#Toby Erin Rodgers

[rootworks]

“he’s Slender’s most kawaii proxy..” -dyl

[azulghoul]

They're gonna get you.

[cr33pfreak]

rare post where i drop traditional art.. take some toby for the soul

[fantasydoctor]

it’s him,,,, toby the killer

[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?"

[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 :)

[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.

[fl1pp1ngart1st]

Silly silly guy creeping around

[tobysbloodshoteyes]

TICCI TOBY HEADCANNONS PT 3

SFW He unironically likes the soundcloud "emo" rap scene and found out about it in his short time in California. He also likes Eminem but began listening to him as a pre-teen.

His fav rappers from ^^ that genre are lil peep, yung lean, XXXtentacion, and anything similar to them! Likes bones too but only his columbine inspired album because he was an edgy teenager.

Very rarely speaks to women in a close way. Honestly, he avoids them. Not because hes an incel or anything, he's just afraid to hurt or be hurt by them.

I dont see him as going on missions for slenderman or anything like that, i think he absolutely hates it and other creatures & actively tries to distant himself from them.

Has stretched ears (18mm), 3 eyebrow piercings (2 on one side), one nostril stud, and i like to imagine he used to have spider bites!

Loves cats and dogs but enjoys canines *slightly* more than felines out of practicality. INTP.

His mind is very poetically depressed! If you get what i mean? Constantly forgets meals & basic hygiene, his teeth are prob ruined.

NSFW Loves thighs & ass so much.

I see him as being bi-curious in many moments of his life but i highly doubt he'd have a serious relationship with a man. Maybe a friends with benefits type situation?

Absolutely rough as hell. He'll grip onto the hips of the person he's fucking until they have marks on them, slap their ass till its beet red, and bruise whatever hole hes messing with.

Growls and grunts like crazy.

Top's abouttttt 86% of the time?

Releases all of his pent up energy and anger during smexxy time xd

Jerks off and smokes week at the same time every night/whenever he goes to bed, its the only way he can tire himself out *safely* and without a partner.

Owns one of those silicone pocket toys ifykwim but he originally bought it as a joke while fucking around on temu or some shit.

Speaking of toys, will use alot on his partner! He goes until they're hardly awake as long theyre fine with it.

Big into cuddling during and after sex, thats his aftercare. Sometimes he'll take a shower with his lover but honestly hes lazy asf after blowing like 4+ loads.

[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?

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

[rootworks]

needed to put them in a lineup for my own peace of mind 🌱

[azulghoul]

Casual Toby warm up

[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)

[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

[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."