Five Ticks 'Til I'm Yours (Dark Ticci Toby x Reader)

20

By now, the conflicting emotions that seemed to haunt you were all too familiar.

A part of you was eager, anticipating, and ecstatic. It was the part of you that you could feel, the part that made your insides heat up, your legs tremble. Then, there was the other part, the vocal one, the one that made your head rattle, the one that shamed and scolded you.

He's a murderer, it would say, monster, killer, psychopath.

But no good ever came from listening to that voice, especially not now, especially when everything was so fragile. You needed Toby, you needed the monster, the killer, the psychopath.

For now, at least.

So, for now, you'd have to silence the vocal part and let the eager part take over.

His hands were cold against your bare waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you closer to him, to the point where you could feel that familiar hardness between your legs. His blood was dripping down his waist in a steady rhythm, staining your stomach with red. A normal person would be somewhat disgusted, but you were far too used to it. The sight of blood, the smell, the feeling of it against your skin.

You lifted your head to kiss him, bandaged hands wrapping around his shoulders as if you needed the support.

Monster, the voice echoed in your head again.

You closed your eyes tightly, trying to drown out the voice with other thoughts. Thoughts of sex, of how satisfying it would be, how it could be fun- yes fun, nothing but fun. Just pretend it's someone else, anyone else. A few celebrities ran through your mind, idle crushes, anyone to take the edge off. He pulled away, pushing you back down into the bed. The coldness behind those brown eyes were unmistakeably Toby and no amount of effort could convince you otherwise.

"Feeling a little hazy," he whispered, his voice was a little deeper than usual, a little more on edge. "M-must be losing t-too much blood."

He looked away for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face before those eyes returned to you, darker than before.

"So, you hate me?" he quirked an eyebrow, almost smiling as he held you down with ease, his hands ghosting down your naked sides, rubbing soft circles into your waist. "M-mu-murdering p-psychopath I am, who can b-blame you?"

"Toby I-

His grip tightened around your waist again, this time a little too painfully, forcing a rather pathetic squeal out of your lips.

"They keep insisting I kill you and be done with it," he mumbled, his right hand had wrapped around the inside your thigh, tugging you even closer to his hips. The material of his sweatpants was pressing hard against the space between your legs, hot and wet, sending a strange, aching sensation through your stomach. "But just l-look a-at you," he was slowly grinding, the aching increasing as you whimpered incoherently. "Too perfect," he concluded, leaning down into another meaningless kiss.

Your legs were splayed around him, the material of his sweatpants replaced with the cold touch of his hands. You squirmed a little, uncomfortable, uncertain.

Murderer, the voice echoed again. Reminding you that the cool, ghost-like touch was that of a murderer's. Still, you did nothing as a cold finger forced its way into you. It had been a while since anything had been down there, and so the pain shouldn't have been so surprising. A dull ache that faded with each gentle movement, his mouth silencing the little gasps and whimpers that escaped your throat.

A killer has his finger in you and here you are rutting against it like you enjoy it. The voice scolded again, harsher this time, sounding almost disgusted.