#crp x reader

[moonsapprentice]

I wish I could draw men because I’m imagining this as creepypasta guys and it’s sending me

[the-s1lly-corner]

Calling various CRP pretty boy

Yoinking this prompt from the slasher version of this post because i kind of enjoy this prompt a more than normal amount and I like feeding all my followers regardless of what fandom they follow me for

Characters: Slenderman, Masky, Hoodie, Ticci Toby, Eyeless Jack, Laughing Jack, Jeff the Killer

Notes: reader is GN, written on mobile

CWs: none

SLENDERMAN

He gives little to no reaction to you, as expected as a lot of forms of affection dont mean all that much to him

Not that he doesn't treat you with love and care, he does because he knows you like it

Receiving is just a little odd for him, possibly because it's so foreign to him- but at least he doesn't reject you!

Asides from his lack of response, there isnt much else to note! Over time he does begin to respond to it if you keep calling him that

MASKY

He doesnt talk all that much so the lack of verbal response doesnt surprise you all that much

He prefers being called handsome, if you insist on saying something about his looks

Mild confusion because hes never taken his mask off around you, the most hes done is lift it up to eat or kiss but even then...

Suspicious that you've peeked when he wasnt aware or conscious- probably not the best nickname

HOODIE

Doesnt talk at all, so once more the lack of verbal response doesnt come as a surprise

You haven't seen his face yet you call him pretty boy... you might actually be able to convince him to take his mask off for you so you can confirm if he really is a pretty boy

He does respond to the name and seems to at least enjoy it a little bit

Will occasionally ignore you until you call him pretty boy, not a common occurence though

TICCI TOBY

Mix of leaning into the name and calling you pretty in return, but I can also see him slightly rejecting it

He knows you mean it, more than likely- but hes so used to not being treated nicely that he cant tell if you're secretly making fun of him or not

Brings it up passively and hides it behind jokes but it's so obvious hes a little suspicious of you

Firmly reassure him that you really do think hes pretty, bonus if you point out specific parts of his face that you like!

EYELESS JACK

He considered himself average before the cult, nowadays he cant look in the mirror... though that's less of a self confidence thing and more of a trauma thing

He has mixed feelings about being called pretty boy, in general and due to the circumstances

Let's you continue calling him pretty boy, quietly keeps his thoughts to himself

He may grow onto it with enough time

LAUGHING JACK

Giddy, he already has the idea that hes cute but the thought that you think hes pretty really does it for him

Returns the energy and says he thinks you're really cute, he could just eat you up!

Takes the sudden nickname really well and adopts it as a new pet name between the two of you

He kind of perks up like a dog when you say a word they like around them

JEFF THE KILLER

Honestly he would expect you to call him pretty boy, though be doesnt need to remind you of something he already knows as fact

Pretty, handsome, cute, beautiful... call him any of those and hes going to let you know he already knew he was attractive

WILL notice if you stop calling him pretty boy, making it a habit... and you just stop calling him that out of the blue

A little huffy about it but hes going to act like hes not pressed about it- he doesn't want to come off as desperate for attention

[annokan]

Original by sm-baby

[alexiseatsbees]

I'm Low On Gas And You Need A Jacket

Hiii !! This is my first time writing a creepypasta oneshot thing so that's fun. This is a ticci toby x reader thing that I thought about and wanted to write. It's also posted on my quotev (link at the end) where you can request other things for me to write !! Also this is my first time specifically writing for Toby so I know I probably missed some things, so if I ever write for him again I'm gonna be better about that. Ok onto this lol

It was the middle of December, and the snow was coming down steadily, matching the twinkle of the stars above. The frosty wind blew through your poor choice of clothes for the weather - a plain long sleeve shirt with jeans. You shivered as you mumbled to yourself, 

“Could’ve bundled up a little…”

There’s not much you can do now with a car low on gas and no one around to help, and being miles away from home didn’t help much either. 

The surrounding woods felt never-ending and did nothing to comfort you. The empty streets with old lamps flickered as you tried to figure out what could possibly be wrong with your car. A feeling in your gut told you that something was wrong, so you tried to work quickly. You shakily sighed as you shivered, fiddling with the car's buttons and levers, inspecting the car’s old gas pump, slamming your fist on it a few times just to see if that would work. You muttered under your breath again, starting to become annoyed with the thing,

“Damned thing won’t work…”

A huff of frustration left your lips, watching as steam clouded in front of you, making you remember that you’d probably freeze to death if this stupid car wouldn’t start up again. Your aggravation was quickly replaced with a small gasp of surprise when an unfamiliar voice rang out behind you, 

“You know, you probably shouldn’t b-be out here at this time of night.”

You jumped as you heard the voice, snapping your head to turn and face where it came from. You were met with someone you’ve never seen before in your life. Behind you stood a man with shaggy, uncut brown hair and orange ski goggles pushed up to rest on the top of his head. He wore multiple layers, including a plain black hoodie with a brown coat over it with jeans that almost looked too big for him. He was pretty tall, but the main thing you noticed was the giant bandage on his cheek, wondering what would be under it. Something else that caught your eye was the way he was acting. He'd occasionally twitch his neck or mutter something that sounded like it came out involuntarily. 

He stood a couple of feet away from you, not moving. You kept your gaze on him, confused as to where this guy even came from knowing you were in the middle of nowhere. You cleared your throat before speaking, trying your best to keep your voice steady even though worry started to fill your body. 

“I-uh… I know that.”

You immediately felt like a dumbass the moment the words left your mouth, turning away from him to look at your car again before looking back at him. You could feel yourself shake, like it was getting colder, or you were just becoming more nervous, you couldn’t tell anymore. The man spoke again, his voice sounded gravelly, like he was trying to make it sound deeper than it was, but you couldn’t tell or care at this point. All you knew was that he freaked you out and you wanted him to leave you alone. 

“Doesn’t look like you do or you would’ve been somewhere safe by now.”

He scoffed at the end of the sentence, making a whistling noise before stepping closer to you until he stood right beside you. He seemed ok, but something in his tone and his body language set alarms off in your head, telling you to ditch the car and run. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about this guy. He spoke again, realizing you weren’t going to say anything, 

“Look, it’s freezing and you’re car doesn’t look like it’s gonna do anything anytime soon”

His gaze moved from her face, to her car, to her clothing, letting out a sigh as he smirked and scrunched his nose, furrowing his brows as he shook his head

“And what’s with the-the outfit, anyways? This your idea of winter attire?” 

He chuckled as he spoke, rolling his eyes as he pointed a long finger at your chest, judging your choice of clothing. He made you feel dumb, but being out this late in this weather wasn’t exactly your choice. You’d be long gone and at home in bed if you had the option. You could feel yourself tense up as he stood closer to you, keeping your gaze on his face to try and figure out what his intentions were. Beside you, he studied the car, pointing at the gas pump and commenting on how you were low on gas like you didn’t already know that. The whole thing made you wanna yell at him and tell him to leave you alone, instead, you took a breath and tried to keep your cool as you responded,

“I didn’t have a jacket, I’m not supposed to be here. I’m kinda supposed to be at home by now but this piece of shit car won’t work.”

You paused your rambling, realizing you were probably oversharing. This guy didn’t need to know why you were here, or what you were doing at the old gas station. He nodded as you spoke, even though his face displayed that he really didn’t seem to care about the situation. He kept his gaze at your car as he spoke again, his voice felt monotonous with a hint of cockiness,

“S-sounds rough. So you’re just gonna freeze your ass off here while you try and fix that thing? You must be crazy or just plain dumb.”

A smug smile grew on his lips as he twitched his neck again, making you take note that he also had a patchy looking beard growing, too. You began to grow frustrated, taking note of this guy's features just in case he did something. You began to feel more uneasy. What the hell is he still doing here? Go away. The man was surprised by your lack of response, he was obviously trying to get a reaction out of you and was disappointed when you didn’t give him one. He spoke up again, you desperately wished he’d just shut up, it was like he couldn’t stand the silence.

“Maybe that’s the universe telling you that you need to stop pushing your luck.” He gestured to the wilderness that surrounded them, pointing specifically at the forest near the gas station, "You're out here all alone and your easy prey for anything out there.” 

Furrowing your brows and squinting, you stared at whatever he was pointing at. Your brain felt like it was melting from what he had said. What a creepy ass thing to say. As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. The forest was creepy as hell and being alone at night in the middle of nowhere was never necessarily smart or safe for anyone. His words began to sink in, if anything, you were more afraid of him than anything in that forest right now. You huffed as you faced him, starting to lose your patience,

“Look, I don’t know where you came from or why you’re here, but I’d appreciate it if you helped me or just left me alone. I’ve had a shitty day and I’d just like to get my car working so I can go home.”

Once you finished speaking, you saw him frown a little in response. His eyes burned holes into your skull as he absorbed what you had said to him. Your stomach dropped, you fucked up. The world seemed to stand still, the eerie silence filling the freezing air between them. He said nothing at first, only staring down at you with a piercing gaze, sending a sharp shiver down your spine. The only thing that broke the silence was the bitter, howling wind. His voice felt louder as he spoke up again. His words sharp and targeted towards you, 

“You’re real mouthy, aren’t you?” his lips curved into a thin line, eyes narrow as they continued to burn into you, “I’d w-watch out with that if I were you.”

Your brain told you to run, leave the car and run somewhere, anywhere but here. You realized that was stupid as you took into account what was around you. Your eyes darted quickly, trying to look at everything but him. Dread filled your senses as you remembered that you were truly in the middle of nowhere. You looked back at him, trying to figure out what he was trying to do. Words uncontrollably spilled from your lips, you were desperate at this point, unable to control the shakiness in your voice, 

“Wh-what do you want from me?”

It felt like the man's goal was to just make you as uncomfortable as possible. He remained silent for a minute, watching you shift nervously in place, fiddling with your thin shirt sleeves as you desperately tried to stay calm, looking him in the eyes. This guy knew exactly how to get into your head, eyes narrowing as he stayed quiet, waiting for you to break. His neck jerked to the side before he spoke,

“Well, the way I see it, I could either help you get your car r-running, or I could leave you here for the wolves.”

You felt like your heart was going to burst from your chest right then and there. Was he threatening you? It wouldn’t be shocking at this point. You stayed silent for a moment, realizing you’d have to work with him if you ever wanted to make it back home. You cleared your throat, voice still shaky from a mix of being cold and absolutely terrified. You nodded as you held out your hand for him to shake,

“What’s uh- what’s your name?”

This was your genius way of trying to fix this strange situation and get on the guy's good side. His eyes narrowed as he looked at your shaking, ungloved hand. The smallest look of surprise filled his features before he grabbed onto her hand and gave it a shake. His grip was firm but thankfully not too tight. He smirked as he shook your hand, looking up to your eyes as he scrunched his nose, “Name’s Toby.” He paused before continuing, still holding firmly onto your hand, “Yours?”

You let go of his hand before responding very bluntly, “I’m y/n…” You purse your lips together before looking at your feet, you didn’t know where to even go from here. You stayed silent until you heard snow crunching under Toby’s boots as he walked to the front of your car, popping the hood up to inspect it. You stared at him as he stared blankly at the machine, he looked absolutely clueless. You knew you were already screwed, but this guy just seemed to be making it worse because he had absolutely no clue what he was doing. 

He placed a hand on his head, seeming perplexed as he studied the car. It didn’t take an expert to tell you that this guy was just as lost as you were when it came to fixing shitty broken down cars. The tension was thick and the air had taken on an unsettling aura, one that you’d only felt a handful of times before. You felt your heartbeat quicken as you tried to find a way to calm yourself as he tried to work on your car. The demeanor shifted completely. 

You decided to try and talk to him, thinking it may make you feel better. As he worked on the car, you noticed something shiny reflecting on his back. There sat a hatchet, strapped over his shoulder. You hadn’t noticed it before, but now that you could see it, you only felt more uneasy. Swallowing thickly, you spoke as you pointed to it, watching him snap his head in your direction, 

“What’s um- what’s with the hatchet? Are you a lumberjack or something?”

The question sounded stupid. You mentally smacked yourself on the forehead, a lumberjack? Really? He seemed amused by the question, chuckling as he looked at her and cocked his head to the side. The hatchet had barely been covered by his coat, taunting you to ask him about it even if you'd regret it in the end. You could practically hear the teasing and smirk in his voice without needing to even see it on his face, “A lumberjack?” 

After a small pause, he shrugged, his gaze returning to the vehicle as he spoke, “No, I’m not a lumberjack.”

The response made you furrow your brows in confusion. You knew the question sounded dumb, but what else could he be? Upon further inspection, you noticed how rusty the hatchet actually was. It looked old and like it was in need of a replacement soon. The silence was killing you, so you spoke up again. Your voice sounded off in the sharp, cold air, “So then,,, what are you, exactly?” 

This was as normal as this conversation could possibly get. They’d talk about what they do for work, he’d somehow fix the car, and then they could go their separate ways and never see each other again. Your question was getting closer and closer to the truth. The hatchet sat comfortably on Toby’s shoulder, like he was used to having it there, its rusty surface seeming to reflect the moonlight above. Toby gave you a sly grin as he looked over at you again, taking a few seconds to just stare before speaking, 

“Do you really w-want to know the answer to that question?” 

His tone felt like he was teasing you, implying that his answer was going to be something horrible, something you wouldn’t want to know. There didn’t even need to be a physical threat for you to feel uncomfortable again, your imagination filling in the blanks as to what he was trying to say. 

You paused, trying not to just snap right then and there. You felt your eye twitch as you took a deep breath in and out. Did you really wanna know? All you wanted to do was talk about what each of you did for work, not try to solve some random guy’s weird cryptic rhymes and codes. The anxiety was bubbling up inside you, you wished this guy could just say something normal for once. You nodded slowly, not able to find the words you wanted to say. 

Toby was clearly enjoying your reactions, continuing to grin and stare you down as you waited for his response. Eventually, he spoke again, the cocky smirk never leaving his face, “I guess I’m in the hunting business, I don’t really have a name for it.” 

You nodded in response to his answer, watching his neck twitch again as you tried your best to speak up and make this feel normal again. You took into account his whistling and twitching thing, deciding not to ask him about it since it was so hard to learn what his job was. Your voice sounded dry, “I’m uh- I work at a coffee shop.” 

He laughed at your response which made you scoff a little, why was that funny to him? You couldn’t understand why he was the way he was, you just hoped that your patience would reward you by getting your car fixed and getting the hell out of here. You turned away from him, looking at the gas station. It looked run down and abandoned. Sighing, you kept your gaze on the gas station, you were done talking to him. 

The air grew still as you felt a creeping sensation crawl up your spine. The sound of rustling and your car's hood slamming down caught your attention, causing you to jump in shock. Your head snapped towards him, a confused look on your face. Before you could even speak and ask why Toby did that, you noticed what he was now doing.

His movements started slow, reaching for the hatchet’s handle on his back, grabbing it and placing it in both hands with a firm grip. You felt your eyes widen as a pathetic noise left your throat as you tried to ask and beg to know what he was doing, staring at him as you felt yourself freeze, trying to stumble away,

“I’m bored, sorry it uh- sorry it had to go this way I guess. It- it was nice knowin’ ya, y/n.”

Toby spoke dryly, shrugging as he grabbed at your shoulder, yanking you closer to him as he raised the hatchet over his head with his other hand before it came swinging down towards you. Finally, a shrill scream ripped from your throat.

Here's the link to that quotev I mentioned also

[crushedsweets]

CREEPED VISUAL NOVEL Link, tutorial, extra art, Q&A, some chatter

The CREEPED Prologue is completely free and browser-ready. Gameplay is about 10 minutes. Please read the "tutorial" and notes before playing!

Follow Y/N and their dog, Max, through their grandparents' farm and a mysterious forest filled with...less than fortunate people!

PLAY HERE; works best on PC

This visual novel is powered by GOOGLE SLIDES! It has 0 programming and was created by one person in a little over a month, so please bear with any "bugs" and clunkiness!

TUTORIAL

>Click using mouse/trackpad >Go slowly to not break game >Do not use arrow or space keys

EXTRA NOTES:

>Works best on PC/Browser, I haven't tested the full game on mobile yet >In general, clicking the PNGs on the textbox (Apple, Teddy Bear, Hatchet, etc) will lead you to the right page >If you land on a page that tells you to "go back," that's when you should click the back-arrow key. If your cursor disappears, it doesn't register the click correctly >I recommend moving your cursor periodically to avoid it disappearing and sending you to the wrong page

EXTRA ART

some WIPS and the original sprite-style i was gonna choose LOOOOOOOL

Q&A

Q: Is this an x reader? A: This is a reader-insert, but it's not romantic and I try to keep it as neutral and unidentifiable as possible! Q: What's the plot? A: GENERALLY AND WITHOUT SPOILERS, your dog gets you into trouble and you're just looking to help him!

Q: Who is in the prologue? A: Tim, Brian, Toby, and Kate! More will be added in future chapters.

Q: When will future chapters be posted? A: Not sure! This took me about a month to do, and half was spent over winter break. I will try to get chapter 1 posted before summer, but I am a full-time student, employed, have extracurriculars, etc etc

ok thats all i only remember 4 questions feel free to ask more LMAO

CHATTER(because you know i can talk forever)

ok i just wanted to be able to talk about how the process was with this and how i feel about the results and whatnot...

ive been wanting to make a google slides visual novel since i was like 13 LOL it hit the point where i was repeatedly told i should just learn to code but i was like NOOOOO ITS GOTTA BE GOOGLE SLIDESSSS which is totally stupid but hey. i think that gives it some sort of simple charm that reminds me of being 16 and doing little projects in my room LOL i like working with the easiest tools . my bad

anyway. im just very happy LOL. it's not perfect but i feel like i came full circle in a sense?!?! i've been into creepypasta since i was 9 and it comforted me when things were really hard, and when i was 18 i was going through a really hard time and got back into creepypasta as a way to distract myself. i've always had a habit of throwing myself into fiction for escapism when things suuucked.

i'm 20 now but i've met SO many amazing people, had so many fun awesome exciting projects with friends, created tons of stuff im proud of, felt more motivated to create since i was like 13, have been inspired by so many amazing artists/authors on here, etc. just so so so lucky to find community in such a tight-knit cute fandom that thrives off of creativity and playing around! i hope i can keep the momentum and make a couple more chapters this year, but im kinda busy with school and work...LOL . i'm just excited to have this posted so i can have more discussion about it T_T

anyway thank you if you read this far and thank you if you played etc etc yaahhhhhh omg ok BYE THIS IS SO EMBARRASSING im just so grateful to be in this fandom

[noctiva]

toby the type to keep a polaroid of you taped to the dash of his truck. toby the type to wear one of your t-shirts under his hoodie so he smells like you all day. toby the type to spritz his pillow with the exact perfume you wear if y’all don’t live together.

toby always keeping hair ties or painkillers on him in case you need them. toby walking on the outside of the sidewalk so that you don’t have to be close to the road. toby always keeping a hand on your lower back, or in your back pocket, or resting on your hip.

toby getting a stick n poke tattoo of your initial on his ring finger. toby carving your name into the handle of his hatchets. toby filling journal upon journal with nothing but entries about you. toby letting you sew patches onto his favourite jackets. toby dyeing one strand of his hair the same colour if you switch your hair colour.

toby needing to call you to fall asleep if he’s away om an overnight mission. toby still getting giddy and going all red when you refer to him as ‘my boyfriend’. toby wearing a locket with your photo inside. toby looking at you after years of being together like he still can’t believe you’re real

toby toby toby toby toby toby

[sorvqlz]

Cr: @hrnghsoup

The DETAILS. 😔🙏🏼

[xxsinisterbunniexx]

✮⋆˙ ☠︎︎ ★☠︎ ✮⋆˙ Creepypasta general NSFW headcanons ✮⋆˙ ☠︎︎ ★☠︎ ✮⋆˙

Characters: Jeff the Killer, Ticci Toby, Eyeless Jack, BEN drowned, X Virus

Thought I’d kick off with some NSFW headcanons for the most popular characters (plus X virus simply because I adore him)

Jeff

☠︎︎ need to be on permanent birth control with him, does not pull out and does not care

☠︎︎ he would just be oh so mean

☠︎︎ lots of degradation

☠︎︎"come all over my cock like the fucking slut you are”

☠︎︎ spits in your mouth

☠︎︎ knifeplay!

☠︎︎ generally very rough: choking, slapping, general manhandling

☠︎︎ BUT

☠︎︎ every once in a while he has a bad day and he becomes just so soft

☠︎︎ takes his time with you, touches you gently

☠︎︎ “you know I love you so much”

☠︎︎ fav position is doggy in front of a mirror because he can watch your face while he fucks the shit out of you

Toby

✘ also need permanent birth control with him, but unlike Jeff he would try to pull out if you asked him to but he’s only like 50% consistent about it

✘ but if you didn’t ask him to…

✘ lowkey has a breeding kink so he’d come inside every time

✘ his family is broken so he lowkey wants to have one but do it right

✘ bites you, bites you!!!

✘ cannot feel pain so this man is a SADIST!!!

✘ he would be so intrigued with watching how you react to pain

✘ slips into German if he’s really getting into it

✘“Du fühlst dich so gut an, mein Mädchen. Du wirst so schwach für mich.”

✘ big on marking you (both with bites and hickeys)

✘ talks you through it

✘ “gonna come for me, pretty girl?”

✘ loves eating you out and gets really sloppy with it

✘ and when he’s receiving he’s a head pusher, hair puller, face fucker

✘ loud as fuck, this bro will moan and growl in your ear without shame

✘ his fav position is mating press cause he gets to watch your face while he bruises your cervix <3

Eyeless Jack

⛥ major breeding kink

⛥ would come in you, tell you to keep it in, and when it inevitably starts to seep out he’d breed you again

⛥ also fingers his cum back into you

⛥ “look at how wasteful you are. Guess I’ll have to fill you up again”

⛥ this man is a demon so he’s so feral oml

⛥ can smell when you are ovulating and it drives him WILD

⛥ makes a shit ton of demonic ass noises

⛥ I’m talking growling, groaning, may even purr a bit (in like a demonic scary way LOL)

⛥ ummm SpongeBob why is it in a cage

⛥ because it growled at me

⛥ jk you could not cage this man

⛥ he has multiple tongues and he’s gonna put them to use

⛥ like eating your pussy until you are BEGGING for him to stop

⛥ knows a lot about human anatomy so….

⛥ fav position is mating press (for obvious reasons)

BEN drowned

⚠︎ he’s a little shit and this would translate to the bedroom

⚠︎ teasing you 24/7 it’s like torture

⚠︎ won’t just eat you out, he’s gotta bite your thighs and then get real close and let his breath fan over your clit just to make you tremble

⚠︎ would love to tie you up so he can torture you even more

⚠︎ likes to hear you beg

⚠︎ edging to the max like bro loves orgasm control

⚠︎ “aw, you wanna come? Better ask real nicely”

⚠︎ plays ur titties like a video game controller LMAO

⚠︎ corruption kink

⚠︎ loves to use toys with you because he can use his influence~

⚠︎ fav position is anything where you’re on top

X Virus

☣︎ so meticulous about it

☣︎ like has precise control over your body and commands it so well

☣︎ also loves orgasm control but less in an edging way and more in a you come when I want you to come kind of way

☣︎ “don’t you dare come without permission. I control when you come”

☣︎ experimentalist, for obvious reasons

☣︎ like bro will genuinely try anything once

☣︎ so when he comes to you with that special look in his eye you know you’re in for it

☣︎ especially if he’s been holed up in the lab for a few days before

☣︎ because you just know that means he’s made you an extra special drug he wants you to try

☣︎ loves giving head but lord when he is receiving…

☣︎ like jaw goes slack, soul leaves his body, he can only run his fingers into your hair and squeeze a little when you tease him too much otherwise he is OUT

☣︎ keeps in control for 95% of the act while he fucks you until the very end when he’s close to coming and then he’s erratically thrusting into you and his voice is cracking

☣︎ his fav position is anything where he can see your face because he needs to observe your reactions

These are my general thoughts on the characters :3 I’m gonna start writing more headcanons and also cross posting my other fics little by little but until then hope you enjoyed <3

[skellophrenia]

ᝰ🚬 _( ˃` ⩌ ´˂ ) blaa

.

.

★ i promise I'll draw more proxies soon i js wanted to draw da freaks first nyahaha

.

ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 anyways who else goes to steal a pack of cigarettes from your local gas station at 1am only to get followed home by some serial killer bc you reminded him of his little gay emo boyfriend he had before he snapped and murdered his family lol crazyyyy ((he doesn't know dolly n ghost are technically the same "person" yet😛))

[the-s1lly-corner]

what about with like the proxies and Slenderman (and brothers if you want!) reacting to like Y/N coming back and hugging them, not saying a word. They had a bad day or something and just need comfort <3

Hugging slenderman and the proxies out of no where

Maybe I'll do a second post to include trenderman and splendor! Yippie!

Notes: reader is gn, short post, none of these people are used to affection much less one being given as a means to comfort oneself

CWs: none

SLENDERMAN

He doesn't flinch at all when you suddenly rush back to him after he walks you to the edge of the woods- so you could go home for the night-

But he does stiffen when you suddenly crash into him and cling onto him with all you've got. Why the sudden change? Well... not so sudden... he could sense that something was off with you today, but you didn't budge

Bending down to hug you back would be physically awkward for the both of you, but he does rest his hands on you... large hands, rubs circles into your back. He let's you cling onto him for as long as you need

MASKY

Does NOT like you rushing back towards him, he knows it's you and you're likely not attacking but he still instinctively takes a step back and prepares himself.. but.. you're grabbing him

No, you're hugging him. He's not too open to physical touch, especially spontaneous touches- but the way you shoved your face into his shoulder has him rethinking slinking away from you

Very awkwardly and stiffly wraps him arms around you. Is this... okay for you? Is this what you wanted? Runs his fingers through your hair and rubs circles into your scalp

HOODIE

Loooooves physical touch unlike his counterpart, so he's more than open to giving you a hug... but he can tell something is wrong with how you cling to him and hide your face. He won't push you to talk but if you start crying he's going to move your face from his jacket so you can get some proper air

Gently sways you from side to side as a means to try to soothe you, if you let him he'll even sink into the ground with you and simply hold you

He offers to stay with you, if he doesn't need to immediately return to his work... and even then he tries to linger for a few extra minutes

TICCI TOBY

Does NOT know how to take affection- he's still learning how to take it from you- and he's a horrible comforter... but damnit he knows you're upset so he's going to try

He starts talking to fill the silence. He doesn't outright pry and ask what's going on and why you're upset, especially if you seem unreceptive. He simply. Talks and tries to find something to coax you from his chest

He tends to hug you too tight, though... he doesn't know what's too much for you and what isn't enough

[eyebawll]

⦻ JEFFREY WOODS ⦻

⦻ interp and headcanons⦻

art by unpanzito here on tumblr — warning for mentions of abuse, mental illness, SH, obsession, and overall dark topics.

Because of how important Jeff's original story was (and still is) to me as a child, I have many things from the original creator's "canon". While his original story is being fleshed out with my personal ideas, I've mocked up what else I worked out for him. This is pretty long, and some grammar might be messy since I've been working on this all night and morning, and some things might be a bit redundant because my brain slipped a lot, but I hope y'all like my interp!!

PSYCHOLOGY

From the outside point of view, he could be seen as "edgy" or the classic "insane and unhinged"—although there is a perfectly logical and psychological reason as to why.

This is where the term "joker reject" comes into play. But he isn't a copycat or "rip off" of anything. He was just a boy (now man) full of anguish and trauma. His mind is a sheer maelstrom of chaos and pain.

His memory, while useful on occasion, is often full of re-runs of his past, his kills, or straight up blacked out. This affects his daily life, but unfortunately, it's a way for his damaged brain to protect itself—even if there isn't anything to protect itself from.

He never saw a professional, but if he were to see one, he would be diagnosed with the following:

Pseudobulbar Affect (PBA), Schizoaffective Disorder, C-PTSD, Major Depressive Disorder (MDD), BPD, Erotomania, Depersonalization/Derealization Disorder, and possibly Antisocial Personality Disorder.

PBA is the condition is a neurological disorder causing uncontrollable outbursts of laughing or crying unrelated to actual emotions, much like Arthur Fleck from the 2019 Joker.

He laughs, and sometimes cries, at random periods of time. In the middle of conversations (good or bad), while mouthing off to somebody, or even when he's just on his own. It often contradicts his own emotions, which is the entire point of the condition. It is often caused by chronic illnesses, but also traumatic brain injury—which is similar to his case.

His conditions are influenced by years of abuse (neglect, verbal, psychological, physical) and the untreated aftermath of such abuse. His full backstory is not fully fleshed out in my Slenderverse, not yet, but it does heavily involve the original theme of his story—although with harsher tones.

His severe mental decline is what led to his classic appearance now. He doesn't care about his own personal hygiene or how he appears to others. It's likely that the reason for his self-mutilation was because of a manic or dissociative episode. He became an image of his self hatred and rage and has lived in it ever since. This also includes the bleach.

The pain from the knife mutilating his face was nothing compared to the emotional and psychological distress he suffered. The taste of his own blood, the sharpness of the blade, the burn from the bleach—it all gave him a thrill.

“They love me. They just don’t know how to say it yet. But I can help them.”

His erotomania is another condition formed by his severe trauma, a defense mechanism twisted into delusion. When real affection was absent—when his touches were met with flinching, his words ignored, and his presence treated like a stain—his mind began to fill in the blanks. He started mistaking glances for desire, kindness for intimacy, and silence for hidden longing. To him, love isn’t a mutual experience. It’s a story he tells himself to survive.

And when that fantasy is threatened—when the person doesn’t “play along”—he doesn’t understand. He thinks they’re being manipulated, or scared, or punished by the world for loving him. So he acts. Possessively. Violently.

He believes obsession is love. That hurting someone else for them proves his devotion. That keeping them close—even if they scream—is mercy. Because he remembers what it felt like to be alone. And he swore he’d never go back there.

He's fascinated by death. Not just as a killer, but as an observer. Will sit by a corpse and talk to it. Will ask questions.

He mocks or intimidates people just to feel in control, especially those who remind him of authority figures, or bullies.

He lives compulsively, even when he doesn’t need to. It’s a defense. A game.

Alexithymia traits. He struggles to identify his own emotions, often expressing them as rage or laughter instead.

Auditory hallucinations. Not just voices, but noises. Static, dripping, heartbeats, or echoing footsteps.

Visual hallucinations. Faces in the mirror, eyes in the dark. Possibly tied to guilt or past victims.

Time distortion. Doesn’t always register days passing; he gets “stuck” in loops, especially after kills.

Somatic flashbacks. Physical responses (like nausea, chest tightness) triggered by smells, words, certain lighting.

Delusions of grandeur. Believes he’s a “chosen” figure, a monster with a divine or mythical purpose.

Body dysmorphia. Terrible dysmorphia. Sees himself as monstrous even in normal moments. May think his face is still burning.

Paranoia. This is already obvious, but it can be its own section as well. Thinks he’s being watched or followed, even by allies. Hates mirrors partly because of this.

HABITS

Growing up, there were strict lines Jeff wasn’t allowed to cross—whether by fear, by rules, or by emotional suffocation. He was told what to wear, what to listen to, how to act, and what kind of boy he should be. He wasn’t allowed to feel angry, only quiet. Not to cry. Not to talk back. He obeyed, until he couldn’t anymore.

Now everything he wasn’t allowed to do has become part of him—an act of rebellion and freedom.

He smokes like his lungs don’t matter. Sometimes cigarettes, sometimes weed—anything that dulls the noise or turns it into a slow static. He never used to inhale properly. Now he lets it burn.

He drinks until it stings his teeth and settles in his stomach like acid. He likes the feeling of spinning—it reminds him of losing control without the violence. He is a hardcore alcoholic because of this.

He blasts music—abrasive, bass-heavy, industrial or screeching metal. It’s noise that mirrors his insides. The lyrics don’t always make sense, but the rage does.

He breaks things for fun—mirrors, phones, whatever’s close. The crashing sound is almost comforting.

He watches violent horror movies obsessively. Not because he enjoys the gore—but because it feels familiar. The silence before the screams. The tension. Okay, maybe a little bit of gore.

Even the clothes he wears—bloodstained, scorched, too tight or too big—are a rejection of the boy he used to be. He's a mess on purpose. No one tells him what to be anymore.

He self-harms in multiple ways; carving symbols, biting his fingers, digging nails into skin. His pain is his power source.

Starves or binges randomly. Food control as self-punishment or reward. Often forgets to eat at all. He may have an eating disorder.

Lets grime build up. Refuses to shower unless it’s for symbolic reasons. Greasy hair, dirty hands, sweat-soaked clothes.

Destroys mirrors. He can’t stand his reflection. They’re either broken or turned to face the wall.

They said he was too sensitive. Too dramatic. Too broken.

So he became all of it, Loud and disgusting. Impossible to ignore.

Graffiti and vandalism. Leaves behind messages, symbols, his own name. Wants to be remembered and feared.

Sleeps in random places. Rooftops, train stations, abandoned houses, closets. Never the same place twice or for too long.

Walks barefoot in unsafe places. Glass, concrete, mud. Pain equals reality and control.

Watches disturbing content. Autopsies, crime scene footage, true crime interviews.

Studies old medical books or anatomy charts for fun or for precision. He likes knowing what everything does… and how to ruin it.

Keeps items that meant something once; a burned-out lighter, a charm bracelet, a cracked CD player. He can’t let go, even if he forgets why.

Talks to people who aren’t there; past victims, old versions of himself, imaginary lovers.

Acts out scenes he wishes happened; arguments, apologies, fantasies of someone choosing him. Over and over until it’s “right.”

Makes himself bleed on purpose during full moons, storms, or birthdays, personal holidays. Dates that meant something.

Whispers “go to sleep” to himself when he wants to disappear—not from others, but from himself.

Keeps trophies from victims, jewelry, phones, bloody photos, torn clothing. Sometimes he talks to them.

Writes obsessively in old notebooks, walls, or on his skin. Sometimes poetry, sometimes nonsense. Sometimes he writes love letters never sent.

Keeps fingernails uneven on purpose. One hand jagged, the other trimmed. For scratching vs. control.

Picks at scabs and scars. Compulsive, self-soothing. Doesn’t care if they bleed.

Eats raw things. Sometimes uncooked meat, sometimes just out of lack of care. It’s about texture and instinct.

Talks to knives. Names them. Ascribes personalities. The one he used “the first time” is the only one he won't let anyone else touch.

Sleeps with music playing. Usually violent or distorted. Silence is terrifying. He needs noise to feel real.

Steals clothes from his victims. Wears them over his own, sometimes sleeps in them.

Has a favorite victim type. Not by appearance, but by emotional pattern: kind, lonely, easily flustered.

Draws childish or surreal things. Stick figures, spirals, things with too many teeth. Sometimes cute animals crossed out violently.

Carries around odd tokens. Buttons, a cracked watch, a piece of stained lace. He doesn’t know why anymore.

Talks about himself in third person when dissociating.

Smiles at corpses, tries to force their mouths into smiles too, sometimes.

Breaks his own fingers during panic attacks—has to snap something.

Scratches walls while walking, especially in tight spaces.

Doesn’t like being touched on the neck, will react instantly and violently.

Has a favorite knife and a backup. The backup is duller on purpose.

Breath-holding when stressed; He’ll unconsciously hold his breath for too long. Has passed out before.

Chronic insomnia. Sleeps in 2-3 hour bursts if at all. Wakes up mid-scream or mid-laughter.

Uses broken glass as tools. Doesn’t always rely on knives. Glass, rusted metal, and even his own nails are tools.

Hoarding behavior. Keeps random trash with sentimental weight. Broken headphones. Gum wrappers. A single shoelace.

Blood letting “calendars”. Scratches tally marks in the wall or on himself to count something. Sometimes doesn’t remember what.

Animal mimicry; Growls. Snarls. Clicks his teeth. Especially when cornered or overstimulated.

Echolalia. Repeats the last word or phrase others say, mockingly or mechanically, like a broken tape recorder.

Burn fetishes. Lights fire just to watch it, sometimes burns his fingertips to feel something.

Writes coded messages, in spirals, backwards writing, or made-up alphabets. Claims it’s just “something pretty.”

Scent-based memory; Smells like bleach, rust, cigarettes. Associates smells with people or events. Uses that to “track” feelings.

Talks to corpses like they’re roommates. May leave them posed, put things near them, even apologize to them before sleeping nearby.

Jeff is, in clinical terms, a mission-oriented disorganized serial killer with strong psychosis and delusional fixations. He doesn’t just snap—he builds. He stalks, imagines, crumbles, and strikes. His kills aren’t random, but the reason why he kills can shift depending on his mental state that day.

Stalking habits: He doesn’t stalk in a traditional way. He lurks. Observes. Sometimes from outside a window, sometimes for weeks. He might leave cryptic things behind—dead animals, broken belongings, a stolen shirt returned with cuts in it. To him, it’s flirting.

Rituals before killing: Might clean a knife obsessively, recite phrases, smear something on himself (blood, ash, paint). It's compulsive and grounding.

After kills: May fall into a depressive or manic state, laugh uncontrollably, or whisper apologies. May not remember the kill. May treat the body like it’s still alive.

Treats each kill like a “love letter”; Often leaves behind messages, drawings, or carefully posed bodies.

Places fingers over victims’ mouths before killing. “Shhh. Don’t ruin the moment.”

Has to be seen by the victim before killing. Needs their recognition. Their fear.

Will sometimes spare people who “remind him” of someone lost. Not out of mercy. More like confusion.

Will speak to the victim as if they’re already dead during stalking. “You don’t even know you’re gone yet.”

Seeks out intimate spaces. Bedrooms, bathrooms. Places people are vulnerable. It’s a form of control.

Triggers (Things that may drive him to violence)

Mockery. Being laughed at, especially about his voice, appearance, or mental health.

Perceived betrayal. Someone lying, ghosting, or “leaving” him in any way.

Authority or control. Someone trying to dominate him or talk down to him.

Romantic rejection. Especially if erotomania is involved. Even just brushing him off gently can snap the wire.

Touch without consent. Unexpected or forceful touch can bring flashbacks and instant violence.

Seeing someone cry because of him. It enrages him, but also deeply confuses him.

Being ignored mid-sentence. Makes him spiral. “Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me.”

Clean, well-lit rooms. Reminds him of hospitals or places where he was “fixed.” Hates them.

Hearing certain songs. Especially childhood ones. Will freeze or start panicking if one comes on.

People pretending not to be afraid. He knows when someone’s faking. He’ll punish them for it.

Voice + Speech Patterns

Raspy yet deep—possibly due to damage from bleach, smoke, and screaming.

His laugh cuts into conversations like a glitch—high-pitched, breathy, or gasping.

May talk to himself mid-conversation, like correcting his own thoughts.

Speaks in second-person sometimes ("You told me you'd stay...but you lied, didn’t you?")

Mumbles or hums under his breath when anxious.

When in a “killing state,” he becomes dramatic—mocking, sing-songy, calm in a way that should be comforting, but isn't. Other times he's just plain erratic and unpredictable.

Jumps timelines mid-sentence: “You said you wouldn’t—no. You’re not her. You’re not her but you’re wearing her eyes.”

Mixes reality and delusion seamlessly: “You looked at me the same way she did. You remember her, right? The woman in the red coat. You have to remember her.”

(There was no woman in a red coat. Or maybe there was.)

Sudden volume shifts—whispers a sentence, then yells a word, or vice versa. Completely unpredictable.

Rambles to himself when no one’s listening. Mostly muttered reflections, self-corrections, or dissociation-induced thoughts: “Don’t twitch. She twitched. That’s how I knew she was lying. Liars twitch.”

Repeats phrases until they lose meaning: “Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Go to sleep—” (tone changes from soothing to aggressive to frantic.)

Uses sickly-sweet tones while threatening: “Awww, don’t cry now. We were just starting to have fun.”

“You’ll be alright. Just pretend it’s love.”

Imitates other people mockingly–especially therapists, police, family: “’He just needs help.’ Yeah? Funny how they never helped, just shoved pills in my mouth and called me better.”

Laughs inappropriately mid-sentence or during emotional dialogue: “I didn’t mean to—heh—but you should’ve seen her face.”

Talks to his “love interests” like they’re already together even if they’re strangers: “You don’t need to talk. I know what you’re trying to say. I always do.”

Uses possessive pet names no matter how long he’s known the person: “Sweetheart,” “doll,” “my little angel,” “mine.”

Talks about love like a threat.

Talks in second or third person when distressed: “Jeff doesn’t like this.” / “You’re fine. You’re okay. You’re not even real right now.”

Shifts between sounding adult and sounding like a kid – sometimes mid-thought: “I said don’t touch me—!…sorry. Sorry. That just...reminded me.”

Counts under his breath when overstimulated or trying not to kill: “One, two, three, four…breathe. Breathe. Smile.”

He also has a number of repetitive phrases.

“Go to sleep.” (Of course.)

“Don’t flinch.” (Usually said to others. He hates flinching—it’s rejection.)

“Smile wider. No, wider.” (Sometimes said in the mirror. Or to victims.)

“She saw me. She saw me.”

“What was her name again?” (Said with disturbing fondness. Probably about someone he probably killed.)

Hiccuping or stammering under stress, especially when confronted with authority or a love interest.

Misuses idioms or metaphors. Says them wrong and gets angry when corrected: “Curiosity didn’t kill the cat. I did.”

Deliberate misnaming. Calls people by the wrong name or a nickname to confuse or belittle them.

“Triggered scripts”: Has memorized lines he repeats during certain emotional states, as if reading from a script.

Shifts into childish speech under high stress. Uses baby talk or whiny tones that abruptly cut back into his normal voice.

Refers to his knife as “his voice”: “She talks louder than I ever could.” Might even say it “sings.”

Repetition of traumatic phrases: “Why’d you make me do it?” or “Am I still beautiful, mommy?" Common during breakdowns.

THE SLENDERMANSION

Jeff’s presence in the mansion is like having a stray dog with rabies. Slenderman may tolerate him—not because he’s loyal, but because he’s useful.

He sees Slender as a god or fucked up father figure he both resents and depends on.

May get jealous of other proxies or feel replaced easily.

Doesn’t like being referred to as a pet or proxy, even if he acts like one.

Wanders in and out of the mansion, sleeps in the basement or roof. Often found where no one else dares to be.

Has no official room. His presence is found through blood trails, cigarette burns, or distant laughter.

Yes, smile dog is a companion in this interp.

Unspoken truce with other proxies. He has codes with them. Small gestures mean “stay away” or “help.”

Keeps bones or bones fragments in his corner of the Mansion. He may even “name” them.

Feral behavior if cornered inside the mansion. Will lash out and act like an animal until left alone.

Genuinely afraid of Slenderman when he’s in a “bad mood”. Thinks he can “hear” his thoughts sometimes.

Tolerates Sally. Hates being reminded of what he used to be. Might act like a big brother one day and violently distant the next.

Fights with Masky often. Projects authority figures onto him. Believes he’s a “wannabe cop.”

Jeff wanders like a feral dog. Nobody really knows when he’s there or not unless he makes his presence known.

Eats food others brought in, even if it’s half-eaten or obviously not his. Drinks cold coffee left out too long. Sometimes leaves his own blood in mugs and laughs about it.

Occasionally sits at the kitchen table at 3AM, talking to no one. If you acknowledge him, he won’t respond. But he knows you saw him.

He hoards stolen things from others in the mansion—Clockwork’s hoodies string, Toby's goggles, BEN’s broken controller. Not out of malice. Just because.

He carves names into the walls—sometimes of people in the house, sometimes unknown ones. Crosses out the ones who “left.”

Has a hiding spot only Smile Dog knows. If anyone finds it, he destroys it and relocates.

Despite his instability, he occasionally “trains” younger proxies in brutal, unorthodox ways—he’ll throw them into fear scenarios just to “toughen them up.” It’s a twisted sense of mentorship.

Slenderman keeps him on a long leash, metaphorically. He doesn’t follow orders unless he feels like it, but when he does, it’s with disturbing overkill.

BEN and Jeff have a rivalry, like siblings forced to share a room. BEN trolls him, Jeff responds physically—ripping cords, smashing keyboards, etc. They don't hate each other, though.

Jeff is obsessed with Kate, but not in a healthy way. It's a mixture of fixation, possessiveness, projection, and twisted admiration, although the genuine craving for affection is there.

Calls her things like "ghost-girl", "chaser-baby", "my shadow twin"—weird pet names only he thinks are cute.

He follows her silently, watching her on hunts. Never interferes unless he thinks she’s in danger. Then he snaps.

Leaves little "gifts" in her room: wilted flowers, knives shaped like crescent moons, locks of his own hair, bloody notes that read “you’re the only one who understands.” and other corny shit.

Gets extremely jealous if Kate is seen talking to someone else too long. Especially if it’s Masky, Hoodie, or another male proxy.

Once flipped a table during dinner when Kate ignored him. Then calmly picked up the plates and placed them back down, still seething.

Tells people they’re “soul twins” because they both “chase what they’ll never catch.” Kate finds this annoying and disturbing.

Sometimes Kate humors him because she feels bad for him…other times, she threatens him outright.

He once carved her name into his arm in front of her. She didn’t speak to him for weeks afterward.

In his eyes, Kate is the only real person in the mansion. The rest are noise.

Sally is weirdly fond of him—thinks he’s funny like a scary cartoon. He plays along, softens slightly with her, but also says incredibly inappropriate things sometimes. (Not sexual, of course not, but things like “if I died, would you haunt me?”)

Clockwork hates him. Finds him unstable and dangerous. They've gotten into brutal fights that almost left one or both unconscious.

Toby is intimidated, but fascinated. Jeff sees Toby as a “baby rage-machine” and mocks him for his tics until he gets punched.

Eyeless Jack and Jeff have an agreement—Jack patches him up if he shuts up. Jeff doesn’t. Jack still patches him up, usually annoyed.

Slenderman occasionally “reins him in” telepathically, or sends proxies to drag him back when he’s gone rogue for too long.

His scent lingers in places he���s been—blood, smoke, rot. Proxies know not to enter rooms with that smell.

His “nest” is full of torn fabrics, bones, stolen pillows, and old Polaroids. There’s barely enough room for him to curl up inside it.

Sleeps in cold spots—the attic, crawlspaces, or with the windows wide open even in the dead of winter.

The basement walls have claw marks, some say they’re his, others say it’s something else he brought back with him.

He will occasionally talk to his reflection in a mirror, despite his hatred for it. He usually ends up punching it, though.

Refers to the Slender Mansion as “home” but never says it like it’s comforting. Says it like a threat.

Keeps chalk drawings under the staircase—outlines of bodies, smiley faces with fangs, Kate’s silhouette.

Sometimes dances alone in the hallway. No music. Just dancing to something in his head.

“Feeds” Smile Dog scraps of something that isn’t meat. No one asks.

Occasionally writes notes and tapes them to people’s doors, always in red pen. They say things like:

“I watched you last night. You flinch in your sleep.”

“You smell different today. New shampoo?”

“She’s not yours.”

More to be added! If you have any questions, feel free to ask! I love my burnt sausage so much. <3

[horny-marbles]

Hi Beautiful!! I’ve been following your work and I love it soooo much :) Could you possibly do some sort of smut with EJ? My idea is the female reader convinced him to get a matching eyebrow or tongue piercing with her, and she’s the one piercing him? Or if you wanna mess the concept , I’m totally cool with that! Thank you so much, hope you have a lovely day <3 (sorry if that didn’t make sense, English isn’t my primary language)

hi angel!! thank you so much teehee 🫶🏻🫶🏻 this is so fucking hot and fun, pierced/body mod jack owns about 80% of my brain and the entirety of my heart, i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it hehe <3

Balltongue (Eyeless Jack x F!Reader)

CW: needles and piercing tongues duh, unsafe piercing handling, dry humping, oral (f receiving and giving), sloppy toppy fr, throatpie :P

word count 3.9k

You weren’t even sure how you got him to agree. You begged. Bargained. Maybe pouted a little. Maybe muttered "please let me pierce you so we can match" every time you sucked his dick, thinking that if you caught him off guard he would relent. He didn't.

But after a month or two of stubborn, stonewalling deadpan refusals - based on medical risks he listed to you more times than you could count - and attrition warfare, Jack finally caved with this heavy, world-weary sigh like he's doing something awful instead of agreeing to be hot and slutty for you.

Which brought you here, perched in his lap on his bed, thighs bracketing his hips and the mattress creaking under both your weight and his patience. Elbow deep in prep like you’re about to perform minor surgery instead of pierce his tongues; a pair of his gloves snapped tight on your hands and a tray of tools laid out beside you like you know what the fuck you’re doing. Which, let’s be real, you kind of do. You pierced your own tongue months ago. It healed by the time he resigned. Perfectly centered? No. Hot as fuck? Absolutely.

Jack, for his part, looks like a man walking calmly toward the gallows. Not that he’s anxious, just unimpressed. Still steady on his idea that this is unnecessary trauma to a perfectly functional part of the body. But here you are.

“Remind me again,” he muttered before spitting out the mouthwash in the same cup you handed him, grimacing like the taste offended him, “why the fuck I need three piercings when you got one?”

"I have one tongue, babe," you grinned, "you're the freak with a trifecta of slimy muscle in your mouth. It's only fair."

"What's fair," Jack grunted, leaning back against the headboard with a flat look, hands heavy on your thighs like he was bracing for execution, "is anatomical equality."

"Exactly. That's why you're getting three," you quipped cheerfully, leaning over him with the piercing needle hovering close to his face. "Stop glaring at me and stick one of them out."

"I don't have eyes," he exhales through his nose, the sound low and even more annoyed than usual. But he tips his head back obediently anyway, throat bare, mouth opening like a drawbridge lowering with military precision, offering the first tongue with a robotic kind of patience.

"I can feel it," you huffed a laugh, adjusting your position with a small roll of your hips, just enough for your heat to rub into his lap. He doesn't comment. "Ready?"

"No." he muttered, blank, but he didn't pull away.

You even went as far as to flip it up to check the placement of the veins on the bottom - real proffessional - before placing the tip of the first needle on the seam in the muscle and pushing through. Jack didn't even blink. His hands tightened on your thighs when the needle sliced through tissue, but there was no sound and no protest. Just that slight pull where skin meets metal, and then a quieter exhale when you thread the bar through.

You pulled back to inspect your work before he retracted his tonge and clicked the piercing against his teeth to check the new weight, and the throb between your legs was near instant.

"You already look so fucking hot," you bit your lip, tossing the needle in the trashcan at the foot of the bed without taking your eyes off his mouth, "you okay?"

He paused, and you swore you could feel his cock twitch under you, hardening. Or maybe your imagination was starting to get away from you with the mental image you conjured up; his mouth between your legs like he's nosing into fruit, piercing balls rubbing over your folds, catching on your clit, like having more to work with meant using all of it.

"Ask me when you're done assaulting all three."

You reach for the second tongue, knees planted firmly into the mattress, barely controlling the urge to grind down on him again. He extends it with a slight roll of his jaw, letting the others stay curled behind his teeth. You admire the way his throat bobs when he swallows, the muscle moving in his jaw, how together he looks even now, like no matter how turned on he gets, no matter how wet you’re getting on his lap, he’s not gonna crack until he wants to.

This time, his hips jump under you when the second needle goes in. Just a reflexive jolt. But it’s enough. Enough to make your cunt pulse around nothing and to make you bite down on your bottom lip, the curve of your mouth twisting up around it.

“You’re being such a good boy for me,” you croon mockingly, leaning in so your breath ghosts over his mouth. “So quiet. So obedient. Is it turning you on baby? Letting me sit in your lap and poke holes in you?”

You quickly give up the restraint you barely had to begin with and you grind down again, slow and deliberate, dampening spot on your crotch rubbing right against the thick press of his cock under you, now rock solid.

The second needle is still threaded through his tongue when his brows furrow - deep, offended, like you just personally insulted him. And maybe you did a little. He's sitting here with his tongue pinned by a glint of steel and you're dry humping instead of finishing the job. The nerve.

But he can’t say shit. Literally. So instead, his palm smacks firm and sharp over your ass, fingers curling tightly in the aftermath, claws stinging where they poke through your leggings. Not playful. Not punishing. Just directive.

Your breath catches, stomach tightening in knots. “Jesus,” you mutter, laughing a little, “Okay. Impatient.”

You hold the barbell up to his mouth like a lollipop, gently guiding it through the second tongue as you hum, voice thick with syrup and bite, "Can't wait to feel these on my pussy, baby."

He doesn't react, but he does breathe heavier through his nose. Barely. But you catch it, another sharp throb under you. You glance down and smile, sharp and vicious. You keep going, because you fucking got him. And how could you turn down the opportunity to rile him up when it presents itself?

“Thinking about how it’s gonna feel when I sit on your face,” you murmur, soft and sultry as the barbell slides into place, “how you'll make me cum all over your mouth with these decked out babies."

Jack’s hands twitch against your hips like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. He just exales again, slower this time, and flexes his fingers. You can feel how wound up he is, tension coiled tight under his skin like he's moments away from going off like a firearm.

He sticks out the third tongue on command, calm again, like he’s not actively dying to pin you down and fuck you stupid. When it slid forward, it trembled slightly at the tip.

"Aw," you crooned softly. "This one’s scared."

"No," he croaked flatly, "it's smarter than the other ones."

You snorted and leaned closer, mouth brushing his ear. “Want me to fuck it better after?”

His chest moved with a shallow breath, sharp and controlled, voice holding a hint of bite. “Pierce it.”

The third needle went in harder - the muscle more dense, tense - and he moaned. Just a little, low and choked. Not dramatic, but genuine. It slipped out of him like it wasn’t meant to. Just a flash of pain, edged in something that sounds dangerously close to pleasure.

Your grin is instant. “Oh?” you tease, breath warm and fanning over his tongue as you screw on the last ball. “You like pain now?”

He doesn’t answer.

His hand fists into your hair, palm wide and hot against your nape, and drags your mouth to his without a sound. No warning, no question. His lips crash into yours like he’s been starving for it for hours.

You struggle to slip out of your gloves, rubber sticking to your skin, catching on your thumbs in the haste, and kiss him back with everything in you, sterile tray forgotten, needles and pain and aftercare all abandoned because fuck.

Your fingers slide up into his hair, tugging, and the kiss turns molten fast, sloppy wet and needy. You can taste the faint metallic tang of blood, metal clinking faintly as your piercings clash, his hot breath puffing over your upper lip as he hisses with the fresh sting.

It's not long before you’re grinding again, no longer teasing, just needy, quick friction, his palms kneading at your ass, guiding the motion of your hips against him like he's sculpting it, perfecting it.

You’re soaked through. You feel it, damp heat clinging between your legs, begging for attention, the way it smears over the rough front of his pants with every motion. Jack keeps you moving, pressing you down, up, down again, grinding you into the shape of his need like he’s etching it into memory.

When he drags one of his tongues along your neck, you shudder. The muscle is slick and warm, still throbbing from the needle, and the ball drags slow and shaky over your skin, leaving a trail of spit and heat that makes your knees tighten around his hips. He doesn’t moan. Doesn’t groan. But his hands grip tighter when he tastes the sweat there, claws flexing like he’s anchoring himself.

“F-fuck,” you breathe, voice already wrecked.

He hums against you, lips open and plush on your throat. Then he’s moving, lifting your shirt, not ripping it, not frantic, but hurried. Hands steady, movements smooth but impatient.

“You’re smell like you're fucking soaked,” he mutters, voice low and frayed at the edges, slightly slurred around the new weight in his mouth. “Are you a sadist now? Getting wet while you pierce me?"

You grin. “Can you blame me? Fucking listen to yourself, baby."

Jack growls, quiet and breathy like a broken exhale, and suddenly he’s pushing you back. His thumbs hook into your shirt and he bunches it under your arms, then it goes flying somewhere behind you. He gets your bra up fast, one hand groping your tit while his mouth descends, tongues and lips and that raw, new pressure from the piercings all swirling around your nipple until you arch and moan right into the crown of his head.

It’s so wet. Lapping, licking, sucking, each new flick from his tongues leaving trails that cool too slow, making your skin burn. He sucks a little harder - sharp teeth grazing the sensitive bud just once - and when your breath stutters and hips buck, he grins against your chest, all teeth and silent heat.

He moves down, lips dragging over your sternum and down your stomach, tongues flicking in tandem, tasting every inch of skin like it matters.

And as you lift your hips off the bed like instinct, to help him get to the main course faster, he licks a slow stripe over the crotch of your leggings. Straight through the soaked fabric where it sticks to your pussy.

You jerk in surprise. “Oh my- fuck-”

“You taste desperate,” he says simply, monotone as ever. Like his aching cock isn't sandwitched between his stomach and the mattress, hips rocking where the friction's mounting

He presses his face in again. The heat of him radiates through you like a furnace. His tongues spread as they lap, tasting slick through cotton, brows twitching with a low grunt when the piercings catch into the seam, sending a flash of sting through the muscle. He doesn't seem bothered though.

“You’re such a fucking pervert,” you whisper, but you’re laughing, breath hitching as he noses into the curve of your pussy again. "You're gonna get an infection."

"Should've given a shit when you were riding me five minutes ago."

You can almost hear the eye roll in his voice as he yanks the waistband down to your knees with firm finality, claws scraping the outside of your thighs, and he exhales right over your cunt - drenched, flushed, throbbing in the open air.

His mouth drops to it like he’s starved.

You gasp the second his tongues make contact, not just from the heat of him, or the obscene way he moans into you like he needs it, but because fuck, those fresh piercings burn as they drag over your folds.

The metal’s cold at first, sharp pinches of chill against slick heat, but then it’s just sting. You twitch when the bead of the bar in his middle tongue bumps against your clit, just a little too firm, and you flinch, more from shock than pain.

“Jack- fuck,” you breathe, hips jolting.

He huffs against your cunt, an actual scoff that vibrates through you, like it’s fucking offensive to him that he doesn’t have total control over the movement. Like his own pain is an inconvenience he’s choosing to ignore out of spite.

He's always so precise. So devastating. But now he’s raw and a little unsteady, dragging the ball of a barbell over your clit again and missing a bit. Slips too far to the side.

You laugh, a breathy, broken chuckle that barely escapes your lips.

“Ohhh, baby,” you coo, drunk on it, “what’s the matter? Not used to the new hardware?”

His hand slams up across your chest, hot and firm and absolutely done with you, and presses down on your throat. Holding you down, fingers splayed under your jaw in a firm warning.

Then, he spits right on your pussy. A fat, wet glob lands just above your clit and trails down, hot and slick and disrespectful. And he's back on you with a vengeance.

He doesn’t slow this time. Doesn’t hesitate. Just dives in, two tongues pushing inside you with a wet squelch that punches the air from your lungs. Middle tongue licks you from slit to clit, flicking in messy, aching little swipes, metal catching on your clit, just barely, but enough to make your vision spark. Cold metal followed by heat and saliva and the scrape of textured flesh, enough to make your toes curl.

“Jack-”

You choke on his name and the hand on your throat tightens enough to make you feel your pulse against it. The other runs hot and wide over your stomach, down your thigh, then presses under your knee and hauls your leg up, opening you with no mercy. He plants your thigh over his shoulder, locking you in place.

His brows twitch with effort, mouth full of cunt and face buried so deep it’s like he’s trying to breathe through your clit. He groans when your walls flutter around his tongues, and the sound makes your thighs shake like it's rattling your soul. Each movement of his mouth is sloppy, uncalibrated, but it doesn’t matter. The heat, the wet, the way he’s fucking you with two tongues and torturing your clit with the third, piercings dragging over every soft spot- you cum without warning.

It hits like a fucking grenade going off in your pelvis. You cry out, fingers locking in his hair as your thighs clamp around his head. Your cunt clenches helplessly, fluttering around his tongues, grinding into his mouth and nose with desperate, twitchy movements.

He doesn’t stop. You twitch, you sob, you whimper, and he just holds your legs up and your throat down and slurps through it, drinking it in like it’s holy.

He groans as he pulls back once your voice finally breaks on his name and your nails scrabble at his shoulders, licking his lips like he’s trying to soothe the sting - but you can still see the way his jaw tightens. Still feel the heat of it on your thighs.

“Fucking-” he mutters, voice hoarse, gruff, still wet with you. “Hurts like a bitch.”

You huff a laugh, fucked-out and breathless, legs still twitching. “Yeah? You’re the one who kept going.”

He runs a hand through his hair - messy and damp with sweat. His mouth twitches, not a smile, but something halfway between annoyed and pained. “If I get sepsis, I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“You’re gonna die with your face buried in pussy?” You grin, still panting. “What a way to go.”

He doesn’t even respond. Just unzips his pants and grips his cock at the base once it's free, hard and flushed, and gives you a flat look.

“Come suck this dick.”

Your whole body reacts,knees already folding under you as you crawl between his legs. The mattress creaks beneath you both, the air still thick with sex and heat and that sharp tang of metal and alcohol. Your tongue flashes over your lips as you settle on your stomach between his thighs, elbows propped and ready.

You curl your fingers around the base of his cock, thick and heavy in your palm, and lean in.

Spit hits his tip before your mouth does. You drool for it, tongue flat and spreading slick along the vein on the underside, swirling just under the crown like you’re kissing it. Then you flatten your tongue and drag your piercing right over the slit, collecting pre-cum and humming at the taste.

“You’re fucking leaking,” you murmur, voice all sugar and spit. “Like you liked eating pussy with those things.”

He grunts. “Didn’t say I didn’t.”

You hum and open your mouth wide, taking him in deep, wet, hot, sloppy from the start. You don’t bother being pretty about it. You drool around him, eyes fluttering as spit pools at the corners of your lips and drips down to his balls.

Your free hand cups them, slick with your own spit, and you pull them into your mouth too, rolling your tongue around one, then the other, morning high and sweet like they’re candy. His hand sinks into your hair, gentle only for a moment.

“Fuck,” he mutters, rough and low.

You pull back with a wet pop, smear your tongue up his shaft, then flick it hard against the head again. The metal of your piercing taps his tip just right and he groans low in his chest, hips flexing up to chase your mouth.

“You like that?” you breathe, licking slow and wide over him. “Feels good with the piercing, huh?”

“Yeah,” he huffs, deep and strained, “like getting head from a fucking rattlesnake.”

You laugh against his cock, and he growls again, like it’s offensive that you’re laughing while you’ve got his dick in your mouth.

He leans over you and slaps your ass once. Loud. Sharp.

“Lift it.”

You blink up at him, smile tugging your lips. “You can’t even see it.”

He shrugs.

"I can imagine it.”

Still, you do it. You arch your back a little, tilt your hips so your ass is up and your legs are spread, letting him imagine the mess between them. Because he knows exactly what it looks like when you’re like this. Helpless. Hungry.

He fists a hand in your hair and guides you back down, slow.

“Open up,” he rasps. “Show me that filthy mouth.”

Your lips are already swollen, chin soaked, hair a mess as you glance up at him with that smug little glint, but you obey. You always obey when he talks like that.

You roll your tongue out slowly, lewd and lazy, the ball of your piercing glinting with spit, strings stretching from your teeth down to your chin. Drool leaking, soaking the sheets under your tits. You're grinning, humoring him, teasing, even though he can’t see the sight you’re giving him.

Doesn’t matter.

Jack feels it. The heat of your breath, the hunger in the way you whine a little under your breath just from holding still, waiting for him.

“Yeah,” he mutters, rough and low, “just like that. My pretty cockdrunk slut."

He slaps his cock down on your tongue, thick and hot, over and over. Drags the tip over the metal to feel the obscene slide of it, lips parted and bitten, and shoves himself into your mouth.

“Open,” he snaps, voice low and taut with restraint that’s already slipping.

You choke instantly, mouth crammed full, his cock hitting your throat before you’re even ready , but he doesn’t stop. He fists both hands in your hair and uses you, fucking your mouth like it’s just a hole to bury himself in.

You can barely breathe. Sucking in what little air you can through your nose between each harsh thrust of his hips. His hips drive forward again and again, slapping against your face, your nose mashed into the now damp, trimmed thatch of hair at the base. You gag, spit gurgling in your throat, leaking out your nose and dripping onto your chest, but you stay there. Because you fucking love it.

Love the burn of the stretch, love the animal growls you suck out of him, love the way his usually emotionless face contorts in pleasure for you — so deep it looks like agony.

He knows you love it.

His grip gets tighter, claws scraping scalp.

“Take it,” he snarls, voice cracking. “Take it like you fucking mean it, sweetmeat, c'mon-"

You gurgle a moan around him, useless tears stinging your eyes as you look up at him through your lashes, throat tightening in response, and that's what gets him.

He thrusts in deep, deeper, stays there.

You feel the twitch first.

Then the burn.

Then the flood, thick and hot, salty, gushing straight into your throat.

You choke, swallow, slobber running down your chin in fat ropes as he fills you up. A guttural moan tears out of him, something feral and fucked, and his hips shake with the force of it.

He doesn’t pull out until he's sure you're not breathing.

Then he yanks you back by the hair, wet strands clinging to your cheeks, your mouth falling open on instinct to gasp for air, spit and cum trailing out in shiny ropes, and with a gentleness you never expect no matter how many times you see it, his claws rake through your hair to push it back without as much as grazing your skin.

The following weeks? Hell.

Jack didn’t get a tongue infection. He got three. His entire mouth was a battlefield. No amount of salt water gargles were saving him from that fate. By the end of the week, he was grunting through swollen tongues, crusted studs, and the kind of fever that made his skin clammy and his will to leave nonexistent.

You made the mistake of laughing the first time he tried to growl at you and it came out all gurgled and wet, and he flipped you off so hard his wrist popped.

Still, you helped him clean the piercings. Blended his organs into chunky soup he grimaced at every time, somehow more revolted than you.

He healed, of course. Bitched and sulked through the worst of it. Refused to kiss you for a week.

But he didn’t take them out.

[theamberparadise]

~~ 🩷HELLO PRETTY BABY!

its my first time requesting something, because I’m new on Tumblr, but when I see for the first time your profile and the stories that you publish… like, I need to request something! 💞

I really love ticci Toby… it’s one on my favorite creepypastas… and I was wondering if you could write something, like the reader! innocent, sweet and naive girl, like a civil person and Toby the obvious killer that he fell in love with her… I would love if you do fluff and smut the same time, like headcanons I think? sorry if it’s long and confusing… English it’s not my first language! Thank you for your time dear! 🩷

TICCI TOBY X INNOCENT, SWEET, AND NAIVE READER

SYPNOSIS; Toby gains an interest in a sweet girl who is oblivious of his antics.

TW; Toby being creepy, humiliation, manipulative habits

A/N; can u tell I have no idea how to write fluff😆

FLUFF (+a little backstory!)

Toby had just finished mutilating an old lady he did housework for some extra money. His sweater was stained with her blood and he was going back to where he came from before a sweet, light voice stopped him in his tracks.

You would be there, standing all pretty in your cute little skirt, taking in a stray cat right in the middle of the road at 8 pm on a Sunday night. You hadn't noticed him yet, but the way your eyes softened in empathy made you glow in the dark like a firefly.

He stood still, watching you carry the poor creature inside your house while you cooed.

Toby never understood the point of waiting around for a victim, but this time, he wanted to wait.

But that doesn't mean he wouldn't have his share of you.

So, as a first-step approach, he stole a full suit and tie from whatever store he could find and put it on. (He ripped something in the back)

He would knock on your door, posing as an inspector sent by the neighborhood council (you didn't even have one) to “observe your housing condition”

Seeing as you said yes to every sketchy product offered to you by randos, Toby knew this was an easy trick, and as soon as you let him into your house he had to hold himself back from just taking you right then and there.

Unfortunately, he had a plan and needed to stick to it.

He would shuffle around awkwardly around your house, pretending to inspect your appliances. (He's just tapping around and looking closely while hovering his fingers over it)

He does this for a week or two, coming by daily mysteriously in the same suit every time you see him.

Then, he goes in for the kill.

One day, he unexpectedly comes without warning like he usually does when he got your number. He looks… terrifying. Goggles now clouding his eyes, heavy breathing and his sweater is stained with… something.

“Toby? Is that… is that you?” your cute little voice trembled when you see him. You see his axe in his hand. “Did you cut firewood?” your question was so stupid it almost made him full-on giggle in your face.

“Ye-yeah hic! Mind letting me in? It's co-cold o-outside.” He rasped through his muzzle, fully expecting you to step aside and let him in.

You did.

From then on, he started visiting not as a house inspector, but as him. Toby. Toby the axe wielder. Toby the killer. Toby the one who killed more people than he could ever count.

And you didn't mind! Or at least, didn't notice.

Toby has tried to imply every time he's able to that he is a serial killer and has spilled gallons of blood that isn't his.

“I-im not as in-innocent as you thi-think I am,” he muttered, standing behind you while you made tea in your kitchen. “That's fine, everybody has their own flaws!” you say, as he is dripping in blood when you turn around.

He crashes in your place at least three times a week because you said he wouldn't mind if he snuck through the window. Although you have never questioned how he got the key to unlock them…

He purposefully cleans his axe in your sink while you sweetly help him, not minding how much of that red, sticky liquid really goes down your sink pipes.

Toby tells you to turn off the TV as soon as he knows his name and picture will surely appear on the news.

He brings you back trinkets– those of which he stole from his victims. He never bothers to clean them and so you end up wiping off the red stains from whatever he brought you. It can either be a teddy bear keychain with mud, lipstick that suspiciously looks used, and even bloody headbands.

You once saw his picture and his full name on a newspaper article one day and he braced himself to trap you in your own basement, but you just pointed at the article and laughs about him looking exactly like his picture.

“Oh, would you look at that! You look just like this guy, huh?” “... You're ho-hopeless.”

Whenever he drops by at an ungodly hour of the night, he grimaces at how much locks you really kept open. “Damn b-bitch, n-not even the do-doors?” he mutters to himself before letting himself in

In a way, he admires your kindness and your trait of not judging anyone. This makes him feel guilty for being with you, but then again whenever he heavily implies that he's a killer you don't look into it much and keep doing your thing.

There are many nights on when you and him spend movie nights on your stuffy couch, along with the cat that you brought it wedged I'm between you two. He would be on you, laying on your chest while you unconsciously played with his hair, his hand massaging your cat's fur.

There also many times you have given him a bath in your bath tub free of charge. His favorite part? You saying he's handsome while washing his hair.

You have never flinched at seeing his fase gash like anyone else outside the mansion, in fact you actually try to clean it once in a while to prevent it from getting infected.

“D-do you wanna kno-know how I g-got this thing on m-my face? I a-ate m-my own cheek, just f-for fun. Didn't feel a single thi-thing.”

“That's… good, I guess. Stay still, okay?”

He lives for the fact that you don't flinch of scream whenever he has a tic. He jolts violently? You ask if he needs water.

He likes being cheeky and does favors you didn't even ask for so you feel obligated to kiss him on his cheek or hug him really tight. Yeah this guy knows whats up

Toby also sends you pictures while on duty in the forest, purposefully leaving parts of dead corpses here and there but not once did you question it. Or even notice it.

Absolutely loves it when you laugh at his very dark jokes, even though sometimes you don't know what the punchline was.

He has an addiction for smelling your hair whenever wherever. His mental process is if you don't scream while he does it then it's okay.

He holds your hand firmer than usual whenever you display an act of kindness toward anyone else but him, even though it was your kindness that drew him inside in the first place.

Lets you keep his favorite sweaters because he knows you would take utmost care of it.

He comes out of your house smelling fresh as a daisy because you quite literally pamper him despite his appearance

SMUT

He takes advantage of the fact that you're innocent.

Haven't kissed anyone before? He's deviously making out with you in your kitchen. Haven't seen a real dick before? He sends you dick pictures so he can come back seeing you red and flushed. Never had somebody look at your pussy before? He's staring at it for a full five minutes until you're crying for him to stop looking

You're the only one he's with that can make him feel like he's the one with power. So, he pins you down in every place possible so he can feel you struggle and squirm under him.

Toby loves seeing the flash of fear in your eyes whenever he wants to try something new. Bondage, knife play, choking… he could stare at your face forever.

He likes dragging you out somewhere in public to finger you. “Naughty g-girl, getting o-off on people potentially s-seeing you be a w-whore for me?”

Purposefully makes the loudest noises to see you flustered.

Makes you go on calls with your friends while he's fucking you from behind just so he can see how far you can keep that not-so-innocent expression of yours before falling apart.

Just as much as he likes being in your scent, he also likes it when you smell like he does. So he keeps you as near as possible to his body during missionary.

Speaking of positions, he picks all of the nasty ones before letting you ride him as a reward for being such a good girl.

Leaves bite marks where people could obviously see and loves watching you stammer while you think of a good reason on why it's there.

Cumming on your body does something to him– it feels like watching something so pure turn to a great mess of sin.

Licks you, licks you. It makes him feel like a wolf finally taking his meal.

Edges you multiple times until you get frustrated and hiss at him to stop teasing. Toby proceeds to overstimulate you to hell.

Loves it when you act out or give him even a smidge of attitude because it gives him a reason to brat-tame you.

He buys vibrators off of the internet and makes you go to work with them inside your cunt while he controls the speed. He later beams while receiving a message from your boss that you have been suspended from your job for a little while.

He lays off on using his dick because you look so pretty while cumming on his fingers, especially if you're sensitive.

[junabuggy]

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

𝐓𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐢 𝐓𝐨𝐛𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 !!

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

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: None :*:·\(￣▽￣)/·:*·°★*

──★ ˙ ̟ 𝘚𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨??

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

☆• Chaotic, but fun (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ᯓ★ 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐲

[noctiva]

Training Day

Toby Rogers x F!Reader [NSFW!]

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

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WC: 6.7k

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

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

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

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NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

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Being a proxy is already a tough job.

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

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

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

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

Or, at least it used to be.

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

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

What an amazing first impression.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like it was all effortlessly easy.

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

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

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

And so, that was how it began.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, that day hadn’t come yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”Can you shut the fuck u-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Over your dead body.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”Yeah, I guess you can be too.”

—

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

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

[sorvqlz]

OML look at this fine shyt, I need him so badly 😔🤚🏼

-art is not mine! (Obviously)