cw: yandere, fem! reader, mentions of blood, chase
Yandere! Murderer - who still swears he’s your boyfriend, the one who takes care of you and keeps you safe in this dreadful city. The blood on his hands doesn’t count towards his affection for you, it’s only the city’s rot, the ones who deserved a heinous death.
You’re the exception to the world's filth. His angel. His everything.
He finds you after another long night of killing, after he’s peeled screams from throats and washed his hands in crimson rain. His dark hoodie is soaked through, heavy and sticky, the cuffs stiff with dried gore. His hair - dark and matted - clings wet to his temples, plastered against his skin in tangled ribbons. The cheap mask over his mouth is painted with old stains, but behind the flimsy thing, he’s smiling, eyes gleaming bright as wet glass when they find you.
“There you are,” he breathes, and it comes out like praise. He’s panting, shaking a little, not from exhaustion but from the sheer, trembling relief of seeing you. “Knew I’d find you, baby. You always run in the same direction - cute little habit of yours.”
He holds up a bag in his gloved hand. Inside, your favorite boba drinks sways in the dim streetlight. “Brought you these. Your favorites. Kinda melted though - I was busy.” He laughs softly, voice catching. “Long night. But I thought of you the whole time.”
You don’t answer as your skin blanches. You just turn and walk faster. The rhythm of your heels clicks sharp against the concrete, echoing between the buildings. He follows without meaning to - his strides longer, heavier, a shadow that can’t help but chase the light.
“Aw, c’mon, princess,” he calls, tone half-teasing, half-wounded. “Don’t be shy. I know I look scary right now, but you like that about me, don’t you?”
You run. The world narrows into the sound of rain and heartbeat and the slap of your shoes. He laughs behind you - not cruelly, but fondly, like a man chasing his giggling lover through a meadow instead of a blood-soaked alley.
“God, you’re fast,” he pants, delighted. “You been working out? You’re makin’ me look bad, baby!”
Then you stumble. The ground’s slick from the heavy rain; your heel skids and catches, and you hit the pavement hard enough to scrape your knee. You hiss in pain with a curse under your breath. The world sways and unfortunately for you, he’s there, towering, breathless, trembling with concern.
“Shit-shit, hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, crouching down fast, gloves fumbling as he touches your leg, too careful and gentle for the same hands that broke ribs an hour ago. “You fell - oh baby, you fell - look at that, you’re bleeding.”
He tugs his sleeve down, wipes away the dirt and rain with absurd tenderness. Then, with a little triumphant hum, he digs through his pocket and pulls out a Hello Kitty bandage - crinkled from being carried too long. “See? Told you I’d keep you safe. You gotta stop running, baby, we can always play chase another day.”
He peels it open carefully, his bloodstained covered gloves trembling as he presses the pink cartoon kitten over your cut. His voice drops low, full of sheepish pride. “There. All better.”
For a moment, he just stares at the little sticker on your skin considering to give it a kiss, but he knows how shy you get around him. He's not going to push you for something you aren't ready for. His mask crinkles as he smiles behind it, soft and dizzy. “You’re always so clumsy,” he mumbles, brushing rain-slick hair from your face. “That’s why you stay with me, yeah? I take care of you.”
Then his tone brightens again, that boyish cheer seeping through the mania. “Hey, no tears now. We can play chase again tomorrow! No rain, promise or I'll kill the weather man for lying!”
He laughs, giddy and unsteady, his voice echoing down the empty street. “You make everything feel like a game, you know that? You keep me sane.”
And as he gathers you up - lifting you easily, cradling you close against his chest - he hums something soft under his breath, his words muffled behind the mask, “Love you. Love you so much it hurts. My perfect girl. My reason.”
You can still smell the blood on him, but his hold is careful, rocking you as he walks, like a man carrying the only good thing he’s ever came across.
The beep clicks, followed by a breath that sounds shaky but eager, like he’s rehearsed this call a hundred times before dialing. You can hear the faint rasp in his throat, as if he hasn’t slept in days.
“Hey… uh, it’s me. Look, don’t freak out, alright? Just—just listen. I promise I won’t be weird this time. I just wanted to call and… I don’t know, say I’m good, actually, better. I’ve been… moving on, you know? Figured out som' stuff about myself, working out again, eating better. Even went out with some friends. You’d be proud of me."
He chuckles a little too loud, hollow, like he’s convincing himself. Then there’s a pause, and the silence hums with the low static of the receiver. The phone picks up the faint rhythm of footsteps, he’s pacing.
"Yeah… yeah, I don’t need you anymore. Not like before. That whole… uh, texting and calling at 3 a.m. is over. I mean, I'm technically leaving a message at 2 a.m., but this is different, this the last time, I swear."
A thin chuckle follows, more awkward than the other, too long. The laugh dies into silence and his breathing changes, lower at first, then heavier, dragging like he’s thinking too hard.
“But, uh… you know, it’s crazy, because even when I’m busy, I keep—fuck, okay, who am I kidding, I thought I could do this, I really thought I could call you and tell you how well I am without you... But shit, I can't. I can’t even get through a single hour without your face just… burning into my head. Like some goddamn watermark on everything. I’ll be laughing with people and suddenly—bam—it’s you. Always fucking you. And it’s stupid, right? It’s fucking stupid. I thought I was past it.”
His voice drops lower, more confessional now, almost whispering closer to the mic, like he’s confessing something shameful. The pacing stopped.
"I miss you, I really do. I know this is getting old by now but fuck, I miss you so much... even when you hated me, you still looked perfect. You still—God, you’re perfect. You know that, right? So perfect that it hurts... too perfect to be with someone like me, isn't?"
A sharp inhale through his teeth. He exhales with a shaky laugh, voice tilting upward into something more brittle. You can hear him shifting, his breath catching in his throat.
"I hate this, I hate it. I hate that you left me and I’m still stuck here, chained up like some fucking dog."
His breath hits the mic, sharp and uneven. He exhales hard through his nose, like he's trying to stay calm. Somewhere in the background, there’s the creak of a floorboard, then the snap of fingers, restless, inpatient, you remember him snapping his fingers when he was angry, memories you wanted to forget come rushing back. His voice rises suddenly, sharper, cracking at the edges.
"You fucking broke me, you threw me out like trash, and somehow you’re still the only thing that makes me feel alive. Do you understand what kind of sick joke that is? You’re the only person who can make me want to scream and cry and laugh and… die. All in the same fucking second. And I hate that—I hate you."
The line goes silent except for the sound of his breathing. Low, heavy, uneven, like he’s right in your ear. The phone scrapes against something as he adjusts it, muttering under his breath before his voice spikes again, hot, unfiltered.
"I saw you with him today, you know. Do you have any idea how that made me feel? Any fucking idea? Seeing that you're moving on, while I'm still here? I hate you for smiling without me, for laughing with him. With him. Do you know what that feels like? it makes my skin crawl. I picture his hands on you and it makes me want to tear my own fucking eyes out. Or his. His, preferably. You think he loves you like I do? He doesn’t. He can’t. He’s nothing. This shit makes me want to break something, break him. Break you.”
There's a dull thud—a kick, or maybe a punch, against the wall, hard, the sound makes you flinch even though you're not there. His breathing becomes more ragged, harsh, each word dragging through his lungs.
“I hate you so much, but I hate myself more—I hate myself 'cause I still fucking love you. Shit, I want to cut it out of me, this thing you put in me, this sickness. I can’t escape you. You left, but you’re still here, rotting inside my head. I hate you for that, I hate you so much I can barely breathe.”
The phone picks up the sound of pacing again, faster this time, frantic, like a caged animal. His words start spilling quicker, voice climbing and cracking, breath hitching between syllables.
"And you—you don’t even answer me anymore. Texts, calls, nothing. I try a new number but you always fucking block me. I sit there watching the screen, watching that little bubble never appear. Do you know what that does to me? Do you want me to lose it? Do you fucking get off on that?"
A sudden slam—something kicked across the room—and his breathing comes ragged, harsh against the receiver, like he’s burning through his chest. Then, just as suddenly, he drops his tone, almost whispering now, unsteady, words trembling as if his throat is closing.
"Huh? Do you know what it does to me? I fucking hate you. I hate you so much sometimes I wanna scream until my throat bleeds, I wanna wrap my hands around your neck until you feel what it's like to be breathless. But then I think about not having you at all, and it’s worse. It’s so much worse. Because I can’t—fuck—I can’t live without you.”
You hear a broken sob on the other end of the line, he was crying. But it wasn't soft, it wasn't sad, no, it’s raw, guttural, strangled through clenched teeth. Every sob rides the edge of a laugh, like grief and fury have blended into one.
"I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t breathe without choking on the thought of you with someone else. You think I don’t see? I know you. I know you, better than anyone. That new guy—you think I don’t notice the way you laugh different around him? That cheap fucking smile you give him, like he’s earned it? No. No, no, no. That smile was mine. It was always mine."
His tone drops, low and venomous, his breath scrapes against the receiver like static, uneven and fast, as if he’s grinning through his teeth. Every word pressed too close to the mic, distorted by spit and fury.
"I swear to God, if I ever see him—if I ever see that asshole with you again—I don’t care what happens. I’ll ruin his face. I’ll fucking kill him. I’ll make sure you never forget who you belong to."
Then a sudden, violent exhale, followed by a hoarse chuckle. Each word bursts like it’s been clawed out of him.
"You hear me? You’re mine. You can’t erase me. You can block my number, delete my photos, throw my shit in the street—I’ll still be there. Right there, because life without you doesn’t mean shit. I’d rather stop breathing than watch you walk away again. And if you do… maybe I’ll make sure you don’t walk anywhere at all."
Then a sudden laugh, sharp and ugly, tearing out of him like it hurts to let it go. He chuckles into the phone, the sound slipping into something maniacal, more unhinged. He exhales dramatically, as if he's just realized something life-changing. You can practically hear the smile on his lips.
"Yeah. Yeah, maybe that’s how this ends. You and me. Together. Nobody else. You’re the only thing that makes sense. The only reason I get out of bed. And if you think you can just leave me, just replace me—”
A long pause. The silence is jagged, filled only by his erratic breathing. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, colder, stripped of the earlier softness.
“—then you’re out of your fucking mind. Because I won’t let that happen. Do you hear me? I won’t. You’re mine. You always were. You always will be. And if I have to remind you of that, if I have to show you, then I will. I’ll come find you. I’ll come find you both. And when I do—”
There’s a pause, the sound of him breathing ragged, like he’s chewing back something ugly. Then his voice drops, almost pleading, almost gentle.
“Baby… don’t make me do this. Just call me back. Please, please. Just—say you love me. Say it once. That’s all I need. That’s all I—”
The line cuts off mid-sentence as you ended the voicemail.
The flat beep lingers in your ears long after the line cuts, you’re holding the phone tighter than you realize, your fingers stiff, trembling against the screen. His voice still rings in your ears, like it’s soaked into the air around you, sticky and heavy, impossible to shake off. You set the phone down on the table like it burned you, looking at it like it was your ex itself, the silence of your apartment swells around it, every creak of the building suddenly too loud. You know better—you know better—than to let him crawl under your skin again, but your chest still feels like it’s filling with ice water.
Your chest felt too small for your lungs, breaths coming shallow and shaky. You wanted to laugh, maybe, because of course he would leave a two a.m. voicemail like that. It was so him.
This wasn't the first one he'd left you, God, you lost count of how many of them filled your phone as the week went on. It had only gotten worse after the breakup. The endless texts, pages and pages of them. One minute he’d be begging you to come back, saying he couldn’t live without you, the next he’d call you a whore, a slut for playing with his feelings. You’d blocked him everywhere, but he always found a way back in. New numbers, fake accounts, and endless voicemails, mostly drunk ones.
You'd hear a few seconds of them at most, never letting more than one sentence come out of his mouth before you deleted it without a second thought. But why was this time different? Why this time did you actually listen to what he had to say? This time he actually sounded... normal. Was it because he said he was over it? No, it couldn't be, you knew better than to believe any word that came out of this fucker's mouth. So why?
Your chest is tight. Every breath feels shallow, like if you inhale too deep, he’ll hear it somehow. You don’t move, you don’t even want to blink, because in the silence that follows, it feels like he’s still there—like he’s right outside the door, grinning, waiting for you to come check. Fuck, not this again, you moved out because of that, he has no way of knowing where you live now, he can't.
You catch your own reflection in the black phone screen and it startles you, eyes wide and damp, and you hate that you look scared, that he made you feel this way again.
You think about deleting the voicemail, but your thumb hovers over the option, frozen. What if you need proof? What if someone doesn’t believe you? Then again, If you think you're going to have to use this voicemail as proof for something, it means you think he's going to do something. The thought makes your blood run cold. He wouldn't do that, would he? You want to believe it, you really do, but you can't.
Your stomach twisted when you replayed his words in your head. That new guy. Your hand flew to your mouth. He knew. He’d seen you. Somehow, somewhere, he’d been there. How does he know about your new boyfriend? Was he staking you? How does he know about that? How does he know where you were? Does he know where you live? How would he know? How? How? How?
Your pulse roared in your ears. Suddenly every corner of the apartment felt hostile. The windows—were the blinds closed? Had you locked the door? You moved, quick and clumsy, pulling each latch, tugging each curtain. You half-expected to see him standing there in the street, grinning up at your window like he’d been there all along.
"Fuck."
You grab the phone before you can talk yourself out of it and dial Alex number. Your thumb trembles against the glass as it rings, rings, and you hold your breath, each second dragging long enough to convince you that maybe—maybe your ex already did something. Maybe that was the last voicemail before everything went south. Was it a warning?
“Hello?” Alex’s voice is warm, groggy, a little confused. It cuts through the quiet like light under a locked door, and you feel like you can breathe again.
You don’t answer right away. Your lips part, but no sound comes out. He says your name, softer this time. “You okay?”
And just like that, the tears you didn’t know you were holding back sting the corners of your eyes. You force yourself to swallow, clear your throat, smooth the cracks from your voice before they can betray you.
“Yeah. Sorry. I—I didn’t mean to wake you.”
But it’s a lie. You did. You needed to. His voice is proof that nothing’s happened, that your ex’s threats are just noise, just another performance, like all the others. He used to do that, scare you on purpose. Whisper things he’d never follow through on, just to watch you flinch. Just to remind you how much power he had. He always thought he was charming when he was angry, like his rage meant passion instead of danger.
You remember the first time he did it. The two of you were still in his car, some summer night where the air stuck to your skin. He laughed while telling you what he’d do if you ever left him—ridiculous, horrible things—but then he kissed your hand right after, like it was all a joke. And you laughed, too. shit, you laughed, because you thought it was endearing when he said it, because that showed how much he loved you.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Alex asks again, and you realize you’ve been quiet too long.
“Yeah,” you say, maybe too quickly. You hear yourself trying to sound casual, normal, the way you always tried to sound when your ex cornered you with one of his monologues. Just keep the tone even. Don’t let him hear it. “Just… couldn’t sleep. Wanted to hear your voice.”
There’s a pause, and then Alex chuckles softly, not unkindly. “That’s all? You scared me for a second. Thought something happened.”
You can't tell him anything, should you? You can't think straight. He knew about your crazy ex, of course. You didn't want to hide anything from him, Alex was different. It was a messy breakup, that's all you said, because you didn't want to remember, you didn't want him to know this side of you, you didn't want him to know what you did. “Nothing’s wrong,” you lie again, quieter this time. “I just… missed you.”
You press the phone tighter to your ear, listening to Alex breathe on the other side, steady and safe, alive. "Well, i'm glad you miss me, but can't you do it tomorrow morning?" You hear him yawn on the other end of the line, and guilt creeps up on you.
"Right, right, sorry, I'll let you sleep now." You didn't really want to hang up, you wanted to keep hearing his voice, hearing his breathing... You were getting paranoid, and that was exactly what he wanted, for you to feel scared. You couldn't let him control your mind, not anymore. "Good night, Alex."
"Good night, beautiful." You could feel the smile behind his voice, and it made you smile too. "Love you." Alex says without hesitation, always, like he really means it, and it lands in your chest with a quiet warmth, steadying, grounding.
"Love you too." you murmur, barely above a whisper, as if the words themselves are a shield. He sighs, murmurs something about going back to bed, and the call ends with a small click, leaving you alone with the hum of silence.
Of course he didn’t do anything. That’s ridiculous. He’s always been all talk—big, dramatic threats meant to send you spinning, meant to keep you tethered to him through fear. He wouldn’t actually follow through. He wasn’t that crazy.
…Right?
You sink into the couch, clutching the phone like it might start ringing again. It’s easy to picture him pacing through his apartment, snapping his fingers, muttering to himself, winding himself up on a stage only he can see. You’ve seen it before.
The memory comes back sharp, unwanted. That night he showed up at your door after three days of silence, after a stupid fight you don't even remember anymore. His eyes were bloodshot, jaw tight, words tumbling too fast to make sense. He laughed, then shouted, then laughed again, like the switch was broken inside him. But then he cupped your cheek, whispered that he couldn’t live without you, that you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart. His thumb stroked your skin so tenderly you almost believed it.
He could be sweet when he wanted. Sweet enough to trick you into thinking the rest of it was just a phase, just a lapse of reason, just the storm before the calm, nothing more. Sweet enough to make you forget, for a little while, the bruises of his words.
You close your eyes and shake it off, you don't want to remember any more of this, you wanted to forget about the past, about him. That was then. He’s bluffing. He’s always bluffing.
This was just another one of his fucked up threats.
Being kidnapped isn't all bad, you think. Sometimes. In your head, privately, when you catch yourself in a quiet moment. Yes, all things considered, sometimes being forced into a life of supposedly blissful domestic life has its... unexpected perks.
And it's tempting to indulge in the newfound loss of responsibility, isn't it? There's no bills to pay, no meetings and appointments and responsibilities to juggle, no alarms going off on your phone to do this and that. No more checking your bank account and wondering how you're going to make it work every month.
No more coming home dog-tired, shoveling leftovers or frozen meals into your mouth, trying to etch out a few precious moments of personal time before you go to sleep and get up and do it all over again.
You even have time to read. To write. To paint. To embroider. To do whatever little approved hobbies they give you.
Approved being key here--you don't dare hope they'll let you on the internet. Too risky. But an old computer is okay, and maybe, in the past few weeks, you've finally made progress on the book you've always wanted to write and it's... nice.
It's nice, to finally get to do what you want, to not feel burdened by money and bills and the endless expenses.
It's nice to have someone who lets you indulge in your hobbies all day and night, if you're not being too ornery with them. Lets you write for hours, massages your sore wrists afterward; lets you paint canvases and only tuts if you accidentally get some on the carpet.
It's nice, if you can ignore that there are locks on the doors, that the skin around your ankle still feels rubbed raw from the chain that used to be there, that sometimes you find yourself held in the lap of someone you won't let you leave--their lap or their house or their life.
It's nice, if you can ignore how tightly they hold you, how they worm their way into every nook and cranny of your mind and body and soul, how they tell you they won't ever ever ever let you go.
♡ TW: noncon, panty-stealing, sexual and other harassment/torment/warfare, forced proximity, mentions of and mockery of bulimia, but no actual bulimia present, nausea, throw-up, paranoia, slut-shaming, incel mentality, misogyny, narcissistic reader
♡ FEM reader
People seem to think he’s a nice guy.
Harmless, they say. A sweetheart, they call him.
And sure, he had you fooled in the beginning, too. Polite, a little awkward, scratching the back of his neck with a deep blush on his cheeks, unable to look you in the eye, telling you he was looking forward to the two of you rooming together.
You, too, thought he was harmless. But the more time passed living with him, the more you noticed he was anything but a saint.
Always hiding behind his loser-esque shy-guy act, even when you feel his loud longing stare rest heavy on your lips and tits, even your cunt when he’s feeling extra brazen. The dusty rouge of his cheeks doesn't fool you anymore—the shameless bastard. He grosses you out, and worst of all, you’re starting to suspect he likes it—that he’s getting caught on purpose just to fulfill some sick thrill he’s got going on.
Perverted fucking creep.
You know he’s using your soap, too. You smell it on him. Your lavender shampoo and body wash. You didn’t think much of it the first time around. If it were only a one-off thing, you wouldn’t mind. Men are allowed to be curious about a girl’s finer things, after all. You weren’t about to freak out over something so small. But then you notice it wasn’t a one-off. No, it’s every goddamn time he’s in there.
And you know what the creep’s up to—taking those long showers, coming out looking so smug and refreshed. You’re not an idiot. You know he’s jerking off in there, the fucking rat. With your soap, no less!
And so, you started bringing it back into your room with you, along with your other soaps and lotions. You don’t know what the freak might end up doing once robbed of his lube of choice—he might just use your sunscreen if you’re not careful.
You snicker to yourself, feeling clever, as you dry your hair with a towel in your room. Thinking he’s ball’s blue, moping in his room—and rightfully so!
But, looking at your naked body in the mirror, you can’t really say that you blame the poor bastard either. It must be hard for him, sleeping alone in his bed, knowing a girl like you’s just in the next room. But hell, you’re so out of his league—he should be thanking the stars to even be sleeping this close to you in the first place.
You laugh at the thought, fetching a fresh pair of panties from your drawer. That’s when your fingers brush against something odd.
The colorful fabrics have always been silky and smooth to the touch, no doubt. But this type of velvety texture isn’t right… No, it’s sticky.
You bend over, peaking your head forth, inspecting the many lacy pairs up close.
The smell hits you in the same moment you understand what it is. And then the shock.
What the fuck?
You jump back. Appalled at first, but the feeling is quickly overrun by outrage.
“Ew! That’s it!”
You march over to the other room, where the culprit sits—casually with a guilt-free look on his face in front of his computer screen—an anime girl dressed in a skimpy maid two-piece as his screen-saver—the shameless sicko.
“What the fuck is wrong with you!?”
You’re done with the pleasantries. You could accept his stares, you could handle him taking a few liberties like using your body wash and all those small accidental touches he’d fake apologize for—but this? Jerking off onto your underwear!? That’s beyond reason—even for a fucking incel!
“Listen here, slimeball, stay the fuck out of my room!” you warn, a long lacquered fingernail threatening to slice his face bloody and wipe that dumb expression off along with it.
And still, he has the audacity to act clueless. “What are you talking about?”
You nearly burst a vein. All but ready to jump him and strangle him to death if it weren’t for the disgusting prospect of touching him, and the fact that you were only wrapped in a towel. Besides, you’re sure he’d no doubt get off on it, the fucking freak.
“You know very well what I'm talking about, you perv. Touch my stuff again, and I’ll—”
“Tell on me?” he interrupts calmly, a small crack between his lips—smiling at you, seeming excited almost, like some fucking psychopath, continuing to talk to you just so, “I mean, as cute as it would be to watch you try, I doubt anyone would take you seriously.”
His tone is nothing if not completely suave, utterly dismissive of your anger—reflecting none of it back at you as if the two of you were discussing something trivial, such as yesterday's lecture—fully ignoring the fact that you’d just called him out on being a disgusting deviant.
Acting instead like a seasoned serial killer, sitting there, all unbothered.
“Oh, and good luck changing dorms. I think you just missed the final date for complaints, but hey, maybe you’ll get lucky. The forms take time to process, but I’m sure they’ll have an answer for you in about a month or so,” he continues, just as laid-back. “Until then, though, I guess you' got nowhere else to go. Unless, of course, you find someone who’s willing to rent you a coach to sleep on—or, you know, you could always take your chances in a rooming house.”
He shakes his head, then clicks his tongue, sucking a breath through his teeth. “Ooh, but I don’t really see you enjoying yourself there either. I mean, if you think I’m overstepping, you’re in for a rude awakening.”
Chuckling a bit, his smile curls up even more psychotically—unsettling enough it makes a sharp shiver run up your spine.
“But anyway, in the meantime, we might as well try to be nice to each other. Right, roomie?”
You blanch at that, looking at that incongruous smile on his face. You end up swallowing what’s left of your anger—the feeling replaced by a jarring sense of unease, like you’d just discovered you were sharing the flat with a snake over the common insect you’d seen him as.
“Just–” you start, voice now weak, finding yourself retreating.
This side of him wasn’t just creepy. No, if you were to be honest, such as the prickly goosebumps he’d given rise to, you’d have to say he was being downright menacing.
“Just… stay out of my room.” You almost even tack on a please at the end, but scurry away before it can leave your lips, feeling in desperate need to go lock yourself in your room, where you get started on that dorm request at once, despite him having made it seem like a dead and hopeless end.
You walk around feeling extra wary of him in the following days—no longer bothering with common decencies despite what he’d said about trying to get along. No, instead, you began showing him clear aversion. Taking more precautions than before, such as doing your laundry under supervision, locking your room both when you're in and out of it, and keeping all your belongings safely inside.
You’re not sure if you’re being paranoid or not, but after that last encounter, you don’t want to take any chances.
Still, unfortunately, you can’t avoid him altogether either.
You’re sitting on the sofa reading a magazine when he decides to come out and put on some balding streamer, talking loudly about his personal political views on the smart TV.
At first, you don’t acknowledge him. You just sigh and continue with your magazine, trying your best to ignore his very presence, pretending to read while considering moving to your room—though not able to get over how doing something like that would feel too much like surrendering. And suffering from the defeat of last time, you don’t feel like you can afford it, and so you stay put.
Pretending like you're alone works out for a while…
But then he decides to open his mouth.
“Reading any interesting world news over there, or just the usual tabloid trash?”
You pick your eyes up off the page enough to give him a narrow glare from over the top of it. Since your argument, you’d dropped all manners and started doing the opposite, making it beyond visible how repulsive you think he is.
He hadn’t had much of a reaction to it at first, just kept up his freaky smiles as though he was winning the war being waged between the two of you. But lately, you could see it was getting to him.
Suppose this is his way of punishing you.
Too bad you don’t crack easily.
Scoffing, you shoot back a similar jab, “And you really think this guy’s got any valuable input on that front?” You nod your head towards the TV, gesturing to the loser giving a speech about the damage feminism causes.
“At least he’s got an opinion. ‘Only thing you’ care about is–” he cocks his head, squinting where he sits in the opposite end of the sofa, reading one of the highlights in your hands. “How to slim down and grow your tits at the same time.”
He raises his brow at you before letting his eyes drop down to your chest, pupil-fat and lazy. “I mean… Your parents must be real' proud.”
His leer, more than his sarcasm, makes you regret not wearing a bra. Covering your chest with the magazine quickly as you spring to your feet. Growling out a curt “Creep,” under your breath as you pass him, hurriedly stomping away towards your room.
You grab a bulky sweater and throw it on over the little crop top you’d been wearing. Pulling on a pair of sweats over your pajama shorts just for good measure, before heading out again. Deadset on standing your ground and not letting him think he can bully you into cowering in your room like some insecure little girl.
You sit down decidedly in the same spot you’d been sitting, the same magazine in hand. This time, determined not to engage even if he tests you.
Pissed off, you reach for your water while aggressively flipping to where you’d left off, putting your glass to your lips, taking a big mouthful, only to feel yourself swallowing something thicker than water.
It’s too late then. By the time you realize, it’s already slinking down your throat, settling in your stomach.
Slowly, you look down into your cup, watching the water swish around with the remnants of something sudsy floating on top.
You look up at him, and though he doesn’t return your stupefied glare, you swear you see his lip twitch up into an ugly little smirk.
The realization makes you gag.
Fucker spat in your cup…
That gross fucking shitstain just spat in your cup and let you drink it, then smiled as if celebrating some sick victory.
You want to yell. You want to scream, cuss him out, and hold nothing back. Your breath picks up, getting riled, but before you're able to let it go, sickness beats you to it.
With a hand covering your mouth, you end up needing to rush off to the bathroom, convinced you're about to vomit.
On your way, you hear snickering behind you. But despite how the bundles of humiliation and frustration make your eyes sting, you refuse to allow the feeling to simmer—trying your best to calm down, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.
Spitting in the sink, you grab for your toothbrush and paste, quickly popping the cap and squeezing, but before you can lay out a fat blob of mint to scrub and cover every square inch of your mouth, you fall still at the sight of something else caught on the bristles.
Taking a closer look, you identify a thick, tiny, dark, curly hair.
You gape, tossing both the paste and the brush in the sink once you understand what it is, holding your breath with a hand covering your mouth, but this time, it does little in helping you hold back what’s begun climbing up your pipes.
Tears too go trickling down both sides of your face as you hunch over the toilet on both knees. Head spinning, asking yourself what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the actual fucking fuck is wrong with this guy?
“You okay in there, roomie?” comes a muffled voice from the other side of the door, tone soaked in mock sympathy. “You shouldn’t take bad advice from shitty tabloids. Bulimia is never a good look.”
You clutch the toilet seat in trembling fists, breath shivering, knuckles whitening, seething out a choked “Fuck off!” as you bang your foot back against the locked door, hoping to make him scurry away like the disgusting sewage rat he is.
But despite the effort, you don’t hear him leave.
You stay there for a moment, dry heaving once there’s nothing more to expel. Then simply hovering over the bowl, sniffling with drool slipping off your lips—calming yourself down.
By the time the shock had finally simmered down and the disgust was no longer so visceral that it was violently ricocheting through you, your tears had soaked into your skin, leaving salty streaks behind.
You drag yourself up off the floor after another moment, splashing your face with cold water and rinsing out the acid from your mouth. Catching a glimpse of yourself in the reflection, you instantly have to look away—not wanting to face the absolute wreck looking back at you.
Instead, you close the lid, flush, leaving the brush and paste in the sink as you unlock the door and storm out, pushing straight past him without a word. Only near-ripping the keys off the nail in the wall before slamming the outer door shut behind you, hoping it would hit him in the face as you go off to walk the busy streets by yourself. Needing the fresh air.
Still, though, even when free of his presence, it’s nerve-wracking.
You feel like an imposter, wishing to look normal, needing to make sure no one could somehow tell just by looking at you that you’ve been brushing your teeth with someone's pubes and only god knows what fucking else for an unknown period of time—you feel like you’re losing your mind.
You’re not sure how much more of this you can take. You don’t know what to do. You’ve already exhausted your stay at all your friends' places—you can’t expect them to house you forever. Nor do you feel like telling them what’s been really going on out of fear you’ll sound insane.
Out in public, he acts like such a harmless little saint. No one would ever believe you if you told them of all the grotesque things he’s done. No good would come out of it—no, you’d just end up looking like a mean bitch bullying him.
There’s no other option. Shitty as it may be, you just need to hold out until your request to switch dorms comes back. It's already been a month, so you wouldn't have to wait much longer.
But when the time finally comes, it’s hardly a comfort.
Denied.
Everything is all maxed out.
You end up staring at the form even after reading it a dozen times over—computer lit in the darkness of your room. Fifteen minutes pass, maybe more—as though you’re waiting for the words to change into something more preferable, something less detrimental.
You’ve, of course, checked out other arrangements, but everything he’d said turned out to be true. Still, despite having checked for options every day, you scour every availability again, but come out of the search equally empty-handed as before.
There’s nowhere for you to go...
His door is open for you when you unlock yours and pad across the hall, out of options and out of luck and just about all out of strength as well.
“Oh, hey there, roomie, did you want something?” your roommate drawls. Sitting by his desk, toying with another pair of your stolen panties.
He’s been taking both worn and unworn ones, using them like cum-socks and putting them back in your drawer unwashed. You don’t know when or how he’s been able to enter your room—your best guess is that he must have copied your key at some point or that he's just good at picking locks. You saw a video about it on YouTube one late night when you were losing your mind, unable to sleep, thinking he would come in and do worse things than panty-theft.
To no comfort, picking a common door lock had looked easy.
The ones currently in his hand used to be your favorite pair. Despite having known of his crimes for a while, the brazen sight still makes you shiver. That way, he just sits there—showing it off—smug and carefree, utterly devoid of concern, as if he knows you’ll never be able to prove any of it in your favor.
You sigh, knowing it too. “Ok, fine.”
His head tilts to the side, askingly.
“Let’s settle this. What do you want?”
Your question makes that same awful smile stretch across his face.
“What do I want?”
He eyes you for a moment—basking in it, you guess.
Leaning forward in his chair, he puts your panties up to his face, sinking his nose into the fabric with eyes closed.
You cringe from where you stand, acknowledging him the same way you would an alien.
“You know, it’s funny…” He takes a deep whiff, then exhales with a loud sigh, speaking in mutters, “I was just fine watching from a distance, borrowing the odd trinket or two—that's what roommates do, you know? They share. But you… You just couldn’t do that, could you?”
He leans back again, using his bare feet to swirl the seat, testing the stretch of the lace in his hands as he aims it at you like a slingshot.
“You see, you think you’re a princess, but you’re actually just… well, a bitch.”
Letting it go, he would have shot it right at your face if you hadn’t caught it before it could.
“Calling me a pervert when you’re the one walking around half-naked like a fucking slut. Tch—how’s it my fault for looking when you’re practically begging for it?”
You ball the fabric in a tightened fist. Speaking with teeth grit, “And what? ‘You want me to apologize or something? Is that it?”
He spreads his thighs wider where he sits, hands on each armrest, appraising you sideways as though he's holding all the cards and waiting for you to slide over the winnings. “You know what, roomie? That’s exactly what I want.”
You honestly can’t believe it. Bitterness on your tongue, you spit out an insincere, “Fine then. Sorry for making you look–”
“No–” he interrupts, shaking his head, slumped in his chair with eyes deadset on you. “On your knees.”
Eye twitching, both of them squinting, before you scoff, “Yeah, I’m sorry…”
Sneering, you look down your nose, potent contempt in your voice, “Real’ sorry for bruising your poor incel pride and your tiny loser dick.”
The next events happen fast.
You don’t even know what happened—in one moment, you’re giving him the finger on both hands, and in another, you’re with your body and face against the floorboards and your arms painfully pulled behind your back.
Something is on top of you, sitting on you, squeezing the air out of your chest with its weight.
“We’ll see what you have to say about my tiny loser dick when I'm stretching your slut pussy so good your eyes roll back into your skull,” the mass snarls from above, heated and wet, smeared against the shell of your ear along with teeth, followed by a breathy laugh.
“Y’know, I have this funny feeling you’ll love it.”
Summary: Being a cam girl is a fun gig. Flexible hours, dressing up in cute outfits, and arguably easy cash. It’s almost made even better, knowing that you’ve got troves of desperate men right under your thumb. Well, it is - until one of them gets too attached.
CW: 18+ content, explicit sexual content, sex work, reader is a cam girl (duh), female masturbation, male masturbation, sex toys, voyeurism, stalking, toxic behaviour, breaking and entering, dubious consent w/ noncon elements, unsafe sex, wet and messy, drool and spit, vaginal fingering, biting and marking, hair pulling, dacryphilia, possessive tendencies, dom/sub undertones, Toby’s SUCH a desperate LOSER lmfao, and a total creep, also a bit psychotic, creampie
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NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!
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Toby should’ve never gotten a laptop.
He never saw the need for one beforehand, never cared - nor had the time - to waste his hours away in the online world. He had way bigger, and way more important priorities. Being one of Slender’s top dogs meant that most, if not all of his time was spent devoting himself to a cause he barely understood. Kept so busy that he could barely even take a moment to form an independent thought.
But, despite all that, and despite Slender’s best efforts - Toby was still human. Flesh, bone, and a beating heart. Needs, wants, desires. Curiosities.
So when he’s coming home from a mission in the city one night, and happens upon a discarded laptop in a dumpster behind an electronics store - he takes the bait. It had just been sitting there, the metal of its casing glinting in the moonlight, the charging cord barely a foot away.
Like it was beckoning him. Taunting him.
So, he takes it.
He wasn’t expecting it to work, brought it home with the expectation that he’d get nothing but a black screen staring back at him. That he’d dispose of this momentary lapse of judgment, and go back to life as usual - dumping it back in the trash like he had never found it in the first place.
That’s not what happened. By some grace of god, or possibly by the devil’s hand - it worked. The screen flickered and blinked on when he connected the charger and plugged it into the nearest non-busted outlet in his vicinity. It worked. A few dead pixels in the left-hand corner, a hairline crack running down the centre - but it worked. That enough was enough to have Toby letting out a downright giddy little laugh to no one but the four walls of his room - eyes wide and reflecting the screen before him, like he was staring into the gates of heaven itself.
He was. He just didn’t know it right then.
It didn’t take long for him to become completely and utterly hooked. Any free time to himself he found himself in the exact same position - eyes burning from the blue light, back hunched into an absolutely abhorrent display of posture, his gaze glued to the screen before him. He was like a kid on Christmas, excitement thrumming through his veins every time his fingertips hit the keyboard.
His new toy. Opening up a door to a world he had been exiled from. Observing it all like a window shopper, stuck behind the glass as he gazed upon things he could never have. Things he never should’ve seen. News stories, videos - some recounting disappearances and crimes he had committed with his own bare hands. Blogs and stories, profiles belonging to people he once knew.
Still living, just as he was, but on the other side of the coin. Unaware that he was still breathing, still wasting oxygen on his own wretched lungs as he peered into their lives. Analyzing the smiles on their faces. Wondering to himself, it was all a facade.
He spent days doing that. Checking in on old relatives, old classmates. Gritting his teeth when he would find out that they were doing well. Some married, some working towards some fancy degree. It felt like a swift punch to the gut, made him nauseous like their unknowing grins were an insult to life itself.
To him, they were.
Because why had they gotten it good? Why were they the ones thriving, and he was the one kicked to the curb? Living in a dusty old cabin that just barely had enough power to keep his screen lit.
He wasn’t sure what he hoped would happen. That karma would’ve dealt its heavy hammer onto all of their lives, leaving them sick, penniless - dead? Swiftly making them repent for everything they had done to him, one strike for every time they had ever pushed his face into the dirt.
But karma didn’t take names. It was fickle. Wasn’t some all seeing god that punished the horrid and cleansed the world with one swipe of its hand. If that were true, he’d probably be taken out right along with everyone who had wronged him.
His little escape from the horrors had quickly become just another set of horrors itself. Putting him into an even worse mood than before with an already frazzled mind from the events of the day, and yet he just couldn’t tear himself away. It was some sort of sick fascination, like a voyeur, gazing upon people’s lives while they were none the wiser. And maybe that’s why he just kept coming back. Maybe that’s how he found you.
He can’t really remember it all clearly, how he had stumbled upon this little goddess on his screen. Probably from some pop up ad on a porn site he had stumbled upon on one of his lonelier nights. All he remembered was seeing you. Front and centre. Top of the charts on the front page of the website you called home - right where you belonged. He remembered immediately thinking that it made sense, gazing at the little thumbnail snapshot of you - body covered in nothing but a sheer babydoll dress with the sweetest little smile curving your lips. It made sense, that you were the most clicked. And he hadn’t even ever watched you yet.
But when he finally did? It was an entirely different story. You were ethereal. Exquisite. A marvel of a woman all done up in lacy lingerie. Your body, carved to the shape of his wildest desires, your voice soft and sweet like a siren’s song. Eyes sparkling, lips plump, and the softest looking thighs he had ever laid eyes on. And don’t even get him started on what lay between them.
He hadn’t been with nearly as many girls as he would’ve liked too. Had seen enough cunts that he could count them on one hand. But yours? It was perfect. He was sure of it. He didn’t have to compare it to anything else to know that.
Always glistening and puffy by the time you peeled your panties off, legs spread to give your audience a nice show. Riling yourself up until you were desperate for it, soaking the lacy fabric so good he could see glistening strings of your slick attaching you to them before they broke. The first time he had witnessed it he was enraptured, goosebumps prickling up on the back of his neck, stomach flipping like he was witnessing something he had no right to. He probably didn’t. Someone like you, someone so soft and supple - someone so perfect - his hands would taint you. Leave you ruined. No matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much his body craved you, he just knew he’d break you.
(But maybe that was half of the reason he wanted you).
So, he just watches, like everyone else in your audience. Watches your pretty painted fingernails, the softness of your hands as you play with your own tits. Watching how the flesh indents under your fingers, knowing that they had to be even more supple than they looked. Imagining what it would be like to see them all marked up with splotches of red and purple from his teeth and tongue. Listened to your moans and imagined they were for him. Imagining that you were crying from stretching yourself around his cock, not your dildo or your fingers.
His fingers could give it to you better. And that toy you used? It was a dinky little thing. All of your followers knew it too. He could see them in the chat, begging you to take something bigger. Asking if you even could.
Toby knew you could. Could see it on your face when you sunk yourself down onto it. That little wrinkle of frustration in your brow. That thinly veiled want for more. For something real. How you rolled your hips deep, like you were imagining something bigger, something that could really fill you up. Something that would make those pretty tears you loved to spill genuine.
It was all on purpose, it had to be. To keep everyone begging. Hoards of men just like him joining your livestreams day after day, just to see if this was the night you finally stretched yourself out good. It never was, and that’s why you were so popular - because you were a fucking tease. And anticipation is one of the best motivators.
That was true for Toby as well, even if he knew better.
He found himself joining your lives every single night. Right when they started, when you were still (mostly) clothed. Every night the outfit differed, and yet every night you still made his mouth water - his hand flying to the bulge in his jeans before you even took your top off.
Lace, silk, satin. Sheer little dresses, crop tops and thigh highs. Boyshorts on nights when you wanted to feel comfier, crotchless panties when you were really putting on a show. Garters on your legs that he’d imagine peeling off with his own teeth. The common denominator between all of your clothes was that they looked expensive, and it didn’t take long to figure out why.
You talked to people in your chat often, addressed them by name, and batted your pretty eyelashes at them through the webcam. It didn’t take long for Toby to realize that you’d do the same for him, if he just tossed you a bit of cash. You’d do anything for the right price, it seemed. He had seen it for himself when you edged yourself for nearly two whole hours, just because a donator had tossed you a grand and told you not to cum. It was crazy to think about, throwing money at this girl just so that she toyed with her own body while you were sat miles away - unsatiated with fingers itching to touch her.
It was humiliating that he started considering it.
It was downright pathetic when he actually did it.
He just couldn’t take it anymore, listening to you moan out all of these other names from those sweet lips of yours. It felt like a crime. Like some exclusive club, he was being locked out of behind a paywall. And though he had came to the sight of you multiple times already, he just knew that hearing you speak to him would buckle him. He’d be hearing it ringing in his ears for weeks, and he wanted that. Needed that.
So he caves.
Proxies normally deal in cash, but Toby was well versed in pickpocketing - so it only took one or two trips into the city before he was walking home with a pretty hefty wallet snagged from the pocket of a businessman. Loaded with credit cards of all different varieties, but he knew that it would only be a short time until his victim realized the damage and locked all of them. So, as soon as he gets home, he’s ripping one out of the leather and typing the details into the account he had made on the website. Your website, as far as he was concerned.
And he knew that it wouldn’t take long for his little spending spree to end, but that didn’t matter. He could always swipe another card from some other brain-dead drone.
It would be worth it every time. He knew it the moment you spoke to him for the first time.
’Oh, that’s a new name. Welcome to the show, Toby. What can I do for ya’?’
His name sounded like gospel coming from your lips. It wasn’t anything special, just four simple letters, and yet they sounded like a prayer. Had Toby hanging onto every syllable. His mouth damn near salivating as he watched the way your lips formed around it, lungs feeling tight as all of the air left them in a shuddering exhale. You were looking right at him when you said it, eyes glinting like you knew exactly what effect your voice would have.
(Of course you did. It was your job to be a temptress, after all.)
He remembered hesitating. Remembered how his body had broken into a fit of trembles and twitches as you eyed the chat expectantly. Waiting for him. For him. He remembered all the blood rushing down to his cock so quickly it made him feel lightheaded. Vision going a little blurry, but you were still in crisp focus. A vignette surrounding the object of his desire. Everything else, wiped away, because nothing else mattered. Not as much as you did.
’Take your top off?’ He felt silly - embarrassed - typing the words out, felt his gut twist when he hit send, even though other people had asked much worse of you. But, they had also paid more.
’Take my top off?’ You had giggled softly, your lips curling into an amused little grin. Like you knew. Like you could feel his nerves radiating through your screen. And he watched as your hands slid down your body, all smooth and slow, dragging it out just to make him sweat. Directing his gaze to your each and every curve, eyes widening in anticipation when they slipped behind your back - undoing the pretty bow that kept your halter top fastened without even so much as a hitch. So easily. Staring right into your webcam when the fabric fell down into your lap.
Braless, of course you were. You always were. Giving him an eyeful of your bare tits just because he had asked. They just sat so pretty. So perfect. So soft when you reached up to toy with them. Kneading them gently, letting out a little gasp like they were just buzzing with sensitivity. Was it for show, or were you really just that easy to rile up? He was banking on the latter when he slipped a hand into his boxers.
He let out a hiss through his teeth, barely even aware of how hard he actually was before he got a hand curled around the base of his cock. Pulsing against his palm, skin taut, precum dribbling down onto his fingers when he gave it a teasing squeeze. Eyes glazed over as he watched you, committing the colour of your nail polish to memory when you gave your already perked up nipples a little pinch. A wicked shudder going down his spine as your lips part for a moan.
‘This what you wanted, Toby?’ His whole body jolted when you spoke his name again, his cock twitching against his palm as his movements grew more and more eager. Shoving the waistband of his jeans down like they had offended him, giving himself more breathing room for more desperate flicks of his wrist. ‘Wanted to see my tits, baby?’ He whines, face scrunched up in pleasure - eyebrows knitted together, and his eyes pinched closed. He wasn’t even watching anymore, but he didn’t even need to. That sweet voice of yours was all he needed. ‘Bet you’re wishin’ these were your hands, huh?’
’Yes- F-Fuck-‘ He gasped out into the empty air of his bedroom. Like you could hear him, like you gave a fuck. Like you viewed him as something more than just another sap you could squeeze dry.
His ears were ringing, hips bucking into every pathetic movement he made. The sound of that obscene ‘schlick, schlick’ filling the air of his empty bedroom between his huffed out gasps and groans, boarded by your voice through the speakers of his laptop - downright taunting him. ‘You’ve gone quiet, baby. Hands too busy?’
It was humiliating, so much so that part of him wanted to fly back to the chat and give you an earful. But the other part - the more prominent part - was in, far too deep. Your voice made him hot, even through the taunts. So much so that he can feel sweat soaking his clothes, his t-shirt clinging to the curves of his back. Beads of it rolling down his forehead. Burning up, pumping his cock faster and faster, not sure if he was working towards or trying to fend off his release.
You made the decision for him.
’Great first impression. Go on and cum for me, Toby. Bet you’re close.’ He saw stars, cumming so abruptly like you knew the whereabouts of some hidden switch within him. So sudden, it knocks the wind out of him and makes his vision whiteout. Groaning shamelessly into the air, not a care in the world that someone might hear him as he just barely registers the feeling of his cum splattering against the front of his t-shirt. He was practically choking for air, thighs trembling like a leaf in the wind. Keeping his strokes steady until the overstimulation was making his gut clench, milking out every ounce of pleasure as if he just couldn’t bear to let it fizzle out.
Chest heaving when he slumps back against his sheets, so dazed he couldn’t even be bothered to clean himself off and tuck his cock back into his boxers. You had moved on already, while he was struggling to piece himself back together, already chatting away with someone else who had offered you more.
He didn’t care. He could barely even hear you. His ears were ringing with the sound of your voice. Replaying it over and over like a broken record. His mind right then was a void that only you inhabited, the sole ruler in his kingdoms of thoughts. Looping a lasso around his rationality and pulling it taut - choking him out with the intensity of his desire.
And it stayed that way. From a regular viewer to an avid patron. Throwing you every dollar he could get his hands on. That initial apprehension fading away, asking you for more and more and more. Getting lewder, more vulgar in his requests of you, and yet you took them all in stride. Just so long as he had the money to back up his words.
He did. He always did. He made sure of it.
’Wanna see you stretch that pussy open, baby’. Fifty dollars.
’Look how wet you are… Better lick those fingers clean.’ Seventy.
’How about you moan my name when you cum? I’ve been good to you, haven’t I?’ Two hundred.
You did it all. Like his own personal doll. A marionette that he pulled the strings for, hanging onto his each and every wish. He couldn’t help but feel special, important to you. Someone who you actually enjoyed talking to, obeying.
It was hard to keep his ego in check. Even harder when it started to seem like he might not be too far off with his fantasies.
You started greeting him sweetly every time you saw this name pop up in the chat. Murmuring out a little ‘There you are, Toby. Missed you.’ Before he even sent you a dollar. Your smiles looked more genuine, giggles sounded more real. The icing on the cake was the blush that would warm your cheeks as your eyes scanned across his request for the night.
You liked him. You had to. Why else would you start catering to him? It was just barely noticeable, but it was enough for Toby to pick up on. The subtle changes in demeanour, the sparkle in your eye when you saw him join your live. He couldn’t help but poke and prod, see just how far you’d go - proof that you were his girl, and that everyone else were just afterthoughts.
‘Cute set.’ He had commented one night, eyeing the scene of you sprawled out on your bed - clad in a sheer black bodysuit, nothing but a pair of pasties and a skimpy little g-string to cover all the good bits. ‘I like you better in red though.’
You hadn’t acknowledged it, but he knew that you saw the message. He had seen the way your lips quirked up a bit, eyes glinting with something downright dangerous.
The next night, you were wearing a deep scarlet lingerie set.
You hadn’t said it was for him, but you didn’t need to. Even as you went on with the show as normal, giggling and flirting with the crowd you always accumulated - the clothes on your body were a statement.
His words mattered to you. It hadn’t even been a formal request with a payment attached to it. Just a little offhand comment, something he was hoping would sink under your skin - and it did. Because maybe, you liked pleasing him just as much as he liked watching you.
Maybe, when you were trembling and gasping as you played with your clit, you were imagining it was his fingers instead. Maybe you had already conjured up some idea of what he looked like - what you hoped he looked like - and that’s what you pictured as you drew yourself closer and closer to your release. Whatever you were picturing, he was sure it was far from the truth.
After all, who’s ideal lover has a hole ripped straight through their cheek? Not many, that was for sure. But that was alright, he was sure you’d warm up to it eventually. He’d just have to show you that he could treat you better than your wildest dreams. That he could keep you happy, smiling, and sated. So overwhelmed by his devotion towards you that you wouldn’t even bat an eye at his more horrific attributes. Maybe, you wouldn’t even mind it if he told you exactly what he did as a profession.
Maybe he wouldn’t even let you.
It was hard to stay… Normal, about you. He knew that there was a barrier between the two of you, that you could never be what he wanted you to be for him. You could never be his, truly. And yet, he found himself fantasizing that you could be. Daydreams turning into reality quicker than he could reel them in, his pupils turning into little hearts every time he clicked on your livestreams. The pounding in his chest and the throbbing in his jeans, only increasing tenfold every time you acknowledged him.
His eyes, dancing across the curve of your smile, mind racing with the thought of what you tasted like. Your lips were always so glossy, but what was the flavour? Cherry? Strawberry? And your skin, so soft, glistening under the lights above you - it was soft, and he knew it, he could practically already picture what it would feel like to sink his teeth into it. Could conjure up the sounds you’d make. Just like you did on camera, but softer, sweeter - more genuine. Only for him, no one else would know what you sounded like when you were actually into it.
He dreamt about you, night after night. Daydreamed about you, when he was out on missions. Slicing through the flesh of yet another victim, but he was barely even registering it. Moving on autopilot, his mind rotted like a cavity from your sweetness.
He knew it would only get worse and worse, unless he did something about it.
Unless he actually had you.
It was easy to find your whereabouts. Reconnaissance missions were a walk in the park for him, and tracking down someone's location was something he was well versed in. It was his job, after all, just as stringing him along was yours.
Maybe, you should’ve been more careful.
It only took a few swipes through your social media profiles until he was able to figure out where you were located. You probably hadn’t even realized how careless you had been, but you had basically left a breadcrumb trail leading him towards you. Oblivious to the landmarks you left in the backgrounds of your photos outdoors, smiling sweetly in every single one - none the wiser that you had practically doxxed yourself in the eyes of someone like him.
He knew what state you lived in. Your favourite grocery stores, and clubs. From there, it wasn’t difficult to figure out what city you lived in. What specific district.
And you had no idea, going on with your life like normal, posting live after life and greeting him sweetly every single time - oblivious to the fact that he was planning a trip to come see you. To come feel you. To show you that, betting on him, wasn’t a mistake. That out of every single man in your chat, there was only one who could treat you the way you deserved. Only one who knew how to.
Him, obviously.
It took a few weeks for him to figure out how to get out there. Desperate for you, and yet still bound by his ties to Slender. He couldn’t just leave, and he knew that. He needed to be close by and ready, on call for whatever gruesome task was offered up to him. But, missions out of state were common, and he knew that, so he just had to sit and wait. Had to keep joining your lives and buttering you up, getting you all primed and ready for when he finally met you.
It wasn’t even a thought that you might not be happy to see him. You had to be. You liked him, laughed at his jokes, abided to his every wish. You were his, and you were just waiting for him to come and get you.
When a mission is finally offered up in your state, he nearly bursts into tears from relief. It had taken a while - nearly two whole months, and he had been jittery and anxiety ridden the entire time. Driven to the point of pacing around his room as your stream played in the background, damn near close to creating a pin board dedicated just to you, complete with red string and everything. He needed you. Needed you so badly it made his skin crawl, his desire an itch that festered under his skin, only able to be soothed by you and your touch.
Viewing you wasn’t enough anymore. And honestly? It never had been. He had known from the start - from the very first click - that he’d never be content just watching you through the screen of his laptop. He needed to feel the goosebumps pebble your skin, needed to smell your arousal as you just grew wetter and wetter, needed to hear the way your voice cracked on a moan - right up close and personal.
He needed you. All of you. Skin to skin with him, like you were made to be.
The mission in your city goes off without a hitch, like it always does. He was good at his job, efficient, but maybe he flubbed the truth a little when Tim contacted him via flip phone to ask for progress. Maybe, he said that the victim was tricky, always hanging around too many crowds to find them alone.
That wasn’t true, of course, he had slaughtered them like a cow on the first night there. Wiped the blood from his skin and buried them in a ditch within a matter of hours. But they weren’t his prime order of business, they had always been an afterthought. Just a scapegoat to get here.
You were the real prize. You had been from the very beginning.
And it was almost as if you wanted him to find you, because you were so stupidly easy to track down. One night hanging around your favourite bar, and he had you in his sights. Dressed up so pretty - sheer black tights ripped at the knees, a little black dress that showed off your each and every curve. Hair done up into a loose bun, picture-perfect eyeliner and glitter on your cheeks. Not even sending him a passing glance as he leaned up against the brick wall outside and lit up a smoke. Laughing along with the rest of your friends as they dragged you into the building. So blissfully ignorant, it almost made him feel bad for taking advantage - almost.
It wasn’t his fault that you were so easy. It wasn’t his fault that you had invited him into your life so easily.
You were lucky he was a patient man, because he waited. Waited, and waited, and waited. Waited until the sun began to peek over the horizon again, a ghost of pink from the approaching dawn bleeding into the inky black night sky. You had waited until last call until you were stumbling out of the establishment - alone. He didn’t mind. Had gone through a whole pack of cigs while he waited for you to have fun, but it was a necessary loss for what he was rewarded with.
You, all flushed and beautiful. Messy and uninhibited. Too drunk to even call a taxi so you just lazily kick your heels off and stagger on home. He followed you down every single block. Didn’t even need to be all too discreet about it, because you were too fucked out of your own mind that you didn’t even notice him trailing behind you.
So easy. Almost as if you did know he was there, and you were just welcoming him right in.
You lived in a quaint little apartment, a shitty little bachelor pad that he honestly wouldn’t have expected. With the money you pull from the pockets of desperate men like him, he’d expect you to live in something much more grand. Something much more fitting for a princess like you. But, he supposed it did also make sense - all those pretty garments you dressed yourself up in, and all those toys you played with, he knew that they couldn’t be cheap. Taking all that cash and feeding it right back into the machine, making sure that you stayed being the perfect fantasy.
You were number one on the charts, after all, and had been for a while. He was sure that wasn’t exactly an easy task to maintain. He watched how you fumbled for your keys, your movements clumsily and unstable - trying one, two times before you actually got the key in the slot. So messy, it was honestly a miracle that someone just like him hadn’t found you and tugged you away on your precarious walk home.
You didn’t really have to worry about any of that, though, he had been ready for it. The two hatchets hanging from his belt had just been itching to spill blood if anyone had tried anything with his girl.
His girl.
Watching his girl stumble into her home. Peering through your window as you tripped through the living room, tossing your heels onto the floor without a second thought. You left your blinds open (of course you did) and you were too wasted to even think about drawing them closed. So perfect. So willing. Just letting him get an eyeful as you unzipped the back of your dress and made a beeline towards your kitchen for a glass of water from the tap of your sink.
Just a hint of bare skin, and yet it would’ve sated him. Near drooling over the curve of your shoulder blades as he felt his pants tighten, breathing going shaky at the sight. You looked even softer in person, even more delicate. All smooth lines and soft curves, not even a single blemish marring your perfect skin. The direct opposite of him, and all the scarring that speckled him.
But then, you just had to go and give him more. Like it was his own personal show, his eyes widened when you shrugged the straps of your dress off after taking a hearty gulp of water. Just letting it fall down your body like water dripping off of your skin - so uninhibited and uncaring, letting it drop to the ground without a second thought. More and more skin for him to rave over, just sending more and more blood straight down to his cock.
You were perfect, he was sure of it. Even better when you weren’t acting. All light and loose, so pretty and oblivious as you reached down to adjust your thong. A pretty little number you were dressed up in, all lace and silky fabric, it was almost a shame that somebody hadn’t taken you home.
But then again, if they had, he wouldn’t be able to stand here, witnessing it all for himself. The relaxed curve of your stomach, just letting your body be free because no one was watching for once. The way your bra cupped your tits so perfectly, how your thighs jiggled a little when you walked. You were a goddess to him, so much so that when you walked off to your bedroom, he was following you right to it. Rounding the outside of your house, his body feeling hot and jittery as he creeped towards your bedroom window.
Your bedroom window, where the curtains were also undrawn. God, you were just inviting him to look, weren’t you? Could you even blame him, when he snaked a hand down towards the bulge in his jeans? Cupping it, so achingly hard just from watching you, though that wasn’t much of a surprise. He had been getting off to just watching you for months now. But this time it was different, because you didn’t know.
You didn’t know he was unbuckling his belt as you unclasped your bra. Didn’t know he was sliding a hand into his boxers when you reached up to massage your tits, a little - aching from being compacted into your bra all day. So beautifully ignorant as he stroked himself nice and slow, trying to keep his groans to a minimum as his eyes stayed locked on your form.
On the way your ass moved when you walked over to your closet, how the fabric of your panties hugged your cunt when you bent over to grab an old T-shirt from your bottom drawer. There was no mystery, he knew exactly what you looked like under those clothes, had memorized it a million times over.
But this time, his prying eyes were unwelcome, and that’s what was really getting him going more. Leaning his shoulder against the brick of the outside wall, he was gasping into the night air, cock throbbing against his palm as he watched how your skin stretched when you pulled the loose fabric over your body. Somehow, you looked even better this way than all dolled up. Just you, your bare legs, and some old faded band tee - nipples perked up so beautifully under the fabric from the air conditioning in your apartment.
You reached up to pull the elastic from your hair as he’s squeezing the base of his cock, trying to make this last even as precum dribbles down onto his knuckles. So wet and slick, so ready for you, if only you were ready to take it. Your hair falls loose, and he’s hissing through his teeth, hips stuttering into his own grip as he watches the way it cascades over your neck. So soft and silky, he could almost picture what it would feel like sliding between the gaps of his fingers. What noises he could pull out of you, just from curling his fingers into a fist and gripping it just a little too tight.
He doesn’t even realize he’s panting until the inside of his mask gets so hot and stuffy it feels like it's going to suffocate him. With his free hand, he hurriedly unclasps it and yanks it off of his face - letting his gasps and stifled groans ring out into the night air. He’s trying to be quiet, he really is, but he doesn’t think he’s been more worked up in his entire life. So sensitive that every downstroke makes his hips twitch and his stomach twist, that familiar coil of white-hot burning heat swirling low in his gut. Leaking onto his fingers, the sound of it was almost even louder than his moans were - so filthy, all for you. Because of you. And you didn’t even know it.
You just scampered over to your vanity like normal, pulling out a packet of makeup wipes from out of the drawer to wash off the night.
That was what got him. He had never seen you barefaced, not once. You were always so prim and perfect. Concealer covering up every blemish, false eyelashes glued on top of your real ones. Lip gloss and lipstick, blush and contour. Meticulously done up to be the woman from his dreams. But seeing you without it? Oh, he didn’t know it was possible for you to get more gorgeous, and yet you just seemed to outdo yourself time after time again.
He liked the sight of the moles and freckles on your face that you covered up day after day. Liked your natural lashes, and the dark circles under your eyes that you hid away with concealer. Your skin wasn’t perfect, donning a few pimples and acne scarring from years before - but that was the best part. It wasn’t perfect, it was real. You were real.
The sight of you barefaced and beautiful in front of your mirror, body just barely hidden under an old t-shirt - that’s what really drove the point home. You weren’t just some girl on a screen. You were living and breathing just like he was. He could see the tired droop of your eyes, the slight sway of your body from the lingering liquor still swimming in your veins. You reach up lazily under your shirt and scratch an itch under your tits while letting out a sleepy little sniffle, and he could just die right then and there. You were so tangible.
Online, you were a doll he could dress up and play with to his heart's content, but here - you were just a tired, messy girl. A real woman. Someone he could so easily reach out and take.
His orgasm takes him by surprise. He had been trying to fend it off, trying to make this really last because the sight of you so relaxed and free was downright intoxicating - but then you lean forwards in your seat. Your t-shirt rides up a bit, giving him a nice cheeky glimpse of the curve of your ass, the way your panties hugged your curves so deliciously, and he was done for. You didn’t even know how provocative you were being, you weren’t even trying. That was the best part.
He has to sink his teeth into his bottom lip when the pleasure crests and pulls him under, biting hard enough to make himself bleed as he takes in ragged gasps of breath through his nose. His whole body breaking into a fit of shakes, hips twitching and jerking with each rope of cum he pumped out. It sullied the grass beneath his feet and dirtied his knuckles, so much of it - like his body could feel his close proximity to you and adjusted his hormones accordingly.
His body slumps, heavyweight leaning up against the outside wall of your home as stars dance behind his eyes. Lips finally parting to take in a few heaving breaths as his head spins. His whole body, so loose and weighted at the same time, it's no surprise when his knees buckle beneath him - thighs shaking as he slides down the wall until he’s seated on his ass. His softening cock still half out of his jeans, his badly aimed load already going crusty against the fabric.
His jaw clenches, and then his neck is cracking to the side. Eyes squeezing shut when it happens again, then again. Letting out a strained little grunt when his shoulders jerk, one hand flying down to curl into the grass below him as his joints twitch and spasm. So overwhelmed, it was like his entire body was going into overdrive, like he was trying to crawl out of his own skin just to get to you quicker. It's humiliating, sitting there like a madman, his shoulders seized up close to his ears as he struggles to wipe his dirtied hand off on the blades of grass below him. Knowing that you’re just one wall away, that you could look out your window any second now, and see the pathetic mess of a man trying to piece himself back together right below your windowsill.
That wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want your first impression of him to be that he was just some creep. He wasn’t. He was just devoted to you in ways you could never imagine. The sight of you made his heart seize up and stutter, the sound of your voice had his lungs squeezing so tight that all his air was leaving them in a wheezing gasp. You made him itch. Made him ache. Like you were some sort of infestation, slowly but surely rotting him from the inside out. You’d never get it. Not unless he told you, showed you. Not unless you felt it for yourself.
Naturally, he sticks around. Of course, one night spying on you wouldn’t have been enough. It didn’t satiate the craving, it only fed it. And so, he was making up excuses to Tim on the phone - telling him day after day that the target was tricky, slippery, to not come pick him up yet because he wasn’t finished. He sure as hell wasn’t - he was only just getting started.
He grew accustomed to your routine over the next few days. You’d wake up, brush your teeth, and watch a few episodes of some cheesy sitcom on your television while you sipped your morning coffee. Then, you’d wash your mug in the sink. The same mug, every day. It must be your favourite. After that, you were headed for the shower, to which you hid yourself from him for about twenty minutes every single day. Your bathroom didn’t have windows (a shame), but even if it did, he’d assume your bare body was hidden behind a curtain. So, for that stretch of time every day he’s left leaning up against the side of your house, palming the bulge in his jeans as the image of you - all bare and glossy with water droplets - danced behind his eyelids.
He followed you to the store, to the bar, to your friend’s houses. You didn’t seem to have a day job, but he supposed that wasn’t entirely surprising - you probably got everything you needed just from donations. Hell, you could probably live comfortably just off of his contributions alone. You spent most of your days just lazing around, living off of the funds you’d pulled from your hoard of fans - sometimes taking day trips to the café near your house, or to the mall to buy some new exquisite number to add to your repertoire.
The night was when you really came alive, though.
You didn’t stop doing shows, just because he had gone radio silent. Of course not, it was your job, after all - you couldn’t take a day or two off simply to wait for him. But he would swear that he could see it in your eyes as he watched through the window. You were disappointed, every time you failed to see his name pop into your chat, crestfallen at his absence. Going on as usual, keeping the act up, but he could tell.
You missed him.
If only you knew that he was still watching, just up close and personal this time.
And god, was it better. So close, he could just burst through your window and touch you if he had a little less self-restraint. The camera really didn’t do it justice - up close, you were a dream. The most gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes on, with the prettiest pussy to match. Absolutely dripping with slick when you sank your fingers in two knuckles deep, stretching yourself out nice and proper - but not as well as he could.
His patience weaned quickly. He could only spend so many nights watching you try every trick in the book to make yourself cum. Desperately tweaking your nipples as you rode your favourite dildo into the mattress, that ever present pinch in your brow - frustration, need. You needed him. He could have you falling apart in mere minutes, he was just sure of it. He’d bet you’d never touch a toy again, after he finally had his way with you.
You were just laying in wait, your entire body coaxing him forwards and feeding into his delusions.
You couldn’t call yourself innocent, when you were just reeling him in like this. He was sure that if he took a peek into your thoughts, he’d find that you were thinking of him just as he was thinking of you. Craving him. This man you didn’t even have a face to match the name for, and yet he had buttered you up so good that you were imagining him to be exactly what you needed to soothe the ache in your gut, the throbbing in your panties.
He could be the cure to the never ending lust that consumed you. He just had to show you.
-
You’re out with friends when he first sneaks in. Finding out that your window was unlocked the entire time had sent a thrill straight down to his bones. Knowing that it's just been that easy this entire time. That he could’ve had you whenever he wanted, that you had just been offering yourself up like a lamb to the slaughter.
Maybe… Did you know that he was here? That he had come all this way just for you? Were you inviting him in? Welcoming him?
It sure felt like it, when he first stepped foot into your bedroom. Dirtied boots hitting the soft carpeted flooring, contorting his body to squeeze through your window until he was fully inside. Shutting it behind him like it mattered at all.
He had taken a moment to just appreciate it all, to just breathe you in. The scent of you was everywhere - clinging to your walls, your clothes, your sheets. The sweet floral scent of your perfume, bordered by your natural musk. The smell of you. The smell that seeped out of your pores on a day-to-day basis. He wanted it all over him. Wanted to bottle it up and guzzle it down. He wanted to inject it into his veins, for fuck’s sake. Let you circulate throughout his entire body and make a home in his heart, keeping you there for as long as you’d let him.
He’s sinking into your sheets before he can even think twice about it. It feels like sinking into the fluffy clouds at the entrance of heaven itself.
Sheets so soft and silky, drenched in the scent of you. The smell of laundry detergent is just barely noticeable, it must’ve been a few days since you last washed them - and god, if he isn’t grateful for that fact. It was like a gift for all of his efforts. Sweet, floral perfume, cut through by the undertones of your natural scent. He could smell your sweat, your essence, the lingering film of shampoo that had smeared against your pillowcase.
It was you. You had been here. You slept here. Touched yourself here, time and time again.
A shaky moan rumbles from his chest as he buried his nose into your pillow, his eyes pinched shut as drool pools in the corners of his mouth. Not wearing his mask, and not bandaged up, it seeps out of the gash in his cheek and stains the fabric beneath him, but he doesn’t care. Can’t care, not when the mere scent of you was turning his brain into mush.
His hands scramble to grab purchase of anything they can. They find your blanket, which he bunches up and immediately drags over to his nose. Inhaling lungful after lungful of that glorious smell, his breathing growing more and more shaky as the seconds ticked by.
Toby felt like his entire body was on fire. Every single nerve in his body set alight as he writhed against your sheets, drinking you in, moaning on every exhale like just the scent of you alone had sent him into heat. It sure felt like you did, with the way his skin was itching beneath his clothes - sweat beading up on his brow and leaving a slick film against his body.
He couldn’t even bring himself to kick his boots off. Crawling further into your little private sanctuary, the tread of his boots smears mud against your delicate sheets - sullying them, leaving his mark. He’s too far past rationality to even notice. “F-Fuck-“ He chokes out into the empty air, his voice raw and strained - the soft curse clawing its way out of his throat as his crudely bandaged fingers grip your blanket like a vice. With his eyes closed, and his nose stuffed full of you, it was easy to imagine that he was clinging onto your body instead. Burying his nose in your neck, getting to drink in this scent straight from the source.
His hands slip through the sheets, hips twitching against the mattress subconsciously. Drool pooling in his mouth and dribbling out of the gash in his cheek to stain your satin pillowcase.
He’s never felt more filthy in his entire life. Not when stained with blood, not with skin caked in mud and grime - but now. Smearing the raw essence of himself against the sweetness of your personal space. Taking something so pure and tainting it, leaving a mess of mud, sweat, and spit against the sheets you were probably aching to sink into after a long day.
It was no secret that his time was limited. That this little stolen moment of depraved bliss could be cut short on a moment’s notice. He knew that you were out with friends, but for how long? Long enough for him to bask in your sanctuary for enough to make the itch under his skin finally cease? Long enough for him to press his face into your pillow and moan your name out like it’s gospel, lungs tight with the need to have your hands on his skin?
Long enough for him to come up with a good enough explanation for why he’s here? A reason that wouldn’t scare you off?
Because that was the last thing he wanted to do.
He knew you had an image of who he was, and how he acted in your mind. Probably some handsome man loaded with money, that didn’t bat an eye at sending you thousands of dollars on a whim. Not… This. Some panting, twitching mess on your bed, minutes away from soiling his boxers just from huffing the scent of your shampoo.
Toby wasn’t so far removed that he wasn’t aware of how this must look for him. How it would look to you if you stumbled upon him. You’d probably be halfway through a frantic conversation with the cops before he could even get a word out.
He was so far removed that he didn’t care.
He was weighted by the force of his desire, head too clouded to even think about pulling himself away and cleaning up the mess he had made.
Besides, even if he did leave before you got home, he was rather keen to leave evidence of his presence.
He wanted you to know he had been there.
He wanted you to know that it was him. That he did it. He ended up exactly where he was supposed to be this entire time - in your bed.
You could be terrified, or repulsed, but Toby knew you’d come around eventually if he just talked you through it. You liked him, after all.
You wouldn’t have worn that lingerie for him if you didn’t.
He liked to think that you had just been waiting for him this whole time. Yearning for him every time you looked through your chat and didn’t find his name. Hoping that he would come find you - and he did.
Ideally, the shock of his presence in your home would just be a little hurdle to step over. Something that would quickly fizzle out once the excitement of him needing you just as badly came to fruition. Like a hit off of a cigarette - just a slight burn before that warm gooey feeling took over your veins.
He hoped that you’d be just as easy as you portrayed yourself to be. Just falling right into his arms, because you knew just as well as he did that he was exactly what you had been needing this entire time.
And if you were difficult? Well… He could work with that too, but he was really hoping that you’d be receptive.
He wanted to love you, not scare you.
And maybe, he could’ve done this in a better - safer - way. Wriggle his way into your life like he was always meant to be there. Slip into the club you like on one of the nights you were there, chat you up, let you lead him home, cook you breakfast in the morning. Show you, right off the bat, that he had always been the missing piece. Care for you. Love you. Show you what you deserve.
Make you fall for him, like he did for you, never knowing how deep his affection - obsession- ran.
Get you so ensnared, that if you ever found out about the blood that stained his hands, you wouldn’t even bat an eye, because you loved him and you knew that side of him didn’t make up who he was fully.
You had too sweet of a heart not to accept him. Maybe, you’d even let him take you back home with him.
But, that best case scenario would only play out in his fantasies, and maybe he should’ve known that. He had been on a streak of good luck when it came to you, for so long that it was starting to grow suspicious. The attention, the naivety, the ignorance. Easy to track down, a sense of security, and unlocked windows. It had been far too simple, up until now. If it kept on this way, Toby would’ve started to think there was some sort of higher power on his side - overseeing and endorsing all of his misdeeds.
Of course, though, that couldn’t be the case.
If there was a god, they were simply setting him up. Letting him climb higher and higher until he inevitably fell flat on his face.
Good thing he was well versed in just ‘walking it off’.
The sound of your front door unlocking hits Toby’s eardrums like a shockwave. The telltale jingle of your keys makes his eyes snap open almost alarmingly quickly.
He knew it was a possibility, but he had been banking on the fact that it just wouldn’t happen. That, against all odds, you’d come home long after he had disappeared again. But he had been selfish - greedy - overstayed his welcome because he couldn’t fathom the idea of tearing himself away from the things you’d touched. It was the closest he could come to have you draped over him, and to peel himself away from that - it felt like leaving a limb behind.
He could’ve played it safe. Could’ve just snagged a few items of your clothing to satiate the urge whilst still keeping his anonymity for a bit longer. Do it properly. Respectfully.
Instead though, he overindulged, and now he was here - frozen in your sheets with his pulse going overdrive, and a throbbing in his jeans.
Now, he was left with a few options.
The most logical one would be to hightail it out of here. To slip back out your window, go back home, and let you panic by yourself once you found his boot prints stained into your carpet.
Or… He could stay. Finally meet you face to face.
For someone as far gone as he already was, the choice was a clear one to make - the idea of leaving was quickly thrown to the wind. To come this far and not be met with a prize for his efforts? It almost felt unthinkable.
So, he waited. Sat up, scooted towards the end of your bed, and sat there - shaking hands folded in his lap like a boy waiting for his first date. Still red in the face, still twitching and jerking because the excitement coursing through his veins was turning his tics up to eleven. Anxiously tapping his foot against the floor, ears perked to listen for every little sound you made as you moved around your house
Nervous. Giddy. Already thinking of exactly what he was going to say to you when the two of you met eyes. Hopeful, that you wouldn’t run off. Piecing together a game plan for if you did.
Footsteps down the hallway make Toby’s heart rate jump, his eyes widening a little in anticipation as he listened to you draw nearer and nearer. God, he could only imagine what you were going to look like when you finally cracked your bedroom door open. He'd bet the look of shock on your face would be sweet enough to give him a toothache.
A soft clearing of your throat outside the door. A creak as the hinges swing open. Then;
You notice him immediately - unsurprisingly. In the soft, clean atmosphere of your room, Toby stuck out like a wine stain on white fabric. An outlier so jarring that your breath stops halfway in your chest, your entire body locking up in a mixture of fear and shock. Paralyzed in the doorway, wide eyes locked on the man sat on your bed. The stranger in your space. Sitting there, like he had every single right to be there.
There's a stretch of silence where neither of you say anything. Where neither of you move. You blink a few times, like you’re half-convinced you’re hallucinating him - still stuck in a shock-induced stupor with your fingers curled right around the handle of your door. But then, he lifts a hand, gives you a lazy little wave - and the idea that this might just be a fucked up mirage your brain was casting is shattered.
This was real. He was real. The mud stains on your carpet proved it, just as much as the slow smile his lips stretch into.
That realization hits you like a ton of bricks, and Toby watches it happen.
You jolt, jumping back about a foot into the hallway, a panicked tremor making its way through your entire body until every limb was shaking. He could hear your breathing from where he sat - short, sharp breaths that just bordered on hyperventilation. Your eyes water, a half-choked sound somewhere between a yelp and a scream breaking on its way out of your lungs.
You looked about two seconds from just passing right out.
God, you were pretty.
“W-Was hoping you wouldn’t be scared.” Toby murmurs softly, pushing himself up and off the bed. He doesn’t step closer - not yet - just stands there with his hands in his pockets, head tilted to the side a little as he observes you. You watch as his eyes trail down - from your face, across your abdomen, down your legs, then back up again. Not even trying to hide it. “You’re e-even cuter in person, you know.”
“What the fuck-“ Toby can practically taste the fear in the air when you breathe those words out, soft and shaky. Your entire body is coiled tight like a spring about to snap, probably warring between booking it to the nearest telephone, or staying to see what he wants out of morbid curiosity.
If you were actually a victim, you’d be the type to give him ample time to move in close. He’s thankful for that fact. It’s always easier to deal with the ones who freeze, over the ones who run.
“You-You know who I am?” Toby asks, trying to keep his voice measured. It’s difficult, with the excitement coursing through his veins, and the slight giddy tremor to his words betrays that.
He takes a step closer, you back up one. He snorts out a soft laugh in response. Maybe you were smarter than he thought. Maybe you knew that bolting away would never actually bode well for you.
“What? No.” You squeak out, like a little mouse - cowering as Toby takes a step closer, then another. You match each one, stepping back every time he advances on you, but his strides are longer. His ambitions are stronger. He’s calm on the surface, that buried down glee just barely poking through with each erratic jerk of his shoulders. But when you lock eyes, the look he gives you says it all.
‘If you run, I’ll catch you’.
And you’re not quite sure that you want to test that.
“Sure you d-do.” Toby chuckles softly, his lips curling into a smile that sends a shiver down your spine. The gash on his face stretches and twists with the movement, gnarled and grotesque - the sight making your stomach lurch. “S-Sure, you don’t know me like this;” He gestures towards himself. “But you kn-know me. Have for a-awhile now.”
“I think you’re mistaken.” You stammer out, voice hoarse. Your heart slams in your chest so wildly that you can hear it in your ears, your lungs feeling tight with each breath in. “Listen, I don’t know what you want, but-but I don’t have cash or anything-“
“Cash?” Toby barks out a laugh that makes you jump, your entire body tensing up even more. “You think I-I want cash? G-God, no. That’s not h-how this works.”
He meets you at the doorway, tilting his head down to meet your frightened gaze. “I don’t t-take money from you, I give it t-to you, remember?”
Your face twists, a mixture of confusion and dread mixing together on your features into something so delicious it only makes Toby’s smile widen. You’re precious. Clueless. He’s almost tempted to just keep you this way, suspended in the unknown. Scared and clinging onto his every word; it’s a good look on you. “Oh, c-c’mon, don’t act like you ha-haven’t missed me. I’ve been keepin’ track. Watchin’ how s-sad you get when I don’t pop in among the h-hoard of losers you accumulate.”
His hand stretches out, bandaged fingers curling around your wrist before you can even attempt to jerk away. You try to pry yourself free, his grip only gets tighter. “You m-missed me, yeah?” He murmurs down to you, his voice low. “Tired o-of pretending to like all of those other dumb ff-fucks?” His grip squeezes tighter, and you can’t help but let out a soft whimper. You could practically see him preen at that sound. “You p-put those shows on for me, I kn-know you do.”
You can’t help but yelp when he tugs you in closer, stumbling over your own feet whilst trying to wrench your arm from his grip. Your eyes sting, tears welling up in the corners as your limbs shake. Every word he’s saying is barely even registering for you, just white noise to mix in with the ringing in your ears. That is, until; “Kn-Knew you were mine the d-day you wore red for me.”
The worst are soft, but they have all the effect of a gunshot. You feel your legs get weak, eyes widening to a near painful degree as you finally snap your gaze up to meet his. You don’t breathe for a solid five seconds, shivering like he had just dumped a bucket of ice water onto you.
It takes all of the effort in the world to choke out a response.
“Toby?”
It’s instant, the smile that spreads across Toby’s face - a grin that’s all teeth and sick satisfaction. His grip on you tightens just a little more, his fingers biting into the flesh of your wrist with a pressure that promises bruises. He just can’t help it when a sharp, elated laugh leaves his lips - his eyes sparkling under the low light with some corrupted form of excitement.
“I kn-knew it!” He breathes out, hot breath fanning against your face when he ducks his head down just a little lower. “Fuck, ha-had me thinking I was c-crazy for a second there. Looking f-for signs where there weren’t any.” His gaze wanders over your face, his expression almost crazed in the way he regards you. It’s then that you notice he’s trembling almost as bad as you are. “But n-no, you did do it for me.” Another soft laugh. “You like me, d-don’t you?”
“Wait-“ You manage out, your voice trembling. “You can’t just-“ Again, you try to wriggle your grip free - to no avail. “You tracked me down?”
Toby’s grin only stretches wider, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he yanks you in even closer to him. Just a hair’s width away from bumping straight into him. “L-Let go of me-“
“What? D-Did you think it would be hard to?” Toby snickers, before his head dips down lower - taking in a less than discreet whiff of your hair with a shiver trickling down his spine. “You were s-so easy to find, baby. Almost like you wa-wanted me here.”
“That’s not-“
“I think it is.” Toby’s breath fans against your ear, before he’s leaning in just a bit closer - closing the gap between the two of you. He shudders when his nose presses against your jaw, his lips parting in a silent gasp. You were so warm. “I’m not s-stupid, you know. You’ve been n-needing me here. You’ve been n-needing more than the bullshit you f-fuck yourself with.”
His nose drags up your jaw, and his hands are greedy in the way they just keep tugging you in closer and closer. The one that’s not gripping your wrist slides around to rest on the small of your back - keeping you all but pressed up against him. Right where you were supposed to be. “Don’t know why you-you’re being shy about it. You’ve already given yourself to me, time and time again.”
The feel of your tremors under his palms sing to the tune of your fear, and Toby just soaks it up like a flower in the sunlight. Poor thing, acting like you hadn’t danced your way into this situation. “What?” He murmurs against your skin. “D-Don’t like me now that I’m not throwing c-cash at your feet?”
“You broke into my fucking house.” You hiss, flinching away from his touch. “You stalked me.”
“And you encouraged me.” Toby hums, wrapping his arm fully around you. He’s got you one-upped on both size and strength, so it’s an easy feat to keep you fit snugly against him. He just can’t help it when his heart rate picks up, his mind buzzing with the feel of your soft curves pressed right up on him. It’s a sensation he'd been craving for far too long, and now that it’s real? It’s almost enough to make him drool. He’s sure you can feel his heart hammering against your chest, just as he could feel yours against his. “Y-You wouldn’t have played along if you d-didn’t want to meet me, right? You treated me different.”
He starts to back up, tugging you along with him even as you squirm - slow, controlled movements that show he’s playing the exact same role as he did when he interacted with you. A director. You were just his pretty little actress. “T-Treated me like you wanted me.” He murmurs. “Like the money d-didn’t even matter.”
Your feet feel like lead as he drags you along, your eyes focused solely on his face as he speaks. On all of the features that detract from the blight on his cheek. Pale, freckled skin. Soft fluttering lashes, framing deep brown eyes. An almost boyish softness to his features, sharply contrasting the darkness swimming in his irises. He moved like a bottle rocket about to go off, his whole body tense and twitching even as his face stayed calm. It was just as jarring as it was intriguing. “You’re just m-mad because of how I did it.” Your eyes drop down to his mouth. A split lip, chipped teeth, and stubble trickling down his jaw. “But this is what you wanted eventually, r-right? Me, here?”
Toby finds your speechlessness endearing, his expression turning almost smug as he watches you drink in his features - like this was all playing out exactly how he had wanted it to. “Just say you th-thought about me. Don’t gotta hide it.”
“It’s not as simple as that-“ You mutter out, flinching when your toes bump against his. “You were just… Different.”
“Yeah?” Toby smiles down at you, his expression almost too sweet for the situation you’re in. His expression is almost soft, like your words had soothed something deep within him. “D-Different how?”
“Just… Different.” The revelation of who he was made you at least half hopeful that his intentions were less than violent - and that was what you were clinging on to as he slowly walked you back towards your bed, sheets already ruffled from his presence. “You felt like… Like talking to a real person.”
“That’s because I a-am.” Toby chuckles softly. “Got all the p-proof right here.” The backs of his knees hit the edge of your bed, and it’s just so easy to tug you right down with him when he sinks down into the sheets again - your thighs parting to straddle his, like your body knew its place. Your very cells just knew him, and gave way the moment he asked for a bit of lenience.
You were just as easy as he thought you would be. Part of him glowed at the idea, the other scoffed a bit at how little of a fight you put up. Good thing he was the one who found you first. “M’not gonna h-hurt you.” He hums up to you softly, gazing up at you through his lashes as you sit perched on his lap. “That wasn’t the p-plan here.”
“Then what was the plan?” You’re not even sure why you even ask - you can tell the answer just from the heated look in his eyes. Just from the way his fingers tighten around you a little when they slip down to grip your waist. Getting bolder, now that he was pretty sure you weren’t just going to up and bolt.
“Well, d-depends how nice you’re gonna be.” Toby murmurs lowly. “But whatever r-route it takes to get there, it’s going to end the same way.” A quirk of his lips. “Me, showing you what you’ve been m-missing.”
He leans in close, his lips brushing against your neck before he finally takes the plunge and closes the distance - stubble scraping against your skin as a precursor to the wet kiss he leaves against you. “You-You know I’m not blind. You’ve been needing more. Gettin’ tired of fucking yourself like some pathetic slut.” You feel his lips curl into a grin against your skin, and you shiver. “Right?”
“That’s not-“ You gasp when his teeth scrape, gathering up the essence of your skin that he licks into his mouth with a soft groan. You know that this isn’t something you should indulge in - you shouldn't be rewarding him for completely disregarding every boundary you had put up. And yet… “It wasn't an invitation.”
“Wasn’t it?” Toby laughs softly, his breath fanning hot against your collar bone. “C’mon… A-All that shit I paid you for? That was just the start of what I w-want to do to you.” His hands give you another soft squeeze, making your jaw clench as you try to bite back a soft noise. “And I came so f-far just to make it happen. Won’t you just let me? Doubt you’ll re-regret it.”
“You can’t- You realize how fucked this is, right?” You breathe out, eyes fluttering. “You had no right-“
“Yeah, I did.” Toby cuts you off as he nuzzles into your hair. “All the s-signs you gave me? I think my reaction was pretty rational.” One hand snakes up to slip into your hair, using it as leverage to tilt your head back - more access for his lips and tongue to roam. “Unless you wa-wanna fess up to leading me on.”
“That’s my job-“ You start, words quickly getting cut short when his teeth nip at the junction between your neck and shoulder. Already leaving marks - making sure you couldn’t just go and forget about him, even if you pushed him away right here.
“I know that.” Toby hums. “But the treatment you g-give me? Nah. That’s special t-treatment.” A jerk of his arm draws your hips in closer, pressing you right down against the bulge in his jeans you had been choosing to ignore up until now. You hated the butterflies that erupted in your gut at the contact. “So now, I think I’ll reap the benefits.” His lips part, his tongue dragging up the length of your neck until his lips meet the lobe of your ear - lapping up each drop of your nervous sweat like it was liquor. “You’ll let me, w-won’t you?”
It’s a demand in the disguise of a question. You’re not quite sure if ‘no’ is even an actual option, when his hands are keeping you in a grip you could only dream to wriggle out of. Your brain feels like mush when you try to mill the thought over, especially when his grip on your hips starts pushing you into a forced grind against him.
He’s not entirely wrong. Maybe you had thought about him - your idea of him - once or twice (or many times) when you were playing with yourself. Maybe you did need something more than what you could give yourself.
And with the size of the bulge he was rocking your hips against? He might just be that.
A break-in could’ve definitely boded worse, right?
You don’t say a word, no verbal confirmation - but the way you loosen up a little tells Toby all he could need. You stop pushing back against his touches, start relaxing under his rough touch. You finally let your lips part in a soft sigh, as opposed to swallowing all of the noises back.
You stop fighting it. You accept the truth Toby had known to be true this entire time. “There we go.” He murmurs against your neck. “S-See? You’re mine. No point in fighting it.”
His movements grow more and more greedy - his face pressed into the crook of your neck as his hands rock you against him. Huffing out hot, heavy breaths against your neck every time your clothed cunt presses down against his crotch. When his eyes flutter shut, he can practically feel the way you throb above him, even through the layers of fabric. Proof that you needed him just as much as he needed you. All he had to do was peel back the layers of fear and hesitance, get your head so fuzzy you didn’t even think about the morality of it all. “Feel that?” He murmurs into your ear. “Only ever g-get like this for you. Can’t fuckin’ think.”
You can feel the hickeys bloom without even needing to see them as his lips travel down your neck - nipping and biting his way to your collarbone. Hellbent on leaving his mark wherever he can. “Thought a-about it so many times - what you’d f-feel like.” A soft moan fans against your shoulder. “You’re better than I e-ever imagined.”
He tugs you flush to him - one hand tangled in your hair, the other one keeping your hips pressed right against his. Never once letting that sinful friction let up. “So fuckin’ soft.” Another wet kiss against your collarbone. “So fuckin’ sweet.”
“Toby-“ You murmur softly, your eyebrows scrunching together as your hips grind slow against his - the sweetest form of torture, making your gut twist with a mixture of pleasure and shame.
“Sound so g-good saying my name.” He hums back to you. “Like some k-kinda angel.” His hips buck up to meet yours, stealing a gasp from your lungs. It sounds like gospel to his ears. “Tell me you wa-want it.” He pulls his face out of the crook of your neck just to meet your eyes - his own dark enough to send a shiver down your spine, his pupils blown out wide. “Wanna hear it.”
It’s difficult to get the words out, because you already know the answer. You do want it - but you shouldn’t. You should’ve called the cops ages ago. Shouldn’t have even ever let him get his hands on you.
And yet here you were, ensnared within his web. Did it even make sense to try and struggle anymore? Would it not just get you even more tangled?
“I want it.” It’s almost an out-of-body experience when you whisper those words to him - your voice barely even sounding like your own when you say it. “I want you.”
Maybe, just because you’re curious to see if he can back up each claim he’s making. If he really can be everything you’ve been craving.
“You do?” Toby grins - wild, almost manic. “Gonna make you w-wish you got this shit on film.”
You can barely even get a thought in before he’s flipping the two of you around with a strength that makes your head spin - your back hitting the softness of your sheets mere seconds after the last word leaves his lips. It’s like you flipped a switch - snapped the last string of his restraint the moment you let those sweet, sweet words of permission leave your lips. He was holding himself back - had been for a while now - you realize that as his greedy hands claw under your shirt, grasping and smoothing over every inch of skin he can find. “G-Gonna treat you good-“ He breathes out, his eyes near feral as he gazes down at you - at his hands, shucking your shirt up to expose more and more soft flesh. “Been th-thinkin’ about this for months. What I’d do t-to you-“
It’s a whirlwind, how quick Toby moves now that he’s been given the green light. You barely even register getting your shirt off. You blink and your bra’s off too - with two desperate hands coming up to massage your bare tits right after they’ve been freed. “So soft-“ He huffs out. “God- the cameras d-don’t do you justice, baby.”
You whine when his fingers sink in just a bit too deep, writhing beneath him as he kneads the soft flesh under his palms - his fingers reaching to tweak your already perked up nipples. With your face scrunched up, you don’t see it - but Toby looks enamoured as he gazes down at you. Completely and utterly smitten. Like he reached up and snatched an angel from heaven, just to drop her right on the sheets below him. “Perfect. Knew you would be.”
One hand stays playing with your tits, lavishing attention across the board like his heart would stop if he ever stopped touching you. The other one, slips down lower. His palm smoothing down the expanse of your bare abdomen before finding the button of your jeans. He doesn’t hesitate, not even for a second - not even to ask you if it was alright. Like he was just so sure you’d say yes, that he didn’t even need to hear you actually say it.
Your hips jolt when he tugs your zipper down, thighs twitching around his hips as he nudges himself in closer.
You can feel that buzzing in your veins swirling together with the desire - that half of your brain still begging you to flee. It’s quickly shoved down by the more rational part of you - already knowing that it’s far too late. “G-Gorgeous.” Toby moans out as he tugs the denim down your legs, his breath catching with each new inch of bare skin that’s revealed to him. Soft and silky, even in just the regular lights of your room. No makeup, no special lighting - just you, and you looked just as gorgeous as you ever have. “G-God- I barely even know where to f-fuckin’ start-“ He says, and yet his hands seem to move quicker than his brain, because he’s tugging your panties to the side before he can even finish his own sentence.
You’re not quite sure what’s more humiliating - the fact that you’re already wet, or the fact that he comments on it. “Look at th-that,” Toby breathes, his voice filled with awe as his gaze drops down to your cunt - red and puffy from grinding down against him, slick glistening between the folds. “You really d-do want me, huh? Already f-fuckin’ drenched.” His words aren’t mocking, not even close to cruel - just so incredibly appreciative. “Don’t worry, I g-gotcha.” He hums softly as his hand slides down lower, tugging a gasp from your lungs when his fingers slide through your wetness. “Won’t even have to lift a finger this time a-around.”
His smile only widens at the way you tense up when his fingers find your clit, his eyes crinkling in apt appreciation at the way you choke on a moan - trying too desperately to muffle yourself, but failing miserably. “You-You’re really gonna be shy now?” He snickers, rolling his thumb against the sensitive nub - soft and slow, just warming you up for what’s to come. “I’ve heard i-it all. Seen it all, already. What’s there to hide from?”
It’s hard to argue with his words, especially when he slips his middle finger right into you with no warning. His fingers are calloused and lean, longer than yours - reaching spots you had tried to time and time again. Like he knew your body better than you did, finding your g-spot after only a few curls in. “How are you e-even this tight?” He breathes out, his gaze dropping down to watch as a second finger stretches you out. “Fuckin’ yourself on the d-daily, and you still feel like fucking heaven.”
“T-Toby, fuck-“ You can feel your brain turning to mush, your vision going blurry as his fingers scissor inside you. Curling just right, pressing into each and every sensitive spot. You can’t even control yourself before your arms are reaching upwards, your fingers curling into the thick fabric of his jacket as some means to ground yourself. “S-Slow down-“ You only ask that because of how quickly he’s winding you up - it’s almost embarrassing.
It’s just impossible to fight against it, with how dedicated he seems to be to your pleasure - his dark eyes watching your each and every movement and expression, taking note of every little thing that makes you tremble just that much more.
“Slow down?” Toby chuckles softly, raising an eyebrow. He only doubles his efforts at that, two fingers pumping into your cunt as his thumb pressed up against your slick clit. “B-But this is how y-you like it. You f-forgetting who I am? I know you.”
If you had the breath to, you’d correct him. Tell him that he didn’t know you - just a fraction of you. Just the ‘you’ that you deemed perfect enough to display. But, you’re having a hard time stringing two thoughts together, let alone a convincing argument when he’s methodically breaking you down into pieces. “Spent w-weeks watchin’ how you work this pretty little cunt.” He grins. “It ain't too much. Y-You’re just mad I was right.”
Your cheeks burn, the sound of slickness every time his fingers sink into you is filthy even for your standards. Your walls are just parting for him, dripping slick onto his digits like a welcoming gift. Proving him right over and over again, your body singing his praises with each wet squelch. “You need me. See that now?”
His head ducks down low, teeth nipping at your jawline as his fingers piston into you - not even the sleeve of his jacket is spared, the thick material stained with your essence each time his wrist snaps forwards. “I-If you didn’t, you woulda pushed me away by now.”
And that, you can’t argue with. Because you should’ve pushed him away by now - should’ve at least attempted to - but the moment you started wondering about what it would be like to give in? That was the end of it all for you.
He was right, and you knew it. You were his. Had been for a while now.
Your body seems to know that too. Your fingers claw at his shoulders as you feel that familiar warmth start brewing low in your gut - your clit pulsing under his thumb, the slick gumminess of your pussy constricting around him as he fingered you closer and closer to your release. There's a part of you that doesn’t want to give into it - that wants to try and fend it off - but the majority? It’s just screaming that this is the quickest you’ve ever been able to get off, Toby’s fingers working you just right. Like all his nights of studying you had paid off. He was damn near an expert now. “Hah- I feel it- You’re gonna cum f-for me, aren’t you?”
Toby sounds absolutely elated, and you can practically feel the excitement radiating off of him as he presses his fingers into you deeper - curls them harder, lets his bites sink in sharper. “Dreamt about this shit. G-Give it to me, yeah? Let me feel it. C’mon-“
You just can’t fight it. You’ve been forced into the role of the unwitting lamb since this all began, and with a wolf like Toby pinning you to the sheets? There's just no chance of winning for you.
(Whatever ‘winning’ even means, in this situation.)
The sound you let out when your orgasm hits you is one that Toby knows will be ringing in his ears for weeks. Months, even. This beautiful, broken cry - choked off and crackling under the weight of ecstasy as your body arches up into him. Sweet, sweat-slick skin pressing into his t-shirt, your lips parted in the perfect portrait of absolute bliss.
And he had been right - you amp it up for the cameras. You act, just like you’re supposed to. Put on a movie worthy performance of arousal, stretching your expressions to the extremes your audience craved so dearly. The real thing was just so much more glorious.
Soft features wrinkled together as your body trembles, your eyes rolling back as your eyelashes flutter - mouth agape as you gasp for breath. He just can’t tear his eyes away - can’t tear his hand away, even when you start whimpering and trying to push at his chest from the overstimulation. He just keeps fucking his fingers into your twitching cunt, over and over again, until tears spring to your eyes. Those, are just as beautiful as the rest of you - pretty pearlescent droplets framing red ringed eyes. Clumping your lashes together, making your irises just sparkle when you look up at him like you need him. “That’s better.” He hums - clearly all too pleased with himself. “Knew you’d been f-faking it on stream.”
“Faking it?” You rasp out, the whispers of bliss still evident on your every feature as you try to catch your breath. You just look like such a dream beneath him - red and rosy, all your soft curves glistening with a sheen of sweat. All because of him. He almost gets dizzy when the thought starts to sink in fully. “I never faked anything.”
“Maybe n-not on purpose.” Toby shrugs, gently pulling his fingers out of you, only to drag his hand upwards - smearing your own slick against your tummy like a brand. His lips curl into a smirk as he sinks his fingers into the soft skin - watching with a keen interest how your flesh indents under his touch. “But what you j-just gave me?” His hand slides back down low again - only a moment’s hesitation in the air before he pulls his palms back, then snapping his fingers forwards again to land a wet slap right against your weeping cunt. The yelp you let out has his gaze turning near feral. “That was different. That w-was real.”
He drags his teeth against your neck, scraping over hickeys that were already beginning to throb - his tongue chasing every bite in attempts to soothe you. “And you wanna know s-something?”
You just barely manage to hum in response, with his presence clouding up your senses. It’s the scent of him - sharp and metallic. The feel of him - desperate and unforgiving. The heat radiating off of him, hot enough to choke you out. He was smothering you, clogging up your pores with his essence so that you’d smell of him for weeks after the fact. It was just as intoxicating as it was terrifying.
You couldn’t tell if it was your body betraying your mind, or the other way around. Whatever the state, you felt like a prisoner within your own sheets - sinking into the bed you made with the man you had unwittingly coaxed to join you.
Every touch was difficult to rationalize. Every breath against your skin was noxious - and yet you just couldn’t force yourself to wriggle free. Something sick within you wanted this - wanted him. Something sick had parted your lips and spoken those words right to him. “Bet you-you’ll look even prettier cumming around my cock. Stretched just like y-you’ve been wishin’ for.”
His hips keep you pinned to the bed, but his hands leave you in favour of shucking his jacket off and letting it drop to the floor. “Everyone who w-watches you, knows.” In just a t-shirt, your eyes roam the bare skin of his arms. He’s lanky, but well built - trained for endurance, it seemed. Scars up and down his freckled skin, bandages and plasters covering up the newest scrapes. The shirt was loose, but it clung to him well - keeping just enough hidden to pique your curiosity.
And his face? Well, he was almost cute enough to make you forget how he had even gotten himself here in the first place. “Can see it on your f-face- You need more. Those t-toys just ain’t cuttin’ it, are they, baby?” A deliberate nudge of his hips makes your brows wrinkle together. “Need the re-real thing.”
You let out a near embarrassed whine, cheeks going pink like you hadn’t just soaked his fingers moments prior. Lucky for you, Toby finds that cute. Unlucky for you, he thinks it’s fun to push it. “C’mon, say it.” A few soft pats against your core make you squirm, your entire body locking up in a mixture of humiliation and arousal. “This p-pretty cunt’s been aching for a real cock, right? Just begging t-to be fucked stupid.”
“Sh-Shut up-“
“That your way of s-saying I’m right?” Toby snickers, leaning back on his haunches to gaze down at you. “Didn’t expect you t-to play coy, with how easy you are on camera.” Your gaze tracks his hands as they reach for his belt buckle, your eyes widening just a tad when he starts to work it loose. “Look at th-that face.” Toby grins. “Yeah, see? I-I’ll give it to ya’. Just gotta tell the truth. St-Stop playing, and admit you wanted this.”
And what can you even say? That you didn’t? That this wasn't a situation you had conjured up in your mind time and time again? Because that would be a lie. Everything he said, had just a smidgen of truth laced within his words - like he had read you like a book before ever even coming face to face with you.
Yes, you had thought about him. Yes, you liked him more than the other donors you chatted with - that’s why you treated him differently. Yes, you often found yourself wishing there was a real, breathing man between your thighs instead of your own fingers.
Yes, you had thought about Toby (or, your idea of Toby) fucking you before.
To say all of those things out loud would probably be like adding gasoline to a fire, and so instead you just whisper out;
“Yeah, I wanted it.” Which ends up having the exact same effect.
Mere seconds after the words leave your lips, Toby’s damn near pouncing. His belt is off in seconds, whipped to the side to clatter against your floor. His jeans are tugged down just as quick as his boxers are - not all the way, he’s too desperate for that, just enough to let his already leaking cock spring free.
His hands grip your hips and drag you to him - the two of you moaning in unison when his bare cock grinds against your core. Sliding through your folds, getting nice and slick. It felt like you were baptizing him - blessing him by letting his sweat mix with yours, by letting his precum mix with your wetness.
It was everything he’s ever dreamed of. Hot and wet, throbbing beneath him in tune to your own heart beat - like your body was coaxing him into just sinking right in. A slow grind of his hips makes his fingers twitch against your hips - his entire body taut and trembling, shaky huffs of breath spilling from his lips. Catching in his chest each time the head of his cock notched against your entrance.
He had dreamt about this, time and time again, and now that he was actually drowning in the reality of it he felt close to bursting. Almost too much to handle, how soft and sweet you were. How welcoming you were - just how he had hoped you would be.
Of course, you had lived up to his expectations, you were perfect after all.
“S-Say I can.” Toby breathes to you, the words coming out as a shaky exhalation. His eyes lock on yours, deep and intense - searching yours for any hint of hesitation. There's a flicker of it, but only for a moment before you bury it down again. “Tell me you w-want me.”
And you are far past pretending.
“Want you-“ You gasp out, your hips jerking with each nasty roll of his hips. You can feel the mess he’s making between the two of you - sweat and mixing fluids smearing against your pelvis with each press he makes downwards. “Toby- Just fuck me already-“
You can feel it under your fingers when Toby tenses up, his muscles flexing beneath your touch before they relax again - and then, he’s letting out a breathy little laugh.
“N-Nasty fuckin’ mouth.” He’s grinning as he reaches down low, curling his fingers around himself to line himself up properly. “Love that about you.”
Your stomach flips when you feel the head of his cock nudge against you - testing the waters, letting your brain come to terms with the stretch you’re about to take before he presses in further. For someone who’s seemingly bursting with restless energy, he’s surprisingly slow when he sinks in - but that’s because he was savouring it.
Savouring every inch of that tight, wet velvetiness - thanking god under his breath with each inch of himself he sunk into you. You felt like heaven and hell all wrapped up in one. So addictive, he knew that he was fucked before he even fully bottomed out.
He had told himself that this would just be a one time thing - that he'd find you, fuck you, get it all out of his system, then go back to normal life. A small part of him entertained the idea of winning you over and bringing you back with him, but he knew that was a pipe dream. Feeling how your body parted for him, though, it was feeling more and more like something he had to strive for.
Toby hadn’t even realized he had been holding his breath the entire time, until he started to feel lightheaded right as his hips met yours. Eyes wide, chest heaving - he gazed down at you like you were a goddess laid before his own sacrifice. A heady mix of awe and reverence that made your skin buzz. “Fuckin’ hell…” He murmurs softly, one hand leaving your hip to slide onto your stomach - pressing down like he was trying in earnest to feel himself inside you. To feel for proof that this was all real.
You watch his eyes flicker down as his fingers twitch, drool glistening on his lips as they lock on to the junction right where the two of you are joined. His hips flush to yours, every inch of himself nestled right where he had been craving the past few months. Squeezing around him, dripping slick down onto him. Throbbing around him like your body was thanking him for being there. “L-Look at you-“ He gasps. “F-Fuck- Look at you-“
His eyes flick back up to yours, pupils blown wide under drooping lids. “S’it feel just as good f-for you, as it does for me?”
That might be an understatement. You were resisting the urge to squirm on his dick, your entire body trembling as your pussy flutters around him in attempts to adjust. He’s settled in deep, thick enough to make your mouth water even with how wet you had been. Slotting into you like a puzzle piece falling into place, filling up each nook and cranny with nothing left to be desired.
You couldn’t even remember the last time you had felt this good, so easily. All he had done was sunk in, and you were thanking whatever god had brought him to you. Fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt, slipping up higher to knot into those thick brunette curls. Grasping tight, tugging just hard enough to make him gasp.
“You feel perfect.” You breathe back to him, and it’s the whole truth. You couldn’t even dream of lying right now. “Better than I- Than I imagined.”
You let the words slip from your lust clouded mind, and they just do him in.
“Yeah?” He groans softly, his hands keeping you pinned to the sheets as he draws his hips back. “Thought a-about me?” The drag of his cock against your twitching walls is downright mind-numbing - but the feeling of him sinking back in all over again just steals the breath right from your lungs. “Kn-Knew you did.”
His hips roll into you slow and deep, letting you really feel it every time he stretched you back open again. Wanting to etch himself into you - carve a path that anyone else would feel if you tried to get away from him after this. “Didn’t-Didn’t even know what I looked like, b-but you knew you needed me. Needed this.”
The sound of his hips meeting yours is filthy - slick and sticky, enough to make your gut twist. It’s obscene - this entire situation is - but it’s that specific breed of sickness that your body yearned for. It was real - it was raw. It was everything you had wished for on all those lonely nights, tending to Toby before anyone else. “Fuckin’-“ He groans low, the sound rumbling out of his chest when you tighten up around him - a reward for his efforts as he nudges right up against your g-spot. “Fuckin’ yourself e-every night, wishing it was me.”
It’s not clear whether or not he was looking for an answer to that, but when his hips snap forwards harder, you realize that he was. You choke out a cry, your nails scratching against his scalp as you tug on his hair harder - legs squeezing around his hips and arms wrapped around his neck. Completely and utterly wrapping yourself up around him, just as he had always wanted. “It’s true, r-right?” Another snappy thrust has you arching up into him, Toby taking advantage of that by nudging his face into your neck. “P-Pretending to care about all the other d-dumb fucks, but you were thinking about me. W-Wishing I was there.”
His teeth sink into your neck - hard - not enough to break skin, but definitely enough to bruise. Just another to add to the collection he’s already given you. “Say it.”
“I was!” You gasp out, your entire face scrunching up when he picks up the pace. Slow grinds turning into deep, quick snaps of his hips - sinking the entire length of his cock into you on every press in. Absolutely soaked by you, glistening with your slick in a way that had his breath stuttering along with his hips. “Th-Thought about you.” Your fingers grasp downwards, clawing his shirt half up his back as his hips press into yours. Eyes glassy, you can barely even focus on the sight of him above you, but even through the blur you can tell he looks gorgeous. Fluffy brown hair frizzed up by the heat generated by the two of you, sweat beading down his temple, his cheeks flushed a pink so deep it was swallowing up his freckles.
And his eyes. They were devoted to you. His gaze felt like a touch in itself, with the way it swept over every inch of you with rapt appreciation. Like he was memorizing you - cataloguing each and every one of your dips and curves to file away and rave over later. Toby looked at you like he just couldn’t believe you were real, even as his cock punched moans out of your lungs.
Toby looked at you like he loved you, without even fully knowing you. He looked at you, like nothing you could ever say, or do, would tarnish his view of you.
It was something you could barely even wrap your head around, especially now, when he seemed to be hellbent on fucking your thoughts right out of your skull.
“Y-Yeah, you fuckin’ were-“ He pants, his words broken up by sparse groans that just sound so lovely to your ears. Hoarse and strained, like being with you pained him just as much as it satisfied him. “Thinkin’ about me- Fuckin’ this t-tight cunt wishing it was my cock-“
He lets out a harsh, breathless laugh - the sound near deranged, like he couldn't believe you were confirming and endorsing his sickest desires. His movements had evolved to something relentless, his fingers bruising into your flesh - blunt nails clawing off thin layers of skin under them. You jolt every time he sinks in to the hilt, your features wrinkling like it’s just bordering on too much.
It’s an expression he’s never seen on you before. It’s something he’d snap a picture of to immortalize, if his phone wasn't busted.
Yeah, he’s keeping you. He can’t wait to break the news. “G-God, look at this shit-“ He sounds almost manic as he breathes those words out, his eyes gleaming with deranged glee as he watches your flesh ripple with each harsh snap of his hips. He could drool, watching how your flesh moves. He does, but barely even notices when a few spots of saliva seep out of the gash in his face and land on your stomach. “Takin’ it like you were m-made for it.”
And maybe that’s when it clicks for him, that this is the girl he’s watched put herself in the most depraved situations. This is the girl who definitely can take whatever sick desires he’s got brewing.
So, his hands slip upwards, palms gripping the backs of your thighs before he’s pushes up - pinning them right against your chest, your knees damn near touching your ears. Practically folded in half, and yet you don’t even push back against it, you just cry out in a plea for more.
His lips twitch into the most self-satisfied grin when your eyes roll back, choking on a moan halfway through the noise as he sinks in even deeper. It’s enough to make your mind completely go blank for a second - your thoughts fizzling into white noise as he drives his cock into your g-spot with a force that brings tears to your eyes.
You’re too overwhelmed to even notice when tears break free and spill down your cheeks, but Toby notices - of course he does, his eyes have been glued to your face, taking note of every little change in your expression. “So fuckin’ pretty-“ He gasps out, leaning down to nuzzle against your cheek. His lips part, his tongue darting out to lap up your tears, a deep groan rumbling against you as the salt meets his taste buds. “So fuckin’ m-mine-“
It’s humiliating, the way your body sings at those words. That sweet possessiveness that he had no right bearing, sinking deep into your veins like a drug. Because if that was true - if you really were his - it sure felt like a nice thing to be.
“M’yours-“ You’re half delirious as you choke those words out, barely even thinking about the weight they hold as your cunt clenches around his cock. Taken right to the brink all over again, toes curling by his shoulders as he fucks your next release right out of you.
And this time? It’s messy. It’s something you had strived for on stream because you knew it would get clicks, but you just couldn’t ever make it happen with your own hands. Toby, though, does it easily - fucks you deep until you’re gushing all over him - hot, wet, droplets of your release hitting the front of his t-shirt and staining it.
You borderline convulse - twitching and crying beneath him as he works you through the aftershocks, his eyes shining with a feral glee the entire time.
“E-Even fuckin’ squirting for me?” Toby chokes out a disbelieving laugh, the intensity of his movements only increasing tenfold upon that revelation. You can feel it as his cock throbs inside you - his thrusts going sloppy, teetering on the edge right along with you. “You really d-did need me, baby.”
His hands keep your thighs pinned, leaving you nowhere to squirm away, even when you get so sensitive it makes your skin crawl. “Gonna fuckin’ cum in you-“ He gasps out, and you’re almost sure your ass must be red from the force in which his hips are snapping into yours. “Gonna cum s-so deep you’re gonna fuckin’ taste it-“
Even if you wanted to argue that, you can’t - reduced to just a mess of tears and drool as his cock bullies your g-spot over and over again, just fucking more release out of you on each stroke in. Toby loves the mess, though, and if the elated look on his face didn’t prove that, his twitching hips sure do.
He only manages a few more sloppy thrusts in, before he’s making good on his promise. His hands keep you folded in half, his cock sinking in deep enough to make you choke before he’s completely letting go. A strangled groan vibrates against your ear as you feel that hot, sticky warmth bloom inside you - Toby’s hips jerking with each thick pulse of it he deposits deep inside your warm, waiting body.
For you, it feels like completely giving in. For Toby, it feels like confirming the claim he had staked on you from the start.
Feeling it drip out around his cock to stain your thighs, feels like leaving a mark that you couldn’t soon erase - even if you wiped the evidence from your flesh. “Feel that?” He murmurs softly, his body curling over yours - his face pressed into your neck as he pants against your skin. “M-Means you’re mine.” His hands give your thighs a tight squeeze, his lips curled into a sated smile against your skin. “Go on and f-fuck another guy after this - he’ll just be fucking me d-deeper into you.”
But that’s something you’re not even sure if you could fathom after this. The aches he placed in your joints would linger for weeks. The thoughts he placed in your head would stick around for years.
So, you just pull him in closer - let his softening cock stay warm inside you as you curl your fingers into his hair.
Not too keen to let go, just how he had known you would be.
-
“Toby, c’mon, I’m about to start rolling.”
Toby wasn't quite sure how exactly he had expected this all to end, but you - perfect you - transformed his deepest fantasies into reality.
Sprawled out on his bed now, dressed up in the prettiest lingerie he had picked out, waiting for him with your legs folded beneath you.
Like a dream he just couldn’t wake up from, no matter how many times he pinched himself. Gazing up at him with those sweet eyes that had stolen him from the start.
“A-And what’re we going for today, hm?” He hums as he fiddles with the goggles nestled in the strands atop his head. “Got s-specifics for me?”
Your hands are already reaching for him when he draws near, curling into the hood of his sweater and tugging him in closer.
“Nah.” You grin. “Just keep the mask on.”
And that, he can do.
——————————
HIIIIIIIIII I’ve been teasing this one for ages now lmfao can’t believe I finally got it out
huge thank you to my lovely lovely beta who got to watch me crank this shit out in real time!
gamechangershow
pixelskylines
romaincrisis
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