˗ˊˎ⋆꩜Melody꩜⋆ˎˊ˗

“Sh-shit!” Toby breathes, his mouth hard dangling from his neck. His jeans were covered in mud, and blood and his hatched hanging from his belt.

Tonight’s mission was rough, something almost went wrong, key word, almost.

Masky had taken a bullet for him in the leg, Toby helped Hoodie bring him to their truck they came in. Blood covered their hands, Hoodie called EJ for surgical assistance.

EJ met them at an abandoned road. Stepping out of the woods, silently.

“You scared the shit o-out of me, man!” Toby breathes out, watching as EJ eyed him, even though eyeless, Toby still felt the stare. EJ had a medical bag of his stuff, making his way to the backseat where Masky was. Mumbling something about, hitting an artery.

“Get home Toby.” Hoodie basically snarls, glaring at Toby. His hands were holding pressure on Tim’s wound. The twitchy brunette scoffed, “I wan-wanna help!” He shouted as he tried pushing into the backseat of the truck, but Brian shouted, “Go, Home!” Everyone froze, EJ had his hand placed on Toby’s shoulder. “You’ve done enough, Toby.” Brian finished, shaking his head as he cussed to himself.

Toby clenched his jaw, “B-be fuckin’ lucky we-we’re close di-dipshits.” He shakes his head, turning on his heal and making his way through the woods.

“Stupid f-fucking-“ he growls, swinging his hatchet against a tree. His mind was raging at him, cussing at himself.

And soon he made it to your house, the home you two share.

Making his way inside, his muddy boots creating footprints on the front porch. He opens the front door.

Unlocked. As usual.

The sound of the shower being him from his thoughts. His dark eyes looking towards your bedroom door that was cracked open.

Inside the bedroom, he opened the bathroom door. Hot steam sifting through the air, mirrors were fogged.

He looked through the glass door of the shower, seeing the outline of your frame. Toby slowly undressed, every layer of clothing dropping mud onto the tile flooring along with his goggles and mouth guard.

You didn’t hear him come in, nor did you hear him take his clothes off. Being a proxy came with the plus of being able to be silent as a mouse.

His shoulders jumping with every tic. Neck popping every now and then, but the sounds were muted by the running water of the shower.

Once Toby slid the final layer of clothing off onto the floor, mud streaks down his arms that had sealed through the sleeves of his jacket, dried blood cracking around his wrists and hands where he’d wiped at Masky earlier.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, mouth agape. His tongue running over bitten lips and jaw. Breathing uneven from both adrenaline and sudden arousal.

The steam wrapped around him like it knew him, welcoming him, like it knew he needed it—like he needed you.

He pushed the glass sliding door open with two fingers. You shivered at the sudden draft against your back, opening your eyes and turning. Arms instinctively covering your body.

“Toby?” You breathed, voice soft under the spray. Looking over him, he looked exhausted. Mud smudged over his skin. New bruises already flowering across his body from tonight. You lead him underneath the spray of water, the hot water hit his shoulders, streaking down the grime, the blood, the tension from his knotted muscles.

He didn’t answer at first, just standing there as his eyes drifted over your body.

His fingers twitched, jerking. His eyes drifting up finally, making eye contact with you, and something in him loosened.

Voice cracking when he speaks, “They… they told me t’go h-home,” he muttered, irritation and hurt swirling together. “Li-like I’m— like I’m a liab-… lia— like I’m jus’ someone they gotta babys-sit.” His nerves causing his stutters to worsen.

His hands reach for you, seeing that you have yet to drop your arms from around yourself.

Once yours hands drop, they come up to cup his face, stepping closer to him.

His breaths hitched, leaning into your touch. His eyes fluttering closed as his hands come down and rest on your hips. His grip rough, but not enough to hurt.

Your thumbs trace the lines of his jaw.

“You came home. That’s what matters.” You breathe out, sliding your hands up into his hair. Not caring about the grime that starts washing out of his hair.

But then his arms were around your waist.

Tight.

Desperate as he dragged you forward until your chest pressed against his mud-streaked skin. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, breath hot, shaky, uneven.

“I.. I don’t like it wh-when you see me like this. Fuck.” His voice was muffled in your neck as his noses pressed into your the wet skin.

“I— I’m a mess.”

You smiled faintly. “You’re always a mess. Get over here.”

That made a tiny sound escape him—a laugh, breathy and strained.

Toby pulled back enough just to look at you, his hair plastered to his forehead. The length long enough to almost cover his eyes. But his hair was curly, so it didn’t matter.

His eyes were dark, glassy. But held something underneath, hunger.

“You’re the only… the only place I can come back to,” he said quietly, as if the words were slipping out before he could stop them. Your hand slid up the back of his neck, fingers threading gently through his wet curls.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered then leaning into to give him a gentle kiss, but it didn’t last long before he had you pinned against the cool wall of the shower.

You gasp, back arching off of the surface, basically pushing your boobs up into his face. Toby breaks the kiss, running his hands over your skin, both of them land on the underside of the fat. Holding them in his hands.

You moan, hands tightening in his hair, tugging on the shorts curly strands at his neck. His breath stuttered, the feeling didn’t hurt, of course it didn’t, but the pressure was thrilling.

Toby finally let his forehead drop against yours, letting out what almost sounded like a whine, biting his lip as his thumbs rolling over the peaks.

You look up at him, both your eyes glossed over with lust. You drag your hand gently down his torso to which he let you. Your fingers sliding over the ripples of muscle, his stomach stuttering, tensing as your hand slides lower and lower.

But his eyes were focused on your tits, squeezing and kneeling at the soft flesh. You breath out heavily as you wrap your hands around his cock.

Flesh against flesh.

He groans out at the feeling of your hand sliding up and down his cock, hips stuttering in shallow movements as he thrusts into your hand.

“Fu–fuuck.” He moans, leaning down to kiss you.

The kiss was messy, all teeth and tongue but still somehow romantic. “F-feels so good, please do-don’t stop.” He whines, one of his hands slide down rubbing at your clit. Soon, dipping into your wet hole and fingering you.

“Oh, Toby.” You moan, rolling your hips into his hand, riding his digits. You move your hand in sync with his fingers, wanting to get him to that sweet release he deserves.

“C’mon my sw-sweet angel. Cum. Please- oh- oh fuck!” He gasps, cock twitching in your hand, white pearls dripping from his head. His noises going straight your cunt, gushing around his fingers at the same time he cums into your hand.

He rests his forehead against your shoulder, breathing heavily before picking you up, shutting the water off and carrying you to bed with a growl, slapping your ass in the process.

You can be very convincing when you want to be, but the stubborn clown won’t let you do his makeup. You hint at little plans every here and there when you come around his circus and most times he likes to act indifferent towards your little pokes at the relationship between the two of you. He likes to keep you at a distance because he knows that if he lets you get close enough to actually know, you’ll run. And he hasn’t had anyone like you for a very, very long time. He needs to keep you for as long as he possibly can. So getting comfortable can be dangerous for him especially how quick he is to lose grasp on his bloodlust. He is able to hang on to the little part of sanity just for you but there has been an incident where he had to insist on your leave. You didn’t visit for another week and the idea of you had clawed at him every unbearable second. You thawed something he didn’t know existed within himself.

“Seriously,” you say in almost an assuring tone, approaching him like you would a wild animal “It will be fun, and it won’t take long.”

You could see his big snarl-like smile resolve fading into something a little… curious. You throw your arms up to add a little kick to his mind changing and turn away as if to leave. You’ve been here too long trying to convince him with primer in hand to let you use him as a base. A lengthy sharp exhale comes from behind you, mixed with a tired manic sounding chuckle making you pause and his grating voice sounds defeated ringing out a second later, “Fine… but make it snappy.”

You almost jump with excitement as you flip back around and speed walk over. When you pause right before him, you glance around then purse your lips at the grimy floor. “Can’t we go… maybe somewhere a bit more,” you clear your throat twice “Cleanly?” Your voice still sounds weak as you look sheepishly anywhere but the clowns face.

After a minutes silence, you glance up at him and see him straining a wide smile and he sounds reluctant to say “Yep, follow me.” He turns on his heel and starts through a gap in his circus tent you’ve never been through before. But not before making a gesture like a greeting consisting of a bow and two hands positioned at the edge of the gap in the tent, holding the tent flap with two of his fingers producing a doorway with a tiny proud smile to himself.

You and him are now walking through a winding hallway of colorful cloths like an extension of the tent you were in before. The different colors of purple, blue, and pinks remind you of the galaxy and the cloth looks like someone took a bunch of patterned quilts, cut them up and stitched them back to each other to make the hall. It’s weirdly sinister with the coppery scent of blood but looking completely pristine.

Once you arrive at the destination, you work with your brain to take apart and put together what you’re looking at. The space looks like it could have been spacious at some point but it’s overcrowded with knick-knacks and gadgets. You spot different colored wind up handles that look like it belongs to a wide range of both modern and vintage styles for Jack In the Boxes. There are toys and toys, some look stained with blood, some look brand new. A kind of fear settles in your stomach but you already know what he does with his time. You try to ignore the bile prodding its way through your system.

You hear Jack clear his throat and you remember why you came here. You turn around to face Jack and he’s gesturing for you to set your supplies down on a desk he must’ve started clearing off for you while you were observing the space. You organize the makeup you brought with you and grin from the giddiness of trying something new with him. And also having the power to make him look humiliating or funny. He scoots an uncomfortable looking ugly chair up to you and sits in it, his height making him just as tall as you when sitting. You try to pretend that doesn’t make you stupidly nervous. “Let’s get this over with,” he tries to sound confident but he fails and sounds like he’s about to be tortured.

You give him a colorful clown look (or try to but it won’t stay for longer than five minutes before the color starts to fade away.) After a couple trials and errors you hand him a compact mirror and it looks comically small in his humongous lanky hands. His lips twitch into an almost-amused state. “HA! You like it, admit it,” you accuse triumphantly. He rolls his eyes and sets the mirror down gently like he has personal respect for your belongings. “You can think whatever you want but I never want to do this again.” He stands to tower over you and you sigh, packing the makeup into your bag.