Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
pairing: cecil stedman x afab!reader
word count: 4k
summary: after a night out at the bar, you accidentally text your boss instead of your friend for a ride home. weirdly enough, he complies?
warnings: intoxicated!reader (only in the first half, not during the smut), perv!cecil, reader flashes cecil twice, boss/employee relationship, age gap, protected/rough sex
The bar’s lively atmosphere attracted you earlier in the night when it was still warm outside. Sticky humidity and a cool, strong cocktail happened to be the best combination for an eventful evening spent with your friends. However, during the multiple rounds of drinks and countless hours spent dancing in front of the DJ, you had to step outside for a breather and quickly realized just how chilly it was. Taking a glance at your phone to check the time, you cursed under your breath. It was far past midnight; you should have been home by now for work tomorrow. The last thing you want to do is show up hungover and sleep deprived at the GDA. Your accounting buddies would be so pissed.
One of your friends exits the club-like atmosphere from inside. She stumbles in her wedges, leaning against your body for stability. Through her half-lidded, glitter-covered eyes, she slurs heavily, “Wh-What are you-you doin’?”
“Texting Clarissa. Need a ride home,” you murmur back, sticking your tongue out the corner of your mouth as you clumsily attempt to find your other friend’s contact in your phone. Only a minute or two later, you successfully find it and type out a drunk message. Something about where you are, how cold it is, and that you need a ride is eventually typed. Then, you hit send and slide the phone back in your pocket.
The rest of your friend group comes outside to ensure you’re not alone. None of them plan on ending their night so early, but they’re all completely understanding of your situation. Still, you all enjoy one another’s company nonetheless. The music blares from the outdoor speakers so that people can continue swaying to the fun beat. Conversation carries on like normal. Somebody cracks an obnoxious joke which causes you to slap their arm, only to stumble back on the pavement a bit. You’re slowly beginning to realize just how much the alcohol is having an effect on you. How much longer until you’re home?
A while later, you take your phone out to read through any new notifications, only to see none. Twenty minutes have passed. Did Clarissa even see the text? Do you need to try and reach her again?
Those two questions don't linger on your mind for long. You’re sucked back into conversation and then the next five minutes are a blur. Someone makes a comment about buying a round of shots. Since you hadn’t left the bar yet, it actually seems enticing-
Someone shouts your name from behind. It’s the tone of someone unfamiliar, completely unrecognizable from voice alone. At first, you’re sure it’s your drunken state that mistakes a stranger calling you from the luxury car nearby. You know almost instantly that you’re wrong once the same friend from earlier says your name, followed by, “Is this- Is this guy your ride or somethin’?”
The streetlamp is almost too luminous when you turn over your shoulder. The sleek, black vehicle also has tinted windows, so of course your drunk feet eagerly step forward to see who is calling your name. With enough luck on your side, you manage to approach the car without falling face first into the concrete. The window scrolls down some more, making you bend over to peer inside.
There’s an older man behind the wheel with thinning hair atop his head. The aging lines on his skin indicate that he definitely has some years on you. What takes you by surprise is his unnatural stare. Perhaps without meaning to, or entirely on purpose, he leaves you feeling as though you’ve done something wrong. Fuck, are you supposed to know him?
“Yeah?” you ask wearily, scared to hear what he might say.
He squints his blue eyes, eyebrows furrowed together. He puts the car in park, then exhales angrily. “Are you ready to leave or what?”
“Who…who are you?” you ask cautiously.
“Tell me you’re joking,” he scowls deeply.
“What? Tell you th-that I’m joking? I don’t even- oh. Shit. Okay. You’ve gotta be- no. No way this is happening,” you whisper the last part.
Upon staring back at the man, who had his eyes on you from the second he pulled up, you nearly collapsed regardless of the liquor in your system. In such a drunken state, you hadn’t realized you’d been peering at the one and only Cecil Stedman, fucking director of the GDA.
Why is he here?
“To pick you up…kid, do you not remember the text you sent?” Cecil replies.
Shit, you must have asked that out loud.
The blush across your cheeks is as bright as his headlights. For some long moments, the two of you just gaze at each other, but you catch the way he barely glances at your outfit choice; a tube top and denim shorts. He must not appreciate the clothing because he hums under his breath, then scoffs while looking away. His wrinkled hand hovers over the clutch. Before he can consider leaving, you start rambling.
“I didn’t text you! I text my friend Clarissa! She’s supposed to be here, and-and I was just waiting- why the hell are you here? Okay, I am so confused right now.”
“And intoxicated to high heavens. Jesus Christ, just get in the car. I don’t want to waste any more gas on this trip than I already have,” Cecil practically growls.
The lingering excitement from the night out is gone instantly. Cecil managed to make you feel so bad in a matter of literal seconds. You hadn’t worked with him one-on-one very often considering you’re one of the employees that manages financial things, but you’re fairly positive he has this effect on many workers at the GDA. Still, that doesn’t at all explain why the hell he is here in the first place.
Maybe it’s the alcohol in your bloodstream making these words come to mind, but the liquid luck encourages you to blurt it out before it’s too late. “Cecil, why are you here? Just answer my question and then I’ll get in the car.”
He cracks his knuckles, broad hands holding the steering wheel a couple seconds later, then he rolls his eyes. “Well, I- Listen, I’ll tell you that once you’re in the car.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“I’m this close,” he pinches his fingers, evidently losing his patience, “to leaving you here in the cold. Get in. Now.”
Something about the way he talks makes you wonder how close you are to losing your job, too.
The nightlife behind you continues in the midst of this awkward standoff. The city is only just starting to get more lively as drunks walk up and down the street, shouting about anything at the front of their minds. As anxious as being in a car alone with Cecil makes you, there’s also this uneasy sensation creeping up your spine if you were to stay. All your friends already went back inside for more drinks. The possibility of them coming back outside to stand around for another twenty minutes for your new driver is unlikely. It might be safer to be with this man over anyone else. Especially considering his status; if anything happened to Cecil, the entire fucking government would apparate to his location within seconds.
With a small huff and pouty lip, you cave in and open the car door, getting into the passenger seat clumsily. For a moment you almost forgot you’d been drinking. Cecil clearly did not. Despite the angered attitude, he patiently waits for you to settle comfortably before shifting gears. He begins speaking after he veers off, although you did not give him the directions yet.
“Here’s the deal. I guess I…I…I don’t know you well, but your reports with our finances are always clean and organized. Your name pops up a lot when Donald and I review recent documented transactions. When we have someone that good on the team, I want them to feel recognized. I guess you can consider this a ‘thank you’ for all your hard work.”
“...so this isn’t a pity pick-up?”
“What? No. What the hell does that even mean?” he asks.
“You’re picking me up ‘cause you pity me.” you reply, still slurring words.
“I don’t think that’s the case. I wasn’t doing much before this so I thought, why not go for a drive with a drunk girl.”
The comment makes you laugh a little too hard. He doesn’t reciprocate. Still, you continue the banter with a giggle bubbling in the back of your throat. “Didn’t know you were into weird shit, Mr. Stedman.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry.”
Then it’s quiet again. Your mind replays his excuse. So he recognized your good work? Wanted to spend some time with you and found this was the perfect way to do so? It strangely made sense. Or maybe you think that because you’re not sober.
“Oh. I…appreciate this, by the way. It’s just, well, it’s really weird- okay wait, back up. I still don’t know how you even knew I was at the bar. Did I not text Clarissa?” you brush stray hairs out of your face, capturing Cecil’s attention for a couple seconds. He observes the movements with sharp precision, but you’ll be damned if he didn’t sneak another glance towards your chest. It’s practically spilling out of the top at this point.
“You’re still on that shit? You text me instead. Must have been the wrong contact,” Cecil explains cooly, slowly losing his annoyed tone. The man shifts his weight in the seat, resting his right arm on top of the console between you two. It feels rather natural for whatever reason.
Sure enough, you pull out your phone, muttering to him with confidence that you definitely did not text the wrong number.
You most certainly did. Well shit.
“Cecil, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to! I thought this whole time I’d been texting my friend,” you rush to get the words out as fast as possible.
“It’s really not that big of a deal.”
“I’m embarrassed beyond belief. So, yeah, it is.”
This makes Cecil crack the smallest fraction of a smile. Okay, maybe he isn’t that much of a dick after all.
You sigh and cross your arms, staring out the window. He’s headed in the direction of your apartment, which makes you want to ask him how he even knew your address, but you figure he probably looked it up in the system. Damn, was he at work when you texted him? Now you feel even worse. Then again, he could have easily ignored this entire situation. He obviously craved to spend time with you…right?
While earlier you had been quite energetic and loose around your close friends, now you lost some of your spirit and grew a bit quiet. Not that it was intentional. However, what else do you say to the guy who is basically your boss? Cecil was the exact same for the remainder of the drive. He kept to himself and didn’t turn on music as a means to fill the quiet. The atmosphere wasn’t tense though. That came to be some sort of relief.
What you didn’t realize until you were only a few blocks away from your destination was the fact Cecil kept glancing at you at every stoplight.
More specifically, your outfit. Again.
Did he…like what you were wearing? No, there’s no way that was the case. Cecil was so serious. His interactions with those around him are business only, which was kind of the case now. He said so himself; this is merely him repaying you for all the hard work you’d put into the company as of late. He wouldn’t have done this otherwise, or so you’d like to tell yourself anyway.
Is it messed up that you secretly hoped maybe there was more of a motive to his actions tonight? Are the cocktails making you think this right now, or were these thoughts always here?
Your head tilts to the side as Cecil smoothly parks the car in the lot outside your complex. Since it’s the early hours of the morning, no one is outside, making the area look a bit barren and scary. Subconsciously, you wonder if the older man might be nice enough to walk you to your door. But you figure that won’t happen. This alone is a crazy enough experience.
“Thank you. For the ride, I mean,” you state with a loopy grin.
“No worries. Again, take this as a ‘thank you’ from me. I feel like you deserve something better than this though,” Cecil huffs unamused, trailing off a bit.
What does that even mean? Whatever the last comment implies leaves you flustered. That, and a familiar throb starts beating between your legs. No way you’re getting horny right now. That would be ridiculous.
But your body betrays you and suddenly you’re pressing your thighs together in the seat of his car. The sensation is joined by a familiar knot coiling in your gut. Fuck, you need to get out of here and fast.
It takes three tries before you can grab the door handle and push it open. You release a soft groan in the process, and you swear Cecil sucks in a breath. Once you’re standing outside on the blacktop, you sway back and forth. You shut the door and notice Cecil is pushing down the passenger side window again.
You stumble only once more before casually resting your elbows on the edge of his door where the window had just disappeared. The metal presses cooly against your hot skin. You can’t tell if you’re warm from the drinks or something else. Still, you resist the urge to shiver in the chilling breeze.
Cecil rests his thumb and pointer finger along his jawline, observing what was to come next out of you. Which also, apparently, included another look at your chest. You’d lost count at how many times he had done that just in the last fifteen minutes. His longing gaze tricks you into biting your bottom lip while sparks of pleasure are sent elsewhere.
“Can I pay you for the gas? When I’m sober, I mean,” you say, hoping he’ll accept the peace offer.
“No, I don’t need it,” he whispers your name, looking you up and down.
Well, that’s a bit frustrating. This man just took time out of his night to help you and wouldn’t let you repay him? There has to be something that would suffice. Flickers of solutions cross your mind, one of which makes your heart skip a beat. He must notice there’s something brewing within you, because he gives you a combined look of confusion and intrigue.
Well, you already had enough alcohol in your system, right?
“You sure there’s nothing I can give you?” The question feigns innocence.
In the dark shadows of the parking lot, you almost fail to capture the way Cecil’s throat bobs. He coughs into his hand, then replies, “Uh, no, no I’m okay. We can just leave it at this. You should get inside.”
“If I can’t pay you back with cash, can I show you these?”
“Show me what- oh!” he exclaims loudly.
He barely had time to react before you dug your clumsy digits into the edge of your tube top, pulling down the thin fabric to release your mounds from its confines. Heat blooms up your neck as the nearby breeze caresses your perky nipples. The fact you were showing them to Cecil though, of all people, makes them harder than you anticipated.
Not that you really thought this out. You just figured why the hell not. The sober version of you is going to die of humiliation in the morning, you already know it.
Cecil turns his head, sputtering out something incoherent. Your heart falls into your stomach. Before you can even adjust your top, the man emits a strangled gasp. He’s still looking away as he asks, “What the fu- why did you do that?”
You push out your lip slightly, whining loudly. Why didn’t he appreciate this kind gesture? A treat for all his troubles? He should be excited to see a rack this pretty. They’re damn perfect in your personal opinion. Surely he agrees. “C’mon, don’t act like you didn’t wanna see ‘em.”
“Because I-I didn’t!” Cecil attempts to argue back, but the waiver in his voice was enough evidence that his words were betraying his true intentions.
You blink your eyes a few times, trying to gauge how much honesty there was to his statement.
“You’ve been staring at my boobs all night. Thought maybe you’d like that,” you huff stubbornly.
His jaw clenches. The older man finally sneaks a peek in your direction, somewhat relieved to see you’ve taken care of yourself in the meantime. Only a fraction though. “You can’t just flash me like that.”
“Cecil,” you pout pathetically, “I’ve already embarrassed myself once tonight by texting you instead of my friend. Can you just pretend for just a moment you liked seeing my tits so I can walk out of here with one goddamn success from tonight.”
He just stares at your face instead, abruptly confused. And he is…blushing? There’s a clear red heat across his cheeks and nose. You’re not sure you’ve ever been in a situation with him like this before. How often is it that this director gets so thoroughly flustered? Pride swells in your chest.
He doesn’t say anything right away. You’re absolutely positive you’ve just lost your job. Despite being wasted, you make a mental note to update your resume tomorrow afternoon. Then, Cecil relaxes further into his car seat while staring at the parking lot ahead of him. He rests his left wrist on the edge of his steering wheel, completely swept away by his hard thoughts. He inhales slowly.
Then, he cocks his head in your direction. His eyelids are heavier than usual and you don’t think it’s from a lack of sleep. He doesn’t offer any sort of smile or smirk. Rather, he drops his chin downward once as a way to indicate he wants something. With a miniscule quirk in his jaw, he says, “Well, we can’t have that. I guess we have to do this over again. C’mon, sweetheart. Show me.”
That’s all you have to hear before abruptly pulling down your top again, smiling hard as the man clearly enjoys the view. This time, with permission, Cecil doesn’t break down on how wrong this all is. Instead, whatever strength left in his being is out of the vehicle and gone with the wind. The man licks his lips, savoring the sultry image in front of him as he could. You squeeze your boobs, running the tips of your fingers across your sweet nipples. It almost makes you moan. The longer he takes you in, groaning to himself while staring so intently, the stronger your core twists and turns into an all too recognizable knot.
Earlier, you were in disbelief at the idea of being turned on by this man.
Now, you wanted to ride him all night long and see how many times you’d be able to milk him dry. Quite the turn of events tonight has been.
Without warning, the sound of passersby echoes from around a corner. You hastily cover yourself up and clear your throat. You have to remind yourself why you’re here in the first place; Cecil had just dropped you off. It’s been a while since he originally pulled in. At this rate, you should be in bed already.
Cecil exhales, his hand coming down to adjust the hardened length outlining his dress pants. Your eyes trail to watch the movement, merely observing his bulge and guessing how large he might be. This wasn’t how you thought the night would go, but you feel like a damn messy employee for wanting more out of your boss.
“Are we even now?” you playfully tease, giggling in the process.
Cecil shoots you a look, one you can’t determine. “I, uh, don’t know. Might need to see you in my office tomorrow so we can review the number of violations this has crossed.”
Any other time, you would have thought the man was genuinely concerned about your position at the GDA. But now, with the sexual tension ruminating thick in the air, and a knowing smirk playing at the edge of his lip, you can tell what this might imply.
You’d be proven correct the very next day.
Work was only slightly annoying with the minor headache lingering in the back of your skull. You’d chugged multiple water bottles just to make it past noon. Unintentionally, you’d found yourself continuously staring at the clock. You’d been waiting for something, literally anything to happen. It was inevitable, especially considering how you acted last night. Each time you were reminded of your drunken state, your cheeks flush furiously without fail.
You don’t regret it though. The alcohol just might have landed you a dick appointment with one of the scariest men at the GDA.
Cecil happened to enter the designated lunchroom only five minutes after your break began. He made a comment about coming into his office later to drop off those monthly reports.
Nobody batted an eye. Perhaps that was for the best, too.
That’s because you didn’t have any real paperwork to drop off. Both of you knew that. So it was no surprise Cecil had his way with you the moment his office door was closed.
Cecil has you pressed against his desk, your dress pants pooled around your ankles in a wrinkled lump as he thrust into you from behind. With each harsh drive into your weeping hole, the man somehow sinks deeper and deeper without missing a beat. One hand squeezes the flesh around your hips, the other pushes your head against the wood so you don’t budge.
He lets out a pleased sound at how your walls flutter so tightly around him. Beneath the man’s tough exterior was an absolute monster. You didn’t think he’d go so hard on you, let alone for so long. How many minutes had passed? It feels like you are falling down a dark pit of uncontrollable pleasure all from the man’s attack on your cunt.
“Uh, uh, uh,” you moan softly in time with his movements.
“Should’ve done this a while ago,” Cecil murmurs mostly to himself, “you are so fucking gorgeous.”
A particularly sharp thrust nearly blows all the air out of your lungs. Slick pours from your pussy all over his pulsing cock, covering Cecil from tip to the bulging veins at his base. You try so hard to say something back to him, maybe a comment that runs along the edge of both cocky and flirtatious, but every word is a jumbled mess. Instead, you moan a string of curses, practically drooling the harder he ruts into you. Your body trembles from the intensity of your third orgasm in the last fifteen minutes.
The director just chuckles to himself, looking down at the tight space where both your bodies meshed together. To him, it’s like a piece of artwork that deserved to be put in a museum. He continues mumbling small comments here and there the longer he fucks you.
“Didn’t think I’d ever get to do this.”
“Yeah, just like that. Take it.”
“Damn, you’re so hot. Haven’t- fuck, haven’t told you that enough.”
If you had to guess, the man rather missed being this intimate with someone and hadn’t experienced such in a long while. It was the only excuse you could come up with in your mind that explained the reason behind the torment on your body.
“Right there, yes, yes, yes!” you exclaim, eyes rolling back as he changes the angles of his hips and begins pivoting his cock right on that sensitive spot.
This new direction causes a loud squelching sound to repeatedly echo off the walls. This alone sends Cecil into overdrive. He lets go of your head to hold your hips against him, starting to lose rhythm. He gasps as his climax approaches quickly. “C’mon, one more for me.”
“Nng!” you groan, clenching around him hard enough to confirm he pushed a fourth orgasm out of your poor, abused pussy.
The older man isn’t far behind. He focuses entirely on the ripple of your ass each time he pushes himself forward. The sight is enough to make him hiss out something incoherent, then falter inside you, spilling into the condom he made sure to put on before wrecking you.
“Holy fuck-”
“My God-”
You both muster words at the same time. The two of you struggle to catch your breath. Given you finally had a moment to calm down, you finally recognized just how hot and sticky you were against the wooden piece of furniture. Not that you’d have it any other way.
Cecil gradually pulls out of your wet heat, making commentary about how soaked you made his cock. It only makes you blush. He begins to tidy himself up with tissues and a quick wipe from the back of his hand against his forehead. But then you turn around and ask him a question that nearly makes his heart drop.
That Toby Rogers headcannon- I LOVED HIM!!! You truly enraptured his creepiness that I would expect from him! Which had me think, what if someone could meet him on his level of freak?
Like, the object of his affections find out she has a stalker and she's like "How exciting!" Like she has no regard for her safety, just finds out she's being stalked and she's like- "I've never been so damn h***y in my life."
You reckon Toby would be f**kin with it or nah?
Just Like Me
Toby Rogers x Fem!Reader
CONTAINS: short drabble, NSFW, unfinished ideas (sorry about that, this was in my drafts for too long but i must deliver!)
NOTES: tysm for ur support! once again sorry for the long overhaul
SYNOPSIS: hes crazy, but you're crazier
thank you for liking my depiction of toby :')!!!
jeez i gotta write a whole fanfic about this one cuz thats a good scenario... he'd be shocked but so over the moon. toby knows that this isnt healthy at all, despite his emotions get the best of him
Reader works at retail, boring ass job. Kind, quiet, little dark minded, naive, average looking, delusional asf
Didnt have a lot of people attracted to them
Toby passed out in the alleyway next to her store
Closes up shop and saw him sitting, hands jittering, covered in cuts.
Quickly helps him and asked if he needs to get bandaged up.
Already having a shitty day, he accepts
Both go to pharmacy, buys stuff, sits at a bench to fix his hands
Toby twitches even more from embarrassment yet still grateful for her kindness. Gets more curious about her.
Both go their both ways. Reader felt joyful and concerned about him.
Sleeps it off and forgets him the next day
Throughout the week, Toby follows her. To the point where he goes to the shop just to watch her work
Reader feels eyes on her, however felt great feeling the attention.
Toby would purposely mess up the clothes and watch her work even more from a safe distance
Wear a mask and Uses victims money just to buy shit only for him to see her and not use it at all
Camps outside all day just to watch her clock out
Wants to learn about her but afraid she’ll get close and learn about his killings
Week by week, Toby finds out whee she lives and her whole schedule, leaves little gifts at her house
At first she felt a little scared, but examined the items and thought they were pretty
Re-evaluates the past weeks, concludes she has a stalker, fantasized about a handsome guy with binoculars looking at her
Craving for love
Feeling a little bold she leaves the windows open and front door unlocked
Gets dolled up in the middle of the night with the blinds open, bought lingerie just for her stalker to see his prize
Toby gets worried knowing it wasn’t right, too afraid to corrupt the innocent.
One night, she strips and begin dancing in her room
Toby felt odd, but his feelings gotten worse, obsession grew
Toby finally meets her again at her store, reminds her about that night
Little did she know it was him stalking her
Plans on hanging out at the mall
Started out sweet, but Toby opens up to her that he stalks her and he knows that she likes it
Reader gets embarrassed, admitting she never had anyone interested, knows people with stalkers aren’t a good thing, but couldn’t help but feel wanted
Toby looks around for anyone listening, leans in and ask he’ll play a game with her. Go around the mall, find her and she gets a prize
Reader walks away and both begin the game
Only 15 mins in Toby finds her in pharmacy, but instead of bandaids like before, holds a box of condoms, medium and a large
He giggled at her confidencegrabs the large box and pays it off
Both head out and Toby leads her to the storage room, jingling the keys in her face
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Cecil's issues, how you deal with them, and the ways he compensates.
I feel like the old hag is super conservative about dating. He’s not a very eligible bachelor and he knows it. It’ll take a good three years before he considers dating, then another year to confirm and officialize it, then you’ll date for five more as he debates proposing towards the last two, THEN he gives you the Netflix password, and you finally get married at the decade mark.
Cecil’s style of attachment is avoidant 100%. He struggles immensely to bring down the self-protective walls he’s built up over the years even when you’re twenty years into marriage. In the weird middlemost lull of your initial dating phase, it often felt like he was just there to lick the icing off the cake. He wanted the humor, exclusivity, intrigue, and emotional crutch of a romantic relationship without putting the in the effort. When you got sick, he didn’t bother to come visit. Rather, he sent store-bought soup. When you told him about how a particular problem was slapping the shit out of you, he would listen stone-faced and offer painfully obvious advice on how to fix it, not understanding that you’d already figured it yourself and just wanted him to be there and nod along.
When you told him that, he snorted. “Go get a shrink if you need someone to listen to you that badly.”
Yeahhh, the seven year mark of dating Cecil was highkey insufferable. I’m sure at this point you were mostly staying for the money, and even that might not have been enough.
One night after another aborted date, you issued an ultimatum before he could leave. Either he started genuinely investing in the relationship or it was over because quote “I can’t stand the way you treat me like an emotional cumrag, Cecil.”
Firstly, pop off! Secondly, slay! He stood there blinking for a moment, jacket in hand. Then he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Not in the ‘God that’s the fifth time Invincible screwed up today’ kind of way, but in the ‘No, no, you’ve got a point goddamnit’ kind of way.
“I don’t want this as a concession,” you continued. “I want it as a fullhearted effort. I want you to deal with all the aspects of this relationship that I have to deal with – the hard times as well as the good times – because it’s not fucking fair that you can walk it off like a high school fuck and I’m left bitter over a fifty year old.”
That got him good. You were too frustrated to laugh at how he gaped like a fish, then got more frustrated that you couldn’t find humor in it, that you should even have to be in this situation with a full grown man.
“No, you’re right. You’re right. I’m… I should’ve paid more attention to you.” He tried to play it cool but you could hear the waver in his voice. “I was busy with work, and I neglected to consider your end of the deal. I’m sorry.”
You nearly rolled your eyes, this was so overdue. “I accept. But it doesn’t mean shit if you don’t follow through.”
He shook his head heavily. “I will, I promise. God, I’m sorry to have put you through all that. What was I thinking?”
He actually sounded pained. “Hey, let’s not make it about you now, Mr. Director,” you half-joked half-warned. “Now go save the world.”
As he walked out, you slapped his ass for good measure. His aloofness and unavailability have stayed constant fixtures in your marriage, but both of you have learned to work around them as a unit, designating times to talk or eat or play or just be together. Later, he told you he appreciated you standing up to him.
“It’s a quality I appreciate, conviction.” You wiped the sweat off your brow with a gloved hand. Summer had descended on your garden with a vengeance. “Yeah, is that so?”
“Yeah,” he sipped lemonade, his shades mounted high. “It seems so.”
Don’t even mention work around him, he’ll explode. There’s about a dozen things for him to worry about at any given moment to the point where most nights for him are spent at the GDA putting out fires. He counts snatching three consecutive hours of sleep as a win. At least if you somehow have a baby, he’ll be ready for the night shift.
Speaking of babies, this man does not want a freaking baby. Last thing he can afford to worry about. Encourages you to get on the pill if possible and uses protection like a priest wears his cross.
It’s such a struggle to get him in anything but his formals. You guys regularly vacation in Geneva and Cabo and he SLAYS various bodies of water with his suit and tie. As a surprise one time you packed a loud Hawaiian shirt and khakis for him in his suitcase. As the days went on without a hint of flowery orange, you grew more and more dismayed. You found them in your luggage at the end of the trip with a note.
“Not in a million years.”
(You got him to wear it for your most recent birthday. You snagged a picture. He deleted it off your phone with his super secret government powers.)
(He keeps it on his own phone for your next birthday present. He knows how much it means to you)
Cecil doesn’t feel sorry for like 90% of the things he ‘has’ to do. But he really really really overthinks the rare things he does regret. That’s when the Immortal-age wine gets broken out from his private study retreat (man cave). He’ll duck and weave but when push comes to shove he goes to you like he always has, his sanctuary, his rock. On the unfathomably rough nights, when he gets lost in his own head and he stares bleakly at you like he’s stuck in the worst moments of his life, you’re the one who bears the burden of being the most important person in the GDA. It’s not Donald who washes Cecil’s unmentionables, it’s you.
A bath is in order. You worried he’d try to drown himself the first few times but it turns out he’s actually incapable of slumping that low because his shoulders automatically lock up from old scar tissue. His eyes widen when they do. You can tell it scares him a bit in this state to not have control over his body, and it seems he knows as well. He just watches you quietly as you shake unscented bubble bath solution into the tub, scatter sweet honeysuckle from the garden, check the warmth of the water, gently rub his aging body. He sighs from time to time.
You try not to let him drink too much; justify it with the risks of high temperatures and old age and alcohol and such, but it’s mostly because you’re worried about what would happen if he did.
After the bath, you help him out and wipe him down. It’s clumsily unromantic. His leg hair alone could reforest the Amazon. It’s funny because he does nothing but sit around all day and still manages to get the thickest callouses on his heels. You frequently joke about him strutting about in high heels to achieve this level of dermal encrustment, which earns you an exasperated groan. You quip back. You’d rather have this weariness than his self-inflicted horror.
Once, he spoke.
“It helps.” He mumbled thickly.
It startled you from where you were pressed against his front. “What?”
“The baths,” you felt his throat quaver as he swallowed. “They help.”
A heartbeat later, he finished with, “Thank you.” And pressed a weak kiss to your temple.
The next morning, Cecil is gone as usual. He leaves a Post-It dusted in perfume letting you know that the Whole Foods near you has a good deal on essentials and ‘the early bird is able to buy more eggs in this failing economy’. You snort and roll back over, lazing in the sun as you write a response which you snap to the fridge, ‘birds lay eggs grandpa’.
Mandatory Debbie appreciation!!!
Debbie is supremely used to dealing with grumpy, overworked, stubborn old men. She actually sends you care packages every Christmas as a thank-you for being Cecil’s emotional chew toy, and they always make you laugh because it’s filled with things only a mother would pack: high SPF sunscreen for the garden, cute notes tucked in between instant noodles, plenty of Asian snacks, buns, and chocolate, an outfit or jewelry she thought would look good on you, emergency care supplies (even though you’ve got emergency private care), a journal or two, good pencils/pens/erasers, and books she’s finished already and wants you to read so the two of you can discuss them at length. The ramen comes in handy when Cecil’s private chef gets his paid time off and the snacks readily disappear throughout the year.
In response, you schedule times to meet with her between her familial obligations and work. At first Cecil was more than a little combative about his spouse spending time with the divorcee of Omni-man – nothing against divorcees, he said, just Omni-man – but you wrestled him into agreeance by threatening to withhold cuddles. You and Debbie talk about mundane things that you both miss, back when the biggest issues in your lives were what to make for dinner. You talk about how hard it is to live in the periphery of superpowered spouses. Her life has been shattered since Nolan left, and your presence has begun to fill in those cracks. You get the feeling she enjoys your company as much as you enjoy hers.
Back to our regularly scheduled bitchy old man media!!!
This goes without saying but he’s extremely accommodating of your hobbies. Do you like writing? A fully set up typewriter, new laptop, and paperback Scrivener tutorial show up on your bed. He’ll sign you up for workshops if you want. Got a thing for skydiving? 24/7 private jet just for you, baddie. Do shelves upon shelves of Funko Pops please you? Fuck it, drain his paycheck.
Cecil will do damn near anything to keep you happy. He tries his best to spend as much time with you as possible even with the GDA’s vice grip on his balls. As you’ve seen before, he leaves notes for you around the house as an endearing way to communicate with you, even if the contents aren’t all that endearing. He encourages you to see your friends under the condition that he’s always got your location – otherwise your imperceptible absence bugs him all day.
He fantasizes about just dropping it. Running away with you into some corner of the world, a sundrenched treehouse hideout looking out over seas of rustling, rolling prairie grass and creeks cold enough to steal your breath, the same way as it was when he was young. Before he got tough, before he got smart. Just two people in love sharing air and laughter and dreams.
Then his alarm goes off or Donald barges into his office. Cecil comes unwillingly back to reality, a dog collared every which way.
here's something wrong with this man and i really, really like it.
if I may ask, why do you only write for toby in the. creepypasta section? you don't have to answer but I'm just curious. because I like your writing style and I'm curious about eyeless jack in your vision.
Hey thanks for asking anon and thank you for liking my writing :D!
Im a huge toby fan, like big big... its embarrassing hahaha, but that restriction is only temporary since i do research on the characters i write about and it takes me a while to perfect them in my head and in my writing. however that doesn't mean im not open to writing about the other creeps!
i would absolutely love to write about Ej so stay tune!
GENERAL AND ROMANTIC HEADCANONS, SFW AND NSFW, mentions of abuse, murder, stalking, no use of y/n, long ass headcanons
a/n: he doesn’t need to be fixed. He’s perfect
GENERAL HEADCANONS
In my version, Toby is in his 20’s; ideally 26. In his wiki, it only mentions that his tourettes consists of him twitching and cracking his joins, but not stuttering. His tourettes become more erratic the more emotional distress he is.
5’10, sleeper build courtesy of carrying dead bodies as a workout lol. His muscles are prominent, sorta like a greek sculpture. But he lacks any good nutrients; eats take out mostly. Old burn scars from the car crash littered all over his calloused hands. Curly rich brown hair, swooped to his right side of his forehead. He loves his emo hair, thinks he looks attractive all grungy and whatnot. Before everything went to shit, he borrowed Lyra’s eyeliner to imitate a random emo guy’s look on the internet. Made him look like a raccoon, was embarrassed to ask for help from her but she laughed it off and redid the look. Ever since then, it always reminds him of her every time he did his makeup. Tries to take extra good care of his hair since he got it from his mom, Connie.
David Near's voice for Toby. Just wanted to say that
His gash stretches from his side molars to the muscles of his cheek. Has to suck up the saliva so he won’t slobber like a dog. He’s not that disgusting. Lacks skin care, but still maintains his youthful look without the acne; well a bit. Has a few tiny bumps and little black heads. Secretly likes watching the gunk come out of his pores. Toby has a stubble growing on his chin. He felt like a man; went up to Brian and Tim to show them. They didn't give a fuck.
"Ay, I'm one of you guys!" he tilted up his chin to show it off. Both of them walked away.
Has a slit eyebrow on his left, pierced his other one. Septum piercing, lip piercing on his right bottom lip. Killed one of his victims, who happened to be a piercer, and broke into the shop to use his tools. His ears a bit infected; forgets to wash them.
Cuts on his body ranging from deep to little cuts from past victims. Some were skilled fighters, have a few gunshots here and there; EJ tended to his injuries. Being a proxy had its perks, slender can bring his loyal dogs come back to life, but it doesnt make him invincible. It seems like every year it gets harder to kill people thanks to social media making them more aware. But Toby’s a fast learner, that’s why he’s Slenderman's right hand man.
Depending on which version of Slenderman you’re thinking of will alternate Toby's personality. Here’s the thing: I truly believe Toby is some sort of vigilante. Slenderman sends him to take out malicious people that hurt people like him. However, Toby will go all out because it helps him cope. Usually his targets often look like his father. Gets really pissed off: organs flying out everywhere, blood staining his dark clothes as the blade of hatchets gets dull with each swing. Then cleans up scene like it was nothing. Brutal guy when PTSD hits.
Toby is more lenient on woman targets. Growing with amazing and caring ladies, he became a guys girl (or a guy that women like idk…). The dude is reserved but more towards men. Treats everyone like it’s fair game tho. If you’re on Slenderman's hit list for doing horrendous shit, he won’t spare a second killing you.
Im sorry but i can't see of the creepypastas living in an abandoned mansion together and act like life is sweet. Most of them are homeless. If they're lucky, they have a (slur warning) job. Toby works at two jobs: slaughterhouse and a logging camp.
Working as a butcher makes his life easier since he does work for Slenderman. Has an excuse for being covered in blood. "Yeah, this is pig's blood," he talks to his targets before killing them.
Working as a lumberjack helps him explore forests in America. He gets to use to hatchets to cut down trees while scouting out the woods. Helps him familiarized a ton of places, just in case Slender sends him out of state.
Toby is a goofball, but he's incredibly smart. He can mimic noises, animal or human to lure his prey. Went to Cody and ask him to coat his blades with neurotoxins that paralyzed people. Even if he doesn't kill them in one hit, he can at least make them stop moving before he gets to them. He prefers brutal and fast methods since he believes he's getting rid of scums that stain the earth with cruelty. But often those methods don't work out, if he can't single them out. Going in for the kill in a public place will jeopardized his mission.
When it comes to women targets, Toby becomes more charismatic and tend to flirt with them to bring their guard down. He cringes at himself every second he had to go down this route, but once he gets them alone, he kills them.
Men are more tricky, since there's a chance Toby can get his ass killed if he's not careful. The process can be painfully slow since he can't flirt his way through (or he can wink wink). Befriends them, then for a while, he isolates them and you know the rest.
Scrolls on phone just to search up his name and reads what people had to say to him. He was shocked to find out he had a ton of fans, basically worshipping him. And yes, he saw the fanart and read the fanfiction. Almost dropped his phone when he went through tumblr and tiktok.
One time, he followed a woman for a while. Once they finally met, Toby felt like he was gonna break down. She had blonde hair, her face exactly like his sister’s. He ran his fingers through her hair as her eyes slowly turned white, tears ran down his face. He was out of commission for days after that incident. Hysteria took over him and he trashed his small apartment.
But goes through another crying session, “I’m just like my father.” Tries his best not to become him when his anger gets out of control. Indulges in drugs and weed; strays away from alcohol. Reminds him too much of his dad. Doesn't depend on his stimulants too much, goes on the internet to search up self help tips.
Toby has 6 outfits, it’s simple, efficient, and he likes it. Mixes it up if he’s feeling spicy. Main outfit is blending in/camouflage look. Hunts in the woods at an ungodly hour. Dark blue hoodie, on top a dark brown leather jacket. Black straight jeans that are hanging by a thread literally. Black converse of course. Baggy everything. Most of his clothes are dark clothing. Often takes his victim’s accessories if it catches his eye.
Blinged out belt. His now. A pretty chain. Wearing that right now. Toby smiles in the mirror when he looks all swagged out; he took fashion advice from his mom and sister. He tries to look all edgy; thinks he’ll pick up a nice girl one day.
Onto his personality: he’s clever, charismatic if he wants to, goofy, but knows when the situation is serious. He learned at a young age how to read people. He used to avoid people who reminded him of his dad in school but ended up bullied. Used that to his advantage towards his victims. He learns what they want and use that against them. Reserved when he started out. Tried to limit his reactions with Brian and Tim: men in general used to make him nervous. But now he has the power to end anyone’s life.
When he experienced an episode, he thought both of the guys were trying to harm him. Bite on of their fingers, had to be put in a muzzle for a while. But he got used to them, a brotherly bond formed and now Toby’s an annoying piece of shit.
Then Kate joined later. Toby studied her from a far, but one time she had him an a chokehold because she thought he was a threat. Both of them had tension between each other. But after saving one another from death, they grew to respect each other.
If he feels like it, starts talking in full on German for days just to fuck with them. Giggles when they give him a blank stare.
Listens to Mötley Crüe, Rammstein, Avenged Sevenfold, Get Scared mostly. Lyra forced him to listen to her playlist once. He wishes she was still here when he went back to spotify to listen to her favorite songs. Hearing Britney's and Avril Lavigne's makes him tear up (OMG I NEED TO STOP MAKING HIM CRY) he dances to Here's to Never Growing Up to honor her.
Here some songs i think he listens on repeat:
Mein Herz brennt - Rammstein
It's Just Me - Escape The Fate
Porno Creep - Korn
Dance With The Dead - Get Scared
Girls, Girls, Girls - Mötley Crüe
Heretic - Avenged Sevenfold
ROMANTIC HEADCANONS
Kinda scared to be in a relationship. Yeah he had a few swings here and there, but none of them felt genuine. Some of them he pussied out after a few months. Has these thoughts that one day he'll lash out like his father. He wants to work on his issues before dating anyone
Toby's type is someone who takes their time out of their day to get to know him and understands him on a deeper level. He hooked up with people before, but it was an exchange for sex and pleasure, nothing serious at all. The guy craves love okay? He has Brian, Tim, and Kate, but he wants love. Yearns for it. Falls in love hard.
As for looks, he doesn’t care about that. Sure, he finds people attractive, but he met a lot of people who aren’t all pretty in the inside. He wants real a connection. Someone who can get through his depressive episodes without making it feel like a burden. Toby knows he’s fucked up, but he tries everyday to get better. He knows it’s what his mom and sister would have wanted.
And yes he knows about his fangirls. Kinda think they’re fucked up in the head for worshipping him. Secretly likes the attention.
When he met you, it was on one of his missions. His target harassing you at a bar, Toby dragged his ass outside started beating him up. You couldn’t help but follow the man that saved you from the creep. Seeing the brunette basically pulling the guy into the woods, you followed suit.
Big mistake. Blood spurted everywhere, staining old tree bark and the dried up leaves soiled in the man’s blood. Toby cracked his neck and turned to face you. Eyes locked in, a powerful blow to the head knocked you out.
You lay on your bed with a massive headache, trying to remember the events of the night before. You couldn’t, only the man that started cat calling you and a tall brunette dragging him out the bar.
“What was his name?”
Few weeks went by and you went back to the bar after work. There he was. A big worn out leather jacket, dark blue hoodie underneath it, paired with dark blue jeans and black converse. You took a seat right next to him. He looked at your direction and faced you. His brown hair swooped to the side, matching color eyes relaxed. Is that eyeliner?
“Hey,” he greeted you.
Your hand rose up, “Oh, it’s you from the other night.”
“Guilty,” he flashed a smirk as finished up eating his burger, “Toby.”
You told him your name back and that’s when it all began.
He thanked the gods that Slenderman erased your memory of him killing that man. It would’ve ruined his whole facade. At first, Toby wanted to have a few acquaintances to have a nice chat, some sense of normalcy. Your banter with him made him want to talk with you more.
After a few months of hanging out, you got to know each other. You didn’t use him for pleasure, or bully him to make you feel great. No, you made him feel seen, normal. This what true love is. Toby felt the butterflies in his stomach for the first time in forever. Little crushes in middle school were nothing compared to this.
Strangers to friends to lovers, you get the idea. He knew he started to have a fond of you. His hunger grew, his need for love became obsessive, unhealthy even. Toby began following back to your house after you ended your hangouts. Hid in the bushes and took pictures from a camera he stole from his victims. Good quality too.
Close up of you changing, getting ready for bed, and even when you were masturbaiting. Waits till you turn off your lamp and go to bed just to go home and jerk off to his new porn material. Forget about corny porn videos and magazines, this was a new upgrade.
Jerking off to a person he knows and loves made him cum in hands multiple times. He needed to get more.
Finds away to get into your house. Dashes into your room first. It was decked out with posters of your favorite bands and movies. Little figurines of characters. Everything was tailored to your aesthetic. He walks to your bed and inhales your scent on your pillow. His eyes rolled as it felt like snorting cocaine. Turned towards your drawers. Took a gander and pulled out the middle section.
Jack pot. Your underwear sitting on display like it was a fucking candy shop. The strap from his backpack slipped off of his shoulder as he picked out a few to “borrow”. Then he vanishes into the night. The next day, stained panties were added to the laundry pile. That dirty fuck. If he’s bold enough, he’ll actually pick one from the dirty laundry.
Compared to your bedroom, Toby just had a mattress on the floor. Sheets lazily covered it. His closet only half filled with his clothes. He had a table where he just throws random things he stole on. But in the corner, he had a whole shrine dedicated to you. Polaroids of you hanging from a pin on a cork board. Basically the shrine was like that of Yandere Simulator. Bloodied bandaid he found in your trash can. Your used underwear folded neatly on the table. Half eating bags of chips you threw out. The whole nine yards. He’s like a raccoon almost.
Toby’s determine to make you his. Slowly but surely.
A small comic about Palestine I created to appeal to more passive family and friends
Anyways if you have the money I urge you to donate to Ibraheem Hadi, a Palestinian who contacted me and whom I promised to highlight in relation to this comic:
Title:
"Urgent Relief: Support Ibrahim's Family in Gaza Amidst Devastation"
… Devlin Downs needs your support for Help me and my family to
Otherwise there is always a need for eSims to keep Gazans connected
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
This is for those out there who were never taught the simpler things in life, or are living alone for the first time. I hope this reaches you and helps you in some way x
I went through all of these to find the perfect, most simple instructions for each. I'll add more things over time if needed/requested <3
Video instructions:
How to plait your hair
How to fold a T-Shirt
How to shave your legs
How to write + send a letter in the mail
How to ride a bike (with one of the people in the video learning how to ride one themselves)
