glint in his eyes gives him away. If it didn’t, then his unwavering grip sure did. He hadn’t let his hold on you falter for even a second, keeping you pinned to the tree behind you as you watched the display before him with a sickening smirk curving his lips.

And for you, maybe the worst part was that it was equal parts arousing, as it was terrifying. It would be a lie to say you had never thought of Toby in that way, though it was often overshadowed by your complete distaste towards his attitude. You had thought about it a few times, watching Toby’s skin splatter with blood as he hauled off on another victim. A few more times, when you’d catch the way his whole face softened when he let out a genuine laugh.

And you were definitely thinking about it now, with him staring down at you like you were nothing but prey.

”As if.” You snort. “Like you’d even know what to do.” Your eyes flicker up towards his, the fear in your gaze clouded over with that same snark you wore so well. “That’s why you're acting so desperate, right?” Despite the situation, you still find it in yourself to twist your lips into a mocking pout. “Poor guy’s never gotten his dick wet? Gotta put a hatchet to a girl’s throat to actually get some?”

Just like that, you’ve pushed all the wrong buttons. Maybe the right ones actually, depending on how you look at it. Toby’s expression twists, that look of nonchalant amusement melting away for something much darker.

And there's barely even any time for you to think before he’s moving again.

”O-Oh, you’re fuckin’ askin’ for it now.” The hatchet finally leaves your throat, giving you a moment of reprieve to finally take in a few wheezing breaths. It doesn’t leave Toby’s hand though, even as his free hand reaches up to grasp your chin roughly. Out of sight, but barely out of mind. You knew the weapon was just lying in wait. “So eine dumme kleine Schlampe.” He husks out “You’re t-tryin’ to get me riled up on pu-purpose, aren’t you?

”Am not.” You argue back, your stomach flipping when a waver sneaks its way into your words. Just like that, cover blown.

”Are t-too.” Toby snorts, before lifting his arm and lodging his hatchet back in the tree above your head. The sound of wood splintering makes you flinch, but you barely has any time to even think about it before Toby pulls out his ace card. “W-Want me to prove it?”

He asks, but the question seems to just be of courtesy more than anything else. Because before you can think Toby’s free hand is drifting downwards - skirting over the curve of your waist, palm flat against you as he drifts down over your stomach, before finding its destination. Snug between your thighs. The heel of his palm pressing firmly up against your clothed clit as his digits tease your entrance through the thick fabric of your jeans.

The contact has you jolting immediately, mouth dropping open in shock and yet your hips buck towards him. Proving him right, though the words you’d speak would try to refute your own actions. It’s all futile. Toby knows that, and you do too - even if it's buried deep down.

”Fuck off, Toby-“ You grit out, jaw tense as he only presses in closer. A low hum of amusement rumbling from his chest as he adds a little more pressure to his touch. Forcing the crease of your jeans to press roughly up against your clit, sparking an array of tingles down her legs that make your knees feel gooey. You try in earnest to cut him a glare, but it’s a little difficult to be convincing when your expression is buckling just a few seconds later. It’s unavoidable, especially when his palm starts rubbing slow teasing circles against your heat.

If you really wanted to, you could probably shove him off. His guard was down, his hands were free of his weapons. You could easily stun him with a blow to the nose and then sprint off. Every nerve in your body was telling you to do just that, and yet for some reason, you found yourself rooted in place. Slowly but surely melting as the bark pressed into your back. “You’re such a fuckin’ creep.”

”Yeah? A-Am I?” Toby laughs as his other hand finds a home gripping your waist, tugging your hips forwards to meet his movements, forcing even more pressure behind his touch. By this point, the effect is undeniable. You can feel your clit throbbing within the confines of your panties, can feel the flimsy material grow more and more damp with each press of his hand. “Well you’re a Lügnerin.” His head dips down low, stubble scratching at her jawline before he parts his lips - letting his teeth drag against the sensitive flesh. A taunt. “Actin’ like you’re not a-a whore, even though I can smell it on you.” He pinches your skin between his teeth with a sharp nip, making your eyebrows scrunch up. “You’re soaking your panties r-right now, aren’t you? Just from me tossing you a-around a little?”

”Am not.” The lie you spit out is laughable, and it’s fuelled by your pride alone. You know, that if things continue to escalate like they had been, he’ll be finding out about your fallacy soon enough.

”Dirty fuckin’ liar.” Toby husks out against her skin, before pulling his head back. His eyes are dark and predatory as they drop downwards, tracking his own movements as his hand drifts upwards - fingers meeting the cold metal button of your jeans. “Y-You’re just sayin’ that because you want me to find out. Nicht wahr, Hase?”

The button of your jeans is popped, and the zipper is tugged down in quick succession, calloused fingers rough against soft skin when his hand dips below the denim’s hem, wasting no time before he’s cupping your core through your panties. “A-Ah, see?” He gently rubs you through the thin fabric, his smile only widening when he feels the dampness that coats his fingers because of it. “Du bist nur eine dumme Schlampe.”

You’re gasping when Toby’s fingers push the material of your panties to the side, auburn curls falling in front of your eyes as you wriggle in his grip. “D-Don’t act like you don’t want this.” Two fingers dip into your wetness, gathering up all that sweet slick that had accumulated between your folds. “You’re so fuckin’ wet.” He chuckles darkly. “Pussy’s practically beggin’ for it and I’ve barely even done anything.”

His thumb glides against your clit, two fingers teasing your slit but refusing to dip inside. Just to watch you squirm. “C’mon, j-just admit it. Tell me how bad you w-want it.”

Over your dead body.

“Fuck you.” You manage to grit out, eyebrows furrowed as waves of pleasure lick up your spine. But you won’t melt for him, can’t give in to someone like him.

“Ah, alright.” Toby snorts, one eyebrow cocked in amusement as his eyes rave over the pitiful state before him. “B-Be a bitch about it, that’s fine by me.”

In one swift movement his hand slips out of your jeans, and then both hands are on your hips - using his grip to spin you around harshly, pressing the front of your body against the tree you were pinned against. “I-I’ll fuck that attitude outta you, d-don’t you worry.”

The intensity of the situation was increasing exponentially, Toby’s movements growing bolder and bolder as the seconds ticked by. His calloused hands were rough but his actions were rougher - pushing and pulling your body to his will, blunt fingernails scratching at your skin when his fingers hooked under the waistband of your jeans. “Y-You’re so soft.” He hums in appreciation as he tugs the material down your hips, bringing your panties down with it. The cold air surrounding the two of you makes you hiss when it hits your bare cunt. “Aw, you cuh-cold?” Toby snickers. “Keine Sorge, ich w-werde dich aufwärmen.”

“Toby-“ Your words are cut off by a palm pressing to the side of your head, shoving your face against the rough bark of the tree. You sputter for a moment, too stunned to even register the sound of a belt buckle coming undone behind you. “Toby, I’m serious. Get your dirty hands off of me!”

“Y-You’re serious?” Toby chuckles darkly, dark eyes glinting as he raves over the sight before him. His fellow proxy bent over before him, pretty pudgy hips looking like the perfect canvas to leave a collection of bruises on. Your jeans keeping her legs bound at the knees, bare cunt glistening with arousal that told the truth far better than your words did. “Fuh-Funny. So am I.”

With a soft hiss he frees his cock from his boxers, already achingly hard just from batting around this little toy of his. His free hand reaches forwards, harshly gripping your hip and tugging you backwards - making your eyes blow open wide when his length presses up against you from behind. “N-Notice how you’re j-just lettin’ it happen? Die dumme Hure weiß nicht einmal, was sie will.”

He nudges his hips forwards, grinding his cock against your wetness - getting the shaft all nice and coated with your slick as a soft groan rumbles from his chest. “I’ll make the decision f-for you. Aren’t you a lucky thing?”

“T-Toby-“ Your body slumps against the bark, breathing going more ragged each time the head of his dick caught on your entrance. Teasing what was to come. You couldn’t see him, but you could tell he was packing. Just the head causing a stretch that made your stomach flip every time he notched it inside her, only to slip past again. “You- fuck -You can’t-“

“I can’t?” Toby barks out a laugh, his fingers curling deeper into your flesh, watching how it indents from his grip. “From where I-I’m standing, it’s lookin’ like I can.”

Not even given the courtesy of being fingered open a little, your breath catches when you feel the head of his cock press more firmly against you. So much need behind his actions you could practically smell it in the air. “Deep breath, kaninchen.” He murmurs. “This might hurt ya’ a l-little.”

And that’s the only warning he gives you. Because next, he’s nudging his hips forwards - ripping a startled moan from your lungs as his cock bullies its way into her heat. So tight, it makes his teeth grit, eyebrows furrowing and breathing going shallower with each inch he sinks in.

Your legs begin to shake, tears pooling in your eyes as he stuffs you fuller and fuller, to the point where you’re pretty sure he’s going to break you before he even fully sheaths himself. But then, his hips meet yours, right as your ears start to ring. “Hah-“ Toby gasps out, his voice strained. “You-You’re fuckin’ tight. Pussy’s tryna strangle me.”

With another nudge of his hips he gets himself deeper, and your vision starts to blur around the edges. “This cunt was m-made to take me, wasn’t it?”

All he gets in response is a strained whine, but that’s not what he was looking for. Not even close. “Words, slut.” He growls out, using his grip on your hips to keep you pulled back on him - no room to wriggle free. “You were made to take my cock, weren’t you?”

“Fuck off.” You gasp out, the words coming out gargled and breathless. You can barely even think past the feeling of Toby’s cock stretching you open, your inner walls twitching and pulsing around his cock as you struggle to accommodate him. “Cocky bastard.” His hips draw back only minutely, before he’s shoving himself right back in to the hilt - knocking all the air out of your lungs.

“You’re a fuckin’ stubborn bitch, aren’t you?” Toby snaps, releasing your waist with one hand just to reach up above you. In one sharp move he rips his abandoned weapon out of the tree trunk, letting out a soft grunt before he’s raising the metal to your neck. Right under your jawline, the edge of his blade just barely pressing against your skin. An undeniable threat. “How about now? S-Still gonna keep that snark if I lob your pretty head off?”

And then, his hips are moving. His length dragging against your walls on each pull out, just for the head to press against your g-spot on every stroke back in. Harsh, jerky, barely an ounce of care in his actions. His weapon jostling every time his skin smacks against yours, his carelessness only adding to the danger. “C’mon, benimm d-dich wie die Hure, von der ich weiß, dass du sie bist.”

You’re breathing shaky through your nose, your head spinning from a mixture of arousal and unbridled fear - stomach leaping every time the blade of his hatchet presses against your skin just a little too harshly. It’s hard to tell if he’s truly being serious, but your wouldn’t put it past him. If anything, you’re sure he’s done worse. And yet, the pleasure still rears its head, even though it’s bordered by a fear that makes your gut twist. You knew how absolutely pitiful you looked. Could feel the wetness seeping out of you, dirtying both you and Toby - creating a sickening sticky sound every time his hips separated from yours. “Say it. S-Say this sloppy little cunt was made for me.”

“F-Fuck, okay-“ You groan out, eyebrows pinching together as a shiver of pleasure goes down your spine. His cock is throbbing inside you, fucking more slick out of you with each brutal press in. In the otherwise silent forest, the sound of skin on skin is loud. Near deafening every time his hips collide with yours. “This- shit- This pussy was made for you.” You spit out the words like they’re venom on your tongue, barely even able to verbalize them through the gasps and moans leaving your lips. Fingernails gripping the tree trunk before you, you’re ripping bark from the trunk as your fingers scramble to find purchase. Desperate for something to ground you through this brutal onslaught of ecstasy you had been thrown into.

Your skin feels like it’s on fire, despite the frigid air around you. Every nerve in your body set alight, stars dancing behind your eyelids with each stroke Toby was delivering to you. Not a chance of reprieve. No room to breathe. Such an overwhelming sea of pleasure that it’s easy to forget that the person dealing it still has a hatchet to your neck. “Toby, fuck- S’too much-“

”Aw, n-no it’s not.” Toby chuckles softly, his grip only tightening as he fucks into you harder - dark eyes honed in on the sight of your skin rippling every time his hips met yours. On the glistening sheen you were leaving his cock coated in every time he pulled out. “Think I c-can’t feel you tightening up around me?” Despite you abiding to his wishes, he keeps the hatchet nestled right up against your neck. Not enough pressure to break skin, just enough to keep the threat evident. “Feels good, don’t it? Such a slut you’re gonna cum on my cock even though I could kill you in a second?”

“M’not-“ You whine out, but it’s just another lie. You can feel it. Had been able to feel it for a while now. That familiar heat, burning hotter and hotter with each snap of Toby’s hips. Struggling to hold it back, when every press in had him pressed snug up against your g-spot.

”I think you are.” Toby snickers, before finally dropping the hatchet. It hits the snowy ground with a thud, before he’s grabbing your hips with both hands - all restraint gone as he fucks into you with a quicker, faster pace. “C’mon. Give it to me. Y-You’re so close, I can feel it.”

You are. To the point where no amount of willpower could keep your orgasm at bay. Not when Toby was slamming into you like an animal, husky groans slipping out of his lips with each stroke. It only takes a few more before you’re crumpling. Going near limp against the tree as your orgasm hits you like a truck - vision damn near going white as a white hot wave of pleasure washes over you from head to toe. Knees buckling completely, Toby’s firm grip being the only thing keeping you upright as you goes fully pliant in his hold.

So dazed, so fucked out, you barely even hear Toby hiss out a string of curses from behind you, but you feels it when his hips stutter.

Only two more pumps before he’s cumming undone right alongside you - cock still pressed deep when he spills his load. Head dropping down low to rest against your shoulder blades before he’s groaning lowly against your skin. “Hah- Fuck, such a good fuckin’ cunt. T-Tryna milk me dry.”

Trying, or succeeding? Definitely the latter. Because by the time Toby’s pulling out, you’re still stuffed with him - milky white ropes of cum dribbling out of your abused cunt and running down your thighs. Toby lets out an amused hum before reaching down, then he’s scooping it all back up with two fingers and promptly pushing it right back inside you. “Cute.” He snickers. “You made a mess.”

”I made a mess?” You rasp back out, weakly looking over your shoulder to cut him the meanest glare you could muster up. The verdict was, not very convincing, because your face was still flushed with eyes fucked out and hazy.

”Yeah.” Toby chuckles. “Y-You made a mess.” He delivers a sharp slap to one of your ass cheeks before letting out a snort of a laugh. “Don’tcha worry though, th-the boss’ll get a good report from me this time. Looks like you can be useful.”

You rolls your eyes before letting out a shaky breath, trying (and failing) to regulate your heart rate once more.

”Yeah, I guess you can be too.”

—

helloooooo friends! yes yes this was a commission! thank you to the lovely who sent this to me and gave me the permission to post this on my blog <3

as I said up top, my commissions are closed for now, but if you’re interested in something like this for yourself hit me up once they’re open again! I usually take around 5 commissions at a time before I close them for breathing room :)

[horny-marbles]

How do the different creeps react with a girlfriend that's very physically affectionate? She loves to kiss them hello and goodbye. Loves cuddle with them on the couch and in bed. Sit on their lap. Loves to play with their hair, scratch their scalp. Will sometimes get overcome with love and attack their entire face with kisses.

I myself am very much like this lol. Can be as fluffy (or even smutty) as you wish

me too me too 🙂‍↕️ they'd die smothered by my lips fr. i also added liu (and sully) in here because i thought he was prime material for this lol :p cw for some very mild smutty mentions but nothing too crazy. enjoy! :D

Creepypastas with a Cuddlebug Girlfriend — Headcanons

Eyeless Jack

⚉ it took forever to get here. months of flinches, vanishing acts, stiff body language and cold silences. you were patient, but he really fucking tested it. he kept pulling away like your affection was something poisonous, like he didn’t deserve the warmth in your hands. there were nights you nearly left—not because you didn’t love him, but because he clearly didn’t think he should be loved in return.

⚉ as emotionally constipated as he is, Jack is unironically the quietest simp on earth. no grand gestures, no soft declarations, no love poems in the dark—but he’ll go pliant under your hands the moment you put them on him. lets you crawl all over him, straddle his thighs, bury your face in his neck, press open-mouthed kisses to his ribs. sometimes you wonder if he’s just enduring it, if he’s humoring you.

⚉ but then he starts purring. subtle, constant, low like a distant engine. you don’t hear it as much as you feel it, thrumming through his chest when you’re tangled up together and the world is silent.

⚉ he still rarely initiates. but once the gates were down, he started soaking it up like bone-dry earth after rain. he doesn’t stop you when your affection goes over the top—when you're curled in his lap, peppering kisses across his jaw, calling him stupid pet names just to see if he’ll twitch.

⚉ he never asks for cuddles, never says he wants to be held. but the second you climb into bed or settle beside him on the couch, his arms snake around you like they’ve been waiting all day, grip firm and protective, like he’s anchoring you both.

⚉ lets you bite him whenever the affection gets too intense for you to handle. especially his arms and biceps. doesn’t flinch, doesn’t complain, doesn’t push you away—even when you accidentally bite down too hard. the marks stay for days, but he never covers them up. if anything, he runs his fingers over them sometimes when he thinks you’re not looking.

⚉ he loves when you trace the hollows of his shoulder blades and spine. long, slow touches down his back when he's shirtless? he’ll sit there, eyes shut, breathing slowed, fingers twitching like he wants to say something but physically can’t. he doesn’t say he wants to be touched, but the way he subtly exposes skin is his way of inviting it. sits in bed shirtless after a shower and doesn’t look at you, but his back is right there. take the hint.

⚉ fixates on your neck a lot. he stares at your throat constantly. or, you know, his face is tilted towards it. it’s not always sexual—it’s fascination. You tilt your head to the side and he just tracks the movement like a predator, sharp and quiet. your throat ends up with faded bite marks all the time once he got comfortable with using his teeth on you, and when you point them out, he just rumbles, “Then stop offering it.”

BEN Drowned

모 from day one, the second you started getting all sticky and cuddly with him, he started teasing the hell out of you for it. not in a mean way—just that mellow, lazy roast voice he has, the kind that sounds like he's halfway to sleep and halfway to a blunt.

“Dude, you’re like… emotionally horny. That’s wild.”

but he’s grinning. that slow, shit-eating grin that says he loves it. that he eats up every clingy kiss and every over-the-top pet name and every time you crawl onto him like a needy little koala. he barks, but he basks.

모 he revels in cuddle sessions when he’s high. joint between his fingers, you in his lap or spread out beside him, some dumb show playing he’s not even watching—he’s in heaven. his hands get real loose, one hand always low on your thigh, thumbing lazy circles or sliding under your shirt with zero fanfare, just to feel skin.

“You’re so soft,” he mumbles into your neck, half-lidded and warm against you. “You’re like… a fuckin’ cloud. Or a hot marshmallow or some shit.” then he starts giggling at his own description and buries his face in your chest like he’s trying to suffocate himself in your tits.

모 zero shame, zero urgency. he’ll rub his cheek against your stomach while you stroke his hair and mumble the nastiest compliments with all the energy of a guy talking in his sleep.

“You’re lucky I’m too high to rail you right now,” he slurs with a kiss to your ribs. “You'd be cryin'."

모 when he initiates affection, it’s barely even conscious. has this thing where he’ll hook a finger through your belt loop or hoodie pocket as you walk by just to pull you into his lap, even if he’s busy gaming. doesn’t even pause his game. he makes an obnoxious smooch sound, presses a lazy kiss to your temple, slaps your ass once, then goes right back to clicking buttons like nothing happened. half the time you’re just part of the furniture. a very warm, kissable, touchable piece of furniture that smells really good.

모 gets this really soft look when you kiss his hands—like an actual visible lag in his brain. he stares for a second, eyes lowered, breathing paused like you’ve just triggered some long-lost human file. Then he flexes his fingers in yours and says something stupid like "Damn. Didn’t realize I was royalty.”

모 a little bitch about you playing with his pointy ears. all "ugh, you got an elf kink?!" and "bro, you're fuckin' weird, stop doing that", until you actually pull your hands away. then it's suddenly, "babe, c'mon stop playing," and tucking his hair behind his ears to give you room.

모 borderline religious experience levels of fixation on your thighs. if you don't open your legs to let him sit between them he gives you this look like you just personally offended him and says, "What?? You mad at me or some shit? What did I do??"

Ticci Toby

𓌏 second-place simp only because Jack’s quiet obsession is unbeatable—but Toby gives everything back tenfold, and then some once you make it known that you're touchy-feely. he’s not gentle about it either. he loves hard, and he loves fast, like you’re gonna vanish if he doesn’t show you right now how much he needs you.

𓌏 the worst kisser on Earth (subjective). when you initiate with sweet smooches, he tackles you like a linebacker and crashes your mouths together so hard your teeth click. no aim, no finesse, too much jaw, tongue immediately. and then he pulls back with this big, stupid grin like, “That w-was good, right? Hah. G-gimme another one.” you're half-way to a concussion.

𓌏 you tried to sneak up behind him and bear hug him once. big mistake. he turned it on you and crushed you so tight against his chest that he almost broke your nose.

𓌏 you bite him playfully, and he bites back with zero restraint. doesn’t register how hard it is until you scream. he jerks back with your arm in his mouth, blinking in horror at the indents like they bit him. mouth wet with spit and the faintest trace of red, his expression crumpling like, “W-what?? Wh-what’d I do?? I-I didn’t—wait, y-you’re crying??” full kicked-puppy energy while you're nursing a war wound.

𓌏 cuddling during a movie is virtually impossible. just being near you gets him half-chubbed and distracted. and if he’s the big spoon it’s over. within minutes there’s a hand under your shirt like it belongs there, groping you like it's his emotional support tiddy. “I’m n-not d-doing nothin’, promise,” he mumbles, already rolling his hips into your lower back. “Y-you’re just s-s-soft… and warm…”

a beat of silence.

“…C-can I p-put it in though? C'mon, just a m-m-minute— Please?? We can s-still watch!"

𓌏 touch-starved to hell and back. has to be in physical contact with you constantly. holding your hand even when it's sweaty and awkward. arm slung over your shoulder. leg thrown across your lap. chin on your head. elbow in your ribs. he’s like a weird affectionate dog that never learned boundaries and never wants to.

𓌏 needy to the point of insanity. you so much as touch his thigh in passing and suddenly he’s grabbing your hand and dragging it to his crotch, muttering, “Y-you did that on purpose, d-don’t act innocent.” you didn’t. but it doesn’t matter, he's already hard.

𓌏 hair-pulling is his heroin. there's no "lazy, gentle scalp massages" with him. you try to detangle his mess of curls and he just keeps going, “Harder. Harder—mmmf, ha-harder" while you're one pull away from scalping him. but he just smiles and leans into it, completely unfazed by the fact that his head is being yanked back.

Brian Thomas/Hoodie

☹ you had to break him down slowly. he had walls of steel, thick as hell with barbed wire on top, but your affection chipped at it like water on rock. at first he dodged it—literally. you’d lean in for a kiss and he’d shift just slightly to avoid it, muttering “Don’t.” not because he didn’t want it, but because he wanted it too badly.

his reasons were always the same:

“You don’t want this. I’m not even here half the time.”

“Stickman fucks with my head. I could forget your face tomorrow.”

“You should be with someone real.”

☹ but none of that stopped the way he lingered. your touch magnetized him. you’d reach for his hand and he’d sigh but let you take it, fingers twitching like he didn’t trust himself to squeeze back.

☹ he’ll tell you he’s not a cuddler, that he “gets too hot,” that he “can’t relax like that,” that he “doesn’t sleep well next to people.” but you soon find out he sleeps better when you tangle your legs with his. can’t fall asleep unless your hand’s resting somewhere on him—his side, his chest, his wrist, doesn’t matter.

☹ he doesn’t initiate often—can’t risk falling harder than he already has—but when he does it’s a problem. it's rare and raw, and it makes your chest cave in every time. because he will just randomly sigh like he had to make a life or death decision in his head, make eye contact so intense it feels like bracing for impact, and he kisses you like he hasn't seen you in years.

☹ weak for domestic touches. tug his shirt straight for him. smooth his collar. wipe something off his cheek with your thumb. his brain just shorts out. he stands there like a statue with his eyes flicking between your hand and your face like he’s not sure which to kiss first.

☹ he LOVES when you kiss the bridge of his nose or the crease in his brow when he’s frowning. you do it to soften him up, and it works every time.

☹ Hoodie takes. affection makes him feral. especially right after missions—blood under his nails, eyes glassy, breath heavy—and you grab his face and kiss him like he’s still human? he ruins you. shoves you against the wall, fucks you like he’s still high on adrenaline. like if he doesn’t bury himself inside you, he’ll forget who he is.

☹ he can’t process gentleness right away. the first time you ran your fingers through his hair while he was still breathing heavy post-mission, he froze like you’d hit him. then he grabbed your wrist and dragged your hand back. "Again. Do that shit again."

☹ when you kiss his jaw while he’s still tense, he exhales like the pressure valve just cracked. you do that enough times, and he starts chasing your kisses with his own—down your throat, across your collarbone, rough and desperate.

☹ when you’re clingy with Hoodie, he doesn’t push you away. he lets it happen, but he doesn’t respond like Brian. he just holds you tighter, stiffer, more possessive. like he’s cataloging every second of it to replay later when he’s buried under orders and blood.

☹ kissing him through the mask undoes him. you press your mouth to the fabric and he flinches like it's more intimate than actual skin on skin. he'll stare at you like he doesn't know how to process it, and then rips it up to his nose just enough to crush his mouth against yours like he needs the proof you’re real and not some hallucination.

☹ if you help him clean up after he comes back—using a clean rag to wipe the blood that seeped through the mask on his face—he'll completely freeze for a full minute before yanking himself away from you with this ragged, broken exhale, like you just slit his throat. "No, no, stay the fuck away, this— you don't— don't fuckin' touch me, you're staining your hands. You don't deserve this." he fully shuts down on you like you just reached some purgatory in his mind, and he only comes back after you coax him softly.

Tim Wright/Masky

⦻ so fucking reluctant. not because he doesn’t want the affection—he wants it like he’s dying of thirst—but because he doesn’t trust it. he'll tip toe around it in the beginning like he's scared letting his guard down would instantly make you vanish. you’ll sometimes catch him just looking at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention. It’s not lustful—it’s like he’s trying to memorize you, afraid his brain’s going to betray him again.

⦻ when you get clingy with him (cuddling on the couch, draping over him while he’s trying to smoke or read), he groans and mutters a half-hearted “Jesus Christ…” but makes no effort to move you. He just lets out this long-suffering sigh like he’s being tortured—and then subtly wraps an arm around you, fingers digging into your hip.

⦻ touch-starved in the saddest way. if you’re rubbing circles into his back while he lays on your chest, this man is out. fast asleep. snores like a truck.

⦻ the real killer for Tim is casual affection. walking past him and you grab his face to give him a kiss like it's second nature. or holding his hand absentmindedly while watching TV. every time, he looks at you like he can’t believe you're doing it without thinking. sometimes tears up because of it and (badly) covers it up with a yawn.

⦻ he won’t initiate affection often, but he will hover. walks too close, sits too close, lingers near doorways so you’ll come to him first. it's his way of saying “please touch me” without saying anything at all.

⦻ back of the neck touches wreck him. you slide your hand up under the back of his shirt to press your palm there—under his jacket, under his defenses. you feel him go still every time. it’s grounding. he’d never ask for it, but if you stop doing it during a hug, he’ll lean back into your hand, subtly chasing the touch.

⦻ Masky is the complete opposite of Hoodie when it comes to you cleaning him up after a mission. he goes still, but not from shame. his head tilts, eyes half-lidded behind the mask like he’s watching prey walk willingly into his den. there’s a flush creeping down his neck, a hungry glint in his eye, and he’s already half-hard under the weight of your care. he gets a rush from this—your soft hands, your worried little frown, the way you treat him like something precious even when he’s soaked in blood. the way you serve him like this without even having to ask for it.

⦻ you say “I missed you,” arms open to hug him, and he makes a low, scoffing sound in his throat—but the way he grabs you by the back of your neck to kiss you says otherwise.

⦻ Masky doesn’t process “normal” intimacy well. you rest your head on his shoulder, and he’s grabbing your thigh like it’s a green light for sex. you hold his hand and he shakes out of it just to grab your throat instead. there’s no filter.

⦻ you try to kiss him and he meets you halfway but way too fast and way too hard. teeth clash, lips bruise; he grabs your jaw to hold you still like you’re prey he’s keeping under control.

⦻ he loves it most when you get rough back, so he can one-up you. when you bite his neck or lips, or yank him in for a kiss like you need him. if he could purr, he would. his way of reciprocating physical affection is making sure you don’t walk right for two days. did i mention he has a control thing yet?

Jeff the Killer

꒷꒦ umm... jk lol

꒷꒦ first year? misery. if you’re naturally clingy, you might as well be kissing a brick wall that sometimes bites. his concept of physical affection was feral. gropey, aggressive, and mostly used to initiate sex or get a rise out of you. he was obnoxious, didn’t get soft stuff, and laughed in your face if you called him “cute.”

꒷꒦ but if you stomached that… congrats. you unlocked bare minimum boyfriend privileges. he doesn’t initiate affection unless it’s immediately sexual. you’re not getting casual cuddles or soft little kisses just because. that’s not “his style.” he groans EVERY single time you start getting handsy and soft, but he never does much to stop you anymore.

꒷꒦ he accepts hugs. because your tits squish against him and he’s a pig. he’ll either slap your ass hard enough to make you squeak, or pull you in by the neck and kiss you like he’s trying to bruise your lips.

“There. You got your stupid affection. That enough for the day?”

it’s not. you keep coming back like a needy little parasite and he acts like he’s put upon—but his grip always lingers.

꒷꒦ the ONLY time he doesn't piss and moan about cuddling is when you pull him over you in bed, face first into your chest. you try to be cute, sure, but he's a tit guy and he makes it foul instantly. cups the sides of your tits and pushes them together to rub his face in while groaning. instantly hard, too.

꒷꒦ he gets annoyed constantly. like, “can’t-breathe-stop-touching-me-I-swear-to-god” annoyed, but it’s mostly all bark. you straddle him on the couch to cover his face in kisses and he flails, groaning, “DUDE. Get the fuck off. I’m gonna suffocate.” but he doesn't push you off. doesn’t even move. he just grits his teeth and deals with it, eyes fluttering shut the second your lips hit his jaw like the hypocrite he is.

꒷꒦ he sucks at cuddling. or rather—he sucks at not turning cuddling into dry humping within five minutes. you slide next to him in bed, all sweet and warm and wanting to be held, and he immediately shifts behind you and grabs your waist like he’s bracing for impact. his mouth is on your neck before the covers settle.

“You’re the one who climbed in here,” he mutters, hand already between your thighs. “I’m just makin’ the most of it.”

he calls it "cuddling with flavor".

꒷꒦ disgustingly into anything involving his neck. you sneak up behind him, arms around his waist, lips on his neck for less than a second, and he growls, “You got ten seconds to stop before I start fucking you right here.”

Liu Woods/Sully

𓄧 at first, he’s unsure how to handle it. not in a “don’t touch me” way—he actually responds well to touch—but it scares him how much he likes it. he’s used to needing control, keeping his emotions tight, so having someone who’s always hugging him and kissing his cheek and calling him pet names just melts him. he just hides it very, very well.

𓄧 his reactions are delayed. you’ll wrap your arms around him from behind and it’ll take him a second to process it—but once he does, his hands automatically come to rest on yours, like his body reacts before his brain can argue.

𓄧 he’s not good at receiving affection without overthinking it. you nuzzle up to him on the couch and he’s immediately like: “What did I do to deserve this? Are you okay? Are you hiding something?” but he also lets out this tiny, quiet breath when you pet his hair, and that’s how you know he secretly loves it.

𓄧 obsessed with your hands. loves when you run your fingers along his jaw, lace your fingers with his, or cup his face when you kiss him. he has this internal reaction every time like he’s been hit in the chest with a shovel. never says a word about it, just keeps looking for it again and again.

𓄧 he needs physical affection, but he thinks it’s selfish to ask for it, so you’ll often find him standing too close to you, brushing up against you, subtly looking for contact like a stray cat that won’t admit it’s hungry. you sit in his lap and he freezes, then lets out the quietest laugh and leans into you like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

𓄧 he matches your affection in the softest ways. he’ll kiss your forehead when he passes you in the hallway. pulls you closer in bed while still asleep. kisses your hands every time you cup his face or play with his hair. all that subtle, quiet love that he’s never sure how to say out loud.

𓄧 Sully exists to protect the system—especially Liu. he’s not cruel or evil, but he is intense. he runs hot, emotional, and blunt. he’s used to hostility, so your affection throws him off at first, he doesn’t know what to do with it.

𓄧 you learned pretty early when someone else was fronting. the posture was different. the eyes were harder. he flinched less. and he didn’t say much—just stared like he was trying to figure you out like a puzzle.

𓄧 you once kissed his cheek mid-sentence and he just paused, mid-thought. blank and confused. “...What the hell was that for?”

you said “because I wanted to.”

and he stared another beat and muttered, “...Weird,” but he turned his face for you to kiss the other cheek as well. lol

𓄧 Sully doesn’t seek out affection, but once he starts to trust you, he starts allowing it. he’ll grunt when you hug him, but he won’t move away. he’ll scowl if you hold his hand, but he squeezes back. he’s used to being the one protecting, so being loved so openly makes him feel raw and seen in a way that’s almost unbearable. almost.

𓄧 he’s more physical in return than Liu, though. if you kiss him, he grabs your waist and kisses back like it’s a challenge. if you straddle his lap, he’ll start feeling you up instantly—legs, hips, ass, making it feel like it was his idea to begin with.

𓄧 when you cuddle up to him, he makes this sarcastic little noise like “ugh,” but his hands find your waist automatically. his body betrays him every time. he’s all sarcasm and sharp teeth, but he wraps around you like he’s been cold his whole life.

𓄧 after getting comfortable, he lowkey loves to tease you, but acts like it's just aversion to touch, just to fuck with you a bit. you lean in to kiss him and he turns his head last second so you miss his lips. if you pout, his mouth twitches like he's fighting a smile and he leans in with this low tone, "You gonna start crying? Can't you wait until I fuck it out of you?"

[junabuggy]

Hello! I saw your Toby headcanons, and as a Toby fan, I'd love some platonic Toby headcanons, if that's possible? Just kinda wanna see how he'd act with a friend that gets him, y'know? Thank you so much ^0^

𝐓𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐢 𝐓𝐨𝐛𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 !!

𝘈/𝘯: ofc !! I loooove writing for Toby hehe

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: None :*:·\(￣▽￣)/·:*·°★*

──★ ˙ ̟ 𝘚𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨??

☆• Honestly it'd probably take a while to actually befriend good 'ol Toby, but it's very worth it once you do !!

☆• Chaotic, but fun (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

☆• After missions he practically busts down your door and makes himself comfortable in your bed, yapping about his day and what happened during his mission for a while before deciding to watch random YouTube videos on your TV... Yeah, safe to say he's comfortable with you.

☆• Naturally, sleepovers happen a lot because he'll end up falling asleep

☆• BUT !1!!! If it's a planned one he's pulling all nighters with you (๑·̀ㅁ·́๑)✧

☆• Would find the silly 2010 quotev quizzes and tests funny, def engages in them with you

☆• Takes a "Which creepypasta character is your boyfriend?" one and gets himself 😭😭

☆• Deep talks late at night just about life and what he can remember from before.. only time he ever really does open up (even if he's still somewhat vague about certain stuff)

☆• INSIDE JOKES. He's a sucker for those

☆• Yes, the other pastas look at you two funny when he says a random word and you burst out into a fit of giggles, him trying (and failing) to hold back his own

☆• You guys have a secret and way too complex handshake you never fail to greet each other with

𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 ◟( ˃̶͈◡ ˂̶͈ )◞

ᯓ★ 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐲

[hylomania-au]

Original post

Blank vers under cut

[greenpumpkinart]

cowboys sparkle emoji

[annokan]

Yo Tobs! Being proxy is dangeous, take dis🤲

I do not recommend giving him cute things, he wants to taste the "cute"

[520-elic]

hello I just came across your blog, so nice seeing new writers on here !! I thought of a little one shot with Toby, some angst with maybe a little nsfw (as much as your comfortable with but it doesn’t have to be the main part of the story) also this is more of a chaotic young adult AU

plot. : reader and Toby are good friends and attend a party, there reader gets sum negative comments about her appearance by another peer (maybe another crp character) and is very troubled by it and Toby takes her to comfort her in a calmer area to avoid the loud music and ppl

"This can't be good.."

Ticci Toby x F!reader

Author notes ; thank you! I'm so excited to be spewing out more fanfics ^_^ i also wrote this in 3rd person. I hope that's okay!

Contains; body shaming, body image issues, comfort, body praise, fingering, oral (f receiving)

People shuffling, music blasting, the smell of alcohol was almost suffocating without the help of the back door being opened to the backyard.

All of her senses were being overloaded, the only thing keeping her grounded was Toby being next to her on the rickety old couch. Her eyes watched the other proxies infront of her, smiling and giggling mixed in with some song playing, Mr. Brightside by The Killers.

A sigh escaped her lips, catching Toby's attention. "W-whats with the face? We could g-go outside if you want." He suggested, already quick on his heels to stand up.

"Nah, I'm fine, Toby. Just.. a little overwhelming." She rubbed her temples before getting up with her best friend, feet moving through the crowd of killers. She pushed past the back door, hee shoes hitting the cool grass as the breeze immediately hit her face.

It was somewhat more calmer outside, muffled music being heard from the mansion behind them now.

She and Toby sat down in the grass, not speaking much with just some light conversation. Toby knew it was best to keep quiet so she could gather her bearings.

Suddenly, she felt his calloused hand slip into her, which earned a squeeze. Another sigh escaped from her lips, but it was one of relaxation. Toby's head rested in her lap, a soft hum coming from the back of his throat. Her free hand carded through his soft brown locks, scratching his scalp at times.

Her friendship with Toby was.. a little questionable to say the least. The two of them were practically glued to the hip, one of them being with the other no matter the situation. It was like a pair of magnets that could never be separated. She never questioned if Toby's affection crossed the line of it "just being platonic" since she enjoyed it to much to even care. But it did catch her attention whenever his hands rested on her hips for a little longer, or whenever he'd bury his face into her chest.

A cackling sound was heard from behind the two, earning an annoyed groan. It was Jeff, knowing how he got whenever he was drunk. He was more of a dick, pushing everyone's buttons to the point where Masky sucker punched him last time.

"What the fuck are youuuu guys doing?" He snorted, Jeff's words slurring due to being under the influence.

Toby tensed up, sitting up and standing infront of her. She stood up aswell, looking back and forth from Toby and Jeff.

"Just l-leave us alone." Toby mumbled slightly, avoiding eye contact with him. Jeff ruffled his hair, whiskey breath hitting both of their faces.

"Awww.. poor little Toby and his little girlfriend.." Jeff cackled, stumbling over his own feet for a moment. His eyes ran over their body.

"Tch, what are you wearing? I can practically see your stomach hanging out." She tensed from Jeff's words, her hands instinctively crossing over her body. Toby pushed Jeff's shoulders, not even registering what he did until after he did it.

Jeff huffed, pushing Toby back. "You think you're tough? Huh?!" Jeff snapped, pushing Toby again. The pushing eventually turned into wrestling eachother into the forest floor, then punches.

She watched in shock, everything giving her whiplash. Eventually she and Eyeless Jack had to rip the two apart, Toby's nose bleeding and Jeff's face covered in purple marks forming.

She led Toby back inside, the other proxies eyes wandering over them. She did her best to ignore it as they put Toby inside the bathroom, locking the door behind her. He sat on the edge of the toilet while she rummaged through the bottom of the sink, pulling out a first aid kit. The coldness of the alcohol pad touched Toby's eyebrow, earning no reaction from him since he fortunately cannot feel pain.

After cleaning up the blood running down his nostrils and the busted eyebrow and lip, Toby spoke up. "Are you o-okay?" He asked while looking up at her as if he wasn't the one who got practically slammed to the ground.

She was quiet before responding, the sound of the muffled music filling in the space. "I just don't.. uhm.." she huffed before spitting it out, " I didn't like how Jeff spoke about my body. That prick." She sat next to Toby on the edge of the tub, her knee touching his.

Toby responded, "Don't fuh-fucking listen to him. He doesn't know what he's talking about." He said sternly, looking into her eyes with his hands on top of hers. "You're one of the most beautiful people I've ever seen before."

Her eyes traced his, a faint blush appearing on her cheeks. She suddenly felt butterflies kicking her stomach, her hands becoming clammy- how long have they've been close to eachothers faces?

"Thanks.. I guess." She replied shyly, looking away. Toby chuckled softly, standing up while holding her hands in his still. "Wanna go back to my room? W-we don't gotta talk or do anything, I just wa-want us to get away from everyone and the noise."

She nodded, following a beeline out of the bathroom and into Toby's room. Once inside, Toby closes the door and stands hesitantly behind her. His room was dark, a small lamp being the only source of light being the fact that it was around 2AM at this point. Dirty clothes were scattered across the wooden floor, a half smoke blunt rested on top of an ash tray by his messy bed.

"Ah.. sorry for t-the mess. I didn't expect any guests to be in muh-my room." He laughed out of nervousness, a small bead of sweat going down his back.

She giggled from his shyness now, finding it adorable. "It's fine. My room is probably worser than yours." She teased. She sat on the edge of his bed before laying down fully, her head resting on his flat pillows. Toby followed suit, laying down next to her in the small twin sized bed. His arm was touching hers, her leg was touching his, tension was building up.

For some reason, for the first time while being friends with Toby in 4 years, there was an unbearable amount of tension. She looked over at him just to see that Toby was already staring at her first, looking away out of embarrassment. "Sorry.." He murmured, a small frown in the corners of his lips.

She had no idea what came over her, maybe it was the fact that Toby looked unbelievably good in this soft orange glow or because he just fought someone for her and yet still asked if she was okay, but she held his face. "Can I kiss you?" It slipped out before she could control it, feeling anxious tingles down her spine.

Toby's brown eyes widened, then pressed his lips to hers. It was quick and sweet, pulling back to look at eachother before diving back in. The kisses were more heated, uncoordinated, yet it brought pleasure. Heavy breaths were being heard from the both of them, hands grabbing at eachothers hair and clothes.

Toby's hands slid up and under her back, placing her on her back before straddling her hips. "Can I tuh-touch you? Please.." He asked breathlessly, chest heaving. She nods, his hands immediately taking off her shirt.

His face goes redder, the pale skin turning pink. His hands and eyes roamed over her collarbones then down her chest, going over her bra. Toby lets out a soft groan, the tightness in his pants getting more uncomfortable and harder to hide.

It was getting more humid in the small room, the music still blasting from downstairs with the sounds of people cheering and chattering.

She lets out a soft gasp when Toby's lips traced around her neck, his hot breaths hitting her skin. He couldn't help but sink his teeth down into her flesh, drawing out a moan from her lips and a smirk from him. After leaving unhideable hickeys under her jaw, his lips went down her body like a map and he was the sailor.

Breathless whines and moans filled the room, not really caring about being quiet anymore since everyone else was occupied with the party downstairs. His lips reached her stomach, mumbling soft praises, "You're so perfect.." Toby's hands reached her hips, pawing and groping.

His kisses reached down even further, lips reaching over the crotch of her jeans. She whined, fingers tugging at his hair. Toby laughed slightly against the denim fabric.

"What? Th-that desperate for me? Don't worry pretty, I got you." He sighed, teeth dragging down the zipper to her jeans.

Once the zipper was down, he slowly took off her jeans, appreciating every inch of skin. Toby immediately dug his head between her thighs, kissing and biting. It was messy, sure, but fuck it felt amazing.

She wrapped her thighs around his head, only for him to grab them and pin it to the bed, still licking at her inner thighs like a dog. His muscles flexed under the soft glow of the tiny lamp near his bed, his skinny and lean build having some muscles come to life.

"Mm.. I'm n-never letting you go after this.." Toby whined, shakey fingers tearing off her panties. He froze when he saw the slick built up, moaning from anticipation. "It just k-keeps getting better and better."

One index finger slowly pushed it's way into her heat, gravitating a loud moan from her. He pumped his finger in and out before adding a second one, lewd wet sloppy sounds filling the air along with their shared groans.

At this point she was seeing stars just from his fingers alone, but when he added his lips to her clit? She gasped out, back arching with toes curling. She was seeing galaxies. "W-wait! I can't!-" She cried out, trying not to finish too early. But hell, it was hard since she had never had company downstairs unless it was her own hands.

She felt Toby's free hand claw at her stomach, moaning into her wet core. He made loud slurping sounds, the gash on his cheek having saliva spill out from the side. "You're s-so good.. your body is a fucking ma-masterpiece. Cmon, don't hold back on me now." Toby smirked from between her trembling legs, his chin damp.

"Toby!-" is all she practically sobbed out before finishing, hard. Trembles went down her veins, her head empty, her body feeling light. It took her a second before opening her eyes, looking down at Toby who was already licking up her sweet release.

He looked up at her with a boyish grin "W-was that okay?" He questioned, a glint of genuine hope in his dark eyes. She nodded, rubbing his head.

"Yeah.. just need a second." She breathed out, closing her eyes again while lolling her head back down onto his pillows.

The both of them weren't that aware of how loud they were being until someone banged on Toby's door, Masky's voice being heard. "Will you two quit it?! I'm tryin' to take a piss!"

She and Toby giggled with embarrassed flush on their faces. If it wasn't obvious now, she were for sure certain that this wouldn't be the last time being in Toby's room.

[raihann1]

past jeff and ben and toby headcanons with a best friend :3

𓈒⟡₊⋆∘BEN and Toby with a bestfriend from their past☆

NOTES: bro I know its you L1nk 😛

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚✶🦋☆🦋★🦋☆🦋★🦋✶ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

TOBIAS ERIN RODGERS🪓

Friends, he doesn't have any 😔

Your his top priority besides other things, he's very self concious and you have to reassure you aren't being friends with him as a joke.

VERY grateful you chose to be friends with him

Your relationship is like childhood friends that act like siblings.

Still acts childish so he'll still make you build forts or watch try not to laughs 😔

He likes to talk about his father and how he's struggling.

Will always try and defend you :(

Years past and soon, you never saw him agian. You believed he was dead

Your his only friend, his only real one. So don't go. He's watching.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚✶🪽☆🪽★🪽☆🪽★🪽✶ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

Benjamin Lawman/BEN DROWNED 🎮

He never wanted friends, pft who needs friends.

He just has his games and thats all that matters.

You ended up meeting him through a get together with family friends.

He was playing on his console ignoring everyone untill he noticed you were on your parents phone bored like him 💀

You guys kind of just. Stared 🧍‍♂️

He approached you, sitting next to you and asked

"You bored too?"

Since you were both kids you'd talk about random shit at school.

"I heard the teacher smokes"

"No way 😭"

You bonded quickly!

By the end you've talked for hours! Ben even refused to leave without you.

You eventually met often.

talked, games, sleepovers, all nighters, cheesy horror games, summoning ghosts.

You never saw him agian once he was 12.

You've met with a terrible fate haven't you?

---------------------------------------

[spookdvde]

more ticcijeff stuff 🐦‍⬛

[blueeecatwuawua]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE MOST GORGEOUS PRECIOUS LITTLE RACCOON ON THIS PLANET HEART🩷🩷

Hi. It's Toby's birthday :3

30 añitos la criaturita (según mis cálculos probablemente mal calculados)

[noctiva]

A Change Of Heart

Toby Rogers x F!Reader [NSFW!]

(Toby birthday extravaganza!)

-

-

WC: 6.5k

Summary: Your boyfriend Toby doesn’t celebrate his birthday. Each year, you try to change that. This year, you think you’ve succeeded.

CW: 18+ content, explicit sexual content, sappy gooey mushy shit, they are in LOVE your honour, praise + sweet talk, sloppy makeouts, dry humping, vaginal fingering, semi-clothed sex, creampie, barely any warnings except a sickening amount of sweetness, bc it’s his birthday he deserves to be happy <3

-

NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

-

Your boyfriend Toby doesn’t celebrate his birthday.

You supposed that you couldn’t exactly blame him. A birthday to him was just another trip around the sun. Another reminder of the fact that he spent yet another year burying bodies in the ground.

You understood it. Tried to, at least. His distaste towards celebration and grandeur. The scowl that would tug at his lips whenever someone wished him a ‘happy birthday’. You had tried to remedy it early in your relationship, with thoughtful gifts and treats you had stayed up all night baking, but you could see it in his eyes every time he whispered a soft ‘thank you’. It was resignation, not true gratitude. Smiling to make you happy, because he wouldn’t want all of your efforts to go to waste.

But deep down you knew what he was wishing. That you’d just forget about it for a year. Let him forget about it for a year. Aging. Living. The cruelty of it all.

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate your efforts - he did. You were the first person to truly try to celebrate with him since his mother. But maybe, that was the true issue. It was difficult to share a slice of cake with you without thinking of the times when he was young, sat around his dining table whilst his family waited for him to blow out his candles. It was the one day his father bit back his harsh words. It was the one day his mother’s smile didn’t look so strained.

To try and relive that now, cutting the cake you baked him with his bloodstained hands - it just felt like some cheap imitation. Like he was trying to hide in the past, turn a blind eye to who he had turned out to be.

People like him, didn’t deserve to celebrate.

And so, you had given up for a while. Went from going out into town to buy him something new, to rehashing an old gift from a few years prior. Homemade cakes, to store bought. Candles, for a kiss on the cheek instead. You started wondering if maybe you were selfish. If maybe, you were doing all of this for yourself, not him - to prove that you were in fact the loving partner you tried to be.

If you were, maybe you’d just stop and abide to his wishes.

So eventually you do. Sort of.

You wake on the morning of Toby’s birthday before he does, letting out a soft yawn that you quickly stifle in an effort not to wake him. He lies beside you - passed out cold, snoring with drool seeping out of the corner of his mouth, the mess of brunette hair atop his head tangled and knotted from tossing and turning. His eyes are fluttered closed, face smushed into his pillow and the blanket haphazardly thrown over him, barely covering his bare chest - which was pebbled with goosebumps.

You pull the blankets over his shoulders before you slip out of bed.

Quiet as you can, tiptoeing when your feet hit the hardwood floor. Avoiding every plank that you knew made a creak. Toby slept heavy, but his instincts weren’t something to be fucked with. If his sleeping body got even an ounce of the idea that you were no longer beside him - he would be waking up. He had many, many times before, when you were just crawling out of bed to grab a glass of water. So this time around you make sure to be extra sneaky, triple checking that he’s actually still sleeping before you open the bedroom door just a crack and slip through it.

To the kitchen you go, socked feet padding against the floor of your shared cabin - goosebumps raising on your arms as the morning chills drifts in through your faulty insulation. In just a tshirt and panties, you shiver, but consider it to be a less important issue at the moment. You had better things to focus on.

Like making Toby breakfast.

You start with the coffee maker. Two scoops of the blend he liked best, though you personally thought it tasted like cardboard. Barely a step above instant. But the look of satisfaction he got when he took a sip was what you were aiming for, and so you go through with it despite your distaste.

Then, to the stove. Toby was easy when it came to breakfast. Something sweet, with something savoury to balance it out. Most days, you’d find him shoving a barely toasted slice of bread in his mouth before marching out the door for a mission, but on days when he had the time - that’s what he’d make. Cooking for you with a smile of his face, goggles pushed up onto his forehead to keep stray hair out of his vision. Letting you help only so that he had an excuse to pull you in close and leave flour handprints on your hips and ass.

Such a mundane scene, and yet it was the sort of domestic bliss that Toby had made the norm for you - even if his way of life was anything less than normal.

You’d like to return the favour for him.

Two eggs get cracked into a bowl, then three cups of flour. A little bit of sugar, milk, and a pinch of salt later - you have a pretty solid batter. Which, you immediately start scooping up into the waffle maker you had preheating. The mixture sizzles when it meets the hot surface, the sweet smell of home cooked breakfast almost immediately wafting into the air and meeting your nostrils.

You smile, then close the lid.

Next, you go the the fridge and take out a pack of bacon. You peel out a few strips from the pack, place them into the pan you had waiting for them, and turn the burner on to medium heat. It doesn’t take long for those to start sizzling as well.

It also doesn’t take long for Toby to wake up. As stealthy as you could possibly be, and yet you should’ve known that you still wouldn’t have been able to slip past him. It was like he had an internal alarm system built in, one that started blaring the moment you weren’t snug next to him.

“S-Somethin’ smells good. You cooking?” Toby’s voice - low, raspy, and thick with sleep - meets your ears and cuts through the sound of food cooking. So unexpected that you quite literally jump, letting out a soft yelp and fumbling to catch the spatula that had nearly slipped out of your hands in shock.

“Toby!” You whip your head around, eyes wide, gaze locking on the sight of him freshly rolled out of bed. His hair is a mess, knotted and sticking up at odd angles, and his eyes are still drooping. He lets out a soft yawn and reaches a hand up to cover his mouth, his torso still bare - plaid pyjama pants hanging low on his hips. “You- Go back to bed!” You point an accusatory spatula at him, to which he raises an eyebrow in amusement. “You’re not supposed to be up.”

“Well, I am.” Toby snorts, crossing his arms over his chest before leaning up against the doorframe. “You th-thought you were being sneaky?” He eyes your soft pout, and his gaze softens. “The smell of cooked bacon could wake up the- the dead y’know.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, trying his best not to burst into a fit of laughter over just how distraught you look over his presence, before shaking his head in amused disbelief. “Why’s it m-matter anyway? You weren’t trying the whole b-breakfast in bed thing, were you?”

“I wanted to surprise you.” You huff, shoulders sagging in defeat. “But you ruined it.”

“No, no-“ Toby lets out a soft laugh before pushing off the wall, lazily making his way into the kitchen to meet you. “Colour me s-surprised. It’s not often you-you’re up before I am.” He leans his head down to place a soft kiss against your cheek, before reaching up to give your hair a little ruffle. “Though, I-I will say that I thought you had gotten over all of this…” His hand gives your hip a lingering squeeze, before he’s withdrawing - making his way over to the counter where the coffee was brewing.

”Over what?” You ask, tearing your eyes away for hm for a moment just to check on how the bacon was holding up.

”This.” Toby laughs softly. “Birthday stuff. Thought you finally came o-over to my side on the topic.”

”You think this is for your birthday?” You scoff dramatically and cross your arms over your chest. You avoid Toby’s gaze, because you just know how he’s looking at you. Disbelieving, for good reason, because he had seen right through you. “Maybe I just wanted to cook for you. Has nothing to do with you getting old.”

”Getting old.” Toby snorts, unable to help himself from rolling his eyes as he leans his hip up against the countertop. His gaze flickers over to the coffee maker, to the jar of grinds next to it - and he raises an eyebrow as he lets out a soft hum. “You ha-hate this stuff.” He mutters, giving the tin of coffee grinds a little nudge.

You do. Unequivocally. But you didn’t have yourself in mind when you brewed them.

”Yeah, I do.” You agree, shooting him a look before you turn the burner off, sliding the pan of bacon over to a burner that was cool. “But you don’t.”

It’s such a simple gesture, something so easily looked over. And yet to Toby? It means the world. A small sacrifice, but it was one you were making for him. Out of the good of your heart, simply because you loved him. Because you wanted him to be happy.

Maybe, over the past few years, he had been too wrapped up in his own melancholy to truly realize that.

”You know..” Toby casts one last look over to the jar of coffee grinds, before pushing himself off of the counter once more. Gravitating to you once again - his hands drawn to your hips like two magnets to one another. And when he touches you, he finally feels whole again. Two pieces snapping into place. “You d-don’t have to try so hard.” His hands give your waist a gentle squeeze, his chest tightening at the feeling of you relaxing into his hold so easily. It may have been awhile, but that fact never got old. “Waking up with you n-next to me is all I could really ask for.” His head tucks into the crook of your neck, pressing a soft kiss against the slope of your shoulder. “All I could ever ne-need.”

“I just..” With his hands on your waist, you let it a soft sigh before leaning back against his chest. Ignoring it even as the waffle maker’s timer goes off - three consecutive beeps trying to catch your attention but failing miserably. How could you not be distracted? Even a siren blaring would fall on deaf ears to you right now, with Toby’s body warmth seeping into your skin. His heartbeat thrumming against your back, feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath he takes. So tangible. Each exhale a reminder that he’s here with you. That though another year has passed, he’s still here. “I want you to feel special, Toby. I want you to know how much you mean to me”

”I do know.” Toby’s response is immediate, whispered against your skin like a prayer. “You know what I th-think?” His hands gently spin you around in his hold, and his gaze nearly buckles you completely. So soft. So warm it makes your heart skip a beat. Toby’s staring down at you as if you’ve given him the entire world, though you haven’t even finished breakfast for him yet. “I think you’re the strongest woman in the wo-world.” He dips his head downwards, pressing his forehead against yours. “How many ye-years has it been now? I know it hasn’t b-been easy. Not with what I d-do.”

You breathe out a shaky sigh, closing your eyes for just a moment before they’re fluttering open again to meet his.

”I don’t think about that stuff, Toby.” You breathe out, before reaching a hand up to brush a few strands of hair out of his eyes. “Doesn’t matter. I’m just glad you’re here. I don’t care what you do.”

”A-And that’s why you’re so special.” Toby hums, his lips curling up at the corners. Then he’s closing the distance, just to press the softest of kisses to the tip of your nose. “You’re really good at… A-At seeing good.” Slowly he backs you up. Gently. One step at a time. Walking with you, with the tips of his toes just barely brushing yours, until the small of your back is pressed against the kitchen counter. “The whole re-reason I don’t like celebr-brating is because I don’t think…” He pauses for a moment, his eyes flickering with emotion. “I don’t think I deserve it. I don’t think-think I’m a good enough person to warrant celebrating.”

He watches as your lips tug downwards, and lets out a soft huff through his nose - before reaching up to gently pinch your chin between his fingers. “Don’t get that look on your f-face.”

”I don’t like it when you talk bad about yourself.” You mutter softly. You nudge his hand with your cheek until he’s cupping your face, the warmth of his calloused palm making your heart flutter. Just like it always did. Just like it always would.

”Well, good th-thing I’m not done talking then.” Toby hums back to you. “I was going to say, that you make it e-easy to believe that I am.” You watch how his eyes warm, deep dark irises thawing like a frozen lake in spring. “That I’m good. That I deserve it.”

”You are, and you do.” You don’t even hesitate. You say those words back to him like they’re the only facts that you’ve ever known. And maybe they are. You’ve known them since you first met him, and have believed them ever since. Even when he came home drenched in blood. Even when his hands would be shaking so bad that even you holding them wouldn’t ease it all away. He was good. Troubled, sure, but deep down you were absolutely sure of it.

He was a good person. You don’t think you’d still be around if he wasn’t.

”I love you.” Toby’s breath tickles your noise when he speaks out that soft confession. All soft and sweet, almost shy - like he hadn’t said those words to you a million times over. Today though, it’s different and you know it. You can feel it in the air, how an invisible weight lifted off of his shoulders when he whispered them to you. A sigh of relief. Gratitude, because he knows that you meant every word that you had said. That you believed them.

Maybe that was why it was so easy for him to start believing them too.

”I love you too.” You murmur back to him, your eyes sparkling with adoration as you gaze up at him. Encased in your own little personal bubble right now, one where the horrors of the world outside simply didn’t exist. “Happy birthday.” You offer him a soft smile, and for once - Toby returns it. He doesn’t grumble out something out of annoyance, or ignore you completely in attempts to brush off the meaning of the day.

Today he accepts it.

”Thank you.” And then he’s leaning down, messy strands of brunette hair tickling your forehead. His nose brushes against yours before he slots your lips together. Gentle. Sweet. So much packed within his actions that he could never find the words for. That was alright though, you could understand him perfectly.

Your hands drift upwards. Giving his hands a soft squeeze before trailing up his arms. Savouring every inch of skin beneath your fingertips as you climb higher. Over his shoulders, mapping his scars like braille as your fingers dance up his neck. Cupping the back of his head, curling into his hair, catching on a few knots but not caring in the slightest. You pull him down gently, guiding him to you with tender touches that leave his knees weak.

If your daily actions didn’t show how much you loved him, then your kisses definitely did. It never changed how much devotion you poured into one simple action. Kissing him like the key to eternal life was found on his lips. Hands in his hair, weaving the strands around your fingers like it was the finest silk. Like letting go of him would wound you.

He sure felt like it would wound him.

He kisses you soft and slow, even as his hands press your hips back against the countertop, and his knee finds a home sliding between your thighs. He’s careful with it, like he’s scared he could break you. A fear he had simply never gotten over. He didn’t think he ever could. You were the one good thing. The one raw of sun peeking through the perpetual cloudy day that was his life. You were everything.

And somehow, you were his.

His lips part against yours and you concede easily, following his lead as you do the same. Letting him lick into your mouth with a soft moan rumbling from his chest, his hands twitching and trembling where they squeeze your waist. Thumbs smoothing soft circles against your hipbones, his body drifting in closer to yours - like one magnet to another. Leaning in until his chest was meeting yours, his body curled over yours like he was trying to shield you from the world.

Lips sloppily sliding against one another, Toby swallows down your breathy moans like they were ambrosia. You can hear it - feel it - when his breathing starts to grow shaky. Soft, trembling huffs of breath through his nose that tickle your skin upon contact. But you’re not much better. Toby had a certain way of stealing your breath away every time his skin met yours, every time his lips tasted yours.

Toby kissed you like he needed your air to breathe. Like he was drowning, and the only air available had to be stolen from your lips.

You didn’t mind it at all. You’d give him it all, right down to the last drop of oxygen in your lungs.

He knew that already.

His lips break from yours just to trail kisses from the corner of your mouth, down your cheek and across your jawline. Sloppy, messy, breathing shaky between each smeared kiss. But he’s not rushing it. He’s savouring it. Like he was trying to lap up every drop of sweat on your skin, to commit the taste to memory. “I love you.” He presses those words into the crook of your neck as his hands begin to wonder, shaky as they slip down low and under them hem of the shirt you had worn to bed. “God, I love you.” Again, as his palms smooth up your bare stomach - his calloused hands rough against skin so soft - and yet it feels like the perfect contrast. Feels like they were moulded for the simple purpose of just touching you.

It was hard to believe that hands like this, hands that stitched you back together at the seams, dealt damage beyond all repair when he wasn’t with you. If only that mattered to you at all.

”I love you too.” You murmur Mack to him, eyes flutter when his hands drift higher - up, up, bringing the fabric of your shirt with it - leaving goosebumps to pebble your skin when its exposed to the air of your kitchen for the first time. “I love you more.“ You gasp when his hands find their destination, cupping your tits gently - pleased at the fact that he had caught you so early in the morning. Braless and beautiful, the flesh beneath his palms so soft when he kneads it softly. A soft rumble of appreciation vibrates against your shoulder, right as your breath catches in your throat.

”Not true.” His thumbs roll over your nipples, and you can feel his lips curl up into a smile against your skin when they perk up beneath his touch. “B-But let’s not fight, baby.” He gives the crook of your neck a soft nip, just to make you jolt. “It’s my b-birthday.”

You can’t help but let out a huff of laughter, your body just going more and more pliant with each touch dealt upon your all too reactive body. But that was all his fault. He knew just what buttons to press, to have your knees going weak.

But of course, the same was true for you.

You lean up onto your tiptoes to nudge your way into the crook of his neck, lips meeting his skin, and you can feel it when his muscles all but lock up. You don’t stop there, letting out a gentle giggle right next to his ear before you’re catching the lobe between your teeth - giving it a soft nip that pulls a strained groan from Toby’s lungs. “Cheeky.” You hear him mutter, his voice dropping down lower than before. You knew what that meant, but you had also known where this was going from the very start.

His hands slide out from underneath your shirt and slip under your thighs, arms flexing when he lifts you up so easily it makes you let out a little yelp of surprise. Followed up quickly, by a giggle of glee when he’s leaning his head back down again to press a kiss against the tip of your nose. “Breakfast is g-gonna go cold.” He hums, nuzzling his nose against yours as he gently sets you down onto the countertop. Bare legs dangling around his hips, you smile up at him with stars in your eyes. Reaching out to pull him in once more - not satisfied until he was invading your personal space again. Skin to skin, feeling his heart beat against yours, “That’s a sh-shame. You got up early and e-everything.”

”Oh, that’s alright.” Your lift your legs to wrap around his waist, ankles locking behind his back in an action that had one of his eyebrows quirking playfully. “You woke up before I got much done anyway.” A kiss to the tip of his nose. “I can pick up where i left off later.”

”In favour of d-doing what?” Toby’s lips twitch up into a coy smirk, his hands tugging your hips forwards until they’re completely flush to his. Letting you feel the growing bulge he had been sporting, barely concealed by the thin material of his pyjama pants. Your hips almost immediately buck at the contact. “You-You know, you coulda’ just woke me up like th-this.” His lips meet yours again in the form of a soft peck, his hands guiding your eager hips to rock and his gently. Nothing too insistent, just really letting you feel it all. Getting your breathing shaky and shallow. Getting your thighs trembling where they have him locked in place, “I wouldn’t have ha-had any complaints.”

”Oh, I bet you wouldn’t.” You giggle, but the words do cut of abruptly when he’s pressing in closer, grinning his clothed length against your barely concealed core. He’s pulled a moan from the both of you, his hands tightening their hold on your hips while yours to the same to his shoulders - nails biting into his skin. “You… You’re not subtle-“ You huff out, your eyes flickering up to this as a soft flush starts creeping onto your cheeks. Making the heat rising within you all too evident to the man who was stoking it.

”I’m n-not trying to be.” Toby laughs against your lips, before giving you another soft kiss - tugging you down against him against just to feel the shudder that racks your body. “Why would I b-be subtle around you? How can I be?” The slow rhythm from before had turned into something more insistent, fuelled by desire. Dragging your clothed cunt against him with every buck of his hips. Shaky breathing turning into laboured panting. Eyes hazy. Skin pink and hot to the touch. “You’re the p-prettiest girl in the world. It’s difficult to try and be a-all cool and aloof around you.”

”Well, good. I like it that way.” Your hands creep upwards to grasp at his hair once again before you’re pulling him down to meet your lips with more pressure. Much messier this time around. Two flaming hot balls of desire that were feeding off of one another, drinking up each other’s soft noises and whispered words of devotion.

Hands getting greedier, ruffling clothes. He’s palming your breasts through your shirt while the other one tugs at the waistband of your panties. You’re clawing at his scalp with blunt fingernails, while your other hand grabs at the waistband of his pants - fingers curling beneath it. Growing more and more impatient, more and more frantic - like the clothes you wore were insulting. And, maybe the were, in the way they were a barrier between him and you. “Toby-“ You unfurl your legs from around his hips just to make it easier for him when he starts dragging the material of your panties down your thighs. Lifting your hips a little, shaking your ankle to free yourself when they get caught there.

It’s clumsy, and uncoordinated, but that’s not all it is. It’s warm and smooth. It’s giggles between kisses when his nose bumps against yours, its eyes crinkled up in adoration when he tells you he loves you for the nth time. It’s real, and its raw. It’s Toby’s hands when they smooth up your thighs - his breath hitching in awe when his fingers meet your core. Looking at you with near amazement in his eyes when he feels how wet you are for him already. Like its a blessing, a gift. Like he still can’t believe you’re a tangible being - all his to touch upon.

”Have I-I ever told you how pretty you are?” Toby’s asking as he swipes his fingers through the slickness, the digits trembling as they find your clit - smearing your essence against your folds. His pupils blown out and his eyes foggy as he watches your eyebrows furrow together, watches how your lips part in pleasure when he adds just the right amount of pressure. Rolling the swollen nub just the way you like it. Slow and steady, nothing too frantic, building and building that heat at a controlled pace.

“You-“ You let out a hiss through your teeth when your pleasure spikes, a result of him pressing his thumb down with just a little bit more intent. He can feel how your cunt pulses beneath his touch, getting wetter and wetter with every movement he makes. Incredible. “You have.” You peel your eyes open to meet his gaze, an amused smile on your lips even as your chest heaves. “Probably- Probably about ten minutes ago.”

”Ah, too long.” Toby watches with a tender smile, the way your face completely melts when he slips a finger inside you. Curling it into your wet heat while his thumb gives your clit all the love in the world. Enamoured with the way your breathing gets more strained, how your thighs tremble as your hips buck up to meet his touch. That pretty blush of yours creeping down your neck as your eyes go hazier and hazier. Twitching around him - hot, velvety, and pulsating - it sends a shiver down his spine, and a wave of heat straight to his dick. “You’re pretty.” He murmurs to you softly, bringing his other hand up to cup the back of your head - keeping your pliant body upright as you begin to crumble. “You’re so pretty, it m-makes my chest hurt.” Your eyebrows pinch together, bottom lip wobbling. “Makes m-my head go foggy. Makes me wo-wonder what I ever did to deserve you.”

He dips his head down to nuzzle against your neck, stubble scratching against your soft skin. “What I ever d-did to deserve a girl who could make me like my b-birthday again.” He crooks his finger just right, rubbing up against that sweet bundle of nerves within you and pushing you over the edge so sweetly. So gentle, and yet it still leaves your head spinning. Still has you gasping and moaning out his name as you claw at his shoulders and tug him in closer - your pussy pulsing around his finger and twitching beneath the pad of his thumb.

Moaning out his name into the cool air of your shared kitchen, it sounds like gospel to him. Sounds like the song of an angel - so sweet, it stuck to his ears like molasses. He doesn’t think he ever knew how lovely his name could sound, until he was hearing it from your lips. “You alright?” He asks you softly, eyes on you as he slipped his finger out of you - still rubbing gentle circles against your clit even when the overstimulation had your hips twitching involuntarily. Your vision is foggy, and Toby looks like a dream as he stands before you - his chest heaving with every breath he takes. Just barely masking the heated emotions swimming around in his irises. So, you nod. Because you know you want more of him. You always do. “Can I give you m-more?”

”Please.” You pull him down for another kiss before he can even ask if you’re sure. Spreading your thighs apart wider and inviting him in. Your tongue licking against his when you feel one hand leave you in favour of pulling down the waistband of your pants. His cock is hard and throbbing when it comes to rest against your cunt, so desperate that just freeing it to the cool air has him gasping into your mouth. Grinding it against the slickness of your core had him biting back groans against your lips.

”Love you s-so fuckin’ much.” He’s muttering out again, like he’d die if he didn’t tell at least once every five minutes. His lips sliding against yours messily, the words are muffled - but they sound just as lovely, because they’re formed out of his voice. “More than anything.” And then he’s pressing against you, all nice and slick from the wetness that had seeped out of your core - nudging against your entrance which welcomed him to beautiful. Kissing the head of his cock with a warmth that already had him moaning into your mouth.

”Love you too.” Your fingers claw at his neck when his hips nudge forwards, still so sensitive from your last release that the stretch his cock gives you feels godly. Filling you up in a way that he could, like his body had been carved to fulfil yours. Like he had been made for you, just as you for him. That’s what it sure felt like as his arms came up to wrap around you - cradling your body close to his as he sunk himself in deeper and deeper. One inch at a time, each one more mind numbing than the last.

He was heaven. Your heaven. He made you feel whole, wiped every single thought from your mind that wasn’t about him. He brought a shiver to your bones that no one else could replicate. Had electricity zapping up your spine when his hips came flush with yours.

Again, your legs wrap around his waist and lock there as you melt into him - pressing your face into his neck to gasp against his skin. You can feel your wetness seeping out around his cock, and so can he - soft curses slipping from his lips as his hands begin to tremble. He draws his hips back slowly, like he’s savouring every second of having your tight heat wrapped around him. He was. You were so warm and wet, and he’d swear to you that you just got better every single time. Winding him every time he got the blessing of burying himself in your sweet, sweet body. Looking so beautiful every time you fall apart for him.

”S-So good-“ He gasps out, his grip almost suffocating when he presses back in - his eyes fluttering as he starts gently rocking into your pliant body. Burying his face into your hair and pressing kisses to the crown of your head, a strangled groan rumbling from his lungs every time his hips met yours. “Fuck- You’re i-incredible.” He breathes out those words in a strangled breath, awe dripping off of every letter. Like even after all this time, he still can’t believe that you’re here. That you’re here, and you’re his. Right beneath his fingertips. “My girl.” His hands slip down low as his cock drags against your walls, his pace slow and controlled - letting you really feel it every time your body stretched open to take him in. Letting you feel all those butterflies that fluttered around in your gut when he nudged up against your gspot. “You’re so g-good to me.”

Large palms splay against your ass cheeks, nails digging into the soft flesh as he guides you hips back to meet every thrust. His eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, his lips parted just to gasp out your praises. “You-You’re perfect. So perfect. Don’t even gotta try.”

And you’d like to tell him the same. That to you, he’s the entire world and then some, but it’s a little hard to get the words out when each thrust in has you choking on your own breaths. When each nudge of his hips has your brain turning to static.

So you tell him in the only way you can.

“I love you.” You cry out, your voice shaky and broken, before you’re lifting your head out of the crook of his neck and nudging your face close to his. Peppering his face with sloppy kisses though your main objective are his lips. You’re having a hard time not completely falling to pieces though, and so it’s no surprise that you miss the mark.

Not that Toby minds at all. You’ve got his heart fluttering as you press spit-slick kisses against his cheeks, his nose, his chin, his jaw. Coating him in kisses that leave his skin tingling as a shudder wracks his shoulders. Getting to watch nice up close and personal as your face crumples in pleasure and your finger shakily grab at any part of him you can reach.

His hair, slipping down his neck to claw at his shoulders, grasping at his biceps with trembling fingers. Like his skin grounded you. Like he was all you needed to feel whole.

He was. “Love you-“ You gasp out again, your thighs squeezing around him tighter as that pleasure starts to crest once more. Your skin buzzing from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes, your lips wobbling when they finally meet his once more. Your words broken when you gasp against his mouth. “Fuck- I love you.” He savours each letter that spills against his tongue, somehow managing to pull you in even closer as his hips begin to stutter. Trying to fight it off, but it’s difficult to when you’re melting before him - slipping through his fingers like ice cream on a hot day.

Crumbling apart so beautifully, gazing up at him with that glassy eyed look of devotion - like he had hung the stars in the sky. Like he was the reason the sun rose every morning.

You buckled him. Turned his joints to goo and his brain to mush. Made his heart so warm he’d swear it was close to bursting out of his chest.

You made him feel so loved, in every single thing that you did. Every single word you said.

From picking his favourite coffee grinds over yours, to moaning your devotion against his sweat slick skin.

He had meant it when he said he wasn’t quite sure what he did to deserve you, but maybe he was starting to realize that he didn’t need to do anything at all. You just loved him - and love isn’t something to be deserved, it’s something to be given.

So maybe he should just stop worrying. Maybe, he should just be grateful for the gift of your presence.

Maybe, he should stop wondering if it’s all enough. If you truly understand how much he means it when he tells you he loves you.

He’s sure you do. And he’s sure that what you feel for him is just as potent.

Tears dot your lash line when you fall apart in his arms again, your lips parting against his as you moan out the sweetest song - your fingernails scratching red and raised notes of devotion against his neck and shoulders. Marking him as yours for the millionth time over, a physical reminder for when his mind turns on him again. You loved him, you did, and your eyes sparkle with nothing but that as you gaze up into his eyes - pulling him down with you with just one look.

“I love you.” He tells you, as his thrusts go sloppy. “I love you.” He says it again even as the overwhelming pleasure tries to choke out the words. “I love you.” Panted against your neck, his whole body trembling as ecstasy racks his body from head to toe - his iron grip on you being the only thing that keeps him from buckling completely. “I love you.” Again, as you feel warmth bloom inside you, as you feel it drip down your thighs. “I love you.” Like he could never say it enough, even as his body crumples against yours - weak and shaky.

And for a moment, that’s all he does. Fallen against you, his body enveloping yours - the heat from his skin leeching into your bones as his heart beat syncs up with your pulse. Breathing out those words on every exhale, like they’re the only thing he knows how to say.

Right then, they are.

“I love you too, Toby.” You murmur back to him once you catch your breath, and though your arms are weak, you still lift one just so that you can cup his face and smooth your thumb against his cheekbone. “More than anything in the world.” You lean in, and press one more lingering kiss against his lips - to which he melts against you all over again. “Happy birthday.”

And he smiles. Soft, sweet and boyish. Dimples in his cheeks as his eyes crinkle up, a soft little huff of laughter slipping from behind his teeth. You think it might be the youngest he’s looked in years.

“Thank you.” He breathes back to you, leaning into your touch. “Do you…” He looks over to the stove, where the meal you had been preparing had been so quickly abandoned, and he lets out a soft giggle. “D-Do you think it’s gone cold?”

“Duh.” You snort, before gently pinching his cheek. “But that’s alright. The coffee’s still hot, at least.”

Toby’s grin somehow manages to stretch wider, and he chuckles lightly before nodding in agreement.

The coffee was still hot.

—————————————————————————☆

this is the most sickeningly sweet thing I’ve written in awhile but that’s what toby deserves on his big day

happy birthday to the only man to ever exist <3

[horny-marbles]

PLS DO MORE TOBY LIL FICS PLS PLS PLS I LOVED THE OBSESSED READER SHIZZ AND THE ENITRE PLOT wondering if you’ll write more of those bc I deadass loved that fic and everysingle writings you publish

babe... ask and you shall receive 🙏🏻 but thank you so much ahhhh!!! currently working on some requests but i have an extensive list of shit for toby that's clawing at my hands everytime i open my notes app lol THEY'RE COMING

ꋪꏂ꒯ ꒒ꋬꉔꏂ (Ticci Toby x F!Reader)

CW: stalking, home invasion, themes of obsession, creep behavior lol, feral drooling toby that curses like a sailor, degradation but in an adoring way, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving), squirting, some mild biting and choking, a liiiittle anal play, creampie

summary: you're a regular ass chick that never looks twice over her shoulder because who the hell would stalk you? well...

word count 7k

It started on a night so cold the air cut. Winter didn’t feel like a season—it felt like punishment. Every breath stung lungs raw, wind bit through the alleyways like teeth and the snow—sharp-edged and crusted with ice—cracked under heavy boots. No one with a working brain was outside. No one except you.

You, and Toby.

You stormed down the sidewalk like it owed you money, diner work uniform half-tucked under a coat three sizes bigger, carrying a greasy bag of cold leftovers. The street was dead silent, a graveyard of snowplowed sludge and flickering streetlamps. You didn’t care. You never seemed to care.

“Fuckin’ hell—shit,” you grumbled as your foot skidded on a patch of black ice. “If I eat it and die out here, I hope someone loots my corpse.”

Your voice punched into the stillness like a brick through glass.

That was the moment.

Toby hadn’t been following you. He didn’t do that shit—didn’t have the patience, didn’t care enough about people to watch them. Stalking missions were the worst. All that sneaking around just to gut someone later anyway. Waste of time. He was just... out. He liked the cold. Couldn't feel it, but liked how it made the world shut up. No traffic, no people, just silence and sharp air.

But your voice cut through the air like you were the only thing alive. Sharp, pissed-off, no filter. Not afraid. Not aware.

From the dark between two alley dumpsters, his head tilted.

You looked like nobody. Plain. Tired. Lips cracked from the cold, hair stuffed under a beanie, boots scuffed to hell. The kind of girl people forgot after ten seconds. You smelled like fryer grease and cheap soap. You didn’t check over your shoulder once.

You didn’t give a fuck.

That was what made him follow.

You were pissed at the ground. That was your crime. The moment he saw your middle finger fly up at a mailbox when your elbow clipped it, something ugly flared up in his chest. You weren’t trying to be seen—but he couldn’t stop looking. There was something fucking wrong with the way you grabbed his attention like that. Like instinct. Like hunger.

He trailed you all the way back. A little closer than he should’ve, just to test if you’d notice.

You didn’t.

Inside, you moved like a creature in its habitat—half-unconscious, messy, private. You dropped your keys on the counter, kicked your shoes off, threw your snow damp coat across a chair without shutting the blinds. Your apartment lights made you glow from where he crouched across the street, barely breathing, pupils blown.

He thought about leaving. Just a glance. Just curiosity.

Then you started undressing.

Not slow. Not sexy. Just peeled your shirt off like it was suffocating you, tugged your bra straps down without a second thought, tits bouncing a little as you yanked the whole thing over your head. No hesitation. No audience.

Except him.

Toby’s breath caught hard in his throat.

You stood there, topless, scratching absently at your ribs, red, irritated bra dents across your back and shoulder blades. One hand shoved into your waistband to dig out the edge of your underwear. You kicked your pants off in a pile near the couch on your way to the kitchen, panties riding up the curve of your ass as you bent to adjust your sock. You didn’t even think about it.

Of course you didn’t. You didn’t think anyone watched you. Why would they? You were average. You felt average. Regular job, regular body, regular goddamn life. Who the fuck would waste their time stalking you?

You were wrong.

You were perfect.

Toby’s cock throbbed in his pants. Hard in an instant. Ugly hard. He hadn’t even realized he was touching himself until his hand stilled over the bulge in his jeans, breath fogging the air. Your body wasn’t a fantasy, wasn’t porn-polished—it was real. Unposed. Flawed. Soft in all the right places, limbs heavy with exhaustion, belly relaxed. You moved without self-consciousness, because you believed no one gave a shit.

And that was the first night he knew: you were his. You just didn’t know it yet.

The days that followed bled into weeks. Then months.

And you didn’t notice.

Why would you?

Your life had a shape—small, predictable, unremarkable. The kind that didn’t attract attention. You worked nights at a diner that smelled like stale grease and cheap cologne, mostly because the night shift came with extra tips and less people. You didn’t like people. Or maybe people didn’t like you. Either way, it worked out.

He watched it all.

From rooftops, alley shadows, behind dumpsters—he tracked your patterns like instinct, until he could map your movements by memory. You never deviated. Your world was contained within a few blocks: the diner, a 24/7 bodega you hit for shitty wine and paper towels, a laundromat where your socks disappeared two at a time, and your apartment—a one-bedroom shoebox you barely maintained, where the curtains stayed open just enough to tempt a demon.

You thought you were boring. You acted accordingly.

You stripped in front of open windows, sat in threadbare panties with one leg hanging off the edge of the bed, doomscrolling Reddit and Tumblr while scratching absently under your tits. Sometimes you’d read smut—illegible from where he sat, to his frustration—eyes glazed, one hand creeping down under your waistband, the other holding your phone like a vice. Sometimes you'd finish with a half-hearted gasp and slump sideways, scrolling again like nothing happened.

He watched the way your face changed when you touched yourself—disbelieving, desperate, as if you were grateful just to feel something.

Toby learned quickly how lonely you really were. You didn’t talk to anyone. Not really. The phone never rang unless it was a coworker begging you to cover a shift. You’d slam it down and bitch out loud like the walls were listening. No family visits. No best friends stopping by. No boyfriend. No one.

Just you. You in your weird little world, raw and cracked open and unaware that someone was eating you alive from the outside in.

And it made Toby fucking dizzy. You were starving. Not just for touch—for company. For care. For proof that someone saw you, that someone was just as hungry. And he was already full of teeth.

He started creeping closer. He couldn’t help it. It was a compulsion, like chewing, like scratching, like panting.

First time he broke in, it was almost boring.

The window slid open like an invitation. Not even locked. Not even latched. He stood there staring at the frame, muttering under his breath in disbelief. “What the f-fuck, bitch. Y-You don’t luh-lock your windows...?”

He was inside your room with both feet planted before his heart even finished beating once. You weren’t home. You wouldn’t be for hours. And still, he stood in your space like it was stolen.

It reeked of you.

Faint perfume. Sour sweat. Clean sheets with your warmth pressed into the fabric. Towel on the floor. Pajamas discarded over the bedpost. There was something obscene about how much life you left scattered around.

Toby’s knees hit the mattress fast. Face down. Deep breath. He buried himself in the covers like a dog in heat, nose first, groaning—groaning—at the flood of scent: shampoo and detergent and wet cunt and skin and something hopeless.

He pressed his palm into his dick through his jeans and rocked forward once, hasty.

Then again. Then with both hands—groping and grunting and rutting into his palms—getting off to the made up image of what you'd look like on top of him while he slammed up into you. Spread open, eyes rolled, tits bouncing in circles, fucked out and drooling.

He came messy, fast, gritting his teeth against your sheets, making no effort to stop the noise. It was gross. It was ugly. It felt like worship.

Next night, he came back.

Your drawer was half-open. Sloppy. Like you were in a rush that evening. His fingers dipped inside, careful. He shuffled through cotton and the occasional lace until he found the pair you always seemed to wear right after laundry day. Favorite ones, clearly. Faded black with a cute embroidered skull on the mound. Worn thin at the seams. He stuffed them in his jacket pocket and took one more long breath at the foot of your bed before slipping out again.

You noticed, eventually.

You reached into your drawer a couple nights later, half-asleep, hunting that comfort pair. They weren’t there. You checked the laundry, the hamper, the floor. Nothing.

“The fuck,” you mumbled. “Fucking laundromat probably ate ‘em too. Big and greedy, man."

Brushed it off. Moved on.

But Toby wasn’t finished.

Two nights later, you opened your drawer again—and froze.

Sitting neatly on top was a new pair. Not your style. Not your brand. A blood-red lace thong, crotchless, strappy, slutty, like it belonged in a porn photoshoot.

And resting on top, a torn scrap of receipt paper with something scribbled on it, looking like it was written by someone that hadn't been sober a day in their life.

Fuck those worn out panties, you'd look better in these. —T

Your face went pale. You backpedaled so hard you almost fell. Slammed the drawer shut. Yanked it open again. The note was still there.

You tore through the apartment. Checked the locks. Windows. Under the bed. Inside the closet. No sign of a break-in. Nothing disturbed.

Just that pair of panties. Just that note.

He stayed away for a week. Slipped back into the cold, into the dark, adrenaline still crackling in his bones. And for the first time in his life, Toby waited.

He thought he was fucked. Figured the cops would show up any day now, that you’d call, report a break-in, scream bloody murder about a pervert sniffing around your drawers. That the second he climbed back through your window, there’d be some twitchy beat cop waiting with a hand on the gun at his belt.

But it never came.

A day passed. Then two. Then five.

And the next time he slid up to your building, fingers twitching against the cold brick, he took his usual place by the window—careful not to fog the glass, careful not to make a single sound. He crouched low, eyes barely cresting the sill. Expecting quiet. Maybe the glow of your laptop, maybe you asleep in your usual tangled mess of sheets.

Instead, he found you spread out across the bed, glowing with sweat and heat and that particular, private kind of shame.

He blinked, breath leaving his lungs in one ragged, fuck me exhale.

You were wearing them. His gift, wrapped around your hips like a fucking ribbon. Thin red lace soaked through with slick and need and oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Cutting sharp into your ass, skimpy straps where the crotch should've been digging into the crease of your thighs, framing your puffy cunt like a work of art. One hand between your legs, soaked. The other gripping the pillow behind your head, fingers curled like claws.

You didn’t even look like you were breathing—just panting in short, stuttering bursts, lips bitten red and glossy, that look in your eyes like you were about to cry from how fucking badly you wanted it.

Toby stared and made the quietest, sickest sound in the back of his throat—half tic, half need—teeth clamping into his lip until it bled, muffling a groan. His goggles were shoved up into his hair, but the mouth guard stayed on—habit, maybe. Or maybe it was just the sick hope that, in case you were mentally deranged enough to let him fuck you—like he'd been dreaming about for months—his scars wouldn't freak you out right off the bat.

You didn’t stop.

You hadn’t even noticed him yet.

He watched your fingers work slow at first, hips twitching like you were trying to hold off—trying to edge yourself stupid. Your face was flushed. Brows drawn in tight. Little, messy curses spilling from your mouth as your eyes fluttered shut, back arching up off the mattress like it was too much to stay still.

His dick, heavy and aching, grinded against the seam like it was trying to break through and pull his entire body with it through the window.

It wasn’t just that you were touching yourself. It wasn’t just the panties. It was that you were doing it for him. You didn’t even know he was there—yet the evidence was everywhere.

He couldn’t hold it anymore. He moved to the glass and knocked—once, sharp. Not loud enough to wake the neighbors. Just loud enough for you.

You jumped.

Your head snapped toward the window, eyes wide and glassy, chest heaving. You didn’t scream. You didn’t move. Just froze with your hand still between your legs, blinking at the shape crouched just outside the glass. Face flushed, glistening with sweat. Thighs trembling.

He watched you recognize him—the shape of an intruder, the silhouette of danger. Watched your eyes dart to the goggles pushed up on his head, the mouthguard still in place, hiding the worst of the scar. He didn’t smile. Didn’t wave.

Your heart was beating so loud it drowned out the world. A roaring drumline in your chest, crashing against your ribs so hard you swore he could hear it from the other side of the glass.

You’d only just barely started to breathe again. Your orgasm had been hanging on by a string—your body strung up and ready to snap—and then you looked up, and met brown eyes.

Brown, human eyes, burning through the glass, lit with something so famished it made your stomach drop clean through your pelvis. Fear, yes—but also heat, immediate and wet. A sick pulse between your legs that flickered sharp and electric, tangled in the panic like barbed wire. You didn’t mean to leave your hand there, still twitching on your clit, fingertips slippery with need—but the moment froze.

Your cunt was throbbing.

He just stared at you like you were meat—waiting, shoulders twitching ever so slightly, barely contained. But you didn’t pull your hand away.

And that’s when it hit him.

You wanted this. Maybe not in some clean, healthy way—but it was there. That need. That hunger. Just as fucked as his, simmering under your skin. You needed dick like your lungs needed air.

You still hadn’t moved. Just stared right back. But he saw it. The tiniest little twitch of your hips again. Just enough to rub against your palm. His mouth twitched under the mask, equal parts grin and snarl.

You were panting, dazed, wide-eyed—and something in you, deep in the filth of your loneliness and need, made your hand shift. Not down, not back to your clit—but up. A small wave. Shaky. Awkward. A little stupid. Half a question, half an invitation.

And that was all it took.

Toby moved before you could even finish the gesture. One hand slammed the window open with a sharp snap of the latch, and the other hauled him in with the kind of strength that wasn’t fair. He was inside before your gasp even fully left your lips, a blurred motion of boots and gloves and fogged-up goggles before his feet hit your floor like a warning shot.

You shrieked. A real sound, startled and breathless, hands flying to cover yourself—more out of instinctual panic than modesty. Because looked like he was about to fucking devour you.

He stood tall. Taller than you thought—broad-shouldered and twitching with leftover adrenaline, fog and icy air trailing in behind him. His clothes smelled like snow and smoke and him, sharp pine and something raw, and your legs squeezed together without your permission. Because fuck, even though part of you shamefully fantasized about a good looking, well built, kind-of-fucked-up-but-not-entirely-mental stalker, the reality was that it could've been anyone. Anything.

But it was him.

His eyes drank in the whole scene. The way you trembled, caught in the act, heat still clinging to your skin like a fever. The fear in your eyes contradicting your open legs. His jaw ticked under the strap of his mouthguard, and you saw his gloved fingers twitch like they were aching to grab you by the throat and tear you to shreds.

And then, voice low, raspy from the cold, dripping with filth that made your cunt clench, “you really di-didn’t call the c-cops, huh?”

He took a step closer.

“You just s-sat he—slut— here. In my f-fucking gift. Rubbing that p-pussy like I wasn’t about to show up and tuh-t-take it for myself.”

Your breath caught, mouth falling open in a strangled sound, some hybrid of embarrassment and arousal and holy fucking shit.

“You got off thinkin’ a-about me, didn’t you?” His eyes flicked down your body, then back up—slow and nasty. “Say it.”

Another step. “Tell me y-you came thinking about m-me breaking in. Tell me you were w-waiting f-for it.”

Your hand twitched again, almost moving back between your legs, and Toby noticed. His laugh was more like a scoff, crooked and giddy in the filth.

“Nasty b-bitch,” he muttered, almost to himself. “God, you’re sick.”

He didn't even lean forward—he lunged, like an animal that never learned the concept of anticipation.

Your wave—your invitation—hit him like a line of coke. He pounced, hands slamming down on the mattress, body dropping between your legs like gravity had lost all patience with him. The bed dipped hard, bounced, and you let out a startled gasp—but it didn’t matter. He was already there. On you. Over you. Caging you in like something that didn’t understand restraint.

Heat rolled off him in thick waves, despite the cold outside. His breath punched out through his mask, harsh and wet. He didn’t touch you—yet—but his hands trembled where they landed, planted beside your thighs like he needed them to keep from shaking apart. His goggles caught the light as his head jerked—sharp and sudden—and his gaze dropped, fixating on the gap in lace exposing your pussy like it was bait.

He made a sound. Low. Unfiltered. Somewhere between a groan and a whimper.

“Ff—fuck,” he rasped. “You were gonna m-make yourself cum in my panties, huh?”

The way he said it—like it physically hurt—made your thighs tense. You opened your mouth to explain, to deny, but nothing came out but breath. Heat and nerves and shame choking up in your throat.

Toby laughed, short and disbelieving. “Didn’t even know th-th-they were mine and you still—fffuckin’—humped ‘em?” His voice cracked awkwardly, every stutter slicing the words open and bleeding them raw. “G-God. Say it. S-Say it was me.”

You stammered, your voice caught halfway between a moan and a laugh, nervous and breathless and trapped. “I—y-yeah, I—fuck, I didn’t know—I mean I didn’t know it was you, but I—”

He groaned, loud and ruined, like your words were jerking him off.

“You didn’t know,” he gasped, licking his lips behind the mask. “Ffffuck, th-that’s worse. You didn’t even know and still—still touched yourself like a f-fucked up whore.”

“I didn’t—fuck, I wasn’t thinking, I just—needed something,” you whimpered, hands curling into the sheets, chest rising and falling like you couldn’t get enough air. “I—I thought maybe if I put them on it’d be like—like I was with someone—”

He surged forward like that simple explanation was enough to make him fold—face burying in the crook of your neck with a desperate, feral moan. His mask scraped your skin. The lenses of his goggles bumped your collarbone. His whole body jerked—tics dragging him forward, making him twitch and spasm like the sheer effort of not devouring you was pain.

“You don’t even know h-how fffucked that is,” he muttered, breath catching. “L-lonely little slut wh—who doesn’t even c-call the cops when some freak breaks in. Just wears the gift and j-jacks off. That it baby? Huh?”

Your hips shifted, trying to meet his, desperately seeking out friction, a gasp catching in your throat. “I didn’t know what to do. I just—”

He snarled against your throat. “You let me in.”

Your hands found his jacket, tugging, dragging him closer like you couldn’t stand not having him all over you. Your fingers fumbled at his zipper, clumsy and feverish.

“You—fuck, y-you want it off?” he asked, voice cracking into disbelief, like the very idea made his brain short-circuit. “You want me?”

You nodded, frantic, and layers hit the floor in seconds. Gloves flung. Jacket peeled off with shaking hands. His chest rose and fell in heaves, scars catching the light—long and pink and brutal, carved across lean muscle that jumped under your gaze.

Then his fingers went to the straps of his mask, and you froze.

Because you didn't know what you expected to be hidden underneath—shit, you barely realized something was even covering his face—but you weren't expecting a deep, torn chunk eaten right through the meat of his cheek, healed but violent, exposing teeth and a glimpse of raw gum.

But his mouth—fuck, his mouth was perfect. Wet. Parted. Red and bitten raw from chewing on it, tongue darting out to lick the corners like he couldn’t help himself.

He didn’t say a word. Just let you look, let you decide—like it made a difference.

And you did. Eyes flicking over the wound, the lips, down to his chest, the aching bulge suffocating under his zipper, back up. Your breath caught and your thighs squeezed together, still open, still on full display. You were fucking soaked.

“I don’t care,” you whispered. “I need your mouth. Now.”

That broke him wide open.

Toby whined—pitiful, breathless—and grabbed your thighs like they were the only thing keeping him alive. His nails bit in. His mouth twitched.

“Yeah? You w-want my fucking tongue on that messy little c-kh-cunt, huh?” he growled. “Gonna let me ruin it? Sit on my ffffuckin’ face? I’ll make you scream so loud I—I’ll get caught, and you won’t even care.”

“Jesus Christ,” you gasped, head dropping back. “Yes, fucking do it.”

“Beg for it.”

His hand slammed the mattress beside your head with a spasm sharp enough to shake the bedframe.

“Ff-fuckin’ beg.”

Your whisper cracked with desperation, soaked and shaking. “Please… please, I need your mouth—I’ll do anything, I’ll fucking beg, just—”

His eyes rolled back for a beat, chest shuddering as a ragged, broken groan tore up from deep in his lungs, like it hurt to hear how pretty you could beg. Like whatever pornographic sounds his mind conjured up paled in comparison.

He smashed his mouth to yours, hot and open and so fucking wet. It wasn’t a kiss, not really—he didn’t know how to kiss, he devoured. Tongue everywhere, spit and teeth, sucking your lips into his mouth like he needed to drink you. The sheer noise of it was obscene—slick, sloppy, breathless. Your knees bucked and trembled as he knocked them wider with his forearm, your hands clawing at his bare shoulders while he rutted against your thigh like he was holding back from humping you through his jeans.

“Ffffuckin’—say it again,” he gasped against your mouth, panting like a dog. His voice cracked, stuttered. “Say you want me. S-say you want your fuckin’—your s-s-sick psycho stalker.”

You whimpered, brain melted. “I do—I do—I want you, I want you so fucking bad—”

He snapped—body twitching as his hand flew down and yanked those two skimpy strands of fabric surrounding your pussy until they snapped. Two scarred fingers pressed into the heat of your cunt like they belonged there, spreading you open—and the second he felt how soaked you were, he choked.

“Holy sh-shit,” he breathed, like he was stunned. His jaw ticked. “You’re—you’re dripping, bitch. I haven’t even—I barely t-touched you and you’re drenched."

You moaned into his mouth, thighs clenching around his arm, head falling back to expose your throat—and he just stared down at you, trembling, breath shaking like he was holding in a laugh.

“You’re a fucking mess,” he whispered, and suddenly his voice was lower. Threatening. Talking more to himself than to you. “Goddamn lonely. Letting a freak like m-m-me in your room. I could k-kill you right now and you wouldn’t even get the chance to run.”

Your heart dropped. A real, shivering pulse of terror hit your gut. Your body locked up, breath caught, but two fingers pushed inside before you really had time to fully process his words.

And the panic dissolved into a whimper.

He groaned as he felt you clench around him, tight and wet and sucking him in like you were trying to pull his hand deeper, trembling around the stretch. Your hips jolted up into his palm, shame flushed red across your face as your hands clutched at his arms.

“Oh—f-fuck—”

“Yeah,” he growled, voice cracking, lips twitching in half snarl, half mocking grin. “Y-you like that? You sc-s-scared and still letting me fuck you with my fingers like a d-dog in heat?”

But that wasn’t what he wanted. His fingers slipped out with a wet pop and he groaned like he missed the feel of you already. But then he shoved those same fingers between his lips—sucking them deep, moaning around them like he was starving. Eyes fluttered half-shut as he tasted you, mouth shining with spit and slick.

You barely had time to breathe before he dove down.

Tongue first—hot, thick, flat and immediate, dragging a foul stripe from your hole to your clit. He groaned deep in his throat when you jolted, scarred cheek pressed against your thigh, drool mixing with slick in a way that made your eyes roll back and whatever survival instinct you still had vanish.

His mouth latched onto your clit and sucked, tongue flicking relentless and wet, twitching with little tics that only made it worse, better, crueler. His hands locked around your thighs—tight, bruising grip—and held you open like you belonged to him, nose scrunched against your mound and his spit running down to your ass in strings.

You could only kick your legs uselessly.

“Ffffuck—t-tastes like you missed me,” he slurred into your cunt, voice wrecked and broken and gleeful. His lips slipped against your soaked skin, words barely intelligible. “G-gonna fuckin' eat you alive, gonna—mmfuck—”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, hips rolling into his face, loud and shameless as your moans cracked into the quiet room.

“Wh-what the—fuck—oh my—”

He growled. His tongue jammed inside you, licking you open like he was trying to tunnel into your soul, then back up to your clit, where he sucked again hard, chin soaked, eyes wild.

“You gonna cum already?” he grinned into your pussy, teeth catching your clit ever so slightly with every lick. “G-gonna fuckin’ scream for the ff-freak who’s been jackin’ off with your panties under his p-pillow?”

You cried out. Loud. Raw. Helpless. You were right there, stomach tight, walls trembling, thighs shaking around his head when he popped his mouth off your clit, breath hot and sticky against your cunt, and shoved two fingers back inside with no ceremony. Curling them knuckle-deep like he was trying to hook behind your bones, dragging that spot so deep and tender it made your entire body jerk.

Then, with his lips brushing your slick, throbbing clit, he mouthed into you like a threat.

“Say my name, bitch.”

Your jaw dropped, a high, warbled moan catching in your throat as your hands grabbed at the sheets.

“I—I—I don’t—fuck—I don’t know it—”

And he ripped his fingers out, hand soaked to the wrist, only to bring it down across your cunt in a wet crack.

Your whole body seized, a strangled scream bursting from your mouth—shock, pain, heat flooding through you all at once. It stung like fire, too hard, too fast—like he had no clue how strong he was—but you didn’t even have time to reel before he leaned in and kissed your pussy where he’d hit it. Soft, messy, tender.

Didn’t help.

Didn’t matter.

“Toby. S-Say it.”

Your whole body jerked, cunt clenching around nothing as your eyes flew open, lips parting with a whimper so desperate it sounded like prayer.

"Toby—Toby, please, c'mon, just—”

“That’s it,” he hissed, voice warping at the edges with something animal. “K-Keep fuckin' sayin' it, baby.”

Satisfied, his fingers were back. Shoved in to the hilt, curling fast and relentless, fucking up into that sweet spot with punishing speed while his mouth latched onto your clit again like he was trying to suck your soul through it. His moans were shameless, loud and snarling, tongue flicking, chin soaked, breath shuddering through his nose as he devoured you.

Your body snapped with a gasp—froze—then convulsed, crying out his name as your cunt clenched and spasmed around his fingers. Your thighs shook, your hips bucked wildly, wet gushes spurting around his fingers and drenching the sheets under your ass, his arm, his mouth.

He groaned like it knocked the wind out of him.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he muttered, voice half gone, still licking through it like he was wringing you out. “Knew you'd be a f-filthy f-fucking slut for me."

You were left twitching, flat on your back, trembling all over and soaked in sweat and spit and squirt, one leg hanging off the bed and the other bent up from where he’d folded you open, pussy still fluttering from the aftershocks.

You barely even noticed him move. Just felt the scrape of his teeth on your thigh, the way he bit his way up to your knee with animal heat in his breath—eyes bugging and fixed on your face, chest heaving, hands tugging open his jeans so rough the zipper snapped open. He kicked them off clumsily and launched them halfway off the bed like they were a personal offense.

The wet, heavy smack of his cock hitting the mess between your legs snapped your attention back. Toby was leering down at you, eyes blown wide and hungry, lips parted, breath shaking as he pressed one of your thighs up, pinned it to the mattress with his palm, and threw your other leg over his shoulder to open you up and fold you like a beloved toy.

His cock—thick, flushed, leaking and twitching—dragged through the mess of your cunt, catching on your clit just enough to make your hips jerk.

"Y-you want it? Huh? You want this dick? After everything I fuckin’ did to you?”

Your breath caught, eyes wide and glassy. He leaned in over you, pressing his cock against your slit, grinding just enough to tease, enough to make your mouth drop open with a whine.

You nodded. Too fast. Too eager. “Y-yeah. Yeah—I want it—fuck—please, Toby, please—”

He pushed in, slow, inch by inch, teeth bared as your cunt gripped him—tight, soaked, vacuuming around him like you were trying to suck the meat off his dick. His arms shook, jaw clenched, eyes rolled back for a second as he bottomed out, torn between making this last—to savor every clench and throb after surviving off the thought of it for months—and needing to fuck you within an inch of your life.

“…God, you're just lettin’ me ff-fuck you? Just like that? Just—fuckin’—goddamn—” He breathed hard, nostrils flaring, his whole body trembling with restraint. “I could f-fuckin’ cry.”

He snapped his hips back and slammed forward, the first thrust knocking the wind out of your lungs. No rhythm, no warning—just piston-fire force, his hips crashing into you, bed screeching with every slam. One hand clamped down around your throat—just to hold you still, thumb brushing your chin as you moaned open-mouthed and raw.

Your hands clawed at his arms, his back, his hair, anything you could reach, mindless with the stretch, the pound of it, the filthy wet slap of skin on skin and the obnoxious slam of the headboard denting the wall behind.

“Fuckin’ knew you’d tuh-t-take it like this,” he grunted, drool on his lip, sweat dripping from his temples, eyes wild. “L-Lonely fuckin' skank… so fuckin’ desperate, you let your fuckin’ stalker in—let me eat you out, let me fuck you—sh-shit—”

Your cunt clamped around him.

“Ohhh my fuckin’ god—do that again—do that a-again and I’ll fuckin' b-break you—I’ll cum so deep you’ll be pissin’ m-me out tomorrow—”

The second your back arched up off the sheets, trying to keep up with the brutal rhythm of his thrusts, Toby’s hands were everywhere. Tits bouncing as he grabbed them in both hands, rough and greedy, mouth latching onto one nipple with a desperate, snarling suck, free palm slapping down over the other, squeezing so tight you whimpered, your legs kicking weakly beside his waist.

"Fuckin’—god, you’re perfect, you—ffuck, these tits, shit—” he slurred around your skin, drooling down your chest, tongue dragging across your tits while he humped against you.

He was losing it. Could barely finish his sentences, just panting and stuttering and grinding into you, overwhelmed. His whole body shaking with restraint he didn’t have, already teetering on the edge. But he couldn't have that. He couldn't end it now, when you were drooling and tearing up and his.

So he pulled out and moved—rough, hurried, no warning—with a snarl that tore through your daze like a serrated knife. Hands snatching at your waist, yanking you up like a ragdoll, flipping you onto your stomach and shoving your face into the pillows as he hauled your hips up with both hands.

You yelped—surprised, breathless, a little laugh punching out of you on instinct.

“W-Wait, give me a s—"

“Sh-shut up,” he barked, voice all gravel and desperation, slapping your ass so hard it rippled. “J-just—stay right there, fuck—stay like that—”

He climbed over you, thighs bracketing yours, one boot planting into the mattress next to your calf as he lifne hand hooked into your waist to keep you impaled, the other palming your ass, slapping it again, fingers pressing into the dip of your lower back to force the arch deeper. Then in your hair, yanking your head back so you had to look over your shoulder as he sank back in with a guttural groan.

“L-Look at me— Look at who's t-tuh-t-FUCK, tearing this pussy up."

The wall behind the bed didn't stand a fucking chance. Paint chipping and flying off like it was being hit with a hammer. His hips slapping into your ass, hand clutching your hair tight enough to burn your scalp as he rutted into you from behind like he was trying to climb inside. You were wailing into the sheets, jaw dropped, tongue out, drooling into the pillow while he made you take every inch over and over again.

“D-didn’t stalk you f-for months for some soft shit,” he grunted, cock buried to the hilt, “w-wanted this—wanted to see you like this, fuckin’ s-stupid, moaning on my dick like a f-f-fucked up nympho, all wet and messy and—fuckin’ m-mine. All m-mine.”

You couldn’t even answer, couldn't even think twice about what he said. Just babbled, breath hitching, tears streaking down your cheeks from how hard he hit that spot inside you, every thrust like a punch to the gut.

Toby whined when you clenched up—when your pussy milked him, fluttering around his cock like your body was begging to be bred—and his voice cracked when he hissed through his teeth. “Cum-cumming again, slut? Fffuck yes, come— Come on t-this fuckin' dick—”

It slammed into you like a fucking car crash.

No warning. No build. Just white-hot, bone-deep release that made your whole body seize and flutter, sobs punched out of you from the inside as your cunt clenched hard around his cock. You twitched—hard, full-body, legs buckling underneath you as he kept your hips up, kept pounding, riding you through the quake like some unchained beast.

And you were crying and grinning, in some fucked-up mix of bliss and madness—head spinning, tears in your eyes, drool on the pillow from how your mouth hung open, panting, trying to form a thought, any thought.

It'd been so long. So fucking long since someone touched you like this. Since someone made you feel like this. Your brain tried to hold onto it but your body was short-circuiting, curling in on itself, torn between wanting more and being too overwhelmed to take one more push.

That’s when his hand came down—slow, dragging from your waist to your head. His fingers swept your hair aside, thumb brushing your jaw, then slipped down until it found the corner of your mouth.

You blinked up at him over your shoulder, still gasping, tears glistening. His lip twitched in a snarl—eyes burning, chest heaving—and he shoved his thumb into your mouth, deep and filthy.

“Suck,” he rasped. His voice cracked. “Get it wet, baby—c'mon."

You whined around it, lips wrapping tight, suckling instinctively, hollowing your cheeks—and he moaned, hips stuttering. His thumb popped free, spit trailing off the knuckle, and he immediately slid it down between your ass cheeks.

You barely got out a breathless little “wait—!” before it was in, his thumb pressing past the rim of muscle—slippery with your spit, buried to the root in your ass—and your vision blurred. Your back arched, your body twitched, everything locking up all over again, cunt gushing around his cock with a sudden squirt.

He fucking lost it.

Toby let out a shattered, broken noise—half sob, half snarl—and his hips snapped forward one final time, so vicious it made you slide forward and knock your head into the headboard. Cock pulsing deep, balls tight, and you felt it flooding you—every rope of cum, every twitch, every grind.

And he collapsed. Heavy like his bones were made of tungsten, weight pressing you down, face smushed into the sweaty curve of your spine, mouth open against your back. You felt his tongue—lazily licking at the salt-slick skin there, huffing like he’d run a marathon, muttering breathless curses into your ribs. Basking in it.

“Fffuck—fuck, oh my God,” he groaned. “Y-you—you feel that, baby? Th-that’s mine, you’re mine, this pussy—fuck...”

You were twitching, still limp under him, breath fogging the pillow in short, shattered puffs. He hadn’t moved, not really, just laying there draped over you like a heat-struck dog, panting into the dip of your spine. His cock still pulsed, softening where it was buried deep inside, every flutter of your cunt making his breath hitch and grin against your skin.

He dragged his teeth across your shoulder—slow, blunt little scrapes that made you shiver—then pressed his mouth to the spot and kissed it sweet and wet. Down your spine, to the curve of your waist. Another bite. Another kiss.

"F-fuckin' beautiful," he muttered, more to himself than you, hands sliding over your ass, kneading where you were sore, where he'd gripped too hard.

He slipped out, and you gasped at the sudden emptiness—whined, actually—left slick and gaping and leaking. His cum, already dribbling down the backs of your thighs in thick strings, stretching between you before they broke.

"H-holy shit, baby," he breathed, sitting back on his haunches, hands spreading your ass cheeks open just to watch.

"Look at this shit," he murmured, voice dipping into a low purr, his grin vile.

He leaned in to kiss your lower back, trailing down to your ass, mouthing warm, lazy kisses across the bruises he’d left. You shuddered, overstimulated and dizzy, still pressed into the pillow, and he laughed—softly, like he adored you.

“Y'gonna m-miss me, angel? Hm?” he whispered, nosing along the swell of your hip, breath ghosting warm over spit-slick skin. “Gonna miss bein’ f-full like this?”

You gave a broken little sound—something between a whimper and a laugh—and he smiled against your skin, all teeth.

“Y-you’re not lonely anymore, baby,” he whispered. “M'not goin' anywhere."

[luckatuljan]

Salutations huzz! Hello freakypasta fandom... 😈

[rat6ix]

Ticci toby doodles

Lmk if anyone wants me to color these

The bottom one is kinda ass but i cant be bothered to care rn

Tumblr absolutely destroyed the quality holy shit