Work Text:
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The footsteps were getting closer from behind you, but you refused to pick up your pace. You believed your speed walking would save you. Leaves of the season crunched under your feet, shattering into pieces. You didn’t even have time to appreciate the satisfying sound it emitted. Your arms are stuffed in your shirt, huddled close to your chest.
Your nose is stinging from the cold, the air reddens it. The atmosphere is unsettling, you’re in the middle of the woods, lost. You’re surrounded by dead trees, and it’s so cold your breath is highlighted by the air. You sniff and wince, the punishing weather piercing your nose.
You're not able to glance behind you. Even if you could, you wouldn’t. You’re afraid it would cut off or waste time. You’re not sure how long whatever this is has been following you. You assume it has called to the conclusion you don’t know it’s there, it assumes you’re purely stupid.
In reality, you were fully aware. You were half ignoring it, not oblivious, but not doing everything you could to get away. You couldn’t take it anymore. You heard its breath get heavier, it seemed, closer. You picked up your pace slightly, before deciding to just run. You retrieve your hands out from your shirt, they immediately shiver. You jump over branches and sticks, pushing plants, vines, and tree branches out of your way.
Your heart beat picked up even more, you could hear it in your ears. Your teeth chatter, accompanying your body trembling in both fear and temperature. You gasp, your pupils become angrily wide, blown, once you hear it speak.
“Verhindern..”
Your brain doesn’t even try to decipher it, but you realize it’s got the ability to speak, with a low, gravely voice. You wonder what the word means, but you don’t have time to think right now. You continue running, your adrenaline levels rush behind your eyes, you’re reaching a pace you never thought you’d be able to, running as if you’re on track.
You furiously flutter and blink your eyes once they seem to blur, you already can’t see enough as it is. The trees, sky, and ground littered with leaves is just barely emphasized by the pale moonlight that penetrates the moribound trees.
It hits you horribly, your mind falls to a haze, the different shapes and lines of the leaves blur together and seem as if they’re all molded together. You look down at your feet for a split second, shooting your head back only to trip over a small branch.
You fall face first and quickly scurry to sit up right. Choked out whimpers of fear try to escape from your chest, only filtered by your fear once you finally catch view of it. You scoot back towards a tree, your back hits the dirty brown bark quickly.
The thing in front of you is a man, but you can’t make out his face. His eyes are shielded by goggles, as well as the rest of his face with a mask.
He holds a hatchet in both of his hands, the blade pointing towards his right. He switches it to one of his hands and pulls down his mask, your eyes avert to the scar he has on the side of his mouth.
Your not allowed time to study it for too long before he reveals his eyes next, he pushes the band of his goggles up into his messy brown hair.
You scan over every inch of his face, taking it all in. You look back at the scar of his face, you can make out his teeth through the sharp gash. Your chest rises and falls dramatically, you’re desperately out of breath, but he seems unbothered by the chase.
He walks forward slowly, dragging his feet towards you sluggishly, heel to toe. The anticipation haunts you, you wonder if he’d kill you this slowly too.
You turn your head to the side and wince, holding your eyes shut, waiting for the blow of his weapon. Instead, the dull side of it traces your jawline, before resting underneath your chin and pushing up.
You open your eyes and look up at him like he was asking. He pushes your face side to side with the blade. His eyes glance you up and down, he looks confused at first, but it bleeds into frustration.
“Scheiße!” He mutters.
“You’re not what I’m ah-after.” His head jerks with his stutter.
His dialogue perplexes you, you hadn’t realized he knew English. He looks utterly annoyed, you refrain from speaking. Your heartbeat has slowed tremendously, but seldom will return to a normal pace for a while.
He retrieves his hatchet and places it on his side. He reaches his hand forward and grips your wrist, yanking you up to your feet. You fall closely flush to his chest, but you step back against the tree.
“Sprich, Frau. Denn ich bin nicht hier, um dir wehzutun.”
Your expression doesn’t change, you hold the same wide eyed stare, expecting the absolute worst out of him.
“Why’re you o-out here this l-late?” He asks, a little demanding next to your ear as his head dips into your neck.
You can feel his breath against your freezing ears, it’s warm. Your heart beat rises a little at him closing the distance. After your silence, he reaches forward and grips your chin, pushing your head to the opposite side, offering him more of your ear to speak into.
“Hm?” He repeats. He’s confused to your silence, he does everything to reassure himself you can hear him perfectly.
You glance down at his hand on your face before replying.
“B-bonfire..” you speak slowly, soft enough to hopefully placate him.
He glimpses behind him at the trailing smoke in the air. He turns back around with a smile from hearing your voice. It looks miles away now, he’d chased you since then. You were simply having fun with old friends at a bonfire they’d begged you come to.
You came, knowing it would be your last time to see them for a while, they were all going separate ways for college . It made you feel a little bad about your leap year, but you wished to work to your full potential at your job.
His head jerks to the side with another tic. Before his next sentence is finished, it blurs in your mind. Your body feels a little weak, your legs have turned a little numb. Your body slightly falls, he wraps his arm around your backside, his forearm pressing you flush to his chest to hold you up.
Your eyes flutter shut, his words flowing sound inaudible in your mind. It feels as if your head has been dunked underwater, you exhale greatly before you can no longer think. His last word barely filters through, the last word you hear until you pass out.
“Tsk.”
You reawaken in the back seat of a car, you can’t yet make out who’s driving. Whoever it is is mumbling to himself. You look down at your chest. Two seatbelts cross over it and hold you in place. Your first instinct is to figure out a way to get out, you glance at the car door before reaching to undo your seatbelts.
Your wrists lock. They can’t move any further, your vision has returned clear and you can see you’re handcuffed. You look up to the mirror in the front seat, meeting his eyes.
You’ve made too much noise, the handcuffs and seatbelts rattling and rustling.
“Awake?” His eyes flutter for a moment before his neck jerks to the side.
You remain silent. He sighs and taps his fingers against the wheel. You’re grateful that the cold can’t bother you anymore, the heat of the car is on, but you don’t know where you are or who you’re with.
“Who… who are you?” Your words are a little slurred.
He chuckles before responding. “Toby.”
Your brain accepts that you have no option but to make peace with the fact you have no clue about him. You nod disappointed. The atmosphere is extremely fucked up, it’s warm and inviting. It doesn’t relate to the situation at all, it leaves you puzzled.
“S-sorry about the c-cuffs. I didn’t wuh-want you to tuck and roll or anything.”
His face looks genuinely concerned, as if he’d hate if something bad happened to you. Your cheeks redden at the consideration, but you don’t believe it’s real. You think it’s simply a facade, only to gain your trust before turning, so you don’t reply or appreciate it.
“Where are you taking me?” Your voice isn’t slurred anymore, it’s clear, and stern.
“That’s for me to w-worry about.”
“Take me home.” You demand. You quickly realize your regret, you can’t let him know where you live. You change your mind.
“Actually, it’s not far you can drop me off here.” Your voice drips with falsehood. You actually lived further, but you’d never tell him that.
“Yea.. s-sure..” he replies sarcastically. You’re annoyed by his mocking tone. You shuffle with your bondaged wrists. His expression is blase, he doesn’t doubt his ability to hold someone still.
“Let me go.” Your voice is strained, you put your efforts into shuffling out of the cuffs.
“No.” It’s simple, and a plain answer.
“Fuck.” You sigh, and let your back fall against the seat.
He reaches one hand back and caresses your thigh, some sort of reassurance to your annoyed mood. Your hips jerk a little at the sudden touch, you feel a little glad you’d decided to wear shorts. The rough material of his glove and finger pads rub over your soft skin, making heat emit from your body stronger.
You glance up at his eyes through the mirror. He meets yours for a lengthy second before looking back at the road. The tension is thick, but where would this even go?
His hand releases from your bare thigh, falling back onto the wheel. You ignore the thought of his hand trailing further, hooking under your waistband and…
The car abruptly stops, it swings you forward slightly, before you slam back against the seat. He turns to look at you, his lips are pressed together and he shrugs. He steps out of the car and comes around to the back.
He opens the back door and unstraps you, as if you were a fragile child. He wraps his hands around your back and pulls you out of the car gently. He allows you to walk in front of him, in case he needed to grab you if you’d thought of running away.
You walk up the path of a driveway, the house is a dirty white color, and the bushes outside framing it look dead. It’s clearly abandoned. You're grateful for the light enough color of the walkway and the shine of the moon, it’s still extremely dark outside. You glance over at the far woods, they look blurred from how far away you are. You no longer see a trail of smoke, you wonder what that entails.
You pause at the screen door of the house. He walks in front of you but has an arm around your shoulder, keeping you in place. You now get a good chance to see him. You look over the side of his scar, his pretty brown hair, his striped hoodie, his jeans, and his fingerless gloves.
You bite your lip at the sight of them, a flashback from earlier. Fuck, you must’ve been touch starved if a simple touch to your thigh has really bothered you this much?
He swings open the screen door and knocks.
“Anybody h-home?”
After no response from the inside, he kicks it open. The door wobbles back out of its frame. He exhales and pulls you inside. He drags you around the house and sits you down on a couch. He leaves and paces down the hallway, searching each room until he’s found a bathroom. You hold your eyes shut for a moment, until you can hear him rummaging through a medicine cabinet.
You hear his footsteps creak the floorboards beneath his weight and he steps back into the room. He’s got some type of white box and a bottle in his hands. He walks towards you and crouches before you, in between your legs. You immediately push your knees together in response, unknowingly of his intention.
He glares up at you before announcing his action.
“You’re c-cut up real bad. L-let me help.” His neck jerks for a moment.
You hold your legs shut. The ache of your cramping shoulders becomes more uncomfortable, you wince and wiggle your arms.
“S-shit.. I’m sorry.”
He stands to his feet and reaches over you. His neck remains in your face as his hands work behind you, undoing your restraints. You smell the skin of his neck, it smells of cheap cigarettes and pine, it honestly turns you on.
He sets the cuffs to the side and crouches down to his knees. His hands grip your knees and spread them enough to treat you. You stretch and pop your tense arms, before letting them fall at your sides. Your heartbeat accelerates a little at the sight of him on his knees, in between your legs, so close to your clothed cunt.
You’re embarrassed of the position but you won’t fight him anymore. You ignore how you can feel your cheeks redden and your blush spread all the way to the tops of your burning ears.
He unscrews the cap of the bottle and opens the box. He takes out a piece of cotton and drenches it in the liquid from the bottle. He places it on one of your wounds, you didn’t even know you had any until now, you didn’t feel them either. You assume it was because you were in shock, or because of your adrenaline.
You must’ve gotten them from falling. You wince at the immense pain sent through your legs in waves as the rubbing alcohol stings your skin. You hiss through your teeth, jerking your ankles.
He holds down your ankles for a moment whilst looking up at you.
“I k-know… I’m sorry.”
He runs the cotton over your wound until it’s clean, it collects your brown dried blood. He leans forward and kisses it softly while looking up at you. You look down at him with a humbled face. He can tell you’re embarrassed, but you’re more worried of your arousal behind your shorts. He grabs another piece of cotton and drenches it in the same liquid.
He places it on another wound and laps your blood with the fabric. You whimper in pain, your hand flies over to your thigh, you pinch it in response. He smooths his hand over yours and pulls it away from pinching your skin. Your lips wobble in pain, but he soothes it with another soft kiss to your irritated flesh.
He repeats the same action over your last graze. He kisses it with a slow, pressed kiss of his lips.
“T-thank you…” you tell him, expressing your gratitude.
“Keine ursache…”
He kisses over your wounds a few more times, but they grow more and more hungry. They become harder, more extended too. His eyes flick to your cunt, before he averts his eyes back to your face to see if you caught it. You look away from him, humiliated.
You cover your face with your hands, your eyes creep through in the cracks of your fingers. You glance back at him, he smiles and laughs at your shyness.
He holds eye contact and trails kisses up your thighs. His hands wrap around your thighs, spreading them for his access. You allow it, knowing what you want from him. He trails hickeys up and down your thighs, making your cunt emit a stronger heat.
You un cover your face and watch him. He leaves beautiful, blossoming hues of purple along your skin. He traces circles over your colored spots with his wet, slick muscle.
His hands travel up to your shorts, his fingers hook under the waistband. You hoist yourself up to help him get them down. He pulls them off of your body slowly, dragging his fingernails against the side of your thighs to let the fabric glide against your skin.
He tosses them behind him and groans at the evident wet spot located on the core of your panties that you’ve soaked through. He runs his thumb over your clit to test your sensitivity, your hips immediately buck up, a whimper escapes you.
He smiles cockily at you. His head dips forward, his nose pushing against your core. He inhales your scent, your arousal that your body betrayed you with was on full display. He presses a soft kiss to your clothed pussy.
“Please…” he begs, asking permission.
“Let me t-taste you…” he adds.
You nod your head at him, almost frantically. That was all he needed, he pulls your panties down and tosses them the same direction as your shorts. He licks his lips as he studies your glistening pussy in front of him. Your face cringes, waiting for his first lick. You can feel the warmth of his breath hitting your exposed pussy as he decides his first action.
He smiles when it hits him, he leans forward and licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit. He moans in response to your taste in his tongue, vibrating your core. Your nails immediately dig into the couch beneath you, you moaned once his tongue came in contact with your clit.
Your hands fly down to his hair, gripping handfuls of it. Strands of his soft brown hair bleed through the cracks of your fingers, you hold onto them. His tongue travels down to your entrance, he slips his tongue into your slick heat, painting your arousal on his tongue and lapping every last drop of it. He drags his tongue coated in your juices back up to your clit, making your hips buck forward.
He groans against your squirming pussy and holds you down onto the couch. You continue to moan his name out like a prayer, influencing his desire. He loves the sound of his name rolling off of your tongue, in that sweet, angelic moaning voice of yours. He begins to palm himself through his jeans, he grinds against his own hand.
His other hand finds your entrance, he pumps one of his fingers into you. You tug at his hair when his finger moves and curls against your sensitive walls. He sucks and flicks his tongue over your sensitive clit, making your walls close around his finger.
“Fuck… s-slower..” you beg, already climbing closer to the edge.
“I t-think you can handle another f-finger..” he mutters against you.
He slides another thick digit into your cunt, he scissors them inside and out of your walls. They curl and press at your g-spot over and over. The double stimulation has your back arching off of the couch, your mouth spills incoherent slurred versions of his name.
You mumble to yourself and whine at his cruelty, you succumb to the pleasure and continue to writhe at his tongue against you.
He leans up and spits directly onto your clit, watching it run down before he laps it over with another lick. You drive and push his head further into you, making him whimper, flush to your folds. Your legs tremble, your thighs try to close around his head.
Your hips buck and stutter, your body tries to move away from the overwhelming pleasure but his mouth stays latched onto your pussy like its oxygen.
Your cunt releases rather embarrassing noises at every drive of his digits, but your mind hazes with your tingling skin. He devours you animalistically, like he’s starving. Your babbling stops for a moment, replaced and being cut off by your sweet moans.
“Fff-fuck toby!” You yelp.
“S-so good… I love it… i l-love your pussy.”
His lips take in your clit again and he sucks on it, whilst his fingers pick up their punishing pace. A warm, familiar feeling coils in your gut and spreads the warmth. Your pussy throbs, it begs for release. He can tell you’re close, the way your moans have picked up its pitch, and the way your walls close around his fingers.
You let out a final moan and whimper through the high of your orgasm. He licks you through it and doesn’t stop for a second, refusing to move away.
You ride it out and let the world away, enjoying the hot, white flash of it that shines behind your eyelids. Your thighs stutter before finally relaxing back into the couch. He doesn’t lean away until you tug at his hair harder, overwhelmed by your cunts sensitivity from the afterglow of your orgasm. You twitch before him, you look at him with a flushed face and a heartbeat that pounds behind your ribs.
His hair is messed up, his nose, lips, and chin and painted by your juices and his drool. He looks up at you with those big brown eyes of his. You hadn’t noticed until he stood up, he came too apparently. He walks back into the bathroom and retrieves a damp towel.
He comes back and cleans you and himself up. He sits down beside you on the couch after he’d put your clothes back on for you. You feel relaxed, relieved even. It dawns on you that you haven't made sense of it yet, so you ask.
“Toby…”
“Y-yea..?”
“If I wasn’t what you were after, why did you take me?”
“You weren’t.. but y-you were the one that h-had passed out. And I fff-felt bad that you had gotten h-hurt..”
You don’t respond with words just yet, you just look at him with appreciation of his form of apology.
“Thank you.”
“Mhm.”