⦻EJ⊝

The living room smelled like weed. The TV threw flickered blue light across the walls, the volume cranked just loud enough to drown out the creak of the old house settling around them.

Toby slouched deeper into the recliner, one leg hooked over the armrest, the other bouncing with that familiar restless rhythm he couldn’t kill even if he tried. His fingers drummed against his thigh in uneven bursts, shoulders giving the occasional sharp hitch that made the hood of his sweatshirt shift. He wasn’t really watching the screen. Jeff and Ben were deep in their usual bullshit - some loud, violent fighting game where pixels bled and cursed in pixelated rage.

Jeff leaned forward on the couch, white tank top showing the patchwork of old scars crawling over his lean, wiry arms. His long black hair was yanked back into a messy little ponytail that was already coming loose, strands sticking to the sweat on his neck. Grey sweats hung low on his hips, legs spread wide. He jammed the controller buttons with vicious little jabs, laughing that rasping laugh every time he landed a combo.

“Gotcha, you fuckin’ whore,” Jeff growled, the corner of his mouth twisting into a sneer.

Ben was practically vibrating next to him, swallowed up in an oversized Snoop Dogg t-shirt that made him look even smaller than he was. His messy blonde hair clung damply to his forehead, eyes narrowed in concentration as he mashed buttons like his life depended on it. “Eat shit, eat shit–YES!” He shot up off the couch the second the round ended, controller still clutched in both hands, bouncing once before flopping back down hard enough to make the cushions groan.

Jeff rolled his eyes and gave Ben a lazy shove with his shoulder. “Rematch, dipshit. I wasn’t even trying that round.”

Toby’s gaze drifted back to the TV without really seeing it. His mind kept looping somewhere else - back to that shitty gas station, the scuffed tile behind the counter, the way your thighs had trembled around his head. The taste of you still lingered like a ghost on his tongue, sweet and addictive, better than any melted Snickers. The memory of your fingers yanking his hair, the sharp little gasp you made when he finally got his mouth on you, the way you’d looked down at him with flushed cheeks and said “eat it” like you owned him… Fuck. It made something hot and restless coil low in his gut all over again.

He wondered if you’d heard about what had happened yet. If you’d seen the note.

A tiny, crooked smile tried to pull at the corner of his scarred mouth before another violent tic snapped his head to the side with a soft crack. He didn’t bother hiding it. Jeff and Ben had seen worse.

The game loaded up again, aggressive music blasting through the cheap speakers. Jeff glanced over at him mid-setup, that careless, lazy, slightly sleazy look sliding across his face like he could smell something off.

“Yo, Twitch. What the fuck’s gotten into you tonight?” Jeff asked, voice drawling, one eyebrow raised. “You’ve been zoning out like a stoned idiot. Somebody suck your dick or somethin’?”

Toby blinked once then shrugged, shoulders rolling hard with another hitch. “N-nothing. Just… thinking.”

Ben adjusted the front of his sweats, then shot Jeff a quick sideways smirk, the kind that said they were both in on the joke. He leaned back, controller loose in his hands for a second. “Yeah, sure. Tobes’ got that dreamy look. Bet he finally got laid and doesn’t know how to act normal about it.”

Jeff barked a short laugh and shoved Ben again, harder this time. “Nah, leave him alone. He’ll tell us when he feels like it… or he won’t.” He paused, then added with a mean little grin, “Either way, I’m sure she was real patient with him. You know… understanding about all the twitching and stuttering and shit.”

Ben grinned wider, clearly enjoying it. “Very understanding,” he echoed, already focused back on the game as the next round started.

Toby didn’t answer. Just let another sharp tic jerk his neck sideways, a soft bitten-off grunt slipping out as his shoulder hitched up toward his ear.

Let them joke. They had no fucking clue.

He could still taste you. Still feel the way your body had shaken against his tongue. Still see the dazed little laugh you’d given him when you handed him fresh Snickers like it was nothing.

And if you’d found his little message out in the lot… well.

He’d be back soon enough.

The loud slam of the front door cut through the chaotic game sounds like a gunshot.

Heavy boots thudded down the short hallway, loud and pissed off. Tim appeared in the living room doorway a second later, shoulders tense under his worn jacket, dark hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it too many times. He took in the scene with one slow sweep - Jeff and Ben still glued to the TV, controllers clicking furiously, the room reeking of smoke and stale junk food - before his eyes landed on Toby.

Toby stayed slouched in the recliner, one leg still hooked over the armrest, but his restless bouncing slowed just a fraction.

Tim held a folded newspaper in one hand, knuckles white around the edge. His face was tight, tired, the kind of disapproving exhaustion that said he’d already dealt with enough bullshit tonight.

“Where the fuck were you last night?” Tim asked, staring straight at Toby.

Toby shrugged, shoulders rolling hard with the motion, another involuntary hitch making his neck snap sideways. “D-don’t know,” he muttered, the stammer thicker than usual. “Out, I g-guess.”

Ben didn’t even glance away from the screen, but his mouth twisted in clear annoyance, fingers tightening on the controller like Tim’s presence was personally ruining his win streak. 

Jeff let out a loud, irritated groan and waved one arm in Tim’s direction without looking up. “Move, man. You’re blocking the fucking TV.”

Tim’s jaw flexed. He wasn’t budging. “Shut up.”

Jeff’s head snapped toward him, black hair slipping loose from the messy ponytail. He shook his head slowly, muttering something disgusted and low under his breath - probably calling Tim a controlling asshole or worse - but didn’t push it further. The controller kept clicking in his hands, aggressive and sharp.

Tim ignored him, eyes narrowing back on Toby. “No? You don’t know?” His tone dripped with disbelief, tired and edged with anger. “That’s cute.”

Without another word, he hurled the newspaper at Toby. It unfolded mid-air, pages flapping, and smacked Toby square in the chest before sliding down into his lap.

The headline was impossible to miss even in the flickering TV light:

LOCAL THIEF FOUND HATCHETED OUTSIDE STOP & GAS

“I WILL NOT STEAL AGAIN :)” NOTE LEFT AT SCENE

Toby stared down at the paper, fingers twitching against the newsprint. A slow, crooked smile started to pull at the corner of his mouth, the thick scar on his cheek tugging tight. Another violent tic jerked his shoulder upward, head snapping hard to the left with an audible crack.

The glow from the TV flickered across Tim’s tired face as he stood there, arms still crossed tight over his chest.

“Real interesting detail in the article,” Tim said, voice thick with sarcasm. “Guy got chopped up with hatchets.” He tilted his head, eyes narrowing on Toby. “Hmm. Sounds real fuckin’ familiar, doesn’t it?”

Toby let out a low, choppy chuckle, the sound rough and broken. He stretched lazily in the recliner, arms lifting above his head, shoulders rolling with that restless energy that never quite settled. The newspaper stayed crumpled in his lap. He didn’t deny it, didn’t even try to explain. Just grinned that crooked, scarred half-smile and shrugged like it was nothing.

Jeff paused the game mid-fight, finally interested. “Hey, let me see that shit.” He leaned forward and snatched the newspaper out of Toby’s lap in one quick motion, black hair falling into his eyes as he scanned the headline. A low whistle escaped him. “Damn… Nice job, Tobes.” He laughed, that raspy sound, clearly impressed. “I like the little smiley face. Real classy touch.”

Ben didn’t even turn his head. He just kept staring straight at the paused game screen, jaw tight with irritation. Without a word, he dug into his pocket, pulled out his vape, and took a long, slow hit. Sweet-smelling vapor curled out of his mouth and drifted toward the ceiling as he exhaled, deliberately ignoring the entire scene like it was background noise.

Tim’s expression darkened, jaw clenching as he watched Jeff toss the newspaper back onto Toby’s chest.

“We were literally at that same fucking gas station a couple days ago,” Tim continued, voice rising with frustration. “You went back there, didn’t you? After we told you to lay low. This–” he jabbed a finger toward the paper, “–is reckless as hell. You’re bringing heat on all of us with this petty shit. One body with a cutesy note? People are gonna start paying attention. Cops. Locals. Fucking everybody.”

Toby stayed slouched in the recliner, leg still bouncing in that uneven rhythm. His dark eyes flicked up to Tim, restless and unreadable, but he didn’t say a word. Another violent tic snapped his neck sideways with a soft crack, followed by a small grunt that slipped out from between his lips. He just stared, waiting.

Tim exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly done with the silence.

“Get up,” he ordered. “Now. We need to talk. Privately.”

Toby lingered for another second, fingers twitching against the newspaper in his lap. Then, with a heavy sigh and a series of sharp hitching jerks rolling through his shoulders, he pushed himself out of the recliner. The newspaper fluttered to the floor, forgotten.

He shoved his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie and followed Tim out of the living room without another glance at Jeff or Ben, his uneven walk and constant little tics making his steps sound restless even down the hallway.

Jeff just smirked and unpaused the game like nothing had happened. Ben took another long drag from his vape, eyes never leaving the screen, the cloud of vapor hanging thick in the stale air.

The screen door creaked loudly as Tim stepped out onto the old wooden porch, the night air cold and damp against his skin. He didn’t bother waiting for Toby to follow - he just lit up a cigarette, the flame from his lighter briefly lighting up the deep lines of exhaustion on his face. Toby shuffled out a moment later, shoulders already twitching with those familiar restless jerks, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets.

Tim took a long drag, exhaling smoke into the darkness before turning to face him.

“Explain yourself,” he said flatly, eyes hard.

Toby leaned against the porch railing, one leg bouncing unevenly. He shrugged, head giving a sharp snap to the left with a soft crack. “W-was nearby,” he muttered. “Saw s-some thief rrrr-running out of the store with shit in his jacket. Pissed m-me off.”

Tim stared at him for a long beat, cigarette glowing between his fingers. The silence stretched, thick and accusing.

“You pickpocket shit all the time, Toby,” Tim finally said, voice low and unimpressed. “Hell, you literally stole candy from that exact fucking store a few nights ago. Don’t give me that ‘it pissed me off’ bullshit.”

Toby’s scarred mouth twitched. He looked away, another violent tic rolling through his shoulder as he rolled it hard toward his ear.

Then something clicked behind Tim’s eyes. His gaze sharpened.

“This got anythin’ to do with that girl?” he asked slowly. “The one who came running out after you, yellin’ about the candy?”

Toby froze. For a split second his restless energy seemed to glitch - his dark eyes flicked to the side, guilty, before another tic jerked his head sideways. “N-no,” he stammered quickly, too quickly. “It’s n-not–I didn’t–”

Tim let out a tired, bitter laugh and took another drag of his cigarette. “Jesus Christ. It does.”

Toby shifted his weight, fingers twitching inside his pockets. He tried to play it cool, but the constant little hitches in his shoulders and the way his scarred cheek kept pulling tight gave him away. After a few more seconds of Tim just staring at him, waiting, Toby finally cracked.

“…Maybe I went b-back,” he admitted, voice rough and reluctant. “Had a little… chat.”

Tim dragged a hand down his face, sighing heavily through the smoke. “A chat. Right.” He flicked ash off the porch railing. “This is a bad fuckin’ idea, Toby. You know that, right? We don’t need complications. We don’t need you draggin’ some minimum-wage gas station girl into our shit just because she yelled at you and you thought it was hot.”

He stepped closer, voice dropping into that tired, lecturing tone.

“What, you tryna impress her? Show her you’ll hatchet every thief that walks into her store? That’s not how this works. You’re acting reckless, and it’s gonna bite us all in the ass. Stay away from that type of shit. Stay away from her.”

Toby didn’t answer right away. His head twitched again, a soft grunt slipping out as his neck cracked sideways. He just nodded once, jaw tight.

“I h-heard you,” he muttered finally, pushing off the railing.

He turned and walked back inside, shoulders hitching with every other step. Tim stayed on the porch a moment longer, smoke curling around his face. He exhaled slowly, muttering under his breath.

“…This ain’t gon’ be the end of it.”

He could already feel it in his gut. Toby had that look in his eyes - the restless, obsessive one. And once Toby got fixated on something… or someone… it was damn near impossible to pull him off it.

Especially when that someone had let him get on his knees behind the counter.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like they always did, casting that same sickly yellow glow over the scuffed tile and faded shelves. After three long days of yellow police tape and awkward questioning, the Stop & Gas was finally cleared to reopen. Management decided it was “safest” to keep two employees on shift for a while, so tonight it was you and Andy.

You sat behind the counter on the wobbly stool, one elbow propped up, popping your gum loudly while flipping through your phone. Andy was a few feet away, half-heartedly sorting a shelf of snacks, his buzzcut looking even shorter than usual under the harsh lighting. The tattoos covering both his arms shifted with every movement - full sleeves of cartoonish mushrooms, old-school snakes, and blurry script that disappeared under the rolled-up cuffs of his work polo.

“–so this dumbass kid comes back the next day, right?” Andy was saying, voice casual as he stacked bags of chips. “Swears the molly I sold him was bunk because he didn’t feel shit. Turns out the little idiot took all eight hits at once thinking it’d hit harder. Ended up puking his guts out in my bathroom for six hours straight and crying about his mom. I told him that’s what he gets for being a greedy fuck.”

You laughed, the sound echoing a little in the quiet store. You blew a big pink bubble with your gum, letting it pop loudly before chewing again. “You attract the biggest idiots.”

Andy grinned, running a hand over his buzzcut as he squatted down to sort the lowest shelf. “What can I say? I’m a people person.”

A few minutes later the bell above the door jingled. A burly trucker stepped in, heading straight for the counter. You straightened up, ringing him up for two packs of Marlboros and a Monster.

“Rough night the other day, huh?” the trucker muttered as he counted out cash, clearly wanting to talk about it. “Heard some poor bastard got hacked up right outside.”

“Yeah…” you replied, sliding his smokes across the counter. “Pretty fucked up.”

Andy stood up from the shelf and wandered over, leaning one hip against the counter. His inked arms crossed over his chest, the movement making the snake on his left bicep look like it was slithering. “I was the one clocked in that night, man. Saw the whole damn thing. Dude came out with beer and jerky, next thing you know–hatchets flying. Blood everywhere. Crazy shit.”

The trucker shook his head, whistling low. “Glad it wasn’t me. Y’all be careful out here.”

You handed him his change. “Will do. Drive safe.”

He gave a lazy wave and headed back out into the night, the bell jingling behind him.

The store fell quiet again except for the constant rattle of the cooler. You turned back to Andy, popping another bubble with your gum.

Andy half-sat on the edge of the counter, arms crossed over his chest, that easy, bum-like grin still on his face. “Man, people are gonna be asking about that murder for weeks. Bet we’ll get a bunch of weirdos coming in just to stare at the parking lot.”

You snorted, leaning back on your stool. “Great. Just what I need–true crime tourists while I’m trying to stock the slushie machine.”

Andy laughed, the sound warm and lazy. He reached over and stole a piece of your gum from the pack sitting on the counter, the faded ink on his knuckles catching the light as he unwrapped it with one hand. “Could be worse. At least it’s not boring anymore. Though I still think you should’ve seen the way poor James dropped. Like a sack of potatoes with extra holes.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. Andy was a burnout, a part-time dealer, and kind of a mess… but he was friendly, funny, and made the long night shifts feel a lot less lonely. For the first time in days, the heavy knot of unease in your stomach loosened just a little.

The two of you kept the easy rhythm going for a while, trading lazy stories and roasting the occasional weird customer who wandered in. Andy was mid-sentence - something about a guy who tried to pay for a six-pack with a handful of Pokémon cards - when the bell jingled again.

A kid in his early twenties strolled in, baggy jeans sagging low, oversized hoodie, and a backward cap. He spotted Andy immediately and lifted his chin in that universal bro greeting.

“Yo, Andy, my guy,” he said, voice a little too loud for the quiet store. “You got my stuff?”

Andy grinned, already moving. “Yeah, man. Hold up.”

The kid’s eyes flicked over to you behind the counter for a second - quick, curious, a little appreciative as they dragged down your chest - before he wandered off toward the energy drink cooler.

You leaned back on your stool, popping your gum and watching the whole exchange with mild amusement. Andy’s “clients” always seemed to show up exactly when he was working. Never when he was off. Never when you were alone. Convenient as hell. You’d figured out his little side hustle months ago, but you never called him on it. As long as he didn’t get sloppy and get the store shut down, it wasn’t your problem. And honestly? It was kind of funny at this point.

Andy slipped behind the counter next to you, close enough that his arm brushed yours while he pretended to check the register. The kid came back with a Red Bull, set it on the counter, and pulled out a fifty.

“Keep the change, bro,” he said casually.

Andy rang up the drink like it was a totally normal $48 energy drink, then discreetly slid a small, tightly folded baggie across the counter along with the can. The exchange was smooth, practiced. The kid pocketed the baggie without even looking down, grabbed his Red Bull, and bumped fists with Andy over the counter.

“Appreciate you, man. Catch you later.”

“Stay safe out there,” Andy replied with an easy grin.

You gave the kid a little wave and a polite customer-service smile as he headed for the door. The bell jingled again, and he was gone.

The second the door shut, you turned to Andy with a smirk, popping your gum loudly.

“You know,” you said, dragging the words out, “I really should be getting a cut of this. I’m basically an accessory at this point.”

Andy barked out a laugh, leaning his hip against the counter beside you. “Damn, straight to business. Alright, next dinner’s on me. Burgers and shakes, my treat.”

You grinned, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Better be the good burgers, not that greasy shit from the truck stop.”

“Only the best for my favorite partner in crime,” he teased, winking before he wandered back over to the snack shelves to keep half-assedly organizing them.

The two of you fell back into easy shit-talking, voices low and casual under the humming lights, the outside world and its hatchet-wielding psychopaths feeling just a little further away.

At least for now.

Hours crawled by, and just when you’d convinced yourself the night would pass without incident, the bell above the door jingled again, sharp and cheerful as ever, and your stomach dropped.

Fuck.

He, your thief, stepped inside, hands already shoved deep into the pockets of a new dark navy hoodie that actually looked clean for once. Underneath it he wore a pair of old, beat-up jeans riddled with holes that definitely weren’t there for fashion - they looked like they’d been worn for years, frayed and thin at the knees. His messy brown hair still stuck out in those uneven self-cut chunks, but he seemed… more put together. Like he’d actually tried to look decent before coming here. The black bandana was still pulled tight over the lower half of his face, hiding that brutal scar and everything below his dark, restless eyes.

His gaze found you first and his eyes crinkled at the corners, clearly smiling underneath the fabric. Then his eyes slid over to Andy standing behind the counter beside you, and that smile instantly died. The happy glint vanished, replaced by something sharper, colder. His shoulders gave a quick, involuntary hitch.

You straightened up on the stool way too fast, heart suddenly hammering. Without thinking, you reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, smoothing down your messy ponytail like it mattered. You had no idea how the hell you were supposed to act right now.

He moved further into the store with that same awkward, uneven gait - long strides broken by those sharp little jerks. His eyes kept flicking between you and Andy, tense and uncertain.

Andy leaned against the counter, arms loosely crossed, one eyebrow raised in mild amusement as he openly stared at the bandana. “Well this is new,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You cleared your throat, forcing a bright, overly cheerful tone. “Hey.”

Your thief blinked at you, dark eyes locking onto yours for a second. “H-hey,” he replied, voice muffled and choppy under the bandana, the familiar stammer cutting through.

The silence that followed was painfully awkward. The fluorescent lights suddenly felt louder. You glanced at Andy, then back at him, then at Andy again, heat crawling up your neck.

“Oh, um… this is my friend, uh–” You froze, realizing with embarrassing clarity that you still didn’t know his name.

Your thief caught on immediately. He gave a small, sharp shrug, one shoulder rolling hard toward his ear as a quick tic made his head snap slightly to the side.

“Toby,” he supplied, voice low.

Andy’s eyebrows shot up, clearly entertained by the whole weird vibe. “Toby,” he repeated, dragging the name out like he was tasting it. “Nice bandana, man.”

Toby didn’t respond to Andy. His restless eyes stayed glued mostly on you, fingers twitching inside his hoodie pockets. Another small hitch rolled through his frame, followed by a soft, bitten-off grunt he tried to swallow.

You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

You tried to fill the heavy silence with something, anything.

“So… uh, new hoodie?” you asked, gesturing awkwardly at his chest.

Toby nodded once, shoulders hitching sharply. “Y-yeah.” His eyes crinkled again like he was smiling under the bandana, but he didn’t offer anything else. The conversation died instantly.

You shifted on the stool, chewing your gum a little faster. “Been busy lately?”

Another tic jerked his head to the side with a soft crack. “N-not really.”

God, this was painful. Every attempt at small talk landed like a dead fish on the counter. Andy watched the whole thing for a few more seconds, clearly biting back a smirk, before he finally took pity on you.

“Alright, I’m gonna step out for a smoke,” Andy announced, pushing off the counter. He gave you one last highly amused glance, eyebrows raised like he was saying good luck with whatever the fuck this is, before heading for the door. The bell jingled as he stepped outside.

Through the front glass, you could see him leaning against the wall near the ice machine, already lighting up.

The second the door closed, the tension in the store shifted. Toby seemed to relax - just a little - but there was still a restless edge to him. His dark eyes flicked back to you, more focused now that it was just the two of you again. He took a few slow, uneven steps closer to the counter, fingers twitching at his sides.

“Is that your b-boyfriend?” he asked, voice muffled under the bandana. There was something sharp hiding behind the question.

You let out a surprised laugh, shaking your head immediately. “What? No. God no. Andy’s just my coworker. He’s… Andy. Definitely not my boyfriend.”

Toby’s shoulders loosened visibly. He gave a small nod, the corner of his eyes crinkling again with clear relief. Another quick tic made his right shoulder roll hard toward his ear.

You swallowed and kept going, trying to sound casual. “We’ve gotta work in pairs for a while. Management’s paranoid after… what happened the other night.”

You watched his eyes carefully as you said it, searching for any flicker, any hint of recognition or guilt. But Toby gave you absolutely nothing. His gaze stayed steady on you, dark and restless.

“What h-happened?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. The stammer made the question sound almost innocent.

You hesitated for a second, then told him. Not every brutal detail, but enough - the thief getting hacked up right outside the store, the blood, the note left on the body. You kept your voice low, eyes never leaving his face.

Toby just hummed, a soft, neutral sound from behind the bandana. “Hm.”

That was it. No shock. No real reaction.

His eyes had already drifted lower, slowly dragging over the way your faded polo stretched across your chest, then further down to the curve of your hips and the tight fit of your jeans. He wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it. Another small hitch rolled through his frame as he stared, like he was remembering exactly what you looked like with those jeans around your ankles.

You felt heat creep up your neck again.

Maybe you really had been paranoid this whole time. Of course your twitchy, candy-stealing thief hadn’t murdered anyone. He was weird as hell, sure - restless, scarred, clearly a little unbalanced - but he wasn’t a psycho. He was just… Toby. The same guy who’d come back with melted Snickers and dropped to his knees like you were the best thing he’d ever tasted.

You let out a small, nervous breath and popped your gum again, trying to push the uneasy feeling down.

Toby’s eyes finally dragged back up to your face. He rocked once on his heels, hands still buried in his pockets.

“I was h-hoping you’d give me some m-more to eat,” he said. The words were so blunt, so shamelessly straightforward, that it almost made you laugh.

The confession hung in the air between you - innocent on the surface, but loaded with the memory of him on his knees behind the counter, face buried between your thighs.

You bit your lip, trying to keep a straight face, and nodded once toward the new security camera mounted in the corner near the coolers. “Management put in some new precautions after what happened,” you said. “They’re watching everything now.”

Toby followed your gaze, dark eyes landing on the shiny new camera. When he looked back at you, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes was gone. Pure disappointment flashed across his face, followed by another sharp tic that snapped his head to the side with a soft crack.

You shrugged, giving him an apologetic look. “And my shift still has four more hours anyway.”

He stood there for a moment, fingers twitching inside his hoodie pockets while he thought it over. Then he gave a small, uneven shrug.

“I d-don’t mind,” he muttered. “I can w-wait.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, a surprised little smile tugging at your lips. “What, you’re just inviting yourself over to my place after work or something?”

Toby chuckled softly, the sound muffled and rough. He looked down at the floor awkwardly, fingers fidgeting, before giving another casual shrug like it was no big deal.

You shook your head, warmth blooming in your chest despite everything. “Well, if you don’t mind waiting around…”

“I’ll b-be here when you g-get off,” he answered immediately.

The giddy little rush came back full force. You couldn’t help smiling at him, cheeks feeling warm under the fluorescent lights.

Toby took a few uneven steps closer to the counter, then leaned over it quickly. In one smooth motion he tugged his bandana down, revealing the brutal scar cutting across his cheek and those full, slightly swollen lips. Before you could even think, he cupped the side of your neck with one hand and kissed you.

It was fast, hungry, and way too intense for something that only lasted a couple of seconds. The moment his mouth touched yours, heat shot straight through you. Then, just as quickly, he pulled back and yanked the bandana back up over his face.

He was definitely smiling under the fabric now. You could see it in his eyes.

“See ya l-later,” he mumbled, voice still a little breathless.

He turned and headed for the door just as Andy was stepping back inside. Toby nearly pushed past him without a word, shoulders hitching with every step as he disappeared into the night.

Andy paused in the doorway, watching Toby’s retreating back with raised eyebrows. “Nice meeting you too, dude,” he called out sarcastically. No reply.

The bell jingled as the door swung shut. Andy turned to you, that shit-eating grin already spreading across his face. He leaned against the counter, giving you a long, pointed look.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked, laughing. “Who the fuck are you fucking nowadays?”

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands, elbows on the counter. A helpless little laugh bubbled out of you anyway. “Shut up, it’s not like that.”

It was exactly like that.

“Nah, seriously,” he teased, clearly enjoying himself way too much. “Bandana-wearing dudes with Tourette’s? That’s your type now? Jesus Christ, you work fast.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, still laughing despite the embarrassment burning across your face. “I said shut up.”

Andy just shook his head, still grinning as he went back to half-heartedly organizing the shelf. “This shift just got a lot more interesting.”

You didn’t answer. You just sat there on your wobbly stool, heart racing, already counting down the four hours until your shift ended.

Because Toby was going to be waiting.

And the thought made you stupidly, dangerously excited.

The last few hours of your shift dragged at a snail's pace. By the time you and Andy finally started closing up, you were both dead on your feet. You did a tired, lazy high-five over the counter, the slap echoing in the empty store.

“You want a ride home?” Andy asked, already pulling his keys out of his pocket.

“Nah, I’m good,” you said quickly, forcing a casual shrug. “I’ll just walk. Clears my head.”

Andy gave you a suspicious look but didn’t push it. “Alright. Don’t get murdered.” He shot you one last glance, clearly still thinking about the hatchet-swinging psycho, then headed out a few minutes before you.

You stayed behind for a couple of last-minute things - wiping down the counter, double-checking the register, locking the back room. When everything was finally done, you killed the lights, stepped outside, and locked the front door behind you.

The parking lot was quiet and dark, the new security camera staring blankly down at the pumps. You scanned the area, heart picking up speed with nervous anticipation.

No Toby.

You waited for a minute, then two, shifting your weight from foot to foot. The cold night air nipped at your skin. Disappointment settled heavy in your stomach. Maybe he’d changed his mind. Maybe the whole thing had been some weird one-time adrenaline thing and he’d ghosted.

You muttered a quiet “fuck it” under your breath, slung your bag over your shoulder, and started walking toward your house.

The road was empty, lined with thick trees on both sides. Your sneakers crunched against the gravel shoulder as you walked, the distant hum of the highway barely audible. You tried not to feel stupid, tried not to let the disappointment sink in too deep, but it was hard.

“Never trust men,” you grumbled to yourself, kicking a rock. “They’re all trash. All the fucking same.”

You stopped for a second, dug a cigarette out of your purse, and lit it with slightly shaky hands. The first drag burned nicely as you kept walking, smoke curling into the cold air.

And then–

A pair of hands suddenly grabbed your waist from behind.

“BOO!”

You screamed, loud and sharp, heart slamming against your ribs as pure panic shot through you. You spun around fast, already swinging your purse like a weapon, ready to crack someone in the head.

It was Toby.

He was standing right there, bandana pulled down around his neck, messy brown hair wild, that brutal scar twisting with the huge grin on his face. His dark eyes were gleaming with pure mischievous delight as he laughed - a low, choppy, genuine laugh that made his shoulders hitch hard.

“You asshole!” you squealed, half laughing, half still terrified. You swung your purse at him again, this time lightly, smacking him in the arm. “You fucking scared the shit out of me!”

You barely managed to keep hold of your cigarette, ash tumbling off the end as your hand shook.

Toby didn’t even flinch at the purse hit. He just kept laughing, eyes locked on you like you were the best thing he’d seen all night. Another sharp tic jerked his head to the side with a soft crack, but it didn’t dim the bright, almost boyish grin on his scarred face.

“I t-told you I’d be w-waiting,” he said, voice playful, the stammer cutting through the words in that familiar way.

You stared at him, heart still racing from the scare, adrenaline mixing with that giddy rush that always seemed to hit whenever he showed up. The cigarette smoke curled between you as you tried to catch your breath, a reluctant smile breaking across your face despite yourself.

“You’re such a dick,” you muttered, but there was no heat in it.

Toby just shrugged, still grinning, one shoulder rolling hard toward his ear as another tic rolled through him. He looked stupidly pleased with himself.

And somehow, that made it even harder to stay mad.

You started walking side by side down the dark road, the gravel crunching under your shoes. The night was quiet except for the occasional rustle of wind through the trees. Toby fell into step with you easily, shoulders hitching every few steps.

Without asking, he reached over and plucked the cigarette from between your fingers. He took a deep, slow drag, the cherry glowing bright orange in the darkness, then passed it back to you. You accepted it, still a little dazed by how casually he did it.

The whole situation felt completely bizarre. This was the same guy who had walked into your store and stolen two Snickers like it was nothing. The same guy who brought the melted bars back the next day, dropped to his knees behind the counter, and ate you out like a starving man. And now here you were, casually walking him home like it was a normal Friday night.

You weren’t complaining, though. The dude was one hell of a pussy eater, and he seemed genuinely, almost obsessively into you. That part flattered you more than you wanted to admit.

Still… there was a weird energy rolling off him. Something just slightly off. Like the air around him was heavier than it should be. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up every now and then.

You forced the thought away. The poor guy had Tourette’s and a bad stammer. He’d probably just had a really tough life. That was all.

“So… what’d you do today?” you asked, trying to keep things light as you took another drag from the cigarette.

Toby thought about it for a second, head twitching sharply to the side with a soft crack. Then he answered, completely deadpan:

“Jerked o-off to you.”

You immediately choked on the smoke, coughing hard as your eyes started to water. A surprised laugh burst out of you between coughs. “Jesus Christ, Toby–”

He glanced at you, that sheepish little grin pulling at his scarred lips, making the thick line on his cheek twist. His dark eyes were shining with amusement, but he looked completely serious about the answer.

You wiped at your eyes, still laughing breathlessly. “Okay… and what else did you do? Besides that?”

He shrugged. “Helped muh-my friend f-fix something on h-his truck.”

You hummed, nodding as you passed the cigarette back to him. “Oh, nice. So you’re handy, then?”

Toby took the cigarette, but before bringing it to his lips, he shot you a look. The corner of his mouth twitched up into something almost mischievous.

“You’ll s-see how h-handy I am when we ffff-fuck.”

You burst out laughing again, louder this time, the sound echoing down the empty road. He was way too honest. No filter at all. It was ridiculous and strangely endearing at the same time.

“God, you really just say whatever’s in your head, huh?” you said, shaking your head.

Toby only grinned wider, another sharp hitch jerking his frame as he took another drag. He didn’t deny it.

The two of you kept walking through the darkness, the distant glow of streetlights up ahead barely cutting through the thick trees. Every now and then his shoulder would twitch or his head would snap to the side, but he stayed close to you.

And despite that strange, nagging feeling in the back of your mind… you couldn’t stop smiling.

You finally reached your small rental house at the end of the quiet street. The porch light was still on, casting a warm yellow circle on the front steps.

“This is it,” you said, digging through your bag for your keys. You unlocked the door and stepped inside, Toby following close behind you like a restless shadow.

You flipped on the living room light and gestured around with a small, slightly embarrassed smile. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

It wasn’t much - just a tiny one-bedroom place - but you’d done your best to make it cozy. Soft throw blankets on the couch, a few plants that were somehow still alive, fairy lights strung along the walls, and a couple of cheap but cute prints hanging up. It felt lived-in and warm.

Toby looked around slowly, his dark eyes scanning everything. “Nice,” he muttered, sounding like he actually meant it.

You set your purse down on the little table by the door and kicked off your shoes. “Want a tour?”

He didn’t even hesitate.

“Only of your b-bedroom,” he said, voice rough under the remnants of that crooked grin.

You let out a surprised giggle, heat rushing to your face. This was actually insane. You’d known this guy for like three conversations and one very intense orgasm, and now he was standing in your house asking to see your bedroom.

Still, the giddy flutter in your stomach won out.

“Alright,” you said, biting back a smile. “Follow me.”

You led him down the short hallway, hyper-aware of him right behind you, his uneven steps and occasional quiet grunts filling the silence. When you pushed open the door to your bedroom, the soft glow of the string lights you’d left on this morning welcomed you both.

The bed was still unmade, sheets rumpled from where you’d rolled out of them earlier. A few stuffed animals were scattered near the pillows - a slightly embarrassing touch you hadn’t thought about until right now. Toby didn’t seem to care. His eyes moved over the room: the stuffed animals, the delicate string lights, your slightly messy closet, and then… back to you.

The eye contact was electric. Heavy. Both of you knew exactly what was about to happen.

You suddenly felt shy under the intensity of his stare. You reached up and tucked your hair behind your ear, trying to give yourself something to do with your hands.

“I… probably should shower first,” you said, voice a little breathy. “I had a long shift.”

Toby scratched at the side of his neck, fingers dragging over his skin. He shrugged, another sharp tic jerking his shoulder upward.

“You don’t nuhh-need to.”

You giggled nervously. “Um… really?”

He took a small step closer, dark eyes never leaving yours. His voice came out low, honest, and way too blunt:

“I p-prefer it. I wanna taste you… not soap.”

The rawness of his words hit you like a spark straight to your core. No filter or smooth lines, just pure, unfiltered want. You felt yourself get wet almost instantly, a rush of heat flooding between your thighs.

He took a few slow steps toward you, closing the distance until his tall frame was towering over yours. His hands slid under the hem of your faded “Stop & Gas” polo, rough palms settling warm and possessive against the bare skin of your waist. The simple touch sent a shiver racing up your spine.

You looked up at him, a teasing little smirk playing on your lips. “You’re a little nasty, huh?”

Toby nodded immediately, dark eyes half-lidded and hungry. “Mhm,” he hummed.

You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down closer. He was so much taller than you that you had to stretch a little. “You’re that desperate for my pussy?” you whispered against his mouth, “that you won’t even let me shower first?”

His fingers dug tighter into your waist, gripping hard enough to bruise as he nodded again, eager and shameless. “Yeah… fuck yes.”

Then his lips crashed into yours.

The kiss started slow, almost exploratory - warm and a little clumsy at first, his full bottom lip sliding against yours while the thick scar on his cheek brushed your skin. But it didn’t stay gentle for long. Within seconds it turned hungry and desperate. His tongue pushed into your mouth, tasting you, and you moaned softly into the kiss, fingers threading through his messy brown hair.

He walked you backwards until the backs of your legs hit the edge of the bed. You stumbled slightly and he caught you, pressing his body flush against yours.

“I need y-you so ffff-fucking bad,” he muttered against your lips.

“Yeah?” you breathed, pulling back just enough to look at him. “How bad, baby?”

The little nickname made something break in him. A low, broken groan rumbled in his chest, his hips twitching forward involuntarily.

“Show me,” you whispered.

That was all it took.

Toby’s hands were suddenly everywhere. He nearly ripped your polo up and over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him. With your help, he yanked your jeans open, fingers fumbling with the button and zipper in his haste before shoving the denim roughly down your legs. You kicked them off, leaving you standing there in just your plain bra and matching panties.

He didn’t waste a second.

His mouth latched onto your neck, sucking hard enough to leave dark marks as his hands grabbed two big handfuls of your ass, squeezing and kneading greedily. He was so eager it was almost overwhelming - grinding his clothed cock against your thigh while he kissed and bit down your throat.

With a quick, surprisingly skillful motion, he unhooked your bra and pulled it off, letting your tits spill free. He made a low, desperate sound at the sight before leaning down and taking one nipple into his hot mouth. He sucked hard, moaning loudly around your breast as his tongue swirled over the sensitive bud.

“Fuck–” you gasped, head falling back. “Yeah… just like that.”

He switched to the other tit, sucking and licking, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses and blooming hickies all over your chest. One of his hands stayed on your ass while the other palmed himself roughly through his jeans, stroking the obvious hard bulge as he devoured your tits.

Every moan and whispered “feels so good” that left your lips seemed to push him further. His hips kept twitching, tics rolling through his body, but he never stopped touching you.

You finally pushed him back just enough to sit on the edge of the bed, then lay back fully, spreading your legs for him. Your hand slid down your stomach and dipped between your thighs, rubbing slow circles over your soaked panties. The fabric was already dark with arousal.

Toby dropped to his knees between your legs instantly, like gravity had no say in the matter. He kissed and licked his way down your belly, scarred hands gripping and groping your soft thighs, spreading them wider.

“You hungry?” you asked breathlessly, looking down at him.

He nodded so eagerly it was almost pathetic, eyes wild and dark. “So fuckin’ hungry.”

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and practically tore them down your legs, tossing the ruined fabric aside. The second he had you bare, he spit directly on your already dripping pussy, watching it glisten before diving in.

His mouth was relentless.

He licked broad, messy stripes from your entrance up to your swollen clit, then sucked the sensitive bundle of nerves between his lips, moaning loudly into your cunt like tasting you was the best thing he’d ever experienced. He was loud, sloppy, and completely lost in it - slurping, groaning, tongue fucking into you before circling your clit again with frantic flicks.

“Ffuuuck–” you moaned, back arching off the bed. He was so eager it almost made you cum on the spot.

After a few intense minutes, the pleasure became too much, too fast. You had to push his head away with a shaky hand, chest heaving.

“W-wait–fuck, Toby–”

He pulled back just enough, lips and chin shiny with your slick, looking up at you with dazed, hungry eyes. A string of spit connected his bottom lip to your pussy.

You tried to catch your breath. “Take off your clothes,” you told him, voice hoarse. “I want to see you.”

Toby froze for a second, like the request hadn’t even crossed his mind. His shoulders hitched violently, head snapping to the side with a sharp crack. For the first time all night, a flicker of hesitation crossed his face.

But after a moment, he swallowed hard, fingers moving to the hem of his hoodie.

You wondered why he'd seemed a little unsure, but as soon as he took off his hoodie, you understood.

He was covered in scars. A warzone of old wounds, faded bruises in sickly yellows and purples, and raised white lines that crisscrossed his lean torso like someone had used his body as a cutting board for years. Some looked surgical, jagged and uneven. Others were clearly from blades - deep gouges across his ribs, a nasty puckered one just under his collarbone. His arms were worse: track marks of what looked like self-inflicted cuts along the insides of his wrists and forearms, layered over older burns and what looked like cigarette scars. He was skinny but wired with tight, wiry muscle that flexed under the damage, shoulders and biceps corded from whatever brutal shit he did to stay alive. He looked like he could snap a man in half.

You froze for a second, eyes wide, taking it all in. Toby’s breathing was already ragged, chest rising and falling hard as he watched your face. Another violent tic jerked his head to the side with a soft crack, shoulders hitching hard.

He didn’t say anything. Just shoved his jeans and boxers down in one rough motion, kicking them away. His thighs were just as scarred - knife wounds, deep scrapes, old bullet graze marks. And between them…

His cock was big. Thick, flushed dark, rock-hard and curving slightly upward, the head already slick with pre-cum. He wrapped a scarred hand around it almost absentmindedly, stroking himself slow and tight as he stared at you spread open on the bed, your soaked pussy glistening from his earlier mouth-work.

You swallowed hard. A thousand questions slammed through your head - what the fuck happened to you, who did this, what the hell kind of life leaves a person looking like they lost a war every single day - but you bit them back. You didn’t want to kill the moment. Didn’t want to push too hard when he was already raw and exposed in front of you like this.

Instead, you just shifted your hips, spreading your legs a little wider in invitation, and crooked a finger at him.

Toby was on you instantly.

He crawled up the bed with that restless, twitchy energy, scarred hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave marks as he shoved them apart. His mouth crashed into yours again, messy and desperate, tongue pushing deep while his cock dragged hot and heavy against your slick folds. He ground against you, coating himself in your wetness, groaning brokenly into your mouth every time his hips twitched forward.

“F-fuck… you’re so wet,” he rasped against your lips, voice wrecked with that choppy stammer. Another sharp tic snapped his head to the side, but he didn’t stop, just kept rutting his thick length along your pussy, the head catching on your swollen clit over and over until you were whimpering.

You reached down between you, wrapping your fingers around his cock. You stroked him once, twice, feeling the way he throbbed and leaked in your grip.

Toby’s breath hitched hard. “P-put it in,” he begged, forehead pressed to yours. “Please–I n-need it. Need to f-feel you.”

You lined him up, rubbing his fat tip against your entrance, and he pushed forward the second he felt it. The stretch was intense, slow and burning and perfect, as he sank into you inch by thick inch. He moaned loud and broken, hips jerking with tics even as he tried to go slow for you.

“Shit–so tight,” he growled, voice cracking. His scarred arms braced on either side of your head, muscles trembling as he bottomed out, balls pressed flush against you. He stayed there for a second, buried to the hilt, breathing hard against your neck while his cock pulsed inside you.

Then he started moving.

It wasn’t gentle. Toby fucked like he did everything else - restless and hungry. Deep, punishing thrusts that made your tits bounce and the bed creak. Every slam of his hips was punctuated by little grunts and bitten-off curses, his tics making his rhythm stutter and jerk in the hottest way possible. One moment he was grinding deep and slow, the next he was pounding you so hard your headboard smacked the wall.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, nails digging into his scarred back. He fucked you harder for it, mouth latching onto your neck, sucking fresh marks while he railed you.

“F-feels so good,” he panted, voice muffled against your skin. “Better than I imagined–fuck, you’re s-squeezing me so t-tight–”

You moaned his name, rolling your hips up to meet every thrust, and something in him snapped. Toby sat back on his knees, dragging your ass up onto his thighs so he could watch his thick cock disappear into your dripping pussy over and over. One thumb found your clit, rubbing messy circles while he slammed into you.

You could feel it building fast - that terrifying, overwhelming pressure coiling tight in your core, hotter and sharper than anything you’d ever felt. Every brutal thrust of Toby’s thick cock dragged against that perfect spot inside you, stretching you open, making your walls flutter and clamp down around him. You were soaked, the wet sounds of him slamming into your dripping pussy filling the room, obscene and loud. Your clit throbbed from his earlier thumb-work, oversensitive and aching, every grind sending sparks shooting up your spine.

“Keep–keep going,” you moaned, voice breaking. “Fuck, Toby, feels so good– don’t stop, baby, please–”

Your words seemed to flip a switch in him. Toby growled low in his throat, hands gripping your waist tighter, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he pounded into you even harder. His hips snapped forward with that restless, twitchy rhythm - deep, punishing strokes that made your tits bounce wildly and the bedframe slam against the wall.

Then it hit you.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a freight train. Your back arched hard off the mattress, mouth falling open in a silent, broken moan as pleasure ripped through every nerve. Your pussy clenched violently around his cock, pulsing and gushing, soaking his balls and the sheets beneath you. Toby kept fucking you through it, groaning loud and wrecked, hips stuttering with his own tics but never slowing. The overstimulation made your thighs shake uncontrollably, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“F-fuuuck–that’s it,” he rasped, voice choppy and hoarse. “So good–c-cum on my d-dick–”

Before you could even come down, he yanked you up harshly by the waist, pulling you flush against his chest so you were sitting in his lap, chest to chest. His scarred arms banded around your back, holding you there as he kept thrusting up into you, deep and relentless. You could feel every inch of him, every vein, every twitch of his big cock buried inside your spasming cunt.

You kissed him desperately - messy, open-mouthed, tongues sliding and teeth clashing. He tasted like smoke and salt and pure need. You sucked on his neck, right over that thick scar on his collarbone, biting and licking while you bounced a little in his lap, meeting his upward thrusts. Toby moaned loud and broken, head tilting to the side to give you better access, his messy brown hair tickling your cheek.

“God–you’re fucking me so good,” you panted against his skin, lips brushing his ear. “Such a good boy, Toby… my good fucking boy–”

His response was immediate. He squeezed your ass hard with both hands, nails biting into the soft flesh as he nodded frantically against you, hips jerking up harder.

“Y-yeah–yeah I a-am,” he stuttered, voice wrecked and eager, another violent tic snapping his head to the side with a soft crack. “I’m your good b-boy–fuck, I’ll be s-so good for y-you– ”

You kissed him again, deep and filthy, swallowing his moans while he railed you from below. His stamina was insane - sweat slicking his scarred chest, muscles flexing under all those brutal marks, but he showed no sign of slowing down.

“I wanna ride you,” you gasped against his mouth, rolling your hips in a slow circle that made him groan. “Let me ride you, baby.”

Toby let out a broken, desperate sound and nodded so fast it looked like it hurt. He slipped out of you with a wet, filthy pop, his cock slapping wetly against his scarred abs, glistening with your cum. He fell back against the pillows and your scattered stuffed animals, hair wild and sticking to his forehead, lips swollen and shiny, chest heaving. He reached for you immediately, hands grabbing at your hips, pulling you toward him with pure desperation in his dark eyes.

You laughed breathlessly, still trembling from your orgasm. “So fucking eager,” you teased, climbing over him.

You straddled his narrow hips, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of him. Reaching down, you wrapped your fingers around his throbbing cock - still rock-hard, veiny, and dripping - and lined him up. You sank down slowly, inch by thick inch. The new angle was brutal. He was so deep it was almost painful, the fat head of his cock pressing right against your cervix with every tiny shift of your hips.

You breathed heavily, eyes fluttering shut as you tried to adjust, hands braced on his scarred chest. “Fuck… you’re so big,” you whimpered. “So fucking deep like this…”

Toby looked up at you with glassy, half-lidded eyes, cheeks actually flushing a little. “S-sorry,” he muttered sheepishly, but his hands were already gripping your hips hard, trying to pull you down further anyway. His cock twitched inside you, eager and impatient.

You started moving - slow rolls of your hips at first, then building into a steady bounce. Your tits bounced heavily with every drop down onto his cock, nipples hard and sensitive. Toby’s eyes were locked on them, then on your face, then on where your soaked pussy stretched around his thick length, swallowing him over and over.

“You look so pretty under me,” you moaned, leaning forward to suck on his neck again, licking over his scars and biting down gently. “Such a pretty, desperate boy… taking my pussy so well.”

Toby’s breath hitched hard. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, head tilting back into the pillows as a full-body tic rolled through him - shoulders hitching violently, neck cracking. His hands shook as he guided you down harder, thumbs digging into your hip bones.

“F-fuck–keep saying that,” he begged, voice cracking. “Please– I–I wanna buh-be good f-for you–”

You moaned into his ear, grinding your clit against his pelvis on every downstroke, the wet slap of skin on skin getting louder and filthier. His cock dragged perfectly against every sensitive spot inside you, the head kissing your cervix with every bounce, sending sparks of sharp pleasure-pain through your body.

You leaned forward, cupping one of your tits and guiding it to his mouth. “Here, baby.”

He latched on immediately, desperate and starving. His scarred lips wrapped around your nipple, sucking hard, tongue swirling and flicking as wet, obscene slurping sounds filled the room. He moaned loudly into your soft flesh, the vibration shooting straight to your core. His hands stayed glued to your ass, kneading and spreading your cheeks apart as he helped bounce you on his dick, fingers digging in hard enough to leave fresh bruises.

You could feel him tensing underneath you - his scarred abs tightening, thighs trembling, cock swelling even thicker inside your soaked pussy. His groans grew louder, more frantic, muffled by your tit in his mouth.

“You wanna cum?” you purred, voice breathy as you kept riding him. “You wanna fill me up, hm?”

Toby nodded pathetically, mouth still full, eyes glassy and pleading as he looked up at you. He sucked harder, almost whimpering around your nipple, hips jerking up to meet every bounce.

You smiled, wicked and sweet, and sped up. The wet slap of your ass meeting his scarred thighs grew louder, filthier - his heavy balls smacking against you with every rough drop. You rode him harder, faster, tits bouncing in his face as you fucked him straight toward the edge.

That was all it took.

Toby came with a shattered, stuttering moan that vibrated against your breast. His whole body seized up - back arching hard off the bed, shoulders hitching violently with a loud crack as his tics hit him mid-orgasm. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your pussy, pulse after pulse, so much it immediately started leaking out around his cock. His face was pure blissed-out ruin: eyes rolled back, scarred cheeks flushed, mouth slack around your nipple as he shook and groaned through every spurt.

The sight of him like that - so wrecked, so pretty, so completely lost in you - almost pushed you right to the edge again. You moaned loud, grinding down on his pulsing cock to milk every drop.

You finally slowed, both of you panting and drenched in sweat, bodies trembling. Toby’s chest heaved under you, his cock still twitching inside your cum-filled cunt as he tried to catch his breath.

Then, voice hoarse and wrecked, he looked up at you with those dark, obsessive eyes and rasped:

“S-sit on my face.”

It sounded almost like begging.

You let out a soft, surprised giggle and carefully lifted off his cock. The second you did, a thick gush of his cum poured out of you, running down your thighs in messy white streaks. Toby’s eyes tracked it hungrily.

You pushed yourself forward and carefully swung a leg over and straddled his face, thighs framing his head, your dripping, cum-filled pussy hovering just above his mouth. “You’re so fucking filthy,” you laughed breathlessly, looking down at him between your legs.

Toby nodded fast, hands grabbing your ass and yanking you down hard onto his face before you could even finish teasing him.

“I n-need it,” he groaned, voice muffled instantly as he buried his face in your soaked folds. “Need your pussy in my m-mouth–fuck–”

You gasped as his tongue shoved straight into you, licking and sucking his own cum right out of your dripping hole with shameless hunger. He was forceful, almost aggressive - lapping up every drop of his load mixed with your juices, moaning loud and broken. His nose rubbed against your swollen clit while his tongue fucked deep, slurping obscenely, swallowing loudly.

You braced your hands on the headboard, thighs shaking. “Oh my God–Toby… you’re really eating your own cum out of me?” you asked, half-shocked, half-turned on beyond belief.

He made a low, ashamed little noise in the back of his throat, but didn’t stop. If anything, he pulled you down harder, nodding frantically against your pussy as his tongue worked even deeper. His fingers spread your ass open wider so he could devour you completely - sucking on your clit, licking stripes up your folds, pushing his cum back into you with his tongue only to suck it all out again.

He was completely lost in it. Groaning, whimpering, hips twitching uselessly beneath you as he ate you like a man starved. His messy hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, eyes half-lidded in pure bliss as he drowned in the taste of both of you. He alternated between long, messy licks from your entrance all the way up to your swollen clit and harsh suction that made your thighs quake around his head.

You tried to tease him, wanted to call him filthy again, but the words died in your throat. It was too much. The overstimulation, the way his nose ground against your clit, the relentless way he sucked and licked and moaned into your dripping pussy - it all crashed together.

Your second orgasm slammed into you without warning.

“F-fuuuck–Toby!” you screamed, back arching hard as your vision whited out. You grabbed fistfuls of his messy brown hair, yanking him harder against your cunt as your pussy clenched violently around nothing, gushing fresh slick all over his face. Your legs shook uncontrollably, thighs clamping tight around his head while wave after wave ripped through you. For a second you almost blacked out - ears ringing, body seizing, a broken, high-pitched moan tearing out of you that didn’t even sound like your own voice.

Toby just kept going, groaning happily as he drank every drop, tongue working you through it until you were a trembling, oversensitive mess.

You stayed there for a long minute, slumped forward, hands braced on the headboard, chest heaving as you tried to remember how to breathe. Your thighs were still twitching, pussy pulsing with aftershocks. Slowly, carefully, you lifted off his face with a wet sound.

You sat back on your knees beside him, staring down at the absolute wreck you’d made of him.

Toby looked ruined in the best way possible. His face was shiny and slick from nose to chin with your cum and his own spit. His scarred lips were swollen and red, chest rising and falling rapidly, dark eyes glassy and dazed with lust. His messy hair was even wilder, sticking to his forehead with sweat. And when your gaze drifted lower…

He was rock hard again.

His thick cock stood flushed and angry against his scarred abs, twitching visibly, the head glistening with fresh pre-cum. He wrapped one scarred hand around it almost shyly, giving himself a slow, embarrassed stroke while he stared at your naked body like he couldn’t help it. A soft, needy little moan slipped out of him, another violent tic jerking his head to the side with a quiet crack.

Something possessive and filthy twisted in your chest.

“Let me return the favor,” you said, voice hoarse but determined.

You slid down between his spread legs, settling on your stomach. Toby’s breath hitched hard as you wrapped your fingers around his cock, giving it a firm squeeze. It throbbed hot and heavy in your grip.

“Th-thank you–fuck, thank you,” he immediately started babbling, voice wrecked and choppy. One scarred hand gently threaded into your hair, holding you there.

You didn’t tease this time. You leaned down and took him into your mouth in one smooth motion, sucking hard on the head before sinking lower. He was so thick your jaw ached instantly, but you pushed further, spit dripping down his shaft as you worked him deeper.

Toby moaned loud and broken, hips twitching up. “Your m-mouth feels so ffff-fucking good–”

You gave it everything. You bobbed your head fast, sucking noisily, tongue swirling around the thick vein on the underside. You pulled off just long enough to spit messily all over his cock, watching the strings of saliva drip down before you deepthroated him again, nose pressing against his pelvis as you swallowed around him. Your hand stroked what you couldn’t fit, twisting on every upstroke while you hollowed your cheeks.

He was losing his mind above you.

“Shit–shit, you’re so puh-pretty like this,” he panted, voice cracking with every thrust into your throat. “Look so f-fucking good with my d-dick in your mouth–just like that–ahh–!”

You pulled off with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting your swollen lips to his glistening cock, and dropped lower. You sucked one of his heavy balls into your mouth, tongue bathing it while your hand kept stroking his shaft fast and tight. You licked and sucked the other one too, humming around them, feeling them draw up tight.

That did it.

Toby’s whole body seized. His hips jerked, scarred thighs trembling violently as his tics hit him mid-orgasm.

“I’m cumming–f-fuck–!”

Hot, thick ropes of cum flooded your mouth in powerful spurts. You kept cupping his balls gently, stroking him through it as you swallowed every drop - greedy, wet gulps that made him whimper and shake. You took it all until he was twitching and oversensitive, soft broken moans falling from his lips.

You finally pulled off, licking your lips clean as you looked up at him.

Toby was staring down at you like you’d hung the moon, chest heaving, face flushed under all the scars, one hand still loosely tangled in your hair. Another soft tic jerked his shoulder upward as he tried to catch his breath.

“…You’re p-perfect,” he rasped, voice completely wrecked. “C-can we do that again s-sometime?”

You laughed softly, crawling back up his body to kiss him, letting him taste himself on your tongue.

You collapsed beside him, completely spent, limbs heavy and trembling with exhaustion. Your body felt used in the best way possible - thoroughly fucked, aching, and sticky with sweat and cum. You curled into Toby’s side without thinking, pressing your face against his scarred chest, one leg draping lazily over his. He let you. Without hesitation, he shifted and slid his arm under your head like a pillow, pulling you closer so you could settle against him properly. His skin was hot, damp with sweat, and you could feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat under your cheek.

For a long while, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were your slowing breaths and the occasional soft crack of one of his tics. You let your fingers wander mindlessly, tracing the raised edges of a particularly nasty scar along his ribs - long, jagged, like something had tried to carve him open once. Toby hummed low in his throat, a lazy, content sound, and didn’t pull away. If anything, he relaxed further into the mattress, letting you explore the brutal map of his body.

Both of you were covered in marks. Dark hickeys bloomed across his neck and collarbones, matching the ones you could already feel throbbing on your own throat, breasts, and inner thighs. Proof of how desperately you’d wanted each other.

Toby seemed lost in thought, dark eyes half-lidded and distant as he reached out with his free hand and grabbed one of your stuffed animals - a small, worn teddy bear. He turned it over slowly in his fingers, then gently bounced it on his chest. The sight of your twitch thief casually playing with your childhood teddy after railing you senseless almost made you laugh. Almost.

You gathered your courage, voice still hoarse. “Toby… why do you have so many scars?”

He went quiet. The teddy bear paused mid-bounce. For a long moment the only movement was the restless hitch of his shoulder and the soft crack of his neck jerking to the side. Then he spoke.

“I r-really like you,” he said simply. The words came out hesitant, almost shy. “It’s… h-hard for me to talk a-about myself. Most people don’t… s-stick around after they see a-all this.”

You nodded against his chest, still tracing lazy circles over an older burn mark. “I’m not going anywhere right now. You can tell me.”

He exhaled slowly. The teddy bear resumed its gentle bouncing on his sternum.

“I have a… kind of a w-weird job,” he muttered. “I do some s-shady shit… not e-exactly legal.”

You swallowed, glancing up at his face. “Like what?”

Toby thought about it, dark eyes flicking to the side. Another tic rolled through him, head snapping sharply. He bounced the teddy once more, then finally answered.

“Like the thing that h-h-happened at the s-store the other nuh-night.”

Your blood froze.

The lazy, post-sex warmth in your veins turned to ice in a single heartbeat. Your fingers stopped moving on his ribs. The room, which had felt so safe and intimate just seconds ago, suddenly felt too small, too quiet. The distant hum of the fridge in the kitchen seemed deafening.

Oh fuck.

You slowly pushed yourself up onto one elbow, staring down at him. Toby was still lying there, relaxed, one arm tucked behind his head, the other still idly playing with the teddy bear like he hadn’t just admitted to hatcheting a man to death outside your workplace and leaving a smiley-face note.

He glanced at you, eyes half-lidded and almost soft, like he was waiting for you to process it. Another small hitch jerked his shoulder upward.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out at first. Your mind was spinning - flashes of the blood in the parking lot, the newspaper headline, the way he’d shown up at the store again like nothing happened.

“You…” Your voice cracked. You swallowed hard and tried again. “You’re the one who… killed that guy?”

Toby didn’t deny it. He just shrugged, the motion sharp and restless, and looked back at the teddy bear in his hand.

“He was s-stealing from y-your store,” he said, like that explained everything. “Pissed m-me off. I left a note, felt… dunno, r-romantic.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs. Part of you wanted to scramble off the bed, grab your clothes, run. But another, much more fucked-up part of you stayed exactly where you were.

Toby turned his head to look at you fully, dark eyes searching your face. His voice dropped quieter, almost vulnerable under the stammer.

“I w-wasn’t gonna tell you yet. But… I r-r-really like you. Didn’t want t-to lie.”

He gave the teddy bear one last soft bounce on his chest, then set it gently on the pillow beside him, waiting for whatever you were going to do next.

You’d been right. That nagging unease you’d tried to ignore? It had been screaming at you the whole time.

And the worst part - Toby didn’t even seem to realize how completely fucked this was.

You pulled the sheet around your chest like it could protect you from the surreal horror of this conversation. Your voice came out shaky when you finally spoke.

“That was supposed to be romantic to you? Toby, you murdered a guy. You hacked him to death right outside where I work.”

He flinched at your tone. The soft, dazed look in his dark eyes cracked. His jaw tightened, scarred cheek twitching as he looked away, staring at the string lights on your wall instead of at you. His shoulders hitched hard with a violent tic.

You were shaking now, adrenaline and fear mixing with the leftover ache between your thighs. “What–what the fuck is your job, then? You some kinda hitman? Is this normal for you? You just… go around killing people?”

Toby stayed quiet for a long moment, fingers still loosely holding the little teddy bear. When he spoke, his voice was lower, rougher, the stammer thicker.

“…Something like that, I-I g-guess. I’m good at it.”

You huffed out a bitter, disbelieving laugh and scooted further away from him on the bed, clutching the sheet tighter. “I don’t want anything to do with this. Any of it. This is insane, Toby. You’re insane.”

That one clearly hurt.

His expression crumpled - just for a second - before his face went carefully blank. He sat up slowly, messy brown hair falling into his eyes, the hickeys you’d left all over his scarred neck and chest standing out like accusations in the soft light. He looked… vulnerable. Exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being naked.

“I really l-like you,” he said quietly, almost pleading. “I w-want to keep doing t-this. With y-you.”

You shook your head, throat tight. “I liked you too. A lot. Until… this.”

The silence stretched, heavy and painful. Toby’s restless leg started bouncing under the sheet, another tic snapping his neck sideways.

“You gonna c-call the cops?” he asked. His voice was flat, but you caught the flicker of real worry behind it.

You thought about it. Really thought about it. The phone was on the nightstand. You could reach for it right now. But something stopped you. Maybe it was the way he’d looked at you when he was buried inside you. Maybe it was the fact that, despite everything, he’d only ever been gentle with you. Rough, filthy… but never cruel toward you. And yeah - the sex had been mind-blowing.

Finally, you exhaled shakily. “No. I’m not calling the cops.”

Toby’s shoulders sagged with visible relief. A soft, broken breath left him, and he rubbed a scarred hand over his face.

“My f-friend warned me to s-stay away from you,” he admitted, voice low. “Said it was a buh-bad idea. That I’d b-bring heat on e-everyone. But I didn’t listen. I c-couldn’t.” He looked at you then, dark eyes intense and obsessive even through the hurt. “Is that w-what you want? For m-me to stay a-a-away?”

You had no idea how to answer that.

Part of you wanted to scream yes. Part of you was still stupidly, dangerously drawn to him - the same part that had let him eat his own cum out of you less than an hour ago.

“I… need time to think,” you said eventually, voice small. “This is a lot, Toby. Too much. It’d be best if you left for now.”

He stared at you for a long moment, jaw working. Another violent tic rolled through his shoulders. Then he nodded once, slow and reluctant.

Without another word, he got up. You watched him pull on his clothes - hoodie, jeans, the bandana going back over the lower half of his face. Every movement was sharp, restless, laced with those familiar little hitches and cracks. When he was dressed, he paused by the side of the bed, looking down at you like he was memorizing everything.

“I’ll g-give you time,” he muttered. “But I’m not g-good at staying a-away. Not fuh-from you.”

He leaned down, hesitated, then pressed a quick, rough kiss to your forehead through the bandana. The gesture was strangely tender given everything.

Then he was gone - uneven footsteps down the hall, the soft click of your front door shutting behind him.

You sat there in the quiet of your bedroom, sheets tangled around your naked body, still aching from him, still tasting him on your tongue. The little teddy bear lay abandoned on the pillow where he’d left it.

Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

And deep down, you already knew this wasn’t really over.

Toby’s boots dragged heavy against the warped wooden porch steps, the sky just beginning to bleed a sickly grey over the treeline. Dawn. Barely past six. He’d walked for hours through the woods, boots crunching over damp leaves and old needles, mind looping the same reel on repeat: the way you’d looked riding him, the taste of your cum mixed with his own still ghosting his tongue, the way your face had twisted when he finally told you the truth.

He shoved the front door open with his shoulder. Voices drifted from the kitchen - low, exhausted murmurs.

Shit.

He tried to sneakily slip past the doorway, hood tugged low, bandana still pulled up over the worst of the marks on his throat.

“Toby.”

Brian’s voice cut through the air like a dull knife. Toby almost swore out loud.

He stopped, shoulders hitching hard once, twice, neck cracking sharply to the left with an audible pop. Slowly, he turned and stepped into the kitchen.

Tim was slumped in one of the rickety chairs, jacket off, sleeve rolled high. Fresh blood glistened along a nasty gash on his forearm while Jack leaned over him, black surgical thread and needle moving with precise, almost surgical calm. Brian stood by the counter in his hoodie, mask pushed up just enough to drink from a glass of water, eyes shadowed and tired. Both of them looked like they’d been through hell and back - clothes torn in places, dried blood crusted on fabric, postures heavy with exhaustion.

Toby kept his head angled, trying to keep the side of his neck hidden in shadow.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Brian asked, voice flat.

“Out,” Toby muttered, shoving his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets. Another violent tic jerked his shoulder upward.

Tim’s head snapped up immediately. His eyes - sharp even through the fatigue - zeroed straight in on the dark bruises blooming on Toby’s neck. The hickeys stood out like goddamn neon signs against pale skin.

“You went back to that gas station bitch, didn’t you?” Tim growled, already starting to push up from the chair.

Jack’s gloved hand clamped down on Tim’s wrist with surprising strength, keeping his arm steady. “Do not move,” Jack said evenly, voice calm and formal as always, though his void-black eyes flicked sideways toward Toby. He inhaled once, long and slow. “...Though the smell of intercourse and female saliva is rather difficult to ignore.”

Toby groaned, dragging a scarred hand down his face. “I didn’t–I f-fell. On my neck. Whatever.” The excuse sounded even stupider out loud. His head twitched sharply to the side again.

Tim stared at him, deadpan. “Jack. Medical opinion?”

Jack didn’t even pause his stitching. He glanced at Toby’s neck once more, clinical and detached. “Those are not impact bruises. They are suction marks–commonly referred to as hickeys–consistent with oral activity from a young woman. Judging by the residual scent profile, she is likely in her twenties. Healthy. Recently sexually active.” He tied off the thread with a neat knot. “Quite enthusiastically, I might add.”

Brian made a quiet sound of disgust and took another sip of water, turning slightly away like he didn’t want to look at Toby any longer than necessary.

Toby wanted to smack all three of them. Hard. His fists clenched inside his pockets, shoulders rolling with another restless hitch. “It’s my f-fucking life,” he snapped, voice choppy and rough. “You n-need to mind your own goddamn buh-business, Tim. All of you. Leave me a-alone.”

Tim’s jaw flexed, eyes narrowing dangerously, but Jack’s grip kept him pinned to the chair.

“You’re going to get us all in trouble chasing pussy,” Tim bit out. “Or worse - you’re gonna drag that girl into our shit and then have to clean up the mess when she inevitably freaks out.”

Toby’s head jerked hard to the left with a loud crack. He didn’t answer. Just turned on his heel, uneven gait carrying him out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.

Behind him, he heard Tim mutter something low and pissed. Brian said nothing. Jack simply went back to stitching like nothing had happened.

Toby went upstairs and slammed his bedroom door behind him, leaning back against the wood as another full-body tic rolled through him - shoulders hitching, neck snapping, fingers twitching violently at his sides.

He could still smell you on his skin. Still feel the ghost of your hands in his hair.

And despite everything - despite Tim’s warnings, despite the look on your face when he left - he already knew he’d go back.

Soon.

Brian sat behind the wheel of the old, beat-up truck, engine idling low like a lazy growl. The gas station glowed under its sickly fluorescent lights a short distance away, the new security cameras glinting like accusatory little eyes. He had one gloved hand draped over the steering wheel, the other tapping a slow, irritated rhythm on his thigh.

He exhaled heavily through his nose. “This is a bad idea.”

Tim snorted from the passenger seat, arms crossed tight over his chest, jaw clenched so hard it looked painful. The fresh stitches on his forearm pulled with the motion. “If Toby isn’t gonna behave himself,” he muttered, voice rough with exhaustion and frustration, “then we do it the hard way.”

Brian glanced sideways at him, skeptical eyes narrowing. “And what exactly is the plan here, Tim? Yeah, the kid hatcheting that idiot outside the store was sloppy as hell. We’re cleaning up after it. But let the guy have a goddamn life. You really think scaring off some gas station girl is gonna fix whatever the fuck is going on in his head?”

Tim stared straight ahead through the windshield, expression dark. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this one,” he said quietly. “You know how Toby gets when he fixates. It’s not just pussy. It’s her. He’ll keep going back. Keep killing for her. Keep dragging all of us into the spotlight until the whole damn county’s looking for hatchet-wielding freaks.”

Brian shook his head slowly, gloved fingers tightening on the wheel. “And your brilliant solution is showing up at her job? That seems logical to you?”

Tim didn’t answer right away. He just unbuckled his seatbelt with a sharp click and shoved the truck door open. The night air rushed in.

“Just follow my lead,” he said flatly, stepping out.

Brian sat there for another long second, staring at the dashboard like it might offer him some divine wisdom. He rubbed a hand down his face, muttering under his breath, “We’re all going fuckin’ crazy… God help me.”

Then he killed the engine, climbed out, and slammed the door behind him. His boots crunched against the gravel as he fell into step beside Tim, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. The two of them crossed the lot toward the glowing Stop & Gas like a pair of shadows that had crawled out of the treeline - tired, pissed off, and radiating the kind of quiet menace that made normal people cross the street.

Tim’s eyes were already locked on the front doors.

Whatever he was planning, it was happening now.

You were supposed to be working this shift with Andy, but he’d run out for a “quick deal” and promised he’d be back in no time. So you were stuck alone behind the counter.

You sighed and leaned back on the wobbly stool, the cheap little plastic fan whirring noisily beside the register as it blew lukewarm air across your face. It was stupidly hot tonight, the kind of sticky humidity that made your polo cling to your skin and your shorts ride up your thighs no matter how many times you tugged them down. Your hair was down, messy waves sticking to the back of your neck, and you kept popping your gum out of nervous habit.

Your mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

Toby.

Murderer. Psycho. Hatchet-wielding freak who left smiley-face notes on corpses.

But also… Toby. The twitchy, scarred, shamelessly obsessed guy who’d eaten you out like a man starved, fucked you stupid, then ate his own cum out of you without hesitation. He matched your freak in the most dangerous, exhilarating way possible. No one had ever looked at you the way he did - like you were the only thing in the world worth fixating on.

You didn’t know how the hell you were supposed to feel about any of it.

The bell above the door jingled.

You automatically plastered on your customer-service smile, but it died the second you saw them.

Two men stepped inside. You recognized them immediately - the same ones who’d been waiting in the truck the night Toby stole the Snickers. The dark-haired one was bigger, built like a damn tank, broad shoulders straining against a worn flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Faded jeans, heavy boots, the kind of quiet confidence that screamed trouble. The taller one behind him had dark blonde hair, sharp features, and an expression so serious it looked like he’d never smiled in his life. His jacket and jeans were clean but clearly well-worn, and the way he carried himself made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

You straightened up fast, heart kicking up a notch. Your gum froze mid-chew.

The dark-haired guy let his eyes drag slowly over you. From your bare legs in those tiny shorts, up to the low collar of your polo, and straight to the cluster of hickeys you’d desperately tried to cover with makeup. A little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He sauntered up to the counter and leaned over it, forearms resting on the scratched surface, close enough that you caught the faint scent of cigarettes and pine.

“Well hey there, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice low and deliberately charming, eyes flicking back down to your neck for a second. “Lookin’ real good tonight.”

The taller one stayed a step behind, silent. His gaze was heavy, unrelenting. When you glanced at him, he didn’t look away. Just stared. Like he was trying to read every thought in your head.

You raised an eyebrow at the “sweetheart,” chewing your gum once before answering in a cool, even tone.

“Can I help you guys with something?”

The bigger guy’s smirk widened just a fraction, like your attitude amused him. He tilted his head slightly, still leaning in.

“Oh, I’m sure we can think of something,” he said smoothly. “We’re just… checking in.”

You nodded slowly, still chewing your gum with loud pops, eyebrows slightly furrowed. “Yeah… checking in. That’s… nice of you, I guess. Everything’s all good here.”

His smirk stayed plastered on his face as he leaned further over the counter, eyes dipping down to your chest and the faint outline of hickeys you hadn’t quite managed to hide. “You sure about that, gorgeous? Working all alone in a shithole like this after what happened the other night… Gotta be scary. Who knows what kind of freaks might come wandering in.”

His tone was dripping with fake concern, the kind that felt way too sleazy. Like he thought flashing a smirk and calling you “gorgeous” would have you melting. You snorted, arms crossing under your chest as you held his gaze.

“Does that line usually work on girls?” you asked, voice flat and unimpressed. “Or do you just like hearing yourself talk?”

He blinked once, clearly caught off guard, but he recovered fast. The smirk sharpened. “Just looking out for a lady. Can’t be too careful these days.”

You gave him the most sarcastic nod you could muster. “Ooooookay, dude. Well, I’m good. Really. Don’t need anyone looking out for me.”

He glanced back at the tall blonde guy standing silently behind him. The other man simply shook his head once, slow and disapproving, eyes never leaving you. Then the dark-haired one turned back, tongue running over his teeth as he let out a low chuckle.

“Damn. You got a mouth on you, huh?” His voice dropped, gaze turning darker. “Wonder what else that pretty mouth can do.”

That was the final straw.

You stood up from the stool, planting both hands firmly on the counter and leaning forward to meet him head-on. “Look,” you said, tone sharp and final, “I’m not interested. At all. And honestly? Both of you look too old for me, so you can take that shit somewhere else.”

The blonde one actually blinked at your bluntness, like he hadn’t expected you to say it out loud.

The dark-haired one clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, the charming mask cracking as clear irritation flashed across his face. His jaw flexed and the easy smirk faded into something colder.

He straightened up slowly, still staring you down like he was sizing up whether you were worth the trouble. The air between you suddenly felt a lot heavier. “You have no idea what the fuck is going on here,” he growled.

You let out a dry, humorless little chuckle and shrugged. “Well, I know you’re friends of Toby.”

Both of them went still. The surprise on their faces was almost satisfying.

The dark-haired one stared at you. “How the hell do you know that?”

You rolled your eyes, attitude flaring. “Do you think I’m stupid? Because all girls are, right?” You gestured toward the parking lot with your chin. “I literally saw you two sitting in the truck the night he stole the Snickers. I’m not blind.”

He hadn’t thought of that. You could see it in the way his jaw flexed.

The blonde one finally spoke, voice low and calm but edged with something colder. “How much do you know?”

You crossed your arms tighter, ignoring the way the other one was still staring at you like he wanted to reach across the counter. You huffed.

“What do you want me to say? That I know who chopped that guy up the other day?” Your tone made it crystal clear - you knew it was Toby. “I get it. You guys are in some kind of gang or whatever. I’ll keep my mouth shut. Just… leave.”

The words hung in the hot, stale air of the store. You were starting to piece it together now. Toby wasn’t just some lone weirdo with a hatchet problem. He was tangled up with these two creepy-ass dudes who clearly thought they could roll up in here, intimidate you, maybe even use you to get under his skin. It was disgusting.

And for the first time since Toby left your house, a small flicker of sympathy twisted in your chest. No wonder he was so restless, so fixated. Living with guys like this?

You just wanted them gone.

The dark-haired one’s eyes bored into you, the fake charm completely gone now. The tall blonde stayed quiet, watching you like he was trying to decide exactly how dangerous you were.

The fan kept whirring uselessly behind the counter. Your gum snapped loudly in the tense silence.

The dark-haired one planted both palms flat on the counter, leaning in so close you could see the faint scar on his jaw and the exhaustion lines carved deep around his eyes.

“We’re not leaving yet,” he said, voice low and edged with steel. “And you need to stay the fuck away from Toby. I mean it. End whatever the hell this is before it gets messy.”

You felt your spine straighten like someone had yanked a wire through it. A challenge. That’s exactly how it landed. No one - especially not some flannel-wearing control freak - got to tell you who you could fuck, date, or even look at.

You leaned forward too, meeting him halfway, gum snapping loud between your teeth. “You don’t get to tell me shit,” you said. “Not you. Not your silent buddy back there. Not anybody. I decide who I spend time with. And right now? I like Toby. A lot.”

His eyes darkened. His jaw flexed hard enough that the muscle jumped. The charming mask was long gone; what was left was raw, agitated aggression rolling off him in waves.

“You think this is a game?” His voice dropped even lower, rougher. “You have no fuckin’ idea what you’re playing with.”

He was getting louder. Meaner. You could see the veins standing out on his forearms where he gripped the counter. Your heart hammered against your ribs, adrenaline flooding your system, but you refused to back down. You stared him dead in the eyes, chin lifted, even as fear prickled cold down your spine.

He suddenly shoved forward, leaning so far over the counter that his face was inches from yours. His breath was hot against your skin.

“Listen here, you little whore,” he snarled, voice venomous and quiet. “You already spread your legs for that twitchy little fucker once. That’s enough. We don’t need some gas-station slut dragging him down, making him sloppy, getting him in trouble. You’ll get him caught - or worse, you’ll get all of us caught. So back the fuck off before I make you.”

For a split second you couldn’t decide whether to reach across the counter and smack him across his smug face or bolt for the back room and lock the door. Your cheeks burned with fury and humiliation. Your hands curled into fists at your sides.

Before you could react, a sharp whistle cut through the tension.

His head snapped toward the other man. The tall blonde hadn’t moved much, but he gave a single, meaningful tilt of his chin toward the shiny new security camera mounted in the corner near the coolers. Its red light blinked steadily. A silent warning: don’t do anything stupid, the cameras are on.

The dark-haired one exhaled hard through his nose, nostrils flaring. He slowly pulled back, but the rage still simmered just under his skin. He ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to rein it in.

You forced a shaky breath out and turned your gaze to the blonde one, eyebrows raised in mocking disbelief. “Wow. Is your friend always this charming? Or does he only pull out the ‘little whore’ routine for special occasions?”

He just stared at you. No expression, no words. Just those cold, unblinking eyes that made your stomach twist. Tough crowd.

You shook your head, letting out a dry, bitter laugh. “You guys aren’t very smart, you know that? Rolling up in here thinking you could intimidate me, maybe fuck me, get some leverage over Toby… Jesus Christ. Pathetic.”

The dark-haired one’s face twisted with barely-contained fury.

You leaned back against the stool, crossing your arms tight under your chest, heart still racing. Then you said it - the one thing you knew would get under their skin.

“Toby’s actually my boyfriend. We’re very happy together.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

The dark-haired one's eyes widened for half a second before narrowing into dangerous slits. His hands clenched so hard on the counter you heard the wood creak.

“And he’s gonna hear all about this little visit,” you added, popping your gum once more for emphasis. “Every single word.”

That did it.

He looked ready to vault over the counter and throttle you. His whole body tensed, shoulders bunching under the flannel, breathing heavy and ragged. The charming, sleazy mask was completely shattered; what was left was pure, protective, territorial rage. He looked like he wanted to burn the whole place down.

That’s when the tall one finally moved. He stepped forward and clamped a firm hand on the other man’s shoulder, pushing him back from the counter with surprising strength. His voice was low, cold, and utterly disgusted.

“Stop wasting time on this dog-fucking bitch.”

The words hit you like a slap across the face. Dog-fucking bitch. Your vision tunneled with red-hot rage. The casual, venomous way he said it - like Toby was nothing more than a mangy stray humping anything that moved - made your stomach twist with pure disgust. These assholes had the nerve to come into your store, call you a whore, and then talk about Toby like he was some filthy animal?

You saw red.

The dark-haired one huffed sharply, rolling his shoulder to shrug the blonde one’s hand off like it was an annoying fly. The fake calm he forced over his features was terrifying in its own way. Without another word, he stepped around the end of the counter like he owned the place, boots heavy on the scuffed tile.

Your heart slammed against your ribs so hard you thought it might crack something. Every instinct screamed at you to back up, to scream, to run - but you locked your knees and stared him down, jaw tight, refusing to flinch. Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms.

He stopped right in front of you, close enough that you could smell the cigarette smoke still clinging to his flannel. He held your gaze the entire time, dark eyes burning with barely-leashed fury. Then, slowly, he reached past you to the cigarette shelves. He snatched two packs of Marlboro Reds, never once looking away from your face. The plastic crinkled loudly in the tense silence.

He turned slightly, still staring, and grabbed a cheap plastic flask of whiskey from the liquor display. The message was crystal clear: We take what we want. And right now, we want you scared.

Your breath came shallow and fast, but you didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just burned holes into him with your eyes.

His mouth twitched into something ugly. He walked past you like you were nothing, heading for the exit. Right before he pushed the door open, he turned his head and spit hard onto the floor near your feet - a thick, contemptuous glob right on your clean tile.

The bell jingled as he stepped out into the night.

The tall blonde lingered for a second longer. He let out a long, exhausted sigh, like this whole thing bored him more than anything. Without looking at you, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a crumpled handful of bills, and tossed them onto the counter. They scattered like dirty leaves. Then he turned and followed the other man out.

The door swung shut behind them.

For a heartbeat, the store was deathly silent except for the useless whir of the fan.

Then the rage exploded.

You stormed out from behind the counter, heart hammering, and shoved the front door open. The humid night air slapped you in the face as you watched them climb into the same beat-up truck from before. You leaned out, spit as hard and aggressively as you could onto the pavement, and screamed at the top of your lungs:

“Go to hell!”

You slammed the door shut, twisted the lock with shaking fingers, and flipped the sign to CLOSED even though your shift wasn’t over. Your legs carried you back behind the counter on autopilot. The second you were out of sight from the windows, your knees buckled.

You sank down onto the stool, elbows on the counter, head in your hands, breathing fast and ragged - hyperventilating. The crumpled bills stared up at you like a sick joke. Two packs of stolen cigarettes. One stolen flask. Spit on your floor. Threats. Insults. The casual way they’d tried to terrorize you.

And the worst part?

It worked. You were terrified.

But underneath the fear, something else was crystallizing, sharp and undeniable.

Toby wasn’t the villain here.

Not really.

Those two - the dark-haired one especially - had walked in like they owned you, owned the store, owned Toby’s choices. They talked about him like he was a problem to be managed. A dog on a leash. They came here to intimidate you, to scare you off, to keep their little crew’s control intact. And they’d done it in the most disgusting, sleazy way possible.

You thought about Toby’s restless tics, the way he’d looked almost shy when he admitted he really liked you, the way he’d played with your stuffed bear after fucking you senseless. He was dangerous, yeah. A murderer. But compared to the cold, calculated cruelty you’d just seen from his so-called friends?

Toby suddenly seemed like the least terrifying thing in this whole fucked-up situation.

You didn’t know what the hell you were going to do.

But one thing was certain:

This wasn’t over.

The fluorescent lights above the counter hummed like dying insects, casting a sickly yellow glow over the cramped aisles of the little gas station convenience store. This place hadn’t been updated since the late nineties, faded chip bags hanging in crooked rows, a rattling cooler that sounded like it was on its last legs, and a single dusty security camera mounted high in the corner that hadn’t recorded anything in years. You’d been stuck working here for almost eight months now, wearing the same faded navy polo with the cheap embroidered “Stop & Gas” logo peeling off the left breast. The pay was shit, the customers were worse, and management blamed you every single time inventory came up short.

You sat on the wobbly stool behind the register, one elbow propped on the scratched laminate counter, popping your gum loudly as you flipped through the local newspaper. The headline on page three still made your stomach twist even though the story was three years old now:

“Unsolved Blaze Destroys Local Bar - Three Years Later”

You skimmed the article with tired eyes. Some rundown dive bar on the edge of town had gone up in flames one night, spreading unnaturally fast. One body had been recovered from the wreckage, burned beyond recognition. The night-shift bartender was still listed as missing. Police had called it suspicious from the start, accelerant traces everywhere, but leads had dried up fast. No arrests. Just another cold case in a town that already had too many.

You snorted softly, snapping your gum again. “Figures.”

You folded the newspaper in half and tossed it onto the counter, leaning back until the stool creaked in protest.

Stealing was practically a local sport around here. Kids on bikes snatching energy drinks, truckers palming beef jerky, teenagers daring each other to stuff pockets full of candy. Every week the inventory logs came back short, and every week your manager chewed you out like it was your fault for not having eyes in the back of your head. “You gotta be more vigilant,” he’d say, like you weren’t already exhausted from twelve-hour shifts in this fluorescent coffin. You hated it. Hated the constant low-level paranoia, the way every customer felt like a potential thief, the way you always ended up taking the blame when the numbers didn’t add up.

Your shift had barely started and you were already counting down the hours. The clock above the door read 8:42 p.m. Outside, the lot was mostly empty except for one beat-up Chevy truck idling crookedly at the far pump, engine rumbling low. You watched the two men for a long moment through the glass.

One of them leaned against the truck with his arms crossed, a cigarette glowing between his lips. Dark hair, broad shoulders, a permanent scowl etched into his face as he stared out toward the treeline like he expected something to crawl out of the woods. The other one stood at the pump, lighter hair catching the harsh sodium lights, his expression cold and detached as he watched the numbers tick up on the gas display. There was something off about both of them - too still, too watchful. The kind of men who made the little hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You chewed your gum slower, eyes narrowing.

The bell above the door suddenly jingled, sharp and far too cheerful for the quiet night.

Your head snapped up.

He stepped inside like he owned the damn place.

Tall. Hood pulled low over messy brown hair that stuck out in uneven, self-cut chunks. A black bandana covered everything below his nose, pulled tight so only his dark, restless eyes showed. Scuffed black Converse, dark hoodie, shoulders already twitching with small, involuntary jerks. He moved with a strange, uneven gait - long strides broken by sharp hitches, like electricity was trapped under his skin and kept firing at random.

The second he crossed the threshold, his gaze locked onto you.

For one long, electric second your eyes met across the empty store. Something cold and dangerous crackled in the air between you - raw awareness mixed with the heavy knowledge that you were completely alone in here. Then he looked away first, almost guiltily, and shoved both hands deep into his jacket pockets.

You watched him drift toward the candy aisle, your gum forgotten mid-chew.

His right shoulder rolled hard toward his ear. A quick, violent snap of his head to the left. A soft, bitten-off grunt slipped out from under the bandana. Tourette’s, maybe. Whatever it was, the restless energy rolling off him made the air feel thicker.

He stopped in front of the Snickers bars.

Long, scarred fingers hovered. Another sharp tic jerked his neck sideways with an audible crack. He plucked two bars from the rack casually, and in one smooth motion slipped them into the deep pocket of his pants.

You saw it clear as day.

Your stomach tightened. Not again. Not fucking tonight.

He turned like nothing had happened and started heading for the door, shoulders hitching with every other step.

You stood up fast, the stool scraping loudly against the tile.

“Hey,” you called, voice cutting sharp through the fluorescent buzz. “Aren’t you gonna pay for those?”

He froze mid-step, one hand already pushing the door open. The bell gave a half-hearted jingle.

Slowly, he turned.

Dark eyes met yours from under the shadow of the hood. Confusion flickered there for a split second, then something sharper - amusement, maybe. Or challenge. His head twitched hard to the side, shoulder rolling up toward his ear as he shrugged, casual as hell.

“What?” The word came out muffled and choppy under the bandana, laced with a noticeable stammer. “I-I didn’t tuh-take anything.”

You crossed your arms, leaning one hip against the counter, the “Stop & Gas” logo stretching across your chest.

“I literally just watched you put two Snickers in your pocket. Pay for them or put them back.”

He stared at you for a long beat. Then his eyes dragged slowly down your body, over the faded polo that clung a little too tight after too many washes, down to the way your jeans sat on your hips. He wasn’t subtle about it.

A low, muffled sound, half laugh, half tic, slipped out from under the bandana. He patted the side of his pants where the rectangular bulges were clearly visible.

“You c-can check my pockets if y-you want,” he offered, voice low, almost playful.

The nerve of him made heat crawl up your neck.

“Dude, I can literally see them. You’re really gonna play dumb with the candy still in your pocket?” you shot back.

He tilted his head, another sharp tic jerking his shoulder. The corners of his eyes crinkled like he was smiling under the fabric.

“I d-don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You scoffed. “Take them out. Right now. Or I’m calling the cops.”

His eyes darkened. The playful edge vanished.

“Try a-and see w-what happens, bitch.”

The word hit like a slap. His gaze dropped again, slower this time, lingering on your thighs before sliding back up. He gave a short, choked laugh that sounded more like a tic than anything human, then turned and shoved through the door. The bell jingled mockingly as cold night air rushed in.

You stood there stunned for half a second before anger surged hot through your veins.

“Fucking asshole!”

You quickly stepped out from behind the counter, following him. You yanked the door open and stepped out into the biting cold, the fluorescent light spilling out behind you.

He was already halfway across the lot, long strides eating up the gravel. The Chevy truck’s headlights flared on suddenly. The dark-haired passenger flicked his cigarette away and narrowed his eyes at you through the rolled down windshield. The lighter-haired driver sat stone-faced behind the wheel.

The hooded guy, your thief, jogged the last few steps, yanked open the back door, and slid inside. The door slammed.

You shouted after him anyway, voice cracking across the empty lot.

“Hey! Get back here, you piece of shit! You don’t just walk out with my fucking candy!”

From inside the truck you heard that same choked laugh again. The passenger muttered something sharp–“Fucking idiot” and “Told you to behave”–before the driver shifted into gear. The truck rolled forward, gravel crunching.

The back window rolled down.

Your thief leaned out just enough for you to see the glint of his eyes under the hood. He lifted one scarred hand in a lazy wave, fingers twitching once.

Then he flipped you off, eyes crinkling with clear amusement under the bandana.

The truck sped up, taillights flaring red as it disappeared down the dark road toward the treeline.

You stood there in the cold, breath fogging, heart hammering with rage.

“Fucking idiot,” you hissed, flipping the empty road off with both hands before storming back inside.

You locked the door early that night.

Two Snickers. Two lousy bucks.

And you were already dreading the next shift.

The day after the thief stole those two Snickers, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

No matter how hard you tried to shove the memory down, it kept crawling back up. The sharp, involuntary hitch of his shoulders. The way his head snapped sideways with that soft, audible crack. The choppy stammer that made his words fight their way out from under the black bandana. And the absolute fucking nerve of him - walking into your store like he owned it, slipping candy into his pocket right in front of you, then flipping you off from the back of that truck like it was all some kind of game.

It was infuriating.

You hated how easily he’d gotten under your skin. Hated the way your stomach had twisted when he’d looked you up and down like he was already imagining peeling the “Stop & Gas” polo off your body. Hated that every time you closed your eyes, you saw those dark, restless eyes locking onto yours across the empty store.

But deep down, buried under layers of annoyance and the righteous anger you kept feeding yourself, you were curious.

What the hell was he hiding under that bandana? Was he ugly? Or was it just an intimidation tactic - some edgelord trick to make himself look more dangerous than he really was? And who were those other two men in the truck? The dark-haired one with the cigarette and the permanent scowl, and the lighter-haired driver with the cold, dead-eyed stare. Where had they gone after they peeled out into the woods? Were they locals? Drifters? Something worse?

The questions gnawed at you all shift, turning every slow hour into a loop of unwanted thoughts.

It was a strangely calm day at the store. Only a handful of customers had trickled in, mostly truckers grabbing coffee and lottery tickets, a couple of locals buying cigarettes. No one caused any trouble. No one tried to walk out with half the candy aisle. By the time evening rolled around and the sun started dipping behind the thick treeline, the store was dead quiet except for the constant low rattle of the cooler and the buzzing fluorescents overhead.

You needed something to do before you drove yourself crazy replaying that lazy middle finger in your head for the hundredth time.

Grabbing the mop and bucket from the back room, you filled it with soapy water and got to work on the scuffed tile floors. The rhythmic sloshing and the faint squeak of the mop head were almost meditative. You pulled your hair up into a messy ponytail to keep it out of your face, the strands still slightly damp from the morning’s shower. The faded navy polo clung to your back as you worked, the “Stop & Gas” logo stretching across your chest with every push of the mop.

You were halfway down the center aisle, hips swaying slightly with the motion, when the bell above the door suddenly jingled, sharp and bright in the quiet store.

You didn’t turn around right away, figuring it was just another trucker or local grabbing cigarettes on their way through. You gave the mop one last lazy push across the tile, the soapy water sloshing softly in the bucket.

Then you turned.

Your heart almost stopped.

It was him.

He stood just inside the doorway, the bell still swaying gently above his head. Same oversized dark hoodie, hood pushed back just enough to let messy brown hair spill out in chaotic, self-cut chunks. Same scuffed black pants. Same black bandana pulled tight across the lower half of his face, hiding everything but those dark, restless eyes. His shoulders were already twitching with that familiar restless energy - small, involuntary hitches that made his whole frame seem like it was wired wrong.

The second your eyes met, his gaze dropped. He scanned you openly, shamelessly, starting at your sneakers, dragging slowly up your legs, lingering on the way your jeans hugged your hips and the curve of your ass, then higher to where the faded “Stop & Gas” polo stretched across your chest. His eyes flicked back to your face, then down your body again like he couldn’t decide which part he wanted to look at more. There was something almost playful in the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, like a smile was hiding under that damn bandana.

You wanted to slap him.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve coming back here,” you snapped, grip tightening on the mop handle until your knuckles went white.

He didn’t move. Just stood there, head tilting slightly to one side as a sharp tic jerked his shoulder upward. Another quick snap of his neck to the left, accompanied by a soft, bitten-off grunt that slipped out from under the fabric. His eyes stayed locked on you the whole time.

You shoved the mop into the bucket with more force than necessary, the water splashing loudly, and stalked behind the counter to put the solid laminate between you and him. You crossed your arms tight over your chest, glaring.

He stayed rooted near the door for another long second, then took a slow step forward.

“Hi,” he muttered, voice muffled under the bandana, that familiar stammer cutting through the single word.

You scoffed, loud and dry. “Hi? That’s all you’ve got? Are you back to steal some more, or did you just come here to stare at my ass again?”

Instead of answering, he started walking toward the counter.

His steps were uneven, shoulders hitching every few steps, head giving another sharp sideways twitch as he moved. He drifted closer with that same restless, predatory energy that made the air in the store feel thinner. His dark eyes never left yours, even as another tic made his right shoulder roll hard toward his ear.

You held your ground behind the counter, arms still crossed, heart hammering harder than you wanted to admit. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like they were laughing at you. And still he kept coming, until he was standing right on the other side of the register - close enough that you could smell the cold night air clinging to his hoodie mixed with faint pine and cigarette smoke.

He fidgeted a little, scarred fingers twitching against the edge of the counter as another sharp tic jerked his head to the side with a soft crack. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled something out.

You stared in confusion as he placed the two Snickers bars on the scratched counter in front of you. They were completely crushed and melted from being in his pocket for hours - wrappers crumpled and torn, chocolate smeared across the plastic like they’d been sitting in a hot car all day. It was ridiculous. The bars looked pathetic, like sad little casualties of whatever chaotic life this guy led.

You looked up at him, eyes wide. “Seriously?”

This had never happened before. Thieves didn’t just come back to return their stolen shit. Especially not after flipping you off and peeling out like it was all a joke. What the fuck?

He just nodded once, eyes crinkling at the corners again like he was smiling under the bandana. “Y-yeah,” he said, the stammer making the single word drag.

You stared at him, waiting for something to happen - anything. For him to laugh and snatch them back, or for his buddies to burst in and rob the place, or for the whole thing to turn into some kind of setup. But nope. He just stood there, shoulders hitching with those small, involuntary jerks, dark eyes watching you like he was waiting to see what you’d do next.

So you pushed. “Why on earth are you doing this?”

He thought about it for a moment, head tilting slightly as another tic made his right shoulder roll hard toward his ear. A soft, bitten-off grunt slipped out. Then he shrugged.

“You l-looked very upset last night,” he muttered. After a little pause, he added, quieter, “And it d-didn’t feel good s-stealing from a pretty girl.”

You were completely caught off guard.

The words hit like a sucker punch - simple, blunt, and way too honest for a guy who’d just called you a bitch the night before. Heat rushed up your neck, and for a second you didn’t know whether to laugh, snap at him, or throw the melted candy right back in his face. Pretty girl? From the mouth of the same asshole who’d eyed you like meat and walked out with your inventory?

Your mouth opened, then closed again. Everything felt off-balance now.

As he just stood there, shoulders still twitching with those small, restless hitches, dark eyes never quite leaving yours, you couldn’t take the weird tension anymore. The melted Snickers sat between you like some ridiculous peace offering, and the way he was looking at you made the air feel too thick, too charged.

You crossed your arms tighter. “Well yeah, of course I was upset. We’ve got a huge problem with people stealing shit in this store. Management’s always riding my ass about inventory coming up short, like it’s my fault assholes can’t keep their hands to themselves.” You sighed, then continued. “Why did you even steal the candy in the first place?”

He shrugged, one sharp roll of his shoulder turning into another quick tic that snapped his head sideways with a soft crack. His gaze dragged slowly down your body again, over the faded polo, the curve of your hips, then back up to your face, before he answered.

“Got a s-sweet t-tooth,” he said simply, the stammer making it sound almost boyish despite the rough edge to his voice.

You huffed, a short, frustrated sound that did nothing to ease the heat crawling up your neck. The pressure of it all - the intense way he stared, the constant little jerks of his body, the subtle implication hanging in every glance - was getting too much. You didn’t know if you wanted to kick him out or keep him talking just to see what he’d say next.

So you simply pushed the two crushed bars back across the counter toward him.

“Dude, just keep ’em. It’s fine.”

He looked down at the ruined candy, then back up at you. Something flickered in his eyes - disappointment, maybe. The corners crinkled less, like the hidden smile had slipped.

Then he casually said, voice low and muffled under the bandana, “I’m c-craving something s-sweeter than that.”

You stared at him, blinking. “…Like what?”

A sharp tic jerked his right shoulder hard toward his ear, followed by a quick snap of his neck to the left. He let out a soft, bitten-off grunt before the words came out, rough and direct:

“Like y-you.”

Your face went red immediately, heat flooding your cheeks even though you tried your hardest not to react. You felt it burn all the way to your ears, your pulse kicking up so fast it was embarrassing. Pretty girl. Craving you. The nerve of this fucking guy - coming back here after stealing, after flipping you off, now dropping lines like that while his body twitched like it had a mind of its own.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, completely thrown.

He didn’t laugh or take it back. Just stood there watching you with those dark, restless eyes, waiting. Another small hitch rolled through his shoulders as he tilted his head slightly, like he was genuinely curious how you’d respond.

The store felt smaller than ever, the scuffed tile and faded aisles closing in while your heart hammered against your ribs.

Finally, you managed a shaky scoff, trying to play it cool even as your face betrayed you.

“You’re… actually insane.”

But your voice came out softer than you wanted, almost breathless, and the red in your cheeks wasn’t fading anytime soon.

He nodded at that, the movement sharp and uneven thanks to another quick tic that made his shoulder jerk upward.

“Yep,” he said simply, like he was just confirming the weather. No smirk, no defense, no trying to play it off. Just yep. Like being called insane was normal.

Jesus fucking Christ. What was this guy’s deal?

You swallowed thickly, the heat still burning across your face. Your fingers awkwardly adjusted your messy ponytail, tucking a stray strand behind your ear just to have something to do with your hands. You glanced around the empty store before your eyes flicked back to him.

“I don’t even know what’s under there,” you said, motioning vaguely toward the black bandana still covering the lower half of his face. “Like… what you look like.”

He blinked. Once. Slowly. Like the thought genuinely hadn’t occurred to him at all.

Then, after a beat, he asked, voice low and choppy through the fabric, “You w-wanna see?”

Your heart stuttered. You rubbed your arm, suddenly self-conscious under the sickly yellow fluorescent glow.

“Um… yeah. Sure.”

He hesitated for a moment. His restless eyes flicked down to the counter, then back to you. Another sharp tic jerked his head to the side with a soft crack, and his scarred fingers twitched against the edge of the bandana. For the first time since he’d walked in, he looked almost uncertain, like he was weighing whether this was a mistake.

Then he made up his mind.

With a quick, decisive tug, he pulled the black bandana down and let it hang loosely around his neck.

Holy shit.

The scar was huge. It stretched diagonally across his left cheek, brutal and badly healed, thick and raised like someone had dragged a jagged blade across his face and never bothered to stitch it properly. The skin around it pulled at the corner of his mouth, giving his lips a slight, permanent twist on that side. It looked painful even now, years later.

But aside from that… he was pretty.

He looked much younger than you expected. Messy brown hair fell into his dark eyes in uneven, self-cut chunks. His lips were full and slightly swollen, the bottom one especially plush despite the scar tugging at it. His jaw was sharp, almost delicate in its angles, and his skin was surprisingly soft-looking, pale with a faint scatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose that you hadn’t noticed before. The contrast between the violent scar and the rest of his face was jarring - beautiful in a broken, almost haunting way.

You held your breath without realizing it, the air caught tight in your chest.

His eyes, those same restless, dark eyes, were locked on yours now, waiting. You could see the tension in them, the braced expectation. He was waiting for the rejection. For the flinch. For the disgust to flash across your face like it probably had a hundred times before. He seemed completely ready for you to tell him to get the fuck out.

Your pulse hammered loud in your ears.

You didn’t look away.

And then it happened.

You don’t know what on earth possessed you to do this - maybe the way he looked at you with those scarred, pretty features and those braced, waiting eyes, maybe the electric tension that had been crackling between you since the moment he walked back in, or maybe you’d just lost your goddamn mind after eight months of fluorescent-lit boredom - but the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“I can give you something sweet to eat.”

The tics started immediately.

His head snapped hard to the left with an audible crack, shoulder jerking violently toward his ear. Another sharp twitch rolled through his frame, then another, faster, like his whole body was short-circuiting. He looked shocked, like you’d just shot him point-blank. His dark eyes went wide, the restless energy in them freezing for a split second.

“W-wait… wh-what?” he stammered aggressively, the words tumbling out choppy and broken under the fresh wave of tics. His scarred mouth twisted with the movement, the thick line on his cheek pulling tight. “You– you s-said–?”

No going back now.

Your hands shook slightly as you motioned with your chin toward the small space behind the counter. “Come here.”

He just kept staring, frozen, another violent hitch jerking his shoulders. So you did it.

Your fingers went to the button of your jeans. The faint metallic click of the button popping open sounded impossibly loud under the buzzing fluorescents. You dragged the zipper down. The waistband of your plain white panties peeked out, simple cotton, nothing special, but the sight of them made a low, choked sound rip out of his throat.

And then he was moving.

He came around the counter fast, uneven steps eating up the short distance, shoulders hitching with every step. He stopped right in front of you, close enough that you could feel the heat rolling off his body and smell the faint pine and cigarette smoke still clinging to his hoodie. You turned slightly so you were facing him fully, heart slamming against your ribs so hard you felt dizzy.

This was pure insanity.

You hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your jeans and pushed them down your hips, letting them slide to your ankles. You stepped out of them, kicking the faded denim aside. The cool air of the store hit your bare legs, raising goosebumps.

He was breathing heavily now, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven bursts. His eyes raked over your panties, then flicked up to your face, then back down to the thin white fabric like he couldn’t decide where to look. Another tic made his head jerk sideways.

You touched the waistband of your panties with trembling fingers. Then, slowly, achingly slowly, you pulled them down too, letting them drop to the floor.

He gasped audibly, a raw, broken sound that cut through the constant hum of the lights.

And then he just… fell to his knees.

Right there on the scuffed tile behind the counter, like gravity had suddenly given up on him. His hands landed on your thighs for balance, scarred fingers gripping tight as another wave of tics rolled through him, shoulder snapping up, neck cracking to the side. But his eyes never left your now-bare pussy.

He was face to face with it, only inches away, dark gaze hungry and stunned all at once. The sight of him on his knees like that - messy brown hair wild, brutal scar pulling at his swollen lips - sent a hot, familiar rush pooling low in your belly. Heat throbbed between your legs, your clit already aching under the intensity of his stare.

His breath ghosted warm against your skin, shaky and uneven.

“F-fuck…” he whispered, voice wrecked, barely more than a rasp. Another violent tic jerked his head, but he fought to keep his face close, eyes fluttering like he was trying not to lose it right there. “You’re… so fucking p-pretty.”

His fingers flexed on your thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin just below where your hips met your legs. He leaned in a fraction closer, lips parted, the scar making the corner of his mouth twitch as another soft, involuntary grunt slipped out.

He was waiting again - waiting for you to stop him, to push him away, to come to your senses.

But you didn’t.

All you could feel was the wet heat building between your thighs and the desperate, trembling need in the man kneeling in front of you. Your heart was hammering so hard it felt like it might crack your ribs. This was your thief - the same twitchy asshole who’d flipped you off and sped off into the night - now on his knees like this. It didn’t feel real.

You swallowed thickly, voice coming out quieter and a little shaky, a mix of nerves and want. “Eat it.”

He didn’t hesitate anymore.

His scarred hands slid up the backs of your thighs and grabbed your ass, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he yanked you forward. The sudden pull made you stumble a half-step closer, your bare pussy right against his face. He buried his nose in you and just breathed you in - deep, greedy inhales like he was trying to memorize the scent. A low, broken moan tore out of his throat, vibrating straight against your folds.

“F-fuuuck…” he groaned, the word muffled and ragged. His shoulders hitched violently, but he didn’t pull away. He just pressed closer, nuzzling, inhaling again, another desperate moan spilling out as if the smell alone was enough to wreck him.

The whole thing was insane. The store was open - door unlocked, lights blazing, anyone could pull up to the pumps and walk in at any second. A trucker, a local, anyone. The thrill of it shot straight through you, hot and addictive, making your clit throb harder.

He spread your legs apart a little wider with his grip on your ass, thumbs spreading your cheeks just enough to open you up for him. Then his tongue was on you.

At first it was testing - slow, broad licks from your entrance up to your clit, like he was tasting something precious and trying not to devour it too fast. The wet heat of his mouth made your knees buckle. You slapped one hand against the wall behind you for support, the other flying down to grip his messy brown hair.

The second you pulled at his hair, something in him snapped.

His tongue turned eager, almost frantic. He licked you like he was starving - long, sloppy strokes that covered every inch of your pussy, then focused on your clit with tight, circling flicks. He was loud. Obscenely loud. Wet slurping sounds mixed with deep, guttural moans and broken groans that vibrated through your core. Every time his tongue dipped inside you, he groaned like he’d just tasted heaven.

Your whole body shook. Your legs felt wobbly, sweat already breaking out across your skin under the faded polo. You held on for dear life, fingers tightening in his hair as another wave of pleasure rolled through you.

“Taste good?” you managed to gasp out, voice shaky.

He groaned into your pussy, the sound raw and filthy, tongue never stopping. The vibration made your hips jerk.

“Yeah?” you pushed, breath hitching. “Better than candy?”

He made a noise that was half laugh, half desperate groan, choked and wrecked, then nodded frantically, his scarred cheek brushing your inner thigh. “Yes,” he moaned right against your clit, the word hot and wet and direct. “So m-much better–fuck, you taste so fucking g-good–”

The confession sent another rush of heat through you.

He threw your left leg over his shoulder without warning, opening you up even more. The new angle let him bury his face deeper, tongue working you harder - licking, sucking, flicking your swollen clit with relentless hunger. His scar pulled at his mouth with every movement, but he didn’t seem to care. He was lost in it.

You glanced down and saw his right hand palming himself desperately through his dark pants, rubbing the obvious bulge with quick, needy strokes.

The sight made something possessive flare in your chest.

You yanked his hair harder. “Did I tell you you could touch yourself, you fuckin’ thief?”

He whined - actually whined - into your pussy, the sound high and needy and so fucking hot it almost pushed you over the edge right there. His big, dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, wet and pleading, mouth shiny and dripping with your slick. The brutal scar twisted with his expression, swollen lips parted around another desperate sound.

“P-please,” he begged, voice muffled and broken against your folds. “Please– I’ll be a g-good boy for you, I swear–please let me–”

The sight of him on his knees, face buried between your legs, eyes begging while his tongue kept working you, nearly made you cum on the spot.

You nodded, breath ragged. “Go on then.”

He only stopped for a second, long enough to frantically shove his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock. It was big. Thick and long, bigger than anything you’d ever had, the head already flushed dark and leaking. Veins stood out along the shaft as he wrapped his hand around it and started stroking himself fast and rough.

Then he was back on you, mouth even more eager now, sucking your clit between his lips while two fingers slid inside you, curling just right.

At one point his teeth grazed the inside of your thigh - biting down hard enough to make you gasp. You yanked his hair roughly in response, and the pain made him groan loudly into your pussy, his hand jerking his cock even faster, slick sounds filling the small space behind the counter.

He ate you like a man possessed - slurping, moaning, tongue and fingers working in perfect rhythm while he stroked himself frantically. His hips bucked into his own fist, desperate and uncoordinated because of the constant tics rolling through his body.

It didn’t take long.

His moans grew louder, more broken. His shoulders jerked violently. Then he came, hard, moaning deep into your pussy as thick ropes of cum spilled over his hand and splattered onto the scuffed tile floor. There was so much of it, pulsing out in heavy spurts while his tongue never stopped moving on you.

And still he kept going.

He ate you like nothing else mattered in the world, licking up every drop of your arousal mixed with his own ragged breathing, sucking on your clit with renewed hunger. His free hand gripped your ass tighter, holding you steady as your legs threatened to give out completely.

The orgasm hit you like a freight train.

You came harder than you ever had in your life - shaking violently, a loud, broken moan tearing from your throat as your head fell back against the wall. Your hips jerked against his face, thighs clamping around his head. You almost fell, vision whiting out, but he held you up with surprising strength, arms locked around your thighs like iron. His tongue kept working you through it, licking and sucking and drinking down every drop you gave him.

Some of it squirted, hot and sudden, splashing against his chin, his scarred cheek, and dripping onto the floor and his hoodie. He just moaned louder, slurping greedily, swallowing what he could and letting the rest coat him like he wanted to wear it.

Your body kept trembling long after the peak, little aftershocks making your legs twitch. He stayed on his knees, face still buried between your thighs, placing soft licks along your soaked folds as if he couldn’t bear to stop tasting you.

Your heart was hammering, sweat cooling on your skin. He looked up at you with dark, dazed eyes - mouth wet, chin dripping, scar glistening with your cum - and whispered, voice completely wrecked:

“Th-that was… so good.”

Then he licked his lips slowly, like he was savoring every last trace of you. His tongue dragged over the swollen bottom lip and along the edge of the thick scar, eyes half-lidded and dazed. After a beat, almost shyly, he added, “You’re… my d-dream girl.”

You could barely breathe. Your chest heaved, lungs burning as you tried to pull air back into your body. A shaky, breathy laugh escaped you - half disbelief, half pure adrenaline.

You carefully eased your weight back onto your own two feet, legs still trembling. One hand stayed braced against the wall for a second longer before you trusted yourself to stand. You reached under the counter, grabbed a handful of tissues, and wiped yourself quickly, cleaning up the mess between your thighs as best you could. He stayed on his knees the whole time, watching you with dark, hungry eyes that hadn’t lost any of their intensity.

You pulled your panties and jeans back up, buttoning and zipping with fingers that still felt clumsy. The fabric felt too warm against your sensitive skin. He observed every movement, quiet except for the occasional small hitch of his shoulders and the soft, involuntary grunt that slipped out when his head twitched sideways.

Finally, he pushed himself up off the tile, wiped his slick chin and mouth with the back of his hoodie sleeve, and tugged his pants and boxers back into place. The aftermath hit like a sudden drop in temperature - awkward, heavy, reality slamming back into the fluorescent-lit store. You were both just standing there behind the counter, breathing hard, the air thick with the scent of sex.

You tried to pull yourself together, smoothing down your messy ponytail and straightening your polo. Then your eyes met his again, and a small, helpless giggle bubbled out of you.

He smiled, actually smiled, this soft, dazed curve of his scarred lips that made the corner of his mouth twist a little more. It was boyish and almost sweet despite everything.

He wiped his chin one more time with his sleeve, then shoved both hands into his pockets and rocked a little on his heels, glancing over at the two crushed Snickers still sitting on the counter.

You sighed, a small laugh shaking your shoulders, and walked over to the candy aisle. You grabbed two fresh Snickers bars, brought them back, and held them out to him.

“Here,” you said, voice still a little hoarse. “They’re on me.”

His eyes lit up like you’d just handed him the winning lottery ticket. He beamed, wide and genuine, scar pulling tight, and took the bars, immediately stuffing them into his pocket.

“Thanks,” he muttered, that familiar stammer cutting through. “I, uh… I g-got my sweet fix already, but I’ll s-save these for later.”

You shook your head, still laughing softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grinned again, rocking once more on his heels. “Gotta go,” he said after a moment, jerking his head toward the door. Another quick tic made his shoulder roll hard. “But… I’ll be b-back.”

You nodded, trying to sound casual even though your pulse was still racing. “Cool.”

He hesitated, dark eyes flicking over your face like he was memorizing it. Then he stepped in quickly, cupped the side of your neck with one scarred hand, and pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to your lips. It was brief, warm, and a little clumsy, his scar brushing your skin, but it left you tingling all over again.

He pulled back, looking down almost shyly, then turned toward the door.

“B-bye,” he muttered as he shoved the door open. The bell jingled cheerfully.

“Bye,” you called back, watching him step out into the night.

The door swung shut behind him. You stood there for a long moment, heart still hammering, a dazed smile tugging at your lips as the faint scent of pine and cigarette smoke lingered in the air.

The soft glow of your bedside lamp cast a warm, cozy light across your bedroom, chasing away the shadows and making the rumpled sheets feel extra inviting. You were sprawled across your unmade bed in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and panties, legs tangled comfortably in the blankets, a half-eaten bowl of cereal balanced precariously on your stomach. Some mindless sitcom droned on from your laptop, but you weren’t really watching it. Your mind kept drifting back to three nights ago - behind the counter at Stop & Gas, the way his scarred mouth had felt between your thighs, the desperate, broken sounds he made while he devoured you like you were the only sweet thing he’d ever needed.

You still didn’t know his name. That fact made the whole thing feel even more ridiculous, like some fever dream you’d conjured up during one too many night shifts. But the memory had you grinning like an idiot into your pillow, stomach fluttering every time you replayed the way he’d looked up at you with those dark, dazed eyes, chin glistening, whispering “You’re my dream girl” like he actually meant it.

For the first time in your life, you were actually excited to go back to work tomorrow. Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. But the giddy little rush in your chest wouldn’t quit.

Your phone buzzed loudly on the nightstand, jolting you out of your daydream. You glanced at the screen - Andy. Your coworker, the early-thirties burnout who always smelled faintly of weed and dealt on the side to anyone who asked. He usually only called when he wanted you to cover a shift. With a sigh, you paused the show and answered.

“Yeah?”

Andy’s voice came through shaky and raw, like he was still catching his breath and fighting the urge to puke. “Holy shit… you gotta hear this. I just watched someone get murdered right outside the store. I’m still shaking, man.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You sat up fast, the cereal bowl nearly spilling. “What? Andy, slow down–what happened?”

“I was working the night shift. Everything was dead quiet, like usual. Then James Miller comes in–that skinny fuck with the neck tattoos who’s been stealing from us forever. The one who got arrested last year. He does his usual bullshit: grabs a couple beers and some jerky, stuffs them in his jacket like I'm fucking stupid, and heads straight for the door. I yelled at him to pay up, but he just flipped me off and walked out laughing.”

Andy swallowed hard, voice dropping. “It was pitch black outside. You know how the lot lights barely reach the edge of the building. I followed him out anyway, pissed off, ready to get his plate or at least scream at him one more time. The second he stepped past the pumps, some guy came out of nowhere from the shadows near the treeline. Dark clothes, hood up, just–moving way too fast. He had hatchets–two of them, I think. It was too dark to see his face at all. He just… went at James like an animal.”

Andy’s breathing hitched. “James tried to run but the guy was on him instantly. Swinging those hatchets–chopping, hacking. Blood sprayed everywhere. James was screaming, then gurgling, then nothing. It was over in like a minute. I freaked out and ran back inside, locked the door. I watched the whole thing through the glass while I called the cops. The psycho just… finished and vanished. Ran off into the woods behind the pumps like he was never there.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. “Jesus Christ…”

“The cops are here now. Whole place is taped off. James' body is still lying out there, completely mutilated. I told them it was James Miller, the repeat thief we’ve dealt with a dozen times. And listen to this–they found a note thrown on the ground right next to him. It said ‘I will not steal again :)’ with a stupid little smiley face. Fucking weird. Anyway, they’re asking me a million questions now. Feels unreal, man. It was… it was brutal.”

Your stomach twisted. James Miller. Just another local loser who’d pushed his luck one too many times.

Still, the note hit you like a slap.

“I will not steal again :)”

The words echoed in your head. A twisted little callback to the melted Snickers, to the playful way your thief had shrugged and said he didn’t take anything, to the lazy middle finger from the back of the truck.

It felt… personal. Like a message directed straight at you.

A chill crawled slowly up your spine.

No. That was insane. You were overthinking it. Had to be. Some sick coincidence. James probably had plenty of enemies - people he’d stolen from, people he’d pissed off. The woods were full of weird shit and weirder people. Andy hadn’t seen the attacker clearly. It could’ve been anyone.

“That’s… really fucked up, Andy. Are you okay? Do you need me to come down there?”

“Nah, they’re keeping me here answering questions. Manager’s gonna call you about the schedule. Store’s closed at least tomorrow, maybe longer. Just… be careful dude, alright? Whoever did this is still out there.”

“Yeah. Stay safe. I’ll talk to you soon.”

You hung up and sat there in the sudden quiet, heart hammering.

The laptop screen glowed mockingly. You stared at the wall, the giddy high you’d been riding for three days curdling into something cold and uneasy.

James Miller was dead. Brutally. With a note that felt like it was mocking the exact game you’d played with your thief.

“I will not steal again.”

It felt like a message. Directed at you.

You shook your head hard, trying to push the thought away. You were probably just paranoid from too many night shifts and one reckless, adrenaline-fueled night behind the counter. It was a coincidence. It had to be.

Still, the woods outside your window looked darker than usual.

And for the first time since that night, the thought of seeing your twitchy thief again didn’t fill you with pure fluttering excitement.

It made your stomach twist with something sharper. Colder.