Cold Enough to Hate You (Ticci Toby x Reader)
Pairing: Tobias Rodgers x Reader
CW: gore and guts, breathplay, corruption kink, sex against a wall, creampies, masochism, degradation, toby likes to lick you, dirty talk, hate sex, slapping, foul language, brief mentions of skinning/preparing animals
Tags: Hate Sex, Dark Romance, One Shot
Summary: After narrowly evading the cops, you get snowed in with your long term enemy, Toby.
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The last few days had been nothing but a blur—a mixture of blood, guts, and gore.
Two days ago, you had set off on your first solo mission with Toby. The mission itself was nothing special; simply monitoring one of Zalgo’s follower base camps. As your sources had told you, cult-like activity had been rising expeditiously in the area. Burned satanic circles, charred animal remains, and other offerings had been left scattered across the entire forest. Your job was to survey their activities and ensure they did not pose a large enough threat to The Operator’s goals.
You had a bit of hope in your heart that he wouldn’t try and fuck everything up. From what Brian told you, Zalgo has no ‘true’ form. He’s not a virus, and not a physical being either. He can encrypt himself into videos and distort the footage, often turning it into deep shades of red and warping it into demonic symbols. He takes the form of whatever interests him most at any given time. You had assumed that the cult was just a way to spread his influence. Brian had also warned you of the hierarchy before you left. There are four main Bastions in the cult. The target was the fourth with the least influence. The higher you go in the Bastion rank, the more you're said to be tied with Zalgo himself.
Thankfully for you, Zalgo’s influence hadn’t spread that wide, which means that you weren’t sent on a lot of out-of-state missions like this one. It was contained mainly in this state alone, as the cult itself hadn’t spread its message outside yet. Here in North Dakota there were said to be around four main churches and four main cabins for every Bastion.
These sacrifices were most likely harmless; not enhancing the strength of Zalgo at all. But, it did spread his message. It spread fear and most dangerously curiosity. Killing this man would not only spread disorder among the cult’s people, but also cease the rituals. He was the one commanding them in the first place. Wiping him out would be clean.
The ride there had been silent. Two whole state drives of stillness. 9 hours of Toby impatiently bouncing his leg and clicking his tongue. The tension between the two of you was heavy, thick, and towering. Toby hadn't said a word—hardly even a peep other than his sharp tics and twitches. He sat beside you in the passenger seat, seatbelt wrapped tightly around his chest. He scrolled through his cracked phone mindlessly, one wired headphone hanging in his ear while you drove silently.
The few times the two of you had conversed this entire road trip, he had been passive-aggressive to the max. It started when you stopped to pump gas. You hopped out of the car, fumbling with your wallet. Tim had barely given you enough money for the trip there and back. You turned around, looking at him.
“Toby, can you go tell the guy to give us 40 on pump eight?” You asked, extending out two crisp twenty-dollar bills to him. He spared you one glance, eye twitching in annoyance. He snatched the twenties from you with such force you flew forward by a few centimeters. For a split second you considered saying something. Asking what his problem was. You’d done it before. It had never changed anything. You had done nothing to him. Hardly even talked with him. And when you did, it was by force. He hopped out of Tim’s truck without a word, shoving his phone in his hoodie’s pocket and slamming the door shut behind him. You stared at him, irritation creeping under your skin as his form retreated into the gas station. This wasn’t that much of a surprise. Your relationship with him had always been strange.
No matter how hard you tried to be civil with him, his attitude towards you never changed. It had been that way since the day you had become a proxy two years ago. You had been adjusting well, or so you thought. You had a stable relationship with everyone you resided with. You worked flawlessly with every one of them. For example, you could easily match Kate’s agility. You could match Tim’s form without a second of hesitation. You could even correct the small issues in Brian’s strategies. And even if Toby didn't like to admit it, your strength and speed worked perfectly alongside him. In short, you were an important asset in your co-workers' eyes. Failing missions were almost unheard of when you were assigned to them.
You didn’t understand why he hated you. His malice was never voiced, hell, he just avoided you altogether. However, you could tell he disliked you from the little, petty things. For example; right before you could land a deadly hit on an enemy after hours of meticulous planning—he’d steal your kill from right under you. His hatchet would plunge them, killing them instantly. He stole any sort of satisfaction you’d usually get from the hard work finally paying off.
He was petty. Childish, even. And yet, you had learned better than to confront him about it. The last thing you needed was to give Toby another reason to make your life difficult. Unfortunately, for you, you were going to be stuck with him for the next several days.
The mission should have been simple. Observe the cult’s movements. Identify their leadership. Determine whether they were planning another ritual. No unnecessary kills. No unnecessary attention. And, most importantly, no Toby ruining everything.
After driving for literal hours, your GPS pinged the place you were given. You parked the car two miles out from the location given to you by your sources. Around you was heavy foliage, concealing Tim’s black truck in the night. Tall, dark pine trees covered every inch of the area, the shadows of the night swallowing every inch up to the truck's front lights. “We’re here,” You said, unbuckling your seatbelt. With a sigh, you reached for the truck keys and turned them, shutting off the ignition. In the distance of the night, the faint sound of an owl’s hoot made you perk in your seat. Toby looks up from his phone and scans the forest, neck cracking. He glances at you once before connecting the dots in his mind. The hours that had passed had been a blur for him.
Toby doesn’t say a word, sliding off his earbuds and tossing them in the backseat. He tucks his phone in his back pocket and reaches for his hatchets. You on the other hand ready your pistol and knives, tucking them into their respective holsters. He lobbed Brian’s old pair of night vision goggles at you—aiming for your head. But you knew better by now. You caught it with an open palm, sliding them over your eyes without a word. You reached behind you and snagged your backpack with more supplies.
You slid out of the car, boots hitting the ground with force. The dead grass and dried leaves crunch under your feet. The cold immediately sent chills down your spine, racking every bone in your body and causing your skin to prickle with every caress of the wind. As you examined the trail ahead of you, you assumed that it led to some sort of housing. Toby slid his goggles over his eyes, the bright orange sticking out like a sore thumb in comparison to the midnight dark that surrounded the two of you. He pushed forward without a word, hands resting on his holsters idly. You trailed behind him, trying to push down your anger for the sake of this mission. You knew what it was like when you fought back. You knew it was best to just ignore it and suck it up.
You no longer feared the dark as you used to. The stillness of the forest did not affect your mind. You no longer feared the idea of eyes on your back, of unimaginable beings tormenting you—hurting you, or worse. The stories you had heard when you were younger no longer came back to you at night. You could reach out into the stillness of the night without the worry of monstrous cosmic entities reaching right back for you.
If anything, the people you worked with were the ones your younger self would’ve feared. Hell, your younger self would’ve been scared of present you. You are the killer you used to fear.
The two of you reared off the trail; concealing yourselves under pine trees and vegetation. Toby’s body clicks as he trudges forward, footsteps making zero sounds on the dense underwood. You took careful, cautious movements. Toby was more erratic and restless. When you paused after hearing a faint noise, he’d huff out a breath of exasperation.
Eventually, both of you stumbled upon a crossroad. In the middle was a sign with text and two arrows.
You gazed off to the right. It led down an even darker trail with denser foliage and greenery. You wondered for a moment if that was to deter hikers or ‘normal’ people in general. You were just about to open your mouth to speak when Toby grabbed you by the back of your shirt and threw you into a dense bush, him crashing right beside you. You snapped your head to him to cuss him out, but you were halted by the sound of footsteps. A flashlight came from the left trail. A hand flew over your gaping mouth to stifle your breathing as Toby twitched silently. The whole world around you seemed to freeze as the man walked down the route you had just come from, flashlight bobbing to whatever music he was listening to.
The moment he was gone from your line of sight, you let out a soft exhale, falling back onto the forest floor. Toby shoved himself upward instantly, treading onward without sparing a glance back at you.
You had spent nearly three hours watching the cult from the tree line when you finally spotted your target. One of the higher-ranking members had separated from the others, walking toward the edge of the property with a phone pressed to his ear. He had been the one ordering the rituals, according to the small sheet of paper with instructions. Toby was extremely restless, neck cracking to the side as he watched him. His fingers bounced on the handle of his hatchet, itching to drive it into the side of this guy's neck and get this over with.
To double-check, you reached into your backpack with supplies and pulled out the folded piece of paper. The paper was stained with a plethora of unknown things. Blood, coffee, condensation from a mug, and probably sweat. The paper was straight to the point with no unnecessary details. A simple photograph of the man’s face was in the middle of the paper; alongside a bullet list of his personal information.
48 Y/O M; Coffin, Andrius
•Controls the Banquet of Unity
•Overall 4th Pillar In Ranking
The rest of the information was unneeded spare components, like allergies and other brief physical descriptions of the man.
This was undoubtedly him. This was Andrius. You had heard bits and pieces of what Zalgo’s cult truly was; and what kind of god they believed him to be. You had already memorized the plan you perfected in your head on the way here.
You’d supplied your backpack with the proper materials. Most important was the gag you’d use after sneaking up on him. It’d muffle his panic and would avoid the two of you getting caught. You had various other things you’d use to clean the body of anything linking either of you to the crime. You’d done this a thousand times by now. You’d perfected your job.
You were sure it was flawless. It’d go fine. Toby would follow your instructions, right? He wouldn’t get impatient. He didn’t with Tim, Brian, or Kate. He wouldn’t fuck this up. This was too high risk for that. Right?
You raised your hand, signaling Toby to stay put. Toby’s posture turned rigid. His jaw flexed under that mouthguard of his. For once, he listened—or so you thought. You waited patiently. These kinds of things took time. You knew by the sheer number of times you’d done this that patience was key. The cultist moved closer. Closer. Your fingers tightened around your weapon. Toby shifted on the balls of his feet, twirling his axe as his neck cracked to the side. You shot him a warning glance, but he didn’t look back at all.
The cultist turned his back to you. This was great. The moment the other cultists looked away, you could sneak up behind him, gag him, and then you could end this job right behind this bush. You exhaled, your job finally coming together after three whole hours of waiting. The cultist took another step back.
Just a few more seconds and you could—
A blur shoots past you. Toby lunges forward, ace raised over his head in a graceful arc. Your eyes widened, mouth dropping open in hopes of halting him. Your hand shot out to grip the back of his hoodie to stop him. “Toby—” you started, cut off by a gut-churning shlick sound. His hatchet buried itself in the cultist’s shoulder. Your eyes widened in realization, breath catching in your throat.
The man screamed. Blood, guts, and gore splashed in every direction as Toby grinned, boot stomping into the axe after the target fell. The axe sank deeper into the target’s skin, blood squirted out like a twisted waterfall. Every head in the clearing snapped toward you. For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, a woman in a white shirt shouted; her voice piercing through the night like an alarm.
You slowly turned your head toward Toby. He stared back at you. Even through the goggles, you could practically feel the smugness radiating off him. You could feel his smirk behind his mouthguard. Toby’s satisfaction would end up being very short-lived. Your stomach twisted with fury. Pure, unadulterated anger. This fucker. You had a fraction of a second to regain yourself before the true mayhem occurred.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” You snapped at Toby, brows furrowing together as the cult erupted into chaos. People scattered in every direction as others reached for weapons and phones. You could hear someone shouting about calling the police, while another member fired blindly into the trees. You stepped back instinctively, gaze flying to the sheer amount of havoc Toby had caused. This man was one of the highest-ranking in this cult. And Toby had just set off his followers. His loyal, faithful servants.
Toby yanked his hatchet free—his body flying back with the intensity of his pull. The man screamed in agony, not dead just yet. Blood splattered onto your shoe as he wails out into the night. A gunshot cracked through the forest; splitting the silence and sending resting animals into a flurry of panic. You ducked instinctively as bark exploded from the tree beside your head. You took off after him. The two of you tore through the forest, branches whipping against your face as the sounds of shouting slowly faded behind you. You didn’t need to ask whether the cult had actually called the police.
“You fucking idiot!” You snapped at him immediately, rage exploding out of your chest, swallowing your body whole. His gaze snaps to you. You can feel your anger pulsing in your fingertips as you scramble to your feet. Toby swings his hatchet back into its holster, blood leaking from its sharp edge as he sprints right ahead of you. Your footsteps are no longer concealed, distress taking both of you hostage. As you bee-line for the truck, the two of you make every noise possible; panting, branches snapping, leaves crunching, boots pounding against the ground.
Flashlights shine behind you as you run like hell back to the truck. Your hands fly to your shaky pocket as your backpack bounces wildly behind you. Toby is a few paces ahead of you, boots pounding down the same road you’d initially almost been caught on.
You pushed yourself harder, lungs burning and feet pushing forward through the chaos of the night. Gunshots rang out rapidly behind you as the sound of shouts behind you grew louder and more frequent.
The run two miles back to the truck seemed to pass in an instant. The sight of Tim’s truck in the distance relieved you to no end. Your shaky hands finally fumbled with the keys, unlocking the door while still a few paces behind.
You skidded to a halt beside the truck, throwing yourself inside the driver's seat. Toby had barely climbed inside and shut the door by the time you stepped on the gas. You did a careless spin around, hands shaky on the wheel as you booked it out of the forest. You nervously looked behind you in the rearview mirror.
The cultists had stopped by the edge of the forest, aiming guns and shooting wildly at the car. They missed every time. You stepped on the gas and tried to create as much distance as possible before any of the cultists, or the police, could catch up.
Toby panted beside you, leaning back in the seat while you drove in panic. He ran a shaky hand through his hair.
You finally broke the silence, emotions exploding as the anger that had built up over the last few hours spilled out. “Why the hell did you do that?!” You barked at him, hands tightening around the wheel. You didn’t look at him, completely focused on the road ahead. Everything had been going fine! You were doing just fine!
You had perfected the plan! It was going to work out just fine! And he fucking ruined it! And now, the police would be chasing the both of you in no time, and the cult would have a bounty on your heads! They had seen your faces. They knew what the two of you looked like. That scared you more than you wanted it to.
Toby let out a sharp, breathless laugh. His goggles sat unevenly over his eyes as he looked right at you. His gaze hyperfixated on your expression. “It worked, didn’t it?”
You whipped your head toward him for half a second before snapping your eyes back to the road. “Worked?” you repeated incredulously. “You call that working?”
“We’re alive.” He says, simply shrugging. He slides his mouthguard off.
“Barely!” You snarl back, fingers flexing on the steering wheel. You could feel your veins pumping with hatred as your gaze stayed fixed forward. Your lips tightened together.
“You w-wanted to sit there all fuh—fuckin’ night.” He says, his hands flying out to his sides exasperatedly. “I w—was getting bor—bored!”
“I wanted to finish the mission!” You say with sincerity, eye twitching as you press harder onto the gas pedal.
“I did fuh—finish it.” He replies, cocking his head to the side as he twitches.
“You buried your hatchet in his shoulder!”
“He didn’t!” You bark out. “He’s probably still alive! What if he got a really good look at you, huh? They’re gonna have cops looking for our truck! What if they memorized the license plate? You’ve just fucked us all over! And for what, because you’re impatient? Am I that insufferable to be around, prick?!”
Silence settled for a beat, broken only by the roar of the engine and Toby’s uneven breathing.
“You panicked the entire camp,” you continued, voice lower now, trembling with anger. “They saw us. They called the cops. They know what we look like.”
“So?” He says, brow quirking up as he lazily leans back, breath slowing as he regains his bearings.
“So?” You laughed in disbelief. “Do you hear yourself?”
Toby shrugged against the passenger door “They’re just people.” He says incredulously, like it’s suddenly supposed to all make sense to you.
“And people pull triggers!” You yell, anger pulsing through your very veins. He was so stupid! Why would he do this? Why? Why? Why? What did he get out of this?
“Buh—but we made it out ah—anyway! I d—don’t see the bi—big issue!” He snaps back at you. He crosses his arms defensively over his chest. You frown.
Headlights from behind flash into your car. You freeze up immediately. You glance into the rearview mirror, hoping that it wasn’t who you assumed it was.
An older model car tailing you told you everything you needed to know. You exploded at Toby once more. “Oh great! Now they’re on us! We’re gonna be arrested and probably killed! Or worse! Stay locked up forever!” You snap, desperately speeding up to try and lose them.
Toby goes silent. He looks behind him and sees the car for himself. He grimaces as the car tailgates the two of you.
Ahead, you make out a flash of red. And then a hit of blue. You squint, but the flash disappears in an instant. Just as quick as it came it vanishes. You floor it, trying to lose the car behind you. You convince yourself momentarily that you just imagined it. As you get closer to the initial location of the lights, your heart sinks.
Two sirens pierce through the night. Your eyes widen with realization. The cops were waiting for you to get closer. “They actually called them.” You say, not wanting to accept this was really happening. Toby grips his knees, the fabric of his jeans straining under his hold.
“Hold on.” You say quickly, hands readying on the wheel.
“W-what?” Toby looks over at you, completely confused.
You don’t reply. Right before reaching the cop cars, you do a quick turn around. Toby flies, smacking against the window to your satisfaction. You swiftly press the gas once more, the truck lurching forward and rumbling down the road once more. Toby groans, regaining his bearings. He sits up in his seat, whipping back around to check if you had indeed lost them.
“F-fuck. They’re not letting uh—up.” He says, neck cracking violently to the side. You bite your lip as you press on the gas harder than before, hoping it’d make a difference.
The truck flies like a bullet down the road as you scan every direction. Every possible way to try and lose them. Any opening trail. But there’s nothing. As the car continues to lurch forward at unhealthy speeds, glass explodes behind you. You gasp, and Toby flinches. Toby looks back and murmurs out a curse. He reaches into the backseat and into your backpack, fumbling with a pistol.
“Did they just fucking shoot into the truck?! Oh my god, Tim is gonna bury us both!” You cry out, swerving in nervousness. Toby cocks the pistol. You momentarily peel your eyes off the road and watch him. “No. Toby. NO!” He doesn’t listen to you. When has he ever?
Toby shakily lifts the gun and fires out of the shattered window. He shoots wildly at the car, also breaking their windows and hitting the guy in the passenger seat. The bullets fly everywhere. Toby was specifically forbidden from using any kind of firearm because of his tics. If they went haywire while he was working with one, it was game over. “Toby! Put it down!” You bark, trying to stabilize the car with your shaky hands. Toby’s own hands fumble with the gun nervously.
Your eyes scan the road ahead. Toby ducks just as another round of bullets pierces into the car. Sirens blare behind you, lighting every nerve you had on fire with anxiety. You try to find any crack in the woods; anything that would make your life easier and help you conceal yourself.
Finally, you spot it. Up ahead concealed by dense foliage is a break in the road, a split that leads down some sort of path. You exhale shakily as you mentally prepare yourself for what’s to come.
The moment you reach it, you turn sharply, sending everything inside to truck flying to the right. You drive down the bumpy road, the car hopping off the ground erratically with every pebble the tires land on.
The police sirens fade; and with that so do the blue and red lights. You’re given no time to relax as the cult car turns on the same dirt path. Wind flurries through the shattered window, the breeze relentless on the back of your neck.
Toby unbuckles his seatbelt. You glance back momentarily as he shakily reloads the pistol, tongue clicking in his mouth. He shudders as he aims it out of the broken window. He fires three times, each shot ringing out and bruising your eardrums. You wince but continue to drive recklessly down the dirt road.
The cultists waste zero time in firing right back. Toby ducks down as shots pierce through the night, shooting a few holes into the back of the truck. You grimace as you look back at Toby. “How many bullets do we have left?!” You ask frantically. This was really fucking bad. You didn’t bring more than two rounds, as you didn’t think you’d need them.
“F-four.” He says, yelling over the gusts of wind and the revving car engine behind the two of you. You crumble internally.
“Then you better make them count!” You snap out, your posture folding more over the wheel to protect yourself in case a bullet came through the back window. Toby nods, his breathing heavy. He pushes upward and aims the pistol at the wheels of the car. He squints, trying his hardest to straighten out his shaky hands.
He focuses and fires. Another shot rings through the night. You glance back in the rearview mirror and the cultists’ car swerves. You feel like crying in relief as you watch one of their front tires deflate. You push your foot down harder on the gas, hoping to lose them for real this time.
Toby lets out a gasp of relief, shaky hands going to pop the other front tire. He fires out once more, two bullets firing through the night.
The car behind you swerves out of control, skidding to a halt as it spins on its axis. One final shot blasts through the night, but it’s not from Toby’s gun.
You feel your control on the car loosen as one of the back tires pops. You murmur a string of curses, aiming to drive as far as you’re able before the car completely gives out.
The dirt road eventually leaves you down a path you identify as an old trucking route. The car rumbles, most likely overheating with every second that passed. You exhale, frustration settling into your pores.
“Toby, load all of our gear up. We’re gonna have to ditch the truck.” You say, hands tightening around the leather steering wheel. Toby looks at you like you’ve just gained three heads.
“W—what? But Tuh—Tim will kill us!” He says, hands flexing around the pistol.
“We only have one bullet left. That’s not helping us for shit. They’ll find us easier in this piece of junk!” You reply. Toby pauses before roughly exhaling, shoulders squaring as he begins to rummage through the truck for supplies. He loads the necessities into the backpack with such ease you wonder how many times he’s been in this situation before. You follow the tire tracks on the road. It’s the only option. Maybe there will be some sort of abandoned housing for truckers left over.
You take a sharp right on the corner of the dirt road, sending the truck sideways and making it tilt at a very concerning angle. Toby’s hands fly out, gripping the driver’s seat headrest, almost pulling a few strands of your hair out. The truck rumbles down the road. You have no plan, and no idea what you’re going to do. Just a tad bit of hope after this shitty mission gone wrong.
After a few more miles, you spot an old cabin. The roof barely peeks out from over the branches of thick, tall, pine trees. You check the rearview mirror before veering off the dirt path and parking into the foliage. The truck blends in with the heavy woodland. You shut off the headlights, heart still pounding in your chest. Toby grips the backpack, slinging it over his shoulders as he looks at you, eyes burning holes into the back of your head.
You shut the car off, stumbling out of the front seat and onto the floor below. You grab your phone, your free hand shakily resting on your knife holster. Toby hops out behind you.
You click the truck open with a press of your keys. You walk around the back of the car, propping open the back and retrieving your suitcase filled with clothes. Toby grabbed his own with a bit of force.
From the outside, the cabin looked.. rough, to say the least. The wooden logs used to hold the foundation were scarred with heavy rot. The windows were tinted a slight yellowish color. An unsure feeling settled in your gut. You look back at him; communicating silently.
Sweep the house. Make sure nobody is inside.
Toby seemed to catch on quickly. He plants his suitcase next to the front of the car. He retrieves his only clean hatchet and goes around the back to sneak in using the back door. You shakily type in Brian’s number, sure that he was the only one who would one-hundred-percent pick up. The sheer temperature of the night has your toes going numb. An unforgivingly cold breeze of wind almost makes you drop your phone as you press it against your ear.
The phone rang once. Twice. Your stomach began to tighten as you paced silently beside the concealed car. Thousands of what-if questions raced through your mind.
What if he doesn’t answer?
What if the cultists catch up?
What if the cops show up?
Brian’s voice shakes you from your thoughts.
“Hello?” He says calmly. His voice was rough with sleep. You almost cry in relief.
“Brian! Shit, I’m so glad you picked up,” you start, resting back against Tim’s truck. The metal now had multiple bullet dents on its doors. “We failed the mission. They called the cops and busted one of the tires. I don’t know what’s going to happen, we’re at a cabin right now and the signal is really shitty, and I just— I don’t know what to do. We don’t have enough gas to go back right now. And they saw our faces, Brian! They know what we look like!“Your words flood out like a tsunami, stumbling shakily from your mouth. With your adrenaline beginning to subside, the harsh reality of your situation hits you even harder than before. You exhale sharply, hand flying to massage your temple.
Silence follows. You hear him sigh, and then the ruffling of what you assume is his bedsheets.
“..Shit,” He murmurs. “You said you’re at a cabin?” He asks, voice shifting from tired to fully aware and concerned.
“Yeah.” You reply, brows knitting together. Stress ate away at your limbs, feasting on every inch of your body.
“Okay. So—uhm, best option for you guys is to lie low for at least tonight. Fuck, I.. D’you have food? Water? Anything?” He asks. You can envision his expression clearly; a mixture of disappointment and worry.
“I have a few bottles of water in my backpack. A-and I think maybe a few granola bars. Fuck, this is bad. This is really bad.” You say, already internally panicking. The cold wracks another shiver through your body, and you feel like vomiting.
“Last thing we need is you to let loose right now, alright? Keep it together. The two of you can get through this. Look, I’m sure there are plenty of deer or other edible animals that roam around. You’re near the forest, right? As long as you ration those water bottles, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Don’t give up. Give us till morning. We’ll come get you guys. We just have to wait till the cops decide to spread out more,” He assures, trying his best to comfort you. He’d been in situations like that more times than he could count. He understood the fear and panic that could eat you alive. But he also understood it was the last thing you needed to do right now. You take deep breaths in, trying to calm your buzzing nerves.
“Right. Right. Uhm—okay, okay.” You say, heart pounding in your chest.
“How’d this even happen? Did you guys get caught?” He asks. You can hear more shuffling from his end of the line.
“Yeah. Toby decided to be an impatient bitch, and he rushed in. He got super careless they caught us.” You say, swallowing roughly.
“Piece of shit. God, okay. D’you think you’ll be good for the night?” He asks sincerely. You’d never heard him have this much emotion in his voice.
“Maybe. I don’t know if there’s anyone in the cabin. I sent him to go check.” You look through the thick trees, squinting and trying to see Toby through the fogged windows. Your gaze zeroed in on a tall, lanky figure coming from the front door. Toby comes out of the cabin. His axe is clean, which means one thing.
“C-Clear. Nobody's uh—inside.” He says, neck cracking to the side violently. He tucks his axe back into its strap on his side.
“That’s good. We should hide out here.” You say, turning back to the truck. You debate double-checking for food of any kind.
“N—no shit. What other opp—option do we have, d-dumbass?” He sounded like he’d rather be anywhere else, which, made sense.
“Toby,” Brian says sharply. Toby freezes, his brown eyes zeroing in on the phone pressed against your ear. His hands tighten into balls at his sides. “From what I heard, you’re the one who got her into this crap. Get your shit together.” He commands. Brian’s voice was serious, almost degrading him. You resist the urge to smirk in triumph. That would only make you just as childish.
“Sn—snitch,” Toby chides, hands shoving into his pockets as he rolls his eyes.
“Get some rest, the both of you. I’ll call you guys in the morning to check up on you. Be safe, alright? And lie low. I mean it. No gas-station runs, nothing. The police will track you down in no time.” Brian comments. You glance at Toby briefly before looking at the ground.
“Okay. Goodnight, Brian.” You say, hanging up. Your head tips back against the truck, hand pushing your phone right back into your jacket's pocket. Toby doesn’t say anything as he grabs his suitcase, not sparing you a glance. He turns sharply on his heel and stomps back toward the cabin.
You watch him retreat inside. Your anger begins to boil back up in your stomach, wanting to strangle him. You wanted to hurt him. You wanted to beat the living shit out of him. He’d put you in this mess and hadn’t even apologized, or acknowledged he did wrong.
Had he even realized what he had done? He had just exposed both of you to the police. From what Kate told you, Toby already had a criminal history. He was still wanted. This incident would only confirm that he was still alive and active. And now they’d be searching for you, too.
The cult hadn’t found you, yes. But they knew what road you took. They probably knew the license plate and exact model of the truck. You knew Brian’s advice was the best choice right now. Lie low until the police believed you left town, and spread their search outward. Before following him, you send Brian your location. Then, you trail behind Toby, catching the rotten wooden door before it shut in your face.
The interior of the cabin was no short of run-down. The floorboards were creaky and looked steps away from cracking in on themselves. The furnishings were bland and bleak, with no life to them. It looked like no one had even stepped foot in the place in years. On your left sat a small, pathetic table with a candle in the middle. In the makeshift kitchen, there was a rotting stove and mini fridge. Half of the cabinets were open and empty. This place looked like it had been raided or used by homeless people more times than you’d like to assume. In front of the dinner table sat a small couch with the fluff exploded everywhere. You assumed that someone had probably wrecked the couches or maybe even stolen some, and broken the rest. No TV, just old, rumpled magazines that had definitely seen better days. In front of the broken couch sat a fireplace with no wood in it. Empty. Great. Just great. Could this place get any more miserable?
On your right was a hallway with two doors. Toby walked right into one of the rooms. You followed behind him, dragging your suitcase behind you. You peeked in through the doorway. It was a bedroom. In the middle sat a twin-sized bed with two pillows and two extra blankets. You felt your anger rise again.
You set down your suitcase by the door, rubbing your temple. If this mission had gone well, the two of you would’ve slept in the car. But since that wasn’t really that safe of an option, this would have to do. Toby’s suitcase sits by the door as he slides his hatchets out of their respective holsters, leaning them on the dresser.
You do the same, sliding your knives out of your pockets and placing them on the nightstand. You finally break the silence. “Why’d you do that? Why’d you rush in like that?” You ask, looking over at him. He pauses, hands stilling on the edge of his hoodie.
“I.. got tuh—tired of waiting an—around. You w—where taking too long. I sa—saw an opportunity and t-took it,” he says simply. He slides the hoodie up and off of his body, the blood-soaked fabric hitting the floor with a wet sound.
You clicked your tongue. “You get impatient,” you started. “I’ve seen you wait hours longer when we go on missions with Tim, Brian, and Kate,” your hands clench on the fabric of your jeans as you glare at him. “You waited til my plan was working. You knew what you were doing.”
“Wuh—why do I even buh—bother since you s-seem to know everything?” He says, hands flying upward exasperatedly. He glares back at you, throwing his goggles off and onto the nightstand. He shoves his mouthguard down, revealing the nasty gash along his cheek. It wasn’t your first time seeing it, and you were sure it wouldn’t be your last. Your jaw clenches.
“I never said that,” You reply with an edge to your tone.
“Oh-ho, y—you didn’t need t-too.” He says sharply. Your brows knit together.
“Why are you acting like this? What did I ever do to you?” You ask, frustration blaring up. He was acting like a petulant child.
He doesn’t turn to face you. He just strips himself of his gear. He grabs his suitcase and hauls it onto the bed, yanking the zipper open and grabbing a change of clothes. He makes his way to the bathroom without a single peep other than his tics. As he passes you, he shoves his shoulder into your own. You scoff.
The first night was nothing short of awkward. The two of you went to bed with unresolved feelings. Unresolved conflicts, as usual. You slept as far away from him as possible. It’s not like this hasn’t happened before, but even despite the chilly night; there was something distinctly different about the tension between you two.
When you awoke in the morning, you felt the same shivers you had last night, but worse. You glanced out of the window, slowly sitting up in bed. The sunlight is awfully white. That’s.. definitely weird. Your feet land on the floor with a soft thud, socked toes sliding on the wooden floorboards as you make your way to the window.
You rub the crust out of your eyes, eyes squirming to make out the surroundings. But.. you see nothing.
Realization dawns on you, shooting you awake. “No.. No!” You say, running out of the room and to the front door. You’re pretty sure you woke up Toby, but you don’t care. You throw the front door open, and a pile of snow flows inside the house, stinging your feet with cold. You jump back, hands flying to your mouth.
Fuck! How could you miss this? How did you miss this? You’re positive you read the forecasts over a hundred times before coming on this mission! How was this possible? Why was this happening now?!
You feel like tugging your hair out. Footsteps pound behind you, stopping a few feet away.
“Sh—shit,” Toby says, running a hand through his messy, curly hair. His voice is rough with sleep.
You stumble back into the bedroom, hands flying to grab your phone. You had already slept through a missed call from Brian. You fumble with it and then call him. He picks up after one ring.
“You two doing alright?” He asks.
“No, Brian! I think some sort of snowstorm came in last night! There’s no way for us to even get out! Is this.. even possible? Overnight? What the hell?!” You say, sinking into the bed. You bury your head in your hands. There was no way on earth Brian and Tim could get to you two today.
You were going to be trapped here for the next few miserable days with someone who hated you. Someone who probably wanted to see your guts on the pavement.
While calling with Brian, he confirmed that indeed, they would not be able to be picked up today. Their car would just not be able to drive safely in that kind of weather.
The chill ate at you. With no fire going, the cabin was basically a walk-in freezer. You stayed curled under a blanket, lips turning a slight shade of purple. Toby was trying to be productive. He was using his axe as a makeshift shovel to move all the snow out of the doorway. He was getting work done, but it was obvious it would take him extremely long to clear it enough to walk in and out without tracking more snow in.
You debated asking him for help, but at this point you knew his answer.
A few more hours passed, and eventually Toby had made a somewhat empty doorframe. He retrieved his hatchet from the dresser and tossed the free one to you.
“G-get up. W—we should co—collect firewood buh—before dark.” You obliged. For your sake, and not his. You zipped your jacket up, sliding your gloves on as well. Weather like this was no joke. You were freezing despite being only in the house.
You and Toby spent a few hours hacking at trees. Once the two of you amass a satisfactory amount, you stumble back inside. Toby finds his pack of matches while you load up the fireplace. He lights the match and tosses it onto a log. The rush of warmth that hits you makes you melt, sinking down to your knees as the fire sheds the most relief on you. Toby sinks as well, butt plopping on the floorboards. He sticks his bandaged hands out, warming his palms up. This moment was the first of its kind. One where neither party felt anger toward the other. Just relief. Bliss. You exhale, muscles still burning from the work you put in. Fire was good. The second situation was the food source.
Sure, you had granola bars. But they wouldn’t last forever. You give yourself a moment to warm up, hands curling in on themselves. You look at Toby.
“Brian said there has to be wildlife nearby. Should we—“
“I’ll ta—take care o—of it. You’re t—too noisy. Y—you’ll scare th—them off.” His grip tightens around his hatchet. Your eyes widen.
“What? I’d scare them off? You’re the one who makes the most noise! Especially with your tics!”
“I kn—know how to buh—blend them in. M-meanwhile, you can’t reh—regulate your footsteps. S-sometimes, you have zero suh—situational awareness. A d-deer could slip right thuh—through your fingers because you wouh—wouldn’t even notice,” he says. His gaze stays fixed on the fire.
“So now you wanna be helpful? Where was this energy yesterday?” You ask, deadpanned.
He ignores you, briskly standing on his feet as he lets out a low whistle. You notice the pistol hanging out of his pocket.
“You’re gonna use our last bullet?” You ask. Not judging, just curious.
“Y—you’d rather stuh—starve?” He asks, cocking his head back to look at you. You frown immediately. You turn back to the fire.
“That’s w—what I thought.” He says, leaving right out the door. You murmur a few curses under your breath before turning back to the fire.
The moment he leaves, you allow yourself peace. You shut your eyes, reminding yourself this was only for a few days. You sink into the comfort of warmth illuminating from the fireplace.
You pass the time by reading one of the shitty magazines left on the small table in the living room. The magazine itself is really a relic of time. It’s filled with old news articles from what you presume a long time ago. This furthermore proves to you that this place hadn’t been touched in over half a decade.
Around two hours later, you hear the loud, uncomfortable sound of something heavy being dragged outside. You stand, walking over to the doorway. Toby is hauling a fox over his shoulder. He huffs and gestures you out of the way.
He carries the fox inside and lets the body drop onto the table. You wince, the smell of death hitting your nose like a bullet train. You instinctively scrunch your face. He looks at you, out of breath.
“W—what? Don’t tell m—me you’ve never seen a duh—dead fox before,” He asks as he uses his hatchet to carefully skin the deer. You looked away. “C—calm your tits. I already bled I—it out.”
He says, as he prepares to skin it. His hatchet dully slices into the skin of the fox, and he carefully prepares it. You wince. He’s oddly good at it.
“Where’d.. you learn to do that?” You ask quietly.
“Brian ta—taught me.” He replies quietly, cutting the meat off the fox so easily it sent a chill down your spine.
“There’s a w—whole fa—family nearby. We sh—should be good for t—the next few duh—days.” He says, arms twitching violently as he removes the fox's entrails. You feel like gagging. He rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “F—forgot you were suh—such a Saint,”
“N—now, an—are you just gonna stuh—stand there and be yuh—useless or can y—you look for a p—pot?” You look away from the fox, immediately busying yourself with searching for a pot. After rummaging for a bit, you find a chopping board and rusty pot. You hand the chopping board to Toby and take the pot to clean it. You’re pretty positive the sink won’t work, but to double-check, you turn the handles of the faucet. Nothing happens, and your instincts were proven correct.
To rinse out the pot, you use half of the water in a water bottle. You shake the pot thoroughly before dumping the water outside. Next, you carefully set the pot over the fireplace and pour the rest of the water into the pot. You step away, going to scavenge through your backpack to do a count of all of your materials.
Toby removes the meat from the fox and cuts it into small cubes. He takes the cubes and walks over to the fireplace, setting them into the pot. The meat sizzles, changing colors and cooking under the fire.
Eventually, the meat is thoroughly cooked. The two of you find old tongs and place the meat cubes onto the cutting board. You can’t help but be surprised when you see how he’s prepared the meat. For as long as you could remember, you’ve been fed up with his incompetence. But, now, he’s proving he’s not worth nothing.
“You made that?” You ask, sitting down on the floor beside him.
Toby looks over his shoulder. “N-no, the fucking f-fairies did.” He says sarcastically, tongue clicking.
You glare. “I’m serious.” You say, lips curling upward in a snarl. You bring your knees closer to your chest.
“S-so am I.” He says, popping a meat cube into his mouth. He raises an eyebrow at you, brown pupils expanding as he stares at your face.
You roll your eyes, squeezing your lips shut. He was the one bringing in the food. You knew it was best not to push further. You didn’t know fully if he would poison the next fox you ate. The two of you eat silently, the meat rough and tender. Nothing you’d ever eaten. But, you hadn’t eaten anything all day. This would have to do.
When you finally finish eating, you look over at him. He’s still finishing one of his fox cubes. Yesterday, you had decided that you weren’t going to give up on asking him why he hated you. Now seemed like the best time to pop the question. He could be stubborn, and so could you.
“Why do you hate me?” You ask. He stops chewing. His jaw clenches roughly. His fingers flex against the floor. He doesn’t say anything, neck cracking to the side with a violent tic. You wait.
A long stretch of silence passes. You’re sure it’s been a full minute. He hasn’t said anything.
“You ignoring me?” You ask, your eyes narrowing into near slits. You’re trying to gauge any sort of emotion. Any sliver of an idea what he hates so much about you.
He stands sharply, hands snatching the pot and chopping board. Your eyes stay glued to him as he carries them to the sink. Your brows narrow.
Fine. If he wanted to be an asshole, then he could be an asshole. You stand briskly on your feet, tugging your jacket further around you. You head to the bedroom, sinking onto the bed. You slide off your shoes and leave them on the floor, purposefully trying to leave them in his way to piss him off. You face the wall away from the door, pulling out your phone. You had been trying to ration your battery, so using it for more than 5 minutes was a no-go.
You text back and forth with Tim, updating him on everything that happened today instead of Brian. His replies, unlike Brian’s, lacked warmth. You assumed it was probably because Brian had told him what happened to his truck. You’d apologize in person whenever they came to get you.
Finally, you set the phone down. You stared at the ceiling, hands resting on your stomach. You hate being alone with him. It always brought conflict. He was an asshole. He got the two of you mixed into this. If it weren’t for him, you could be home. You could be sleeping in a proper bed.
The next morning, you wake up alone. Toby is gone, and your shoes are positioned like they’ve been kicked. Your irritation rises, but you take a deep breath. You push yourself up, deciding to munch on a granola bar for breakfast. You find one missing from last night. You assume Toby ate it.
He seems to have left, as his boots and hatchets are gone. You sit by the fireplace, feeding it extra logs to keep it going. You finish the granola bar quickly.
The words Toby said to you linger in your mind. ‘You’d scare them off’, yeah right. You’d show him. You’d catch a fox, or a bunny, and prove him wrong. You didn’t need him. You were perfectly capable of handling yourself. You push yourself upward. You snatch your knife off of your nightstand, gripping the handle with force. You march outside, your boots crunching the snow below. You notice immediately that the snow is nowhere as thick as yesterday. A bit of relaxation runs over you as you realize that maybe you won’t be here for a day longer.
You carefully tread through the flurry of white, trying your hardest to sneak through the forest despite the sheer volume of your shoes. The tall pine trees cast perfect shadows over your figure, the cold turning your nose and ears pink.
You stick close to the tree line, careful to mark each tree so you don’t lose your way back. After walking for a while, you catch a shadow move in your peripheral. Your eyes sharpen immediately.
You glance over, and your gaze settles on a small white lump. Its ears twitch, and you stop. You ready your knife, slowly sneaking toward it. The creature perks, turning around. You duck instinctively behind a tree, slowly peeking out with your knife tightly between your hands.
A small bunny awaits a few feet away, nose twitching as it searches for potential predators. You take a deep breath, waiting for it to turn around. Then, it would be your time to strike.
The bunny’s nose twitches innocently. It hops a foot forward, and away from you. You wait. Finally, it looks away, sniffing the ground.
You dash forward, trying your best to conceal the quick patter of your feet. The bunny perks to attention, it’s quick feet move to scramble away. You gain on it quickly, bringing the knife over your head in a graceful arc.
Before you can react, you’re hoisted into the air roughly. You yelp, your entire body being flipped upside down as rough, chunky ropes wrap around your body. Your hand is stuck tightly between the ropes, and your legs are tangled together. You're pushed into a panic, your hands flying to cut at the ropes desperately with your knife.
A million thoughts race through your head. What if this was a trap the cult set up? What if this was the end? Surely they heard the obnoxiously loud song of the branches groaning under your weight. You curse, sawing at the rope with urgency. It’s to no avail. The knife is too dull to cut through this thick of rope. You kick and flail around.
Your heartbeat picks up as you hear quick footsteps approaching. You get more frantic, resorting to stabbing at the rope in hopes of freedom. A rather loud laugh erupts from below you, and you whip your gaze downward.
Standing below you is Toby, much to your relief. Your heart continues to pound as you fight pathetically with the bounds.
“G—gods, this is guh—golden!” He says, cackling. You snarl.
“This isn’t—fuck—funny! Help me out before those cultists come back!” You scream, legs doing quick bunny kicks at the ropes.
“Th—the cultists?” He asks, appalled. “Oh, nnn—no. No cultists! J—just m—me,” He says, grinning. “I s—set that snare uhh—up. ‘Supposed to be for aaa—another fox. Seems like it c—caught yuh—you instead.” Your eyes widen, and you stop fighting instantly. Shame creeps up on the back of your neck.
Toby flicks his phone out from his jeans’ pocket. He angles the camera upward at you, much to your embarrassment and dismay. You quickly try to hide your face, but with a click of his camera, you’re sure your efforts are futile. You grit your teeth.
“Are you done? Get me down. Now.” You reprimand, your knife hanging uselessly in your hand.
“Mmm. I du—dunno. Yyy—you’re a lot luh—less annoying when y—you’re tied up.” He retorts, slyly cocking his head to the side. You groan, trying to twist around.
“Toby! Get me down! Stop being a dick!” You yell.
“Fuh—fine, fine,” he says, grinning. He twirls his hatchet in his hand and cuts one of the ropes tied to a tree branch. You gasp as you're jolted downward. He moves toward the other branch and chops the rope in half. You crash onto the forest floor, the snow hitting your back and breaking your fall.
You scramble upward, shoving the ropes off of you. You stumble to your feet, whipping around to him. You throw the bindings off your head and kick them from your feet. You pant, adrenaline pumping through your body. You wipe the snow off of your legs and chest.
“You fucking suck,” You murmur, straightening your jacket while Toby giggles to himself.
“C—could’ve caught a fuh—fox with that. Don’t buh—blame me because y—you can’t detect a snare. You’ve bb—been doing this for huh—how long now?” He asks, teeth stretching into a mocking grin. He taps the tree with the edge of his hatchet. “Jesus. Y—you really are puh—pathetic.”
You frown, rolling your eyes. You cross your arms defensively, avoiding staring at him. Embarrassment burned through his cheek.
You blink, and suddenly he’s right in front of you. You gasp as the cool metal of his hatchet lifts your chin. You look him in the eyes. His face is neutral. You can’t see anything in his expression. He scoffs and shoves past you, walking off in a different direction.
“What the hell was that about?” You say, pressing your fingers to your chin, where the cool metal was once pressed. You smack your lips together, glancing over your shoulder to watch his retreating form. You lift your lip in a snarl before turning back around. You start in the opposite direction of him, still determined to catch some sort of animal despite your embarrassment.
You stumble through the forest for what feels like hours. Your luck seems to have run dry. You haven’t seen anything since that small bunny earlier. Maybe you scared off the wildlife when you were hoisted into the air.
When the sun finally starts to sink, you call it quits. With a bruised ego and sore legs from the bindings, you treaded back to the cabin. Your feet crunched the snow beneath you.
You followed the marked trees back to the cabin. Your entire body is aching from the cold. You pushed the rotten door aside and shut it behind you. You kick off your snow-ridden boots. The smell of meat hits your nose immediately.
You glance around for a moment, eyes catching the source. Two bunny carcasses catch your eye. Your hands flexed in irritation immediately.
Toby is kneeling by the fireplace, cooking bunny meat. He doesn’t turn around as he hears you coming. He’s known you long enough to recognize your footsteps. You itch to say something insulting, but you swallow it for the sake of your already bruised pride. You sink into the floor beside him.
He flips the meat carefully in the pot. Your stomach grumbles. For once, he’s the one to break the silence.
“Y—your ego still buh—bruised, sweetheart?” He asks in such a mocking tone it makes your heart skip a beat. Badly, of course. You frown.
“Shut up.” You retort, resting your chin in your hand. He smirks, plucking a piece of meat off the pot. You raise an eyebrow. He tugs a small bit off and chews on it.
“Should b—be good to uh—eat now. Cuh—came back rrr—right on time.” He says, putting the slices of bunny meat on the chopping board. You pluck a strip off and chew on it, savoring the flavor and texture.
Your blood boils under your skin. You glare at him, pettiness and anger swallowing you. “Delete that picture you took of me.” You command.
He raises a brow mid-bite. “St—still thinkin’ of that? I hu—hurt your e—ego that buh—bad? Yu—you really are chu—childish.” He degrades sarcastically, chewing with his mouth open to get to you. Your fingers clench around the piece of rabbit meat.
“You wanna talk about childish, prick? You’re the one who won’t talk about his feelings like an adult!”
“At least I didn’t get caught in a fucking snare.” He quips, taking another bite from his bunny meat.
“Oh, fuck off.” You snap.
“Wuh—what? It’s true.” He says, shrugging.
“You set the fucking thing.” You say incredulously.
“Didn’t set it fuh—for you.” He says like it’s obvious.
“You took a picture of me hanging upside down like a goddamn idiot!” You say brusquely.
“Because I—it was huh—hilarious.” He says, grinning. His tongue clicks to the roof of his mouth. He pulls his phone out and shoves the photo in your face. You groan, immediately reaching for his phone. He holds it above your head.
You growl, lunging for it. “Toby, fuckin’ delete it!” You say, practically climbing on him to grab it. He moves away quickly, grinning down at you in grim triumph.
“Delete it.” You’re practically begging at this point.
“Nuh—no.” He says, hastily avoiding your grasp.
“Delete. It.” You sneer, hands flying up desperately to try and snatch the phone from him.
“Make me.” You growl again. Your hand flies out to his face, and he catches your wrist.
You immediately jerk against his grip. “Let go.”
“Get y—your hand o-off my phone, an—and I wuh—will.”
You pause, realizing how close you are to his face. You move to pull back, but pause when you see his fingers moving to the send option. Your rage rises to a million, embarrassment and frustration bubbling in your stomach.
“What is with you?! Huh? What is it? What pisses you off soooo much about me?! You never acted out like this when you’re on a mission with the others!” You bark out at him, the anger that had been building up in your body finally exploding out at him.
“You’re so fucking childish! It’s exhausting! You’ve been avoiding talking about whatever the fucks wrong with you! Is it your trauma or something? You’re so petty, it’s sickening!” That seems to get him going by the way his mood shifts.
“Y—you want the tru—truth? I h—hate YOU. I hate y—your stupid m-morals, you’re a hypocrite! W—what kind of fucking k—killer goes b—by a moral c-code?!” He says, shoving a finger into your chest. “D—do you think y—your buh—better than me or s—something? Because you shuh—sure as hell act like y—you have suh—some high ho—horse!” He shoves you back. You don’t resist.
“I fuh—fucking HATE how you think you’re suh—some superior to me! I h—hate what y—you do to me! I hate h—how much I luh—like to be around you!”
He pauses. His expression sharpens. You freeze, hand frozen mid-air. Moral code? What?
“Moral code? What the hell are you talking about?” You ask, baffled.
“Oh, n-now you duh—don’t know what I’m talking ab—about? Fuck—you’re e—exhausting! You pr—prance around, looking all pruh—pretty; you’ll stab a grown m-man without blinking, but suddenly you g-give a shit because he’s got a fuh—fucking kid?” You pause.
“You hate me because I.. don’t kill kids?” You raise an eyebrow, shocked.
“N—no, it’s not just that! I hu—hate you be-because you’re buh—better than me, and I fuckin’ h—hate it!” He yells. “Y—you don’t get satisfaction t—the way I do! You don’t en—enjoy killing anything! Not li—like I do!” He says, gripping the side of his head. “Fuck—you drive me insane! Y—you don’t torture, y—you don’t kuh—kill for entertainment, when suh—someone begs for their life, y—you back off! I hate it! I hate how much you a—affect me!” You stare at him.
For once, you have absolutely nothing to say.
All those little things suddenly rearrange themselves in your head. The stolen kills. The constant jabs. The way he deliberately ruined your plans. The way he seemed to take some sick satisfaction in making you angry. You had spent two years wondering what the fuck you had done to him.
“I’m not better than you.” Toby’s expression twists immediately.
“No.” Your voice comes out quieter than you expect. “I’m not.”
That shuts him up. You gesture vaguely between the two of you, frustration beginning to creep back into your voice.
“I’m not sitting here pretending I’m some fucking saint because I don’t torture people for fun. I’ve killed people. I’ve hurt people. I’ve done things I don’t exactly lose sleep over anymore.”
His jaw tightens. “But there are things I won’t do.”
“Why?” he spits. “Because you’re too fuh—fucking good for it?”
“Because I don’t want to.” His expression falters. You stare directly at him. “That’s the difference.” Toby’s fingers curl into fists. You continue before he can interrupt.
“I don’t need someone begging me to stop before I decide I’ve gone too far. I don’t need to hear somebody screaming before I remember they’re a person. And I don’t need to hurt someone who isn’t a threat just because I can.”
His eyes narrow. “You thuh—think that makes you b-better?”
“No.” You shake your head.
“I think it makes me, me.” That seems to piss him off more than anything else you’ve said.
“You don’t get it,” he snaps. “You g-get to walk around like you’re still a fucking person! You kill suh—somebody and then you go back to normal! You d-don’t fucking enjoy it! You don’t—”
The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. Toby freezes. Your expression hardens.
“You keep telling yourself you enjoy it, Toby. Maybe you do. I don’t know. But I think you like what it means more.” His face changes. Just slightly. But you see it.
“You like being the guy who doesn’t give a shit. You like being the one nobody can make feel guilty. You like acting like nothing matters because then you never have to admit that something actually does.”
“Shut t—the fuck up.” He sneers, brows furrowing together.
“I’m not better than you.” You step closer. His eyes focus intensely on your face.
“But you’re angry because I won’t become worse just because you did.” His breathing stutters. For once, he doesn’t have a smart response. You stare at him for another second before your voice drops. “And if that’s what you’ve hated about me this entire time, then you should’ve just fucking said so.”
Toby’s eyes flick toward yours. His expression is furious. But underneath it, something else has surfaced. Something almost wounded. You notice it. And judging by the way his face twists, he knows you noticed it, too. “You’re f—fucking unbelievable.”
You stare at him. “And you’re avoiding the point.”
“I’m n-not avoiding shit.” He says defensively, his orange goggles tilting on his head.
“Then look at me.” You ask, fingers curling downward to meet his gloved ones. His eyes snap toward yours. There it is.
That same fury you’ve seen from him for two years. Except now that you’ve finally dragged the truth out of him, it looks different. Less like hatred. More like something he’s desperately trying to disguise as hatred.
Your anger falters for half a second. Toby notices. Of course he fucking notices. His head tilts. “What?”
“Nuh—nothing.” He looks away again, brown eyes bouncing around the room, clearly avoiding yours.
“Bullshit.” Your free hand pokes his chest. That snaps his attention right back to you.
You turn away, but his hand catches your wrist. Not hard. Just enough to stop you. You look down at his fingers before slowly looking back at him.
“Toby.” His expression changes. You expect him to let go. He doesn’t.
“You really think y-you’re not better than me?”
You scoff. “We’re really doing this again?”
“Answer me.” His voice rises a pitch as he begins to search your eyes, brown orbs flickering around his sockets.
“No.” His brow twitches in a mixture of confusion and hesitation.
“No?” He says incredulously.
“No, Toby. I don’t think I’m better than you.”
“Then why the fuck do you look at me like that? Your stomach twists. You look right back at him, curiosity peaking.
“Like I’m some fucking animal.” The accusation catches you off guard. You stare at him.
“I don’t look at you like that.” You say exasperatedly, lips churning into a frown.
“No. I look at you like you’re an asshole.” For one second, Toby just stares. Then his mouth twitches. A tiny, humorless smile.
“You don’t even deny it. Because you are.” Your frown begins to shift upward.
His smile disappears. You tug your wrist experimentally. His fingers loosen, but you don’t pull away. Neither of you seems to notice. Or maybe you both do. Toby’s eyes drop briefly to your hand. Then back to your face.
“Y—you know wuh—what your problem is?”
You raise an eyebrow. “I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
“You act like you fucking hate me.”
“I do.” His jaw tightens.
“Then why do you keep fucking looking at me?”
Your breath catches. The question hangs there. You could answer. You should answer. Instead, your eyes flick downward. His mouth. Only for a second. But Toby sees it. He always notices the smaller things about you, as you’ve come to realize. His entire expression changes.
You immediately look back up. His eyes are fixed on yours now. Neither of you says anything. The fire crackles behind you. Somewhere outside, the wind claws against the cabin walls. Toby’s thumb shifts against your wrist.
“You’re fucking staring.” He snaps. His lips pull back in multiple emotions.
“So are you.” You retort immediately, your eyes scanning his face. Without his mouthguard, he looked relatively harmless. The large gash on his cheek flexes, the array of teeth exposed to the air moving in time with his jaw.
“I was already staring.” He snaps back immediately.
“And?” Your feet shift on the floor. Your black socks flex.
“And you’re suh—supposed to fucking stop.” You almost laugh, a small smile spreading on your face.
“That’s rich coming from you.”
His gaze drops toward your mouth again. Your pulse jumps. You hate that he notices that, too. “You’re doing it again,” you murmur.
“Looking at my mouth.” His eyes snap back to yours quickly. He shifts his weight onto one foot, goggles shifting through his curly brown hair.
“Yes.” Your eyes trace every scar on his face, examining every one. The oleach.
“Maybe I wanna fucking bite you.” Your stomach flips, and your eyes widen. He caught you off guard immediately. You feel a small blush coating your cheeks as your gaze flutters back to his eyes.
You know he’s trying to provoke you. That’s what Toby does. He pushes. He pokes. He finds the exact spot that hurts and presses until you react. So you refuse to give him one. You step closer. His breathing immediately changes.
“Then bite me.” You quip.
Silence. Toby goes completely still. You can practically watch the thought crash through his head. His fingers tighten around your wrist.
“You don’t kn—know when to shut th—the fuck up.”
“You think you’re fucking funny?” He asks, his neck cracking to the side violently as he tilts his head at you.
“No.” You step closer again. His back nearly meets the edge of the table. “But I think you’re scared,” That does it. His expression darkens.
“Of you?” He asks with a raised eyebrow. You smirk.
“Of me affecting you.” His jaw clenches. You can feel the heat of him now. The anger hasn’t disappeared. If anything, it’s worse. It’s just tangled up with something neither of you wants to name.
“You’re so fucking full of yourself.”
“And you’re still standing here.”
“Maybe I’m waiting for you to move.”
He doesn’t. Neither do you. His gaze drops again. This time, you don’t pretend not to notice. “Toby.”
“Are you going to keep staring at me?” Your voice comes quieter than before. His breath catches in his throat as he swallows roughly.
The words barely leave your mouth before he moves. His hand releases your wrist, coming up to your jaw instead. He stops before closing the distance completely. And that hesitation matters. His eyes search yours. For once, Toby doesn’t assume.
You stare at him. The anger is still there. So is the resentment. So is every goddamn reason you should push him away. But underneath all of it is something you’ve been refusing to acknowledge for far too long.
You don’t tell him to stop. Instead, your hand catches the front of his shirt and pulls him the rest of the way toward you. The kiss is anything but gentle. Your mouth moves against his with small fervor, like tiny sparkles before the fireworks set off.
It feels less like affection and more like another argument neither of you knows how to finish. You shove him back. He catches your waist. You pull away just enough to breathe, glaring at him. His pupils expand. Your lips purse as his hand flies to the back of your neck. He squeezes just enough to make you gasp.
He pulls you right back in, lips smashing against yours once more. This time, it’s charged. He moves against your lips like he’s starving. Your hands fly to his back as he shifts you backward, moving until he presses you firm against the wall.
He pulls away briefly, one hand moving from your waist to the button on your jeans. He leans into the crevice of your neck. He peppers rough bite marks and kisses while his hand slips into your jeans. You gasp, hands squeezing his shoulders roughly.
“Th—thought you hu—hated me?” He teases, his hands rubbing your slit through your panties. You arch into him instinctively, nails digging into his shoulder blades.
“I do.” You snap, squeezing one eye shut as you lean your head back.
“Really? T—then why are you s—so wet?” He asks, finger pressing especially hard on your clit. Your thighs clamp around his hand and he bites his lip.
He presses flush against you, erection pushing against your clothed heat as he fumbles with the zipper of your jeans.
He shoves your jeans down and into a pile around your legs. The bitter air of the cabin makes you shiver. You leave your jeans to pool around your legs, completely focusing on Toby and his expressions. He licks his lips. You grind against him, desperate for the friction. He groans lowly in the back of his throat.
His fingers fly up to the hem of your jacket, fingers pausing deliberately. He looks at you, and you nod in approval. He yanks your jacket and shirt off at once. You press yourself against the wooden wall more, trying to stabilize yourself. He stares at your chest, practically salivating. His hands fly to the straps of the bra, eager to unclip it and get it off as soon as possible.
You watch your bra fall uselessly to the floor. Toby leans in immediately, catching your nipple in his mouth and flicking his tongue around it. Your hands slide from his back to his hair, a sharp moan leaving your throat while you tug at his hair. He groan appreciatively, tongue working wonders at the sensitive bud.
You can feel your nipple begin to pebble under his attention. You buck your panties against his hard-on, eyes squeezing shut in pure euphoria. His tongue lathers around you, carefully sucking and squeezing your chest. His free hand slides up to your other breast, his fingers giving your other nipple just as much attention.
His fingers carefully roll the bud between them, circling and using feather-light touches to make you squirm. His tongue flicks out again, licking a stripe down your nipple.
He bites sharply into your skin, making you gasp. Your fingers tighten in his hair as he kisses the wound. He pulls back, grinning at his work.
You pull him back in for a kiss by the back of his head. Your hands fly to his jeans, zipping down his pants quickly. You shove them down his legs and he steps out of them. You grope him through his pants, feeling just how stiff he is. He grunts roughly against your lips, hands flying around your back to grip your ass roughly. You grind against him again.
“Y—you gonna tease me all nuh—night, or ag—are you gonna let me fuh—fuck you?” He asks. You pull back, eyes half lidded.
“Question an—answered.” He says, a smug grin spreading on his face. He reaches downward, freeing himself from his boxers. In a quick motion, he peels his shirt off over his head and tosses it to the side.
Your eyes rake down his chest. He’s disgustingly handsome. He grips your face, forcing you to look down.
“L—look at yourself. I wuh—want you to see h-how wet you aaa—are.” You swallow, but obey. He peels your panties off, slick sticking the fabric to your skin in a lewd string.
He scoffs, sliding the panties down your legs to pile with your jeans. His fingers spread your folds, exposing them to the bitter air. You whimper as his digits slide up and down your slit, teasing you relentlessly. You buck against him desperately, wanting the sweet relief already. You push down the need to be petty right back, as it’s overpowered by the neediness swimming through your bones.
He pulls his fingers away roughly, leaving you feeling desolate. He brings his gloved fingers to his lips, lewdly sucking off your slick from every one of his fingers. His dick twitches, his tip swollen a bright shade of red. Pre-cum dribbles down his tip as he looks at you in the eyes.
“S—such a fucking mess. Wh—where’s all that fire at now?” He asks, shifting closer to you. He hoists your leg over his shoulder, the other planted on the floor. You bite your lip as he lines up with your entrance, feeling your clit throb for more.
“Fuck off,” you sneer. He grins at that. In the blink of an eye, he sheathes himself fully inside of you. You twitch violently, hands digging into his scalp in an attempt to stabilize yourself.
He wastes no time in moving. He slams his hips against yours roughly, bucking up into you with urgency. You moan, head falling against his shoulder as he shakes your whole body with each punishing thrust.
His fingers dig into your thighs, hips thrusting upward in a wild frenzy. The vulgar, obscene noise that comes from your pussy echoes through the otherwise silent cabin.
He grunts, his tip reaching parts of you you never knew existed. You feel your eyes roll into the back of your skull as he slams into you over and over again.
Each thrust is a promise. A promise to keep hating you, a promise to fuck the ever-living shit out of you. A promise vowed in hatred. The noises that escape his lips are filthy. He pounds into you like a pathetic animal in heat.
You swear you see stars every time he shifts ever so slightly, reaching different angles that you thought were impossible.
You feel that familiar knot tightening in your belly as he finds your g-spot. He realizes all too soon, hips chasing that spot and his release through desperate bucks of his hips.
“F—fuckin’ slut. Pathetic,” he scolds, hand flying to slap your breasts roughly. Your eyes widen, humiliation rushing through you. You moan against him, his hips pressed flush against yours.
Your toes curl as pure ecstasy shoots through your body, his thrusts not slowing for a second as you cum. You clench around him tightly. He pants as he chases his own release, dick bucking into you over and over again, riding you through your orgasm.
His hips stutter, and he releases into you. He collapses against you, your leg falling to your side limply. He stays sheathed inside of you, semen dribbling down his tip and from your hole as you try to catch your breath. Your hands slide down his back as you bite his shoulder roughly.
He catches on immediately. He lifts you up by your waist, and he carries you over to the bedroom. You wrap your legs around his waist instinctively as he walks. He drops you on the bed, climbing on top of you. You get a good look at him, and how roughed up he is.
His hair is crumpled and messy, and his eyes are wild and hungry. His hands fly up to your neck, fingers curling gently around your pressure points. You gasp as he begins to slowly drive into you.
The pressure makes you feel something you’ve never felt before. Not the rush of being turned on, no, something else. Something stronger. Your hands grip the sheets as you stare up at him.
His hips grind careful circles into you, moving himself in and out. He groans feeling your pulse jump under his fingers. You buck your hips up to meet his.
He starts to pick up the pace, his dick twitching and pulsating inside of you. Your head lolls against the bed; but an increase of pressure on your neck has you gasping.
His fingers press deep into your neck, cutting off your air supply. He moves faster, hips drilling into you so fast you can barely comprehend it. You mewl, drool forming at the corner of your mouth while he continues his punishing movements. He pants, a sick grin spreading over his face.
“I—I’ll turn you into a mm—monster. A sinner j—just as big as m—me.” He says under his breath, his thumb still pressed against your skin.
He lifts his thumb just enough for you to gasp. The sensation is addicting; something so intoxicating you can’t get enough of it. You moan loudly, Toby still fucking you deep into the mattress. You feel like a pathetic mess underneath him, and you hate it.
“Fuck you.” You say, gripping the thin, flimsy sheets below you. He grins, goggles bouncing wildly on his head.
“Ah—already am,” he replies sarcastically, teeth stretching upwards into a sharp expression. Your nails dig into his shoulder as his balls slap against your ass. You bite back a moan.
Your head tilts back as you feel your second orgasm coming sooner than expected. Your legs fly around his waist, and he grunts. The pressure on your neck grows stronger, cutting the air from your lungs again. You feel your entire body shudder from pleasure. His thrusts begin to shift into sloppy, uncoordinated movements.
You swear you can see hearts forming in his eyes as he cums. The two of you finish together, your hair sticking to your forehead messily as you gasp. Toby’s hands fall from your neck as he falls onto the bed beside you.
The two of you take a moment to breathe. You take a moment to process everything. Why he hated you. What just happened.
Silence stretches heavily between the two of you as you lie on the bed. Your breathing begins to calm when he finally breaks the silence.
“Still th—think I’m buh—better than you?” His eyes are dark; but there’s another emotion forming under his eyes. Something deep. Something you can’t exactly name yet.
“Good.” His mouth twitches.
“Still think you’re fucking insufferable, though.”You stare at him, a bit dumbfounded. You shove your palms into his chest, laughing.
“Fuck you.” You say, trying to hide the smile on your face.
Toby’s grin flashes. “That’s kinda what I was h—hoping you’d say.”
A few more minutes of peace stretch between you. Finally, he helps you up. He cleans you off with an old towel he found. You both change into clean clothes and head to bed.
The next morning, you’re awoken by loud honking. You sit up, nerves on edge. You rush to the front door, peeking out the window. The snow cleared up by a lot, much to your relief. Parked in front of the cabin is Brian’s car. You almost cry in relief. You throw on your jacket, socks and shoes immediately. You your belongings as Toby begins to stir. He blinks awake, watching you hastily shove things into your suitcase.
“Wh—what’s happening?” He asks with a sleepy murmur.
“Brian and Tim are here! We can finally leave this shit hole!” You say with excitement. He perks up immediately, gathering his belongings alongside you.
The two of you tread into the snow together. Brian hops out to meet you both halfway, taking your belongings. He loads them into the trunk of his car before walking back around.
“Where is Tim’s truck at? We brought a spare tire so he can fix it up and bring it back with us.” Brian asks. You point at the forest, where Tim’s black truck is parked. You toss Brian the keys to the truck as well. Tim hops out of the car, retrieving the wheel from the backseat. Him and Brian walk over to the car. You look at Toby and he shrugs.
In 15 minutes, they’ve changed out the tire and tested the engine. The truck works back up easily, and you know you’re allowed to live another day.
Tim walks over to the two of you. His glare is rough and upset. You feel yourself shrinking into your shoes under his sharp stare.
Tim grabs the back of your hood and Toby by his hair. He considers shaking the living hell out of both of you, but he exhales gruffly and lets both of you drop to the floor. He turns around, fists clenching and unclenching as he looks at Brian. “Get them straight. I can’t look at them right now.” He says, eye twitching in annoyance as he walks back to his truck.
Brian looks down at the two of you apologetically as you stumble to your feet, Toby not too far behind. Toby’s neck cracks to the side as he glances between the two of you. “W-wow. Thought h-he would for sure ku—kill us.” He says, hand rubbing over his other arm.
Brian simply gestures the two of you to the car. You slide inside the back with Toby, much to Brian’s surprise.
“What made you two so.. friendly all of a sudden?” Brian asks, looking at the two of you in the rearview mirror.
“Duh—dunno. Maybe it was something in th—the fox,” he says, shrugging slyly.
“Fuck off, Rodgers.” You say, a small smile spreading over your lips as you lean against the window.
Brian keeps his mouth shut, but there’s a knowing smirk on his lips.
Maybe Toby wasn’t as bad as you thought he was.
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