leonst7rr @leonst7rr - Tumblr Blog

Sweet Tooth - Part 5 (Ticci Toby x F!Reader)

CW: Explicit sexual content, rough sex, cunnilingus, overstimulation, intox play, praise, sexting, violence, insults, toxic relationship, jealousy, smoking, emotional whiplash, insecurities, petty crime, strong language, obsessive behavior, emotional distress, emotional manipulation, moral ambiguity, featuring appearances by Tim, Brian, Ben, and Jeff

Summary: You find yourself pulled deeper into Toby's violent world, while his jealousy and warped devotion drive him to quietly scheme against the people in your life.

Wordcount: 19k

Part 1: HERE Part 2: HERE Part 3: HERE Part 4: HERE

You stood frozen in the doorway, heart hammering so hard it felt like it was going to crack your ribs. The house was dark except for the faint moonlight coming through the windows, and there he was - Toby, sitting on your couch like he belonged there, elbows on his knees, twin hatchets resting on the coffee table in front of him. His dark eyes lifted to meet yours, and for a second neither of you spoke.

You were stunned, scared beyond recognition. The alcohol and the fading high made everything feel unsteady, your whole body shaking as adrenaline flooded your system. The glitter on your top caught what little light there was, making you feel ridiculously exposed in your short black skirt and messy hair.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you finally burst out, voice cracking. “How did you even get in?”

Toby leaned back slightly, his neck twitching sharply to the side with a quiet crack. He looked almost too calm.

“Picked the lock,” he said casually. “It’s not that h-hard.”

You stared at him, mouth falling open in disbelief. A shocked scoff escaped you. “That’s not okay, Toby. You can’t just break into my house!”

“Why?” He tilted his head, dark eyes genuinely confused. “I’m your buh-boyfriend. I can come here i-if I want to see you.”

It was like he had no concept of boundaries at all. The way he said it, so matter-of-fact, so certain, made your skin crawl and your chest tighten at the same time.

You shook your head, still trembling. “No. That’s not how this works.”

Toby’s expression darkened. He stood up slowly from the couch, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the living room. “I told you n-not to go,” he said, voice low and edged with that familiar hurt. “I told you I d-didn’t want you there, e-especially not with him. And you went a-anyway.”

The frustration that had been simmering inside you since the woods finally boiled over.

“I literally invited you!” you yelled, voice rising. “You could’ve come with me! You could’ve texted me, called me, anything! Instead you just sat here waiting in the dark like some kind of fucking creep!”

Toby took a step closer, reaching out to take your hand. “Baby–”

You yanked it away sharply, stepping back. “Back off, Toby.”

He stopped. For a moment he just stood there, looking both mad and heartbreakingly sad at the same time - his scarred face twisted, shoulders hitching with a violent tic, neck cracking hard to the left. His hands clenched at his sides like he didn’t know whether to reach for you again or punch something.

Toby’s shoulders hitched hard, another sharp crack echoing from his neck as he stared at you, eyes wide and confused.

“Why are you a-acting like this?” he asked, voice cracking with genuine bewilderment. “I just wanted to see you. I missed you.”

You grabbed your head with both hands, fingers digging into your messy, teased waves, completely in disbelief. A disbelieving laugh bubbled out of you, edged with hysteria. “Are you serious right now, Toby? Do you not see how fucking insane this is? You broke into my house and you’ve been waiting here in the dark like some kind of stalker!”

He just stared at you. That blank, almost childlike confusion on his face made it worse - like the concept of personal boundaries had never even occurred to him. No defensiveness, no anger yet. Just… nothing. Like any trace of normal social understanding was completely missing.

Your head was spinning. The alcohol, the pill, the spiked drink Jeff had given you, and the adrenaline of finding Toby here were all crashing together. You felt lightheaded, the room tilting slightly. You stumbled over to the couch and sank down heavily, burying your face in your hands for a second.

“Just… leave, Toby,” you muttered, voice exhausted. “I need to sleep. I can’t do this right now.”

“No.”

The word was quiet but firm. He moved, sitting down on the couch right next to you. You could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint pine and metallic scent that always clung to his skin. His dark eyes roamed over you, taking in the short black skirt riding up your thighs, your shaky hands, the glitter still sparkling on your collarbones and cleavage, and the faint cut on your throat.

He waited. Patient in that unnerving way of his.

You tried to collect yourself, breathing slowly, but the words spilled out anyway. “This is such a red flag, Toby. Like… a massive one.”

He blinked. “What’s a r-red flag?”

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. Of course he didn’t realize how insane all of this was. “Never mind. Just… what do you want from me right now?”

“What happened tonight?” he asked simply, still watching you with those intense, restless eyes.

You hesitated, biting your glossy lip hard enough to taste the artificial sweetness. The club felt like a fever dream now. “You have to promise not to freak out.”

He stared at you, waiting.

“…I got harassed on the dance floor,” you finally said quietly. “Some random guy grabbed me from behind and wouldn’t let go even when I told him to stop. One of Andy’s clients stepped in and made him leave. Then I talked to him and his friend for a bit outside. That’s it.”

The second the words left your mouth, Toby exploded.

His whole body jerked like he’d been electrocuted. His neck cracked violently to the left, then again, shoulders hitching hard as a string of tics tore through him. “He w-what?” His voice cracked, eyes widening with pure rage. “Some fucker put his hands on you? And you– you let some other guy– fuck!”

He shot up from the couch, pacing in front of you with sharp, uneven steps. His hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve f-fucking been there. I’m so sorry– I’m so ffff-fucking sorry, baby. If I had g-gone with you none of this would’ve happened. What did he d-do? Did he touch you? Did he– fuck, tell me exactly what happened. Please.”

His voice was frantic now, stammering worse than usual, guilt and fury mixing together in a storm. He looked genuinely devastated, like the idea of someone else touching you made him sick. He dropped back down onto the couch beside you, closer this time, his hand hovering like he wanted to touch you but was scared you’d pull away again.

You explained it as calmly as you could - the hands on your hips, the sleazy comments, how the guy wouldn’t let go, how Andy’s client had pulled him off and scared him away. You deliberately avoided saying Jeff’s or Ben’s names, keeping it vague. You didn't want to set off his jealousy by mentioning other guys. When you finished, you looked at him.

“You should’ve been there,” you said softly. “Would you have protected me?”

“Of course,” Toby answered instantly, voice rough and cracking. “I’d k-kill anyone who touched you. I’d f-fucking rip their hands off.” He looked so upset with himself - eyes glassy, shoulders hunched, another harsh tic jerking his head to the side. “I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry I let you go alone. I was being a f-fucking idiot.”

The raw guilt on his face hit you hard. Despite everything - the breaking in, the jealousy, the fight - he clearly cared. Deeply. Messily. You reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. His fingers were cold and trembling slightly.

You suddenly felt bad for all of it. For yelling. For going anyway. For the complicated mess you were both in.

You sighed heavily, the fight draining out of you all at once. “I’m sorry too,” you muttered. “This whole night has been so fucking stupid.”

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. You just sat there on the couch, holding hands in the dark living room. Toby’s palm was rough and scarred against yours, his fingers twitching every so often with small tics. He seemed deep in thought, staring at the floor while his neck cracked quietly to the side.

Then he broke the silence.

“What d-did you m-mean by ‘Andy’s client’?” he asked, voice low.

You leaned back against the couch, glancing over at him. The glitter on your chest caught the faint moonlight as you shifted. “Andy… deals on the side,” you said quietly. “Pills, weed, sometimes coke. He makes pretty good cash off it.”

Toby looked at you for a long second, processing. His dark eyes searched your face. Then his gaze dropped to your eyes, narrowing slightly.

“Did he g-give you a-anything tonight?” he asked. “Your pupils are ruh-really blown.”

You hummed, a tired little sound. “Yeah… he did.”

And you watched something shift in his face - the guilt sliding away and leaving behind something colder underneath, something that settled and went smooth. The tics stopped. His shoulders dropped level. And stillness in Toby was never, ever good; the twitching was just the noise on the surface, and this was the thing that lived beneath it - the part of him that sunk hatchets into people and felt absolutely nothing while he did it.

"He put you n-next to some piece of s-shit who grabbed you," Toby said, slow and quiet, laying each word down with terrible care. "And he put s-s-something in you first. So you couldn't e-even–" His hand curled into a slow fist against his knee, knuckles whitening. "He m-made you easy to t-touch." A beat. His voice dropped lower, almost soft, almost tender, and that was so much worse than any shout. "I’ll kill h-him, I swear, I’ll–"

"Stop."

You were moving before the decision reached you. Both hands shot out and seized his face, gripping his jaw hard, wrenching his dark eyes up to yours and holding them there. His skin burned warm under your palms and you could feel a tic straining against your hold, his neck fighting to jerk away, and you didn't let it. You held his head still by force and leaned in until there was nothing else for him to look at but you.

"Listen to me." Your voice came out low and shaking and iron all at once. "Look at my face. If you touch Andy–if you put one finger on him, if you so much as breathe near him–I will walk out of your life and you will never see me again. I'll be gone. You will never find me, and you will never get me back. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

His breath had gone ragged, chest rising and falling too fast, his eyes wide and glassy and darting between yours like he was frantically searching them for a crack, a loophole, any give at all. His hands hovered near your wrists.

"He is my friend, Toby." Your grip tightened. Your own eyes were stinging now, hot and blurred. "He got me home safe tonight. Safer than you did. He is not yours. You don't get to kill him, you don't get to lay a single hand on him. He's off limits. Completely. Say it back to me."

For a long, unbearable moment he just stared at you, and you could see the machinery turning behind those eyes, could feel his jaw working under your hands, could watch him weighing it - weighing you - against whatever he wanted to do. The silence stretched until it felt like it might snap.

"Okay," he finally rasped. His hands came up and closed gently over your wrists. "Okay. I hear you." His thumb dragged once, slow, over the frantic pulse hammering in your wrist. "Andy's not g-gonna die. I swear it. I won't lay a h-hand on him."

The knot in your chest eased a fraction. You searched his face for the lie and couldn't find one, and he held your stare without a flinch, steady and earnest and sincere, before turning his head just enough to press a soft kiss to the inside of your wrist.

"He's not d-dying," Toby said again, barely above a whisper, lips still against your skin. "You have my word."

You let go of his face slowly. Your hands were shaking. So were his.

For a moment you just sat there in the dark, both of you breathing, the fight bled out of the room and something quieter settling in its place. Then you let out a long, tired sigh and pushed yourself up off the couch.

"Okay. Good." You crossed to the little drawer in the side table, the one where you kept the spare junk - rubber bands, dead batteries, a takeout menu you'd never thrown out - and dug around until your fingers closed on the spare set of keys. You turned and tossed them underhand. They landed in his lap with a soft jingle.

Toby looked down at them, then up at you, blinking.

"Those are yours," you said, dropping back onto the couch beside him and pulling your knees up. "So don't you ever pick my lock again. You hear me? You want to see me, you use those, or you knock like a normal person. Breaking in is–it's creepy, Toby. It really freaked me out."

He turned the keys over in his hands, running his thumb over the teeth of them. A small tic pulled at his neck. "Okay," he said quietly. "I won't. Promise."

And then it was just the two of you, sitting there in the moonlit quiet, the hatchets glinting dully on the table, the whole ugly night finally going soft at the edges. His shoulder settled warm against yours.

"I still feel kind of floaty," you murmured after a while, letting your head tip back against the cushions, eyelids heavy.

He hummed low in his throat, and his thumb found the back of your hand, brushing over it slow.

You leaned deeper into the couch, letting your head fall back against the cushions. Without really thinking about it, you opened your legs a little, one thigh pressing against his. Your short black skirt rode up higher on your legs, the fabric shifting against your skin. Toby’s eyes followed the movement immediately, dark and intense.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he let his free hand rest on your bare thigh. His palm was warm, calloused fingers gently squeezing the soft flesh. You didn’t stop him. Instead, you arched your back a little, pushing your chest forward. The glittery top stretched across your cleavage, sparkling faintly.

Toby’s gaze locked onto it, hungry and desperate, his breath catching.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered, voice thick with exhaustion and leftover emotion. “I was thinking about you the whole time I was out.”

Toby’s neck cracked sharply. “I m-missed you too,” he rasped, voice rough and honest. His hand slid a little higher on your thigh, thumb stroking slow circles. “So fucking much.” He paused, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Do you… want to fuck?”

You let out a tired giggle, shaking your head. “I have no energy left, Toby. I’m wrecked.”

He leaned in closer, scarred face inches from yours, eyes dark with need. “You don’t have to do a-anything,” he murmured. “I’ll t-take care of you. Just… let me make you feel good.”

His hand trailed higher up your thigh, slipping just under the hem of your skirt, fingers brushing dangerously close to where you were already starting to ache for him.

You opened your eyes and looked down at him, a tired but teasing smile tugging at your glossy lips.

“You really think you deserve to have me after pulling all that bullshit tonight?” you asked softly, voice laced with mock accusation.

Toby shifted, resting his head on your chest, right between your tits. He looked up at you through those long, dark lashes, a small, crooked smile playing on his lips. His neck twitched once, but he stayed there, gazing at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“You get to decide that,” he murmured. “I’m at your d-disposal. Whatever you want.”

You couldn’t help it, you giggled, the sound soft and a little hazy from everything still running through your system. Your hand came up to pet his messy brown hair, fingers threading through the strands as you cuddled him closer against your chest. For a moment it felt almost sweet, the two of you tangled together on the couch after all the fighting.

“You’re such a good boy,” you whispered, leaning down to kiss him.

The kiss started slow, almost lazy. His lips were warm and slightly chapped against yours, tasting faintly of the woods and salt. But it quickly deepened. Your tongue slipped into his mouth, and he groaned quietly, kissing you back with that desperate hunger he always had for you. It was long, slow, and wet - the kind of makeout that made your head spin even more than the drugs and alcohol already had. You moaned softly into his mouth, your fingers tightening in his hair as heat pooled low in your belly.

Toby broke the kiss with a shaky breath, eyes dark and glassy. Without a word, he stood up, then bent down and easily scooped you up into a bridal carry like you weighed nothing. You squealed in surprise, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck as your short skirt rode up even higher on your thighs.

“Toby–!” you laughed, half-protesting.

He was unbelievably strong, even with the bullet wound in his shoulder and the bruises still healing across his ribs. He didn’t even flinch as he carried you down the short hallway to your bedroom, his steps steady despite the occasional violent tic that jerked his shoulders.

He kicked the door open and gently laid you down on the bed. Then he started undressing, peeling off his hoodie and shirt, leaving only his boxers on. His scarred, bruised torso was on full display - bandages still wrapped around his shoulder, dark marks blooming across his ribs. You sat up just enough to pull your top and bra off in one motion, letting your tits spill free into the cool air of the room.

Toby stared openly, one hand palming himself slowly through his boxers as he drank in the sight of you. Then he climbed onto the bed, crawling over you and caging you in with his arms. He kissed you again, deeper this time, grinding his hardening cock against your thigh as his mouth moved down to your neck, then lower.

He sucked one of your tits into his mouth, tongue swirling around your nipple, and you moaned loudly, arching your back off the bed. The sensation shot straight between your legs, making you wetter by the second. He switched to the other breast, sucking harder, one hand kneading the soft flesh as he pressed his hips down against you.

After a few more heated kisses, Toby pulled back slightly, a crooked grin spreading across his face.

“You s-smell like Tim,” he said suddenly, voice teasing but genuine.

You blinked, then giggled. “Excuse me?”

He chuckled, the sound low and raspy. “The alcohol. And cigarettes. You smell like the living room after Tim’s been drinking all day.”

You gasped dramatically, playing offended as you pushed at his chest. “Wow. Rude.”

Toby just laughed again, softer this time, and leaned back down to kiss you. “I don’t m-mind,” he murmured against your lips, still smiling. “You still smell good to me.”

He kept kissing you like he was starving for it, his mouth hot and desperate against yours. His hand continued sliding higher under your skirt until his fingers brushed the edge of your panties. He let out a shaky breath against your lips.

“Can I…?” he rasped, voice thick.

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He sat back on his heels and hooked his fingers into the waistband of your short black skirt, tugging it down your legs along with your panties in one slow motion. The fabric whispered against your skin as he pulled them off completely and tossed them aside. His dark eyes locked between your legs the second you were bare, pupils blown wide with raw hunger.

“F-fuck…” he breathed, almost whimpering.

He looked drunk. Completely drunk off the sight of you. His neck twitched hard, shoulders hitching as he stared at your glistening pussy like it was the only thing in the world. Without another word, he slid down the bed, settled between your thighs, and hooked your legs over his shoulders, pulling you closer with a needy groan.

The first slow drag of his tongue from your entrance up to your clit made your back arch off the bed with a broken moan. Toby let out a guttural sound of pure relief, like he’d been dying for this.

“Oh my God… this pussy,” he muttered hoarsely against your folds, voice wrecked. “I missed her so ffff-fucking much. So w-wet already… all for me?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He buried his face between your thighs like a man possessed, licking and sucking with sloppy, desperate devotion. His tongue was everywhere - long, flat strokes through your slick folds, circling your clit, then dipping inside you as deep as he could go. He groaned loudly into your pussy, the vibrations shooting pleasure up your spine.

Toby was pathetic in the best way. Whining, whimpering, hips grinding uselessly against the mattress as he ate you out like he was trying to crawl inside you. His hands gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise, holding you open for him while he worshipped every inch of you.

“Tastes s-so fucking g-good… so sweet,” he mumbled drunkenly between long licks, voice muffled and sloppy. “Could e-eat you for hours. Missed making you c-cum on my tuh-tongue…”

You moaned loudly, one hand flying down to grip his messy brown hair. He responded by sucking your clit into his mouth, tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bundle of nerves while two fingers slid inside you, curling perfectly against that spot that made your vision blur.

“Toby–fuck–!” you cried out, thighs trembling around his head.

He whimpered pathetically at the sound of his name, doubling down. His face was soaked, chin dripping with your arousal as he devoured you messily, hungrily, almost frantically. He kept muttering filthy, worshipful praise between licks and sucks, barely coherent.

“Best f-fucking pussy I’ve ever tasted… all mine… p-please cum for me, baby. Please–I need it. Need to feel you s-soaking my face…”

The combination of his desperate words, the relentless suction on your clit, and his fingers pumping deep inside you pushed you over the edge fast and hard.

Your orgasm crashed into you violently. You cried out, back bowing off the bed as your thighs clamped around his head, hips grinding against his eager mouth. Toby moaned loudly into your pussy like he was the one cumming, eagerly licking up every drop as you gushed around his fingers. He didn’t stop - he kept sucking and licking you through it, prolonging the pleasure until you were shaking and oversensitive, whimpering his name.

Only when your legs finally went limp did he pull back slightly, gasping for air. His face was flushed and shiny with your slick, eyes glassy and completely fucked-out as he looked up at you with pure, pathetic adoration.

“Did so g-good for me,” he whispered hoarsely, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs, still twitching with aftershocks. “Such a perfect pussy… love muh-making you cum like t-that.”

Toby crawled back up your body, his mouth crashing into yours in a deep, filthy kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue - sweet, slick, and unmistakably you. He groaned into your mouth like he couldn’t get enough, licking into you messily as his hips settled between your spread thighs.

You broke the kiss just enough to gasp against his lips, voice wrecked and needy.

“I need your dick in me, Toby… please.”

He obeyed instantly. He shoved his boxers down just enough to free his cock - thick, flushed dark, and already leaking. Without another word he lined himself up and pushed inside you in one long, smooth thrust.

You moaned loudly, the stretch intense and perfect after how worked up he’d gotten you. Toby bottomed out with a broken groan, burying himself to the hilt as your walls clenched around him.

“F-fuuuck… so tight,” he hissed, voice cracking. “Always so fucking p-perfect for me.”

He started fucking you hard in missionary, deep and relentless. Every thrust pushed you up the bed, his hips snapping forward with enough force that you could feel it in your belly. You just laid there and took it, legs wrapped loosely around his waist, letting him use you exactly how he needed. The wet, filthy sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, mixing with your moans and his ragged breathing.

Toby leaned down and kissed your throat, right over the shallow cut he’d left earlier. His lips were gentle at first, then he sucked lightly on the mark, tongue tracing it reverently.

“So hot,” he muttered against your skin, hips still driving into you. “Love seeing my mark on you… you t-take me so fucking good, baby. Such a g-good girl.”

You closed your eyes, lost in the overwhelming pleasure, and whispered breathlessly, “I loved it… when you had the hatchet to my throat.”

Toby groaned deep in his chest, hips stuttering hard for a moment. “Mmmm… yeah? Made you wet, huh?” He thrust particularly deep on the last word, grinding against your clit. “My little s-slut… getting soaked with a b-blade to your neck.”

You nodded frantically, moaning as another wave of heat crashed through you. “Yes–fuck, yes–”

He fucked you like that for a long time - slow, deep rolls of his hips mixed with sudden hard snaps, kissing your throat, your tits, your mouth. His tics made his rhythm stutter and jerk unpredictably, sometimes slamming into you even harder.

“You look like a princess like this,” he rasped, voice hoarse with lust. “My p-pretty fucking princess… all spread o-open and taking my dick so well.” He leaned down closer, forehead pressed to yours. “Say it. Say you’re my owner. Say I’m y-your pet… just h-here for your pleasure.”

You moaned, voice breaking as he hit that perfect spot inside you again and again. “I’m your owner,” you gasped. “You’re my pet… just here for me–fuck, Toby–”

“Good girl,” he growled, satisfaction dripping from every word. His pace grew rougher, more desperate.

Then, without warning, he pulled out and flipped you over onto your stomach. He grabbed your hips and yanked you back, forcing you into prone bone - your chest and face pressed into the pillow, ass up. He pushed back inside you in one brutal thrust, burying himself even deeper than before.

The new angle made you cry out into the pillow, the pleasure almost too intense. Toby groaned loudly, gripping your ass with both hands as he started fucking you hard again, hips slamming against you with wet, obscene sounds.

“F-fuck… so deep like this,” he panted, voice wrecked. He grabbed your arms and pulled them behind your back, holding both wrists in one large hand while his other kept a bruising grip on your hip. Your face was buried in the pillow, completely at his mercy as he railed you.

You could only moan helplessly into the fabric, body jolting with every powerful thrust. Toby was completely lost in it - hips snapping forward, balls slapping against you, low grunts and broken praises falling from his lips as he used you exactly how he wanted.

Your whole body was trembling, the pleasure building fast and overwhelming in this position. Every brutal thrust pushed you deeper into the mattress, his cock hitting so deep it made your eyes roll back. You could barely form words with your face pressed into the pillow, but you managed to moan out brokenly,

“T-Toby–I’m gonna cum–fuck, I’m so close–”

The second the words left your mouth, Toby growled and fucked you even harder. His hips snapped forward with renewed desperation, the wet slap of skin on skin growing louder and filthier. He kept your arms pinned behind your back with one strong hand, the other gripping your hip so tightly you knew you’d have bruises tomorrow. His pace turned punishing, relentless, like he was determined to push you over the edge and keep you there.

“That’s it–cum for me,” he panted, voice wrecked and stammering. “Let me feel it–puh-please–I need it.”

The coil in your belly snapped violently.

You came hard with a muffled, broken scream into the pillow, your entire body seizing and shaking uncontrollably. Your pussy clenched rhythmically around his thick cock, gushing wetly as waves of intense pleasure ripped through you. Your legs trembled, drool soaking into the pillowcase as your mouth fell open in a silent cry. The orgasm felt endless - deep, shattering, and almost too much in this prone position.

Toby moaned loudly at the feeling of you falling apart around him, but he didn’t slow down. If anything, he fucked you straight through it, hips stuttering with his own tics as he chased his release.

“F-fuuuck–you’re squeezing me so t-tight,” he groaned, voice hoarse and desperate. “So good–so fucking good for me. I’m so c-close, baby–gonna cum so deep i-inside you–”

He kept pounding into your spasming heat, the wet, obscene sounds echoing in the room as he used your body. His grip on your wrists tightened, his chest pressed flush against your back as he rutted into you with short, frantic thrusts.

With a shattered, broken moan that cracked into a whimper, Toby finally came.

He buried himself to the hilt, hips flush against your ass as thick, hot ropes of cum flooded deep inside you. Pulse after pulse, he filled you up, groaning your name while his whole body shuddered violently through every spurt. His cock twitched hard inside your still-clenching walls, pumping you full until you could feel the warmth spreading deep in your belly.

He stayed buried deep for a long time afterward, hips giving lazy, shallow thrusts as he rode out the last aftershocks, panting heavily against the back of your neck. His grip on your wrists slowly loosened, but he didn’t pull out yet, just rested his weight on you, both of you breathing hard in the quiet room.

Finally, with a low groan, he slowly pulled out of you. You whimpered softly at the loss, feeling his cum leak out between your thighs. He rolled onto his back beside you, chest still heaving.

Without thinking, you immediately curled into his side, laying your head on his chest. Your sweaty, glitter-covered skin pressed against his scarred, bruised torso. Toby wrapped one arm around you, holding you close as his other hand gently traced slow, soothing patterns along your waist and shoulder.

You let out a contented sigh. “That felt so good…”

He kissed the top of your head, lips lingering in your messy hair.

For a while you just lay there in the quiet, listening to his heartbeat under your cheek. Your body was heavy with exhaustion, but your mind was still spinning - the club, Jeff’s hand on your waist, Andy’s advice in the car, the fight, the make-up sex. Everything felt like too much and not enough at the same time.

You cuddled closer, pressing a soft kiss to his chest before murmuring, “Toby?”

“Yeah?” His voice was rough, tired, but gentle.

You hesitated, biting your lip against his skin. “You’ve got nothing to be insecure about,” you said quietly. “You never have to doubt me. I really like you… like, a lot. And I genuinely accept you for who you are. All of it.”

Toby went still beneath you. His hand stopped tracing patterns on your shoulder. He was quiet for a long time, just breathing. You could feel his heart beating faster under your cheek.

“…No one’s e-ever said that to me b-before,” he finally whispered, voice cracking slightly. “I don’t really know how to… r-respond to that.”

You smiled softly and hugged him tighter. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.”

He nodded slowly, his arm tightening around you. “Thank you,” he murmured, almost shyly.

You lay there for another minute, tracing lazy circles on his chest with your fingertip. Then you gently reached up and traced the thick, jagged scar that ran across his cheek and mouth.

“Toby?” you asked softly. “How did you get this scar?”

He glanced down at you, then quickly looked away. For a second you thought he might not answer. His neck twitched hard.

“…I did it myself,” he said quietly.

You blinked, shocked into silence.

He must have felt you tense because he continued quickly, voice low and hesitant, like he was scared you’d pull away. “I used to have a r-really bad way of… c-coming to terms with things that h-happened in my life. My tics were w-worse back then. And since I can’t feel pain… it made it e-easy to hurt myself.”

He swallowed hard, fingers still gently stroking your waist even as his shoulders hitched with another tic.

“I don’t… do that a-anymore. Not like that. But y-yeah. That one was me.”

The raw honesty in his voice made your chest ache. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you pressed a gentle kiss right over the scar on his cheek and stayed close, letting him know you weren’t going anywhere.

You stayed quiet for a moment, gently tracing the edge of his scar with your thumb.

“I appreciate you telling me,” you whispered against his chest. “Thank you for trusting me with that.”

Toby’s breath hitched slightly, but he didn’t pull away.

You tilted your head up to look at him. “I just want to see you happy, Toby. That’s all.”

His arms tightened around you instantly, pulling you even closer until your bodies were flush together. His hand rubbed slow, soothing circles on your back.

“I want to see you h-happy too,” he murmured, voice rough and sincere. “I want to k-keep you safe.”

You smiled softly against his skin and nestled deeper into his chest, one leg draped over his. The warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the heavy exhaustion from the alcohol, the drugs, the fighting, and the intense sex finally caught up to you.

Toby held you protectively, pressing occasional soft kisses to the top of your head as your eyelids grew heavier. The chaos of the day slowly faded into a warm, hazy blur.

Safe in his arms, you drifted off to sleep.

You woke up the next morning with a pounding headache and a mouth that felt like sandpaper. The sunlight filtering through your curtains was way too bright, and your whole body ached in that deep, hungover way - the kind that made you regret every decision from the night before.

But then you felt him.

You were spooning Toby, your front pressed against his back, one arm draped over his waist. He was still fast asleep, breathing slow and steady, his messy brown curls tickling your nose. You hummed softly and cuddled closer, burying your face into the back of his neck, inhaling that familiar scent of pine, smoke, and him. He made a quiet, sleepy sound in response, shifting back against you.

It felt so nice. So peaceful. Waking up next to him like this - warm, safe, tangled together - made something soft and warm bloom in your chest despite the hangover. For a moment everything felt simple. Just the two of you.

Then the memories from last night slammed into you all at once.

The fight in the woods. The club. The random guy grabbing you. Jeff stepping in. Coming home to find Toby waiting in the dark. The argument. The intense, emotional sex. The vulnerable conversation afterward.

You let out a slow breath, pressing your face a little harder into his curls.

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped around him, your arm draped over the slow rise and fall of his ribs, matching your breathing to his without meaning to. His curls were soft against your cheek and the whole room was warm and gold and quiet. You could've stayed there forever.

Eventually you reached back with one arm, patting blindly along the nightstand until your fingers found your phone. You dragged it close and squinted at the screen, the brightness stabbing straight through your skull.

12:53 PM.

"Shit," you mumbled. You'd slept through half the day. No wonder your body felt like it had been wrung out and left in the sun.

You let the phone drop onto the mattress and burrowed back into him with a low, complaining moan, pressing your lips to the nape of his neck. "Toby," you murmured against his skin. "Hey. Wake up. It's late."

He stirred slowly, a rough, sleepy sound rumbling out of him. His neck gave a small crack as he shifted, and he pushed back into you, blinking his eyes open against the light. "Mm. What time…"

"Almost one."

For a second he just lay there, warm and half-asleep, and you tightened your arm around him and pressed your smile into his shoulder. Then it landed. His whole body went tense under your hands.

"Shit." He scrubbed a hand down his face, blinking hard, a tic pulling sharply at his shoulder. "Shit, I gotta–I have to g-get back." His voice was thick and cracked with sleep. "Brian's supposed to be h-home this a-afternoon. If he beats me there I'm so f-fucking dead. He'll lose his mind."

"I know," you sighed, not letting go. "Just… five more minutes."

He didn't argue. He turned in your arms, settling onto his back so you could tuck yourself against his side, your head on his chest. His heartbeat thudded slow under your ear and one of his arms came up around you, his fingers tracing idle, absent patterns along your shoulder. Neither of you said anything. The light caught the dust drifting through the air and the two hatchets still sitting on your coffee table down the hall, and for those few minutes it all felt very far away.

His neck twitched every so often, a small crack, a hitch of his shoulder, but he stayed. You could feel him not wanting to leave in the way his arm kept tightening around you.

Finally he exhaled, long and reluctant. "Okay. I really gotta go."

You groaned and rolled off him, flopping back onto your pillows. "Fine, fine."

He sat up and swung his legs off the bed, and you propped yourself on one elbow and watched him get dressed in the low golden light. He tugged his shirt down over the bandages wrapped around his shoulder and ribs, wincing slightly at the pull even though you knew he couldn't feel it, then dragged his hoodie on over the top. He raked his fingers through his messy hair a couple times, not that it did much good. He stepped out for a moment to get his hatchets from the living room, then returned with them in his hands.

He clipped the hatchets back onto his belt one at a time, the handles settling against his thighs with that familiar dull weight, and something about watching him arm himself in your quiet sunlit bedroom made your chest do a complicated thing.

When he was dressed he leaned back over the bed, one hand braced beside your head, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. His lips were warm.

"I'll see you soon," he said quietly, that crooked scarred grin tugging at his mouth.

"Use the keys," you reminded him, catching the front of his hoodie before he could pull away. You gave it a little tug. "I mean it, Toby. You come see me, you use the keys or you knock. No more picking my lock like a creep."

He huffed a soft laugh, and for a second his dark eyes went warm and fond in a way that made your heart squeeze. "Keys. Got it." He patted the pocket where he'd stashed them like proof.

He gave you one last crooked grin - the kind that made the scar pull at the corner of his mouth - then straightened up and headed out. A moment later you heard the front door open and click shut behind him.

Then it was just you.

You lay there a while longer in the tangle of warm sheets, staring up at the ceiling as the house settled into silence around you. Your head still throbbed and your mouth was dry and every part of you ached, but underneath all that there was something softer and more confusing, sitting low in your chest.

You thought about coming home to find him waiting in the black of your living room, hatchets laid out on the table, and that cold flat stillness on his face when he'd figured out Andy had given you drugs. The way his voice had gone soft and gentle right as it turned dangerous. The feel of his jaw straining under your hands as you'd forced him to look at you and swear.

Andy's not gonna die. You have my word.

You'd believed him. You still believed him. But lying there in the quiet, turning it over, you couldn't quite shake the small cold thread of something that wouldn't fully untangle - the way he'd chosen his words, the specific shape of what he'd promised and the shape of everything he hadn't. You told yourself it was the hangover talking. Paranoia. The pill still working its way out of your system.

You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes and let out a long breath.

You were falling for him. Stupidly, messily, dangerously. And some quiet part of you knew that should scare you a lot more than it did.

You reached over, grabbed his pillow, and pulled it into your chest, burying your face in it. It still smelled like him - pine and smoke and something underneath it you couldn't name. You breathed it in and closed your eyes and let the exhaustion pull you back under for a little while longer.

Toby walked deeper into the treeline, boots crunching over pine needles and fallen branches, the hatchets swinging loose at his hips. Go home, he told himself. Slip back in before Brian's truck hit the driveway. Pretend none of it was chewing him up from the inside. Simple.

But the further he got from your warm bed and your soft sleeping face, the louder the other thing in his head got.

Andy's not gonna die. I won't lay a hand on him. You have my word.

He turned the words over as he walked, chewing on them, running his thumb along the edge of each one. He'd meant it when he said it. He had. He wasn't going to kill the guy. Wasn't gonna touch him. He'd looked you dead in the eyes with your hands crushing his jaw and he'd promised, and Toby didn't break promises to you - he'd rather die than break a promise to you.

His neck cracked hard to the side. Then again.

But a promise had edges. That was the thing Jack was always going on about, wasn't it - things being defined. You'd said don't hurt him. Don't kill him. Don't put a finger on him. And he wouldn't. He'd keep every single piece of that, exactly like he'd said it, because he was a good boy for you and good boys kept their word.

You hadn't said anything about Andy’s car.

The thought slid in sideways, quiet and cold and reasonable, and once it was there he couldn't get it back out. His shoulders hitched violently. His hands flexed at his sides. Because the more he thought about it the more it made a horrible kind of sense - Andy would still be breathing, still be whole, not a scratch on him, promise intact, spotless - and the guy would still get it. Still learn there was something out there in the dark that had watched him put his hands and his drugs all over what wasn't his and hadn't liked it one bit.

The images came flooding back the way they always did. Andy's tattooed arm slung around your shoulders. You leaning into him like it was nothing. The pills. You coming home hazy and reeking of smoke and someone else's night. Some other man driving you through the dark while you were all soft and floaty and vulnerable because he'd made you that way.

Toby pulled out his cracked phone, thumb hovering. The address he'd dug up yesterday glowed back at him. He knew he shouldn't. Knew it was stupid, knew Brian would skin him alive if any of this ever got back to him.

But he wasn't breaking his promise. That was the beautiful part. He'd get to keep his word to you and do something about the ugly thing gnawing a hole in his chest, and nobody could say he'd lied. Not even you. Especially not you.

"F-fuck it," he muttered under his breath, a grin already tugging crooked at his scarred mouth. "Not a hair on his head."

Before he could talk himself out of it his feet were already carrying him down a hidden path through the woods, the overgrown one that eventually spat out near the quieter residential streets on the edge of town. It took a long time - long enough for the sun to climb higher and the midday air to go warm and sticky - but he didn't stop. His mind was all static and hot ugly noise, but underneath it ran that one steady, self-satisfied thread: I'm keeping my promise. I'm being good. She'll never even know it was me.

When he finally reached the street it was broad daylight and eerily still. No one around. Just neat little houses and parked cars baking in the sun. His dark eyes locked onto the one he knew was Andy's - that beat-up scratched-up sedan sitting right out front of the right address like it had been left there just for him.

The images hit him one more time. Andy laughing with you. Andy's arm around you in the dark while your eyes went glassy.

Toby's vision tunneled to a single point.

He didn't even register moving until he was already sprinting up the drive, one hatchet unclipped and heavy in his grip. He kept telling himself the same thing the whole way, a little mantra, almost gleeful - not him, not him, just his shit, I promised, I'm keeping my promise - and then the first swing came down and the world got loud.

Metal cracked against the windshield and the glass spiderwebbed instantly, a white bloom of fractures spreading across it. The alarm shrieked to life, a high wail splitting the quiet afternoon in half.

He didn't stop.

Another swing. Then another. The hatchet bit deep into the hood and gouged long ugly furrows down through the paint. He caught the side mirror with a vicious backhand and it exploded off the door, skittering across the driveway. His breath came in ragged huffs, tics ripping down through his shoulders like current, and every single hit felt good - every crack and crunch and crumple fed the possessive thing coiled in his chest and let a little of the pressure out.

Not a finger on him. See? I keep my word. Another swing, harder. This is me being good.

The alarm screamed. Somewhere down the block a dog started barking, then another. Toby's head snapped up, eyes blown wide and wild, hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. He gave the ruined hood one last swing for good measure, just because he could, then bolted - fast and silent despite the uneven hitch in his gait - cutting between two houses and vanishing back into the cover of the treeline before a single door had opened.

His heart slammed against his ribs as he ran, hatchet still gripped tight, a manic crooked grin splitting his scarred face wide.

He'd kept his promise. Every word of it. Andy was fine - perfectly, completely fine, not a mark on him, breathing easy somewhere, none the wiser. Toby hadn't lied to you. He'd never lie to you.

He felt lighter than he had in days.

Toby’s breathing finally slowed as he made his way back through the woods, the bloodlust ebbing into a low, satisfied hum in his veins. Smashing up that asshole’s car had taken the edge off - for now. The hatchet felt heavier in his grip, still warm from the violence, but his shoulders were looser, the constant static in his head quieter.

The walk back took forever. By the time the familiar, rundown house came into view through the trees, the sun was higher and his legs felt numb from the distance. He wiped sweat from his brow, adjusting the hatchets on his belt.

Then he saw it.

Brian’s truck parked out front.

“F-fuck,” Toby hissed, neck cracking violently to the side. His stomach dropped like a stone. Brian was back already. He was screwed. Royally screwed.

He froze at the edge of the treeline, seriously considering climbing up to his bedroom window and pretending he’d never left. But he knew that would only make it worse - Brian hated sneaking around almost as much as he hated disobedience. With a heavy groan and a string of muttered curses, Toby forced himself to walk toward the front door, each step heavier than the last.

He pushed the door open as quietly as he could, wincing when the hinges creaked. The house smelled like old wood, cigarette smoke, and beer. He crept down the hallway, praying the living room would be empty.

Of course it wasn’t.

Tim was sprawled on the couch in his usual spot, injured leg heavily bandaged and propped up on a stack of pillows, a half-empty beer can loose in his hand. Brian sat in the armchair across from him, leaning forward with cards in his grip, looking exhausted from whatever job he’d just finished. They were in the middle of some card game, the low murmur of their voices cutting off the second Toby stepped into view.

Tim’s head turned first. A slow, satisfied smirk spread across his face - the kind that said you’re fucked, kid.

Brian didn’t move right away. He simply lifted his gaze from the cards, dark eyes locking onto Toby with that flat, disappointed stare that always made Toby’s blood run cold. No yelling. No immediate explosion. Just that heavy, knowing silence that felt worse than anything.

Toby’s neck twitched hard, shoulders hitching violently as a rapid string of tics tore through him. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

“Hey…” he tried, voice cracking. “You’re… back early.”

Brian set his cards down slowly on the table, never breaking eye contact. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

Tim let out a low, amused chuckle from the couch, taking a long sip of his beer like he was settling in for the show.

“Yeah,” Brian said finally, voice dangerously calm. “I am.”

Toby took a careful step toward the stairs, heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. His neck cracked sharply to the left, then again, the tics coming fast and ugly under the weight of both their stares.

“I was j-just… out for some fresh air,” he muttered, voice thick with a heavy stutter. “That’s all.”

Brian didn’t blink. He simply set his cards down on the coffee table with deliberate calm, the movement somehow louder than it should have been in the tense room.

“That’s not what Tim told me,” Brian said evenly, his voice low and controlled in that way that always made Toby want to crawl out of his own skin. “Tim says you went out as soon as I left yesterday, then snuck out again last night.”

Toby’s head snapped toward the couch. Tim was leaning back with that smug, half-drunk smirk plastered across his face, one eyebrow raised like he was enjoying every second of this. The bastard even raised his beer can in a mock little toast.

Toby’s shoulders hitched violently. “You f-fucking–”

Brian interrupted before he could finish. “What did I tell you, Toby?”

Toby froze, jaw working. His fingers twitched at his sides. “N-not to leave the house,” he answered quietly, barely above a mumble.

Brian leaned forward in the armchair, elbows on his knees, looking exhausted but utterly done. “And does ‘getting fresh air’ usually mean leaving the property entirely?” he asked, his tone almost scolding, like he was talking to a defiant child instead of a grown killer. “Do I need to lock you in your room to make sure you obey? Put you on a fucking leash?”

Toby’s face burned with humiliated anger. His neck jerked hard to the side with a loud crack.

“I have a l-life!” he snapped, voice rising. “You can’t just expect me to sit here and do whatever the fuck you say a-all the time! I had something important to do, okay? It’s not l-like I was out causing puh-problems for no reason!”

He whipped around to glare at Tim, pointing an accusatory finger. “And why the ffff-fuck couldn’t you just cover for me, huh? Why do you always have to be such an a-asshole about everything?”

Tim snorted, taking a slow sip of his beer before answering. “Cover for you?” He let out a bitter laugh. “You almost took my fucking leg off, motherfucker. You’re lucky I didn’t call Brian the second you walked out that door. And now you want me to lie for you? Fuck off.”

Brian rubbed his temple, looking more tired than angry for a moment. “Nothing is more important than following orders right now,” he said firmly. “You can’t just sneak off whenever you feel like it. We’re already dealing with enough shit without you adding to it.”

That was it. The annoyance boiled over into full-blown frustration. Toby let out an angry groan, stomping one boot hard against the floorboards. “This is bullshit!” He stormed over to the couch, eyes wild. Before he could think better of it, he grabbed Tim’s heavily bandaged leg and yanked on it sharply, hard enough to make the bigger man jolt.

“You’re acting like a f-fucking baby!” Toby shouted, voice cracking with rage. “You started that fight! You s-shoved me first, you c-called my girlfriend a-a-a bitch, and now you’re sitting here like some victim–!”

Tim yelled in pain, a loud, guttural curse ripping out of him as he tried to kick Toby off with his good leg. “Get the fuck off me, you psychotic little shit!”

Brian shot up from the armchair faster than Toby expected. “ENOUGH!”

Strong hands grabbed the back of Toby’s hoodie and yanked him backward, shoving him off Tim and away from the couch. Toby stumbled, nearly losing his balance, hatchets clattering against his belt.

“I said enough!” Brian barked, voice booming through the living room. His face was flushed with exhaustion and barely-contained fury. “Both of you. Toby, sit the fuck down and shut up before I make you regret every single stupid decision you’ve made this week.”

The room fell into a heavy, ringing silence. Tim was breathing hard, clutching his leg with a murderous glare. Toby stood there, chest heaving, neck twitching violently as another string of tics tore through him. Brian stood between them like a tired, pissed-off wall, eyes burning holes into both of them.

Toby swallowed thickly, the anger still simmering, but the cold reality of Brian’s stare slowly doused some of the fire. He was in deeper shit than he thought.

Brian pointed a firm finger at the far end of the couch, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Sit. Down there. You don't touch Tim, you don't look at him, you don't so much as breathe on him. You get me?"

Toby's jaw worked, tics jerking through his shoulders, but under the weight of Brian's stare he slunk over and dropped onto the opposite cushion, as far from Tim as the couch would allow. He crossed his arms tight over his chest and glared at the floor, neck cracking sharply to the side.

Brian lowered himself back into the armchair with the heavy movements of a man running on no sleep and rapidly thinning patience. He dragged a hand down his face, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking between the two of them.

"Both of you are behaving like children," he said flatly. "You know that? Grown men. Killers. And you're squabbling like a couple of brats. This is getting out of hand, and I'm done with it."

Toby's head snapped up. "But he's the one who–"

"I don't want to hear it." Brian's voice cut clean through him, low and hard. "I don't. We've got work coming. Real work. We've got bigger things to worry about than the two of you tearing chunks out of each other every time I turn my back. So we're gonna fix this. Right now. Because I'm not spending the next job worrying whether you two are gonna kill each other while I'm gone."

The room went quiet except for the low drone of the TV. Toby's foot bounced, restless, tics rippling through him. Tim shifted against his pillows with a wince, beer can loose in his hand.

Brian turned to him first. "Tim. You go. What's your side."

Tim rolled his eyes and let out a long, put-upon sigh, like the whole thing was beneath him. He took a slow pull off his beer before answering. "There's no side, Brian. I’m always looking out for the little shit, that's all. And ever since he got himself a girlfriend, he’s been out of control," He gestured vaguely with the can toward Toby. "That bitch is trouble. I said it from day one. That–" He caught himself, glancing at Brian's flat expression, and amended, "That girl. She's trouble. And he's too far up his own ass over her to see it. Somebody's gotta keep an eye on things."

Brian nodded slowly, taking it in, saying nothing yet. Then he turned his head. "Toby. Your turn."

Toby exhaled hard through his nose, shoulders hunching. For a moment he didn't say anything, just stared at his own hands, fingers twitching. Then:

"I just. I'm sick of g-getting treated like a f-fucking kid. All of you. Like I don't know what I'm doing. Like I c-can't make a single decision without one of you b-breathing down my neck about it." His voice cracked and rose. "I know what I'm doing, okay? I do. I'm not s-stupid."

He sighed, suddenly flustered, and continued: "I really like this girl. I f-finally have someone who likes me t-too, who w-wants me for who I am. Why can't you just let me–let m-me be happy?"

Brian listened without interrupting this time, his tired eyes steady on Toby the whole way through. When Toby finished, Brian was quiet for a long beat, choosing his words.

"We know how you get, Toby," he said finally, his voice lower now, less angry and more worn. "When you fixate on something. On someone. You go all in. You stop thinking straight. We've all seen it. That's the only reason Tim's been on your ass about this." He leaned back in the chair. "So here's how it's gonna go. Tim and I, we’ll let you do what you want. Have your little thing with the girl. Go see her, whatever. We're not gonna stop you."

Toby looked up, wary, waiting for the catch.

"Until you start causing problems," Brian continued, and there it was. "The second this relationship starts getting out of hand–the second it puts eyes on us, or brings heat, or turns into a liability–we expect you to end it. Cleanly. And if you can't do that, then the boss gets involved. And you don't want that. None of us want that. Understand me?"

"I've got it under c-control," Toby cut in fast, sitting up straighter. "I do. She's not a puh-problem. I know how to handle it. You just–you need to trust me, alright? For once. I've got it."

Brian held his gaze for a long moment. Then he gave a single flat nod - not agreement, not really, just an acknowledgment that the words had been said. He didn't look convinced. But he didn't push it either. He'd made his point, and he was too tired to make it twice.

Tim huffed from his end of the couch, clearly still annoyed, but after a second he just shook his head and let it go. "Yeah. Alright." He took another sip.

The tension in the room finally started to bleed out, an inch at a time.

Brian glanced at Toby. "You got anything else you wanna say to him?"

Toby's neck twitched. He picked at a loose thread on his hoodie sleeve, not quite meeting Tim's eyes. "…Sorry. About the leg." He hesitated, jaw working like the next part was harder than it should've been. Then, before he could overthink it, he leaned across the couch and threw his arms around Tim in an awkward, sudden hug.

Tim went rigid. "Ugh–get off–" He groaned like he was in genuine pain, one hand coming up to shove at Toby's shoulder, though there wasn't much force behind it. "Alright, alright, you’re forgiven, c’mon, off–Christ–"

But there was a reluctant grin cracking through his scowl despite himself, and when Toby just squeezed tighter, Tim finally huffed out a laugh and gave up, thumping him once on the back with the flat of his hand before shoving him off for real.

Toby was laughing too now, that crooked scarred grin splitting his face as he flopped back onto his own cushion. "See? All good."

"You're a menace," Tim muttered, but he was still half-smiling as he settled back against his pillows.

Brian just watched the two of them, elbows on his knees, and shook his head slowly. He looked between them - Toby twitchy and grinning, Tim grumbling into his beer - and let out a long, exhausted breath that was somewhere between exasperation and something almost amused.

"Idiots," he muttered under his breath. "Both of you."

But the fight was over, at least for now. And that was more than he'd hoped for when he'd walked through that door.

Brian scooped his cards back up off the coffee table with a tired grunt, jerking his chin toward the stairs. "Tobes, go on. Up. Tim and me are gonna finish this hand, and then I'm sleeping. Got more work to do later tonight, and I don't need you two down here going at it again the second I close my eyes."

"Okay," Toby mumbled. But before he headed up, he paused by the couch. Tim's bandaged leg had slipped half off its stack of pillows during the scuffle, sitting at an angle that couldn't have been comfortable. Toby leaned down and, carefully this time, gentle, worked one of the pillows back underneath and eased the leg up onto it, propping it the way it had been.

Tim eyed him warily, but let him do it. "Thanks," he muttered, grudging.

"Yeah," Toby said. His neck cracked. Then he turned and headed up the stairs, boots heavy on the old wood.

He went into his room and shut the door behind him. He unclipped the hatchets from his belt, setting them down on the cluttered desk. Then he just walked. Back and forth across the small room, weaving around the piles of clothes on the floor, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket, neck twitching every few steps.

He kept thinking about what he'd done. The car. The way the glass had bloomed white under the first swing, the way the alarm had screamed. He turned it over and waited to feel bad about it, the way he sometimes did after things, but the guilt didn't come. Because he'd kept his promise. That was the whole point. He hadn't touched Andy. Hadn't gone anywhere near him. You'd said don't hurt him and Toby hadn't, and that made it fine. That made him good.

He'd never lie to you. Never.

But the more he paced, the more his mind circled back to the other thing - what you'd said on the couch, in the dark, with your pupils blown wide. Andy deals on the side. Pills, weed, sometimes coke.

Drugs.

Toby's shoulders hitched. That was bad. That was really, really bad, wasn't it? Andy had already put stuff in you - had already handed you a pill and driven you home all hazy and floaty and not-yourself. And what if that wasn't the end of it? What if he kept doing it? What if he got you hooked on something? People got hooked. Toby had seen what that did to a person, seen it turn people inside out until there was nothing left of them. What if Andy got you tangled up in his dealing, got you carrying his shit or holding it or standing next to him when the wrong people came around? What if he got you hurt?

The thoughts built on each other, one clicking into the next, and by the time he'd paced the length of the room a dozen times it had all arranged itself into something clean and simple and true in his head: drugs were no good. Andy gave you drugs. So Andy was bad. Andy was a threat. And you were too close to him to see it. Somebody had to look out for you. Somebody had to understand what Andy really was and how dangerous he really might be.

He stopped pacing.

The problem was he didn't actually know much about that world. The dealing, the amounts, how it worked, what kind of people it pulled in, how deep it could drag someone. He needed to understand it better. Needed to know exactly what he was dealing with before he could figure out what to do about it - within the promise, of course. Always within the promise.

And he knew exactly who to ask. Somebody who'd know all about that stuff. Somebody who spent his money on it every week, who ordered the biggest hauls, who'd probably rattle off everything Toby wanted to know without thinking twice about why he was asking.

Ben.

A slow, crooked grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. His neck cracked to the side.

He immediately went out and walked over to Ben’s room.

He knocked on the door. Waited. Knocked again, harder. Nothing.

"F-fucking–" Toby sighed and just shoved the door open and walked in.

Ben was slumped at his desk, headphones clamped over his ears, bloodshot eyes glued to some stream where a guy was screaming about a game. Jeff was passed out cold in Ben's bed, sprawled on his stomach, long black hair fanned across the pillow, dead to the world. Both of them looked like absolute garbage - hungover, wrecked, the whole room reeking of stale weed and energy drinks. Typical.

Ben glanced over, did a double take, and dragged his headset down around his neck. "Yo, man. What's up?"

Toby didn't answer right away. He was too busy looking around with the same flat, unimpressed expression he always wore in here. The room was a disaster - clothes everywhere, empty cans, tangled cables, a dozen posters of half-naked anime girls plastered crooked across every wall. He wrinkled his nose and stepped further in, crossing his arms.

His eyes landed back on Jeff, drooling into Ben's pillow.

"Why the f-fuck is Jeff sleeping in your bed?"

Ben followed his gaze, then shrugged. "His bed broke."

Toby's neck cracked. "…How the fuck did his b-bed break?"

"Okay–" Ben held up his hands. "Don't tell Brian and Tim, alright?" He lowered his voice like it was a state secret. "You know how Jeff sometimes lets Smile in the house? Yeah. Dog got a little too, uh, energetic one day. Tore a whole side of the frame apart. Just went to town on it." He shrugged again, unbothered. "Whatever, though. It was a piece of shit bed anyway. Mine's way better. Comfier."

Toby blinked slowly.

"…So y'all sleep together."

"Nah–" Ben's spine went ramrod straight, face flushing instantly. "I mean–yeah, but like–not in a gay way, man, it's just his bed broke and he's gotta sleep somewhere, it's not a–it's just a bed thing, dude, we just crash, it's not weird, it's completely normal, people do that, roommates do that all the–"

Toby just stared at him.

Ben clamped his mouth shut, went a shade redder, and cleared his throat. "…What do you want, man."

Toby blinked again, shifting his weight from one boot to the other, suddenly awkward now that it came to actually asking. His neck twitched. He shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie pocket.

"You know stuff. About d-drugs and stuff." He said it flatly, like an accusation. "How's it w-work? Selling them. Like, how does that w-whole thing go."

Ben's eyebrows went up. He looked genuinely confused for a second - then, apparently deciding this was a topic he had opinions on, he swiveled his chair fully around to face Toby, waving a hand.

"Oh, dude, okay, so–it's a whole thing, right? Like it's not just one thing, there's levels to it." He was already gesturing, warming up. "You got your big-picture stuff, like the online markets and all that, which is a completely different game–people move serious weight through weird channels, crypto, encrypted whatever, it's this whole ecosystem, and the money in it is insane if you know what you're doing, which most people don't, they get greedy and sloppy and that's how they–" He trailed off, then snapped back. "Anyway. Point is there's a million ways to make cash off it if you're smart. It's basically just supply and demand, man, same as anything."

Toby tried to follow along, brow furrowing, neck cracking to the side. Most of it went straight past him.

"No, like–" He shook his head. "Not that. Smaller. Like, l-local. Regular guys who just sell to puh-people around town. That kinda thing." He paused. "You buy drugs and stuff. So you'd know."

Ben immediately looked offended. "Whoa. Hey. Okay, first of all–" He held up a finger. "Weed's not drugs, man. Come on. That's like a plant. That's basically a vegetable. You don't call a guy who sells you tomatoes a drug dealer." He said it with the weary patience of someone who'd had this exact argument many times. "It's natural. It's for my nerves. Totally different category."

Toby stared at him. "Well, you t-take pills too."

Ben's mouth opened, then shut. He rallied. "That's–okay, that's for my anxiety, alright? And I get those online, off a legit site, doctor and everything, it's not hard, you just–" He waved vaguely. "It's not the same as buying off some dude in a parking lot. My guy doesn't even sell those anyway," He snorted, half to himself. "Honestly? Wouldn't trust half these dealers with xannies even if they did have 'em. Half of 'em are pressed garbage, you don't know what's in it, dude, people get messed up–" He caught himself and squinted at Toby. "Wait. Why are you even asking me all this? What's with the sudden interest in the drug economy, man?"

Toby just shrugged, glancing away, his shoulder hitching. "S'nothing. Just–side thing. For a m-mission. Need some i-info, that's all. Not a big deal."

Ben studied him for a second, clearly not entirely buying it, but he was too hungover and too indifferent to push. He shrugged and turned halfway back to his monitor.

"I mean, whatever you say, man." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the lump of Jeff drooling into his pillow. "But honestly? You'd probably want Jeff for this. He dabbles in that shit way more than I do.”

Before Toby could get another word out, Ben was already shoving up out of his chair and shuffling over to the bed. He grabbed Jeff's shoulder and shook it, not gently.

"Yo. Wake up. Stop dreaming about your Harley and get up, man, you got a visitor."

Toby's brow furrowed. "…Who the f-fuck is Harley?"

Ben snorted without looking back. "Eh. Some chick from last night." He shook Jeff again. "Duuude. Up."

Jeff groaned, a long ragged sound, and swatted blindly at Ben's hand. "Get off–" he mumbled into the pillow, voice thick and wrecked. He tried to shove Ben away, missed, and finally cracked one bloodshot eye open. When his gaze landed on Toby standing there with his arms crossed, his whole face went slack with pure exhausted contempt.

"The fuck is Twitch doing in here?" Jeff rasped.

Toby rolled his eyes hard, already regretting every choice that had led him to this room. His neck cracked to the side. "Nice to s-see you too."

"Tobes needs some help," Ben said, dropping back into his chair and spinning it lazily.

Jeff sat up with visible effort, scrubbing both hands down his face. He looked half-dead - still in last night's clothes, black hair a tangled mess, the faint scars stark against his pale, hungover face. He worked his jaw, blinked slow, and squinted over at Toby like the sight of him was physically painful.

"What," he said flatly. Not a question so much as a demand to be left alone. "The hell do you want."

Toby shifted his weight, uncomfortable, shoulder hitching. He glanced at the door, then back. "…Got a work thing," he muttered. "Need to know more a-about, y'know. The drug business. How it r-runs. And how you'd, uh–" His neck twitched. "How you'd m-mess something like that up. For s-somebody. If you wanted to."

Jeff stared at him for a long moment through the haze of his hangover, dark eyes narrowing slightly.

Then he snorted like the question was so obvious it barely deserved an answer. He shrugged one shoulder, slow and heavy with hangover.

"Just kill 'em," he rasped, like duh. "Whoever the person is. That's how you make somebody stop doin' something." He rubbed at one bloodshot eye. "Problem solved."

Toby sighed. "Yeah, but–" His neck cracked. "Like, if I didn't wanna k-kill 'em. If I just wanted to get 'em in trouble. Make 'em s-stop whatever they're doing without–y'know."

Jeff stretched, spine popping audibly, still clearly not seeing the angle. He blinked at Toby for a second, thinking it over through the fog. Then his face soured.

"Man, people like you," he drawled, pointing lazily. "Guys who go around tryin' to sabotage somebody's plug? That's scum shit. That's rat shit. You know that, right? Ruinin' a man's whole hustle."

"It's for a m-mission," Toby said quickly, shoulder hitching. "It's not–it's just a job. I just n-need info. That's it."

"Mm." Jeff didn't sound convinced, but he was too wrecked to care. He reached over to the nightstand, grabbed a half-empty water bottle, and took a long, sloppy drink, some of it dribbling down his chin. He wiped it with the back of his hand and let out a rough exhale. "Whatever, man. Not my business."

He sat there a moment, turning it over, then made a face like the very idea offended him.

"Best way, I guess…" He grimaced. "You'd just tip the cops. Anonymous. Let them deal with it." He shrugged again, then immediately looked disgusted with himself for having said it. "Which–I dunno why the fuck you'd ever wanna do that, dawg. Bringin' the pigs into anything. Fuck cops. Snitchin's snitchin', even if it's on some guy you don't like. That's genuinely the lowest, most–" He shook his head. "I feel gross even sayin' it out loud."

"Yeah, fuck cops, man," Ben chimed in from his chair, nodding solemnly, spinning himself in a slow circle. "For real. Worst people alive."

Toby went quiet, his neck twitching, chewing on it.

The idea hadn't even occurred to him. Not once. He'd been so locked into the two things he knew - hurting people or not hurting people - that the whole other option had just never crossed his mind. You could get somebody in serious trouble, make their whole world fall apart, and never lay a finger on them. Never break a single word of what he'd promised you.

His dark eyes drifted to the middle distance, something slow and thoughtful and faintly awful turning behind them. A tic pulled at the corner of his mouth.

Huh.

Jeff pointed the water bottle at him, warming up despite the hangover.

"Nah, but real talk–you're a killer, man." He said it like he was reminding Toby of something he'd shamefully forgotten. "You shouldn't be stoopin' to rat shit like tippin' cops. That's beneath you. Fuck the mission, fuck all that." He set the bottle down and made a couple of slow, exaggerated chopping motions with both hands, like he was swinging invisible hatchets. "Just take care of the guy yourself. The way God intended. In and out. Clean."

Ben cracked up, nodding along. "Yeah, no, he's got a point, dude. That's like–that's your whole thing. Why overcomplicate it?"

Toby just hummed, noncommittal, his neck twitching to the side. "I mean… yeah."

Ben was still going, shaking his head. "I'm dead serious though, I would so much rather die than end up in jail, man. Like genuinely. Locked in a box, no computer, no privacy, guys just waiting for you to drop the soap–" He shuddered dramatically. "Nah. Nope. I'd just check out. Not for me."

Jeff whistled low in agreement, dragging a hand back through his tangled hair. "Preachin' to the choir. Ex-con right here, remember?" He gestured at himself. "Shit is the worst, man. Genuinely the worst. There's nothin' good about it. You lose everything and everybody in there'll test you the second you walk in." His voice went a little flatter, a little more real underneath the drawl. "I'd off myself before I let 'em take me back. Straight up. Thank fuck we're untouchable now–no records that mean anything, no faces on file, nobody even lookin' for us anymore. Best thing about this life. We just don't exist to them." He snorted. "That's the dream, dude."

"To not existing," Ben said, raising his vape like a toast.

Toby didn't say much. He just leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and listened, his dark eyes half-lidded and distant. His shoulder hitched once, then went still. Behind the quiet, something was already clicking into place, one piece against the next - the cops, the untouchable thing, the way you could unmake a person's whole world without ever raising a hand.

"…Thanks. I guess," Toby muttered, already half-turning toward the door.

Ben gave a lazy nod, headset already sliding back over his ears. But Jeff smirked, propping himself up on one elbow in the bed, black hair falling across his face.

"Hey, it’s not every day we get to help out a proxy dude," he drawled. "You owe me one now, Twitch."

Toby's neck cracked. He shot Jeff an annoyed look. "And what the fuck do you want?"

Jeff hummed, thinking it over through the hangover fog. Then his bloodshot eyes lit up. "Tell you what. Let me handle the poor fucker you got your eye on. Give me the job. I'll gut him nice and easy–" He grinned, sitting up straighter, suddenly way more awake. "Hell, maybe I take his stash while I'm at it. Little bonus. Everybody wins."

"Nope." Toby shook his head flatly. "Not happening. He's off limits." His shoulder hitched. He thought for a second, then smirked a little. "…I'll fix your b-bed instead. So you stop havin' to s-sleep in Ben's."

Ben immediately looked up, offended. "Okay, that's a bad deal. That's a terrible deal, man–"

But Jeff barked out a rough laugh, considering it. "Eh. You're handy enough. Yeah. Why the fuck not."

"That bed's shit, though," Ben grumbled, spinning in his chair. "Mine's way better. Comfier. He's downgradin' you Jeff, honestly–"

Jeff ignored him and stuck out his hand toward Toby, smirk firmly in place.

Toby crossed the room and shook it once, firm.

"Pleasure doin' business with ya," Jeff said.

Toby just grunted, dropped his hand, and walked out, pulling the door shut behind him.

Out in the quiet hallway he paused for a second, neck twitching, that crooked grin creeping back across his scarred face.

Now he had a plan.

You'd clocked in for your night shift twenty minutes ago and Andy still wasn't there.

The station was dead quiet, the fluorescents humming overhead, the coffee machine gurgling to itself in the corner. You were still nursing a headache, chugging an energy drink like it might resurrect you, wiping down the counters just to have something to do with your hands. Your sweatpants sat soft and loose on your legs and every single part of you wished you were still in bed - preferably with Toby curled up warm against your back.

You wondered what he was up to right now. Things had ended on such a good note, the two of you tangled up in your sheets that morning, him kissing your forehead and promising to use the keys. It made something settle in your chest just thinking about it. Everything felt better between you now. Steadier.

You pulled your hair up into a lazy bun, took another long pull off the energy drink, then went to work restocking - wiping down another surface, hauling out a box of chips, stacking the bags neatly on the rack. The clock crawled. Andy was over an hour late now, which was a lot even for him.

The little bell over the door finally jingled.

Andy shuffled in looking rough, giving you a tired nod. You grinned at him over the chip rack.

"There he is. Crazy night, huh?" You raised an eyebrow. "You're late as fuck, by the way."

He whistled low and dropped onto the stool behind the counter, rubbing a hand over his buzzcut. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Had a shit day, man. Like, genuinely one of the worst."

You paused, setting the box down. "What happened?"

He blew out a breath and pulled out his phone, thumbing through it. He turned the screen toward you. "This happened."

You leaned in and your stomach dropped.

The photo showed his old sedan absolutely wrecked. The windshield was a white web of cracks. The hood was gouged with deep, ugly gashes, the paint torn open in long furrows. One side mirror was just gone, dangling by a wire. It looked like someone had taken something heavy and sharp to it, over and over, with real fury.

"Oh my God," you breathed. "Andy, what the hell–"

"Right?" He shook his head, sliding the phone back into his pocket. "Whole thing's trashed. Windshield, hood, mirror, all of it. Someone went to town on it." He scrubbed his face with both hands. "I figure it was one of my customers, honestly. Some fuckass crackhead who got pissed I bumped my prices up a little. That's the only thing that makes sense. People get pressed about a couple extra bucks, man, you wouldn't believe it. Like it's a personal attack." He waved a hand, ranting now. "I do them a favor, I'm reliable, I'm consistent, and this is the thanks I get? Somebody smashing up my ride like an animal because they can't manage their own money? Unbelievable."

Something cold ghosted through you.

Toby.

The thought arrived before you could stop it, sharp and immediate. The hatchets. The way his face had gone still and dangerous on your couch when he'd realized Andy had given you drugs. The gouges in that hood looked exactly like–

No.

No, that couldn't be. He'd promised. He'd held your gaze with your hands on his face and sworn he wouldn't touch Andy. Andy's not gonna die. I won't lay a hand on him. You have my word. And he'd meant it, you'd seen it in his eyes, he wasn't lying to you. Andy was right - it was a customer. Some disgruntled junkie taking it out on his car. That made way more sense. Toby didn't even know where Andy lived. You'd never told him. It was fine. It was fine.

You shook the thought off and reached over to squeeze his shoulder. "God, that seriously sucks. I'm so sorry, Andy. That's so messed up."

"Yeah." He sighed. "And the worst part?" He gestured vaguely with one hand. "I can't even call the cops about it. Can't file a report, can't do anything. Because the second they start poking around asking who'd want to trash my car, it's like–what am I gonna say? Half my connections? I can't put that kind of attention on myself. Not with what I've got going. Too many question marks." He shook his head bitterly. "So I just gotta eat it. Pay for it out of pocket. Pretend it didn't happen."

You hummed, leaning back against the counter. "No, yeah, I totally get it. That's a rough spot to be in. You can't exactly explain that one." You picked at the label on your energy drink for a second, then glanced at him. "You know… maybe this is like, a sign or something. That maybe you should–I don't know. Think about stopping the side hustle? Before something worse happens?"

Andy gave you a tired, wry smile. "Trust me, I've thought about it. But money's tight, man. Like, really tight right now. And I've been doing this forever. It's not that easy to just walk away from." He shrugged, and for a second the tiredness in it was real. "I got lucky even landing this gas station gig, you know? I got priors. Finding actual work when you've got a record is a nightmare - half these places see it and toss your application straight in the trash. This side stuff is what keeps me above water. I can't just quit it because some crackhead keyed my ride."

You felt for him. You clapped your hand on his shoulder and gave it a firm little shake, your voice warming.

"Well–hey. For what it's worth, I got your back, okay? No matter what. Whatever you got going on, I'm not judging." You cracked a grin, trying to pull him out of it. "Hell, maybe I should start helping you out with the business. Move a little product on the side. Make enough to fix your busted car up nice, huh? Full detail, new paint job, the works."

That got a real laugh out of him, his whole face lightening. "Yo, bet," he said, grinning. "You'd be a natural, honestly. Everybody loves you. You'd triple my numbers in a week."

"Damn right I would," you shot back, and the two of you laughed, the heavy mood finally lifting.

You went back to stacking chips, feeling good about cheering him up - and if there was a small, cold thread of unease still coiled somewhere in the back of your mind, you didn't let yourself pull on it.

It was fine. It was just a customer. Toby had promised.

The bell jingled and a customer wandered in, grabbing a soda and a couple bags of jerky. Andy slid off his stool to ring him up while you kept working, hauling out a fresh case of cans and stacking them in neat rows on the shelf.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket.

You smiled automatically, already sure it was Toby, and dug it out - only to frown at the screen. Not Toby. An unsaved number, and a weird one at that: + (666) 013 616 130. Just one message.

wyd

You raised an eyebrow. Weird. You typed back.

you:

who is this lol

Then shoved the phone back in your pocket, shaking your head, going back to the cans.

Andy finished with the customer and dropped back onto his stool, pulling out his vape. He took a slow pull, sweet-smelling cloud curling around him as he scrolled through his phone.

"So how was the rest of your week?" you asked, stacking. "Anything good happen? Besides, y'know. The car."

"Actually, yeah." He perked up a little. "You remember that date I told you about? Last week?"

"The one you were nervous about?"

"That's the one." He grinned. "Went way better than I thought, man. Like, way better. We're seeing each other again soon."

"Aw, Andy!" You turned around, genuinely pleased for him. "That's amazing! Look at you. Tell me about her."

He leaned back, clearly happy to. "Dude, she's bad. Like–long black hair, gorgeous smile, and she's got this attitude, you know? Doesn't take anybody's shit. Kept me on my toes the whole night." He shook his head, grinning at his phone. "I don't wanna jinx it but I really like her."

You giggled, hyping him up. "Okay, okay, she sounds great. Just don't mess it up, alright? You've got a good thing going."

"I know, I know," he laughed, holding up a hand. "I'm being cool about it. Promise."

Your phone buzzed again. You pulled it out, expecting the mystery number to have answered your question.

It had.

+ (666) 013 616 130:

ur next bf

You stared at it.

Oh, fucking hell no.

It came back to you all at once - the club, the cold night air outside, Jeff pulling you into that cocky side hug and shoving his cracked phone into your hands while you were floating three feet off the ground. You'd typed your number in. You'd actually saved yourself in his phone. And now here he was.

You let out a slow breath through your nose, half amused, half exasperated, and shook your head at the screen.

A part of you wanted to just ignore him. Jeff was nothing but trouble, that much had been obvious from the second he'd materialized out of the club's red haze with a knife. He was exactly the kind of guy you should not be entertaining.

But you were bored. The station was dead, the shift was crawling, and it wasn't like anything was actually going to happen. You just wanted to see what he wanted - that was all. Harmless.

You saved his number under “joker 🤡" and snorted quietly to yourself at your own joke, then typed back.

you:

bro just give up lmao

Then you tucked the phone away and went back to work, lazily finishing off the last of the cans.

Andy noticed you slowing down and waved you off. "Go sit, I got it," he said, sliding off the stool to take over the floor.

"Thanks," you muttered and gladly dropped onto the stool behind the counter, propping your chin in your hand.

Your phone buzzed.

joker 🤡:

nah

Then, a second later, a photo loaded.

You raised your eyebrows. It was him, sprawled out in bed in a dimly lit room, a lazy little haze of smoke around him, a joint held between two fingers. His sweats sat low on his hips, bulge visible, one veiny hand resting against his stomach, the whole thing very obviously staged to look effortless. Under it, in short, sloppily typed text like he could barely be bothered:

u wanna join the smokin sesh

You almost laughed out loud. This idiot. The photo was so transparently a thirst trap it was almost impressive, and the missing punctuation somehow made it funnier.

You shook your head at the screen, biting back a grin, and glanced up to make sure Andy wasn't watching over your shoulder. He was busy straightening the drink cooler, oblivious.

You sent him back a photo of the gas station counter, the register, the whole fluorescent-lit scene, and replied.

you:

too busy making money to be hanging out with bums 💅

You shook your head, smiling to yourself. He just never took the hint. Not once.

A few minutes passed before the reply came, short and lazy as always.

joker 🤡:

u dont gotta work id pay 4 all ur shit

You almost snorted. He was ridiculous. Completely, shamelessly ridiculous. But you had to give it to him - he knew exactly what to say. There was something almost impressive about how effortlessly he threw out lines like that.

Andy straightened up from the cooler, patting his pockets. "I gotta piss," he muttered, already heading toward the back. "Watch the front."

The second he disappeared through the back door and out of sight, you smirked. You popped the register open, pulled out a small stack of bills, and held them up in a little fan, snapping a cheeky selfie - one eyebrow raised, flexing the cash next to your face like a trophy. You fired it off.

you:

i got my own money thanks 😌

Then you slid the bills right back into the drawer and eased it shut, laughing under your breath. You weren't nearly as easy to impress as he seemed to think.

A couple minutes later the phone buzzed.

joker 🤡:

u bad asf

You rolled your eyes, grinning. And then, right on cue, before you could even type something back:

show me ur tits

You groaned out loud at the empty station. Of course. Of course that's where it went. He was such a textbook fuckboy it was almost artful. You should've seen it coming from a mile away.

you:

and there it is. ur blocked btw. 🚫

His response wasn't a text at all. Just a little notification that he'd liked the message.

You stared at it, eyebrow climbing. What an asshole. You'd threatened to block him and he'd taken it as a compliment. There was no winning with this guy - every jab just seemed to entertain him more.

You shook your head, torn between annoyance and reluctant amusement, and set the phone face-down on the counter just as the back door creaked and Andy came shuffling back in.

Andy kept working, restocking the shelves with a lazy rhythm, and you sat behind the counter toying with a hairband, stretching it between your fingers, bored out of your mind. You were done with Jeff for the night. He'd gotten more than enough of your attention already, and you weren't about to feed the fire any more than you had.

"So," Andy said, glancing over as he lined up bags of chips. "You ever make up with your boyfriend? After that fight?"

You smiled a little, the hairband going still in your hands. "Yeah. We did, actually. It went surprisingly well." You shrugged, warmth creeping into your voice despite yourself. "Things are actually looking really good right now."

Andy grinned. "That's good, man. I'm happy for you. For real." He set a bag down and turned to face you properly. "This Toby dude–he really seems to make you happy, you know? Like, every time you talk about him you light up. It's cute." He nudged a box aside with his foot. "You should bring him around sometime. Let me actually get to know the guy that’s got you grinning at your phone all shift."

You laughed softly. "Yeah… that'd be a good idea, honestly." And you meant it. The thought of the two of them meeting properly, of Toby getting to know the people in your life, made something hopeful bloom in your chest - even if a small part of you knew how nervous he'd be about it, how much coaxing it would take to get him there. But maybe. Maybe eventually.

You thought about him. The way he'd looked half-asleep in your bed that morning, curls a mess, mumbling into the pillow. The soft kiss to your forehead. The way he'd turned those spare keys over in his hands like they were something precious.

God, you missed him already. He really was something else - messy and intense and unlike anyone you'd ever known, but yours.

You grabbed your phone and pulled up his contact, thumbs moving before you could overthink it.

you:

miss you 🖤 hope you're okay. thinking about you

You hit send, set the phone down, and went back to twisting the hairband around your fingers, a small private smile tugging at your lips.

He replied almost instantly, a rapid-fire string of messages flooding your screen.

boyfriend 🪓:

miss you SO much i already jerked off to you earlier lol thinkin bout you all day when can i see you again i need to see you

You smiled down at the phone, warmth spreading through your chest.

you:

good boy 🖤 soon, i promise. come visit me again okay?

The typing bubble popped up right away, and when his next message came through it was almost shy, the tone shifting.

boyfriend 🪓:

did you get me the collar n leash you promised i wanna be your puppy

You bit your lip, the memory coming back to you. Right. You had promised him that, hadn't you. He'd clearly been holding onto it.

you:

not yet but i will!! gonna get you all set up puppy 🐾 😘😘😘

You set the phone down, biting back a smile.

You sat there for a second, turning the hairband over in your fingers, then glanced up. "Hey, Andy–do we sell any dog stuff in here? Like, collars, leashes, that kind of thing?"

Andy looked up from the shelf, brow furrowing. "Since when do you have a dog?"

"It's not for a dog," you said quickly, then laughed, realizing how that sounded. "I mean–it's for a friend. Their dog. They asked me to grab some stuff." You waved a hand, hoping you sounded convincing enough.

He hummed, glancing around the cramped little store as if taking inventory in his head. "Nah, I don't think we've got anything like that. We're pretty much just snacks, drinks, and cigarettes." He shrugged. "There's a pet store in town, though. Over on the main strip. That's probably your best bet if you need actual dog stuff."

"A pet store. Got it." You hummed, tucking the information away. "Cool, thanks."

Already you were making a little plan in your head - swing by there soon, before or after your errands, pick up something nice. Something he'd like. The thought made you smile again as you went back to twisting the hairband around your finger, the shift ticking quietly on around you.

Extra Scene

Ben stood in the dark kitchen, arms crossed, watching the frozen pizza rotate slowly in the microwave’s dim glow. The house was silent around him.

When it finally beeped, he pulled the pizza out and slid it onto a plate, hacking it into uneven slices with a knife that was way too big for the job.

"Sad-ass meal," he muttered to himself, surveying the crooked slices. "Look at this. Pathetic."

He carried the plate up the stairs and pushed his way back into his room. Jeff was still sprawled across Ben's bed exactly where he'd left him, a fresh cloud of smoke curling around him, phone held up over his face. He was smirking at the screen - that lazy, self-satisfied smirk that meant he was up to something.

Ben nudged the door shut with his heel. "The hell are you grinnin' at?"

Jeff chuckled low and tucked the phone against his chest, screen down. "Wouldn't you like to know."

Ben barked out a laugh, dropping into his desk chair and balancing the plate on his knee. "You're textin' her, huh?" He grabbed a slice, pointing it at Jeff before he took a bite. "Man, you should just give it up. She literally said she's got a man. Told you straight to your face."

Jeff shook his head, blowing out a slow stream of smoke toward the ceiling. "That's never stopped me before. Ain't gonna stop me now." He tilted his head, that grin widening. "She's so fuckin' hot, dude. And she's got the personality too. That's rare. You don't just let that walk."

Ben hummed around a mouthful of pizza, considering. "I mean… yeah, she was cool," he admitted. "But she seemed pretty hard to get, man. Like, actually into the guy. I dunno."

Jeff just smirked wider, taking a drag. That was the wrong thing to say, and Ben knew it the second it left his mouth - Jeff didn't hear hard to get as a warning. He heard it as a challenge. His whole posture shifted, lazy and pleased.

"Man, I love hard to get," Jeff said, rolling the joint between his fingers. "Easy's boring. You gotta earn the good ones." He tapped ash into an empty can. "She'll come around. They always do."

"You're delusional," Ben said, laughing. He chewed for a second, then squinted over at Jeff, something catching his eye. "Also–dude. You've still got blood dried on your leg. From last night. You didn't even change."

Jeff glanced down, unbothered. "Eh."

"Eh," Ben repeated. He shook his head slowly. "I'm genuinely still not over that. The night was done, man. We were leavin’ the strip club. It was over." He gestured with a slice. "And then you spot that guy hangin' around outside, and just–gone. Lights out. Right there."

"He was standin' right there." Jeff took a slow drag, and under the laziness something went flat and cold. "Same fucker who had his hands all over her on the floor. And he's just loiterin' around after, all relaxed, like he didn't do nothin'." A shrug. "Couldn't let that slide."

"Yeah, well, I had a front-row seat, so thanks for that." Ben pulled a face, setting his slice down like he'd lost the appetite for it. "You didn't even walk him off somewhere. Just spilled his guts all over the alley. I'm standin' three feet away. I'd just stopped puking."

Jeff shrugged, taking a slow drag. "Honestly? I coulda done it way earlier. Was tempted to handle it right there on the dancefloor, soon as I pried him off her." He tilted his head, a little smug about it. "But nah. Didn't wanna gut a man right in front of her, y'know? She'd already had a rough enough night. That's just rude." He blew smoke toward the ceiling. "So it worked out, findin' him again after. No audience."

Ben let out a disbelieving laugh. "Oh, right. How considerate." He clutched his chest, mock-solemn. "Truly. A real gentleman. Waitin' till the lady's gone before you knife a guy in an alley. Chivalry's not dead, folks."

"See, you get it," Jeff said, pointing the joint at him.

"That's not a compliment, dude." Ben dragged a hand down his face, then waved at his monitor and the mess of open tabs. "And now it's my problem, obviously. Little local write-up already went up–body found out back of some club, cops askin' around. Been scrubbin' it all day. Cleanin' every trace so nothin' floats back this way." He exhaled. "That's the second one of yours I've buried this week. You're killin' me. This is a full-time job now, no days off."

Jeff didn't so much as flinch at the guilt. He took another slow pull, and when he spoke his voice shifted, quieter, which was so much worse than if he'd bragged. "Can't make me feel bad about it, man. Fucker put his hands on somethin' like her and figured he'd just get to walk away." Smoke curled toward the ceiling. "Girl like that? You bleed for that. Somebody looks at her wrong, you open 'em up and you smile while you're doin' it. That's just what she's worth."

Ben stopped chewing and stared at him. "…Bro. You are in love."

"Fuck off." The softness dropped out of Jeff's face instantly, cocky smirk slamming back down over it. "I'm just tryna see her tits. That's it. Don't make it weird."

"'You bleed for that,'" Ben mimicked, grinning wide. "'That's what she's worth.' Yeah. Super casual. Nothin' weird about that at all."

"Shut up, Ben," Jeff muttered - no heat in it, already thumbing his phone back to life, that stupid grin creeping back the second the screen lit up.

Ben rolled his eyes and held the plate out. "You want some pizza or what?"

Jeff glanced at it and grimaced. "That shit looks disgusting, man."

"It's fine." Ben plucked a slice off the plate anyway and tossed it onto a napkin beside Jeff. "Eat, dude. Seriously. You look like a stick. When's the last time you had an actual meal?"

Jeff smirked and flexed one arm, admiring his own bicep. "This stick could still whoop your ass, Benny."

"Uh huh."

"Whatever, man." But Jeff grabbed the slice anyway, muttering under his breath, and took a bite despite his complaints.

Ben snorted and turned back to his computer, the glow of the monitor lighting up his face as he pulled up whatever he'd been in the middle of, the room settling back into its comfortable quiet - just the clack of his keyboard, the crackle of Jeff's joint, and the low hum of the tower under the desk.

Ben kept clicking around on his computer for a while, half-focused, before his eyes drifted to the corner of his desk where his stash sat. He picked up the little jar, gave it a shake, and grimaced. Running low. Almost out, actually.

He pulled up Discord, found Andy's DMs, and typed out a message.

stealyohoe_benny: yo it was cool finally meetin you last night man 🤙 stealyohoe_benny: even if that place was a nightmare lmao stealyohoe_benny: anyway hit me with the usual whenever ur around 🙏

He sent it and leaned back in his chair, chewing on the last crust of his pizza slice.

As he waited for a reply, his mind wandered back to earlier - Toby barging into his room, all those weird, out-of-nowhere questions. It kept nagging at him. It was odd. Toby had never once shown any interest in this stuff before. Never asked, never cared, always looked down his nose at Ben's whole deal like it was beneath him. And now, all of a sudden, he was in Ben's face asking about dealers and how the business ran and how you'd take one down?

And what mission, anyway? Ben knew about most of the jobs the proxies caught. Word usually got around the house one way or another. But he hadn't heard a single thing about this one. Nothing. No briefing, no chatter, nothing from Brian.

He spun his chair around to face the bed. "Yo. What the hell do you think's actually goin' on with Toby?"

Jeff swallowed his bite of pizza, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "No clue, man," he said with a shrug. "But he's been actin' even weirder than usual lately. And that's sayin' somethin'." He smirked, popping the last bit of crust in his mouth. "Maybe the little freak finally lost it completely. Went full crazy. Was bound to happen."

Ben snorted, but he wasn't quite laughing. "Nah, but think about it, dude. First he hatchets some random guy outta nowhere and leaves that whole cryptic note about not stealin' shit–"

"Oh, right." Jeff let out a short laugh. "I forgot all about that note. That was so random."

"Yeah, well, I didn't get to forget about it, 'cause I'm the one who had to scrub all the info about it off the internet after," Ben grumbled, shaking his head. "That was a whole nightmare, man. Took me forever." He held up a finger, counting off. "So–first the note. Then he almost rips Tim's leg clean off in the middle of the living room. And now he's up in here askin' me how to take down a plug." He shook his head. "That's a weird-ass pattern, man. Somethin's up with him."

Jeff hummed, considering, then paused mid-chew. His brow furrowed slightly.

"Wait," Ben went on, an idea clicking. "You remember he hatcheted that dude outside the same gas station Andy works at?"

Jeff went still for a second, then looked over at Ben, something shifting behind his eyes. "Hold up. I didn't even put that together." He let out a slow, disbelieving laugh, leaning back against the headboard. "Damn. Small world, huh?"

"Right?" Ben said, spinning idly in his chair. "That's kinda crazy when you think about it."

"Crazy," Jeff agreed, though his gaze had gone a little distant now, the gears clearly turning behind the lazy grin. He took another slow drag off his joint, blowing the smoke out toward the ceiling. "Small fuckin' world."

His phone buzzed against his chest. He glanced at it, and the smirk crept right back onto his face, whatever thought he'd been chasing already forgotten in favor of the text on his screen.

Ben couldn't quite let it go. He kept turning it over, staring at nothing, the puzzle pieces almost fitting but not clicking. He glanced back at Jeff.

"It's not… Andy he's after, right?" he said slowly. "Like–it couldn't be."

Jeff set his phone face-down against his chest, considering it, then shook his head. "Nah. That'd be way too crazy, man. It just doesn't make sense." He waved a lazy hand. "Why the fuck would Twitch start beefin' with some random plug workin' a gas station? What's the angle? There isn't one. It's nothin'."

Ben shrugged, chewing his lip, still trying to force the pieces together. Something was missing - some detail that would make the whole shape of it snap into place. He drummed his fingers on the desk.

"Okay, but here's the thing," he said. "This whole Toby being weird thing–it all started right around when he apparently got himself a girlfriend. That's what Tim and Brian said, anyway. They've been on his ass about it nonstop. Like it's a whole problem."

Jeff snorted. He looked genuinely skeptical, blowing out a lazy stream of smoke. "I don't even believe it, man. He probably made her up. You know how he is–livin' in his own little world half the time." He smirked. "And even if she was real, who the fuck would actually wanna fuck Twitch? Nah. It's a fake girlfriend. Gotta be."

Ben laughed. "Hey, you never know, dude." He pointed a slice of crust at Jeff. "Maybe he's packin'. It's always the weird ones who got the biggest dicks. That's just science."

Jeff barked out a laugh. "Riiiight. Sure." He shook his head, grinning, then set his joint down and pushed up onto his knees on the bed, warming to the bit. "Nah, but picture it, man. Say she is real." He gripped an invisible pair of hips in front of him and started snapping his own forward in an exaggerated, cocky rhythm - then jerked his head hard to the side mid-motion, neck cracking loud, shoulder hitching, throwing off the whole thing. "He's goin' like this, fuckin' her from the back, right–and then–" He convulsed again, tic wrenching him sideways, hips stuttering out of sync entirely. "Crack. Crack. Poor girl's just tryna hang on for the ride and he's out here glitchin' the whole time–"

Ben lost it, nearly dropping his plate. "Oh my God–stop–"

"How's she even survivin' back there?" Jeff wheezed, collapsing back onto the bed, cracking himself up. "One second he's in the zone, next second he's tryna throw his own head off his shoulders–that's gotta be the most off-puttin' thing in the world, dawg."

"You're so wrong for that," Ben laughed, wiping his eyes. "Hey–some girls are into it, alright? Adds, like, extra sensations."

Jeff gave him a long, flat look. "…Extra sensations."

"I'm just sayin'."

Jeff shook his head, still chuckling, then leaned back against the headboard and let the thought settle. "Nah, but for real–it's definitely got nothin' to do with Andy. No way." He took a slow drag, thinking aloud. "Maybe Toby's girl just got some ex or somethin' who deals. Some plug she used to mess with. And Toby found out and got all jealous and psycho about it–which, y'know. Tracks. That'd explain the questions."

Ben paused, then nodded slowly. That actually made a lot of sense. It was reasonable, realistic, the kind of petty jealous nonsense that fit Toby perfectly. Way more likely than some convoluted vendetta against a random gas station dealer.

"Yeah… yeah, that's probably it," Ben agreed, satisfied. He turned back to his monitor. "Jealous ex thing. Makes way more sense."

And just like that, they let it go - the answer sitting right there in front of them, close enough to touch, and neither of them reaching for it.

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