Chapter Text
You were just trying to make coffee.
That was it. That was the entire plan. Get coffee, go back to your room, maybe get another hour of sleep before Slenderman inevitably sent you on another job. Simple. Uncomplicated.
Then Jeff walked in.
"Well, well," he drawled, leaning against the doorframe with that carved smile that never looked quite right. "Look who's up early. Toby finally let you out of his sight?"
You didn't look up from the coffee maker. "He's asleep."
"Shocking." Jeff pushed off the doorframe and sauntered into the kitchen, all predatory grace and bad intentions. "Thought he'd have you on a leash by now. Y'know, considering."
"Considering what?"
"Considering he basically threw a fit until Slenderman made you a proxy instead of letting me finish you off." Jeff hopped up onto the counter, legs swinging. "Considering he follows you around like a psychotic puppy. Considering everyone in this mansion knows you're his."
You finally looked at him. Jeff was grinning—well, he was always grinning, the smile carved into his face made sure of that—but his eyes had that specific glint that said he was bored and looking for entertainment.
"What do you want, Jeff?"
"Nothing. Just making conversation." He tilted his head, studying you. "You know, I never got a good look at you before. That night was kinda rushed. Toby bursting in all 'don't touch him, he's mine' really killed the vibe."
You turned back to your coffee. "Uh huh."
"But now that I'm looking..." Jeff's voice dropped lower, taking on an edge that made your shoulders tense. "I get it. I get why Toby wanted to keep you."
"Jeff—"
"You're cute." He said it like an observation. Like he was commenting on the weather. "Real cute. Makes sense why he's so obsessed. Probably fun to—"
"The fuck did you just say?"
Toby's voice came from the doorway, low and dangerous and sharp enough to cut. You turned to see him standing there in his hoodie and sleep pants, hair a mess, eyes dark and fixed on Jeff with an intensity that would've made anyone smart back off immediately.
Jeff was not smart. Jeff was an asshole.
"Oh hey, Toby." Jeff's grin widened. "We were just talking about your boyfriend here. I was saying how I get the appeal. Very... keepable."
Toby's hands clenched into fists. You could see the twitch starting in his neck, the way his jaw tightened. "Get. Away. From him."
"Why?" Jeff hopped off the counter, taking a step closer to you instead of away. "We're just talking. That's allowed, right? Or are you gonna tell Slenderman I'm not allowed to talk to your pet?"
"He's not my—" Toby's neck jerked violently. "—not my pet, he's—"
"Yours?" Jeff finished, voice mocking. "Yeah, we know. You've made that real clear. But like... what if he doesn't wanna be yours? What if he wants—"
Jeff reached out like he was going to touch your shoulder.
He didn't get the chance.
Toby crossed the kitchen in three strides and slammed Jeff back against the wall hard enough to rattle the cabinets. "Don't. Fucking. Touch him."
"There it is," Jeff said, still grinning even with Toby's hand at his throat. "There's that psycho energy. I was wondering when it'd show up."
"I will end you," Toby hissed. "I will take you apart piece by piece and I won't even feel bad about it—"
"Toby." You put a hand on his shoulder. "He's fucking with you. That's what he does."
"Yeah, Toby." Jeff's voice was strained but still mocking. "I'm just fucking with you. Although..." His eyes slid to you. "Offer's open if you ever get tired of the tic-ridden psycho. Could show you a good time."
Toby's fist slammed into the wall next to Jeff's head, leaving a dent in the drywall.
"Okay!" You grabbed Toby's arm and pulled. "We're leaving. Now."
For a second you thought he wouldn't move. Thought he'd actually try to kill Jeff right there in the kitchen. But then his eyes snapped to you, wild and dark and possessive, and he let you pull him away.
Jeff's laughter followed you down the hall. "Anytime, pretty boy! You know where to find me!"
Toby was shaking by the time you got him back to your room. Not from tics—though those were happening too, his neck jerking and his shoulders rolling—but from pure rage. The kind of anger that made him dangerous, that made you remember he was a serial killer before he was your... whatever he was.
"Toby—"
"He touched you." Toby's voice was shaking too. "He was gonna—he wanted to—"
"He was trying to piss you off," you interrupted. "That's all. He doesn't actually want—"
"But what if you want—" Tic. His hand came up to his face, fingers twitching. "—what if you want him instead? What if you—"
"I don't."
"But you could." He was spiraling now, you could see it. "You could decide you're done with me and my tics and my shit and you could go to Jeff or any of the others and I can't—" His breath hitched. "I can't lose you. I saved you. You're supposed to be mine."
Your chest tightened. He looked wrecked. Desperate. Like the thought of you choosing someone else was physically painful.
"Toby," you said carefully. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise."
"I promise."
"Not good enough." He crossed the distance between you in one step, crowding into your space. "Need—I need to—" His hands came up to your face, tilting your head back so you had to look at him. "Need you to be mine. Need everyone to know. Need—"
He kissed you hard, all teeth and desperation. You kissed back, letting him take what he needed, letting him back you up until your legs hit the bed.
"Mine," Toby muttered against your mouth. "You're mine. Say it."
"I'm yours."
"Again."
"I'm yours, Toby."
He made a noise low in his throat and pushed you down onto the bed, following you down immediately. His hands were everywhere—pulling at your clothes, touching skin, mapping territory like he needed to reclaim it.
"Gonna—" Tic, his shoulder jerking. "—gonna make sure everyone knows. Gonna mark you up so good that Jeff and everyone else knows you're taken."
Oh.
"Yeah?" you asked, breathless as he yanked your shirt over your head.
"Yeah." His teeth found your neck, biting down hard enough to definitely leave a mark. "Gonna cover you in marks. Gonna make you scream loud enough that the whole mansion hears. Gonna fuck you so good you forget anyone else exists."
Your dick was already hard just from the possessive intensity in his voice. "Okay."
"Okay?" He pulled back to look at you, eyes wild. "That's all you've got to say?"
"What do you want me to say?"
"That you want this. That you want me. That you're not gonna—" His voice cracked. "—not gonna leave me for some asshole who doesn't even care about you."
"I want this," you said immediately. "I want you. I'm not leaving. Toby, I literally can't leave. Slenderman would kill me."
"That's not—" He made a frustrated noise. "That's not the reason I want. I want you to stay because you want to, not because you have to."
Something in your chest did a complicated thing. This unhinged killer who'd saved your life and claimed you like property was asking—genuinely asking—if you wanted to be his.
"I want to stay," you said quietly. "I want to be yours. Okay?"
Toby stared at you for a long moment. Then he kissed you again, softer this time. "Okay."
The softness lasted approximately five seconds before the possessive desperation came roaring back. Toby's hands were rough as he stripped you, efficient and graceless, like he couldn't stand any barrier between you. When you were naked beneath him, he sat back and just looked at you, breathing hard.
"Mine," he muttered, almost to himself. Then louder: "Mine."
"Yours," you confirmed.
That was apparently all he needed. Toby descended on you like a storm—mouth and teeth on your neck, your collarbone, your chest. Biting and sucking marks into your skin with single-minded intensity. Each mark was a claim. Each one said mine in a language older than words.
"Toby," you gasped when his teeth closed around your nipple. "Fuck—"
"Good?" His voice was muffled against your skin.
"Yeah. Yeah, it's—" You lost the words when he bit down harder.
He worked his way down your body, leaving a trail of marks and bites. Your stomach. Your hips. The inside of your thighs. By the time he was done, you looked thoroughly debauched and he looked deeply satisfied.
"There," Toby said, surveying his work. "Now everyone's gonna know."
"Pretty sure they already knew," you managed.
"Not the same." His hands slid up your thighs, spreading them wider. "They knew I claimed you. Now they're gonna see it."
Before you could respond, his mouth was on you—hot and wet and completely unexpected. You arched off the bed with a strangled noise, hands flying to his hair.
"Toby—fuck—you don't have to—"
He pulled off just long enough to say, "Want to," before going back down, taking you deeper.
He was clumsy but enthusiastic, making up for lack of technique with sheer determination. And when you gasped out praise—"so good, you're doing so good"—he doubled his efforts, desperate for more.
You were already close, wound up from the possessiveness and the claiming and the sight of Toby between your legs looking up at you with dark possessive eyes. When he swallowed around you, you came with a shout that was definitely too loud, pleasure whiting out your vision.
When you came back to yourself, Toby was crawling back up your body, looking pleased with himself. His mouth was swollen and wet and you could see the satisfaction in his eyes.
"Good?" he asked.
"Really good," you confirmed breathlessly.
"Good." He kissed you, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. "Now I'm gonna fuck you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Gonna make you scream my name. Gonna make sure everyone knows who you belong to."
He was already reaching for the lube in the nightstand—your nightstand now, shared, because Toby had made it very clear that separate beds were not happening.
"Turn over," Toby said.
You did, rolling onto your stomach. His hands found your hips immediately, pulling you up onto your knees.
"Fucking perfect," he muttered, and you felt his fingers, slick and cool, pressing inside. He was less patient than last time, working you open with efficient determination. When you started pushing back on his fingers, he made a satisfied noise.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Yeah. Come on."
The blunt pressure of his cock pressed against you, and then he was pushing in—slow at first, letting you adjust, then faster when you gasped for more. When he bottomed out, you both made a noise.
"Fuck," Toby breathed. "Every fucking time. So good. So perfect. Mine."
"Yours," you agreed shakily.
He pulled back and slammed in hard enough to make you gasp. "That's right. Mine. Not Jeff's. Not anyone else's. Mine."
He set a brutal pace, hips snapping forward with strength that would've been alarming if you weren't into it. Each thrust was punctuated with possessive words—mine, mine, mine—and you couldn't do anything but take it and moan.
"Louder," Toby demanded. "Want everyone to hear. Want them to know who's making you feel this good."
"Toby—" His name came out strangled.
"Louder."
He angled his hips and nailed your prostate dead-on, and you shouted, loud enough that yeah, the whole mansion probably heard it.
"That's it," Toby panted. "That's—fuck—that's what I want. Everyone knowing. Everyone hearing. Jeff hearing you scream my name."
He was relentless, driving into you with single-minded focus. One hand snaked around to wrap around your cock, stroking in time with his thrusts, and the dual sensation was overwhelming.
"Can't—" you gasped. "Toby, I can't—"
"Yes you can. Come for me. Come on my cock while I fuck you. Show me who you belong to."
The command combined with one more perfect thrust sent you over the edge. You came with Toby's name on your lips, loud enough that there was zero ambiguity about what was happening in this room.
Toby followed you over with a bitten-off shout, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise as he buried himself deep.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just breathed hard, coming down slowly.
Eventually Toby pulled out carefully and collapsed beside you. When you turned to look at him, he was staring at the ceiling with an expression that was somewhere between satisfied and still slightly unhinged.
"Feel better?" you asked.
"...Yeah." He turned his head to look at you. "You're covered in marks."
"That was the plan, wasn't it?"
"Yeah." He reached out and traced one of the bites on your neck with his finger. "Mine."
"Yours," you confirmed, too tired to argue even if you wanted to.
"Jeff's gonna see them."
"That was definitely the plan."
Toby's mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile but was close. "Good. Want him to know. Want everyone to know."
You pulled him closer, and he came willingly, wrapping around you in that full-body possessive way he always did. His face pressed against your neck, right over one of the marks he'd left.
"Not gonna let anyone take you," he mumbled.
"You're mine. Saved you. Keeping you."
"I know."
"Good."
His breathing started to even out. Within minutes he was asleep, still holding onto you like you might disappear.
You stayed awake a bit longer, cataloging the ache in your body and the marks you could see on your arms and chest. Tomorrow you'd have to face the rest of the mansion looking thoroughly claimed. Jeff would probably make a comment. The others would definitely notice.
But looking down at Toby—this unhinged, possessive, deeply damaged killer who'd chosen to save you instead of kill you—you found you didn't really care.
Let them know. Let them see.
You were his. And honestly? You were fine with that.