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vibelladonna · 19 hours ago

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𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓉𝑔𝓊𝓃 𝜗𝜚 𝓉𝑜𝒷𝓎 𝓇𝑜𝑔𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: University sucks, the party’s not much better, and you just needed something to take the edge off. Then you met him—smirking, drinking, smoking, and way too good at getting under your skin. One reckless choice, a little smoke, and now you’re in deeper than you planned.

All this because of 'shotgun'.

Also, I just wanted to let y’all know I’m focusing on writing creepypasta fics. The proxies then extend down the road since I have plans to write more stuff soon. I’m excited to get back into the fandom that helped shape me into who I am, so I hope you all enjoy reading.

This is by far some of my favorite fic.

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: dealer!toby, drunk and high reader, smut, public fucking, degrading, frat party chaos, dangerously hot tension, dirty talk, sloppy makeout, mischief and mayhem, horror lurking in the background, high risk, bad decisions, toxic flirting, rough but hot, Toby being a menace, reader getting lost in the moment

Music. Loud. Sweaty. Flashing lights. Packed bodies.

That’s life at a frat party—especially at a University.

And here you are. Again. It’s the fourth time this week, which is ridiculous, but whatever. Thinking about it too much makes your head hurt, and right now, thinking is the last thing you want to do. So, you don’t. Instead, you just exist—float through the mess of bodies, lights, and bass like it’s just another night, because at this point, it is.

One second, you were swearing off cheap beer and regret-fueled decisions, and the next? Someone was dragging you through the door of another overcrowded house, the bass shaking the walls like it’s got something to prove.

The air is thick and humid with the scent of too many people packed into one place, layered with alcohol, sweat, cheap cologne, and the unmistakable burn of weed. Someone stumbles past, nearly knocking into you, and you move without thinking, sidestepping effortlessly.

You don’t even flinch.

You’ve already lost count of how many times someone’s spilled their drink on you, but at this point, what’s another stain on your already questionable life choices? You’ve gotten used to this—used to the chaos, the noise, the heat of it all pressing in.

Your dress clings to your body, lace and satin hugging your frame like it was made for you, black and sleek, the hem just short enough to tease but not desperate enough to beg for attention. Your ripped tights stretch over your legs, the small tears catching the flashing neon lights as you move. Your boots—tall, chunky, black platforms—thud against the sticky floor with every step, giving you that extra height, that extra weight to your presence.

You’re not delicate.

Not fragile. Not here.

The star-shaped bead necklace resting against your collarbone shifts as you walk, the cool beads a strange contrast to the heat of the room. It’s the only thing on you that doesn’t feel like armor, the only thing soft, almost childish, against the dark edge of the rest of your outfit.

But you like it. It reminds you of something—something you can’t quite name, but something that feels distant, like a memory you almost remember before it slips through your fingers.

You could leave. You should leave.

But something keeps you here.

Maybe it’s the way the music thrums under your skin, the way the chaos feels like static in your head—loud enough to drown out whatever thoughts you don’t want to deal with, or maybe it’s just that part of you that doesn’t want to be alone tonight.

But whatever. It’s just another night. Another party. Another drink.

You push through the crowd, toward the kitchen, because if you’re going to keep pretending everything is fine, you’re going to need something to sip on. It’s easier that way. It keeps everything quiet, keeps the thoughts at bay.

And right now? That’s all you need.

The kitchen is just as much of a mess as the rest of the house. Sticky counters, half-empty bottles of vodka and tequila, a questionable jungle juice mix sloshing around in a plastic tub that looks like it hasn’t been cleaned properly in months.

Solo cups litter every surface, discarded and forgotten, and the faint smell of beer, sweat, and something burnt lingers in the air. Someone left a bag of half-eaten chips on the counter, but they’re already stale, exposed to the humidity and the heat of too many bodies in a house that should not be holding this many people.

You weave through the kitchen, careful with your movements—controlled, deliberate. You don’t rush. Rushing means you’re in a hurry, means you’re nervous, and that’s the last thing you want to look like in a place like this.

The frat guys? Yeah, they’re watching.

They always are.

Not that you care, not really, but you make sure to let them see just enough to know you’re not approachable. The lace and satin of your dress catch the dim, flickering light, your ripped tights adding an edge, the platform boots giving you weight, grounding you.

You look good. You know it. They know it.

But that doesn’t mean you’re interested.

It’s all the same. These parties, these guys. They circle like vultures, drunk off beer and ego, scanning the room for girls too fresh to know better. It’s not even surprising. Frat parties aren’t really about the party; they’re about the hunt. And the freshmen? They eat it up, giggling into their drinks, draping themselves over guys who are already planning how the night’s gonna end.

It’s not a bad thing, necessarily—everyone’s having fun, after all—but it cheapens the whole vibe. Makes it feel less like a party and more like a transaction.

So, why are you here?

Good question. Maybe it’s the music, the way the bass thrums through your bones, loud enough to drown out thoughts you don’t want to deal with. Maybe it’s the anonymity of it all—here, no one cares who you are or what you’re running from.

You could be anyone. Do anything. It’s the kind of place where judgment doesn’t exist, where people let themselves fall apart without consequence, because come morning, no one’s gonna remember.

You grab a bottle from the counter, something dark, something strong, and pour yourself another drink. It burns when it goes down, but that’s good.

That’s what you want.

That’s the point.

The night stretches ahead, endless and hazy, the music still pulsing, the party still alive. And you? You’re just here, existing in it, letting it swallow you whole.

The wooden planks creak under your boots as you step onto the balcony, the air instantly cooler, crisper against your flushed skin. Out here, the chaos of the party fades—not completely, but enough. The bass still thrums through the walls, muffled, but compared to the suffocating heat inside, this feels almost peaceful. Almost.

You lean against the railing, eyes scanning the view—a few trees swaying gently in the night breeze, buildings standing silent in the distance, the occasional car rolling down the dimly lit street below. It’s nothing special, but right now, it’s a hell of a lot better than being trapped inside with too many bodies, too much noise, and too many guys looking for their next easy lay.

You take a slow breath, letting the night air cool your skin, before pushing your hair back and taking a sip of your drink. The burn is familiar now, settling warm in your stomach, grounding you in a way that nothing else really does.

You place the cup on the railing, fingers lingering for a moment before you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. You’re not alone.

In the farthest corner of the balcony, half-hidden in the shadows, a guy is leaning up against the wall, phone pressed to his ear. He’s talking—low, quiet, voice barely carrying over the distant thump of music inside. You can’t make out the words, not exactly, but there’s something in the way he speaks, clipped and tense, that makes it clear the conversation isn’t lighthearted.

You don’t mean to listen. Really. But it’s hard not to when it’s just the two of you out here, and there’s nothing else to focus on besides the sound of his voice. You shift your weight, turning slightly away, giving the illusion of privacy while your ears pick up every muffled word you can catch.

Nosy? Maybe. But can you be blamed?

The wind picks up slightly, pushing strands of hair into your face. You exhale, shaking them loose, and glance at the guy again. He hasn’t noticed you—or if he has, he doesn’t care. Fine by you.

You’re not looking for conversation. Just a moment to breathe, to exist outside of everything, even if it’s just for a few minutes.

You exhale slowly, eyes trailing over the street below as the cool night air settles over your skin. The party is still in full swing behind you—muffled bass rattling the walls, drunken laughter spilling out through the open doors, the occasional shout of someone either too hyped or too wasted to care about volume control. It’s all background noise now, just another part of the night.

Maybe it’s time to leave.

You’ve been here long enough, longer than you meant to. You told yourself you’d just come for one drink, just to feel the energy, just to distract yourself for a little while. And yet, here you are—four nights deep into the same routine, standing on a frat house balcony at god-knows-what time, staring out at the same damn street, feeling the same creeping exhaustion settle into your bones.

You know how the rest of the night is gonna play out. You’ll go back inside, push through the sweat-slick bodies, dodge another drunk guy who thinks standing way too close is an acceptable flirting technique, grab whatever’s left of your drink, and maybe—just maybe—someone will convince you to stay for “one more.” You’ll say yes, because it’s easier than going home to an empty room where your own thoughts are louder than the party you just left.

Or, you could just… go now. Call it. Walk down those sticky-ass, deathtrap stairs, push past the front door, and let the night air carry you home. Sounds easy enough.

Except, knowing this place, the second your boot hits one of those steps, there’s a good chance the entire staircase might just give out beneath you. It’s a miracle this frat house is still standing at all—like some kind of drunk, indestructible cockroach of a building, surviving on nothing but spilled beer, bad decisions, and whatever last-minute duct tape fixes the guys have slapped together over the years.

The walls? Covered in mystery stains no one dares to question. The furniture? A graveyard of mismatched couches that probably came from a curb somewhere, each one holding the history of every regrettable hookup that’s ever happened at this house. The floors? Stickier than a damn movie theater, holding onto spilled drinks and broken dreams like a badge of honor.

And those stairs? Those damn stairs are an actual lawsuit waiting to happen. Uneven, creaking under the weight of anyone stupid enough to trust them, patched up with nails that barely hold together the wood. You’ve seen people wipe out on them at least three times tonight alone—some because they were drunk, others just because the stairs themselves seemed to decide, “Yeah, not tonight.”

Still, as much of a disaster as this place is, it’s got that weird, grimy charm that keeps people coming back. Maybe it’s the parties, maybe it’s the fact that no matter how many times the university threatens to shut this place down, it just refuses to die. Or maybe it’s because, in some strange way, it feels like the kind of place where nothing matters. You can exist here without expectation, without judgment.

But that doesn’t mean you have to stay.

With a final glance toward the flashing lights inside, you sigh. Time to get out of here—before the floor caves in or the ceiling fan that’s barely hanging on finally falls and takes someone out.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair, already preparing yourself to leave when—

“Hey.”

You jolt so hard you nearly throw yourself over the damn railing.

“Jesus—” You whip around, hand clutching your chest like that’s gonna stop your soul from trying to escape your body. The guy in the corner—formerly minding his own business, deeply invested in whatever serious phone call he was having—now stands a few feet away, looking far too amused for someone who just scared the life out of you.

“Didn’t mean to freak you out,” he says, even though the smirk on his face suggests otherwise.

“You did,” you deadpan, still willing your heartbeat to slow down. “Congratulations. Hope that was the highlight of your night.”

He chuckles, sliding his phone into his pocket. “Eh, top five, at least.”

You roll your eyes, exhaling sharply. “Right. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I was in the middle of having an existential crisis, so…”

He raises a brow. “That serious, huh?”

You glance back at the party inside—the flashing lights, the chaos, the bodies pressed too close together. Then back at the street below, quiet and empty, calling your name.

“Something like that.”

He doesn’t respond right away, just studies you for a second like he’s trying to piece you together. And honestly? You’re too tired to care what conclusions he’s coming to.

“Then what’re you still doing here?” he finally asks, tilting his head slightly.

Good question. One, you don’t quite have an answer to.

Maybe you should leave. Maybe you really will this time. But for now, you just huff out a laugh, grab your drink from the railing, and take another slow sip.

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

You didn’t know what to make of the dude other than the fact that he’s been out here with you for a while now. Long enough to feel like part of the scenery—like the railing, like the wind, like the streetlights casting long shadows below. But now that he’s talking, now that he’s close enough for you to get a good look at him, you realize something.

He looks… off.

Not in a bad way, necessarily, but in a way that makes your brain take a second longer to process him.

Pale. Gaunt. Like he hasn’t slept in a week, maybe two. His dark brown hair is messy, almost like he forgot he had it, and his eyes—deep-set, sunken—hold an intensity that makes it impossible to tell if he’s actually looking at you or through you. He’s thin, wiry, all sharp angles beneath layers of tattered clothing that somehow manage to look effortlessly cool.

Black-washed jeans, ripped just enough to make it look intentional, a T-shirt barely visible beneath a flannel, and a dark brown jacket that’s seen better days. Perched on his head, a pair of orange goggles sits like a misplaced artifact, out of place but somehow fitting him perfectly.

Then there’s the grin. Wide. Unsettling. A little too knowing, like he’s in on some joke you haven’t heard yet. His teeth—crooked, sharp-looking—flash in the dim balcony light. Paired with his unblinking stare and the way he barely seems to stand still, it’s enough to make most people uneasy.

But you? You just study him right back.

“You checkin’ me out or trying to decide if I’m a serial killer?” His voice is rough, edged with something lazy and amused, the smirk on his lips deepening as he tilts his head slightly.

You don’t even flinch. “Can’t it be both?”

His laugh is sharp, quick. “Damn. That’s cold.”

You shrug, taking another sip of your drink. “Just saying. You’ve got a look.”

“A look?” He raises an eyebrow—well, what’s left of one. The slit cutting through it adds to the whole deranged but weirdly stylish vibe he’s got going on. “Elaborate.”

You gesture vaguely at him. “You know. The I may or may not haunt abandoned gas stations look.”

He barks out another laugh, dragging a hand through his messy hair. “That’s a new one. Not bad. Kinda poetic.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, glancing back at the party inside. “Fits.”

He watches you for a beat, then leans against the railing beside you, hands slipping into his pockets. The erratic energy he had earlier settles just a bit.

“So, what’s your deal?” he asks, tilting his head again. “You’re out here looking all brooding and mysterious. Gotta say, if we’re going for aesthetic, you’ve got it locked down.”

You scoff. “Says the guy with the mad scientist, but make it grunge fit.”

He grins again, flashing those crooked teeth. “Touché.”

Silence settles for a moment, but it’s not uncomfortable. Just the two of you leaning against the railing, breathing in the cool night air, letting the distant noise of the party fill the spaces between words.

Finally, he speaks again. “You gonna leave?”

You exhale slowly, swirling the liquid in your cup. “Dunno. Maybe.”

He hums, rocking on his heels. “If you do, try not to get murdered on the way home. Bad way to end the night.”

You smirk, side-eyeing him. “That a threat?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Nah. Just a friendly PSA.”

For some reason, that makes you laugh, too. And maybe, just maybe, the night doesn’t feel as heavy anymore.

You swirl the last bit of your drink in your cup, watching the way the liquid catches the dim light before glancing back at the guy beside you. He’s still leaning against the railing, a smirk lingering at the corner of his mouth, but his fingers tap restlessly against his jacket, like he’s got too much energy to keep still. His gaze flickers toward you again, catching you staring.

“What?” he drawls, eyebrow raising slightly.

You tilt your head, eyes trailing over his face. “Your piercings.”

His smirk widens. “Damn, if you wanted to check me out, you could’ve just said so.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Relax... Just curious.”

He chuckles but obliges, turning his head slightly so you can get a better look. Up close, they’re even more noticeable—two silver rings through his lip, a matching set in his eyebrow, slicing through the already-slit brow in a way that somehow makes him look even more chaotic. There’s something deliberate about it, though. Messy but intentional. Like everything about him is designed to make people do a double-take.

“How many you got?” you ask, squinting slightly.

He hums, tilting his head as if counting. “Double lip rings, double eyebrow… septum, too.” He gestures vaguely at the silver hoop in his nose. “Had a few more, but, y’know. Shit happens.”

You nod, studying the way they catch the light. “They suit you.”

He grins, crooked and toothy. “Damn right they do.”

There’s something oddly comfortable about standing here, talking like this. The party behind you still rages on, but out here, it’s just the two of you, the night air, and the occasional rumble of a car passing below.

“You from around here?” you ask, half out of curiosity, half just to keep the conversation going.

He shrugs, gaze shifting toward the street. “Yeah. Kinda. Grew up a little ways out. Middle of nowhere.”

“You got family here?”

His fingers twitch against his jacket again, but he nods. “Used to have a mom and sister growing up. Just us three.”

You don’t press, but he keeps going anyway, voice a little lighter, like he’s just saying whatever comes to mind.

“Didn’t really have a lotta friends as a kid. Not the ‘fits in real well’ type, y’know?” He laughs, but there’s something dry about it. “Ended up homeschooled pretty early on.”

You raise a brow. “Why?”

Before he can answer, his body suddenly jolts, shoulders snapping upward in a sharp, involuntary motion. His head jerks to the side slightly, fingers twitching, and a small noise escapes him—quick, abrupt.

You flinch. Just a little. Not on purpose, just out of instinct.

His head turns toward you again, eyes unreadable for a moment. Then, as if he’s used to it, he gives a breathy chuckle. “Scare you?”

You shake your head quickly. “No—well. Kinda. Wasn’t expecting it.”

He shrugs, rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking it off. “Yeah, that happens.” He pauses, then sighs, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “I’ve got a disorder. Makes shit like that happen. Tics, muscle movements, sounds, all that fun stuff. Can’t really control it.”

You blink, processing that. “Does it hurt?”

He snorts. “Nah. Just annoying. Worse when I’m stressed or whatever.”

You nod slowly, watching as he twitches again, fingers curling against his palm before relaxing. “That’s why you were homeschooled?”

His jaw ticks for a second, and then he exhales. “Yeah. Public school wasn’t exactly fun when you twitch like a fuckin’ glitchy video game. Teachers thought I was doing it on purpose, kids thought it was hilarious, and, well. It got old real fast.”

You frown. “Sounds like bullshit.”

He lets out a sharp, quick laugh. “Yeah, welcome to my life.”

For a moment, you don’t say anything, just leaning against the railing as the wind pushes strands of hair into your face. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable talking about it—just matter-of-fact, like it is what it is. But still, you can’t help but feel something about it.

“You ever, like… wish you were different?” you ask, not sure why you’re even asking.

He considers that for a second, then shakes his head. “Nah. People suck either way. Might as well be the way I am and make it work.”

You smirk. “Fair enough.”

There’s a brief pause before he tilts his head at you, his expression unreadable. Then, with that same sharp grin, he says, “You’re not bad, y’know that?”

You raise a brow. “What, were you expecting me to be?”

He laughs. “Dunno. Jury’s still out.” And for some reason, you find yourself laughing, too. That’s when he leans back slightly, stretching his arms behind his head. “Toby, by the way. Short for Tobias.”

Your lips twitch, barely holding back a smirk. “Tobias?”

His eyes narrow playfully. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I am starting. Tobias? That’s so—”

He groans, tipping his head back. “Alright, damn, I knew this was a mistake.”

You chuckle, crossing your arms. “Nah, I like it. Tobias,” you repeat, dragging it out just to mess with him. “Sounds very... proper. Distinguished.”

“Distinguished my ass,” he scoffs, but there’s an amused glint in his eyes. “Alright, alright, what about you? What’s your name?”

You share it, though you notice the way he repeats it back, like he’s trying it out on his tongue, testing the way it feels.

He considers it for a second, then nods. “Yeah. Suits you.”

You show a small smile and swirl the last remnants of your drink, watching the way the liquid catches the dim light. “So,” you start, glancing at him, “do you go to uni around here? Or are you just crashing this party for the hell of it?”

Toby snickers, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, technically? But not, like… in the ‘good student’ kinda way.”

You narrow your eyes. “What’s that mean?”

He leans in slightly, lowering his voice like he’s about to spill some deep, dark secret. “It means,” he drawls, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t snitch, yeah?”

You blink, thrown off. “Snitch? On what?”

He grins—sharp, a little too amused. Then, with the most casual ease, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a joint, rolling it between his fingers. “Let’s just say I’m not exactly here for the education.”

You snort. “You’re selling? At a frat party? Jesus, that’s like the most obvious place to get caught.”

“Exactly,” he says, flicking a lighter open with a clink—then pausing. He pats his pockets, frowning. “Shit. Left mine back at the house.”

Without thinking, you reach into your own jacket and pull out your lighter, holding it out.

He raises a brow, lips quirking. “Damn. Didn’t peg you for a smoker.”

“I’m not,” you say, flicking it open for him. “More of a drinker.”

Toby hums, lighting the joint and taking a slow, deep inhale before blowing the smoke out into the night air. “Fair. Drinking’s easier. Weed’s got a whole vibe, though.”

You shake your head, leaning back against the railing. “Nah. If I’m gonna get wasted, I’d rather do it fast.”

Toby smirks around the joint, then glances at you with something almost mischievous in his eyes. “You ever shotgun before?”

You blink. “Shotgun? Like, a beer?”

“Nah,” he says, stepping just a little closer, tilting his head. “Shotgunning. With weed.” He takes another hit, then gestures loosely. “One person takes a drag, blows the smoke into the other person’s mouth. Real smooth way to convert someone.”

You stare at him for a second. “That’s a thing?”

Toby grins, exhaling through his nose. “Oh yeah.”

You sigh, swirling the last few drops of your drink before setting the bottle on the railing. The buzz in your head is nice, warm, just enough to take the edge off, but not enough to drown out the way the night still feels heavy on your shoulders. The way everything has felt heavy lately.

Maybe that’s why you’re still standing out here, entertaining this conversation instead of making up some excuse to leave. Maybe that’s why, when Toby takes another slow drag from his joint, you catch yourself watching the way his lips part, the ember at the tip glowing faintly in the dark.

Fuck it.

You tilt your head, eyes half-lidded, tired but sharp. “Alright,” you murmur, voice low, almost lazy. “Let’s do it.”

Toby pauses mid-inhale, blinking at you like he wasn’t actually expecting you to say yes. Then, his grin spreads slowly and crooked across his face, like you just made his night. “Oh? Thought you weren’t into smoking.”

You shrug, licking your lips. “I’m not.” You shift slightly, stepping just a little closer, gaze flicking from his mouth to the joint and back again. “But I’m also kinda drunk and bored, so…”

He huffs a laugh, tapping his fingers against the joint. “Fair enough.” Then, with no hesitation, he takes a long, deep pull, holding the smoke in his mouth before leaning in, bringing himself just inches from you.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, voice smooth, inviting.

You exhale slowly through your nose, then close the distance, tilting your chin up. His hand lifts, fingers grazing your jaw, tilting your face just right before he leans in closer, until his lips are barely a breath from yours. Then—he exhales.

The smoke pours from his mouth to yours, curling between your parted lips, thick and heady. You inhale, slow and steady, the burn unfamiliar but not unpleasant, and for a split second, you don’t know if it’s the weed, the alcohol, or the way he’s looking at you, but the moment feels thick—charged. His eyes flicker down to your lips, lingering, and you feel your pulse spike just a little.

You exhale, blowing the smoke out past him, your breath mingling in the cold air between you. “Not bad,” you mutter, licking the taste of it off your lips.

Toby smirks, leaning back just slightly, but his eyes are still on you, dark and amused. “You look real good doing that, y’know.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “You say that to all your customers?”

“Nah,” he says, tapping the ash off the joint, gaze still steady on you. “Just the ones that make it look hot.”

You don’t break eye contact, and neither does he. The world around you fades, just a hum of music and muffled voices, but it feels like you’re in your little bubble. You’re still leaning in close enough to feel his breath, the faintest warmth of it on your skin.

For a second, it almost feels like you’re both suspended, not really here, not really there, just caught somewhere in between.

Toby tilts his head slightly, a glint of something almost mischievous in his eyes. “You sure you don’t want another hit?”

You raise an eyebrow, your lips curling into something just shy of a smile. “I’m good,” you say, voice steady, though your pulse is a little too fast, a little too loud in your ears.

He shrugs, pulling the joint away from his lips and holding it out to you. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

You lean in a little closer, just enough for your shoulders to brush, and for a split second, there’s that spark again. Something in his eyes shifts, something deeper—an almost flickering challenge. “You’re cocky, aren’t you?”

He looks down at you, a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe.” He taps his fingers lightly against the side of his jacket, his other hand still holding the joint between his fingers. “But cocky’s fun, don’t you think?”

The words hang between you, the moment stretching.

He’s close.

Too close, but somehow, it doesn’t feel too much. And for a split second, you forget why you came out here. Forget about all the noise, the chaos of the party inside, the fact that you should probably be making your exit.

Maybe you just want to stay here for a second longer, where the world is quieter. Where it’s just you, him, and the cool night air.

The joint is still in his hand, the ember glowing faintly in the dim light. He lifts it again, but this time, instead of offering it to you, he holds it up between you, right in your line of sight. “You don’t gotta take another hit, but...” He leans in, his voice dipping low, more playful now. “How about a little more fun?”

Your brows furrow, and you tilt your head, lips just curling with curiosity. “What do you mean by that?”

“Shotgunning,” he repeats, voice light but with a dangerous edge to it, almost teasing. He flicks his eyes down to your lips again before looking back up at you. “But this time... I’ll let you call the shots.”

There’s something undeniably bold about the way he says it, about the way his fingers graze your wrist lightly as he holds the joint between you. You could back off. Step away. Act like it’s no big deal. But the way he’s looking at you makes your heart skip a beat, makes that little voice in your head scream fuck it.

So, without thinking, you nod. “Fine. Let’s do it.”

He grins, his eyes lighting up with something between amusement and approval. “I like that. Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, the sound mixing with the music still booming behind you. “You sure about that?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he moves in closer, just enough for his breath to fan across your face before he places the joint between your lips, his fingers brushing against your skin. You lean into the contact, your pulse picking up. His lips hover just barely above yours, and for a moment, you think he might kiss you—but he pulls back instead, exhaling slowly into the space between you.

The smoke fills the air, surrounding you in a cloud thick enough to make you dizzy, your body sinking deeper into the moment, feeling all kinds of electric, like you’re both too aware of the tension buzzing between you. You inhale the smoke, pulling it into your lungs. It’s harsh, but your body adapts.

When you finally exhale, Toby is watching you closely, his smirk now gone, replaced with something far more intense. “You’re good at this,” he says quietly, his voice almost a whisper in the night air. “You ever do this with anyone before?”

You shake your head, voice low and steady. “No. First time for everything, right?”

He chuckles, but there’s a sharpness to it. “That’s what they say.” He leans back, finally pulling the joint from his mouth, the glow dimming as he exhales the smoke. “You’ve got guts. I respect that.”

You give him a slight, teasing smile. “Respect doesn’t mean much at a frat party, though.”

Toby tilts his head, his smirk returning, but it’s a little more dangerous now. “Maybe. But I think we’re having a pretty good time, don’t you?”

You don’t answer immediately. Instead, you just look at him, feeling the weight of the moment, the way the night’s still lingering between you two like something neither of you want to admit out loud. You can feel the air crackling with a kind of dangerous fun, and you know—you’re not about to walk away from this anytime soon.

The air between you and Toby is thick with unspoken tension, his eyes flickering to your lips for a moment, then back to your eyes, as if waiting for something, daring you to make the first move. You stare back at him, the weight of his gaze making your pulse race, but you’re not about to let him off that easily.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he teases, his voice a smooth, low drawl. “Did I break you already?”

You roll your eyes, stepping back a little. “Please. I’m just trying to figure out if you’re a guy who talks big or if you can actually back it up.”

Toby laughs softly, the sound vibrating through the air between you. “I back up everything I say.”

“Oh really?” You arch an eyebrow, keeping your stance cool and unbothered. “Then prove it.”

A shift passes through him, a flash of something dangerous and playful all at once. Before you can react, he steps forward, his movements fast, almost too quick. Before you know it, you’re backed up against the cold wooden railing of the balcony, your hands instinctively gripping the edge as he pins you there with just enough force to make your heart skip a beat.

“Wha—” You cut yourself off, taken by surprise, eyes wide.

Toby’s face is inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. His hands are on either side of you, not touching you, but close enough to feel the heat radiating from his fingertips. His gaze drops to your lips again, then back to your eyes, a challenge in his smirk.

“Maybe you should be careful what you wish for,” he murmurs, his voice suddenly softer, almost dangerous. “You sure you wanna play with me like this?”

You laugh, though it comes out breathless, feeling the adrenaline rush in your veins. “I didn’t ask you to pin me, but hey, guess this is what you meant by ‘proving it,’ huh?”

He grins wider, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Mhm.” But then, the teasing in his voice falters just a little, and something shifts. He leans in a little closer, close enough that you can feel the tension building between you. “You don’t really get it, do you?”

“What, that you’re just another bad boy with an attitude?” You quip, trying to keep the mood light, but you can feel your chest tightening, your breath hitching in your throat.

Toby chuckles darkly, but it’s not mocking—this time, there’s something different behind it. “Nah. You’re not wrong, but that’s not what I mean. What I mean is…” He pauses, eyes flashing as he watches you carefully. He leans even closer, just barely touching your arm with his, and you feel the electricity run through you, like he’s teasing you, daring you to break first. “I’m not the type to let things go without finishing them. And that includes… whatever this is.”

You take a breath—your heart racing. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol, the weed, or just the way he’s looking at you right now, but the tension is practically suffocating. You can feel him leaning in, tempting, his lips just barely brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispers, “You think I’m just gonna let you walk away after that?”

You should pull away.

You should walk back inside and call it a night.

But you don’t.

You stay there, leaning back against the railing, watching him carefully, breathing in the same air, the same heat, the same anticipation.

And then, without thinking, you lean up just a little, your face hovering dangerously close to his. “I think you might surprise me,” you murmur, your voice low, teasing, but there’s a challenge in it now.

Toby’s eyes flash, his gaze burning into yours, and you feel the pull between you intensify. But before either of you can make the first move, the world around you shifts again.

His hand is on the railing beside you, his body leaning just a little closer, but suddenly, there’s this split second of hesitation in his eyes. His lips part, and for the first time tonight, he looks unsure.

“You’re not scared, are you?” You whisper, leaning in just a little more, watching the way his lips twitch.

Toby’s chest rises and falls with a deep breath, and for a moment, you see it—the tension in his body, the war within him between wanting to give in to that dangerous impulse and knowing there’s a line that’s too far to cross.

Then, with a sharp exhale, he pulls back slightly, running a hand through his messy hair, the motion almost like he’s trying to shake off whatever just happened. “You think I’m scared?”

You smile, watching him carefully. “I don’t know, are you?”

He grins, though it’s not nearly as playful as before. It’s something else, something that says he’s not backing down, but maybe he’s not quite ready for whatever happens next, either.

“Nah,” he says, leaning back just enough to give you space, but his gaze is still heavy, still burning with something almost dangerous. “I’m not scared.”

You both stand there for a second, caught in the lingering heat of the moment, neither of you speaking, but the air feels thick with the possibility of something that might happen if either of you makes the wrong move.

And neither of you know what’s next.

The tension between you and Toby has stretched taut, like an elastic band about to snap. You can’t help the way your body leans instinctively toward him, and as if on cue, he leans in just a fraction closer.

The space between you has shrunk to nothing, leaving only the thundering of your heartbeat in your ears. His breath ghosts across your lips, warm and steady, and for a moment, the whole world around you disappears—the thumping music, the chatter from inside, even the cool night air that brushes against your skin.

It’s just him, so close you can feel the pulse of his energy, his presence like a current that pulls you in deeper.

You’re completely caught in the moment, every nerve in your body humming with anticipation, when his hand suddenly finds your waist, fingers pressing against the fabric of your dress.

The heat of his palm sears through the thin material, his touch gentle at first, almost hesitant—as if waiting for a sign. But then, the pressure intensifies. His grip tightens, dragging you closer to him, the movement swift and sure, until your body is flush against his.

Now, you feel everything.

The hard planes of his chest, the quick beat of his heart that matches your frantic pulse. But it’s the sensation of his lips that gets you the most—his pierced lips brushing against yours, the slight click of metal against metal.

You can feel the cool weight of his lip rings as they press softly against your mouth, a contrast to the heat of his skin beneath them. Each breath you take mixes with his; his lips barely brush yours, sending sparks through your veins. The sensation of those piercings, a gentle reminder of the tension that’s been building between you, makes your pulse quicken even more.

Your heart is pounding so hard it feels like it’s going to burst through your ribs, but you don’t move away. You inch closer, your lips almost brushing as you finally let your eyes fall shut.

And that’s when Toby makes the move.

He closes the space between you, tilting his head just enough so that his lips crash into yours with an intensity that takes your breath away. It’s messy at first, neither of you quite in sync, but the desperation of it is overwhelming. His hand on your waist pulls you tighter, your chest pressed flush against his, the way his fingers dig into your skin making a fire run through your veins.

His other hand cups your face, pulling you even closer, his thumb tracing the edge of your jawline, before his lips find yours again, this time with more certainty.

You respond without hesitation, your own hands reaching up, tangling in his hair, fingers scraping lightly against his scalp. It’s frantic, wild—like neither of you wants to stop, even though you both know it’s almost too much, too fast. His lips are soft but hungry, and the feeling of his breath against your mouth, the pulse of his body under your hands, drives you crazy. He pulls you even closer until there’s no space between you left at all, and for a moment, you feel like you’re melting into him.

His hand moves down your back, tracing the curve of your spine, and you can feel his body shifting against yours, more attuned now, his movements smoother, as if he’s figuring out the rhythm between the two of you. He pulls you closer still, his grip on your waist firm, but careful—he’s holding you there but not letting you fall. You can feel the tension in his body, the way it shakes under the intensity of the kiss, and for a moment, it feels like time itself stops.

But then, he pulls back just slightly, his lips still lingering on yours, his forehead resting gently against yours as he catches his breath. His hand on your waist softens, his thumb tracing little circles against your skin. There’s a grin on his face when you open your eyes, the hint of mischief and satisfaction in it, but there’s something else, too. Something softer.

“That was... unexpected,” he says, his voice rough, his lips swollen from the kiss.

You smile, your heart still racing, and before you can stop yourself, you laugh softly. “You think?” You’re breathless, a little dazed, but that feeling of heat isn’t going anywhere.

Toby just shakes his head, a cocky grin forming on his lips. “You should be careful, you know. I can be a dangerous distraction.”

You tilt your head, a teasing glint in your eyes. “I don’t mind a little danger.”

His grin widens, and he pulls you closer again, his lips brushing yours once more, just barely, before he pulls back and whispers, “I think you like the danger, don't you?”

The smirk he gives you is enough to make your stomach flip, and for the first time tonight, you feel like you’re actually in control of the situation. He’s looking at you like he’s waiting for something, lips barely brushing yours, making you ache for him to close the space. He’s teasing you, daring you with every second that passes, but now—now—it’s your turn.

Without thinking, you close the gap between you, pushing up on your toes just enough to press your lips firmly against his. It's a soft, slow kiss at first, just a gentle brush, but the second your lips touch his, you feel him stiffen, his breath hitching, and you can't help but grin against him. You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, watching his face for that split-second moment of confusion before he smirks, a wicked glint in his eyes.

“You make a good killer, you know that?” Toby murmurs, his voice low and teasing, as if he’s figured something out that you haven’t.

You pull back slightly, furrowing your brow in confusion. “What?” You stare at him for a second, half lost in the buzz of the moment. “What the hell does that even mean?”

He just grins wider, leaning closer again, his lips hovering near your ear. “You just know how to fuck with someone, don’t you? You keep them on edge, make them think you’re in control... I like it.” He pulls away just enough to give you a look that could melt steel. “Makes me wanna do something naughty with you out here.”

Your stomach flutters at the word “naughty” as you tilt your head, leaning in with a sly smile. "Naughty, huh?" you tease, raising an eyebrow. "What, like throw me over the railing or something?"

Toby’s eyes flicker with something dangerous and fun, and for a moment, he looks like he's actually considering it. Then, his grin curls back up, and he shakes his head. “Nah, not that reckless. But I’m sure we could find something equally interesting." His hand finds the back of your neck, pulling you in close again, the heat of his body overwhelming you.

“I’m down for whatever,” you reply, your voice low, teasing, but laced with something more daring. You could feel him stiffen again, his breath catching as your words land, and you know you’ve pushed him right to the edge.

“Well," Toby breathed, lips brushing against your ear again, sending a shiver down your spine, "I think a little trouble in a frat house balcony could be exactly what we both need right now."

You chuckle, the sound playful but daring. "What, just like that? You sure you can handle it?"

Toby’s smile is all mischief now. “Oh, I can handle it. The question is—can you?”

You feel the smirk spread across your face, the excitement of this new, strange, and slightly reckless vibe pulling you deeper into the moment. Toby’s hand is still resting lightly on the back of your neck, and his thumb traces small, lazy circles against your skin, a contrast to the tension in the air between you two. It’s like a silent dare now, like you both know exactly what’s coming, and yet, neither of you are willing to back down.

You look up at him, eyes sharp and playful, the lingering buzz of your earlier kiss still fresh on your lips. "I guess we’ll have to find out, won’t we?" you say, your voice barely above a whisper, like you’re sharing a secret no one else is supposed to hear.

Toby raises an eyebrow, the corner of his lips curling upward. He leans in just enough that you feel the heat radiating off him, the way his body is still taut with energy, ready to make a move. “I’d say you make the first move, but I think you’re already way ahead of me.” His voice drops, getting even lower, almost conspiratorial. “You’re killing me right now, y’know that?”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound light and carefree, as if you’re both suddenly in on some twisted little game. "Yeah, well, you had it coming," you reply, your eyes flicking from his lips to the dark smirk on his face.

Before he can respond, you take a step back, making the deliberate choice to break the tension between you—just enough to give him a taste of his own medicine. You casually lean against the balcony railing, your fingers grazing the cool wood, as you look up at the stars for a moment, letting the cool night air settle over you.

But Toby isn’t backing off. You can feel his presence behind you, the way his gaze never leaves you. The next thing you know, you feel him step up behind you, his body pressing against yours in a way that makes your breath catch. His hand slides over the railing, right next to yours, almost like he’s claiming his space in your little world.

“I thought you said you liked danger?” His voice is thick with challenge now, a note of amusement threading through the words. “You sure you’re not regretting that little move you made earlier?”

You turn your head slightly, meeting his gaze over your shoulder, and the look in his eyes makes your pulse spike again. There's an intensity there, the same unrelenting intensity that’s been building all night, and it’s clear you’re both on the verge of something that might take you somewhere you didn’t expect.

"I don’t regret shit," you say, your voice steady but carrying that edge of flirtation. "And if you're smart, neither will you."

His grin grows, something darker flickering in his eyes as he leans even closer, his lips grazing your ear as he whispers, “Then let’s find out how far this can go… before we both regret it.”

You’re both too close now, and the space between you becomes a silent promise. His lips brush against your ear, the sensation sending a wave of heat rushing through your body. The night, the party, the chaos all fade into the background as your mind fixates on the moment, on the unspoken agreement between you two.

You could walk away, pretend like this was all just a stupid flirtation—but you’re not ready to.

Not yet.

Something about Toby, about the fire that’s been burning between you since the first kiss, pulls you in like gravity.

Before you can even think, you’re turning around, moving into him again, your lips finding his with a fierceness that surprises you both. His hands are at your waist, pulling you in, and for a moment, everything else disappears. It’s just him and you, bodies pressing against each other, the intensity of it all turning your head to mush.

Toby’s grip tightens on your waist, pulling you in even closer, and for a second, you almost think you might lose balance as his body presses against yours. But his attention shifts, and you feel him start to trail his lips down your jaw, his breath hot against your skin as his lips graze the sensitive curve of your neck. The sensation sends a wave of shivers down your spine, your breath catching as you try to process what’s happening.

Before you can react, his teeth nip at the soft skin of your neck, just enough to sting but not too much to hurt. You gasp, a surprised laugh escaping you, but before you can say anything, he pulls back just enough to look at you with a wild grin, eyes gleaming with something mischievous.

“You sure you can handle this?” His voice is a low, almost amused growl, the edges of it thick with the lingering haze of his intoxication.

You’re about to respond when, without warning, his mouth is back on you, this time sucking lightly on the sensitive skin of your neck, the bites turning into licks as his hand slips under the hem of your dress. Your heart races, and your body reacts before your mind does, your head tilting back to give him more access, the sensation turning from playful to something hotter, needier.

It’s almost like everything’s moving in slow motion, but in the best way possible—each movement from him feels deliberate and intoxicating, and you can’t help but feel that rush of excitement that comes with giving in just a little more.

The air between you crackles with heat, your breath coming in short, uneven bursts as his lips leave your neck only for a second before returning with a little more pressure, his teeth grazing the skin as his tongue follows with a hot, hungry lick.

You gasp, feeling the unexpected heat of it flood your senses, and your hands grip the railing behind you, trying to steady yourself as the dizziness from the moment intensifies.

“F-Fuck,” you hear him mutter under his breath, and it’s clear he’s getting lost in the moment, high on the feeling of being this close to you. “You taste so damn g-good.” His voice is rough now, almost feral, and it makes your chest tighten with a mix of desire and thrill.

Before you can process it, his lips are back on yours, deeper this time, his tongue slipping past your lips with an urgency that has you scrambling to keep up. The kiss is messy and chaotic, but it’s exactly what both of you want right now. There’s no stopping it, no turning back. His hands roam lower, his fingers brushing against the soft curve of your thigh before sliding underneath the fabric of your dress. The sensation of his fingers against your skin is almost too much, and you can feel yourself leaning into him, just wanting more, needing more.

It’s only when you hear a distant laugh from the party, a burst of loud music drifting through the close balcony doors, that the reality of the situation hits you again. The world outside is still there, the frat party still rages on, but here—right here—it’s just the two of you, caught in something that’s starting to feel less like a game and more like an escape.

The next thing you know, Toby’s hands are under your thighs, and before you can even react, he lifts you effortlessly off the ground. You gasp, the sudden movement catching you off guard for a split second. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, holding onto him as your heart skips a beat, both from the surprise and the wild rush of adrenaline.

Your eyes flick to the balcony’s edge, the dizzying height of the drop below making your stomach lurch. You freeze for a second, panic surging through you as your grip tightens around his shoulders. The thought of falling—of losing control—flashes through your mind, but Toby’s quick to steady you, his arms firm and secure around your body.

The flicker of amusement in his eyes almost makes you want to punch him, but the smile playing on his lips tells you he’s enjoying every second of this. “You looked like you were gonna scream for a sec there,” he laughs softly, leaning in to kiss your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he holds you effortlessly against him.

You let out a breath, more out of relief than anything else, before narrowing your eyes at him. “You think you’re funny?” you mutter, but there’s no real anger behind the words. If anything, you’re starting to get lost in the way his hands feel on you, the way his touch sends heat coursing through your body.

He grins wider, lowering you down onto the balcony railing, your legs still wrapped around him as he keeps you close, his grip never faltering. The cool night air brushes against your exposed skin as you sit on the edge, your body feeling vulnerable yet somehow more alive than ever.

Toby’s hand slides beneath the lace of your dress, his fingers skimming over your thigh in slow, deliberate movements. His touch is gentle at first, but it soon intensifies, the feeling of his fingertips against the soft fabric of your tights making you shiver. His eyes are fixed on you, studying your reactions as if he’s trying to read you like a book.

"God, you're killing me," he murmurs, voice rough as his hand moves higher, rubbing over your thigh, pushing the fabric of your dress up just a little more. You feel the heat of his hand through the lace, and your body instinctively tenses, a mixture of pleasure and anticipation swirling inside you.

"You like that, don't you?" he says, his tone teasing, knowing exactly how to push your buttons. His fingers slip further under the lace, brushing against the smooth skin of your thigh, and you can feel the pressure building between you, a connection so strong it’s almost suffocating.

You don’t answer right away, not sure how to even put words to the feeling bubbling up inside of you. Instead, you just let out a shaky breath, your grip tightening around his neck, pulling him in closer as you press your lips against his, kissing him deeply, fiercely—making up for the tension you’ve both been holding onto all night.

Toby responds immediately, his hands sliding further up your thigh, his fingers brushing against your skin with a new urgency. His lips are on yours again, hungry and demanding, as he holds you firmly against him, the world around you disappearing with every passing second.

You can feel his body heating up under your touch, the rapid rise and fall of his chest matching your own. His hands are everywhere, exploring the curve of your body with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

Toby watches you closely, his gaze intent, studying your every reaction. He knows he’s got you, and he’s more than willing to make you squirm a little bit before you give him exactly what he wants.

He shifts slightly, his fingers tracing lightly along lace underwear, moving in slow, deliberate circles. The touch is soft at first, barely a graze, but it doesn’t stay that way for long before he moves them out of his way.

His two fingers increase their pressure, adding another, gradually rubbing up and down your clit, the sensation making you feel every inch of your skin tingle with anticipation. His touch is deceptively gentle, but you can tell from the way he’s looking at you that he’s playing with you—testing your limits.

With every pass of his fingers, he brings more heat, his touch becoming firmer, just enough to make your breath catch—feeling him drawing the tip of his finger back and forth and pressing his thumb over the shy pearl. Power and control danced on his face, gratification beaming on the brown haze of his glare as he manipulated you to his will.

You kept in the most sinful moans—not allowing it to break through your mouth to prevent others below the frat party from hearing. Spread wide open only for him, you shoved against the stroke of his hand and then choked over his forearm, riding his finger, clenching, pulsating desperately for release.

You feel your heart thundering in your chest, the space between you and him narrowing with every passing second, the tension thickening until it’s almost unbearable.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, his voice low and coaxing, “I’m waiting.”

Toby leans back slightly, his eyes scanning you in a way that feels more predatory than appreciative. He’s got that smirk on his lips, like he knows exactly how much he’s getting under your skin. And if he’s being honest, he kinda enjoys it.

You look up at him, trying to steady yourself, but there’s something in his gaze that makes it hard to focus. His fingers suddenly move inside you, a subtle shift in pressure making you shiver under his touch, forcing your face into his shoulder. “You’ve been teasing me all night,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper now, “and now you’re not gonna answer? That’s not fair.”

You bite your lip, your body trembling from the mix of frustration and desire. The way his fingers slowly move in and out of your, each touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake, it’s almost too much to handle. You slammed your eyes shut and bucked your hips, legs quaking as he skilfully curled his long, hard-working digit inside you and stroked all the right places.

“You’re such a little mess, so tight for me…” he growls, his eyes flicking down to your dress, the way it clings to your skin. “…I’m surprised you haven’t already fallen apart, acting like you don’t want this. You’ve been eyeing me all night—don’t pretend like you don’t need someone to fuck the attitude out of you.”

The words are sharp, venomous even, and they hit harder than you want to admit. But there’s something in the way he says it—something like a challenge. It’s almost like he wants you to fight back, to prove that you’re not just another girl who’s going to let him get away with everything.

But you don’t back down. You narrow your eyes at him, lips curling into a defiant smile, even though your pulse is racing.

"Is that all you’ve got?" you retort, voice steady, though you can feel a sharp edge of annoyance creeping in. His words have already struck a nerve, but you're not about to let him see that. "Is that how you think you’re gonna get me to bend for you? Just call me a tease and hope I’ll fall for it?"

Toby grins, that cocky, self-satisfied grin, “Maybe…” like he’s just been handed the upper hand. There’s something undeniably infuriating—and yet, strangely enticing—about how he carries himself. Without a word, he lifted his hand, his three fingers coated with a thick, creamy layer.

You watch, transfixed, as he slowly brings his fingers to his lips, deliberately teasing you. He licks them clean, savoring every bit of your wetness, the way his tongue flicks over his fingers in that maddeningly slow motion. The sight of him is almost too much, and you can’t help but feel a rush of heat spread through your body.

You can’t tear your eyes away from him.

The way he’s looking at you, the way he’s playing with your head, it makes everything feel ten times more intense.

There’s something about the messiness of it all—the way he’s teasing and how everything feels so raw, so unpolished—that drives you wild.

“Matter of fact…” Toby mumbles, his words a little slower as his body tenses for a moment, the muscles in his face twitching before he grins. His eyes gleam with a sudden spark of mischief, something darker slipping in. “Let’s change it up.”

Without warning, Toby forces you over the balcony railing—bending you over the edge of it and hands digging into your lower hips as he traps you between it and his body.

You’re completely against him now, feeling the sudden pressure bulge agasint your ass catching you off guard. Your breath hitches, and your heart races. The space between you two feels dangerously small, and the night air seems colder now, but it only heightens the sensation of heat between your bodies.

The movement is rough; you feel the firm grip of his hands pushing your lace dress—just hands on your ass—quickly removing your underwear, making you shiver from the coolness of the outside air. He grins wider as his face is right next to your neck, letting a line of kisses you against your skin, biting at the sensitive skin, enough to make you shiver. He then begins to whisper in your ear.

“Maybe bending you like this will make you listen.”

Your body trembles under the firm grip of his hands, a shudder rolling through you as the cool night air brushes against your flushed skin. The sharp contrast between the warmth of his touch and the chill of the balcony railing sends a wave of sensation through you, making you suck in a quiet breath. Your back presses against the wooden banister, the hard surface grounding you, but it does little to stop the way your pulse pounds in your throat.

"What… are you—" The words catch in your throat, slipping away before you can fully voice them. Your mind is a whirlwind, caught between confusion, excitement, and the undeniable pull of something far more dangerous—the way his presence, his touch, his entire being coils around your senses like a vice.

And then, the quiet sound of a zipper lowering reaches your ears. The realization of how far things are escalating makes your breath hitch, a sharp jolt of awareness cutting through the haze. But before you can react, the feeling of his lips grazing your neck—hot, teasing, sharp with the occasional scrape of his teeth—draws a quiet gasp from your lips.

“W-wait,” you mumble, voice barely above a whisper, mindful of the fact that just beyond this balcony, the party is still raging. The pulse of the music thrums in the background, but it feels miles away compared to the intensity pressing against you.

“The party is going on inside—what if someone comes—” You start, your voice faltering under the weight of the moment.

Toby doesn’t give you the chance to finish. He chuckles, a low, knowing sound that rumbles against your skin as his lips graze your jawline. “What’s the matter?” he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement. “Don’t tell me you’re getting shy now.”

His grip tightens slightly, grounding, teasing. “You wouldn’t have let me get this far if you didn’t want it.”

The words send a fresh wave of heat through you, your body reacting before your mind can form a response. Your lips part slightly, but no words come out. It’s hard to think with him so close, the press of his body leaving little space for doubt. His hand, rough and warm, traces down your thigh, the light scrape of his fingertips against the lace of your dress making your skin prickle with anticipation.

His thumb presses agsint your clit—just enough to make you shiver, the simple movement sending a spark straight through you. He watches, eyes flicking over your expression, drinking in every reaction with a crooked grin. “That’s what I thought,” he mutters, voice thick with satisfaction before his mouth now slightly parted into a curious grin.

“You better be on the pill,” he mutters, his voice low and unbothered, like he’s already got you figured out.

Your breath catches, not just from his words but from everything—his touch, the press of his body, the way his fingers tease against your skin like he already owns every reaction. That smug tone, laced with amusement, does something worse than his hands ever could. It lights something deep in your chest, a slow burn that spreads through your veins, making it impossible to think straight.

“I’m… I am,” you manage, though your voice is shaky, uneven. “But we’re still…”

Still what? Still on a balcony where anyone could walk out? Still caught up in something that feels reckless, dangerous—like a bad idea wrapped up in the kind of temptation that makes your head spin? You try to grasp onto logic, try to force your mind to play catch-up, but it’s already slipping, unraveling under the weight of his heat, his presence.

You shouldn’t be here.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

Drunk or high, you can’t even tell anymore, but it doesn’t change the fact that this should be the kind of thing you stop before it goes too far.

But let’s be for real. You’re not stopping.

No. There’s no way in hell you’re leaving this frat party without Toby fucking your brains out.

He must see it, must read every thought flickering behind your eyes, because that grin only grows, a flash of teeth in the dim lighting. “You’re getting all breathy and desperate just from a little touch…” His voice is like velvet, dark amusement lacing every word. His fingers trail higher, deliberate and slow, dragging shivers in their wake.

Toby pulled your hips until the head of his cock was prodding at your entrance and he sighed, mumbling mumbling so quietly you almost didn't catch it, “And you’re gonna be good and keep quiet, right?” He asked,

You shivered as his words hit you, your face reddening even more. "I..." You gasped softly when Toby finally pressed inside you with ease, a disgustingly wet sound filling the air. He groaned in your ear when he bottomed out, pulling you in hard by your waist as if he was desperate to get even deeper.

If you had any lingering doubts left in that pretty little head of yours, they sure as hell weren’t there now. And if, by some miracle, you still had a shred of shame about the absolute spectacle you were making of yourself—getting railed by some guy you just met, on a damn frat house balcony, with a whole ass party raging behind you—well, the pure, mind-numbing ecstasy currently wrecking through your body must’ve knocked that shame clean out of you.

Toby’s cock stretched you perfectly, deeply, and you could feel him in your stomach as prominently as the butterflies. You thought his fingers reached deep, but this was on a whole different level. His frame leant over yours, and his breath was hot on your neck. You felt close to him now, closer than ever before, and that thought sent you right to heaven.

He felt so good, so perfect, so right.

It was everything you had imagined and once he started moving, fuck, it was so much more.

“T-That's so good.” He chuckled slightly and then started to kiss your neck while slowly thrusting inside you. Each time he fucked into you, he took note of the moans barely left your mouth—it’s good that you listen.

“G-God, shit, oh my God, feels so good," Toby stammered in between shaky breaths, his voice light and barely audible over your noises and the sound of skin slapping against skin.

You stared down at the mess of drunken idiots stumbling around below, completely unaware of the absolute shitshow happening just a few feet above their heads. You came out here for fresh air, maybe to sip your drink in peace, not to—well, not this.

Your fingers curled around the wooden railing, nails digging into the worn-out surface like it might somehow ground you. Spoiler: It didn’t. Not with him behind you, making it real damn hard to focus on anything but the way he was ruining you in the best way possible.

You were starting to adjust, getting used to the feeling—if that was even possible—but fuck, he knew exactly what he was doing. And of course he did. The bastard was enjoying this way too much.

You were straight-up whimpering now—pathetic little sounds slipping out whether you liked it or not. And as long as you kept this up? Yeah, sure, the balcony wasn’t made of glass—thank god for small mercies, but let’s be real—anyone walking past that door would 100% hear you two.

No doubt about it.

They’d hear every little gasp, every moan, every damn noise spilling out of your mouth, and they’d know exactly what was happening just beyond that door.

And you know what? That should probably freak you out. Should make you wanna shut up, be careful, maybe even reconsider your life choices.

But nope. Instead, it just made you even more turned on.

Toby’s hand tangled in your hair, fingertips grazing your scalp in a way that sent a mix of tingles and heat straight down your spine. He gave a teasing little pull, not enough to hurt—just enough to remind you who was in control here. His movements were rough, almost fast-paced—there was no mistaking his focus. When he pressed inside, he rolled his hips into you, pushing his cock in as deep as he could manage. He was reluctant to pull away, but when he did, the feeling of your cunt sucking him back in made him delirious.

He was dragging this out. Because of course, he was.

“Shhh, shhh,” he cooed when you let a sound slip, his voice laced with amusement but making absolutely no effort to actually help your situation. “You were being so good for me, don’t start getting all loud now.”

And then—because he just had to—he leaned in, his breath hot against your skin before his teeth tugged at your earlobe.

Toby definitely hadn’t expected his night to turn out like this. Random parties weren’t exactly his thing—hell, he’d only come to make a few deals and get the hell out. When he saw you step onto the balcony, he hadn’t thought much about it at first, too busy with his phone call to care.

But the second that call ended?

Yeah. That was different.

And, naturally, you wanted to talk to him. Because, of course, you did.

Thing was, his original plan? It had been simple—get a little fun out of you, maybe a quick makeout session, and call it a win. But considering he had aimed for kissing and now had you pressed up against this railing, looking at him like he was the only thing keeping you breathing? Yeah. His plan went way better than expected.

“F-Fuck—fuck you feel so good," Toby moaned when he pressed into you again, feeling your walls squeeze around his cock.

Everything he was waiting for finally became realized, and yet, there was still a part of him who wasn't fully satisfied. There was still a part of him who was desperate for more. He asked quietly, mostly to himself, "Why can't I get enough of you?"

You were wondering about the same question. Why couldn't you get enough of him? You wanted more, you needed more. You wanted to plead for him to go faster, harder, deeper, louder, but when you opened your mouth, your thoughts were so scrambled that the only word you could think to say was, "More."

Thankfully, Toby got the hint, and he picked up the pace. The whole desk shook as his hips began to snap forward faster and rougher, giving you the relief you had been searching for. You felt an overwhelming euphoria in your core each time he thrusted in. “Ahh.. please don't stop,” You cried out a little louder than you should have, already forgetting that he told you to quiet down.

“T-Tell me," Toby choked out between gasps, his voice getting hoarse, "Tell me how good it feels to be bend over by me?”

“It feels good… so good… god, it... feels amazing..," You gasp out, just dazed out of your mind.

He let out a soft, breathy moan before nodding his head* "Mhm~ yeah?"

He chuckled slightly at how dazed you were, his hands gripping onto your hips a little tighter.

"Then... tell me you're mine.” He said, his breath warm against your ear. He started moving a little bit faster, and a moan escaped his mouth before it was cut off by his biting his lip.

You breathe hitches. You can barely form a coherent thought with pleasure coursing through you, but somehow, she manages to speak through gasps and moans. "I-I'm yours... all yours..."

It wasn’t long before Toby abruptly pulled out of you, grabbing your waist and twisting you around until your legs were wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck to prevent falling. His mouth was on yours in an instant, your eyes fluttering closed as he kissed you sloppily. His lips felt just as soft as before, but this kiss was much rougher and messier, driven by a fever of desire.

One of his hands gripped your waist firmly, keeping you steady against the balcony, while the other moved with a slow, deliberate touch, skimming your chest, sending waves of heat through you. The pressure of his hands was both grounding and electric, making it hard to focus as your pulse quickened in response.

"Close, so close," Toby stammered into your ear, his head dropping to the nape of your neck. His breath was hot, and loose strands of his hair tickled your skin. His thrusts were erratic as he began to lose his rhythm.

“Please keep going, just like that," You pleaded, feeling your release coming closer as well. You brought your hand to the back of Toby’s head, feeling his soft hair beneath your fingers. Your legs around his back tightened as you pressed him closer to you.

"Tell me more," Toby groaned, his voice thick with desire as his hand found yours, fingers wrapping around yours with a firm, almost desperate grip. The weight of his touch, his palm slick with sweat, sent a jolt through your body. He held your hand like he needed it—like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality in this moment. His fingers trembled slightly, betraying the control he usually had, and you couldn’t help but wonder... Was it just the rush, or did he need to hear it?

You blinked, unsure if he was asking for more praise or if this was something deeper—something he craved. Maybe a little of both.

"I—It's so good, Toby," you whispered, your breath catching as your body responded without warning. You didn’t think, didn’t need to, as your fingers slid into his hair, gripping it tightly, pulling him closer in a way that made him gasp. It felt like you were tugging at his very soul, your nails almost catching in the strands, and the soft tug made him exhale sharply.

“Only you, Toby. You're the only one, please—don't stop,” you found yourself saying, breathless and almost frantic, as the need for him took over. It wasn’t just physical anymore; it was something more primal. You were lost in him, the two of you like fire and gasoline, a combination of desperation and want that tangled together seamlessly.

His eyes flared with intensity, a silent challenge in them as they locked with yours. He didn’t need to say anything; his grip on your hand tightened, his breath heavy against your skin, and you both knew what came next.

There was no turning back now.

You thought you could hold on for a few moments longer, but when Toby started chanting curse words under his breath, you knew you were done. He rolled his hips up, hitting that perfect spot in your stomach once more, and that was it. Waves of adrenaline mixed with pure pleasure washed over your entire body as you came around his cock, back arching and legs shaking.

Your breath catches in your throat, a mixture of gasps and soft whimpers spilling out as Toby’s movements drive you wild. The sensation overwhelms you, pulling every ounce of focus from your mind, leaving you only with the feeling of his touch. It’s almost too much—too fast, too intense—and you can’t help the cry that escapes you, his name leaving your lips in a desperate rush.

But before you can fully let the sound escape, his free hand moves swiftly, covering your mouth, his palm pressing firmly against you. You try to push against it, but he holds you in place, the tension between you building with every breath. The muffled sounds of your whines vibrate against his hand, a helpless sound that only fuels the storm of sensations crashing through you.

It’s a mix of pleasure and frustration, the way he has control over you, the way your body reacts even when your mind is trying to keep up. The heat between you two seems to grow with every second, and with every soft struggle and pleading shift of your body, Toby pulls you closer, testing your limits, enjoying the chaos he stirs.

Toby fucked you through your high, not giving you a moment to breathe. He melted in between the sound of your muffled cries, the feeling of your cunt pulsing around him, and the sight of your face twisted in pleasure.

He stuttered, tumbling over his words, "I'm- fuck, I'm-"

He groaned, unable to even get the words out before he felt his pleasure burst like a bubble. He shoved deep inside you one last time, giving you all of him as he fell apart. He held himself there as he came, making sure you were pumped with every last drop of him.

Toby was straight-up wrecked, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a damn marathon. His breath came out heavy, uneven, like he was actually struggling to catch it. You were slumped against him, just as spent, your body warm and lax against his.

Fuck. He couldn’t even remember the last time he felt this drained—in the best possible way.

You were everything.

More than he ever expected, more than he ever thought he’d get.

He pressed a lazy, lingering kiss against your neck, then another against your jaw, slow and hazy, like he was savoring the moment before finally pulling out of you. His grip on you softened, and he let his hand slide from your mouth to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin with a surprising tenderness.

“Good job,” he murmured, voice rough, breath still unsteady. His lips twitched into a smirk, but his eyes were softer now. “Knew you’d be good for me. You did so fucking good.”

Toby was still holding you close, your body warm and spent against his, when the shrill buzz of his phone cut through the heavy silence. He groaned, pressing his forehead against your shoulder for a second before fishing it out of his pocket. The screen lit up with a familiar name.

He answered without even thinking, balancing the phone between his cheek and shoulder. “Yeah?” His voice was still rough, breath uneven.

A deep, gruff voice rumbled through the speaker—Tim.

"You did what I told you to do?"

Toby stiffened, his fingers flexing slightly against your skin as his mind scrambled for an answer that didn’t involve—I just got ridiculously sidetracked making out with a random girl at the party. He licked his lips, throwing a quick glance at you as you caught your breath, and tried to sound nonchalant. “Yeah—uh, almost. Just handling some... extra business.”

There was a beat of silence before Tim let out a heavy sigh. “Bullshit. I know when you’re lying. Don’t tell me you got distracted—again.”

Toby rolled his eyes, already knowing there was no point in denying it. “I was handling it,” he grumbled.

The static over the line crackled before another voice chimed in—Brian. “We’re coming to get you before the cops show up. Get your ass outside, now.”

Toby barely had time to process that before the unmistakable glare of blue and red lights flooded the street below. A few distant shouts rang out, followed by the telltale sound of a police siren winding up.

“Shit.” He hangs up, and his grip on you tightened instinctively, his entire body tensing as his eyes flicked from the street back to you. “The party’s over, sweetheart.”

Your stomach twisted as the flashing lights painted the street below in streaks of red and blue. You swallowed hard, your breath still uneven as you whispered, “Wait… what do we do?” Your voice wavered between concern and fear. “What about the cops?”

Toby was already shifting, straightening up, adjusting his jacket, and making sure his jeans weren’t too obvious in their disheveled state. He shot you a look—one that was unusually serious despite the usual glint of mischief in his eyes.

“You stay,” he said firmly, fingers brushing over your cheek briefly before he fixed your dress, smoothing the fabric down as if he had all the time in the world. “Act normal. Pretend like you’re just another drunk University chick who had too much to drink. They won’t look twice at you.”

You blinked at him, confused. “Wait—where the hell are you going?”

He exhaled sharply, pulling his hoodie over his head before ruffling his messy brown hair, making it look even more chaotic. “I gotta go before they get me,” he muttered. “I sell here, remember?”

Shit. You had forgotten. In the haze of alcohol, his teasing, his hands, and everything that had just happened between you two, it completely slipped your mind. If they caught him, it wouldn’t just be a slap on the wrist—it would be bad news.

For a second, you were going to let him go, watching as he turned toward the balcony door, preparing to slip out into the chaos inside. But something in you rebelled against it. A sharp, instinctual refusal.

Before you could stop yourself, your hand shot out, grabbing the back of his jacket and yanking him back toward you.

Toby barely had time to react before he stumbled a step, his body pressing against yours again, your grip tight and desperate. He looked down at you, brows raised, lips parting slightly in surprise. “The hell—?”

“You can’t just run out there like that,” you hissed, your fingers curling into his hoodie, refusing to let go. “What if they do see you? What if they’re already inside?”

His jaw tensed for a moment, like he was trying to calculate his next move, but you saw it—the flicker of hesitation. Maybe he didn’t expect you to stop him.

Maybe he didn’t expect you to care.

Toby let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You really don’t know when to let things go, huh?” His voice was amused, but his hand settled on your waist again, steadying you both.

You held his stare, breath hitching slightly as the distant sounds of officers yelling orders reached your ears. “Not when it comes to this,” you murmured.

Toby stared at you for a second, something unreadable flashing behind his dark eyes. Then, before you could think or react, he was on you again. His lips crashed into yours, rough yet intoxicating, his fingers tightening on your waist as he pushed you back against the railing.

Your body tensed at first, but only for a moment. The warmth of his breath against your skin, the press of his lips traveling down your jawline—it melted away any resistance. Toby was teasing, deliberate, but his intent was clear. He wanted to leave something behind, a mark, a reminder.

His lips skimmed the sensitive spot beneath your ear, sending a shiver down your spine before he sucked harshly on the skin. You gasped, fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie as he worked his way down, each kiss and bite searing into you like a brand. A selfish part of him wanted to take you with him, to leave proof of what had happened tonight—not for anyone else, just for himself.

Only he would know he was the cause.

You sighed as he moved lower, the feeling of his teeth grazing your collarbone making your knees weak. His hands—still warm, still possessive—kept you steady, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. But then, too soon, he pulled back, tilting his head to admire his work.

Your arms stayed hooked around his neck, your body still pressed against his. Your skin tingled, a mess of scattered purples and deep bruises decorating your neck and collarbones. You knew they would be impossible to hide tomorrow.

"There. Something for me and..." He smirked before dipping down again, stealing another kiss, slower this time, his lip piercings cold against your swollen lips. When he pulled away, his voice was lower, almost smug, “Something for me…”

Before you could say anything, a sudden noise from below made both of you jolt. Flashing red and blue lights reflected against the building, and you could hear the distant, commanding shouts of officers pushing their way inside.

Your heart pounded as you rushed to the railing, gripping the cold metal as you peered down. Cops were pouring into the house now, pushing past the drunken partygoers stumbling in confusion.

You were about to turn back, to warn Toby—

But he was gone.

Your stomach dropped. How the fuck did he move that fast?

Spinning around, you scanned the balcony, the shadows, but there was nothing. Just the ghost of his presence lingering on your skin, on your lips.

A deep sense of unease crept over you as you rushed down the stairs. The whole house was in chaos, people pushing past each other, trying to slip out before the cops could start making arrests. The party was officially dead.

The worst part? Someone had died inside.

You barely caught wind of the hushed whispers as you made your way through the crowd. Someone had found a guy upstairs with a hatchet lodged in his back. Whoever called the cops had seen the body first. That sobered you up real fucking fast.

Stepping out onto the front street, you pulled your phone from your pocket, fingers shaking slightly as you dialed one of your friends. No way in hell were you would walk back to the dorms alone after this.

As you stood there, the chill of the night settling in, something caught your eye.

A figure stood just at the edge of the shadows, away from the flashing police lights. You almost didn’t recognize him at first, but then you saw the faint orange glow reflecting off the goggles perched on his head.

Toby.

He was watching you, partially obscured in the darkness, his lower face now hidden behind what looked like a mouth guard.

The second you met his gaze, he lifted a hand, fingers wiggling in a lazy wave before he turned, disappearing into the night like a ghost. You stood frozen for a second, your heart pounding in your ears. “What the fuck just happened?”

As you stood there, still processing everything, a sudden breeze swept under your dress, sending a shiver up your spine.

That’s when you felt it. Or rather, I didn’t feel it.

Your eyes widened, a sudden wave of heat rushing to your face.

That bastard.

Your panties were gone.

Your breath caught in your throat as realization sank in, your thighs pressing together instinctively. When the fuck had he taken them? You were just with him—there was no moment where—

You wanted to die. Right there, right then.

Meanwhile, down the street, Toby was already slipping into a black car parked in the shadows, the interior dimly lit by the dashboard glow.

Tim was in the driver’s seat, arms crossed, while Brian sat in the passenger seat, his cold blue eyes flicking up as Toby climbed inside.

“Hey,” Toby greeted casually, as if he hadn’t just fled a crime scene and a party.

��Don’t ‘hey’ me,” Tim snapped, his gruff voice dripping with irritation. “What the fuck took you so long? We were supposed to be out of there before the cops even got close.”

Toby shrugged, slumping back against the seat. “Got a little sidetracked” he admitted, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips.

Tim gave him a long, unimpressed stare. “Don’t tell me you were out there fucking some random chick at the party.”

Toby, for once, didn’t deny it.

Brian snorted. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Toby just rolled his shoulders. “I did what I needed to do. Everything’s fine.”

Tim muttered something under his breath before finally putting the car in drive, pulling away from the frat house as sirens wailed in the distance.

As they sped off down the road, Toby leaned back, slipping a hand into his jacket pocket.

A small, lacy piece of fabric met his fingertips, and he grinned to himself as he pulled it out just enough to see.

Black lace panties.

He chuckled, low and amused, rolling the fabric between his fingers before tucking them back away.

At least he got to shotgun with a girl tonight.

A pretty cool one, in fact.

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