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Almost, Always - Chapter 11

paige x azzi

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 -

A/N: Alright readers, I spent all night writing this because I just had to get my ideas on paper for how I want the story to progress... this chapter is turning the corner from angst to hope so for those of you who've been struggling with the last few chapters, here you go! I also wanted to have things go in a positive direction before March Madness starts! I won't be able to continue the series until next week so enjoy this for now :)

WC: 6.1k+

Chapter 11 – Beneath the Noise

Paige had told herself she was fine. Told herself to focus. To compartmentalize. To let the weight of that last call with Azzi slide off her shoulders and leave it on the bench like another piece of gear she didn’t need to carry into game day.

But she wasn’t fine. Not even close.

The words kept looping in her head — just a breather… pause… not from us, just everything else. She kept trying to replay the call in a way that made it feel lighter, like it hadn’t meant what it sounded like. But no matter how she spun it, something in her had shifted. And she couldn’t unfeel it.

She moved through practice like she was underwater — running drills and pushing through reps with practiced intensity — but her mind was always somewhere else. On that call. On Azzi’s voice. On all the things that hadn’t been said.

Her body was moving, but her focus was fractured. Her rhythm was off. She missed a defensive cue during a walkthrough, and Dijonai gave her a look from across the paint. A subtle shake of the head, not annoyed — just clocking it. Paige didn’t even bother pretending she didn’t notice.

She chalked it up to fatigue. Told herself it was the playoffs. Pressure, adrenaline, nerves; nothing new. But deep down, she knew better. This wasn’t just pre-game tension. This was that quiet unraveling she thought she’d gotten past. That ache in her chest had nothing to do with matchups or scouting reports and everything to do with the person she wasn’t sure she still had in her corner.

Later, after practice finished, Paige stood in the training room, ankle wrapped, shoulders tight, zoning out while a trainer walked her through basic stretches she’d done a hundred times. Her body moved on autopilot, but her head wasn’t anywhere in the room.

“You good?” Arike asked from the table beside her, tossing a rolled towel across the floor with her foot.

Paige snapped out of it. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Arike gave her a look that said she didn’t buy it, but didn’t push.

Dijonai chimed in from across the room. “You’ve been tired for three weeks straight. You might wanna switch up the lie.”

“Maybe I just like consistency,” Paige mumbled.

But it wasn’t just tiredness, and everyone knew it. The rumors and the media had worn on her. But it was the pause conversation that really hadn’t sat right with her, no matter how many times she replayed it in her head. She wanted to give Azzi the benefit of the doubt. She wanted to believe it really was just about the noise — the chaos, the timing, the press.

But something about it kept catching in her chest, like a thread snagged on a nail. The way Azzi had said it — Not us. Just everything else. It sounded simple, reasonable. But the more Paige turned it over in her head, the more it twisted. Because how do you hit pause on everything else without creating space between each other? How do you separate the noise from the relationship when the noise had already started bleeding into every part of it?

She tried to shake it off as she finished treatment and headed into film review, but right before she sat down, her phone buzzed in her pocket. A text. From Katie.

Her stomach dropped.

She hadn’t even thought about what Azzi’s parents must be feeling in the middle of all this. The silence, the tension, the headlines. It had all kept her so focused on Azzi’s absence, on the weight of her own guilt and confusion, that she’d completely overlooked the people who had welcomed her like one of their own. Katie and Tim had just given their blessing for Paige to ask Azzi to marry her. And now, all of that trust was caught in the crossfire. Paige couldn’t shake the thought that they might be questioning her too, wondering what kind of person would put their daughter through this. The idea of disappointing them twisted something deep in her chest.

She pulled her phone out under the table but was quickly interrupted. She didn’t open it. Couldn’t. Not yet. Coach was already talking through matchups, clips rolling on the screen. Paige shoved her phone face-down on her thigh and tried to focus, but the anxiety settled under her skin like static.

She barely registered half of what was said. Her mind was spinning too fast. All she could hear was the looping question: What if they’re disappointed in me too?

When the meeting finally ended, she stepped out into the hallway and opened the message.

KATIE: We’ve seen the headlines. Just wanted you to know we trust you. But we’d love to talk soon. Hope you’re holding up.

Her chest tightened. Trust. The word hit her like a gut punch. It didn’t feel like something she’d earned anymore, not after the way everything had unraveled so fast. Not with the headlines circling, not with Azzi’s silence still echoing in her ears. She wasn’t even sure if she still trusted herself—her instincts, her decisions, the version of love she thought she was offering. It all felt shaky now, like she’d misjudged what they could withstand. And yet, somehow, Katie and Tim still believed in her. Still offered grace. That made it hurt even more.

She stared at her phone, thumb hovering, pulse pounding in her ears. But this time, she didn’t hesitate. She owed them that much. She owed Azzi that much. Without giving herself another second to spiral, she stepped outside, thumb pressed the call button, and brought the phone to her ear.

Katie picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Paige.”

“Hey,” Paige said quietly, then paused. “Thanks for the message.”

“We just wanted you to know where we stand. We’ve talked to Azzi a lot, but we wanted to hear from you too.”

“I get it.” She paused, throat tightening. “Actually… I was going to tell you this before everything blew up. That woman I was seen with—the one in the photo outside the restaurant? She wasn’t some random girl. She’s an event planner. I was meeting with her to start planning a proposal. I already have the ring.”

The words sat heavy between them, even over the phone. Paige exhaled slowly, her voice softer now. “That was the whole reason I was there. I didn’t say anything because I wanted it to be a surprise. But then everything happened, and now it looks like something it wasn’t. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to explain things to her without ruining everything… I hate that she might’ve thought—” Her voice broke off before she could finish the sentence. “It just… it wasn’t what it looked like.”

There was a pause on the other end. Then Katie’s voice came through, warm but steadier than before.

“Oh, honey.”

It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t disappointment. Just understanding, layered with something maternal and unshakeably kind.

“You should’ve led with that,” Katie said gently. “Tim and I… we didn’t believe the rumors, not really. But we also knew Azzi would need time to sort through how it looked. You know how much she loves you. But this obviously clears a lot up.”

Paige swallowed hard, feeling the burn behind her eyes now. “I didn’t mean for it to fall apart like this.”

“It hasn’t,” Katie said. “You’re still in it. You’re still trying. And she sees that even if she hasn’t said it yet. Don’t lose sight of that.”

Paige sighed. “She asked to pause things. I don’t even know what that means, not really. But it’s been in my head ever since.”

“Did she say she wanted space from you?”

“No. But it felt like it.”

Katie paused. “Paige, I know it’s messy right now, but Azzi loves you. And you know her. You know how much she overthinks everything. She’s just scared.”

“I’m scared too.”

“I know,” Katie said gently. “But don’t let that fear rewrite everything you already know about each other. Just hold steady.”

Paige didn’t say anything, but her grip on the phone tightened. “Thanks for not thinking the worst of me.”

“We’ve seen how you love her. We’ve never questioned that.”

When the call ended, Paige stayed on the bench outside for a while, phone resting loosely in her hand. The ring lingered in her thoughts, heavier than before—not because she questioned it, but because she still believed in what it represented. Even if Azzi wasn’t ready yet, she was. And that belief, steady and unshaken, was its own kind of weight.

______________________________________________________________

Azzi’s phone rang later that night. Her mom’s name lit up the screen, and for a moment, she just stared at it. Not because she didn’t want to answer, but because she already knew what this call was going to be. There’d been a lot of these lately. Quiet check-ins, gentle nudges, and moments where Katie and Tim tried to be supportive without overstepping.

She’d talked to them more in the last few weeks than she had in months. Sometimes just for a few minutes between practices, sometimes for longer stretches at night when she couldn’t sleep and needed to hear a voice that felt like home. Katie always knew when to push and when to simply listen. Tim didn’t say much, but when he did, it stuck. They’d been her grounding force through all the noise.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hey, sweetie. Just checking in.”

Azzi could hear the edge in her mother’s voice — careful, but purposeful, like she was threading each word through a filter. The kind of tone Katie used when she didn’t want to push too hard, but still had something to say. It wasn’t scolding, just… intentional. And that alone made Azzi’s stomach knot a little tighter.

She wondered how much Katie already knew. Not just from the internet — but from Paige. Her mom had been vague on their last few calls, asking how she was holding up, encouraging her to stay focused, but never outright bringing up the rumors or her relationship with Paige. But tonight, something in her voice felt different. Like she wasn’t just checking in — she was steering toward something.

Azzi could picture her mom sitting at the kitchen counter, phone in one hand, concern in her eyes. The way she always had that soft tension in her posture when she was holding back just enough to let Azzi come forward first. She’d done it all through high school, through college, through draft night. She never pried. But she always knew. Always had a way of seeing what Azzi was struggling to say before she even found the words herself.

And Azzi had a feeling she wasn’t going to get through this call without facing at least one of those things.

“I’m fine,” Azzi said, even though it wasn’t entirely true.

“Are you?”

Azzi sighed softly. “I don’t know.”

Katie let that hang for a moment, not rushing to fill the silence.

“I know things have been... intense,” she said carefully. “And I know you’re trying to keep your head down and focus, but I also know you. You carry things quietly, even when they’re heavy. I just don’t want you trying to carry this alone.”

Azzi’s fingers curled tighter around the phone.

“There’s a lot I’m still trying to sort out,” she said finally. “And I feel like every time I get a grip on one part of it, something else spins out.”

Katie’s voice softened. “That’s fair. But I hope you’re giving Paige a little grace in all of this too.”

Azzi stilled. “You talked to her.”

Katie didn’t answer right away. “We’ve been in touch here and there,” she said carefully, not confirming too much. “But more than that, we’ve just been thinking about you both. Watching all of this unfold from the sidelines hasn’t exactly been easy.”

Azzi’s jaw tightened. “I know.”

“I’m not here to tell you how to feel,” Katie said. “But I will remind you of one thing — you know her. Better than anyone. Better than the internet. Better than whatever headline people want to run with next. And I know you’ve had your doubts lately, but I also know what that girl has meant to you for a long time.”

Azzi closed her eyes. The weight of that truth settled hard.

Katie continued, gentler now. “You told us once that you’d never let fear be the thing that breaks you two apart. So don’t let it start now. And for the love of God, stop reading the comment sections. Focus on your game. Focus on your team. And, if I may suggest — beat her ass on the court. Nicely, of course.”

That pulled a quiet laugh out of Azzi, even as her throat tightened.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Anytime, baby.”

Azzi stayed on the line a few seconds longer after her mom hung up, listening to the silence, as if the weight of Katie’s words hadn’t fully settled yet. She finally set the phone on the nightstand, then leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hands loosely clasped.

Her mom was right. She always had a way of cutting straight through the noise and saying the exact thing Azzi needed to hear, even when Azzi didn’t want to hear it.

But that didn’t mean it made everything easier.

Her mom had been the one to first ask the hard questions. What are you really afraid of? Is it Paige? Or is it everything around her?

And Azzi hadn’t known how to answer.

Because it wasn’t Paige. It had never really been Paige. It was everything else. The spotlight. The scrutiny. The exposure that seemed to stretch beyond what either of them had signed up for. She thought she could handle it — had told herself she could. But the past few weeks had made her wonder if she’d underestimated just how much pressure came with loving someone whose name was always in the headlines.

And worse, she hated that somewhere along the way, that pressure had started to reshape how she looked at Paige. She didn’t want to admit that, even to herself. But it had. Not because she stopped loving her — that hadn’t changed — but because the weight of what came with her had started to feel overwhelming.

Now, her mom’s voice echoed in her head again. You know her. Better than anyone. Better than the Internet.

Azzi exhaled slowly, closing her eyes. She did know her. That was the part that hurt the most. Because if she stripped away the noise, the fear, and the headlines — she still believed in who Paige was. Still believed in what they had. Still believed that, deep down, nothing about that had changed.

She just wasn’t sure if she’d waited too long to say that out loud.

______________________________________________________________

The cameras were already set up when Paige stepped into the media room. Rows of chairs, light panels, boom mics — the usual chaos disguised as routine. She’d done this so many times before, but today everything felt different. The air felt tighter. The noise a little louder. Like everyone was waiting for her to slip.

She adjusted her warmup jacket and took her seat at the podium alongside a couple of teammates. Her knee bounced under the table. She told herself to relax, to focus, to treat this like any other presser.

But it wasn’t any other presser. Not after the last few weeks. Not with her relationship suddenly turned into a headline, a thread for people to pull at.

She knew what was coming before it hit.

At first, the questions were light. Basketball stuff. Matchups, adjustments, scouting reports. She answered them easily, slipping into her polished media voice without much effort.

Then came the pivot.

“Paige, there's been a lot of outside attention lately — off the court. How are you balancing the media noise with the playoff pressure?”

Her stomach tightened. Not unexpected. Just unwelcome.

She leaned toward the mic. “I’m focused on our team and this series. That’s where my head is. That’s what matters right now.”

It was measured. Safe. But the follow-up came fast.

“Are you and Azzi still together?”

The question hung there, heavier than the others. For a split second, Paige thought about deflecting. Thought about the way Azzi had said pause, about the ache that had followed. But she caught herself.

She took a breath. “We’ve both agreed to keep our focus on basketball right now. That’s all I’m going to say.”

She didn’t let her voice crack. Didn’t let the weight of it show. But inside, it rattled. Because the truth was, she wasn’t sure what pause really meant. And it didn’t help that the world was trying to figure it out right alongside her.

The next few questions blurred together — more about rotations, shot selection, and playoff intensity. She answered them all, steady, professional. But she felt her focus splitting, pulled between the words she said and the thoughts clawing at the back of her mind.

When the presser wrapped, Paige was the first to stand. She muttered a quiet thanks to the media staff and stepped off the stage. Her phone buzzed the second she hit the tunnel.

One new message.

AZZI: Just saw some of the clips from your presser. You handled it well. Thanks for not feeding into it.

Paige stared at the screen for a second, thumb hovering.

Then she typed.

PAIGE: I meant what I said. I didn’t dodge those questions because I’m scared. I just didn’t want to make it worse for you. For us.

A moment passed.

Then another buzz.

AZZI: I know. I appreciate it. I really do.

Paige’s shoulders dropped a little. Not relief exactly, but something close. It didn’t fix everything. It didn’t answer all the questions still tangled between them.

But it was something.

She looked back toward the court. Walkthroughs were starting soon. Azzi would be arriving soon too. For the first time in weeks, they’d be in the same room again.

And she wasn’t sure if that thought steadied her — or unraveled her more.

______________________________________________________________

Walkthrough was already underway by the time Paige laced up and jogged back onto the court. Coaches were running through sets, players scattered across the floor, music humming low through the arena speakers. The energy felt different now—focused, sharp, like every player could feel the stakes rising just beneath the surface.

But Paige couldn’t get her head to settle.

She kept replaying Azzi’s message. The texts had been short, kind, supportive even. But there was something she couldn’t shake—like she was reading between lines that didn’t exist, searching for something more than what was actually there. It left her off balance. Like trying to catch her footing on a floor that kept tilting under her.

“Yo,” Arike said, falling into step beside her. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Paige said, quick, too quick.

Arike raised an eyebrow. “You sure? Because you’ve run the wrong play twice now and you just tried to screen NaLyssa by accident.”

Paige gave a half-laugh, scrubbing a hand down her face. “I’m locking in, don’t worry.”

Arike didn’t press, just clapped her shoulder and jogged ahead. But Paige could feel the glance that lingered.

She turned back toward the half-court line, just in time to see the other team walk into the gym.

The Mystics.

And Azzi.

Her breath caught for a second—just enough to make her chest tighten.

Azzi was wearing her warmups, hair pulled back, talking with one of her coaches. She looked relaxed. Composed. Like everything wasn’t tangled in knots behind the scenes. Like none of this was weighing on her at all.

Paige stood still, trying not to stare, but her eyes kept locking on Azzi anyway.

Azzi turned, just slightly, and their gazes met.

It was just a moment. Just one look across a crowded court.

But it felt like something.

Azzi didn’t say anything. Didn’t wave. But she offered a small smile. Soft. Careful.

Paige didn’t know what to do with it.

She smiled back—tentative, unsure—and raised a hand in a low wave. Azzi nodded once, then turned her attention back to her team.

And just like that, the moment passed.

Paige stood there a second longer, caught in the afterglow of it, then turned back to her own bench.

Her heart was still beating too fast.

She didn’t know what it meant. Didn’t know if it meant anything at all. But it stirred something in her chest—a flicker of warmth, the smallest crack in all the weight she’d been carrying.

______________________________________________________________

Azzi felt Paige’s eyes before she even saw her.

She had walked into the arena with her teammates, nodding along to whatever Aaliyah was saying about defensive switches, but her body was buzzing with something else entirely—nerves, adrenaline, maybe both. She didn’t want to admit how much she’d been dreading this moment, or how much she’d rehearsed it in her head.

When she glanced across the court and found Paige standing near the half-court line, her heart stuttered.

There she was. Fully in it now. Paige’s shoulders squared, jersey half-tucked, hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, every inch of her locked in. Except for her eyes. Those still softened when they met Azzi’s.

For a second, the rest of the gym faded.

Paige raised a hand in a quiet wave—tentative, cautious. Azzi offered a small smile in return. Not out of politeness. Out of instinct. She wasn’t even sure what it meant. It was just… there.

Then she turned away, pretending to re-focus on warmups.

But her pulse didn’t settle.

Back in the locker room, the pregame energy was humming. Shoes squeaked across the floor. Someone was blasting a hype playlist from the speaker in the corner. Coaches rotated through, giving reminders, and calling out rotations. It all felt familiar—ritualistic, grounding.

Azzi sat at her locker, tugging on her shooting sleeve, letting the noise wrap around her like armor.

So she laced her shoes tighter and kept moving.

As they stepped out of the tunnel, her heart was pounding hard enough to hear. The arena lights were blinding at first, the crowd already buzzing with anticipation. Azzi scanned the stands, then the court, then—inevitably—Paige.

She didn’t even have to look hard. Paige was always magnetic that way.

They lined up for warmups, separated only by a stretch of hardwood and tension. The distance between them felt small and enormous all at once.

Azzi went through her routine—corner threes, pull-ups, a few easy finishes at the rim—but her mind kept flicking sideways. Catching glimpses of Paige out of the corner of her eye. The way she moved, the way she carried herself—sharp, precise, controlled. But Azzi could still see the flicker of weight in her posture. Like Paige was trying to burn it off with every drill.

They didn’t speak. Not here. Not yet.

Then came tip-off.

Azzi took her position on the wing, bouncing on the balls of her feet, adrenaline prickling beneath her skin. Across from her, Paige settled into her stance. Their eyes met once more, just briefly. Something unreadable passed between them.

The whistle blew.

And everything snapped into motion.

Azzi ran hard. Cut sharper than usual. She wanted—no, needed—to lose herself in the rhythm of the game. But even as plays unfolded, she felt Paige like a shadow. Every possession carried more weight, every screen more impact. It wasn’t personal—not in the basketball sense—but it was personal in every other way.

At one point during a timeout, Azzi reached for her water bottle and happened to glance toward the opposing bench. Paige was already looking at her.

Neither of them looked away.

It was nothing. But it wasn’t.

Late in the third, they collided on a drive. Paige came around a screen, attacking the lane with force, and Azzi rotated over just in time to take the hit. Their bodies crashed in a tangle of movement—shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip—before Azzi absorbed the blow, stumbled a step, and kept her balance. The contact wasn’t malicious, but it was hard. Sharp enough to rattle. Sharp enough to remind them both that this wasn’t just basketball, not really.

They didn’t say anything. Just a flick of eye contact—quick, searching, loaded. Not anger, not apology, just something unspoken hanging between them.

And then, as they passed each other in transition, Paige reached out, almost without thinking. Just a brush of her fingers against Azzi’s forearm—light, fleeting, but deliberate. A grounding gesture. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for Azzi to feel it. Enough to say: I’m still here.

Azzi didn’t turn. Didn’t react. But her hand flexed at her side once, just slightly. As if holding onto something that wasn’t quite gone.

The game stayed tight until the final minutes, every possession tense, every rebound fought for like it meant something more than just points on the board. The crowd was loud, energy vibrating through the arena with each shift in momentum. Azzi had just knocked down a corner jumper to tie it, and for a moment, the noise felt like thunder.

But then Paige took over.

First, a step-back three from the wing — clean, high arc, net barely moving as it dropped through. A dagger. The kind of shot that made defenders sag just a little slower the next time down. The kind of shot that said: this game’s mine.

Then a steal. Anticipation, instinct, pure reflex — she jumped the passing lane and took off down the court before anyone else had reacted. She didn’t even glance at the defender trailing her. Just gathered, exploded toward the rim, and finished clean at the glass.

The next play, she didn’t shoot at all. She drew two defenders on a drive, then slung a no-look pass to the corner, right into her teammate’s hands. Catch, release, three. The crowd erupted. Her bench did too — leaping to their feet, arms thrown in the air as the scoreboard ticked forward.

Azzi pushed to close the gap, digging in on every possession, chasing shooters off screens, crashing the boards harder, sprinting the full length of the court like sheer effort could will her team back into it. She called for the ball more, drove harder into the lane, fought through contact that left bruises blooming under her jersey. But every time she got them within striking distance, Paige answered — another stop, another smart pass, another moment of composure that tilted the momentum back.

Azzi felt the seconds bleeding off the clock, too fast, too unforgiving. She barked instructions during timeouts, clenched her jaw tighter with each missed opportunity, tried to rally her team with defiance in her voice even when exhaustion pressed down on her legs like lead.

But it wasn’t enough.

The gap stayed just out of reach, widening slightly with each possession that didn’t go their way. And as the final minute ticked down, Azzi knew it. She could feel the weight of it settling into her chest — not from the loss alone, but from everything wrapped inside it.

When the final buzzer sounded, the Wings had taken Game 1.

Azzi walked toward the tunnel without lingering. She didn’t go looking for Paige, didn’t scan the court. Not because she didn’t want to—but because she wasn’t sure what she’d say if their eyes met again.

______________________________________________________________

Paige watched as Azzi walked off the court without a word. Just a quick postgame handshake—brief, automatic, the kind they’d given each other a hundred times before. No smile. No lingering glance. Just contact, then gone.

It hit harder than the final buzzer.

She stayed frozen near half-court for a few seconds longer than necessary, caught in the slow unraveling of something she couldn’t name. Her teammates were celebrating around her, high-fives and towels and laughter echoing in her ears, but Paige couldn’t hear any of it.

All she could hear was the silence Azzi left behind.

By the time she made it to the locker room, the headlines had already started flooding her phone. Push notifications stacking one after another.

“Paige and Azzi: Over?” “Mystery Girl Resurfaces After Game One.” “Is Paige Bueckers a Cheater?” “No Postgame Interaction Between Bueckers and Fudd.”

It was relentless.

Paige stared at the screen for a second, then tossed her phone onto the bench like it burned.

The worst part was that it didn’t even surprise her anymore. This was what the world did—took what was complicated and cracked it wide open, let strangers dissect every gesture, every silence, every clipped expression. Turned emotion into clickbait.

She showered in silence, barely listening to the music thumping in the background. Her teammates were in good spirits—celebrating the win, hyped about the series lead—but Paige felt detached, like her body was still moving through the motions while her mind stayed stuck in that moment on the court. The part where Azzi walked away like they were strangers.

When she got back to her apartment, the quiet was deafening. She didn’t turn on the TV. Didn’t even take off her jacket right away. She sat on the edge of her couch, elbows on her knees, head in her hands, trying not to let it all feel like a sign.

She thought of the ring again, still tucked away in that drawer. And she hated how distant that version of her now felt—the one who had picked it out with a steady heart and a sure mind. The one who believed they’d find their way through anything.

She thought she’d be that person forever. Now she wasn’t sure.

Her phone buzzed again. She ignored it at first, assuming it was more headlines or group chat chaos. But then it buzzed again. And again.

When she finally looked over, her breath caught.

Azzi. FaceTime Incoming.

Paige blinked, almost not believing it. For a second, she just stared at the screen, unsure whether to answer. Unsure what this meant.

But her fingers moved on instinct. She picked up.

Azzi’s face appeared, her hoodie pulled up, hair tied back messily. Behind her, the dim lighting of the hotel room cast everything in a warm, muted glow — the edge of a suitcase half-zipped on the bed, a pair of sneakers kicked off by the door, a TV playing quietly in the background, forgotten. She looked a little worn down, a little rumpled from the day, but still entirely herself — the kind of familiar that made something in Paige’s chest settle, even if just for a second.

“Hey,” she said quietly.

Paige’s chest tightened. “Hey.”

There was a pause. A beat too long. The kind of silence that used to be comfortable between them, now edged with uncertainty.

“I saw the headlines,” Azzi said, voice low. “I figured you probably did too.”

Paige let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Hard to miss.”

Azzi nodded slowly. “I didn’t mean to walk off like that. I was frustrated—at the game, at myself, at everything. It wasn’t about you.”

Paige shrugged, trying to play it off, even though her voice cracked a little. “Didn’t look that way.”

“I know,” Azzi said, softer now. “I’m sorry.”

Another beat of silence passed between them.

Paige swallowed. “You FaceTimed.”

Azzi gave the faintest smile. “Yeah. I didn’t want that to be the last thing between us tonight.”

The silence stretched, not uncomfortable, just full. Full of everything they hadn’t said.

Azzi shifted, her voice quieter now. “I know I said let’s take a breather… but I didn’t mean from you. I meant everything else. The noise. The questions. The pressure.” She exhaled slowly. “I’m still in this with you, P. I never wasn’t. I love you. I just… I needed to come up for air. And I want us to talk through it all, just not while we’re in the middle of this series.”

Paige’s jaw tensed for a second, but then softened. She nodded slowly, eyes not leaving Azzi’s. “I get it. Even if it’s not what I wanted to hear. I do get it.”

“I hated how that call ended,” Azzi said. “It’s been messing with me. I should’ve said more, said it better. You didn’t deserve the confusion.”

“You didn’t deserve to feel like you had to carry everything alone,” Paige said. “I should’ve checked in with you differently too. I just… I’ve been so afraid of losing you, I didn’t want to push.”

“You’re not losing me,” Azzi said firmly. “You never were.”

Paige let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Her smile came slow, small, a little worn around the edges. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

Azzi winced, then gave a sheepish smile. “Okay… fair. I deserved that.”

“I mean, you ghost me,” Paige said, shifting slightly on her couch, her hand rubbing at the back of her neck. “You drop a vague ‘pause’ speech mid-FaceTime, then walk off the court like we’ve never shared a toothbrush.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, half amused. “We’ve never shared a toothbrush.”

Paige tilted her head, a smirk already forming. “As far as you know.”

Azzi recoiled, nose scrunching in mock horror. “Oh my god. That’s disgusting. Please tell me you’re joking.”

Paige just shrugged, expression unreadable. “Guess you’ll never know.”

Azzi groaned, shaking her head, but her laughter broke through anyway. “That’s actually vile. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“But you still love me,” Paige said, her voice dipping into a familiar, teasing lilt.

Azzi rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Unfortunately.”

“I’ll take it,” Paige said softly. This time, her smile wasn’t just playful. It was warm. Real. The kind of smile that crept up from somewhere deeper.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was full in a different way, layered with everything they hadn’t quite figured out how to say yet. Not resolution, not closure. But something.

“I’ll see you in D.C.,” Paige said after a moment, her voice quieter now, but still carrying that steady undercurrent of hope.

Azzi nodded. “You better bring your A-game.”

“Oh, I will,” Paige said, grin sharpening again. “Just try not to get too distracted out there.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “By what, your step-back jumper?”

Paige smirked. “Nah. More like these arms. I’ve been putting in serious time in the weight room.”

She turned her phone slightly, angling the camera to flex her bicep, putting on an exaggerated show. “Check it out — peak athleticism.”

Azzi burst out laughing, shaking her head. “Please. That’s barely a muscle.”

Paige grinned. “You weren’t saying that last summer.”

Azzi blinked, then laughed harder. “You’re delusional.”

“Mmhmm. Sure,” Paige said, letting the silence stretch just long enough to let the teasing land. “I’m just saying, don’t blame me when you start bricking shots because you’re distracted by these babies.”

Azzi shook her head, still grinning. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me.”

Azzi sighed dramatically. “So inconvenient.”

Paige grinned. “Tell me about it,” she said, playful but softer now, eyes holding just a little more weight. “You keep loving me anyway.”

The words slipped out casual, easy—but there was something truer behind them. A quiet acknowledgment, a thread of understanding that ran deeper than the teasing. And for a split second, Azzi caught it—realized what she’d just admitted. What Paige had gently pointed back to. But instead of pulling away from it, she let it sit between them, unspoken but known.

And the moment rolled forward, lighter than it had been a minute ago, but heavier in meaning than either of them said out loud, neither one rushing to end the call. The tension between them hadn’t vanished completely, but something gentler had moved in—something that felt like a step back toward solid ground.

When the screen finally went dark, Paige sat there for a moment, staring at the reflection of herself in the blank screen. Her fingers still hovered near the phone, like she didn’t quite want to let go of the moment yet. The ache in her chest hadn’t disappeared, but something in her felt steadier now—like maybe she wasn’t the only one still trying.

For the first time in weeks, it didn’t feel like she was chasing something that was already slipping away. It felt like Azzi was still there, reaching back. Not all the way, not yet, but enough.

Paige leaned back against the couch, letting herself exhale fully for the first time all day. The rest of the short series would still be brutal. The media would still stir things up. And there were still conversations they hadn’t had yet…

But the way Azzi had smiled. The way she’d said You’re not losing me. The way she still knew how to tease her like nothing had changed, even when everything had.

It gave her something to hold onto.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics #azzi fudd #paige bueckers

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uracutieraka · 2 days ago

Text

My dear Rex,

You never showed up, and now, after looking at the newspapers I understand why.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Angst no comfort. implied situationship. spoilers for S3.

Rex Sloan x F!reader

You and Rex had a falling out months ago, over something so severely stupid. In the moment it wasn't. But now that you're standing here looking down at the hole six feet deep into the ground? It was so stupid.

I don't imagine you will receive this letter but I nonetheless must send it.

Text after text, and still no response from him. It had been hours since he promised to be here.

'You only turn 20 once!' he had said before shutting your apartment door, heading off to fight some villain.

You had been sat on the curb of this super fancy restaurant that he swore by for at least two hours, in hopes that maybe, just maybe, he'd show.

Eventually the staff had to shoo you away like a dog. You cried the entire taxi ride back to your small studio.

Finally after hours of crying and drinking whatever leftover alcohol you had in your freezer you had knocked out on your bed.

You woke up to the feeling of your mattress sinking in, turning around, still drunk, you see Rex.

"What the fuck Rex?"

He winces and slowly opens one eye, looking over at you with a guilty smile.

"I know, I know..." He starts but you quickly throw the covers off of you and stand up, crossing your arms and glaring at him.

"You stood me up!"

He pouts and tries to reach out for you but you snatch your arm out of grip.

"No! Don't touch me!" Your words are slightly slurred and your vision begins to blur. How could he do this? On your birthday of all days?

"Hey, hey, I got caught up with Kate after work s'all..."

You now feel the tears spill down your face, Kate? The girl he used to have sex with?

"Kate?" Your voice is quiet when you ask, even though you only said one word he knows what the call of her name means.

"We just went out for a few drinks to catch up! She had a rough day and need a familiar shoulder to cry on."

He says it like it's just that simple! Like abandoning you on your special day was okay because his old fuck-buddy had a rough day.

"More like a familiar dick to hop on..."

Rex now quirks his brow up at you.

"Fuck did you just say?"

You look up from the floor and back at the man in front of you.

"I said," You make a point to sniffle and wipe your tears away before finishing. "More. Like. A. Fa-mil-iar dick. To. Hop. On."

Rex now scoffs and stands up, facing you from the other side of your bed.

"Are you serious right now Y/n?"

"Are you? You ghosted my on my birthday to get drinks with your old hookup!"

It's like realization sets in on his face when you say those words, and you feel your anger grow.

"You forgot it was my fucking birthday, didn't you?"

"Y/n I am so fucking so-"

"Forget it Rex. Forget all of it. Just get the fuck out."

You turn and sit on the edge of your mattress, facing away from him.

"You're kicking me out?" His voice is quiet, obviously hurt.

"I guess I am, yeah."

You don't look at him but you could practically see his face in your mind. The disappointed look he would have on it if you had turned around.

You just listen as he gathers his stuff and walks out your front door.

Rex, oh, Rex. I was just starting to dream the silliest and softest of dreams.

"Put me down!" Your laughter and shrieks fill the air of the quiet, secluded beach.

"Not happening sweetheart!" Rex lightly smacks the back of your thigh as he runs towards the ocean with you thrown over his shoulder, struggling to escape his strong grip.

Once his feet break through the surface of the salty water you know it's game over.

"Rex, don't!" You squeal as you're suddenly launched off his sturdy shoulder and flying down towards the coldness below you.

You pop back up a moment later, gasping and wiping water off your face. A laugh escapes your lips as you look over to Rex, who's clutching his sides in an attempt to calm down his own laughter.

"No, Rex, Don't throw me!" He mocks you.

"You're so annoying!" You say, though your words have no real malice behind them.

"Mmm, not too annoying if you kept me around this long though." He says, slowly making his way closer to you, wading through the water like a shark.

"Pretty annoying though..." Your voice is softer now as he closes the distance between you two, his large hands gripping your hips under the water and pulling you closer to him. You wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist as he does this.

"Eh, debatable." He shrugs and gives you a dopey grin.

"Whatever..." You whisper before closing the distance, kissing him softly.

I miss you, and I will always miss you but I cannot live like that, and it seems you cannot live any other way.

"I can't just give this up Y/n!" Rex's voice booms through the small apartment.

"I did!" You look up at him from your spot on the couch. He's pacing around in front of you, running his hands through his hair, obviously frustrated.

"I'm not you! This is all I have!"

Silence fills the room and he stops pacing, looking back over to you.

"You have me..." Your voice is quiet and he quickly notices the way your voice cracks and falters.

"I know, I didn't mean it like that...," He now sits next to you, pulling you towards him. He kisses the top of your head before continuing. "This is just all I've ever known. I can't just quit."

"I know." You respond, because you did know. It was stupid to try and ask him to give up being a hero.

When I am with you, the world makes sense

Rex is sprawled out across your couch, lazily flipping through the channels on your television.

You're sat across from him, glasses low on your nose as you grumble to yourself about this pointless project you have due soon.

"You okay?"

You now look up and over to the sound of the voice. Rex is sitting up looking at you, eyes squinted to study your face.

"M'fine." You grumble and go back to stressing out over the assignment.

Rex sighs as he stands up and walks over to you. He stands behind you, one hand grabbing the back of your chair as the other lies flat against the cool surface of your table.

You lazily let your head lull back to look up at him.

"You gonna help me or something?" Your eyebrow pops up.

"Mmmm, maybe, or I'll just kiss you until you get annoyed and forget that I came over here to help you, because this shit looks complicated as fuck."

You just roll your eyes and pucker your lips expectantly.

He leans down and connects his with yours quickly. He repeats this action at least 15 more times before you shoo him back to the couch with a giggle and one more kiss 'for luck' you say.

but when we are apart, I see clearly that your world is not a world from which one can escape.

"Rex?" You call, your voice echoing off the barren walls of the hospital as you run, frantically looking around.

You run to the front desk, slamming your hands down against the linoleum.

"Rex? Where is Rex Splode- Sloan- fuck! What room is he in?" Your eyes are wide and your obviously frazzled. The lady behind the desk is quickly trying to figure out what room the man was in when a voice stops the both of you in your tracks.

"Y/n."

You turn around slowly, anger seeping off you.

"Cecil..." You begin stepping towards the old man.

"Y/n." Another hand grabs your shoulder and when you turn to smack whoever thought it was okay to touch you, you don't.

"Rex! Oh my god! You're okay!" You throw yourself into his arms.

"I'm okay. I'm okay..." He strokes the back of your head as you sob into his shirt. He shares a knowing look with Cecil before pulling you off of him.

"Let's go somewhere private to talk, yeah?"

You nod and follow him as he leads you through the sterile halls.

That's how you two ended up here.

"You're really giving us," you point between you and him a few times "up because Cecil told you to?"

He groans and grabs his face with his hands.

"No! I'm going away for a while because I need to focus on my work..."

You just grab your purse and shove past him. He calls after you but you turn around quickly.

"Just, call me whenever you're done 'working on yourself' or whatever it was you called it." With a flick of your hand to dismiss him, you walk off and he just watches as your figure disappears.

I am so sorry, for everything long ago and for starting up that business again.

Rex's phone has been ringing for the past ten minutes. He groans when he realizes it probably wasn't going to stop until he answers it.

His heart drops when he sees your contact on the screen. He hadn't seen it in months.

"Hello?" He says quizzically into the speaker.

Music thumps in his ears loudly and suddenly your voice breaks through.

"Rex? Hello?"

His breath hitches, he hadn't heard your voice since the day in the hospital.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Oh, thank god!," You let out what he assumes is a choked sob. "Can you come get me? I-I'm at some club and I'm drunk and this guy I came with just left me here because I told him I didn't want anything serious!"

That's all Rex needed to hear. He was there in 20 minutes.

He finds you sitting on the sidewalk next to the bouncer.

You look up at him as he approaches and his heart breaks at the sight.

Your hair is shorter than when he last saw you, and your makeup is smeared all over your face.

Your eyes light up as you see him and you struggle to get up.

"Rex!" You say as you throw yourself into his arms. He stumbles back a bit before grabbing your waist and pulling you off him.

"How much have you had to drink?"

You just frown at him and instead of answering his question your hands find their way to his hair, pushing it behind his ear and out of his face.

"Missed you." You say and he sighs, moving to wrap his arm around your waist. He leads you back to his car and helps you in.

On the drive he sneaks small glances at you. Your head is leaned against his window as you have your eyes closed, humming to the sound of music that's softly playing on the radio.

You were so beautiful, how could he ever give you up for work?

He's going to make it up to you and prove himself this time.

There's a good man within you Rex, but he is wrestling with a giant, and the giant wins. Time and again.

"Are you serious?" Your words slice through the air like knives and Rex jumps at the sudden noise.

"Y/n! It's not what you think!" Kate says.

Rex slides off her and rushes over to you.

"Not what I think? I think you and Rex were just fucking on my couch while I was at work!"

Kate looks down at her lap in shame as you scoff and push Rex away from you.

"You're both whores." You say, pushing your way towards your bedroom.

"Get the hell out of my apartment." You say before your bedroom door slams shut.

You've broken my heart, again and I fear I have broken yours.

"Rex, you should just leave..." Your voice is hoarse and raw, eyes swollen and face red from crying.

"Please, fuck- please don't make me." Rex sobs out, obviously drunk.

"You're drunk a-and I just can't deal with this right now."

"I'm sorry I forgot your birthday! And for the Kate shit! And all of it! Please, please, please."

You sigh at the desperate man at your door step.

"Rex, I don't even know what you're begging for."

"You." His answer is quick, and his eyes are bloodshot and wide.

"Go home Rex." You shut the door in his face, ignoring the way he keeps knocking and begging for you to open it.

Rex never came by again after that.

For that, I will never forgive myself but you must let me go now.

"Rex has been seeing Rae for a bit now, but I'm pretty sure they're trying to keep it a secret."

Your friend Rudy's voice seems to trail off as he continues talking about the rest of his team, filling you in on updates of their lives since you had been too busy between work and school to stop by yourself.

"Wait- Rex is with Rae?" You shake your head and put your hand out as a bewildered look is on your face.

"Y-yes...Y/n? Are you okay?" Rudy asks, looking at you closely.

"Yeah, I'm fine.," You say taking a sip of your coffee. "Good for them."

I enclose a ring you gave me many years ago, when we were both young, not because I don't like it, but because I care for it far too much and it reminds me too much of you.

You look down at the giant hole in the ground where the coffin is now lowered in.

You run your fingers over the smooth material of the envelope in your hand.

With one last look you toss it in, it clinks against the hard wood and you watch as it slides off, wedging itself in the crack between the wood and dirt.

"What was that?" Rudy whispers to you once you finally look away from the coffin and make your way over to the group.

You softly smile at the memory that play though your mind.

"The mood ring's Rex had gotten for us during some mission, I thought they were dumb but he, uhm...," Your voice cracks as tears well up. "He said that it was only dumb if we thought about it too hard." You dryly chuckle, barely being able to get the words out.

Rudy just nods in understanding.

You look back one more time before making your way out of the cemetery.

I hope, one day you will find some people in love who can use this, for it kept me thinking of you all these years, and I hope by returning it to you I can finally be free.

goodbye,

Y/n

#x reader #fanfic #rex splode #rex sloan #rex splode x reader #invincible #invincible season 3 #invincible show #invincible spoilers #invincible fanart #invincible comic #oliver grayson #mark grayson #invincible x reader #invincible x you #invincible x oc #atom eve

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women-in-ssports · 1 day ago

Text

Sideline and Spotlights

In this high school AU, Azzi, the star soccer player, and Paige, the standout on the basketball team, have always existed in separate worlds—until a teammate’s crush sparks an unexpected deal. If the soccer team shows up to support basketball, the favor must be returned. What starts as a simple agreement quickly turns into something more as Paige and Azzi find themselves drawn together in ways neither expected. But with growing tensions on and off the court, they’ll have to decide if their connection is just part of the game—or something worth fighting for.

CHAPTER 1 | Mixed Signals

3k ish wrds

Azzi’s hands were full as she walked down the crowded hallway toward her class, carefully balancing her books and water bottle. The scent of worn-out textbooks and faint cafeteria grease lingered in the air, mixing with the sound of chatter and the occasional slam of a locker.

Caroline, walking just ahead of her, glanced back. “Did you finish the assignment?” she asked.

Azzi was about to answer when their friend Gabe’s voice cut through the noise. “Hey! When’s your next game?”

Both girls called out at the same time, “Tomorrow!”

“Great,” Gabe grinned. “You all should come to ours.” He gestured toward his teammates standing beside him, all clad in their varsity warm-ups, leaning against the lockers like they owned the hallway.

Azzi hesitated for a second. K.K. had asked her earlier about coming to the game, now she couldn’t remember if the girls had a home game too, and now that Gabe mentioned it, she wasn’t actually sure. “Are we home?” she asked, shifting her weight as she adjusted her grip on her books.

“Uh… yeah double header with…,” Gabe started, but before Azzi could hear the rest, the classroom door swung shut right in front of her.

“Ugh,” she muttered, nudging the door with her foot to knock.

Care opened it a second later, laughing. “Sorry, Az! Thought you were right behind me.”

Azzi just sighed and stepped inside, weaving through the desks as she made her way toward her seat.

“Don’t forget to grab a shirt!” Care called over her shoulder as she sat down.

Azzi glanced at the sign hanging by the door, which displayed different-colored shirts, each corresponding to a phrase for an activity Professor Finch had planned. The man was one of the cooler professors at Saint Ambrose, always going out of his way to make sure his students were engaged—sometimes through unconventional means.

She headed toward her seat first to drop off her things, but before she could sit down, Professor Finch turned off the lights, and the projector whirred to life. A short video flickered onto the screen.

The class was smaller than most of her other ones—only about fifteen students. It made sense, though; this was a third-year communications elective, and students had to pass four prerequisite courses before they could even enroll.

When the video ended, Azzi stood to grab a shirt. As she reached for one, a pale arm darted past her.

“You need to go to the bathroom?”

Azzi blinked, caught off guard. Paige.

The blonde stood just beside her, eyebrows raised expectantly. Paige was taller than Azzi, her lean frame in a school hoodie with the sleeves pushed up. Her blond hair was tied in a low bun, like it always was—except during games, when she switched to her signature two braids into a ponytail. Not that Azzi paid much attention to the girl.

Azzi hesitated. Did she need to go? Actually… yeah.

“Uh… yeah, I guess.”

Paige didn’t wait for her to say anything else before turning toward the front. “Mr. Finch, can we go to the bathroom?”

“Yeah! Leave your phones,” he called back, already distracted as he helped some students get started on the assignment.

Paige was already out the door. Azzi sighed and followed.

Something about this felt… weird. She knew Paige, sure. They talked in class discussions sometimes, but they weren’t exactly friends. The only real connection they had was that Paige played basketball, like K.K., Azzi’s neighbor. Beyond that, they didn’t interact much outside of class.

By the time Azzi reached the bathroom, Paige was already there, leaning against the wall.

“Took you long enough,” she teased, crossing her arms.

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Maybe I was enjoying the view,” she said dryly, referring to the hallway they had just walked through.

But as soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them.

Paige’s lips curved into a smirk. Her blue eyes gleamed with amusement as she tilted her head. “Oh?”

Azzi felt heat creep up her neck. “Shut up,” she muttered, pushing past her into the bathroom.

She took her time inside, hoping Paige would already be gone when she came back out.

No such luck.

Paige was still there, leaning against the wall again, this time fiddling with her nails.

Azzi sighed. “You know it’s not good for you to bite your nails.”

Paige looked up, her smile widening as she watched Azzi walk past her. She pushed off the wall, falling into step beside her. “Didn’t know you cared so much.”

Azzi scoffed. “I don’t. Just stating a fact.”

Paige bumped her shoulder lightly against Azzi’s. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Azzi ignored her, focusing on the classroom door ahead. But she could still feel Paige’s gaze on her, like she was waiting for something—some kind of reaction. Azzi refused to give her one.

As they stepped inside, Professor Finch barely looked up. “Took you two long enough. Hope the bathroom trip was life-changing.”

A few students chuckled. Azzi just shook her head, grabbing her things as Paige slid into her own seat.

She didn’t look at her, but she still heard Paige murmur under her breath, “Told you you liked the view.”

Azzi gritted her teeth.

By the time class ended, Azzi could already feel Paige’s gaze on her.

Caroline was saying something beside her, but Azzi was only half-listening, too busy steadying her breath before she had to walk past Paige to get to lunch.

“When’s the next game?” Paige asked, directing the question at both Azzi and Caroline—but her eyes never left Azzi.

“Tomorrow,” Caroline answered. “Should be a good one. It’s against St. Matthew’s—our rivals.”

Paige nodded. “Nice.”

Caroline, always the polite one, returned the question. “What about you? When’s your game?”

“Tonight, actually. Doubleheader with the boys—home game.”

Paige’s focus shifted to Caroline, something sparking in her expression. “Tell you what—if you can get your team to come to our game tonight, I’ll make sure we’re at yours tomorrow.”

Caroline perked up. Hardly anyone came to their games besides parents and the boys’ team—probably because their games were outside and always freezing.

“Deal!” she blurted out.

Azzi turned to her, shocked. “Caroline—”

But Caroline ignored her. “You can’t back out of it,” she warned Paige.

Paige smirked. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll make sure they bring extra blankets.”

Before Azzi could protest, the second bell rang, signaling they only had a minute left in passing period. If they didn’t hurry, they’d miss the good lunch lines.

“Come on,” Caroline said, tugging Azzi’s sleeve. “We need to move.”

Still thrown by the exchange, Azzi followed, sneaking one last glance at Paige before slipping out the door.

Paige caught her eye just before she left and shot her a knowing smile.

Azzi quickly looked away.

Once the girls secured their spot in the lunch line, Azzi turned to Caroline. “You really think they’ll come to our game if we go to theirs?”

Caroline shrugged, pulling out her phone. “Paige seemed pretty set on it.” She started typing as she spoke. “Let me text the team before I forget. We can call it team bonding. Plus, the girls play second, so we should be done with practice by then.”

She quickly typed out a message:

Hey ladies! Team bonding at the Varsity Girls Basketball Game tonight at 7 PM! If anyone wants to grab food after practice before the game, let me know! It’s home, btw, so no excuses.

The message instantly got a bunch of thumbs-up reactions, and a conversation was already starting about where to grab food beforehand.

“I have to go to part of the boys’ game too,” Azzi said, shifting her tray forward. “Gabe asked.”

“No problem,” Caroline replied as they moved ahead in the line. “We should be done with practice around five, so we can probably make it by halftime.”

After grabbing their food, the girls made their way to their usual lunch table, where their teammates Trinity and Mal were already sitting.

“So, what’s this about going to the girls’ basketball game?” Mal asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

“It was a deal Caroline made,” Azzi said, pointing her fork at her friend.

“Yep,” Caroline confirmed with a smirk. “We go to their game, and they come to ours.”

“You really think they’ll actually show up?” Trinity asked skeptically.

The girls’ basketball team was easily the most successful program at school—besides them, the girls’ soccer team. But when it came to popularity, basketball had the upper hand. Their games were packed, and everyone wanted to be friends with them. It didn’t seem to matter that the soccer team had made it to state two years in a row—until playoffs rolled around, they could count on only their families and the boys’ team in the stands.

“Honestly?” Mal grinned. “I don’t even care. I’m just excited that people might actually show up for once. And for our rivalry game?” She let out a low whistle. “Tomorrow’s gonna be a kick-ass game.”

Practice was simple. Coach Pinoe had them run through their set pieces, went over a few positioning adjustments from the last game, and wrapped up with some shots on goal. The session lasted only about 45 minutes, leaving the girls with more time than expected before the basketball game.

With extra time to spare, the team decided to grab food at Cane’s, conveniently located just across the street. Rather than piling into their cars, they opted to walk, enjoying the cool evening air.

As they settled into their seats with their food, Alyssa, a freshman, looked around the table. “So why are we going to the basketball game anyway?” she asked, dipping a fry into her sauce.

“Team bonding,” Trinity answered, taking a sip of her lemonade. “Plus, Care made a deal to get some people at our game tomorrow.”

“If the girls’ basketball team actually comes to our game, I bet a few others will show up too,” Rose chimed in as she slid into the seat next to Azzi. “That could be really good for us this year.” She nudged Azzi with her elbow, grinning.

Azzi nodded, absently playing with the straw in her drink, but her mind was elsewhere.

Why had Paige made the deal with Caroline? It wasn’t like the basketball team struggled to get fans. They had packed stands at every home game. They didn’t need the soccer team’s support. And it wasn’t like they never attended games—whenever they had the time, some of them would go.

So why now?

Azzi couldn’t shake the feeling that Paige had another motive. And for some reason, she wanted to figure out exactly what it was.

By the time they made it back to the gym for the boys’ game, the second half was already underway. The home team was up by eight, and the energy in the gym was electric. The bleachers were packed, leaving few open spots.

Azzi scanned the stands, trying to find a place where they could all sit together. She was so focused on searching that she didn’t notice Paige catching Caroline’s eye. With a quick motion, Paige signaled for them to come over.

Caroline moved first, leading the way, and the rest of the team followed behind her. To their surprise, as they reached Paige, the girls’ basketball team—who were usually seated together in their usual section—stood up, making space for them to sit.

Azzi, still scanning the bleachers, was a step behind and took a second longer to register what had just happened. That was… unusual. The girls’ and boys’ basketball teams always had their own section to cheer each other on. They didn’t need to give up their seats.

Unless…

Azzi finally stepped forward, stopping beside Caroline. Just as she did, she overheard Trinity speaking to Aubrey, a senior on the basketball team.

“You didn’t have to save seats for us,” Trinity said.

“We wanted to,” Aubrey replied with a small smile, shifting off the seat to let Trinity take it.

Azzi glanced toward Paige, who was watching her closely. For a brief moment, neither of them said anything. Then, Azzi gave her a small smile.

“Good luck,” she said softly.

Paige’s lips curved into a smirk. She held Azzi’s gaze for just a second longer before winking and turning to follow her teammates to their usual spot by the side of the bleachers, waiting for their game to start.

The soccer girls quickly settled into their seats, the energy in the gym buzzing around them. The crowd was loud, chants echoing off the walls as the game edged into its final minutes. The opposing team was still trailing, but only by two, making every possession crucial.

Azzi’s eyes flickered to the scoreboard, then to the court, where Gabe—one of the team’s star players—was playing carefully, clearly trying to avoid picking up another foul. He was already in foul trouble, and with the game this close, losing him could shift the momentum entirely.

The tension in the gym was palpable, everyone on edge as the clock wound down.

“Let’s go!” Paige erupted from the side, her voice cutting through the noise of the gym.

Azzi couldn’t help but look. Paige’s excitement was obvious, her fists clenched as she cheered. Azzi followed her gaze just in time to see the boys’ team sink a deep three-pointer, pushing their lead in the final moments of the game. The crowd roared as the opposing coach quickly called a timeout.

The energy in the gym was electric, students on their feet, clapping and shouting. Azzi glanced at Caroline, who grinned. “Looks like we picked a good game to come to.”

As the final buzzer sounded, signaling the boys’ victory, the gym erupted into cheers. The team celebrated on the court, exchanging high-fives and quick hugs before jogging toward their bench.

Before the excitement even settled, the girls’ team took the court, moving seamlessly into their warm-ups. Paige and her teammates spread out, stretching and running drills as the announcer prepped for introductions.

Azzi settled back in her seat, watching as Paige jogged to the baseline, casually spinning the ball in her hands before taking her first shot.

“Gosh, I didn’t think more people could fit into this gym,” Caroline said, shifting in her seat toward Azzi.

“I know,” Azzi replied, fanning herself lightly. “It’s getting a little hot. Want anything from concessions? I need a breather.”

“A Gatorade, please!” Caroline said quickly.

“Me too,” Trinity added.

Azzi glanced around. “Anyone else?”

A few more teammates chimed in, calling out their orders as Mal stood up. “I’ll go with you,” she offered.

Azzi nodded, glad for the company as they made their way through the packed bleachers toward the concession stand.

On the court, Paige was locked into the game—or at least, that’s what she kept telling herself. But every chance she got, her eyes flickered toward the crowd. Toward her.

Paige had invited the soccer team out just to be polite. She knew Aubrey had a massive crush on one of their sophomores, and since Azzi and Caroline were in her communications class, it had been an easy excuse. Get them here, let them feel included. No big deal.

So why did she suddenly feel just as excited as Aubrey?

She shook the thought away, refocusing as the whistle blew, signaling their last warm-up drill before tip-off. But even as she moved through the motions, her eyes kept drifting toward the stands—toward Azzi.

At the concession stand, Mal and Azzi struggled to balance all the drinks and snacks they had promised to bring back for their teammates.

“Need some help?”

A voice cut through the noise, making both girls turn. Azzi almost lost half her pile in the process.

Standing in front of them was a girl from the opposing team—though she wasn’t dressed out.

“You can call me P,” the girl said smoothly, reaching for half of the load Azzi was carrying.

Mal shot Azzi a knowing side-eye but said nothing, simply turning and walking back toward the gym.

Azzi hesitated for a second before following, P walking beside her. As they reached the bleachers, P set down the drinks she was holding, waiting as Azzi grabbed the rest from her hands.

“Thank you,” Azzi said, offering a small smile.

P returned it easily, her gaze lingering for just a second longer than expected. “Of course, pretty girl.”

Then, just as quickly, she turned and strolled back toward her team’s bench.

Azzi blinked, caught off guard.

“Who was that?” Caroline asked, already leaning forward with questions.

Across the court, Paige stood behind the three-point line, casually taking shots as she finished warm-ups. But her focus had completely shifted the moment she saw the exchange.

Her grip on the ball tightened.

Because she had the same question running through her head.

Who was that?

Paige exhaled sharply, rolling out her shoulders as she tried to push the thought away. It wasn’t a big deal. Just some random girl from the other team. Probably knew Azzi from club soccer or something.

But then why did it bother her?

She shook her head and refocused on warm-ups, but her eyes flickered back toward the stands—just for a second.

Azzi was still talking to Caroline, laughing about something, completely unaware of Paige’s sudden shift in mood.

And that irritated Paige even more.

She grabbed the ball off the rack, took a deep breath, and lined up her shot. It was a routine motion, one she could do in her sleep. But this time, as the ball left her fingertips, it clanged off the back rim.

Her jaw tightened.

“Yo, you good?” Aubrey asked, raising an eyebrow as she grabbed the rebound.

Paige forced a smirk. “Just saving my makes for the game.”

Aubrey didn’t look convinced but didn’t push it.

The whistle blew, signaling the end of warm-ups, and Paige took a deep breath, forcing her focus back to the game.

Whatever that was with Azzi and that girl—it didn’t matter.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

As the buzzer signaled the end of warmups, both teams retreated to their benches. Per tradition at home games, each team tossed mini basketballs into the opposing crowd. In a less conventional twist, the rosters were announced in alternating order, one player from each team at a time.

Azzi scanned the baseline, only to freeze when she spotted P—now in full uniform, a basketball in her hand.

Wait. She could’ve sworn P wasn’t playing tonight. Their earlier interaction had all but confirmed it.

“#5, PAIGE BUECKERS!”

Azzi’s gaze snapped to Paige just in time to see her high-five her teammates, then jog toward the sideline, launching her ball into the crowd with ease.

“#6, PIPER BUTLER!”

Azzi’s head whipped back around.

P—no, Piper—grinned as she ran the line, tapping hands with her teammates before reaching the sideline. But unlike the others, who hurled their balls into the stands, Piper took a more direct approach. She strolled forward, locked eyes with Azzi, and lightly tossed the ball right into her lap.

Then, with a wink, she turned and jogged back toward her bench.

Azzi caught the ball without thinking, completely thrown off.

“Oh, come on,” Caroline groaned, snatching it from her hands. “You were gone for like five minutes! What happened?”

She turned to Mal for answers, but Mal threw up her hands. “I don’t even know! They literally said, like, five words to each other.”

Meanwhile, across the court, Paige—standing in line, waiting for the last names to be called—had seen the whole thing.

And somehow, it only made her more locked in.

As the first quarter wound down, the girls’ basketball team held a seven-point lead, but the opposing team wasn’t letting up. They were aggressive, matching their intensity with every play.

Azzi found herself watching Paige more than she intended to. She was playing well—Azzi could admit that much. At the very least, she looked good doing it.

Paige moved effortlessly across the court, her focus razor-sharp. Every pass, every cut, every shot seemed intentional. Even when the defense pressed harder, she handled the pressure with the kind of confidence that made it impossible to look away.

Azzi shook her head, tearing her eyes away as Caroline nudged her. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Azzi muttered, forcing herself to focus on the game—and not on Paige.

At the start of the second quarter, Azzi watched as P got up from the bench and jogged onto the court. Their team had built a solid 13-point lead, but P was quickly chipping away at it with every basket she made.

With a quick steal from KK, P sprinted down the court, weaving past defenders. She sidestepped Paige’s attempt at a block, absorbed the contact, and still managed to sink the layup—drawing the foul in the process.

Damn, Azzi thought.

Paige immediately threw her hands up, pleading her case to the ref. “All ball!” she insisted, but as always, the ref had the final say.

Frustrated but unfazed, Paige grabbed the inbound pass from KK and brought the ball up the court.

Where did that girl come from? I have to step up my game.

She called for a screen, then swung the ball to Aubrey in the corner. As soon as Piper—the same girl Azzi had just been talking to—closed in on Aubrey, Paige demanded the ball back.

With a quick move, she stepped back and launched a three. Piper leaped to contest, but she was a second too late.

Swish.

Paige turned around, letting out an amped-up scream before sprinting back on defense, fully locked in.

As the final minutes ticked away in the fourth quarter, the game was still tight. Paige and Piper had been going back and forth, trading baskets, steals, and blocks, neither willing to back down. The crowd was electric, feeding off the intensity of the two blondes battling it out on the court.

Caroline nudged Azzi again. “Damn, Az, you got two blondes going at it for you.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “They’re playing a game, not fighting over me.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Caroline shot back, smirking.

As if on cue, Azzi looked up to see both Paige and Piper glance her way. She let out a quick laugh and looked down at her Gatorade, shaking her head. “Just enjoy the game, Caroline. You’re the one who got us here.”

With under a minute left, the score was tied. Piper had the ball, dribbling at the top of the key, sizing up Paige. She drove hard to her right, but Paige anticipated it, cutting her off. Piper spun back, creating just enough space to pull up for a mid-range jumper. The shot looked good—until Paige, recovering fast, got a hand on it, tipping the ball just enough to send it off course.

Paige grabbed the loose ball and pushed the tempo, sprinting down the court. With ten seconds left, she stopped just beyond the arc and let it fly. The gym held its breath as the ball soared through the air.

Nothing but net.

The crowd erupted. Piper let out a frustrated sigh, hands on her hips, but she couldn’t deny it—Paige had won this round.

As the buzzer sounded, sealing the win, Paige turned and found Azzi in the stands. With a smirk, she pointed at her before jogging over to celebrate with her team.

Azzi felt her face heat up, but she just shook her head with a small smile.

Caroline burst out laughing. “Yeah, sure, they’re just playing a game.”

After the game, the soccer team decided to hang back for a few minutes, avoiding the rush of the crowd piling out of the gym. Azzi was sipping her Gatorade when she noticed Piper making her way over.

“Good game,” Azzi offered. “You played great out there.”

“Thanks,” Piper said with a smile. Then, after a brief pause, she let out a small laugh. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

Azzi blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… should I?”

Piper smirked. “I’m Emily’s sister. From your club soccer team.”

“Oh,” Azzi said as realization clicked. “Right! Of course. Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize,” Piper replied smoothly. “I’m just glad we finally got to meet properly.”

A few feet away, Paige had been watching the entire exchange. Before she even thought about it, she was suddenly at Azzi’s side, casually draping an arm around her shoulders.

“There you are, superstar,” Paige said with an easy grin.

Azzi, caught between them, felt her face heat up. “Hey,” she said, glancing between the two.

Not missing a beat, Piper held out her phone. “Here, put your number in,” she said. “We should hang out sometime.”

Azzi hesitated, feeling the tension in the air. Not wanting to make things awkward, she took Piper’s phone, quickly typed in her number, and handed it back.

Piper shot her a wink. “See you Sunday, pretty girl,” she said, making sure to glance at Paige before turning back to her team. “Oh, and good game,” she added over her shoulder.

Azzi had almost forgotten Paige was still standing there until she spoke again.

“Thanks for coming to the game,” Paige said, her voice softer now as she stepped in front of Azzi, finally dropping her arm.

“Of course, Paige,” Azzi said with a small smile.

Before either of them could say more, their teammates approached.

“You ready to go?” Caroline asked.

“Yeah,” Azzi said, falling into step with the group.

“You all played great tonight,” Caroline added, looking at Paige. “Especially you.”

As she turned to walk ahead, she ‘accidentally’ bumped Azzi into Paige, who instinctively reached out to steady her.

“Sorry!” Azzi said quickly.

Paige just smirked. “Care’s right, though,” Azzi added. “You played great.”

Paige held her gaze for a moment before nodding. “Thanks, Az.”

As they walked out toward Caroline’s car, Azzi couldn’t help but smile to herself, her mind still caught up in everything that had just happened.

#azzi and paige #pazzi #aubrey griffin #trinity rodman #mal #rose lavelle

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fou4summer · 2 days ago

Note

Hello, first I want to apologize since English is not my strong point and I don't know how well written this is haha but I wanted to ask you something with Baek Harin, like if she and the reader are a couple and everyone sees Harin as a horrible and manipulative person and they don't understand why the reader is still with her but behind all that hard facade when they are alone, Harin is the most adorable person in the world who only wants love and if you could add a little smut since I love how you write, thanks <3

Only for you

baek harin × fem!reader

Synopsis: Everyone thinks that your girlfriend, Harin is toxic and manipulative, but they don't see how soft and sweet she is when you two are alone.

Warnings: NSFW, smoking

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 859

Everyone at your school was scared of Baek Harin. First, because her grandma owned the school, and second, because she was the highest rank in the Pyramid Game. She didn’t really pay attention to anyone, even when Dayeon would beat someone up right in front of her. Your friends often told you that you should break up with her, saying that she was just a horrible and manipulative person.

"Seriously, Y/N, what were you thinking when you agreed to be her girlfriend?" Your friend Yerim said, walking beside you on your way home from school.

"Exactly, she's the worst pick. Even Dayeon would be better." Suji added as Jaeun clung to her side.

"Guys, you just don’t know her when she’s with me. She’s the total opposite of what you’re saying right now." You said while swiping through your phone.

"What, she beats you less?" Your friends all laughed, and you rolled your eyes. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Harin behind the school, smoking.

"Guys, I’ll excuse myself first. See you at school tomorrow!" You waved as you ran toward your girlfriend.

"She knows tomorrow is Saturday right?" Jaeun asked, confused, as Suji and Yerim burst out laughing.

You snuck up behind Harin before hugging her around the waist. She turned around when she felt you.

"Hey love. I didn’t see you all day." She said, stepping on her cigarette.

"Yeah, I was with the girls. Sorry!" You replied, and she just nodded, smiling.

"Don’t apologize baby. How about we go for a walk if you’re free?" She asked, and you replied with a loud yes. She laughed at your excitement. You got ice cream, and now she was holding your hand as you talked about the most random things, but she, of course, listened.

"Did you know that the whole school thinks you’re using me?" You suddenly said while finishing your ice cream.

"I’ve heard, yeah. Are they bothering you? Do you want me to get them out of the school?" She asked, making you stop in your tracks.

"Harin! That’ll just prove their point that you're a horrible person! And no, do not do that." She smiled at your face before wiping ice cream from your mouth. Your cheeks turned red, and she seemed to notice because she kissed you right there on the street. You were shocked but kissed her back. She wrapped her arms around your waist, pulling you closer.

"My mom texted me earlier. She went grocery shopping. Do you want to come over for a bit? You know my parents take a while there." You said before she agrees and the two of you hurried to your house. You unlocked the door and let Harin step in. You both took off your shoes and closed the door.

"Would you like to eat something?" You asked. She shook her head, saying that you had already eaten ice cream and that she was full.

You decide on watching a movie, but she seemed to have other plans. Five minutes into the movie her hands were already all over you with you in her lap. She unbuttons your uniform taking it off.

"Are you sure love?" She always asked you that no matter what time you're doing it. You nod while caressing her face. She takes her blouse off quickly getting back to kissing you. You take your skirt off before straddling her lap again.

"You're so beautiful today, Y/N." She says while placing soft kisses all over your neck moving to your collarbone.

"Can I take this off?" Her hand placed at the clasp of your bra. You nod, slowly getting impatient. She unclasps your bra, her other hand sneaking in your underwear. Just as she slides your bra off your shoulders, the front door open making you both jump.

“Honey, we’re home!” You both freeze, looking at each other, before you quickly throw on her blouse and get off her lap. She quickly fixes her hair and sits up on your bed. In that moment, your bedroom door opens.

“Y/N we’re ho— Oh Harin! Hey! Y/N didn’t tell us you were coming over today. How are you? How’s your mom?” Your mom asks, greeting your girlfriend.

“My mom is great, probably at work, and I’m great too! How are you doing?” Harin asks, smiling warmly, just like the two of you.

“That’s great to hear sweetheart and im feeling good thank you for asking. How about you stay for dinner?” Your mom suggests. Harin looks at you for a moment and nods in agreement.

“Oh, Y/N, when did you buy that blouse? It looks expensive. You didn’t use your dads credit card, right?” Your mom asks about your, actually, Harin’s blouse and you freeze, not knowing what to say.

“I bought Y/N that for our five month anniversary. I hope you don’t mind.” Harin jumps in, nudging your shoulder for you to agree. You quickly nod, your mom smiles and leaves to make dinner.

“Thanks, great save.” You kiss her cheek before lying down on your bed. She joins you, placing her head on your chest as you continue the movie you were watching. Lets just say you continue something else a few minutes later...

A/N: This is really short, but thank you so much for the request, I hope you like it!<33

#baek harin #pyramid game #jang daah #fem reader #kdrama #wlw

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peachhcs · 2 days ago

Note

What is samy doing for will’s birthday?

yasss will is 20 today!!!! #feelingold samy flies out to san jose for the weekend to surprise will + managing to get all of his boston college hockey friends over after their game on sunday (trust i had this in the works yesterday i just couldn't finish it) happy belated to will, let me know if you want part 2!!

warnings: underage drinking mention, sex mentioned but not described, that's it??

au masterlist

"what if he finds out?" gabe's question made samy roll her eyes as she stayed on the phone with him as the eight boys navigated their way through the san jose airport.

"he won't. i promise. the surprise party is set and mack has him distracted all day until it's time," samy reassued the boy probably for the 100th time since they started planning this whole thing.

"do you think he knows you're here? wait, ry, i think we're going the wrong way," she heard gabe mumble something and again, the brunette rolled her eyes. she glanced over at hannah and blaire who looked at her expectantly.

"do i need to come in and get you?"

"no, no. we know where we're going. we can see the exit signs," gabe assured and samy chose to believe him, but if they weren't out in the next five minutes, she was going in to find them.

"to answer your earlier question, i don't think so. he may know i'm surprising him, but he has zero idea you're all here."

samy came up with the plan two weeks ago. she wanted to do something special for will knowing it was his first birthday away from all of his friends and everyone knew she loved surprises no matter what the occasion was. she managed to pull a few strings to get out of practice for a few days and the boys all agreed they'd skip their classes as well monday and tuesday to spend time with will on his few days off. seeing their best friend was way more important than having to do laps across the ice.

"you should go in and get them," hannah mumbled, eyes on her watch. blaire giggled while samy shook her head. they planned the flights so they'd get in within 30 minutes of each other, but now it'd been close to 45.

"i heard that!" gabe exclaimed through the phone.

miraculously, the eight of them emerged from the exit doors, eyes looking for the girls. all of them but gabe and ryan looked shocked at how warm it was in san jose. the older boys spotted her after passing her waving hands two times.

"found you!" gabe exclaimed and hurried towards the three. samy hung up the phone as she embraced the boy.

"hi, good to see you gabo," she chuckled.

"you too, hughesy. hey hannah, hey blaire," the other two girls waved and everyone quickly exchanged hellos.

"i can't believe this is will's everyday. it's boiling," drew pulled at the collar of his t-shirt.

"yeah, i'm sweating my balls off," aram added which earned him a slap on the arm from samy. ryan and gabe helped everyone get their things into the back of blaire's mini van.

"so..some of you may need to sit on the ground..um..just kind of duck your head incase there's a cop. i don't have seats for everyone, sorry," the younger girl giggled nervously.

"oh, you don't have to drive us all there. we can split up and catch an uber too," ryan immediately cut in because he knew the feeling of illegally stuffing people into the car and worrying about getting busted.

"no, i don't mind. i've done it before," blaire shrugged but ryan shook his head.

"no, i don't want you getting in trouble. how many can you fit?"

"like 8 including me?"

ryan scanned the group, his older brother instincts kicking in as he tried figuring out who would be fine getting to the uber by themselves.

"okay, gp you're with aram, teddy, and jacob. the rest come with us," ryan decided.

"okay dad," teddy punched the older boy in the arm. everyone already knew the antics would be through the roof this weekend.

"i'll call it," gabe said.

"everyone else in. party starts at 6 right?" ryan wondered and samy looked at her phone. 3:43.

"less than three hours!" she grinned and could just picture the look of shock on will's face when he saw everyone.

the rest piled into blaire's minivan. drew took the front since he got carsick easily while ryan, samy, and vote got the middle row. hannah and james squeezed into the last row.

"better keep things pg back there," drew eyed the freshman whose face flushed in seconds.

"fuck off fortesque," hannah rolled her eyes.

they were out of there in the next minute since blaire had been taking up a spot in line for way too long now. it was a miracle no one yelled at her about it yet.

"sorry, i know we've hardly even met blaire. thank you for driving us," ryan spoke up.

"it's no problem. i love surprises as much as the next person. you guys are so cool for coming down and skipping class," the brunette grinned.

"he's our homeboy. couldn't leave him hanging," drew joked.

"is hagens teaching you those phrases?" samy eyed the boy behind her.

"i am not!" he defended himself.

"he sends us tiktoks in the group chat," drew admitted.

"fuck off," the younger hockey player complained making everyone laugh.

the rest of the ride filled itself with conversation of catching up with one another and poking a little more into blaire and mack's relationship. the girl happily answered though. she was never too phased by all the questions anymore and she was starting to grow fond of all of these hockey boys she kept getting introduced to.

the boys who hadn't been to san jose yet were gawking out the windows at the big city and warm weather, especially the palm trees. they didn't ever see any of those always traveling up north. samy went to check mack's location and will's. they were somewhere downtown doing things with beckett who was also in on the surprise and drove up for the night. samy strategically changed her location to come from her ipad which she left back in michigan so will wouldn't see her location here. she made the boys do the same thing and left their computers back home, so she was like 98% sure will didn't know any of the surprise.

the marleau's graciously decided to host all 10 guests in their extended house will stayed in, but toffoli agreed to host the party for the night. blaire pulled into the older man's driveway where there were already cars lining the grass meaning the other sharks players were already there.

"holy shit," drew mumbled when he saw the size of the toffoli household.

"damn is this our future life?" vote joked and samy nudged their arms so they'd stop gawking.

"come on, i'll introduce you guys," the soccer player pulled everyone to the backyard where the party was.

they had mostly everything decorated in the time it took to pick up everyone at the airport. eklund noticed the familiar face of will's girlfriend, "is that hughesy! hey!"

he ran to her to give out hugs. the brunette giggled, "hi eck. you know some of them, but here's half of the gang. ryan, drew, also will but we call him vote, james, and hannah who you know already."

"nice to meet all of you. didn't know pup had so many fans," eklund chuckled.

"pup? smitty's been demoted to pup??" drew laughed.

"he hates when we call him that," eklund shrugged, but smiled.

toffoli and bordelau came over to greet the incoming guests. the older man recognized samy and swept her into a hug like eklund just did. "glad you made it here. good to see you again."

"you too, toff. this is half of us. the other half is in an uber on the way," samy reintroduced the boys they didn't know. toff and thomas took turns shaking each of their hands.

"good to know pup talks to more people than his girlfriend and mack," thomas teased.

"you better be writing down these jokes for later," drew nudged ryan's arm.

"come in, come in. we got a few hours, but settle in, make yourself at home," toff invited them in.

the other car rolled in 10 minutes later. samy introduced the last four to will's teammates and now it was just a waiting game. will was supposed to roll in anytime at 6, so the closer it got, the more excited everyone became.

gabe abd ryan properly caught up with the soccer player where they caught her in one of the corners, "hey. thanks for doing all of this. getting us here," ryan said.

samy flushed, "of course, you could never miss something like this. i'm glad everyone could make it," she looked over at the other boys who had no problem immersing themselves into conversation with the sharks players.

"i think they're really happy they're here. we're excited to see will too," gabe chuckled.

"you and me both. i think he's gonna be really genuinely surprised," the brunette nodded. her boyfriend was an easy person to please who never asked for much, but sometimes she couldn't help but give him everything.

mack's text came 10 minutes later simply saying eta is 5 minutes!

"okay, they're almost here! everyone find a place to hide!" samy exclaimed which sent everyone scrambling.

granted, they were outside and the toffoli's didn't have a lot to hide behind, but the boys found corners and slid under tables. samy crouched beneath one of the adirondak chairs with gabe and ryan.

the entire background fell quiet while they listened for the three boys. in the distance, there was some car doors slamming and faint voices coming up the driveway.

"dude i could've just closed my eyes," will complained about something.

"yeah, but what's the fun in that? we won't let you fall," mack chuckled.

samy watched as they came through the gate with a blindfold covering will's eyes so he couldn't see the surprise. mack found her gaze and threw a thumbs up. she coped his action and rehid herself.

mack let the blindfold fall, a huge smile on his features as he saw everyone hiding.

"okay open your eyes," the younger boy said.

will's one eye popped open and then the other when he couldn't see what was going on. he was confused for two seconds until everyone jumped up at once and yelled a very loud "surprise!"

the blonde physically jumped and clutched his chest while his brain tried catching up to what just happened. his gaze flicked across all of his teammates and old teammates staring back at him with huge grins. he landed on samy next and then it all made sense.

"holy fuck," will said almost automatically.

"surprise birthday boy!" gabe jumped forward first.

the two boys embraced in a tight hug. the others quickly joined in for a larger group hug. samy watched them with love and found hannah's gaze. the two girls couldn't be happier that this was their reunion since thanksgiving,

"what the fuck are all of you doing here?" will finally asked when they pulled apart.

"surprising you, duh! you better thank this one," they stepped aside perfectly so it became a straight path to samy. she flushed bright pink, but will didn't waste a second meeting her in the middle.

"i should've known," he mumbled, breathing her in as his face caught in the crook of her next.

a few awh's escaped people's lips, but they didn't care. it'd been too long since they last saw one another.

"i love you so much," will hummed.

"i love you too," samy kissed his cheek and let him go so he could keep making his rounds. once will was caught up with the guys, he was caught up. it wasn't easy to break them apart.

he hugged mack and beckett next for helping with the surprise and then his sharks teammates. samy's smile was wide watching the glow on her boyfriend's features seeing all of his close friends and important people in one place all for him!

she knew he'd take a minute to make his rounds, so she let him have it while she caught up with mack and beckett.

"thank you for helping today," she said.

"of course. a whole day with these two? sign me up," beckett laughed.

"you're definitely getting brownie points amongst the team for this," mack nudged her arm and samy rolled her eyes.

"i like seeing him happy," samy glanced back to where will was excitedly saying hello to all of the boston boys now.

"i don't think he smiles that big unless you're around, so you must be doing something right," macklin teased just a bit.

"i'll take your word for it."

will caught samy's attention and quickly waved her over. the younger boys wiggled their eyebrows before letting her go to where the hockey player was. he clasped his arm around her shoulder as soon as she was near and kissed her forehead.

"wow, it's good to be back together," drew smiled as he glanced around their small circle.

"i can't believe you guys are here," will admitted.

"were you surprised? did you know?" ryan questioned lightly.

"i was and i didn't know, really. i had no idea what was going on. i'm surprised you all kept the secret for this long. especially jacob and drew!"

"i can keep secrets," drew defended himself.

"you have such little trust in us, smitty," jacob laughed.

"and you know what else is coming up? summer! any ideas what our weeks are yet?" aram looked at samy who shot her hands up.

"my brothers are in charge of guests. they're working on it now."

"tell them they can trust us! we did it over thanksgiving," aram continued.

"true! and they know that, so it shouldn't be a problem honestly. i just don't get priority," she shrugged. one of the downsides of being the youngest was that quinn, jack, and luke's friends all got first pick in their weeks.

the party went on well into the night that it started becoming a glow stick party and jumping into the pool. the boys were having way too much fun in the pool once they changed into swim trunks. toffoli was just glad his pool was getting good use out of it.

samy was sitting on the ledge taking a breather and wringing out her hair when will joined her. he was still smiling wide when he looked at her.

"hi," he said.

"hi," samy giggled.

"i've said this a hundred times, but thank you for this."

"of course. you really think i'd let them miss your birthday? you should thank toff at some point too. he may or may not have helped fund some of this trip," the soccer player glanced at the older man hanging out at his table.

"he did not," will was shocked all over again.

"mhm."

the blonde started to get up, but samy held him back, "think of it as a little happy birthday to you."

"but paying for..everyone''s ticket?? that's crazy expensive," will protested.

"and it is, but he insisted even after i tried talking him down. these guys really like you, will," her words earned a blsuh on the boy's face.

he leaned in closer so she'd know he wanted a kiss. she took the hint quickly and sat up to more top reach his lips. they melted into on another, especially after being apart for so long.

will didn't even know if he could pull away if he wanted to. after weeks apart, samy's lips were the thing he wanted to taste forever and kiss forever, but he knew they couldn't. they needed to breathe and that's when he pulled away for a second. longing looks sat on their faces along with the want and need for more though.

"wanna get out of here?" will wondered smugly. samy looked at everyone else way too wrapped up in the pool game of basketball and she knew they wouldn't notice if they snuck off for a few minutes, but toff would see them leave together.

"what about toff?"

"they already know what we do when i come back with a million hickeys and scratches," will mumbled and that made the brunette blush.

she didn't say anything more, but she stood up and let will lead to the way to a bathroom. toff didn't even say anything as they walked by, but he definitely knew what they were up to.

it was safe to say will's never counted down his birthday that way, but he sure wasn't complaining in the slightest. he'd do it all again if he could. him and samy were under the covers once 12:30 hit.

"wish for anything special?" she wondered.

"not really. i didn't need a lot besides new clothes," will shrugged because who didn't like new clothes? especially when he was drsssed up 99% of the time.

"you're a simple guy, i like it," she kissed his cheek.

the boy flushed, but pulled her closer so she was flush against his side.

"best birthday ever, i love you," will smiled.

"i love you, too. gladd we could celebrate together," she squeezd his bicep as a way of telling him she was listening.

they had a long day ahead, so the couple fell asleep fairly quickly and who knows? maybe they did wake up to go a second round at some point during the night. it was will's birthday after all.

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sqgeism · 1 day ago

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𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 | rex sloan 'splode' x gender neutral reader

love mail — general + romantic headcanons (at the end..) for rex sloan as promised ! if u can catch on to the little notes that hint at in this fic, you get a bandaid bc i'm sorry for writing that (〃_ _)σ. no layout bc im on my phone, will fix l8r :3

now... dating rex at the beginning is.. tough. you had to admit, there were quite the number of ocassions you considered breaking up with him. he was just so.. reckless, and sometimes he was just an absolute jerk! it was like he had no regard for your feelings, and you were getting sick of him struggling to even do the bare minimum.

there was a point, he remembers it well. mark and eve had invited you and rex to a double date, it wasn't at all with bad intentions, even considering rex's history with eve. just a good opportunity for friends to bond, and you happily agreed while rex just gave a relunctant huff.

and it wasn't intentional, but.. something about rex changed that night. you were so — happy — around mark and eve. making quips, playing games, easily talking to them — he had never seen you smile like that in so long. but while he was (unknowingly) admiring that expression of yours, rex sees the way it ever so slightly falters at the sight of mark and eve bring each other in for a kiss.. a longing look in your eyes for that kind of love. but you're quick to brush it off when they turn their attention back to you, like it never happened, like your heart wasn't dying inside.

rex didn't want that, he didn't want to see you sad like that ever again. and so, he wanted to be better.

that morning, waking up again to an empty bed — no surprise — but what did surprise you was the fresh plate of breakfast on your nightstand, and a note that just had r.s, rex's initials. it's all your favorites, from choice of main course, to sides, and fruits or vegetables. you wonder what prompted such.. an oddly romantic gesture, but you don't question it.

after finishing the delightful breakfast, you make your way to the bathroom, only to grumble in realization that you had just finished the last of your skincare products — but again, like the world expected you to complain, newly bought restocks right where you usually kept each product. now this was just suspicious, especially the dumb stickynote with (an admittedly poor rendition of) rex's proud face on it. "what is up with him today?" you muttered, being a little unsettled with all the kind things he's been doing today. and it's only been two, kind of speaks volumes the kind of relationship you two had before he changed.

with a freshly washed face (that harbored a confused expression), you make your way to the kitchen — following the sound of dishes being washed and the hums of your boyfriend. "rex?" his head turns to the sound of your voice, and there he was. hair up, as per usual, shirtless — as per usual — and looking like he actually liked doing dishes. which, no, the rex you've been dating would rather get into a dumb argument with who should wash.

"what have you done with my boyfriend." you say, genuinely a little threatened. if a rex clone came to try and assassinate you through pretending to be your lover, they were doing a horrible impression of him. "babe.." rex sighed, turning the sink off and brushed his hands dry against a nearby towel, not missing the skeptical look you gave him.

"i know.. that i haven't been the best." he began, walking towards you. you felt even more skeptical, where is this coming from? "i saw it, last night, at the party."

he's standing infront of you now, those pretty eyes of his that always catch your attention are piercing into him, it's a little intimidating — really. "i know i'vw been a jerkwad, hell, much worse than that." rex's hand slowly trails up to your cheek, brushing strands of hair away as he sees the face of the person he fell inlove with. his heart aches at the affection he's giving you, to think you were so.. starved of it. he was a horrible man, and to think he promised to care for you. "and i'm so, so sorry, honey. please, i.. i wish i could fix it all overnight, but i'll try."

his other hand takes yours, bringing it up to his lips and presses feather light kisses on your palm, a promise. a promise you would never expect rex to be making. "i'll try to be good. i want to make up for all the times i treated you like shit, like you weren't the person that deserved the whole world and more. and if.." rex stutters, his tongue dying at the words. "if.. you don't want to forgive me, and you want to leave, i'll help you pack your bags and— mmh"

you place your hand that he was kissing over his lips, shutting him up. "stop being so sappy, idiot. i forgive you."

from that day onwards, rex tries his best to be better. taking you out on dates based on places you've mentioned, and your personal favorite was when he brought you (as a surprise) to a themepark you frequented in your childhood. seeing that glint of child-like excitement in your eyes, he wouldn't trade your happiness for the world. he'd let it all burn to see you smile.

he's been trying to be more honest, but also to be a good listener. he wants to be there to soothe you, the same way he's present for when you're happy. for every bad and good moment, he wants nothing more but to share it with you. he's spent so long shutting people out, rex has come to terms that he should treasure the person who fought to keep themselves in.

and may immortal keep him sane, when he sees you with a baby. evem worse, a baby girl. god, he wants a baby girl so bad — biological or adopted, he doesn't care. he just wants to have a family with you. his future, it's all you. he gets better as a person, as a hero, and eventually retire with you by his side. his full, undying, loving attention on you till your last breath.

rex loves you with his whole heart. and he hopes that he can make you believe that.

#♡ — 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 #rex sloan x reader #rex splode x reader #rex splode fanfic #rex sloan fanfic #invincible x reader

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vibelladonna · 24 hours ago

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❛ 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.

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