the creeps when ur in a depressive episode, cw for sh in ej's. this might be the healthiest i'll ever write them but tbh i need the indulgence cs i js got on lexapro again lol
includes: toby, ben, ej, evan, brian, tim, jeff, and liu
for @pomegranatseed <3 comment "jiji noo dont kys ur so sexy aha" if u wna be in the taglist
a/n im still tweaking around this dynamic but theyre both supposed to be rly awkward and unfamiliar with having normal convos,, toby naturally falls into an almost brotherly role for reader, who isnt as naive and innocent as he deludes himself into thinking <3
toby rogers x gn!reader suggestive, substance abuse (duh), toby has a corruption and forced intox kink lol
You think you must be dreaming, moving in with a jagged Midwestern huntsman your folks would lock you up for, who might be out for blood with the way he’s been taking care of you.
Sure, he’s not usually “at home” most days, but he never forgets to bring back dinner and even cook you breakfast whenever he’s up early. This time he insisted on having a night in, saying something about how he should get to know the person he’s housing, especially given that you seem to need to let off some steam.
Currently lounging on the couch beside you, Toby begins leisurely lighting a cigarette while you go through his endless DVDs for something to watch. Usually he would go outside, except tonight’s cool air breezes from the opened windows of their shared living room.
“Why do you smoke so much?” You set the stack of flicks down on the coffee table. Toby knows you don’t mean for the question to sound offensive, you just tend to be blunt regarding your captivations.
“Relaxes me,” he says, the sound mumbling from the smoke tucked between his lips.
You nod, but you don’t really understand. By now you’re quite aware that Toby takes medication for his Tourette’s, he actually told you that he used to be dependent on them and doesn’t like to take much unless it’s really disturbing him, so why would he need to relax even more? He says his job isn’t stressful either, albeit your lack of knowledge on the specifications of said job.
“Aren’t you relaxed enough?”
“Taking care of these guys? Absolutely not,” Toby’s voice takes on a higher, softer pitch, something you’ve begun to associate with the cats you recently adopted. He runs his knuckles on the warm fuzz of one of them, while his other hand dangles over the arm of the couch so as to not let the smoke bother anyone. “It’s just a bad habit, lamb, everyone’s got ‘em.”
To that you nod absentmindedly. Then, as Toby takes a long drag, you note, “You said you would teach me.”
A puff of smoke coughs up his lungs. “Uh… Uh–Do you really want me to? I–I was mostly joking…”
“I’m curious.” You shrug, taking the initiative to grab a stick from the pack of Lucky Strikes. “Are these your go-to?”
“Y–Yeah, I like… Well, I like the lack of taste, I guess.”
That’s another thing you don’t yet understand about Toby. He seems lax about sharing a cohabitational space with a stranger, yet teaching that same stranger how to smoke crosses many lines.
After a proper breath he allows his shoulders to drop and face you properly, fighting the urge to run out the door into the deep woods.
“Come closer,” he presses, not allowing you to move on your own as his movements contradict his words. In a second, his behaviour is possessed by a wolfish dominance— if it wasn’t for the tremor in his fingers as he grips your chin, you would have thought he had an alter ego.
His painted nails dig into the supple flesh of your cheeks, dragging your face closer to his while he perches the cigarette you grabbed earlier in your mouth. With his already lit one, he leans in close enough for the small flame to transfer.
In this light, at this angle, you could close your eyes and basically be kissing him. You think about what the taste of his lips against yours would be like; tobacco, undeniably, but he smells faintly of cinnamon and damp trees after the rain.
For a minute you’re convinced there’s nothing you want more than to feel the slow drip of his saliva down to your collarbones.
Toby’s hand on your chin adjusted to wrap around your throat, and though he doesn’t squeeze by any means you just can’t catch your breath.
“Inhale, sweetheart,” he mutters. You obey.
The smoke shoots down your lungs and retaliates back out your mouth with a particularly discomforted cough.
“Do it again,” Toby encourages further. His hand is still on your throat, a miniscule bit tighter, granting him access to turn your head around like you’re his plaything. “You’re so perfect like this.”
The praise leaves you buzzing. Whatever he wants you to do you would do it if it meant he stayed with you like this for longer, so when he pulls away you can’t help but whine.
“You dizzy?” He checks in with faux concern. You both know damn well he likes seeing you like this.
Eyes too teary and mind too hazy to comprehend what just happened, you can only respond with rapid nodding. You’re met with a large hand soothing the top of your head and Toby plucking the cigarette from your lips to put it out on the metal ashtray.
“Good job.” You meet him with a doe-eyed expression. “Don’t do it again, though.”
toby rogers x gn!reader literally nothing but a prologue, sliiiightly suggestive if u SQUINT but its just reader being an obvious freak </3
It doesn’t usually rain in Texas, especially not during the summer. In fact if there was anything you loved about the bumfuck town you grew up in, it would be how you could always catch a technicolour skyline even on the worst of days.
For you, it had been weeks under the bright kiss of the Southern sun until a sudden downpour forced you to take shelter beneath the nearest looming trees; now you find yourself soaked and shivering, wishing you had thought of bringing a spare change of clothes.
You were eyeing for a diner or a minimarket or anything that could save you from getting struck by lightning, when the loud groan of a truck engine overrides thunder. Its headlights stun you like a spotlight, as if glancing over the sheer vulnerability of your figure.
To your surprise the truck pulls up by your side, the driver's side window sweeping down to reveal a young man, likely in his early twenties, staring directly at you.
He has a half-smoked cigarette perched between his lips, right next to a large gash across his right cheek that travels all the way above his jaw. Noticing the way your brows furrow slightly at his jerky hands against the steering wheel, he lets out a low chuckle, startling a puff of smoke that cuts through the mist of the thunderstorm.
“Luh–Looks like you need a ride,” his voice rang out.
“Do you know where the nearest clothing store is?” Your throat is sore, not having needed to use that much power in your voice for at least days. You gesture vaguely to the near-transparent garments sticking to you, stating, “It’s getting real cold.”
“Get in, little lamb.” While you rush to the other side of his truck, he leans over to open the door.
Your seat makes a wet squelching sound as you plop down, which you ignore completely— if he didn’t want you getting rainwater on his stuff, he wouldn’t have let you get in— as you shoot him a curious look.
He stares at you for a good second. Despite his rugged appearance you seem to only lean in further, or at least let your fascination wander like a hungry animal. It flushes him.
You give him your name and he keeps repeating it under his breath. “What’s yours?”
“Toby Rogers,” he huffs out, leading the truck out of its spot near the woods.
The road is quiet. You assume your destination is still miles ahead, given that your memory allows you to recognise that you hadn’t even seen any other human beings for hours.
You glance over at Toby, whose eyes are trained on the path in front. He tics on occasion, either repeating certain words he’s said or brief movements that barely hinder his driving. Strangely enough you find your gaze fixated on him; the rifle poking your back through the thin canvas of your backpack a reminder that you can handle yourself if things go south, a stark contrast to the soft pull towards him you can’t resist.
“Quit that,” he grumbles.
“What?”
“You’re s–staring at me like I’m a piece of meat.” Toby laughs incredulously. “Wuh–What? Never seen a hunter up close before?”
“Not like this, no.” There’s something funny about your tone— playfully blunt with nothing to hide, but a distinct naïveté sweetens underneath. You have to admit, you are trying to put your finger on him and what makes him so interesting, yet all the while you knew to keep your hands to yourself.
Toby thinks it’s adorable you pretend to have dazzling manners when you seem ready to devour him.
A kind of trance lulls you to drag your mouth fingertips across his every scar, tattoo, and piercing, especially when he aimlessly fidgets to find a suitable radio station, and it takes you a note of your favourite song for you to deny those urges. You squeak helplessly when he switches to a different track.
Toby spares a quick look at you, affection tugging at the edges of his lips. “Use your words, lamb.”
“Could you turn on the song from before, please?”
“Of course,” Toby replies softly. The contradiction between his gentleness and subtle intimidation dazes you. He even sings along louder to coax you after he heard you humming.
The music drowns out the rapid thrum of thunder, and the storm begins to subside.
" in your pick-up truck / with all of your dumb luck / is the only place i think i'd ever wanna be " — thoroughfare, ethel cain.
they think you are dead. toby rogers thinks you are god.
works in this universe include: ♱ meet-cute ; lucky strike ; browse related content through # butcher!toby
toby needed to satiate his animalistic hunger for blood since his childhood home went up in smokes. on a chase to discover all that he can about the figure in his dreams, the trail of corpses he left deemed him the butcher to locals everywhere. but after meeting you on the streets of texas, he craves worship instead.
you ran away from your suffocating hometown in the attempt to find yourself, and the mental deterioration that you've endured for months. equipped with barely enough cash and your late father's rifle, you relied on survival skills to navigate the deep american south alone. just when you feel familiarity with freedom, the butcher calls you his everything.
author's note: reader is gender neutral and no specific physical features will be depicted. this is for everyone <3
DD:DNE. depictions of these characters do not reflect their original source material, they're simply part of a larger alternate universe written by me. all works are for entertainment purposes only.
you are everything. a friend, a deity, a miracle to the universe of misfortunes where man prays to lowercase gods. no longer on the run from your imminent fate, you take death's embrace and surrender begging for an ending where he does not mistake his devotion for love.
"and while i'm in this body / i want somebody to want / and i want what i want / and i want you to love me."
toby is a killer. erratic, menacing, and sadistic, like a car crash you can't pry your eyes away from. there is nowhere you can run far enough to escape the butcher, the reckless troubled huntsman who wants nothing but to appease the voice in his head. toby's reader is a prophet, and the one he kills for.
"you can wear my skin as armor / you can eat my flesh and bones / leave nothing that is needed / all i have is yours."
ben is a ghost. everything he deems familiar has claw marks and is gored beyond comprehension. the tragedy of him is that he will never know humanity without inevitably causing its destruction, the tragedy is that he is still kind. ben's reader is seeking to be destroyed, and knows exactly who to ask.
"it's in your hands this time / and still it wasn't enough to make you say / what would you do if you weren't afraid?"
ej is a doctor. or at least, he's trying to be. even as a medical intern his ambition is slathered in deep guilt for the nagging urge for flesh. to maim, to skin, to satiate whatever hunger resides at the pit of his stomach. ej's reader is a patient, that tests between his desire to consume and need to save.
"i'd show them the stars / and the meaning of life / they'd shut me away / but i'd be alright."
evan is a sacrifice. all the world restrained him from being gentle, pushed him into a ring to shed blood for purity, told him to confess to be a stronger man. a prayer to the wrong god can lead to many things, like a posession that feels too good to be wrong. evan's reader loves his rugged softness, and the violence that lies beneath it.
"tangled in the waves with you / we spray the scene in red / we both erupt in colours / then carve out our names."
brian is a farmer. he says it like it's an easy thing, but you see the rough callouses glittering under the sun. with his kind southern drawl spitting reassurance, there is no fear left undead on the road as long as he's around. brian's reader, like the rest of the town, chooses protection regardless of the slaughter behind it.
"i'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies / i'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife."
tim is a mechanic. he's grown out of being a danger to himself and others in the becoming of a man who will not ask for your hand, afraid that some rooted fragment of his younger self will claw its way out. tim's reader is his antithesis, who makes him give in to what he tries so hard to fight.
"obsession with the money / addicted to the drugs / says he's in love with my body that's why he's fucking it up."
jeff is a musician. despite his upbringing, he's fought tooth and nail to hold on to the anger, believing that it's what makes him all the more real. still, with nowhere to place his heart, he can't help but carve out a hole in his chest where it might fit. jeff's reader is better now, and becomes his only salvation.
"take your hands off your neck and / hold on to the ghost of my body / you know that good lives make bad stories."
liu is an artist. with his hands smeared with technicolour passion, he'll welcome anything that calls his name, including old ghost stories that may or may not be true. liu's reader is cursed, and needs answers that can't be found alone.
"destroyed in the wake / the jealous ingrates / who'll tear this world down / to spite god above / with his own love."
