Coffee stained confessions
_Toby x gn (eldritch) reader
- Part #1
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﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉
─── ⋆⋅ ❤︎ ⋅⋆ ───
The rain had started at a drizzle, before turning into a pounding and relentless rhythm against the windows. The only light you had was a small desk lamp, golden rays of light casting across the room, tendrils of it bending where it hit the bed and crawled further across the messy sheets before it faded.
You were sat at the edge of it, plush blankets dipping under your weight. Your hands fiddled in front of you, fighting with Toby’s hair as you attempted to twist small braids into the wild tresses.
To say it had been a long day was a veryyyy light way to put it. For weeks, maybe nearly a month now you had felt… off. You felt disconnected from yourself.
…Fuck, even saying that doesn’t feel right. You don’t know what the hell is happening, you just don’t like it.
You think Toby has noticed. He’s already nearly always with you, but he had barged in, asking (rather worriedly, you think as you smile-) if he could hang out for a bit.
Of course you allowed it. You should’ve pushed him away. You could’ve shouted, insulted him, been mean.
Killed him.
But you didn’t. Because for some stupid, stupid reason, you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to hurt this pathetic thing, you didn’t want to hurt your friend. Despite that probably being the ultimate reason for your birth.
So now you had him sat between your legs as you practically gave him a scalp massage. His eyes were closed and his breathing was slow, head lolling in whatever direction you tilted it. Like a doll beneath your hands, the cutest one you’d ever had.
You drag yourself from your thoughts, finishing a half-assed braid. It would come out in a few days, you’re sure, he always fidgets with them. For now though, it looked like a cute little tail among his brunette mane of hair.
“-‘s the theory that interests me the most. Wouldn’t it be crazy if that’s really how our universe was?” Toby rattles off, voice sleepy yet still excited.
You hadn’t been paying attention, obviously. For the last two weeks now, Toby’s favorite topic was the universe. Black holes, stars, alternate universes or whatever, he was collecting all the information he could and spouting it to you.
You liked it. Usually it made the hum of constant activity, constant thoughts, constant worry quiet, and you were able to finally release the tension in your high-strung muscles.
But everything felt like it was heavy on your shoulders tonight, like a weight was pushing your legs down deeper and deeper into thick mud you couldn’t escape.
“_______?” Toby spoke softly, voice cracking ever slightly at the end of your name as a tic made his whole body twitch.
Your eyes come down to his, soft brown and tired. Yet something unfamiliar sat underneath his gaze. Something you couldn’t detect.
You smile warmly, leaning down, body hunching over itself in a way that would be uncomfortable for most.
You pause, lips centimeters away from his. He didn’t move under you, he sat still with the eagerness of a dog. He trusted you, probably thinking you were just reaching for another small band to start another braid.
You could kiss him. His chapped lips let out a small breath, casual, smelled like the soda can he had long emptied.
Friends don’t do this.
You don’t do this. You don’t have the right to do so. He was prey. You were more than him. He was nothing.
But you don’t want to think of him that way. Your heart felt like it speed up, trying to move you away from him.
Softly, so gently and carefully, you let your lips ghost over his…
“Sorry, Toby. What was that last bit?”
Coward.
You grab a band, and it’s dark green. When you uncurl, straightening your spine to sit up again, Toby has his head still in your lap, looking up at you. He’s red in the cheeks, but his face is neutral.
He looks handsome. You’ve told him that maybe once or twice before, and you love the reaction you get from it. The way his stutter worsens, his tics rising in frequency from how nervous gets at a small compliment.
…You need to stop thinking like that.
You reach down, gently moving your hand under his head, lifting it up as you settled him. Grabbing a small tuft of hair, you begin another mini braid, twisting and pulling at his head.
But his hand comes up, brushing your hands away from him. You pull them away from his wild locs, tilting your head curiously down at him. He turns around, arm settled across your leg as he looks up at you.
His brows furrow in worry. You hate it. You hate it when anything negative happens to him, why is he worrying? Should you ask?
“Cmere,” is all he says, voice barely above a whisper.
He grabs the edge of the bed, pulling himself up…
Before draping his body on top of yours.
You fall back against the bed, arms coming up to wrap around his torso. His own scarred ones come up to play with your hair, grabbing a small strand and twirling it around his finger before moving his hand further up to thread through the messy tufts, scratching at your scalp.
It’s nice.
Friends don’t do this though, do they?
Everything felt intimate with Toby lately. When he pulled you in for a hug or leaned against you as you showed him something, you felt like…
Like a person who meant something. Like you meant something to him.
You make an uncomfortable noise at the thought. So, so many thoughts tonight to torture you.
Toby turns his head, facing into the crook of your neck and jawline. His warm breath washes over the area, spreading down your cold skin in waves. His chest rises and falls against your own, a soothing balm without you even aware of it.
Slowly you inch your hands under his hoodie, feeling at the skin of his waist. Your fingers trace over old scars, the flesh soft under your touch despite its hardships.
…And his temperature is fine.
Yeah, that’s why you’re cradling him like it’s the last time you’ll touch him. Just checking on your best friend. He needs extra care, that’s all.
No other reason.
A sensation pulls you from your thoughts, and you make a small hum in the back of your throat. Toby’s lips pressed against your neck. A small sound as he pulls away from the contact, then planting another in the same spot.
Your face flushes, and you swear your heart just exploded in your chest. You yelp, sitting up and bring your arms back to rest your weight on your elbows. Toby jerks with the movement, sitting up with you. His eyes are wide with surprise as his brows furrow again, this time in confusion.
Your eyes are wide, looking at him. They dart to his lips. Fuck. You look away, averting your gaze to the blankets below you. Some were ratty, others looked brand new. Stolen from houses of victims as gifts, Toby was always bringing you something.
He clears his throat.
“Sorry.” He mumbles, still looking down at you.
You don’t want to meet his gaze.
…
He grabs your face, albeit a little roughly, turning your head up to look at him. His eyes are pretty. The warm light from the lamp catches on them, and they remind you of sun rays with how they almost look gold.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, and it takes you a second to process he’s asking you that.
What’s wrong? Where do you even start? Everything is wrong. The world is wrong. You’re wrong. This is wrong.
Something definitely went wrong just now.
Because instead of the words “Nothing, I’m fine,” slipping from your mouth in a hushed whisper, it was:
“I think I’m in love with you.”
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Oh my god I hate this but I love him and I don’t wanna write this anymore so TO BE CONTINUED! It was supposed to be done all in one go but idk how to keep a nice pace without a cliffhanger. Oh well.
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