#ben and erin

[owlygem]

Tsk tsk

[glazeliights]

what the helllll who are these guys

[vibelladonna]

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'.

This is by far my favorite fic, like I was giggling while reading this. [ 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝓉𝓌𝑜 ]

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 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 and close enough for you to get a good look at him, you realize something.  

He looks… off. 

Not necessarily in a bad way, but in a way that makes your brain take 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 and 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 fucking 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 brown 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.    

It wasn't just cause of the party now

Nah, 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.

[haruuinred]

Tobyyy!!! 🤓🤓

[abesetacringe]

Toby sketch plus faves trio and Sally buying groceries

[nuggtzz]

Ben and toby art I made and didn't posted here- :p I'll just post them both together

[rainrot4me]

TW: Blowjob, soft sex, fluff, vaginal

𐚁₊⊹

Regardless of your request for him to use the front door, Toby will always prefer the window to your bedroom.

He has a key, he knows the code to your garage door opener, and he even knows the key box disguised as a semi-realistic rock nestled under the bushes. Yet, he will always push open the screen and climb his way in.

And on particularly difficult nights like tonight, Toby is more than ready to pile his way into your soft bed and your warm arms.

He brushes the strands of hair from your face, leaning close to kiss your forehead as you stir. Heavy-eyed and groggy, you smile, reaching to wrap your arms around the neck of your love.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

You feel the rainfall from outside soaked into his jacket, the dense smell of outside tangled into his messy hair. He looks pitiful and tried, but you know he feels even worse.

Throwing the covers off, you trek to the bathroom, switching the dim light on and turning the shower faucet on to a nice warm temperature. Toby perches on the edge of your bed, exhaustion evident on his freckled face. You grab his hand, leading him to the comforting heat of the shower.

Steam rolls from behind the curtain as you pull it back, your hands gentle to slowly strip the boy of his dirty clothes. He doesn’t fight, just blinks away his sleepiness as you guide him in. Undressing yourself, you follow.

“Bad day?”

The hot water rolls off your skin, Toby leaning into your every touch as you gently wash the blood and grime from his face. He nods, blinking his eyes shut as you move his head under the rolling water.

“Why is he putting so much work on you? You deserve to rest.”

You’re upset for him, more than fed up with the countless times your boyfriend has shown up within an inch of collapsing.

“It’s fine. Re- Really, it is.”

You’re still frustrated, but deem this a discussion for later. Right now is about him.

Lathering the shampoo into his tangled hair, you scrub his scalp and smile when he leans into the feeling. He’s groaning, tilting his head back so you can massage it in deeper before moving him to wash it out.

Toby is already feeling better just from you taking care of him. He doesn’t like to look weak, but sometimes he just can’t help but come crawling home to you.

You gently run a soapy rag across his chest, cleansing the dirt and blood that runs down the drain. He lets his hands rest on your hips, thumb gently rubbing back and forth across your skin as you clean him, taking such good care of him.

Leaning back, the soap from his skin begins to wash off. You caress his face, trailing your hands across his skin as he smiles at you. You let your hand dip further, sliding across his abdomen to his half-hard length. His breath hitches, fingers tensing against your hips.

“What’re yo- you doin’?”

You push him back softly, his shoulders meeting the cool side of the shower as you slowly dip down. Toby watches, tired eyes wide as you slowly stroke his growing cock.

He leans into the wall, body slowly relaxing as the water continues to fill the shower with steam and comforting heat. You take him gently, guiding the head into your even-warmer mouth and easily beginning to bob up and down.

Toby’s gasping, fingers clinging against the tiles and watching intently at your every move. You brace your hands on his thighs, letting your mouth work him over as your tongue slides along the underside. You reach out, gripping his hands to come to the side of your head, a silent permission to let him take control.

He’s whining, tired groans and gasps slipping through his lips as he tangles his fingers into your wet hair and slowly begins to guide your head further down.

He’s not going rough or desperately, but so lovingly and thankful. The brunette can’t believe how you could be so effortlessly perfect for him, but here you are. It’s all he can do not to spill over already.

You relax into his touch, jaw hanging as loose as you can get it to accommodate the length gliding itself deeper into the warmth and wetness of your mouth. His fingers tense against your head, a silent plea as you flutter your eyes up to him, nodding your permission.

He’s sliding you off his cock and helping you to stand, your back quickly being turned to him as you’re pressed into the tile wall. You try to grip anything, the slippery porcelain offering no help as Toby angles his cock between your thighs, pressing up to your entrance.

You groan, arching your ass against him as he slowly pushes in, the stretch of that tight ring of muscle making you gasp.

“Toby…”

His arms wrap around your middle, forehead dropping onto your shoulder as his hips begin to move. You’re reeling, eyes fluttering shut as the stretch and fullness of him guides you flush against the tile. Your walls grip him, thighs straining to hold open as he bottoms out again and again.

“Love…”

Your cunt aches as his pace branches from gentle to eager. His hips roll up into yours, fingers digging at your sides as he fucks up into you with desire.

You’re so good to him, so loving he can’t stand it. He just wants to show his thanks.

You’re scraping at the tile, your cheeks pressed into the cold wall with gasps and moans. Toby’s fingers slides down your abdomen, pushing past your folds to rub against your swelling clit. You lean into the touch, rolling steadily as he continues his pace, making sure to push his cock as deep into your warmth as possible.

You’re so tight, so perfectly molded for him as his cock nudges your g-spot. You’re gasping, his fingers driving you over the edge and slamming your climax into you. Toby’s there too, pumping his cock into the gumminess of your cunt until he feels like he’s melting.

Tugging himself in his fist, you kiss his skin, whispering encouragements until he’s cumming into his hand.

Washing yourself and him off one more time, you shut the water off, patting the dampness from your skin before tugging Toby back towards your bedroom.

At this point, you’re both exhausted, hands wrapped together as you pick out pajamas for both you and him.

Bathed and warm, you slide back into your bed, holding the sheet up so Toby can climb his way in too. He’s sighing as you wrap your legs around him, your bodies tangling together as you find a comfortable balance.

“I love you.”

Toby nudges his nose into the crook of your neck, the sweet smell of your shampoo making him smile. You’re holding him close, rubbing small circles across his shoulders as you feel his weight slowly relax into exhaustion.

“I love you, too.”

You’re both asleep in seconds, bodies held close and warmth spreading. The rain still patters outside, the late hours and missions of the night long forgotten when you’re both so lost in each other’s touch.

Even despite how much love you show him, he’ll still refuse to use the front door next time.

[comingdownwithme]

Do Toby and Ben know each other?? Can we get more hc of how the crps interact pretty please

Toby knows about Ben from Jeff whenever he'd tell stories to catch him up on where he's been, but he doesn't have the greatest image on ghosts (both due to being haunted by the memories of his past, but also because I think he should be freaked out by ghosts just because its funny) so he doesn't trust him and think he's a bit of a creep (Ben is just a silly lil dude though, just a silly lil guy)

Ben knows of Toby but doesn't know too much about him. Jeff kind of sees Ben as an annoyance whenever he's around (in the way you'd find a younger sibling annoying), and so doesn't talk about his personal life as much lmao

If they met though he'd probably enjoy freaking out Toby though.

[nymph-ette111]

What if Jeff, EJ, Toby, Masky, Hoodie, and Ben (separately) found Y/N silently crying? Would they help or try to calm down Y/N?

That's it, sorry if I chose too many creepypastas ❤

I hope you have a great day/night!!

(I love your writing style aaaaah! Luv ya >< )

Sorry if I sounded cringe ;)

WARNINGS; JEFF BEING AN ASSHOLE LIKE USUAL/TOXIC RELATIONSHIPS, MENTIONS OF A DECAPITATED BODY

AUTHOR'S NOTE; NO ONE HERE IS CRINGE!! and I love you too <3 was giggling and kicking my feet writing masky and hoodie's part LOL

TOBY;

-the first thought that comes to his mind is that somebody caused this.

-may be a bit rough when asking what's wrong, because like I mentioned before, he just jumps into the conclusion that it's someone else's fault.

-Toby is a little... impulsive when it comes to solving his problems, always going the aggressive route.

-basically what I'm trying to say is that he is willing to chop up someone's body if they did something bad enough to make you cry.

-he will pry the information out of you, whether you want to or not.

-he doesn't realize that this makes things worse for you :( let's be realistic, imagine crying to your boyfriend because someone bothered you just for him to leave and come back covered in blood holding the head from said person's decapitated body.

-he'll even try to hug you, not caring if he is covered head to toe in blood, not caring if the smell was overwhelming your senses. he'll get upset if you refuse his "affection" and "comfort". sometimes Toby's thinking is... hard to understand.

-99% chance you're going to throw up from the sight alone. what I'm trying to say here is Toby's attempt at making you feel better is nowhere near what it's supposed to be.

-but if that wasn't the case and your crying was because of something else like an insecurity, just the overall stress of your day, basically anything that doesn't involve another person he'd be less aggressive.

-wouldn't really know what to say so he'd just go for physical affection and hope that it works.

-now this part depends on you since not everyone likes physical touch when upset. if you don't mind it then he's going to hold you until you feel better. if you don't he'd respect your wishes but he won't leave, even if you ask him to.

-would kiss away your tears one hundred percent.

-i'd give him about... 7/10 less if he brings back a corpse with him but the physical affection is nice :)

JEFFREY:

-love how your relationship is hanging on by a thread.

-it's surviving off of hopes and prayers bro.

-Jeff believes that he should be the only one who can make you upset in any way shape or form. I'd say he doesn't take the idea of someone else making you feel bad very lightly.

-not even in a "oh, someone made my partner upset! not on my watch!" he's just offended because it feels like someone took his place or something.

-yeah did I mention he's toxic as fuck.

-i honestly don't know how he'd react... contrary to popular belief I don't think he'd go out of his way to kill somebody because they made his partner upset like Toby would. in Toby's case it's out of pure love obsession and the need to please you. in Jeff's case he'd probably kill for his own benefit which I mentioned before, someone taking his place.

-fuck it he'd probably kill the person just to torment you, he enjoys that shit.

-however if it's your own feelings regardless of what it is, he'd pretend to not care.

-i think I somewhat implied it in my "stretch marks" post that he doesn't know how to handle his partner's emotions. insecurities or not, big chance he won't do anything, probably throw an insult or two just to make you feel pathetic.

-damn I don't think any fluff post with Jeff would work.

-how can this motherfucker even be nice.

-and if you're asking, no he would never break up with you. you boost his ego a little too much and he doesn't want to lose that.

-he doesn't want to admit it but he's attached to you to a certain degree.

-i'd give it... why are you even reading this it's an obvious 0/10

EYELESS JACK;

-im torn between making EJ the feral demon he is or making him more... human.

-i think I lean towards the more human side when writing for Jack but that might change in the future. expect all of my headcanons to change since I'm still trying to figure this out. even for his personality.

-i should make a poll for that... ANYWAYS

-regardless of the reason, he'd react pretty much the same way.

-he's so sweet and comforting it's actually insane :(

-he's naturally awkward but the voice, the way he weighs and genuinely considers his words before speaking, trying to find the best way to make you feel better can make anyone instantly fold I'm TELLING YOU.

-bro sounds smart and is smart just the way he talks to you is enough to make you move on from whatever had happened.

-intelligent men are so

-head scratches after he's done giving you his advice and point of view of the situation.

-my husband<3

-tries to get you out of your room after that, or just include you in whatever so you wouldn't think about it again. like offering to invite you to the infirmary, there's always an extra seat for you there :)

-i might be biased but 9/10

BEN;

-i've said this before and I'll say it again, does not know how to comfort people. especially ones he cares about.

-he just... stands at the doorway (or floats, whatever you like)

-if it was another person he'd laugh at them right away, but considering you're his partner he'd fight the urge for your sake.

-actually he might laugh a bit but if he notices that you're clearly serious about what upset you he'd drop it.

-would download a virus on the other person's devices.

-he thinks it's funny.

-he genuinely tries to make you feel better tho, just doesn't know how :(

-if you're insecure about something then he'd react similarly to my "stretch marks" post and try to convince you that whatever it is about you, it's beautiful.

-might come off as corny tho.

-either way... I'd give him a 5/10 maybe even 6/10 if bullying kids on roblox cheers you up.

MASKY;

-regardless of the reason, he'll ask what's wrong but secretly hopes you don't want to talk about it.

-he is a teen tiny bit awkward.

-kind of like Toby, he goes for physical affection and hopes it's enough to take your mind off of it somehow.

-but the hugs this man gives...

-might as well stay there forever.

-just imagine him holding you tight to his chest, one hand rubbing your back while the other plays with your hair. a cig hanging loosely from between his lips UGH

-can you tell I'm listening to lana del rey while writing this.

-again he might not offer much in terms of... actually saying something to comfort you but his hugs are enough and if they aren't then girl what the fuck is wrong with you.

-i need him.

-i give 8/10

HOODIE;

-another one who relies on the physical affection only because he's a selective mute.

-unless you know sign language.

-unlike masky, instead of a hug you're sitting on this man's lap.

-his mask up to the bridge of his nose, scruff facial hair grown from years of not taking proper care of himself rubbing against your flush cheeks, strong arms holding you tightly against him.

-i genuinely cannot continue writing this so I'm ending it here because another word of describing this man will have me tweaking out 9/10

[tampire]

This gifset slaps!

[bloodplague]

fire

[owlygem]

Tell your man He's pretty 🥹

[thediaryofaurora]

General HCs

Ticci Toby/Tobias Rogers

Sorry this took so long!! I’ve been contemplating writing one shots, but I feel like I should get the head canons out first. If any of you have any ideas for one shots (x readers, char x char, nsfw), my request box is open! I’ll get around to them as soon as possible. :)

- 5’11! Sleeper build and scrawny, but extremely strong upper arms. He’s not as fast as Kate and Brian, but he makes up for it with how long he can run. He never gets tired and can chase victims for hours. Lots of freckles, too!

- White with mostly German heritage. He doesn’t know very much German, just baseline stuff he learned from his mom. (Connie grew up in Germany until she was 15.)

- Medium brown hair and dark brown eyes. He’s pretty pale, but being outside most of the time he does have a slight tan, lots of freckles too.

- His dad was extremely abusive and would beat him, his mom, and his sister, it was rare for him to not be drunk. Toby killed him only a few hours after his father beat his mom to the point she was unconscious. He’d rather his mom lose both of her children and her abusive husband than endure so much pain, he cared about her more than anything. He didn’t want to sit idly by as he loses his sister and mother.

- His fingers are TORN up. Bites and picks at his nails, cuticles, dry knuckles, all of it. His fingertips and palms are also super calloused.

- Hangs out with Jeff and Ben most of the time. He’s closer to Ben and thinks Jeff’s a douche, but he puts up with him since sometimes the three of them have fun.

- He can be a jerk, but if you’re able to break past his shell he’s super sweet. He’s still sarcastic and snarky, but not necessarily mean. VERY smug.

- Had Jeff do a tattoo of Lyra’s birthday on his shoulder. It turned out surprisingly good. He was originally going to do her death date, but he felt like it was better to honor the time she was alive.

- Halloween junkie. He has a massive sweet tooth and loves autumn, so it’s the perfect day ever in his eyes.

- This guy DESTROYS in poker and blackjack. The few times his dad would spend time with him they’d play together. Even though he hated him, it meant a lot to him when he was little. Has the teeny tiniest gambling addiction, makes a bunch of bets with other residents of the mansion and usually wins.

- MIDWESTERN EMO BOY!!!! I will die on this hill. Music taste, clothing, all of it.

- His tics are pretty rare now that he’s older, but when he’s anxious they get bad.

- Exclusively wears comfortable clothes. Not because he gets uncomfortable, he could (and does) sleep in jeans and not be bothered. When he was younger he would always be forced to wear slacks, dress shoes, button ups, and ties for church or family gatherings. He HATED it.

- Him, Tim, and Brian are usually put on missions together. They’re all pretty compatible, and it’s nice to talk to just some regular ass dudes. Sometimes all three of them will go to run down diner’s if they finished their mission early, it’s the most normality any of them have in their lives.

- He and Tim bicker a LOT, but he secretly find comfort in it. He sees Tim as a protective older brother, rather than someone who just hates him. With how his dad treated him growing up, he thought all arguing was yelling and being aggressive, but Tim’s is more disagreement or annoyance.

- Almost knows how to play the acoustic guitar. He’s a quick learner, but he doesn’t have a crazy strong desire to get better at it.

- Pretty much always wears a big bandaid over his cheek gash. He’s not necessarily insecure about it unless he has a crush on someone, but it’s hard to eat or drink when it’s just open.

- He’s actually not to bad at soccer! Sometimes when it’s nice out him and Cody find a ball and play.

- Anywho, I’m in love with him.

Feedback and requests are welcome! Thank you for reading. :)

✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝒽𝒾𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓇𝓊𝓃 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝓉𝑜𝒷𝓎 𝓇𝑜𝑔𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝓍 𝒻𝑒𝓂!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: It all started at a frat party [ 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝓃𝑒 ], where a guy with a cigarette dangling from his lips decided to make the balcony a little more interesting. What was supposed to be a one-time encounter—just another hazy college memory—ended up being anything but forgettable. 

You were never supposed to see him again, let alone get caught up in his world, but fate—or maybe something much darker—had other plans. Now, you're stuck in a twisted game. The secrets pile up faster than the lies, and the college town you thought you knew becomes a never-ending game.

And you? You never sleep. Because when you chase a monster, you better pray it doesn't decide you’re worth keeping. But hey, if you’re playing in a game, 

…you better be prepared for the hit-and-run. 

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: Bruh, my roommate hit me with this request right in the middle of midterms. It’s been sitting in my drafts for a minute because I was trying to figure out the decent ending. Finally got around to finishing it because midterms ended (spring break baby), so here you go.

Hope it doesn’t come off too corny—y’all let me know.

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: toby x afab!reader, toby x fem!reader, OC! Mention, proxies gang (Kate, Tim, and Brian mentioned), enemies to lovers, smut, toxic relationship, stalking on both sides, cat and mouse dynamics, obsession & possession, dubious morality, vigilante!reader, crime duo (??), found family (sort of), power play, manipulation & mind games, blood & gore, criminal activity, femme fatale vibes and unhinged ass characters.

There are only two rules you need to survive college:  

Watch your back. Don’t get caught.

Sounds dramatic, right? You might be wondering why anyone would need rules like that in a sleepy little college town, where the biggest crime should be freshmen sneaking out past curfew or someone getting caught swapping answers on an exam. But when you're stuck in a place like this—one that feels just a little too small, a little too quiet—well, strange things start to happen.

The rules started as whispers, traded between students like secret currency, slipping from jittery hands to hushed lips over coffee-stained textbooks. They were nothing more than cautionary tales at first—just another way for the usual college gossip to get a little bite. The kind of thing you'd hear in a dimly lit dorm room at 2 AM, passed off as just another urban legend.  

But rules just don’t come from nowhere.  

The red-brick buildings lining the main street give the town a picture-perfect charm like something ripped straight from an old postcard. The local coffee shop, the one with the overpriced lattes and disappointingly stale muffins is where you go to pretend the world outside doesn’t exist for a little while. 

It all feels safe. Too safe. Like a town frozen in time, where people still leave their doors unlocked and the worst thing that could happen is a bad grade on a midterm.  

But something had to happen, right? There’s a reason for all of it—the security guards, who once spent their shifts scrolling through their phones near the dining hall, now walk the campus in pairs. Their radios crackle more than they used to, static-laced whispers punctuated by clipped voices, urgent and low. Their footsteps aren’t just footsteps anymore; they’re warnings, rhythmic echoes against the pavement, reminders that something is lurking just beneath the surface.  

The campus police? They’re not parked outside the student center anymore, killing time over lukewarm coffee and half-hearted conversations. No, now they circle the parking lots at night, their headlights slicing through the darkness like something predatory. The beams sweep over empty spaces, catching glimpses of movement that might not even be there—but you can’t shake the feeling that someone, or something, is watching.  

Even the professors have changed. The ones who used to hold open-door office hours, always ready to debate a thesis or chat about weekend plans? They’ve started locking their doors. Their smiles don’t reach their eyes anymore, and when they talk, there’s something hesitant in their voices, like they’re choosing their words too carefully. You’ve caught them glancing over their shoulders, eyes darting toward windows as if expecting to see something—or someone—on the other side.  

At first, you told yourself it was just paranoia. College kids have a way of spinning stories, of turning stress into superstition.  

But then the change settled in.  

Your college used to be the kind of place that only felt alive on weekends, the streets overflowing with students, their laughter mingling with cigarette smoke and the sour scent of cheap beer. Not anymore.  

Now, the streets clear out before dark. The dining hall is quieter, conversations hushed, as if speaking too loudly might draw the wrong kind of attention.  

And the woods—the shortcut everyone once used, the one that shaved minutes off the walk between the dorms and the off-campus bars? The one where people used to sneak away for stolen kisses or drunken dares?  

Nobody walks through there anymore.  

Not after the body was found at that frat party.

Not an overdose. Not a bad batch of pills passed between sweaty palms in a dark corner of the party. Not too many shots, not a drunken stumble down the rickety-ass staircase that everyone always joked was a lawsuit waiting to happen. No. This was different.  

The university scrambled to keep up appearances, like slapping a fresh coat of paint over a crumbling wall and hoping no one noticed the rot underneath. They made their statements, rolled out the usual ‘tragedy counseling’ emails, and stationed security around campus like poorly placed scarecrows—useless, ineffective, just there to make it look like they were doing something.  

But it was all for show. Because if the administration was rattled, if the people in charge were nervous, then everyone else had a damn good reason to be terrified. And yet, despite the whispers creeping through every hallway, the paranoia threading itself into every conversation, one thought kept clawing at the back of your mind, an itch you couldn’t quite reach:  

Why the hell can’t you remember what happened?

Because while the rest of that frat house was losing their collective shit over the body sprawled out on the sticky floor, you?  

You were too busy getting your brains fucked out.  

Funny how that worked out, isn’t it? How you were the first to leave that party before the cops even had a chance to step through the front door. While everyone else was panicking, screams cutting through the pounding bass, whispers catching like dry brushfire, you were nowhere near the chaos.  

You were upstairs. Pressed against the balcony railing, fingers gripping softwood, breath stolen by the heat of a so-called one-night stand. Drunk—not on alcohol, maybe a little high too, but on adrenaline, on the way your pulse thrummed beneath your skin, on the way the world blurred into nothing but the rush of the moment. By the time sirens painted streaks of red and blue across the night, you were already gone, slipping through the cracks like a ghost.  

And for the past two weeks, you’ve played your role flawlessly.  

You’ve gone to class and nodded along to lectures as if your mind wasn’t stuck on a loop, replaying that night in fragments, trying to remember what refuses to be remembered. You’ve turned in your assignments, smiled at the right moments, and laughed when it was expected. You’ve answered your parents’ calls, your voice steady, and words practiced.  

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“No, I’m not drinking.”

“Yes, I’ll be careful.”

But it’s all bullshit. Because deep down, you don’t feel fine. 

And you’re not scared like everyone else. Your hands don’t tremble when you pass the flyers—the ones with their vacant-eyed face frozen in ink, the desperate pleas for information scrawled underneath. You don’t flinch at the whispers that slither through the halls, the ones warning that whoever did it might still be out there. 

Because you've been looking for him.

Toby.

It should have ended that night. Just another random hookup at a frat party—one more mistake swallowed up by cheap beer, loud music, and the aftermath of too many bad decisions. But it didn’t. It couldn’t.  

Truth be told, you don’t even know why you’re looking for him. Maybe it’s because that night is a haze of alcohol, smoke, and adrenaline—a blurry, fragmented memory. But there’s one thing you can’t shake: the way his hands felt on your skin—rough, confident as if he’d already figured you out, mapped out every inch of you without even trying.

It should’ve been forgettable. 

But something about him lingered.  

Maybe it’s because he vanished after the party, like a ghost—gone without a trace, like he was never even there. Just a shadow that flickered in the background and then disappeared when you weren’t paying attention. Maybe it’s because a part of you, the one you don’t even want to acknowledge, needs to know if he had anything to do with what happened that night.  

Because here’s the thing—  

Toby was the last person you saw before everything went to hell.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. Just some reckless, drunk hook-up who disappeared before the sun came up. It happens all the time, right? One night, a mess of bad decisions, and then—poof. People vanish.  

But the memory of that night won’t leave you alone. It lingers in your head like a half-finished song, the details slipping in and out of focus. The pulsing neon lights. The bass rattling your bones. The press of bodies, the stench of sweat and liquor thick in the air. 

And Toby—always just outside the chaos. Leaning against the balcony railing with that lazy smirk, eyes sharp and unreadable. Watching you. Like he already knew how this was going to end. But now? Nothing. No social media. No mutuals. No whispers in the usual circles. Every time you ask, you get the same response—confusion, shrugs, blank stares.  

It’s like he never existed.  

And that pisses you off more than anything.  

So, like any completely normal, rational, well-adjusted person, you do the only thing that makes sense.  

So you start digging.  

At first, it’s casual. A name-drop here, a lazy, “Hey, you know that guy from the party?” there. You don’t expect a full-blown biography, just something—anything—to prove he was real. A scrap of recognition. A passing mention. A sign that you didn’t just imagine him in the haze of cheap vodka and adrenaline.  

But the deeper you dig, the stranger it gets.  

People remember the party. They remember the chaos, the flashing lights, the sirens wailing in the distance. They remember the whispers about the dead kid found in the upstairs bathroom. But Toby?  

Nothing. No one knows him. Not even a hint of recognition.  

And that’s when the obsession starts to claw its way under your skin.  

Because most people? They just shrug it off. A few tilt their heads, brows furrowing in concentration, trying to pull a face from the fog of a booze-soaked night, but coming up with nothing. It doesn’t add up. Toby wasn’t some invisible figure standing in the corner, just another face in the crowd. He wasn’t some wallflower you might’ve missed in the blur of the night. 

No, he was there. You saw him. You were with him.  

But the more you ask, the more you realize how wrong it all feels. No one remembers him. Not in the casual, "Oh, I was too wasted to notice" way. No, this is something else entirely. This is the "He wasn’t there at all" way.  

One girl insists she saw you alone on the balcony that night. Another swears she’s never had a cute guy at a frat party before, and then there’s the guy—the guy—who looks at you like you’re crazy. He gives you that pitying look, the one that makes you feel like you’re the one who’s lost touch with reality, and says:  

"You sure you weren’t just imagining things?"  

That one sticks. It lodges itself deep in your chest, cold and jagged, like a splinter that you can’t pull out. It burrows in, nagging at you. At first, you laugh it off—this can’t be happening. They’re just clueless, or maybe they’re messing with you. Or maybe they’re lying. But when you look in their eyes, you realize they’re not. They’re dead serious.  

And that’s when the panic starts to creep in. 

Because you know he was real.  

You remember the sound of his voice, low and teasing as it wrapped around your name. You remember the roughness of his hands, the way they gripped your skin like he owned it. You remember the sharp, smoky scent of his cologne, the heat of his body pressed against yours, grounding you. You remember the way his breath hitched when he laughed, that faint, dangerous edge to it.  

You remember Toby. 

So why doesn’t anyone else?

Like, you still have that hickey he gave you at the frat party.  

The last time you saw him—besides that night—was when he somehow managed to swipe your black lace underwear without you noticing. A cocky little stunt, one you didn’t even realize had happened until you stood outside the frat house, skin still buzzing from the aftershocks of the hookup, your dress smoothed back into place. 

The way his lips dragged over your skin, slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. The way his teeth scraped against your neck, the warmth of his breath right before he bit down—just hard enough to make you gasp. Then he laughed, that low, satisfied sound that sent a shiver down your spine, and murmured something about how he hoped it bruised.  

It did. Badly. To the point where you had to cover the damn thing with concealer before class like people don’t need to know your business. 

But that shouldn’t be your main issue right now. 

Your main worry should be your phone. Wait a minute. Your phone?

You’re currently sitting in a study room at the library with your roommate, and you can’t find your phone. It should’ve been buzzing by now—messages, notifications, something. But there’s nothing.

You swear you had it when you left class earlier. Or was it when you and your roommate sat down to study in the library? Either way, it’s gone now. Vanished without a trace.

You check your bag. Nothing. Then your pockets, just to make sure you didn’t slip it in there absentmindedly. Nothing. You check your bag again—maybe, just maybe, reality will bend in your favor, and the damn thing will reappear. But it doesn’t.

Did you drop it in the lecture hall? Like, you don’t remember being that careless, but the last few days have been a blur—so many distractions, so many things happening on campus, it’s hard to keep track of anything, let alone your phone.

But right now, none of that matters. Because your phone is missing, and you’re crawling through the library like a raccoon ransacking a trash can.

You check under chairs. Between the rows of bookshelves. Even behind a vending machine because you’re getting desperate. Nothing.

With an exhausted sigh, you press your hands to your face and let your forehead thunk against the corner of a bookshelf. “I swear to God—”

"Looking for this?"

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST—"

You nearly knock over an entire shelf. Your soul, your lifespan, and your dignity all seem to leave your body at once. And there she is. Your roommate. Vidia. Standing way too close, holding your phone between two fingers like it’s some lost artifact.

Your heart is still violently tap-dancing in your chest, and it takes a moment for your brain to catch up with the chaos. “Why do you do that?” you demand, trying to piece yourself back together, but the words are shaky, and your palms are slick with sweat.

She just shrugs, completely unbothered, like she didn’t just almost give you a heart attack. “You make it so easy. It’s like scaring a sleep-deprived squirrel.”

You grab your phone from her with an exaggerated roll of your eyes, glaring at her like she just ruined the rest of your day. "I hope you trip down the library stairs."

Vidia raises an eyebrow, unphased. “Bold of you to assume I’d go down alone,” she quips, already moving on with that air of indifference she’s perfected. “Anyway, I found it by the restroom.”

Your fingers tighten around the phone, the words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “The bathroom?” you repeat, your voice shaky, confusion and anxiety mixing in an odd cocktail. 

Vidia nods casually like it’s no big deal. “Yup. Just chillin’ on the counter. I figured, ‘Wow, what an absolute dumbass move. Leaving your phone for any psycho to snatch.’”

Your stomach twists, a sudden heaviness filling the space in your chest. The air around you thickens, your breathing shallow, and that tight, suffocating coil of unease winds tighter in your gut. 

You don’t remember going to the bathroom.

You don’t remember leaving your phone there. 

But you were just in class, right? You just finished your exams—finally, that was over. All you wanted now was to breathe, chill, and hang out with Vidia around campus like any normal student should after a hellish week.

You bring the phone up to your face, hoping the screen will make sense of all this. It doesn’t. 

“Was anyone else in the restroom with you?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, but the tension seeps through. You can feel it—there’s an edge to your words now, sharp and frayed.

Vidia thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “Not that I saw. Just me, when I went in to wash my hands. Don’t know if someone left it or if it fell, but it was just there. Weird, right?”

Weird doesn’t even begin to cover it. Your mind whirls, trying to piece together what’s happening. You’d been in the middle of your exam haze—just trying to power through—and now this? The last thing you remember is walking out of the lecture hall, not a bathroom. 

The more you try to think, the more everything becomes a blur. So much had been happening lately, and you had tried to shut it all out—taking a hit from your pen here and there to avoid overthinking. But now? The thought of your phone, lying abandoned on a bathroom counter, starts to fester in your mind. 

“You’re just lucky I didn’t steal it,” Vidia quips with a grin, oblivious to the fact that you’re teetering on the edge of something that feels much darker than a misplaced phone.

But you’re not laughing. You’re staring at the device in your hand, gripping it like it might disappear if you don’t hold on tight enough.

You don’t remember leaving it there.

And that fact? It sends a cold shiver crawling up your spine.

Your thumb hovers over the power button, almost as if your body knows it shouldn’t make the decision. The screen lights up with a cold, blue glow, harsh against the dim library lights. You squint at the familiar lock screen, but the unease slithers in before your brain even registers it.

It’s subtle at first, just a gnawing feeling deep in your gut—a flicker of something wrong. A creeping whisper at the back of your mind urging you to put the phone down. But before you can think it through, your eyes catch the notification on the call log.

Unknown Number.

No name. No details. Just there, sitting at the top of your contact list like it’s always belonged. Like it’s always been waiting for you to see it.

You freeze. Your pulse stutters, your heart skipping a beat. The silence in the library feels suffocating now like the walls are closing in. You don’t know how long you’ve been staring at that name—or rather, the lack of it—but it feels like an eternity before the first message pings through.

Ding.

The sharp chime shatters the stillness, and your breath catches in your throat. Your hand goes cold, and you stare at the screen.

Unknown Number: “You ask about me like you miss me.”

Your stomach drops, cold dread crawling up your spine. Your mind races, trying to connect dots, to make sense of this. You want to swipe the screen away, to forget this moment, but you can’t.

You can’t look away.

Another message appears before you have the chance to react. Your fingers tremble as you read it.

Unknown Number: “You look cute when you’re desperate.”

You can feel the room shrinking around you, the air thick with tension. It feels like you’re drowning in it, and the phone is suddenly too heavy in your hand.

Everything starts to feel wrong. The world tilts on its axis. A creeping sense of violation, of being watched, wraps around you like a suffocating fog. You try to steady your breath, but it’s like the whole library is closing in on you. And then, just as you think you can’t take any more, the last message comes in.

No words this time. Just an image file.

You hesitate, your fingers hovering over the screen as a cold dread settles deep in your stomach. Every instinct screams at you to stop—to put the phone down, to close your eyes and pretend it isn’t happening. But something keeps you rooted in place, some twisted part of you that needs to know, that craves the truth, no matter how sickening it might be. Maybe you're hoping it's a mistake. A glitch. Some absurd error. Or maybe you're just too far gone to walk away from this now.

With a shaky breath, you press the image.

The photo loads with agonizing slowness, each second stretching out like an eternity. Your heart pounds in your chest, the sound deafening in your ears as you watch the image unfold before you. The sense of wrongness, of violation, begins to seep into your bones.

And then you see it.

Your stolen black lace underwear.

The sight hits you like a punch to the gut. It’s your underwear, unmistakably. But it’s... different. The fabric is wrinkled and crumpled in a way that doesn’t make sense. It’s sitting there, in the photo, folded neatly—almost too neatly—on some unfamiliar surface.

And then the weight of it crashes into you. This isn’t some coincidence. This isn’t an innocent mistake. 

Toby’s been watching.

He’s been tracking you. Watching your every move.

And now, he’s making sure you know it.

You stare at the underwear again, your breath caught in your throat. And that’s when it hits you. It’s not just that they’re there, it’s how they look. The lace, once pristine, now looks... ruined. Tattered, in places. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but it doesn’t look like something that’s just been forgotten. No, something about it feels off. Like it’s been used.

The realization slams into you with the force of a freight train.

This motherfucker has been jacking off to your underwear.

For a split second, your body goes rigid, a sickening wave of disgust crashing over you, twisting your stomach in ways you didn’t think were possible. It’s enough to make you feel like you need to throw the phone across the room as if you can somehow purge the image from your mind. But, you can’t. It’s already burned into you, like an indelible mark that won’t fade.

And then, strangely, you can’t help but laugh on the inside. It’s a dark, twisted laugh, almost like you can’t even believe how fucking sick this is, but the absurdity of it all hits you all at once. Toby—of all people—using your underwear. A weird, sick trophy. It almost feels like a joke, doesn’t it? 

Of course, he’d do something like this. Why not? Toby’s always been a little off, a little too twisted. But this? This takes the cake. And it’s almost funny how fucked up it all is.

A shiver crawls up your spine, and the dark humor you felt moments ago fades into something colder. The laughter dies in your throat as the full weight of what this means finally settles in. Toby’s not just some background stalker anymore. He’s not some random hook-up that you can brush off. 

No, now, he’s something else entirely. He’s toying with you. He’s playing a game, and you’re the unwilling toy in his twisted little scenario.

But you? You’re no toy.

Does he think he can play games with you?

Well, then, let’s play. After all, two can play this game. And you’re going to make him regret ever thinking he could fuck with you.

The tension gnaws at you as you stand before the same frat house once again, but something’s different. It’s too quiet. Not the kind of silence that comes with a hangover or the weight of exams looming shortly. No, this silence is heavier. More oppressive. The air feels thick, stagnant—almost suffocating. 

Something is festering beneath the surface, something unspoken that makes your skin crawl. Because, let’s not forget, someone did die here. 

And not just any random partygoer—one of theirs. A freshman who had just crossed over into their brotherhood. 

At first, the cops called it hazing. A tragic case of initiation gone wrong. That would’ve been bad enough, something dark and twisted that the university could still pretend was just a mistake. But then the body showed up with two hatchets buried deep in his back.

And suddenly, that story didn’t make sense. 

Like yeah, the frat guys might be assholes. But they’re not that creative.  

Still, the university isn’t convinced. Neither are the cops. Whispers slip between students like a sickness, each theory worse than the last. Some say the frat is covering something up. That they know more than they’re letting on. And if that’s true—then maybe, just maybe, they know something about Toby.

You don’t want to be here. Every bone in your body tells you to turn around, to forget about this. But that’s the thing about you. 

You don’t let things go.

So you lift your hand and knock. Twice. Sharp, firm.  A few seconds later, the door cracks open just enough to reveal a guy with messy brown hair, the kind of unshaven face that says he’s been too busy—or too stressed—to care. His eyes flick over you, full of mild irritation, like you’re already wasting his time.  

“What?” No frat boy charm. No lazy grin. Just tired.

“I need to ask you about this white dude at the party,” you say smoothly. There’s something just beneath your voice, a sharpness, like a blade hidden under silk. “The one with the gash on the left side of his face. Orange yellow-tinted goggles.”  

The guy hesitates. Just for a second. 

It’s small—barely noticeable—but you see it. The way his fingers twitch. The way his jaw tightens. The way his eyes dart to the guys on the couch behind him. A silent conversation flickers between them, and you know, you know, that they recognize the description. 

But then, just as quickly, he fixed his expression into something unreadable. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says flatly, and before you can call him on his bullshit, he moves to shut the door in your face.  

Your foot slides into the gap, firm and unmoving, keeping the door from closing. His eyes snap down to it, then back up to you, realization dawning that you’re not leaving.  

You smirk. Slow. Sharp. “Oh, come on,” you say, voice dropping just enough to be dangerous. “You really wanna make me report you guys for the little stash you had at the party? Alcohol, drugs, minors—you know, all the fun stuff that could get your charter revoked?”  

His throat bobs. Behind him, one of the guys on the couch mutters, “Dude, just—just let her in.” After a long pause, he exhales through his nose, “All right, all right, chill. I’ll tell you what I know.” He reluctantly steps back. “But if anyone asks, this conversation never happened.” 

You step inside, and just like that, the game shifts. Eyes flicking between you and the frat dude that let you in. They weren’t expecting this. You see the moment they realize you’re not some naive young woman who can be shrugged off, and the power shifts. The dude in front of you swallows, his posture shifting from cocky to uncomfortable.

The others stay silent, watching you like you’re a predator who’s already got them cornered. “…yeah, we know him,” he starts, his voice lowering like he’s deciding just how much to let slip. “He’s been our dealer for about four months now. We’ve been buying from him since the fall semester. The dude’s smooth runs a tight game. Don’t ask questions, just deliver.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t say anything. 

“Then the spring semester hit, and things started to get weird,” the guy continues, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Prices went up. A lot. Like, from $10 a hit to $25, and that’s when he started bringing in freshmen, getting them to pay even to be part of the circle. Made ‘em think they needed the ‘in’ to get good stuff.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, disgust curling in your stomach. Freshmen are getting scammed for some easy cash. Classic. Desperate kids want a taste of the so-called ‘college experience,’ only to get wrung dry by a bunch of losers who think running a glorified middleman operation makes them untouchable.  

But the pieces are falling into place now, slotting together in a way that makes your skin prickle.  

Toby’s been keeping a low profile—not just from you, but from everyone. The sudden price hikes, the freshmen he’s been pulling in, the way he’s moved from just dealing to controlling access altogether… That’s not just business. That’s survival. He’s hiding. 

And whatever he’s running from? It’s bad, of course, as you figure.

You exhale, shaking off the lingering sense of unease. You got what you came for—at least for now. “All right,” you say, turning toward the door. You pause just long enough to glance back at the frat guy still lingering there, relief evident in his slack posture. Like he’s just barely dodged getting torn apart. You let the silence stretch for just a second too long, enjoying the way it makes him shift uncomfortably. “And thank God you let me in for free, huh?”  

Your lips curl into a smirk, playful, but with that signature sharpness laced beneath it. “Guess I just look hot enough to get the VIP treatment.”  

He snorts, trying to play it cool, but you can tell you’ve gotten under his skin. “Yeah, sure, whatever you say…”  

You turn away, stepping off the porch, but just as you hit the sidewalk, you pause. There’s still something sour in your mouth, a lingering irritation. You glance back at them, the group of them still loitering near the doorway, watching you leave. 

And then, just for the hell of it, you bark at them.  

Loud. Sudden. Sharp. The reaction is instant. One of them flinches so hard he almost drops his drink, another curses under his breath, and the frat guy in the doorway? He just stares at you, stunned into silence. You laugh under your breath, shaking your head as you walk away, hands in your pockets.  

Cowards. But whatever. 

They gave you what you needed. 

You return to your dorm, pushing your personal room door and clicking shut behind you as you toss your leather bag onto your bed, the skull keychain and grey fox fur charm swaying with the movement. The weight in your chest hasn’t eased—not after what you just found out. Or, more accurately, what you didn’t find out. You have enough information to find Toby. 

And that thought alone is enough to make you grin.  

The reflection in the mirror barely feels like you as you move with practiced ease, wiping away the remnants of the day and replacing it with something sharper, something darker. You smear a deep shade of lipstick across your lips, press them together, and watch as your own gaze hardens. There. That’s better.

With quick, fluid movements, you strip off your casual clothes and slip into something more fitting for the night ahead. A loose off-the-shoulder black top drapes over your frame, half-tucked into studded short shorts that sit snug on your hips. Your ripped black tights cling to your legs, the delicate fabric holding on by threads, a look of controlled chaos.

You lace up your boots—low-heeled, ribbons threaded through the worn-out lace holes, their weight familiar as they clunk softly against the floor. Every piece you put on is intentional. The studded bracelets stacked high on your wrists, the layered silver chains hanging low against your collarbone, the rings that glint under the dim light of your vanity. Finally, you grab your leather jacket, the soft fur lining brushing against your neck as you shrug it on. It’s more than just a piece of clothing—it’s armor.

With a steadying breath, you shove your phone into your bag, along with your skull-emblazoned pocket knife, a lighter, and a few other essentials. The night is unpredictable, but you’ve learned to prepare for anything.

You’re just finishing the last swipe of your eyeliner when the door swings open, making you jump slightly.

Vidia.

She steps into your room like she owns it, moving with that effortless, almost grace of hers. Dressed in an oversized shirt and short shorts, her hair bundled into a bonnet, she looks almost too casual—except for the sharp amusement in her eyes as she takes you in.

“Well, well, well.” She sidles up behind you, her arms draping lazily around your shoulders, chin propped against your head as she watches you in the mirror. “And where exactly is my dear, morally-questionable roommate running off to tonight?”

You don’t answer immediately, fixing the last touches on your mascara. Vidia hums, like she’s already forming a dozen theories in her head, each more ridiculous than the last.

“Lemme guess,” she continues, her voice playful but prying, “you’re off to summon a demon, break into a museum, or—oh, oh—are we robbing a bank now? Because, bitch, I need a cut if we are.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Just out.”

Vidia rolls her eyes. “Yeah, no shit. Out where?”

You sling your bag over your shoulder, glancing at her through the mirror. “Following up on something.”

That wipes some of the amusement from her face. She straightens slightly, arms loosening around your neck. “Following up?” she repeats, voice dipping in suspicion. “You’ve been acting weird as hell since that party. And considering what happened…”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Weirder than usual?”

She points at you, toothbrush still clutched in her hand like a weapon. “Yes. And that’s saying something.”

For a moment, you debate brushing her off, but the truth sits heavy on your tongue. If things go sideways tonight, someone should at least know you went looking.

You meet her gaze in the mirror. “If I’m not back by ten…” You hesitate, then smirk, voice dropping into something more deliberate. “Hit and run.”

The playful glint in Vidia’s eyes vanishes. Her grip on your shoulders tightens.

“Wait—”

But you don’t give her time to press. You step past her, boots heavy against the floor as you move straight for the door.

Because tonight, you’re finally getting some real answers.

Outside, you lean against the cool brick of a nearby building, the faint glow of the streetlights flickering like distant stars in the late-night quiet. The cigarette between your fingers burns slowly, the smoke curling up in delicate tendrils, dissolving into the night air. 

It’s a small comfort in everything—something familiar, something that lets you breathe, even if just for a moment.

The gas station across the street hums with the low buzz of neon lights. The smell of gasoline mixes with the stale scent of the night air, and for a brief second, everything feels so… normal. Like this town hasn’t been tainted by whatever's been happening, by all the things you've discovered. But you know that’s a lie. It’s not normal anymore. 

It hasn’t been for days.

The events at the frat house hang over the entire campus like a cloud, casting a long, dark shadow over everyone. Most students have retreated to their dorms, staying inside, clutching whatever comfort they can. The usual buzz of parties and late-night drinking is absent. No one is passing around bottles of cheap liquor. It’s like the very air is holding its breath, waiting for something to break.

And you’re waiting for something, too. You're waiting for Toby. Because you’re starting to put the pieces together.

You crush the cigarette under your heel and pull out your phone, staring at the screen, still haunted by the last message, the photo. The stolen underwear. The message that told you exactly what kind of game he’s playing. 

And now you need to find him.

You turn your head, casting a glance at the nearby woods that border the edge of the college town, the trees silhouetted against the dim glow of the horizon. You’ve heard rumors about the woods. About the things that go on there when the sun sets, when the air goes still and thick with the promise of secrets.

With a quick decision, you push off from the wall, the gravel beneath your shoes crunching as you move toward the shadows. You cross the street and head down a narrow alley, passing the broken-down bar where students used to hang out, now practically deserted. The air feels thicker here as if the whole town has been holding its breath.

As you walk, your mind races. You’ve been hearing whispers. People at the library. Students in the dining hall. They’ve been talking about Toby, but never in any serious way. Just in passing. But that’s when you hear it—the mention of the frat house again. Drug dealer. Secret deals. Low-key operation.

The pieces click together.

It’s not just about sex, about teasing. Toby’s deeper into something darker than you could’ve imagined. The whole thing with your underwear wasn’t just some sick little game. No, that was the warning shot.

You stop, your gaze scanning the area. A couple of drunk students stumble out of a nearby building, laughing too loudly for this hour, but they stop when they notice you standing in the shadows, eyes narrowed in your direction. You don’t care about them, though. You care about one thing, and one thing only.

You walk up to the group, forcing your voice to sound casual. “You guys know a dealer around here?”

The two guys exchange a look, clearly uncertain. “Dealer?” one of them repeats, scratching his head. “Uh… don’t know him well. He’s a quiet guy, always hanging around with the frat boys. You know, that one? He deals… stuff.” He waves his hand vaguely in the air.

“Stuff?” you push.

The guy stares at you, trying to gauge your seriousness. “Yeah. Drugs, I think. Not sure what, though. I heard he’s got connections, really low-key. But it’s all hush-hush. Don’t mess with that guy. Trust me.”

You keep your voice steady, suppressing the surge of adrenaline coursing through you. "Do you know where he deals? Where I can find him?" you ask, looking directly at the guy. He hesitates for a second, clearly trying to figure out if you're bluffing or genuinely looking for trouble.

His eyes flicker around, checking the quiet street, before he leans in a little closer, lowering his voice. “I heard he does most of his deals out by the old abandoned warehouse on the south side of off-campus. Not many people go there anymore, but... yeah, that's where he usually pops in and out..”

A thrill runs through you at the mention of the warehouse. That was exactly the kind of place Toby would hide in, away from prying eyes. You give the guy a quick nod of thanks, not waiting for any more unnecessary chatter.

You don’t have time to waste. 

Your feet crunch against the gravel as you walk away, quickly but quietly, the cool night air tugging at your jacket. You’ve got one thing on your mind—finding Toby. 

Whatever game he thinks he’s playing with you, it ends tonight.

You cross the street, your pulse quickening as you head toward the path that leads to the empty south side of campus. The abandoned warehouse is just beyond it, tucked away behind a cluster of trees. It’s so quiet now. No drunken crowds. No obnoxious parties.

Just the occasional sound of a car passing, its tires humming against the road. The further you get from campus, the more desolate it feels, as if you're stepping into a place where no one belongs.

A chill creeps up your spine, but you push it down. You’re not scared. You’re pissed. As you round a corner, you stop in your tracks.

Up ahead, parked near the back of the warehouse, is a sleek black truck. The engine is still running, and the low growl of it vibrates in the air. The driver’s side door swings open, and out steps a man in an orange jacket, his movements swift and purposeful. He’s followed by another guy in a mustard-yellow hoodie, his head tilted down, hiding his face.

You squint, trying to make out more, but they’re too far, too blurry in the darkness. But then—

There he is. Toby. 

He steps out from the other side of the truck, his silhouette cutting through the dim light like a blade. Even from this distance, you recognize him immediately. The way he moves—calm, unhurried, carrying that same cocky arrogance in every step. Like he has nothing to fear. Like he’s in control.  

The bastard has been playing games with you. The messages, the pictures, the feeling of always being watched—it all leads back to him. And now? Now you finally have him in your sights.  

He doesn’t even glance your way as he walks toward the warehouse, his focus elsewhere. The two men follow close behind, their presence just as unsettling. Older, more seasoned. You can tell by the way they move, the way they keep close but slightly behind Toby. Like they’re equals in whatever the hell this is. Or maybe they’re watching him just as much as he’s watching them.  

The truck’s engine rumbles softly, headlights flickering as the warehouse door clicks shut behind them.  

You should be back at your dorm.  

You should be calling the police.  

But instead, you’re here—standing at the edge of something dangerous, heart-pounding but mind-sharp. You exhale slowly, steadying yourself. “Don’t rush this.” You keep to the darkness, moving low and careful, each step precise. Recklessness gets people killed. You’re not stupid enough to charge in blindly, not when you don’t know what’s waiting on the other side of that door.  

No, you’re going to do this right. You settle into position, hidden in the dark, eyes locked on the building. Watching. Listening. Calculating.  

If Toby wants to play games, then fine.  

You’ll play too.  

But on your terms.

You look down at your phone for a sec before looking at the two men. They’re clearly not college students or even people your age—these guys are at least in their mid-30s, their grizzled features giving them away. One of them has a sharp jaw and a slight scar across his chin, while the other’s got graying hair at his temples, making him look out of place in the shady world they’re operating in. 

Toby, on the other hand, still looks like he’s in his early 20s—too young for this, you think, but there’s no doubt in your mind he’s right in the thick of it. He’s standing with his back to the truck, a smirk playing on his lips as he talks to the two men.

You squint, listening carefully as their conversation drifts your way, just low enough that you can’t make out every word, but enough to catch fragments.

“Everything’s across campus now,” one of the older men says, his voice rough, sounding almost too calm for what’s being discussed. “Gotta keep it clean. The cops are getting nosy.”

Toby responds with a quiet laugh, the cockiness in his tone clear even from this distance. “Yeah, we’ve been laying low. Nobody’s really looking in the right places. But I’ll admit, the pressure’s on, especially with all the weird shit happening on campus.”

The other guy in the mustard hoodie just grunts, tugging at his sleeves. “Our job’s done, yeah? Clean up’s all that’s left, then we’re out.”

Job? What job are they talking about? 

You frown, trying to piece it all together. “Clean up” sounds like something more than just dealing. Were they cleaning up a mess? You don’t know what kind of mess it would be, but it doesn’t sit right with you. Not at all. 

Could it be... connected to the student who died in the frat house? 

Your thoughts are interrupted by a faint rustle behind you. The hairs on your neck stand up. The night feels too quiet all of a sudden. And then, out of nowhere, you feel a pair of hands slam into your neck, pinning you harshly to the dirt floor beneath you. 

You try to gasp, your lungs seizing, but it’s impossible. You’re trapped—held down with frightening strength, unable to fight back. The pressure around your neck tightens, and your head spins. You can’t see who it is at first, everything happening too fast, too violently. But then, you hear the sound of fabric rustling, the force of weight pressing down on you.

Your phone’s flashlight flickers weakly, its glow barely enough to cut through the darkness. But it’s enough to make out the figure above you.

A woman.

Her face is hidden behind a white mask, blank and haunting, its surface smeared with dirt and something darker, something crusted into the fabric of her hoodie like dried blood. The hoodie’s sleeves are shoved up, exposing lean, sinewy arms, the muscles tensed with barely contained energy. Her dark wash jeans are loose, but nothing about her posture is. She’s coiled like a live wire, electric with something feral. Something unhinged. 

Before you can react, her hands snap around your throat.

It’s not just a grip—it’s a full-body attack, her weight slamming you into the dirt like a predator taking down prey. The ground is cold beneath you, damp with the earth’s decay, but the pressure around your throat burns. Her fingers dig in, nails biting into your skin as she squeezes, tighter and tighter, cutting off everything—your breath, your voice, your control.

Panic surges. You try to pry her hands off, but she’s stronger than she looks. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. It’s like she wants you to suffer. Like she lives for the fight.

You thrash, legs kicking up dirt, arms scrambling for anything—her wrists, her face, a rock—something. But she doesn’t budge. She leans in closer, her breath ragged through the mask, and you can feel the violent tremors in her body, the sheer force she’s pouring into this. 

The world around you starts to shrink. Your lungs burn, your vision swims with dark spots, and the muffled roar of your own pulse drowns out everything else. It’s a slow, suffocating descent, the kind where time stretches and your body knows—knows you’re running out of seconds.

But then—flash.

The beam from your phone flickers, catching the mask again. The light hits her dead-on, exposing the stains, the dirt, and the eerie emptiness of the featureless face.

She jerks.

Like an animal recoiling from fire, she flinches, her whole body shuddering with something violent. And then—just as suddenly as she attacked—she lets go.

Air rushes back into your lungs, burning like acid as you gasp, choking on relief. You cough, your whole body trembling from the shock of it, your vision blurred with tears. Your hands clutch at the dirt beneath you, desperate for something solid, something real.

The woman stumbles back, her breathing frantic. But she isn’t running. Not yet.

She raises her hands—not in defense, but in shame. Covering her face. Clutching at the fabric of her hoodie like she can somehow disappear into it. Like she needs to. 

“Don’t…” Her voice is hoarse, unsteady. “Don’t look at me.”

Her words hit like ice in your veins.

She’s not just hiding. She’s terrified.

Your flashlight flickers again, throwing a shaky, erratic glow across her body. She cowers from it, shrinking into herself, the bloodstains on her hoodie almost glowing in the dim light.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” 

Her voice cracks, the desperation threading through her words almost unhinged. She’s backing away now, dropping to her knees as if the weight of her own body is too much to bear.

Your head spins, the world still tilting from the lack of oxygen, but your mind clings to the words.  

What the hell does that mean? Who is she? 

And why did she try to kill you?

None of it made sense. You tried to move, to push yourself up, but your body refused to listen. The weight of everything—the fight, the fear, the lack of oxygen—dragged you down like an anchor, pulling you deeper into the abyss.

Your vision blurred, flickering between the dim glow of your phone and the swallowing darkness. Your body tingled, a numbing sensation creeping into your limbs, making them heavy—too heavy. Every breath was a struggle, each inhale weaker than the last.

The world tilted the edges of your perception distorting like ripples in water.

And then—nothing.

It was as if the air itself had thickened, pressing down on you, suffocating your senses into a muted void. Your mind drifted, untethered from reality, sinking into unconsciousness as the last traces of awareness slipped through your fingers.

When you woke up, it felt like you were underwater.

The world was sluggish, muffled. Your head pounded with a dull, relentless ache, and your limbs felt impossibly heavy, as if they weren’t your own. It took a moment for your senses to return—to realize that something was wrong.

The cold, hard surface beneath you wasn’t the forest floor. It was rough, and industrial, the vibrations beneath you sending small jolts through your aching bones. The scent of stale air and gasoline clung to your nose, mixing with something metallic—blood?

Your thoughts were a mess, tangled and sluggish, but the first thing you knew for certain was this: You were moving.

Not by choice.

Your eyes flickered open, disoriented by the dim lighting. It was cramped, the space too small to stand, too enclosed to be anything but—

A van.

Panic surged through your veins like ice. You tried to move, to sit up, but something pulled at your wrists. Tight. Restrictive. The unmistakable bite of zip ties dug into your skin, keeping your hands wrenched behind your back. A second struggle confirmed your legs were just as bound.

Trapped.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe, to think. The low hum of the van’s engine filled the silence, steady and rhythmic. But then—voices.

Two men.

Their words were distant at first, muffled by the barrier separating you from the front seats, but the more you strained your ears, the clearer they became.

“I had a feeling this was gonna bite us in the ass,” one of them muttered, his voice rough and edged with frustration. “Who would’ve figured she’d track us down just to find him?”

A tense pause. Then, the second man grunted. “Yeah. They’ve been sniffing around for a while now. Too much digging.”

Your breath hitched. They were talking about you.

Your pulse roared in your ears, drowning out the sound of the tires grinding against asphalt. Every nerve in your body screamed at you to move, to run, but you were trapped, bound, and helpless in the back of a moving van with no idea where you were being taken.

And worse?

You weren’t alone.

Your gaze shifted, and that’s when you saw him.

Sitting right in front of you, as if he were just another passenger—as if nothing had happened—was Toby.

The man you’d been chasing. The one you couldn’t forget.

Toby sat there with unsettling ease; his posture relaxed as if this were just another casual meetup instead of a kidnapping. His hoodie—multi-colored in faded shades of beige and dark blue—looked worn, like it had seen its fair share of seasons. The orange-yellow goggles resting on his face caught the dim interior light of the van, casting eerie reflections that masked his expression. A dark bandana covered his mouth, but it did nothing to hide the weight of his gaze.

His eyes—cold, dark brown, and unwavering—locked onto yours with no fear, no hesitation. He wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even amused. He was just... watching.

Like he already knew exactly what was running through your mind.

The silence between you stretched, thick, and suffocating. Your heart pounded in your chest, but your body remained frozen, still bound and helpless.

You swallowed, your throat dry and tight, before shifting against the restraints, your lips fumbling to pull the dumb cloth from your mouth. When you finally spoke, your voice came out shaking but determined.

“Why are you doing this?”

For a second, he didn’t answer. He just kept watching you, head tilted slightly, the way someone might study an animal in a trap. Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips—not a full grin, just a ghost of one, something cold and distant that never reached his eyes.

“You were getting too close to the truth,” Toby said simply, his tone void of any real emotion. Like he was explaining the most obvious thing in the world. “Thought you could dig around, ask questions, play little Miss Detective.”

Your breath hitched, and your mind scrambled to piece it together. “That frat guy…” you started, but Toby cut you off.

His eyes flickered away for the briefest moment before he spoke again. “It wasn’t about him,” he said, voice low and controlled.

You furrowed your brow, confusion twisting in your gut. The pounding headache still clawed at your skull, but you pushed through it, grasping for understanding. “What? Then why—why was everyone acting like it was related to him?”

Toby shrugged, casual as ever, as if none of this truly mattered to him. “Because it’s easier that way,” he said. “People hear ‘frat party death’ and assume it’s some overdose, some accident. They don’t think to look deeper. They don’t think to ask the real questions.”

Your stomach twisted. You’d been asking those questions.

That’s why you were here.

Toby’s gaze flickered back to you, sharper now. More focused. “You were poking your nose where it didn’t belong,” he continued, his voice quiet but firm. “Digging into my deals, my business. Asking around about me and my crew.” His fingers tapped idly against his knee, rhythmic and steady. 

“And I didn’t like it.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears, the pieces slowly clicking into place—but something still didn’t fit. “You’re just a dealer,” you said, though the words felt hollow even as they left your lips. “You—”

Toby let out a short, humorless chuckle. “Just a dealer?” He tilted his head as if he were genuinely considering it. Then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You never really thought about what else I could be, did you?”

His words sent a cold shiver down your spine.

What else he could be?

Your breath stalled, your mind reeling as you stared at him, searching his face for some kind of answer, or denial. But he gave you nothing—just that same quiet, unwavering look.

And then, he gave you something worse.

A slow, creeping grin stretched beneath his bandana, the faintest glint of amusement flickering in his dark eyes. His voice dipped into a hushed whisper as if savoring the moment, drawing it out like a cat playing with a wounded mouse.  

“You got lucky, y’know,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Most people who figure me out? They don’t live long enough to be warned.”  

Your breath hitched.  

A serial killer.  

The words burned into your mind, branding themselves deep in your consciousness. He wasn’t just some dealer, some criminal lurking in the shadows of frat parties and campus gossip. He was something far worse.  

He killed that guy at the party.  

Before you could fully process the horror unraveling before you, Toby moved. Fast. Too fast. He was on his feet in an instant, boots thudding against the metal floor of the van as he closed the distance between you.  

A sharp yank. Pain exploded across your scalp as he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled it, dragging you up with brutal force.

 A muffled cry tore from your throat, but the gag kept it from escaping beyond the walls of your prison. Your body jerked against the binds, instinctively trying to recoil, but his grip was unrelenting, like iron chains wrapped around your skull.  He studied you, his head tilting slightly to the side. Amusement flickered across his face—sick, entertained amusement.  

“Pretty enough to sell off,” he muttered to himself, as if considering his options, as if you weren’t even human, just another item to be weighed, evaluated, discarded at will. A cold, twisted smile tugged at his lips, but before he could revel in his own depraved thoughts any further, something inside you snapped. 

The terror, the panic, the helplessness—it all boiled over into something sharp, something furious. Your eyes burned with a mix of rage and defiance as you wrenched against his grasp, a snarl ripping from your throat. “Don’t you dare touch me!” Your voice was raw, cutting through the air like a blade. “You stay the hell away from me!”  

For a moment—a split second—Toby actually paused.  

His grip on your hair loosened just slightly, his head tilting as though intrigued. Those goggles hid his full expression, but you swore you saw something flicker behind them. Surprise? Curiosity? Annoyance?  

But then, just as quickly, the smirk returned.  

“Maybe I won’t,” he mused his voice light, teasing as if the thought genuinely amused him. Then, his head tilted the other way, and his fingers curled just a bit tighter around your hair. “But then again… what are you gonna do about it?”  

The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, pressing against your ribs like a vice.  

This was all a game.

That’s what this was to him.

Toby wasn’t some reckless criminal stumbling through a crime spree. He was precise. Calculated. He had planned this, orchestrated every moment, every step, every mistake you had made.

And you had walked right into it.

The van lurched to a sudden stop, the force jerking your body forward before slamming you back against the cold metal interior. The low hum of the engine faded into silence, replaced by the eerie creak of the back doors swinging open. A rush of crisp night air hit your face, sharp and unforgiving, sending a shiver down your spine.

Then, the silhouettes appeared.

The same two men stood in the doorway, their forms backlit by the pale glow of distant headlights. The first wore an orange hoodie, its fabric stained with deep, dark smudges—blood? The longer you stared, the more it looked like a grotesque, distorted face staring back at you.

The second man was more unnerving. He donned a mustard-colored jacket, his face hidden behind a white, doll-like mask. The featureless stare was somehow worse than if he had been sneering at you. The lifeless gaze made your stomach twist into knots.

Who the hell are these people?

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, your mind racing through every possible outcome. Were they here to help Toby? To kill you? To take you somewhere even worse?

Toby stepped forward, his boots crunching against gravel as he moved toward the open doors. He gave the two men a slight nod—wordless confirmation. The tension in the air thickened, choking you like an invisible hand around your throat.

Think. Think.

“Wait!” The word shot out of your mouth before you even realized you had said it.

Toby’s head tilted, his goggles catching the dim light as he looked at you. He didn’t say anything, but his body language told you everything—you had exactly three seconds to say something that would interest him.

“Let’s make a deal,” you forced out, your voice steady despite the sheer terror pounding against your ribs.

Toby’s posture relaxed slightly. He rolled his shoulders back, amusement flickering beneath his bandana. “A deal?” His voice was smooth, deceptively light, but there was a razor-sharp edge just beneath the surface.

You swallowed hard, trying to read his expression through the obscurity of his mask. “Yeah… like a game?”

The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted it. You had no idea what kind of sick, twisted shit Toby and his so-called friends were involved in, but you knew one thing—people like him loved games. And the ones they played? They were never fair.

Toby considered you for a long, agonizing moment. The air between you both felt charged, the weight of the unknown pressing heavily on your shoulders. Then, without looking away, he reached up and adjusted the bandana covering his mouth.

“All right,” he murmured. “I’ll play a game.”

Your stomach dropped. The two men in the doorway exchanged glances, one of them chuckling under his breath. Toby stepped back, motioning toward the open doors of the van. “It’s simple. If you win, you get to leave. You go back to your lame little college life, pretend none of this ever happened.” He paused, letting the silence stretch long enough for dread to seep deep into your bones.

“And if I lose?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Toby’s grin was slow, smirking.

“Well… you know what happens to you.”

The answer was obvious. Your blood ran ice cold, but you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. You couldn’t let him see the fear creeping in, couldn’t give him the satisfaction. You had no idea what kind of game he was about to throw you into, but one thing was certain—losing wasn’t an option.

Toby’s voice cut through the thick night air like a blade, sharp and taunting.  

“Still wanna do it, babe?” His tone was almost mocking, daring you to back out, to admit you had made a mistake. But you weren’t going to give him that satisfaction.  

“Yes,” you said, forcing steel into your voice. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” The words tasted like a death sentence the moment they left your lips.  

Toby’s grin stretched wide beneath his bandana, amusement flickering in his eyes. Without warning, he slammed his fist against the van’s metal frame. The impact sent a deep, resonating thud through the vehicle, reverberating in your bones. The sudden noise made you flinch, but Toby? He was enjoying this. The tension, the fear—it fed him.  

What the hell had you just agreed to?  

Before you could process it, he moved. Toby approached with a slow, deliberate stride, each step uncomfortably calculated. His presence loomed over you, suffocating in its intensity. Even in the dim light, you could see the way his shoulders were relaxed, the slight tilt of his head—it was all a game to him, and he was playing for keeps.  

You barely had time to react before his fingers reached for the gag tied around your mouth.  

For a fleeting second, hope sparked. Maybe he was giving you some form of freedom, maybe he wanted to hear you speak, maybe—  

The thought was ripped away when, instead of removing it, he shoved the cloth deeper into your mouth, pulling the knot tighter with a cruel yank. A muffled grunt of pain escaped you as the rough fabric cut into the corners of your lips.  

“Good,” he murmured, the word dripping with satisfaction. He turned his head toward the two men outside the van, motioning lazily with his hand. “Stay put.”  

They didn’t move, didn’t speak—just stood there, their masked faces as unreadable as before. Silent sentinels in the dark.  

Toby’s fingers wrapped around your shoulder, his grip firm, cold, and unyielding as he yanked you forward. The ropes binding your wrists dug deep into your skin, burning against every movement. You winced but bit down the noise. You weren’t going to let him see your pain.  

“Just me and you,” he said, voice quiet, like he was savoring it.  

Something about those words made your stomach twist.  

The two men hung back as Toby shoved you out of the van and into the creepy woods like the world was just one big horror movie set and you were the unsuspecting victim. The cold air slapped you in the face, and the ground beneath your feet was a minefield of rocks and loose gravel, making you feel like a baby giraffe trying to walk for the first time. 

Toby gave you a lazy push forward like he wasn’t even trying, just enjoying the show. He stayed just behind you, his footsteps light—almost like he was walking on air. It was creepy as hell. Not only did you know he was right there, but it was also the fact that he wasn’t saying anything.

Silence was his weapon, and he was wielding it like a pro. You could feel his gaze on your back like he was tattooing his presence into your skin.

But honestly, it wasn’t even just Toby that had you on edge. It was the whole damn woods. You couldn't shake the feeling that the trees had eyes, like they were watching you. They creaked and groaned in the wind, casting creepy-ass shadows that danced around you. Every time you dared look away from the path, the darkness seemed to creep closer, like it was alive and hungry for a snack.

And your brain? Oh, it was having a panic attack. Thoughts scattered everywhere, like someone knocked over a jigsaw puzzle and you had to put it all back together while trying not to piss yourself.

What the hell kind of game will this be?

What the hell is Toby even trying to do?

Toby’s grip on your arm tightened, and for a second, you thought he was going to snap it like a twig. He dug his fingers into your skin, the pressure like a vice, and then—without warning—he shoved you to the ground. 

The earth was cold, hard, and unwelcoming, and your knees hit it with a sickening thud. You gasped, trying to push yourself up, but no dice. Toby was already on top of you, like a bad dream you couldn’t escape from.

You barely had time to even process what was happening before his hands were all over you again—rough, unrelenting. He yanked your arms behind your back like he was trying to turn you into a pretzel, and the pain shot through your shoulders. 

You winced as the rope bit into your skin, tight and unforgiving, leaving you gasping for air, your wrists already burning. Every instinct screamed to fight, but your body was just… not cooperating. All you could do was brace yourself for whatever new hell Toby was planning to unleash.

Then, just when you thought things couldn’t get worse, he yanked the half-undone cloth out of your mouth, like it was some kind of prize. The sudden rush of cold night air on your face hit you like a punch, and you nearly choked on the wind as you sucked in a desperate breath. 

Your chest burned as your lungs tried to catch up, and for a second, all you could do was breathe, focusing on just that—breathing. The shock of air hitting your lungs made everything feel a little too real like you had just woken up from a bad dream and had no idea where you were.

Toby stood over you, watching you like a damn predator, his eyes cold and calculating. He looked like he was enjoying every second of your struggle, his grin twisted into something that made your stomach turn. The silence between you two felt thick, almost suffocating, and with every second that passed, your heartbeat hammered louder in your chest. 

You could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on you, that gut-deep dread clawing its way up your throat. Then, finally, he broke the silence, his voice low and rough, dripping with venom. “You wanted a game, right?” His grin stretched wider, almost too wide like he was relishing every second of your discomfort. “Here it is.”

Toby moved slowly like he was savoring the moment, circling you. The sound of his boots against the ground felt like a reminder that you were trapped—nowhere to run. When he finally came back around to face you, he crouched down, his face just inches from yours. 

The moonlight caught his features in a way that made him look even worse, like the shadows themselves were twisting his face into something monstrous. The light bent around his features, turning him into something almost unrecognizable like he wasn't even human anymore. 

Then, without warning, his hand shot forward, grabbing your chin with a grip that felt like iron. He jerked your head up, forcing you to look at him, his fingers digging into your skin so hard it hurt. You winced, a sickening shudder crawling up your spine as he held you there. 

His eyes locked onto yours, dark and unblinking, and for a second, you thought you might just drown in them. He was too close—too close—and you could feel his breath on your face, the faint smell of smoke mixed with something metallic, like blood, lingering in the air. 

“Don’t even think about it,” he hissed, his voice cold as ice, a warning in the way his eyes bore into yours, daring you to even try something. 

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard, your pulse racing. You could feel the full weight of the situation now—whatever sick game he had in mind, you weren’t walking away from this easily.

Toby let out a sharp, breathy chuckle, tilting his head as he watched the fear settle into your bones. He was drinking it in, savoring it like a fine wine. His fingers twitched at his sides, restless, eager.

“The rules are simple,” he repeated, slower this time as if speaking to a child. “Cat chases mouse. Mouse runs. If the mouse is fast enough—” his voice lifted slightly, playful, mocking, “maybe it gets away.” He took a slow step forward, boots crunching against the dirt, his gaze never leaving yours.

“But if the mouse loses…” His grin stretched wider, a grotesque, gleeful thing that made your stomach churn. “Well—” He lifted his hand, thumb dragging across his throat in a slow, deliberate slice.

Your breath stilled.

“F-Fuckin’ simple, right?” Toby let out a sharp cackle, rocking back on his heels like this was the funniest thing in the world. “B-But, uh—here’s the fun part—” His voice dipped lower, almost conspiratorial. He leaned in slightly, just enough that you could catch the scent of blood and oil clinging to him. 

“I’m the cat, babe.” He tilted his head, his grin twitching at the edges.

“And you?” Toby reached and pulled something from behind his back, the glint of metal catching in the dim moonlight. You couldn’t help but stare as he brandished the hatchet, its blade sharp and gleaming—ready to cut down whatever stood in its way. 

“You’re the mouse.”

You closed your eyes as you felt something cold and sharp slid against your wrists, and suddenly, the ropes fell away. Your hands trembled as you realized what he’d done. 

He was letting you go.

The ropes fell away with a dull thud, and you flexed your fingers, the circulation rushing back into your hands with a painful sting. But before you could even take a breath, Toby stood up, towering over you, his cold eyes boring into yours.

“Run.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It wasn’t a taunt. It was a demand.

And you didn’t need him to tell you twice. You didn’t need to be told anything. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to run—to get the hell out of there before things got any worse. You pushed yourself to your feet, stumbling slightly. But you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t hesitate.

You took off into the woods, your feet pounding against the earth, heart racing, breath coming in sharp, frantic bursts. The trees blurred past you in the darkness, the dense underbrush grabbing at your legs as you pushed forward, not daring to look back. 

Behind you, you heard Toby’s voice cut through the silence like a razor, a countdown, slow and deliberate.

"Ten..."

The words hung in the air, each one a cold reminder of what was waiting for you.

"Nine..."

Your feet slipped in the dirt, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t afford to. Not when your life depended on it.

"Eight..."

The rustling of the trees, the soft whisper of the wind, it all felt like a trap. The woods were alive, closing in around you, the darkness suffocating. But you pushed on, adrenaline giving you the strength to run faster than you ever thought possible.

"Seven..."

Your pulse hammered in your ears, drowning out the sound of your surroundings. You couldn’t think about the shadows that moved just beyond the corner of your vision. You couldn’t think about the suffocating fear creeping up your spine.

"Six..."

The air was thick with the scent of earth and pine, but all you could taste was the bitter tang of panic in the back of your throat.

"Five..."

A sudden crack of a branch behind you made your heart jump into your throat. You didn’t dare look back. You couldn’t afford to.

"Four..."

The path ahead was unclear, but you kept running. You knew where the black van was, knew what it meant to get there. It was the only way out. It was the only chance you had.

"Three..."

You could hear him now, the heavy sound of Toby’s footsteps growing louder, closer. The rustle of leaves underfoot. The sharp sound of the hatchet slicing through the air.

"Two..."

The woods were a maze, but you didn’t care. You had no choice but to trust your instincts. Keep running. Keep going.

"One..."

The final countdown echoed in the night, the sharpness of the moment making your skin prickle. And just like that, the sound of Toby’s footsteps stopped.

For a moment, the woods fell into an eerie silence. You could feel the weight of the night pressing in, the darkness stretching out before you. You weren’t sure if Toby was still following, or if he had somehow disappeared into the shadows. But you didn’t dare stop to find out.

You kept running, faster now, your breath ragged, heart hammering in your chest. 

You had to make it. 

You had to survive.

The adrenaline coursing through your veins was enough to keep you moving, but Toby was right on your heels. You could hear him getting closer, his heavy footsteps pounding the ground as he pursued you. Your breath came out in ragged gasps, your heart pounding in your chest as you fought to stay ahead.

Suddenly, you felt a cold breeze sweep past your ear, and a horrifying whoosh followed by a sharp, metallic slice through the air. Toby’s hatchet missed you by inches, but the force of it scared the hell out of you, causing you to stumble.

Without thinking, you darted sideways, narrowly avoiding the swing of the blade as Toby's arm cut through the air where you had just been. Your heart skipped a beat, terror coiling in your gut.

But it was enough. You had a moment—a split second of reprieve.

Instinct kicked in.

You pushed yourself forward, launching yourself into a desperate sprint, but as you did, you pivoted, whirling around and slamming your fist right into Toby’s face. 

His head snapped back with the force of your punch, and you could hear the sickening crunch as his mouth guard went flying off. Blood sprayed from his lips as he staggered back, spitting out crimson between ragged breaths.

“Shit!” you hissed, realizing you might have just made a serious mistake. 

You didn't wait to see his next move. You turned and ran, faster than ever, knowing that you couldn’t let him catch up again. Thank God your parents forced you into sports when you were younger. You needed that conditioning now more than ever, every muscle screaming as you pushed yourself harder through the thick underbrush of the forest.

But just as you thought you might have a chance to escape, you felt something like a vice grip on the back of your head. A hand twisted into your hair, jerking you backward with brutal force.

“Ah, playing dirty, huh?” Toby’s voice was a low, mocking growl in your ear as he yanked you back, his breath hot against your skin. “You think you’re faster than me? You think you’re clever?”

You struggled, but his grip on your hair was unrelenting, a fistful of pain and control that yanked your head back until you were nearly off balance. You let out a strangled gasp, trying to push him off, but his laugh sent chills crawling up your spine.

“Sweetheart,” he cooed, dragging you further away from where you had been running. “You’re playing dirty, but I don’t mind. I like a girl who can fight back.”

“Sweet Cheeks, Pretty Girl,” he teased, his voice sickly sweet as his hand moved from your hair to your shoulder, the grip tightening as if he were savoring every second of this. “I can’t get enough of you.” His breath stank and you recoiled, but before you could react, he shoved you down to the ground. 

Then your lungs burned as you gasped for air, and you suddenly felt the crushing weight of Toby pressing you deeper into the forest floor. The damp earth clung to your skin, its scent thick and suffocating. You twisted beneath him, your muscles straining as you tried to break free, but it was useless. He was stronger, faster, and, worst of all, he had planned this.

Toby let out a sharp, breathy laugh, the sound laced with something sickeningly satisfied. His grip on your wrists was vice-like, his fingers pressing so hard into your skin you could feel the dull throb of your pulse against them.

“Y’know, you actually did pretty well,” he murmured, his voice low, amused—like he was humoring you. “But, uh—” His knee pressed harder into your ribs, knocking the breath right out of you. “Not good enough.”

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out the rustling trees, the distant chirp of insects—everything except him.

You bucked your body, jerking against his grip, but Toby barely flinched. If anything, he enjoyed it. He tsked softly, shifting just enough to slide one hand up to your throat, his fingers curling around the delicate skin. He wasn’t squeezing—not yet—but the threat was clear.

“You really thought you could outrun me?” His voice dipped lower, the words edged with a dark amusement. “Me?”

His breathing was steady, almost too calm for someone who had just chased you down like a damn animal. His thumb brushed idly against your pulse, feeling how it hammered beneath his touch, drinking in every ounce of fear rolling off of you in waves.

“You should’ve known better,” he purred, his face lowering until his masked mouth was mere inches from your ear. “B-but, hey! No hard feelings, right?”

He tilted his head, his grip tightening just enough to remind you that, even now, he controlled everything.

“After all…” His voice was almost playful, but the sadistic edge beneath it made your stomach twist. “Game’s over.”

Your breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, every fiber of your being screaming at you to fight—to do something—but his grip was unrelenting, his presence suffocating. Toby had you right where he wanted you, and he fucking loved it.

The smirk on his face was infuriating, smug, and teasing like he was just toying with you, seeing how far he could push before you broke.

“Now thinking about it, you’re just like the rest of them,” he taunted, voice dripping with mock disappointment. “Man, and here I thought you were better.”

Wait. He thought you were better?

No. No, fuck that.

Rage boiled up, cutting through the fear clawing at your throat. You grit your teeth, something sharp and bitter twisting in your chest. Your body burned with frustration, your muscles aching from the struggle, but you weren’t about to just lay down and take this.

Toby’s fingers skimmed along your skin again, and something in you snapped.

“Get the fuck off me!” you snarled, your voice raw with fury. You thrashed, your body surging against his hold, but he only laughed, his grip tightening, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“Oh-ho,” he hummed, tilting his head like a curious animal, his grin splitting wider. “There she is.”

His voice was dark, teasing, but there was something else there, something unreadable flickering in his gaze.

You sucked in a breath, eyes blazing as you glared up at him. “I am not some fucking plaything,” you spat, fury twisting your features. “And I sure as hell am not like the rest of them.”

Toby let out a sharp breath of laughter, shaking his head. “Really? ‘Cause from where I’m sitting—” He pressed down harder, just enough to remind you who was in control. “You look pretty helpless to me.”

You bit down the growl rising in your throat, every muscle in your body coiled tight with frustration. His smugness was unbearable, his amusement dripping from every word like venom.

Then he sighed, like this was all some mild inconvenience. “Shame, really,” he mused, tilting his head in mock contemplation. “I actually liked you. Thought you were… different.” His fingers brushed your cheek, deceptively gentle, and your stomach churned with disgust.

That did it.

You jerked your head back violently, breaking free of his touch. Your voice came out like a hiss, venomous and sharp. 

“Fuck you, Toby.”

His grin widened, eyes sparking with something wild and hungry. “Ohh,” he drawled, his tone downright delighted. “Now that’s more like it.” Toby’s lips curled into a smirk as his eyes gleamed with something far from kind. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk, but with an edge that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. 

“You just gave me a great idea.” His words dripped with mischief, the kind that made you question your reality. His gaze never wavered, almost as if he were savoring the moment, letting the silence stretch between you like a taut wire.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he added, though the way he said it, with a tone that was too casual, was anything but reassuring. He leaned in closer, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin.

"I’m just gonna fuck you."

Your mind went blank, the shock of his words leaving you speechless. You blinked, trying to wrap your head around what he just said. “Wait… what did you just say?” you stammered, your voice shaky. “You… you’re gonna what?” 

This couldn’t be real. It had to be some kind of joke, some twisted misunderstanding. But the look in his eyes told you otherwise.

Toby raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk that was equal parts amused and condescending. His expression was one of exaggerated confusion, as if you were the one being unreasonable as if you were the one who had missed something obvious. 

“Did you not hear me?” he asked, his tone dripping with mockery. It was as if he were toying with you, enjoying the way your confusion only seemed to fuel his confidence.

Then, without warning, he bit his lower lip, a playful gesture that felt completely out of place given the tension in the air. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin, and his voice dropped to a low, almost teasing whisper. 

“I said... fuck you.” 

The words hit you like a slap to the face, delivered with such casual confidence that it left you reeling. It wasn’t just the words themselves—it was the way he said them, the way he looked at you as if he knew exactly how much power he held at that moment.

You swallowed, your mouth dry. His words were a sickening blend of challenge and threat, and you weren’t sure if you should be terrified—or curious.

Toby leaned in even closer, his face mere inches from yours, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. He was close enough for you to feel the weight of his presence, heavy and undeniable.

“Let’s see if you can last,” he said, his voice thick with an unsettling promise.

The situation you found yourself in was far more dangerous and complicated than you had ever anticipated. The air was thick with tension, a mix of fear, desire, and something darker you couldn’t quite name. You were in deep—way deeper than you had ever imagined you’d be. And yet, despite the danger, even though you should have been screaming for help or fighting back, you weren’t. 

A part of you wasn’t complaining at all. Was that wrong? Maybe. 

But this wasn’t your first time with him, and that twisted familiarity made the situation feel almost… thrilling.

His lips were on yours again, rough and demanding, moving with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel the heat of his body pressing against you, his hands roaming freely, gripping and pulling at your skin like he owned you. And maybe, in some twisted way, he did. He had always been possessive, hadn’t he? 

From the moment he stole your underwear, to the way he seemed to always know where you were—stalkerish tendencies that should have sent you running. But here you were, letting him manhandle you, letting him take control.

The forest floor was cold and unforgiving beneath your knees, the damp earth seeping into your skin as he forced you down. His hands were tangled in your hair, gripping tightly as he pushed himself into your mouth, his cock sliding deep, almost to the back of your throat. 

You gagged, tears welling up at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you looked up at him, your vision blurred but still able to make out the expression on his face. It wasn’t the usual cocky smirk you were used to seeing. No, this time it was different—softer, almost guilty like he knew exactly how wrong this was but couldn’t help himself.

“F-Fuck…” he groaned, his voice low and strained, his hips moving rhythmically as he used your mouth for his pleasure. 

You could feel every inch of him, the way his cock hit the back of your throat, the way his hands tightened in your hair, pulling just enough to make you whimper. It was overwhelming, the mix of pain and pleasure, the way your body reacted to him despite the danger. 

You were choking, struggling to breathe, but there was a part of you that didn’t want it to stop. Maybe it was the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered at that moment. Or maybe it was the way his touch, rough as it was, still sent sparks of electricity through your body.

The tears welled up in your eyes, glistening like fragile crystals before they spilled over, tracing delicate paths down your flushed cheeks. You kept your gaze locked on him, your lips stretched wide around him, your throat flexing and contracting as you struggled to take him deeper, to accommodate the fullness of him. 

The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of suffocation and surrender, as your body fought to adjust to his presence. His breath came in ragged, uneven bursts, each hitch and gasp betraying the intensity of his pleasure. His hands, strong and possessive, gripped you tighter, fingers digging into your skin as if to anchor himself in the moment, to ensure you couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to.

“Fuck, I’ve been wanting to try this,” Toby groaned, his voice low and rough, almost a growl. His hips shifted, pushing himself deeper, and you choked slightly, tears streaming faster as your throat worked to take him. “God, your mouth—shit, it’s even better than I thought.” He let out a shaky laugh, his fingers tangling in your hair, guiding you with a firmness that left no room for hesitation. 

“Should’ve done this at the frat party. Hell, I should’ve skipped the whole damn mission and just fucked you instead. Would’ve been way more fun.”His words sent a jolt through you, a mix of humiliation and something darker, something that made your stomach twist and your pulse race. 

You tried to pull back, but his grip tightened, holding you in place. “Nuh-uh, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone playful but edged with something sharper. “You’re not going anywhere. Not when you’re doing such a good job.” His hips rolled again, and you gagged, your nails digging into his thighs as you fought to keep up. “Yeah, just like that. Take it. You’re gonna swallow every damn drop.”

And you? You were suspended in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, a storm of fear and exhilaration that left you trembling. There was danger in this—danger in the way he loomed over you, in the way his control felt absolute, in the way your body was being used for his pleasure. It was wrong, you knew that, and yet the thrill of it was undeniable. 

The powerlessness, the vulnerability, the sheer audacity of what you were doing—it was intoxicating. Your mind raced, torn between the instinct to resist and the dark, forbidden desire to give in completely.

He was lost in the moment, his movements becoming more urgent, more primal. The playfulness that had been there earlier—the teasing, the testing of limits—had given way to something raw and unrestrained. He was no longer holding back, and you could feel it in the way he thrust deeper, in the way his grip on you tightened almost painfully. It was as if he had crossed some invisible line, surrendering to the heat of the moment, to the pleasure you were giving him.

“Damn, you’re perfect,” he muttered, his voice strained, his breathing uneven. “Should’ve done this sooner. Should’ve had you on your knees for me every damn night.” His words were crude, almost careless, but they sent a shiver down your spine. 

And when he finally released, it was with a guttural groan that seemed to come from the very depths of him. His release was hot and insistent, flooding your mouth, and you had no choice but to swallow, to take all of him in. 

Toby’s laughter rang in your ears, a low, satisfied hum that sent a shiver down your spine. His fingers traced the line of your jaw, deceptively gentle as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. “Good job, pretty,” he murmured, his voice dripping with approval, thick with something smug. “Knew you had it in you.”  

You barely had a second to process the praise before his grip shifted, hands curling around your wrists as he yanked you forward, dragging you off your knees with an ease that made your stomach twist.  

“I’m sooo lucky my buddies in there didn’t put a bullet in you,” he mused, his tone lighthearted, almost playful—like he was joking. But the way his fingers tightened around your wrist? 

That was anything but a joke.  

“For real,” he continued, grinning as he spun you around, shoving you back against the nearest tree. “They don’t like loose ends.”  

The impact sent a rough jolt through your spine, the bark biting into your skin as Toby moved in closer, eliminating any space you might’ve used to slip away. His body radiated heat, wild energy rolling off him in waves as he caged you in, arms braced on either side of your head.  

His brown eyes flickered, sharp and unreadable, scanning your face like he was drinking in every flicker of emotion—every sharp breath, every slight tremor. Amusement curled in the corners of his lips, but there was something else lurking beneath it. Something darker. Something he wasn’t saying.  

Still, he kept the act up, tilting his head with a dramatic pout. “Aw, don’t look so tense,” he teased, his voice lilting, full of that familiar, chaotic charm. “I didn’t let ‘em kill you, did I? Kinda sweet of me, if you think about it.”  

His fingers ghosted over your hip, a barely-there touch that sent sparks shooting up your spine. “Could’ve been long gone by now,” he went on, his voice dipping lower, smoother. “Next town, few states down, fresh start. But nah.”  

His grin faded, just a little, and somehow, that made your pulse quicken even more.  

“Truth is, I didn’t wanna leave you.”  

The weight of those words settled between you, heavy and certain, laced with something Toby wasn’t quite willing to admit outright. Instead, he let the silence stretch, watching the way you swallowed hard, the way your breath hitched just enough for him to notice. His lips curled into that smirk that drove you insane. "I’m a little sentimental, y’know? Didn’t really wanna see you go out like that.”  

You scoffed, trying to ignore the way your pulse spiked at his words. “Oh, so I should be thanking you?”  

He tilted his head as if considering it. “Yeah, actually. A lil’ gratitude wouldn’t hurt.” His fingers ghosted over your waist before gripping your hip, holding you there. 

You swallowed hard. “That’s funny. ‘Cause all I remember is you disappearing and turning me into some kind of ghost-hunting idiot trying to track you down.”  

His smirk returned, sharp as ever. “C’mon, you liked the chase.” His free hand reached up, brushing a stray hair from your face before tracing the line of your jaw, slow and deliberate. “Knew you’d miss me, too. And even if you didn’t—” He pulled back just enough to reach into his pocket, fishing out his phone. With a flick, he brought up the messages.   

“Remind me who kept opening my texts, huh?” 

Your stomach twisted. Shit.  

Toby’s lips curled into something smug, something hungry as he kissed you—slow and deliberate like he was savoring the way you tensed beneath him. His grip on your wrists loosened just enough to let them fall, giving you the briefest moment of freedom before he took hold of something else—your leather jacket.  

His fingers curled around the fabric, tugging it away from your shoulders with an ease that sent a chill creeping down your spine. He didn’t rush. He didn’t need to. There was something almost methodical in the way he worked, his hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, fingertips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your waist.  

“Don’t act like you didn’t want me to find you,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. His lips hovered near your face, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. Then he chuckled, soft but knowing, like he was in on a secret you weren’t ready to admit.  

“I’ve been watchin’, babe.”  

Your breath hitched.  

“Kinda cute, honestly. You goin’ about your lil’ college life, actin’ like you ain’t got me in the back of your head.”  

His hands slid higher, trailing over your ribs, up to your chest—slow, teasing, like he was memorizing every inch of you with his touch alone. His thumbs brushed the underside of your tits, a deliberate squeeze following the motion, like he was testing just how much he could get away with.  

That snapped you out of it.  

You grit your teeth, shoving at his chest, trying to push him off. But he barely budged.  

If anything, the struggle just seemed to amuse him.  

His knee slotted between your legs, pressing just enough to keep you still, just enough to make it clear who was in control here. His grip tightened ever so slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he was still calling the shots.  

“But now I’m here,” he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours with a quiet intensity. That wild, unpredictable edge still lurked beneath the surface, simmering just beneath the cocky smirk he wore. “And I gotta ask…” He leaned in, so close you could feel his words against your lips.

“You still think you can run?”  

Toby hummed against your skin, his lips dragging along your jaw before pressing open-mouthed kisses up to your ear. His breath was warm, teasing, each word dripping with smug amusement as he whispered, “…Fuck, you smell good, y’know that?” His nose brushed against your neck as he inhaled, slow and deep, like he was trying to commit your scent to memory. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this for weeks.”  

His hands didn’t stop moving, fingers sliding up, grazing your bare skin under your shirt, feeling you—possessive, yet unhurried. He squeezed your tits again, thumbs flicking over your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra, like he was testing your reaction.  

You clenched your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sound.  

Toby just laughed, his lips pressing against your pulse, right where he’d left those marks last time. His tongue flicked out, just enough to send a shiver through you, before he sank his teeth in, nipping at the already-sensitive skin.  

“Mm, nah,” he murmured, voice muffled against your throat, “bet this wasn’t enough for you either, huh? You were feelin’ it, weren’t you?” Another bite, sharper this time, as if to prove his point. “Bet you were touchin’ these, thinkin’ about me.”  

Your breath hitched. “Fuck off.”  

Toby grinned against your skin. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t start lyin’ to me now.” He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his own flickering with something dark, something utterly pleased with himself. “You wanna know why I sent those messages? Why I didn’t just let you go?”  

You swallowed hard, saying nothing.  

He kissed you again, deep and slow, before pulling back just enough to speak.  

“Your panties weren’t enough.”  

Your stomach twisted.  

His lips twitched into a smirk. “Had ‘em for weeks, babe, but it wasn’t doin’ it for me. I thought it would, y’know? Thought maybe I’d get you outta my system, maybe I’d move on…” He tilted his head, watching your reaction closely. “But nah. I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you.”  

Toby’s fingers dug in just a little, his touch becoming firmer, more demanding.  

“Every time I closed my eyes, I saw you.” He kissed the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then back down to your neck, inhaling deeply as he did. “Every time I touched myself, it wasn’t enough.”  

Your breath stuttered, but he only grinned, eating up every reaction.  

“So, I figured… why the hell would I leave?” Toby leaned in again, his nose brushing yours, his voice dipping lower, more intimate. “Why would I go when I could just… take you with me?”

Your thoughts were spiraling, torn between the weight of what he was saying and the undeniable pull of him—of this.  

Leaving town? Leaving everything behind? Your classes, your plans, your family? What would you even become? Some run away, tangled up in Toby’s mess? A ghost of who you were, trailing after a killer with no real future? The idea sent a sharp pang through your chest.  

But then again… what the hell were you planning to do after finding him?  

Because, deep down, you knew. Toby was right. You liked the chase. The obsession. The thrill of it all.  

You had no clue what came next.  

But before the panic could take hold, before you could wrestle with the consequences of what he was offering—what he was taking—Toby’s lips crashed into yours again, drowning you in the taste of him. It was rough, and consuming, leaving no space for doubt.  

The world around you blurred into a haze of sensation and sound as Toby’s hands gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. Your back pressed against the rough bark of the tree, the jagged edges scraping against your skin, but the discomfort was a distant echo compared to the heat of his body against yours. 

His strength was undeniable, his movements deliberate and commanding as he pinned you in place, leaving no room for escape—not that you wanted to. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, your body betraying the conflict in your mind.

His fingers moved with practiced ease, unbuttoning your shorts and yanking them down along with your tights and panties in one fluid motion. The cold air nipped at your exposed skin, sending a shiver through you, but it was quickly replaced by the searing heat of his body as he pressed into you, his weight anchoring you against the tree. His breath was hot against your neck, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke, his voice low and dripping with a dangerous charm.

“Y’know,” he mused, his hands sliding up your thighs, his touch both teasing and possessive, “you think too much, babe.” His fingers dug into your skin, pushing your legs apart just enough to make you gasp. 

“You’re sittin’ here, goin’ back and forth about leavin’—what, you think you got a real shot at normal?” He laughed a dark, throaty sound that sent a thrill down your spine. “C’mon. You came lookin’ for me. You wanted this.”

His words were a challenge, a reminder of the choices you’d made, the line you’d crossed when you sought him out. There was no going back now, and deep down, you knew it. His grip tightened on your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as if to imprint himself on you, to mark you as his. 

“You don’t need to think, baby,” he murmured his voice a low growl that vibrated through you. “I’ll make the choice for you.”

And then he was inside you, his cock stretching you, filling you completely, his movements rough and unrelenting, each thrust driving you harder against the tree. The bark scraped and bit into your back, a sharp contrast to the searing heat of his body pressing into yours. But the pain only amplified the pleasure, the intensity of it all making your head spin. 

Toby’s hands gripped your ass, lifting you slightly to meet him, his rhythm relentless, each stroke deeper, harder, more demanding. His breath came in ragged, uneven bursts, his forehead pressed against yours as he stared into your eyes, his gaze dark, unyielding, and utterly consuming.

“This is it, babe,” he panted, his voice thick with desire and something darker, something primal. “This is the life. No rules, no chains, just you and me and the open road. My buddies, they’ll take care of you too. We’ll keep you safe, keep you close. You’ll never wanna go back to that boring shit you called a life.”

His words were intoxicating, a dangerous promise that wrapped around you like a vice. But before you could even process them, his lips were on your neck, teeth sinking into your skin with a possessive hunger that made you gasp. 

The sharp sting of his bite sent a jolt of electricity through you, your body arching against his as he sucked and nipped at your flesh, marking you as his. His hands tightened on your hips, his grip almost bruising as he held you in place, his thrusts growing more urgent, more desperate.

Then his hand slid up, his fingers wrapping around your throat, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your breath hitch, your pulse racing under his touch. He loved the way you looked at him, completely dazed, your lips parted, your eyes glazed with a mix of pleasure and submission. 

“That’s it,” he growled, his voice low and rough, his thumb brushing over your jaw as he tightened his grip just slightly. “Look at you, takin’ me so good, beggin’ for more without even sayin’ a word.”

And you were. 

You were begging, your body trembling, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, your hips rocking against his, desperate for more. The way he controlled you, the way he owned you at that moment, it was overwhelming, intoxicating. His hand on your throat, his teeth on your skin, his cock buried deep inside you—it was too much, and yet you never wanted it to end.

“Please,” you finally gasped, the word slipping out before you could stop it, your voice shaky, broken. “More, Toby, please…”

He smirked, “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. You could feel yourself being pulled deeper into his world, into the chaos and the thrill of it all. His hands moved to your hips, gripping you tightly as he thrust harder, his pace becoming almost frantic. 

The sound of skin against skin, the feel of his body against yours, the way he filled you completely—it was overwhelming, consuming.

His breath was hot against your lips, the scent of sweat and something darker—something possessive—coiling between you like a silent promise. His hands gripped your hips, his body pressing you so deep into the mattress that it almost felt like he wanted to fuse you into it, to make sure you’d never leave.  

“You’re mine now,” he whispered, voice rough and uneven, the words bleeding into a growl as he snapped his hips against you. His teeth grazed your jaw, your throat, a silent claim with every drag of his lips against your skin. “*Mine.* And I’m never lettin’ you go.”  

His pace turned brutal, driven by something animalistic—something desperate. The bed creaked beneath you, the room thick with the sound of skin against skin, his breaths ragged as he pushed you closer to the edge. His fingers wrapped around your throat, not tight enough to scare, but *just* enough to make your pulse hammer beneath his grip.  

Your vision blurred, pleasure winding tight in your core, your body shuddering beneath him as every thrust sent you spiraling higher. His grip tightened, his movements rougher, more erratic, until—  

Heat. Pressure. His body stiffening against yours as his release tore through him. He groaned low in his throat, his grip faltering as he collapsed against you, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven gasps. And with that final push, that last overwhelming wave, you followed—your body trembling, pleasure wracking through you in waves so intense they left you breathless.  

Toby didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just held you there, tangled in him, his face buried against the crook of your neck, his lips brushing your skin with every shaky breath. His arms curled around you, pulling you impossibly closer, as if afraid you’d slip away the second he let go.  

And for a moment, you let him believe it. Let him believe you were his. Completely. Utterly. That you had fallen.  

Well…  

At least, that’s what he thought.  

THWACK!  

A sickening crack split the air.  

Toby’s body jerked—then went completely still.  

His breath hitched in his throat, the pressure in his skull overwhelming, disorienting. His vision swam, the world tilting violently as he tried to move, tried to make sense of what just happened—  

But it was too late.  

Darkness crashed over him like a tidal wave, sudden and absolute, drowning out every thought, every breath, every sound.  

And just like that…  

Toby went limp.

Somewhere in the haze of his mind, voices filtered in. Loud. Agitated. Familiar.

“What the fuck, Vidia? You knocked him out with a bat? A goddamn steel bat?”

“Oh, I’m sorry! Would you have rather let him keep going?” Vidia’s voice snapped back, breathless and full of righteous fury. “Because from where I was standing, you were real into it. And excuse me for not wanting to sit front-row for your ‘feral woodland creature fucks a serial killer’ special! You were supposed to grab him, not let him rearrange your spine against a tree!”

A snort. Amused. Disbelieving. “I’m not tackling a grown-ass man while he’s mid-stroke,” Vidia deadpanned, and you could practically hear the eyeroll. “You broke our two rules. Watch your back. Don’t get caught. And what do you do? Stalk a serial killer just to let him dick you down again? God, you’re not just stupid—you’re horny and stupid.”

You groaned, rubbing the back of your head as you sat up. “Can you not make this a whole thing?”

“Oh no, we are absolutely making this a thing.” Vidia’s voice was sharp and dripping with mockery, her presence looming over you like a judge about to pass a particularly scathing sentence. “You always go for the same type. The rugged, white boy rejects who aren’t even that cute.”

“First of all—shut the hell up,” you shot back, still breathless, still recovering from the sheer whiplash of events. “Second, you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m talking about,” Vidia said smugly, crouching beside you with an infuriating smirk. “You, my dear dumbass, are the worst decision-maker I have ever met. If your dumb choices were spells, I’d be throwing counter-charms every damn day.”

You gave her a flat look. “If my bad decisions were spells, you’d be out of fucking eye of newt by now.”

“And mandrake root,” she added, grinning.

You rolled your eyes, looking over at Toby’s unconscious body. He was completely knocked out, his body slumped in the dirt, mouth slightly open like a damn idiot. “Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah, yeah, Jesus indeed.” Vidia clapped her hands together, standing up. “So what’s the move, genius? Because from where I’m standing, it’s definitely not a hit-and-run anymore.” She nudged Toby’s foot with her boot. “Y’know, since you got dicked down and all.”

You shot her a glare. “Can we stop talking about that?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” She grinned wider. “I will be bringing this up at every possible opportunity.”

Suddenly, Toby’s eyelids fluttered, head still throbbing as reality rushed back to him. His limbs felt weird—weighted, restricted. His back pressed against something rough and solid. Slowly, blinking through the harsh glare of car headlights, his vision adjusted.  

The first thing he saw?  

You.  

Still looking disheveled from before, your clothes hastily adjusted, but the evidence of what happened still lingered. Skin marked up, lips swollen, posture tense. You were standing next to a woman he didn’t recognize.  

Toby’s gaze flicked to her—Vidia, was it?  

Off-shoulder black long-sleeve top, purple maxi skirt swaying slightly as she shifted her weight, platform boots clicking against the pavement. Silver charms dangled in her hair, her twists framing her face in a way that made her annoyance look downright beautiful as well.  

And then he realized—  

His arms were tied up.

His expression darkened instantly, muscles tensing as he tugged against whatever was binding his wrists. “Oh, what the fuck?” His voice was rough, thick with irritation and leftover exhaustion.  

Your head snapped toward him just as Vidia rolled her eyes. “Great, sleeping beauty’s awake.”  

Toby’s lip curled into a smirk, eyes narrowing as he took both of you in. “Is this some freaky-ass threesome? ‘Cause, not gonna lie, this is not how I pictured it.”  

Vidia made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “Yeah, right.” She turned on her heel and started toward the car, shaking her head. “You better handle your little problem before I do, bitch.”  

“Bet, I will.” You mumbled.

Toby’s gaze flicked back to you, the smirk never quite leaving his lips. His head still ached, and he was pissed about being restrained, but goddamn—if this wasn’t interesting. He flexed his fingers, testing the restraints again, but damn, whoever tied him up actually knew what they were doing. His head still pounded from the bat-to-the-skull special, but his focus was locked on you—your nonchalant stance, the way you checked your phone like this was just another Wednesday night.

“Well, well, babe,” he drawled, voice still hoarse but laced with amusement. “Looks like you got some explaining to do.”

You barely glanced at him before flipping your phone screen toward him.

Vidia Location, next to yours.

Toby’s eyebrow twitched. “Oh shit, I should’ve taken your phone, I mean that’s… uh, cute? Kinda stalker-ish, actually.”

“Yeah, I’m not the one to talk about stalking here, Rogers,” you deadpanned. “Besides, Vidia and I have a system. I take action, she’s the cleanup crew. Like an efficient crime duo, except, y’know, college edition.”

Toby blinked, his smirk faltering just a bit. “Wait—hold the fuck on. How do you know my last name?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a thick folder, the edges worn like it had been flipped through more than once. You gave it a little shake, then let it fall open in your hands. The top page, in clear bold letters:

Tobias Erin ‘Toby’ Rogers

Also known as Ticci-Toby.

Toby’s stomach did a weird flip. Not fear—more like… baffled amusement. His eyes flicked from the file back to your smug little expression.

“Oh, no fucking way—”

“Oh, yes fucking way,” you cut him off, grinning as you flipped through the pages. “Shoutout to Vidia for this one. I told her about the creepy as fuck messages you were sending, and, well—turns out she’s kinda better at stalking than you are.”

Vidia, shouted and gave a lazy salute. “What can I say? I get bored.”

Toby stared, “You dug me up? Like, what—a full government background check? Social Security number, too? Jesus.”

You ignored him, scanning the file. “Mmm… childhood trauma, big surprise there… oh, look at that, arson! Fun stuff, love the classics—ah! Here we go.” You tapped the paper, eyes flicking up to him. “Nowadays, selling drugs for extra cash, and—oof, killing the buyer at the end if they don’t pay up. Real entrepreneur behavior.”

Toby rolled his eyes. “C’mon, it’s not that simple—”

“Frat boys disagree,” you sing-songed, tilting your head. “They told me all about you. How your prices just magically kept going up. That’s how I figured out where to find you, by the way. So, really, you played yourself.”

Toby groaned, tilting his head back. “God, I hate frat dudes.”

Vidia snickered out loud. “Bro, you literally sell to them.”

“Yeah, well, I’d rather kill them than talk to them.”

You smirked, snapping the file shut. “Guess that plan backfired, huh?”

Toby squinted at you, his smirk creeping back. “Yeah, okay, sure, whatever, you got me. But, uh—r-remind me again why you went through all this trouble? ‘Cause, like… not that I mind being stalked, but this is kinda giving crazy ex-girlfriend vibes.”

You clicked your tongue, stepping closer. “Because I was curious, Toby.”

He raised a brow, eyes gleaming as you leaned in.

“And,” you whispered, tapping his nose with your finger, “because I kinda like the chase.”

Toby inhaled sharply, and for the first time since waking up tied to a chair in a fucking parking lot, he actually felt a flicker of something close to thrill.

“Well, well, well,” he murmured, voice low, “aren’t you just full of surprises, babe.”

You shrugged, shoving your phone back in your pocket. “Boring-ass college town, might as well have some fun. Ruining dudes’ lives is kinda our extracurricular.”

Toby blinked. “You are so much worse than me, holy shit.”

Before he could argue further, the crunch of boots against gravel turned both your heads.

Vidia strolled back into the headlights’ glow, carrying a very concerning red gasoline canister in one hand and adjusting her leather gloves with the other. Her expression was deeply unbothered.

“Aight,” she said, tilting her head toward you, “so we killing him, or what?”

Toby choked on the air. “EX-FUCKING-SCUSE ME?”

You turned to Vidia, looking genuinely confused. “What? No? Who said anything about killing him? You always want to kill a dude after we are done.”

“Aww…” Vidia gestured lazily with the gasoline can. “I mean… it kinda felt like that was where we were going.”

Toby was fully invested in survival mode now, eyes darting between you and your disturbingly nonchalant roommate. “Okay, real quick, let’s all agree that murder? Not the move here. Like, I get it, I’m an asshole, I stalked you, I may or may not have terrorized a few people—”

“Understatement,” Vidia muttered.

“—BUT,” Toby pressed on, “if I suddenly go missing? That’s a huge problem for you.”

You folded your arms. “And why’s that?”

Toby’s smirk returned, though there was a flicker of actual warning in his eyes. “Because of my buddies—Kate, Brian, Tim? Yeah, they kinda like me. If I don’t come back, they will come looking. And trust me, babe, you don’t wanna be on their radar.”

Vidia exhaled through her nose, rolling her eyes as she very slowly put the gasoline down. “All right, fine. You got a point.”

Toby let out a relieved breath. “Oh, thank God—”

“But now what?” Vidia cut in, turning back to you. “Because this ain’t a hit-and-run anymore. We just kidnapped a dude, roughed him up, and now we’re in a very awkward hostage situation. So what’s the plan, genius?”

You pursed your lips, pretending to think.

Toby, still tied up, still half-dazed from the bat, muttered, “Oh, I hate where this is going.” He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “All right, babe, you gonna torture me? Maybe have your girl over there cut me up while you monologue about how you ‘won’?”

Vidia scoffed, adjusting the leather gloves on her hands. “Dude, I don’t have the patience for torture. And I don’t monologue—that’s her thing.”

You shot her a look, but she wasn’t wrong.

Toby watched the exchange, eyes flicking between you both before he spoke again. “Right, well. If y’all aren’t gonna kill me, what is the move here? ‘Cause lemme tell ya, leaving me alive? Probably not the smartest idea.”

You shrugged. “Never said we were smart.”

Vidia sighed, stepping up beside you. “Listen, I’m all for ruining men’s lives—”

“—she really is,” you muttered.

“—but,” she continued, “this is not just some dude. This is a serial killer with, like, friends in the business. Friends who will notice if he goes missing.” She jerked a thumb toward Toby. “And if we kill him, that’s just extra work for me.”

Toby grinned. “So, I live? That’s sweet of you.”

Vidia gave him the driest look imaginable. “Not what I said.”

You sighed, tapping your chin. This had started as just a game—track down the dangerous guy who thought he was in control, flip the script, and then… well. You hadn’t exactly thought past this part.

Dipping town with Toby? Leaving everything behind—college, your boring little life, your hard-earned reputation? That was a huge fucking leap. But at the same time, what else was there? You didn’t have a grand plan for your future. The closest thing you had to excitement was this—and the fact that you didn’t know what came next? Kinda thrilling.

You glanced down at Toby, who was watching you like he could see those gears turning in your head. His smirk was lazy, but there was something sharp in his eyes.

“Y’know, babe,” he murmured, voice dropping low, “I could help you figure it out.”

Your lips parted, but before you could speak—

“Absolutely not,” Vidia cut in, glaring at you. “Do not get wrapped up in this shit.”

Toby raised a brow. “Damn, you don’t trust your bestie to handle herself?”

“Oh, I do—I just don’t trust you to not be a psychotic little gremlin who drags her into some fucked-up murder cult.”

Toby made a face. “Wow. Hurtful.”

“Good.” Vidia sighed again, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Okay. New plan—we leave, he stays, and we pretend this never happened.”

Toby scoffed. “Yeah, like I’ll just let you walk away after all this.”

Vidia narrowed her eyes. “What are you gonna do, Rogers? Bark at us? Jitter threateningly?”

Toby’s smirk widened. “You are kinda funny. I get why she keeps you around.”

You bit back a laugh, and Vidia shot you a betrayed look. “Don’t encourage him.”

You shrugged, crossing your arms. “You did hit him in the head with a bat. I feel like we gotta let him have at least one-joke.”

Toby tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Y’know, babe, I’m real tempted to like you.”

“Yeah?” You leaned in just a little. “Then maybe you should prove it.”

His grin turned downright feral.

Vidia groaned. “Oh my god. I hate you both.” She turned her head to see the horizon was bleeding into a dull shade of orange, morning creeping over the city like a nosy neighbor. The distant hum of patrol cars still echoed through the streets, their searchlights carving through alleyways and abandoned lots. 

They were looking for someone like him, no doubt. 

Toby Rogers, Ticci-Toby, the boogeyman with a shit-eating grin. And yet, here he was, tied up, smirking like he held all the cards.

"Y'know, babe," he started, voice lazy, teasing, "technically, I'm supposed to kill you for all this."

You tilted your head, unconcerned. "Technically, you already tried to kill me once, and look where that got you."

Vidia snorted, arms crossed. "Yeah, tied up like a dumbass."

Toby just grinned wider. "See, that's exactly why you two should join us."

Your brows raised. "Join?"

"Yeah. I mean, you did hunt me down, crack me over the head, and nearly set me on fire," Toby said casually. "And, uh—no offense, but most people who try that shit end up dead."

Vidia scoffed. "Most people aren't us."

"Exactly," he said smoothly. "That’s why I’m offering—we could use people like you. Well, I could, at least." He glanced at you, then at Vidia. "You? Sharp, quick thinker. A little impulsive, but I dig it. And her?" He nodded toward Vidia. "Efficient as hell. Probably smarter than half the guys I work with."

Vidia rolled her eyes. "That’s a low bar."

Toby ignored that, his grin never faltering. "Look, there's only one chick in the group right now, and honestly? You two would be a perfect fit."

You and Vidia exchanged a look.

Vidia squinted at him. "Wait… you mean that same chick that deadass almost choked her out?" She jabbed a thumb toward you.

You sighed. "Yep. That's the one."

Vidia blinked. "Kate?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, no. Hard pass."

Toby laughed. "Okay, in her defense, she's a little on edge. But hey—she's got her quirks."

"Quirks?" Vidia repeated flatly. "Dude, she's scared of the flashlight on my phone."

Toby blinked. "…Oh. Yeah. She does hate that thing." He thought for a second, then shrugged. "Anyway, my bad about the whole choking thing. If it makes you feel better, I’ll tell Tim you guys are off-limits."

"Tim?" Vidia echoed. "And what? Do you think we're just gonna sign up for murder club? Like, 'Oh wow, what a great opportunity, where do we apply?'"

Toby smirked. "Hey, I get it. Big decision. Life-changing and all that. But let's be real—it's not like you guys got some grand future lined up. You're already playing with fire. Why not burn something down?"

You inhaled deeply, considering. It was a tempting offer.

A little murder. A little chaos. A little more of this.

Vidia sighed, rubbing her temple. "This is a terrible idea."

Toby grinned. "But you’re considering it, aren’t you?"

You exhaled through your nose, looking up at the sky. The night was fading, the real world creeping back in. But standing here, with Toby still tied up and grinning like a madman, with Vidia beside you rolling her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out—

You were starting to think… maybe the real world wasn’t where you belonged.

At the end of the day?

It was a hit or run.

[m4kem35cream]

Some sketches I made in class today ✌️

[junocandraw]

toby posting drop a like if toby 💜✌️