Soy la que hace reĂr a la sala entera
y luego se sienta en el baño
a contarse las costillas con los dedos
como quien cuenta lo que le queda de vida.
· · â ·đ„žÂ· â · ·· · â ·đ„žÂ· â · ·· · â ·đ„žÂ· â · ·
Soy el chiste que llega primero,
la carcajada que cubre el ruido,
la que dice âno es para tantoâ
y lo dice tan bien
que hasta ella misma lo cree
por un rato.
· · â ·đ„žÂ· â · ·· · â ·đ„žÂ· â · ·· · â ·đ„žÂ· â · ·
ÂżCĂłmo es posible?
Es posible porque la alegrĂa que doy
la tomo prestada de algĂșn lugar interno
que no tiene fondo fijo,
que a veces baja de golpe
y me deja parada en el aire
como los personajes de caricatura
que corren mĂĄs allĂĄ del precipicio
antes de mirar hacia abajo.
Y entonces miro.
W/C: 12.6k // Summary: A tale as old as time. Youâd been wed for years, and the sparkle that you had sworn was brighter than the sun itself had dimmed. Stuck in a lackluster marriage with nowhere to go, you accepted your fate. Until your husband goes missing, and upon his return, he seems⊠changed.
Reborn, with an insatiable appetite for you and you alone, suddenly the picture perfect spouse- is the man sleeping next to you really the one youâd fallen for at the start?
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Tags For The Series: The âcoming back wrongâ trope, toxic relationships, body shaming, arguments, canon level violence, dub-con, slight dead dove, doppelgĂ€ngers, alternate timelines, cunnilingus, p in v, oral receiving (m), double penetration, breeding, marking, hurt/comfort, angst, domestic fluff, descriptive gore, dry humping (yay we cheered !!), OG! Tim is a bastard, and so is Brian, Dom + Sub themes, and rituals/sacrifices
A/N: OMG GUYS MY FIRST SERIES !! Iâm very excited !! This was originally supposed to be a one shot, but the story is way too complex to fit into such a short length- anyway :pp HAPPY READING !! ^3^ kisses from me !! As always, art and headers done by yours truly <3
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You loved your husband.
You did, promising your heart to him the day he got down on one knee. Since youâd met him, Tim had been a careful lover, attentive and thoughtful. He didnât exactly scream his devotion to you from the rooftops, but he didnât have to. Showing you how important you were to him through the little things, late drives, quality time, and simply unwinding together. You were happy.
Itâs not as if you needed much; you never did. Never asked for more, even when he barely said those three special words back to you. âI love you,â youâd whisper, and heâd nod. Grunting quietly, squeezing your hand so you knew it was reciprocated. It was hard for him to express himself openly, letting himself be soft, letting himself be seen.
He had told you vaguely about his upbringing, how cruel it was, and you didnât push further outside of those short moments. The topic was a scar, one that had never quite healed, scabbed over, and was hot to the touch. Your relationship had been far from perfect since the start, yet that didnât matter; it was more than enough. Yes, it may not have been stereotypically romantic, and maybe itâs not what you had imagined growing up.
Head in the clouds, dreaming of a knight who would sweep you off your feet, dip you with a kiss that made the stars shine brighter than they ever had. He wasnât a fan of the dramatics, his version of a date being a long car ride and a stop at the diner. And perhaps, there was a small part of you that longed for flowers, spontaneous but planned dinners.
The whole nine yards. Where youâd doll yourself up all pretty, Tim leaning down to kiss your ring, saying something so smooth that your stomach would fill with butterflies. Still, it wasnât a necessity, and you were grateful for the life you had. It never bothered you, that unyielding wall of his, because he consistently reassured you through action.
It was just⊠sometimes, the years would develop a habit of dulling things.
It wasnât his fault. Working long hours, out in the cold, in the middle of nowhere. Being employed in lumber was no joke. Heâd rise before the sun, slipping from your side without a word, only to return after dusk.
You understood that he hadnât suddenly stopped loving you because he was more tired, simply drained by the hard labour and harsh conditions that came with the job. Though the further you got into the marriage, the more the actions that you had clung to so dearly began fading into obscurity.
Dates growing far and few in between, you couldnât help but start to feel lonely. Neglected, when heâd inevitably come home, brushing past you with a chaste peck to the temple. You couldnât even remember the last time heâd looked at you with anything more than mild indifference.
If you asked him, heâd say you were beautiful. Tell you that you were getting into your head for no reason, and nothing would change. Youâd tried a handful of times, going shopping with your friends, buying a lacey slip to surprise him with.
The disappointment had been gutwrenching.
He had stepped through the door and glanced at you briefly. Gave you a quick kiss as he mumbled something along the lines of âThatâs nice, you going out?â Going out. Heâd asked you if you were going out. Not even registering it was lingerie, that the supposed love of his life was standing centre of the living room in silk and garters.
Walking to the couch, he sprawled against the cushions. Cracking open a bottle and switching on the television, Tim hadnât spared you another glimpse. Humiliation flooded your body when you stared at the mirror, the bathroom door locked.
You inspected your reflection, how the fabric hugged your curves, and you thought it was a good choice. At least a little enticing, youâd spent hours getting ready after all. Hyping yourself up, excitedly dusting your cheeks. It was the first time in months youâd genuinely felt pretty. And the most crushing part was that he seemed bored.
His gaze didnât sweep your frame; he didnât grab you hungrily, kissing you breathless before tossing you on the bed. It made you feel stupid to think heâd care, embarrassed to assume he still saw you like that. In that moment, the shame felt oddly familiar. Reminding you of an instance in the past.
Brian. Timâs best friend. His right-hand man, they grew up together, inseparable from the start. He never liked you. Of course, he hadnât explicitly stated the fact, yet it didnât make it any less obvious. Youâd interrupted once, when they were hanging out near the porch, chatting next to his truck parked in the driveway. Missing your husband, you decided to meet him at the front, the warmth dwindling the closer you got.
Brian was talking about you, making comments about how you werenât what he was expecting. That when Tim said he had settled down, heâd thought youâd be more âYâknow.â You hated that you knew what he meant. Your man had a type, flings from bars and bottle girls heâd pulled into motels for the night. Bombshells, Brian called them, and apparently, you were not up to par.
Your heart sank, tears pricked at your eyes, and you had turned around. Tim barely defended you, brushing the questions off with an unbothered âSheâs good to me, thatâs all I need.â When he eventually came inside, you were already tucked under the covers. Sniffling silently, he didnât say a word. Gone by the time you awoke, he never brought it up.
The memory haunted you. Swallowing the hurt down for weeks until you forced yourself to move on. Tim started staying out later. Choosing to stop by the pub, his group of coworkers invited him to drink. Let loose, and you doubted any of them cared enough to remember that you were waiting on him. They talked about you, too, probably made quips at your expense, throwing jabs at your appearance.
You wouldnât be shocked if he joined them. A while ago, when youâd brought him lunch, and the minute you walked in, they went dead quiet. Like they all knew something you didnât. An inside joke you werenât allowed to be a part of. The worst of them being Jeremy Sanders. A couple of years older than Tim, he was rowdy and never once thought before he spoke.
He stuck out more than the rest; it wasnât even just his mannerisms. Dingy âHouston Astrosâ baseball hat worn askew on his head, with a beat-up flip phone in his hand, and the stench of stale sweat wafting from his clearly unwashed clothes- Sanders dressed the part of a sleaze to a T.
The man even whistled at you one time, yelling, âShit, I mean- if you donât want her, Iâll take her- Iâm easy, I promise.â And Tim had barked at him to shut his trap. They still got drinks together, though.
Then came the lingering leers.
You didnât go out often, yet when you did, you swore his eyes would stray from yours. Casting looks at the women that passed you by, and you realize that deep down, heâd never actually commit to it. But that hadnât prevented your nails from digging into your palm anyway. Everything came to a peak when he returned from a particularly exhausting shift. And you werenât faring any better.
Earlier that day, you had gone to a local bakery, a hole-in-the-wall type of business. Hazy lighting overhead, with earth-toned decorations lining the walls, made it cute. Cozy in a way that made you smile, waiting in line, when a laugh caught your attention. A couple. Her ring sparkling in the sun, glimmering as her lover whispered into her ear.
Linking their fingers together, she giggled. Hushed and love-sick, the corner table was filled with desserts. You always had a sweet tooth, the fridge never had room for them, though, Tim said they werenât âpracticalâ. As if joy had to be. He told you they wouldnât fill you up, wouldnât provide the right nutrition. Muttering that you didnât need the extra carbs, changing the subject while you yanked at your shirt, sucking in just a little.
There was no point, and if Brian was there, youâd be even more stuck. His eyes would pan down your body, judgment stale in the air; you disliked it most when he visited. An outsider in your own home, your efforts to appease them would isolate you. Tim would give you a tight half-smile, his friend boring holes into you. It was a lose-lose situation.
The pair leaned into each other, and a disgusting envy crawled up your throat. Blistering and ugly, you watched as they kissed, softly, real.
It splintered terribly hollow in your chest.
So when a monotone remark left his lips that night, the dam broke. Spilling every tiny thing that had collected over the years, it was killing you. The weight was too heavy to carry any longer. You donât know exactly when it happened, but at some point- your house had stopped being a home.
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Throwing his coat onto the sofa, Tim ran a hand down his face. âWhere the fuck are you getting this from-â Already sick of your nagging, he sighed. Boots kicked off only a minute ago; he couldnât even remember what heâd said to set you off. His tone lit your nerves, you scoffed. âYouâre never home- and you donât talk to me.â What the hell was your problem? Heâd been gone all day; the last thing he needed was you bitching at him about shit that didnât matter. âIâm talking to you right now, ainât I?â
You were staring at a stranger, his eyes void of any fondness or understanding.
âYou know what I mean-â
âDo I? âCause all Iâm hearing is that youâre in yerâ fucking head again.â
Said sternly, his patience waning by the second. âAll I ask- is for some peace and fucking quiet. How hard is that for you to understand?â It hurt. Sure, you came on stronger than you had intended to; you just wanted comfort. For him to reassure you, hold you for longer than ten seconds. Remind you he still loved you. Instead, he scowled, standing in front of you with irritation staining his features.
âI know that- I just- it feels like you can barely tolerate me sometimes-â letting out a humourless laugh, you throw your arm up. âWe never do anything. We donât go on dates, we donât kiss for more than a second at a time-â You paced back and forth, desperate to get through to him. Find the man who would ruffle your hair when you were sad, the one who turned on your favourite song in the car.
âWhen was the last time we even fucked, Tim-â And he groaned, âIs that what this is about? Because youâre needy? Give me a break.â It was like he wasnât listening to you, picking and choosing what to respond to. âYou know what? Yeah. It is. You donât look at me- and you act as if itâs such a chore to even hug me when you get home-â cutting you off, he sneered.
âJesus fuck- because it is. Iâm tired as shit, alright? I canât just drop everything âcause you feel lonely-â pinching the bridge of his nose, he exhaled harshly. âFuckinâ suffocating me every goddamn second- like Christ have some self respect.â Your throat felt tight. Frustrated and overwhelmed, you snapped. âSo Iâm a chore now? Because you fucking hate me, right?â Tugging at his hair, his voice raised. Booming through the walls.
âI didnât fucking say that-â
âYou didnât have to.â
âOh, here we fuckinâ go-â
He slammed his keys onto the coffee table, jaw tensed. âYou always do this- head shoved up your ass. Whining about shit that ainât real, I work day and night- making sure youâre fed. Would it kill you to give me some space?â The marriage you had crafted so tenderly, built from the ground up, was falling apart before you.
Tears welling up, is that what he thought of all this? Of you? Just a leeching parasite, someone he had to take care of, not because he wanted to. But because he was forced to. Your love was a trap heâd been shackled with, something to withstand, instead of basking in. âAll I want is for you to listen. It doesnât even feel like Iâm yours anymore-â Interupting you with a disbelieving snort, âAnd now youâre crying, great. So Iâm the bad guy, right? Do you hear yourself? Making shit up to yell about- you donât get tired of it?â
When had he gotten so mean?
âMaking shit up? Did I make it up when Brian said I wasnât enough for you? When you stare at the girls walking past-â Grief bubbling to the surface, your insecurities finally breached. The salt wet your cheeks, dripping down and soaking your collar.
There had been a time when the sight wouldâve had Tim cradling you close. And that broke your heart something awful. âWhen your friends laugh at me- and donât say they donât because Iâve seen it. Iâve felt it, Tim, hurrying me out when I visit you, like youâre ashamed of me. Do you think Iâm stupid? Honestly, do you think Iâm genuinely such a fucking idiot that I donât notice?â Your tangent was gaining speed, angry and betrayed as you sobbed.
The look on his face told you everything you needed to know. Confirming your worst fears, while he stood across from you, stunned, his expression unreadable.
âWhy are we doing this, huh? You obviously stopped giving a shit- I mean, do you even love me anymore?â Hiding your sorrow behind your palms, you wiped roughly at the tears, and he crossed the room in strides. Pulling you to his chest, he sighed. âDonât say that, I didnât- fuck. Of course I love you, I just⊠I fucked up, alright?â Mumbling into your hairline, his arm wrapped around your back.
âThey donât know what the hell theyâre talking about. I just gottaâ work with them, and I rush you out âcause you donât need to hear that bullshit. Iâll make it up to you, I swear.â The promise had you clinging to him; it felt good. Being held made it easy to forget your hurt, made it easy to trust his words.
The next couple of weeks were a dream. He would come home earlier, taking you out to the diner youâd met at, his jacket hanging off your shoulders while you walked to the car. Kissed you and bed you, the sex was good. Not mind-blowing, and perhaps you wouldnât finish every time, it was just nice.
Having him over you, having him close, whispering until you fell asleep. You felt slightly guilty about lying, faking your moans near the end. He was giving you what you wanted, wasnât he? And Tim didnât talk you through it or anything like that, you simply enjoyed seeing him bare. As close to vulnerability as you could get. It wasnât grand, but it was enough. You were happy, and for a moment, you believed him.
However, bliss never stuck around for long, now did it?
Slowly but surely, things had fallen back into routine. Tim once again drifts, returning later and later. Not bothering to ask you how your day was, your conversations growing bleak. Stale, after the feigned honeymoon phase had faded. And you realized you were stuck.
Even if you had cried again, brought up his lack of effort, what would come of it? The same two, three weeks of recycled lines and dates? Itâs not like you could leave either; he paid for everything and took care of the finances. You had your savings, sure, they wouldnât get you far, though. Up-rooting out of nowhere, abandoning your friends and family- where would you even go?
The people were close-knit, and unless you moved towns completely, youâd run into him constantly. Adding onto that, you still loved him. Despite it all, the arguments, the loneliness, you still searched for him in every room you entered. The worn-down ache of what could have been crippling you. Living more in your daydreams than in the present, and chasing false shadows in the dark.
You think it must be a fate worse than death to be in love with a man who didnât exist.
Sitting on the edge of the mattress, you let yourself descend. Back hitting the plush duvet, you glanced over. He was packing for a work trip; his job had assigned him a position across the state. His hands were picking up tools and organizing the clutter while you stared into the fireplace. The hearth had been built into your bedroom, a brick chimney stretching to the ceiling, directly in front of the frame.
You had always pictured setting up a seating area next to it, a rug and pillows to cozy up to. He never indulged you. Scolded you half-heartedly, telling you that it was childish to sit on the floor.
The flames crackled, and he spoke, âI wonât be gone longer than a week.â Not looking up and zipping his carrier closed, you hummed. âOkay.â With that, he slung the pack over his shoulder. Nodding at you, he marched out the double door. His footsteps thudding faintly down the stairs. For a cabin structured from earth and trees as old as time itself, you wouldâve expected it to feel warmer.
Tim had stopped kissing you goodbye years ago.
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The days flew by swiftly.
Busying yourself with hobbies, you waited as you always did. Deciding that if this were your life, you were going to make the best of it. His absence bothered you a little, not that it was something you werenât used to. Tidying up around the home, reading when you wanted to relax, it was pleasant. You didnât often have the house for this long; his getaways normally only lasted about a couple of days at most.
You wanted to treat yourself, youâd been stressed. Pessimistic, due to your struggles involving your more or less devoted husband. And what better way to unwind than a night on the town? Getting dressed, you slipped on your favourite pair of shoes. You saved the pair for special occasions, having bought them with a fancy dinner in mind. They had been collecting dust in the back of your closet, so putting them on now felt a tad exciting.
Straightening your outfit in the mirror, you did a spin. This was fun. You thought you looked pretty, the hues accenting your skin, hair done up in a way that framed your face. A part of you wished Tim were here to see it- shaking your head, you quickly suppressed the thought. Today was about you. Smacking your lips together to even out the pigment, you headed to the door. Locking it behind you with a newfound determination.
The booths lit up the streets in sparks of colours. Lining the sidewalks as you went, the crowd was bustling and lively. Weaving through the groups, a sparkle from one of the shop tables caught your eye. A necklace. Adorned with sapphires and jewels, it was the most stunning thing youâd ever seen. Your jewellery collection was⊠lacklustre, for lack of a better term.
The gifts and shopping were done on his dime, and it wasnât that you were impoverished, far from it, actually. He just never saw the use in having multiple options to choose from. Saying you were fine how you were, and that there was no need for the extra extravagance. You werenât materialistic by any means; it was just youâd always had an appreciation for the finer things.
The brooch wouldâve been a perfect anniversary present. In another life, your lover would have shown up at the stroke of midnight, bouquet in hand, with a decorated box at his side. Sliding the bijouterie around your neck, sweeping your hair aside to clasp it shut. Walking to the display, you stared at the gems, hung up on a velvet bust. Oh, how you had never wanted anything more. You bit your lip, cautiously lifting the price tag, and the number had your jaw dropping. Nearly three grand.
Pouting, you huffed. Tracing the delicate metal with your thumb, Tim would kill you if you bought it. You couldnât, but god if you wouldnât dream of it. Browsing the rest of the selection, making pretend outfits in your head with each bracelet and ring you admired, you giggled. Looking never hurt anybody, and you were having a good time.
âThe necklace to your liking, miss?â
Gaze darting up, you met eyes with the seller. An older fellow with thick circular-rimmed glasses perched on his nose bridge. âOh, itâs beautiful, but I was just looking.â Glancing back at the jewellery in question, it glimmered radiantly in the soft glow. âWell, if you change your mind, I could put it on hold for you?â The question made you pause, put on hold?
Perhaps you could save up, pick up a side gig somewhere. Help out your neighbours here and there; itâd take a while, but surely you could make it. You already had some checks set to the side for miscellaneous expenses, and it realistically wouldnât take too long. Debating for a beat, you perked up, âI- okay, yes. Could you put it on hold?â And he nodded, a welcoming grin pulling at his mouth. âSure thing, sheâs a one of a kind piece, Iâll have you know. Itâll look real nice on someone like you.â
You watched him take it off the stand, placing it in a silk-lined box, then shutting the latch. Scribbling âReservedâ on a sticky note, before turning to you. âIâll be seeing you around, then?â Laughing, you agreed, âIâll be back, just need to save up a little.â The small talk was light, and he waved you off warmly. Continuing on your adventure, the interaction had boosted your mood. Your heels clicking against the gravel, when you stopped, tilting your head in confusion. Timâs friends.
His companions gathered around another booth a few feet from you. You couldâve sworn he told you that they had all been shipped off to the same place. They were assigned by section, never sent one by one, so what were they doing in town? It had been five days since heâd left, which wasnât out of the norm; he had finished jobs early before- but Tim hadnât called you once. If you werenât there when he arrived, you knew heâd try contacting you.
The tallest of the bunch did a double-take, and recognition flickered across his face. Calling out to you, he shouted. âWhereâs Tim?â The men surrounding him snickered. You hated talking to them, yet your worry overshadowed your need for comfort. Where was Tim? Now you were even more lost; they couldâve been mocking you, you supposed. It was just such a strange jab, and with the way his attention stayed on you, he seemed like he was genuinely curious. Making your way to the group, you stood in front of his coworkers. âIâm sorry- did you guys just get back?â He raised his eyebrow, and you couldnât blame him.
They werenât even in their work clothes, and they smelled of booze and greasy takeout. It didnât make sense; they had to have just returned.
âJust get back? The hell are you on about? We got back Tuesday.â The rest were focused on you, atmosphere heavy with judgment. Tim had left on a Sunday; the drive alone would have taken him a full twenty-four hours. If they were back now, that would have to have meantâ
âThe job got cancelled, drove all the fuckinâ way out there- just for boss to tell us it was âtoo dangerousâ. Some bullshit if you ask me-â
Another one of them chimed in, âShit, the storms messing with my paycheck now? I mean, come on-â
The chatter faded into the background, replaced by the blood roaring in your ears. Excusing yourself with a clumsy apology, you rushed home. The memory of them standing there replaying, wait. This wasnât adding up; they always hung out as a unit, but after doing a mental head count- you realized at least three of them were missing.
Stumbling through the front door, you dropped onto the couch, trying to rationalize the situation. Tim, Brian, and Sanders, all out of the picture. Nausea started to fill your gut, heavy as a brick in your stomach. Where was he? Tim may have neglected you, but this was something else entirely. To leave suddenly on a trip and not tell you? That had to be out of the question. Was he hiding something from you? He wouldnât lie to you, would he? Running off with a mistress and leaving you in the dust- that didnât feel right either. If he had, he wouldâve definitely told his friends.
They were irritating bastards, thatâs what made them easy to read. They wouldâve shoved it in your face, laughed at your misery, and they didnât. Appearing almost as confused as you were. You felt sick. Rising from your spot, you paced. Grabbing your phone and dialing the only person you could think of. Brian. He would have to know where Tim was, right?
It rings once, twice, three timesâ nothing. Voice mail echoing from your speaker, and you called him again. Every time it would ring for the full bit, then cut after the recorded message. The job had been cancelled from the start, so where the fuck was he? Panic trickled in, making your hands shake.
You racked your brain for anything that hinted at his whereabouts. They said theyâd returned due to unsafe working conditions; had something happened to him? Images of his car flipped on the highway flashed through your mind. What if he wasâ no. No, no-nononono- this wasnât happening. It couldnât be, not right now, not to you. It wasnât real; this was all just a terrible nightmare, and youâd wake up any second.
Bile at the back of your throat, breath coming in short puffs, and your vision blurred. You slid down the wall, collapsing, and you hiccuped. You were terrified. For him, for yourself, and what would become of you now. Problems or not, he was yours, loving him more than you thought you could love anything. Youâd take it all back if you could, every complaint, every argument.
Keep your mouth shut forever if you had to, as long as he came home. Never utter a single word if it meant that he would return to your arms, safe and with a beating heart.
You blacked out on the hardwood that night. The storm battering against your windows, glass vibrating from the force. And when your eyes opened, his boots were still missing from the entryway.
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It had been exactly one week, two days, and fifteen hours since Timothy Wright had gone missing.
You were falling apart at the seams. Switching between mourning him, then talking yourself into believing he was still out there. Just lost, thatâs all. Filing the police report the morning you woke up, the officers told you, âNot to worry.â He was a grown man carrying all his paperwork on him- and how could you explain that this wasnât like that? That it wasnât like him to get up and leave- yet they stared at you anyway. Pity in their gaze, you knew what you looked like.
A desperate wife, far too concerned for her obviously non-commital husband. They accepted the report nonetheless and turned you away, acting as if they knew him. Were you naive? Had he really abandoned you? Simply growing bored, deciding it was better this way, and finding some girl to disappear with. You barely ate, more restless and tormented with each hour that passed.
Your closest friends had tried their best to help, but they couldnât truly understand, now could they? Either telling you that acceptance was the first step, or to try and calm yourself while law enforcement searched. You knew they werenât looking. Refusing to waste their efforts on a person who clearly did not want to be found. What were you supposed to do? And perhaps, Tim had planned this from the start, counting down the days until his work trip to make his escape. Itâs just- was it so wrong to expect better of him?
If he was going to leave you, you wouldâve thought heâd at least have the decency to get a divorce. Not fake his death and never talk to you again.
Rolling onto your stomach, you buried your face into the (his) pillow. Cuddling the fabric, lying on his side of the bed, gave you a sense of comfort. You had put on his old flannel, the one heâd forgotten to pack. Sniffling, you curled into a ball. This was awful. What was worse? Staying in a constant cycle of mystery, not knowing if he was even alive- or having his finality be confirmed?
Having to live without him for the rest of your years. Strands sticking out at odd angles, your hair was a mess. Was this why he left? Because you didnât take care of yourself? You had caught a glimpse of your reflection earlier, when you were digging through his closet, and the sight made you grimace. Rubbing your eyes, you exhaled miserably, ready to turn in for the night.
It felt like youâd been awake for too long, even though youâd just rotted in your room all day. Lids drooping, a hazy fog fell over you; maybe you could pretend he was on the way home. Only ten minutes away, and heâd be walking through the door the moment you lost consciousness. What a nice thought. Slumber winning the fight as you sagged against the mattressâ
Click.
Your eyes shot open, what? The sound of the front door unlocking immediately sent alarm bells off in your head. No one had the key. No one, except you and-
Tim.
Throwing the blankets off of you, you jumped out of bed. Stumbling over your feet, you ran out of your shared quarters and raced down the stairs. Adrenaline searing from head to toe, your heart thumped rapidly while you rounded the bottom step. It had to be him. It had to be. You rushed through the halls, finally arriving at the foyer, and you couldnât believe it.
There he was, shuffling off his work boots, completely fine. Standing with his back turned to you, without a scratch on him from what you could tell. Relief flooded you. Bounding up to him, you threw your arms around his middle, nuzzling your face into his jacket. And in your excitement, you had failed to realize that he was at least half a foot taller than when youâd last seen him.
Letting out a choked laugh, you could cry. âI was so worried- I thought- I thought something happened to you. Where have you been?â His hand wrapped around your forearm, tugging you around and to his front. Palm soothing up and down your spine, and you grasped at his shirt. Cheek pressed against the cotton, he chuckled.
âMustaâ scared you somethinâ terrible, buttercup.â Opening your mouth to respond, you paused.
His voice. Timâs cadence had always been on the deeper side, but the base of his words had you stunned. Gravelly, with the baritone rumbling in his chest. Also- buttercup? Even at the beginning of your relationship, when you couldnât get enough of each other, he never called you anything like that. He wasnât fond of nicknames, preferring what was on your birth certificate instead. Pulling back, you looked up, gasping. Scars.
He was littered with them, smaller ones slashed across his face, some poking out of his collar. And now that you could analyze his form, when had he gotten this jacket? It was clearly lived in, the tan leather fraying at the edges, scuffed up from years of use. Brows furrowed in confusion, you mumbled, âWhat⊠happened out there?â You didnât know what you were expecting. However, it was most definitely not the snicker that left his lips. Your husband wasnât constantly stone-faced, of course- yet he wasnât exactly easy-going either.
Down to the way he carried himself, his body language was entirely different. Almost teasing, his thumb traced idle circles at your hip.
âIt was awful. Big crash on the highway- swear I had to fight my way back to you, babydoll.â
The sugary pet names flowed off his tongue with practice. His answer should have made sense, but he seemed so unbothered by everything. Tim had been missing for almost two weeks, and currently, he was brushing it off as if it were simply a bad weekend. Before you could question him further, he sighed, kissing the crown of your head. âIâm starvinâ, why donât we eat out tonight? âM sure yerâ exhausted, my poor girl, hm?â
Accent heavier than youâd ever heard, maybe the crash rewired him or something. Youâd seen articles about it, when people would wake up from comas speaking different dialects. Still, it was nearly uncanny how he handled you. Uncharacteristically charming as he took your hand in his, making his way to the kitchen with you in tow. Closing in on the island, he scooped you up like you weighed nothing. Not a single grunt when he sat you on the counter. Had he always been this strong?
The skin on his palms felt calloused against your bare skin, and he squeezed the plush of your thighs. Crowding you at the table's ledge, he cocked his head to the side. âWhatâs on your mind, sugâ?â Hushed, his tone gentle. The way he said it had your face hot. It wasnât even just how he spoke to you; it was his gaze. Warm and endeared, he looked at you like you were the only woman alive. His features were sharper, too, as if he really had fought his way back to you. Slaying monsters to reach your doorstep.
The room suddenly seemed smaller. You stuttered, âI donât know, I was worried about you. Are you- um, okay? Did you go to a hospital?â Timid, fiddling with the hem of his zipper, he cooed. âOh, ainât you just the sweetest thing? Iâm right as rain, promise.â The affection was layered on thick, his attention overwhelming you. Parting from you, he patted his jeans, humming. âIâm all over the place today- guess Iâm more shaken up than I thought. Would you be a doll and lend me yerâ phone? Think I lost mine.â Nodding, you slipped the device out of the flannel's breast pocket, handing it over to him.
Going to swipe the screen, he stopped, clicking his tongue. âCould yaâ unlock it?â He appeared almost bashful, asking you. You thought he had memorized your password ages ago. Though that was prior to the crash.
Typing out the code, you passed it to him once more. Watching him scroll through local restaurants- he probably wanted to order from that diner again. âIâll just get the usual; we havenât had it in a while.â Which was true; while it was a place youâd frequented often, you hadnât been on one of those drives in months. Tim raises a brow at you,
âFrom where, hun?â
âThe diner, you know- with the sausage you like.â
It wasnât uncommon for people to need time to get back into the swing of things. He most likely had to go into survival mode when he was out there. The thought of him shivering made your heart heavy. It wasnât your favourite, but eating a meal he loved with him after something that traumatic was the least you could do. Blinking at you, he huffed. âYou sure thatâs what you want? I know you donât like heavy dishes this late.â That had you leaning back.
Youâd mentioned it briefly once, but he just never brought it up. It was such a tiny detail to worry over, so why did he care? Especially now of all times. âI donât mind, itâs your favourite. And I think you deserve it.â You quipped, smiling softly. Yet, he seemed more displeased than ever. Waving his hand in the air, he focused back on the phone.
âThe hell I do- how about we try that little Italian place? The one close by, somethinâ real cozy.â He looked at you expectantly, and you swallowed. This was⊠new. âUm, sure. Do you think youâll like it though?â With a side eye that could kill, he shut down your doubt, âItâs dinner with you, sugar. Whatâs not to like?â Stated like a fact, he leans in, settled amidst your spread legs. âThe cars totaled, mm. I know this is a lot to ask, but if Brian drives us, would yaâ mind if he stayed for the meal? Heâd whine about being a cab if he didnât.â
The consideration was sweet. Tim never really asked if Brian could come over; it was more something youâd have to find out. The annoyed glare you got when youâd enter the occupied room was an alert on its own. And you could tolerate Brianâs judgment if it meant Tim would keep acting like this. âOkay, I mean- as long as he wants to.â Honestly, youâd be surprised if he agreed to the plan, though your lover looked certain nonetheless.
He grunted in acknowledgement and swiped to his friend's contact. Clicking the ID, he laughs, âSaved by his last name? Thatâs cold, baby.â
You had no idea what that was supposed to mean. He knew well that Brian wasnât fond of you. Perhaps the accident had caused them both to rethink their ways, and that was a nice notion. Sending the short message, he placed the phone down. Noses brushing together, and the atmosphere turned soft. âMissed you, yâknow that? Thought I was gonnaâ die out there without my pretty wife.â Flirty, and you held your breath.
The tips of your ears flushed, you didnât know how long this would last, but youâd savour it anyway. Sighing, you toyed with his collar. âWhatâs gotten into you? Youâre never this- I donât know, sappy?â His expression made you giggle.
Offended, it was boyish in a way you werenât used to. âWhat? I canât be sweet on my lady?â Butterflies filled your stomach. His lady, since when had he become such a smooth talker? Ducking down just a tad, you hid your face in the hollow of his shoulder. The man whoâd seen you at your worst- even causing it at times- suddenly felt like a crush.
It was the strangest thing.
You supposed it made sense; he had just returned from a life-altering incident. Maybe he was simply grateful to be home, the near-death experience making him realize how much you meant to him. Still, that didnât explain the mass heâd accumulated in the span of just two weeks.
Tim worked in lumber, and he was never weak per say. However, his shoulders had broadened a remarkable amount; even through the jacket, you could see the outlines of his arms.
The curve of his bicep, with roped muscle straining against the leather. Black cotton pulled taut over his chest every time he moved. Could someone really build up that much from adrenaline and forced survival alone? And how did he recover so fast? The scars that littered his frame were long healed over, some layered at certain conjunctures. As if theyâd closed, just for the skin to be lacerated once again.
Confusion swarmed you, yet another feeling overpowered that while you cuddled deeper into his hold. Attraction.
Did it make you a bad person for thinking that he looked... good, like this? Rugged and charming, with lazy grins to last you for miles. He reminded you of the outlaws from the romance books youâd read. Cunning, swauve, where they didnât even try, and he flirted like he hadnât already won you. A dangerous edge to his words, even the ones laced with sugar.
It contrasted his actions, handling you like youâd shatter. Your flesh was a mirrored slate, one that he refused to mar with his touch. For every cruel print heâd leave would only reflect back onto him.
You hummed, basking in it, âI missed you too. I cried every day; it was terrible-â Burrowing into his collar, Â you continued. â... I like it when youâre like this. When you hold me.â The confession left your lips hushed. Fragile, as it hung in the air. âCâmon now, yerâ actinâ like I donât kiss up on you every damn day, sugâ.â Muttering into your hair, he twirled the strands around his finger.
Your saddened puff makes him pause, âI know, itâs just... itâs stupid-â before you could withdraw from him further, he grabs your chin. Tilting you up to meet his gaze, âIt ainât stupid, and I canât be good to yaâ if you donât talk to me, now can I?â He coerced your vulnerability, running his thumb along your bottom lip.
Peering at him through your lashes, you sighed. âSometimes it feels like you donât like me as much- not that Iâm unhappy, I just- I mean, youâre good to me. You are, and youâre busy- I get it, I just wish you were...â Tucking a stray hair behind your ear, he waited patiently for you to finish. âI donât know, I just- wish you were here more. I- I like talking to you, but youâre always tired when you get home. Itâs not your fault, I just get lonely sometimes.â Trailing off, your thoughts failed to stitch together under his watchful eye.
His face was unreadable, then, for a split second, something sparked. Anger akin to disgust.
It sent a shiver down your spine, and was gone as fast as it came. Expression shifting to guilt, he clicked his tongue, âSo Iâve been bad to you, huh?â Pressing a soft kiss to your temple, he continued. âAinât no point in denying it now- but you listen and you listen good. I swear to you, I will spend as long as it goddamn takes makinâ it up to you, ya hear? And if I ever make you cry again, you better take my rifle and aim it right at my head, 'cause Iâve clearly lost my mind, gorgeous-â
He cupped your face, shaking you to exaggerate his point, and you giggled. Your joy pleased him. Leaning in, he littered your cheeks with quick pecks. âNeglectinâ my pretty wife- that donât even sound like me. You sure it was me and not some other bastard with sideburns?â The kitchen lit up with your laughter, and you swatted at his arm. Hands reaching to cradle his jaw, you vowed to keep this memory with you forever.
A tender warmth bloomed beyond your ribs, and it felt as if this singular moment had rewritten all the hurt heâd ever dealt you.
Resting your forehead on his, your breath fanned across his skin. Intimate in a way you had longed for since youâd met him. Cheesy and cozy, you think your heart has grown wings. Soaring high above the clouds, carried by his promise and the sincerity behind it. Lips inching closer and closer, âTim-â
HONK!
The abrasive noise cut through your carefully created atmosphere. Brianâs car horn barked loudly from the driveway, and your disappointment was palpable. Tim snickered, parting from you, he straightened his coat. âSpeak of the devil, he times it to ruin me, I swear-â Rolling up his sleeves, he extended a hand, helping you off the counter.
Rushing up the stairs, you got dressed as fast as you could, throwing on a cute enough outfit. You met him in the foyer, his boots already on. Giving you a scan, he huffed. âYouâre cruel, my girl. Lookinâ like that and expectinâ me tâwant to leave.â Your cheeks felt hot. You werenât wearing anything special in your opinion, yet with the way he stared at you- youâd think you were standing there in nothing but a garter. âEnough, heâs probably getting impatient.â The shy grumble had him chuckling. Opening the door, he gestured for you to walk out.
The night air was crisp, breeze gracing your skin in waves. The headlights blared against the pavement as you walked to the truck. You couldnât help but feel a pit form in your stomach. Dread trickled in like a leaky tap; your evening had been picturesque up until this point. Knowing Brian, though, heâd inevitably say something that would tank your mood. Approaching the vehicle slowly, caution in your stride when his silhouette came into view. However, the minute he saw you, Brian let out a low whistle.
You barely recognized him at first. He was taller, and even the way he leaned against the car had changed. âWell, Iâll be damned if it ainât the missus.â Greeting you with a mock salute, he sniggered. âCan see why Tim was late-â And your lover exhaled heavily next to you, âYouâll shut that maw of yerâs if you know whatâs good for you.â Disgruntled as ever, he shook his head, shooting you a look.
Okay. That was definitely different.
Usually, when you had to interact with Brian for whatever reason, he was mildly annoyed at the least and fully irritated at the worst. Now, he seemed borderline elated. Cheery, while he caught up with Tim, it was almost uncanny. Inspecting him at a closer distance, he had also somehow accumulated a collection of scars. The most striking one slashed across his face, stretching from under his lip to over his brow. He catches your curious leer, cocking his head to the side with a knowing smirk.
âSomethinâ on your mind, pretty miss?â His acknowledgement and praise throw you off. Stuttering to come up with an excuse, he interrupted you. âKidding. Youâre so jumpy, darlinâ. Sâjust me.â The jab was playful, his hands held up in feigned surrender. âIs he that terrible to yaâ? Tim, yâbastard- the hell you doinâ all day thatâs got âer this stiff?â Said with a shit eating grin plastered across his face, Tim elbowed him in the ribs. Groaning from the impact, he snorts,
âSee that? Heâs mean taâ me too, say the word and I can get yaâ far away from here-â
âShut the fuck up, Brian.â
Not amused in the slightest, he yanks open the backseat. Ushering you into the truck while ignoring his proclaimed best friend. Settling against the cushion, Tim clicked the safety belt into place over your lap. Their dynamic was different, too. Theyâd always been close, but never this... Jokey? And Brian sure as hell never actively spoke to you, let alone enough to banter. The most youâd get from the stoic man was a harsh glare, and that was on good days.
They rounded the car, Brian behind the wheel, with Tim slipping into the passenger side. The engine sputtered to life, and you were on the road.
At least ten minutes had passed before you broke the silence. âWas it- um, were you both in the crash?â Brian answered you first, tutting quietly, âThe crash? Ah, yeah. Real nasty thing, scuffed us up good.â Pausing, he hummed. âMustâve been scary for you, havinâ to wait on your mister. We wouldâa got back sooner if we could- but the storm ân all that.â You fidgeted with your sleeve, eyes darting up at the rearview mirror, and Brian was already staring back at you. He focused back on the road after a beat, and you blinked.
Jeremy Sanders. Both the boys were back, so that probably meant he was too, right? âIs Sanders okay? I mean, Iâm just assuming - I think his wife filed a missing persons report, so.â Your comment made them exchange glances, the space abruptly tense.
Tim was the one who responded this time, âSâthat right? Mm, donât think we saw âim that day. Did we, Bri?â And his friend nodded lazily, agreeing with a grunt. âNo, sir. Canât recall speakinâ to a Sanders. You sure he ainât come back with the rest, dolly?â Tapping his gloved fingers on the wheel, you had no idea why you felt so uneasy.
Their answers were plain. Yet, there was this odd, unspoken truth between them, something that clung to the men in smoke. âReally? Maybe Iâm misremembering- itâs just I ran into your coworkers at the market, and he wasnât thereââ Tim cut you off sharply, the ice in his tone stunning you. âDid they say anything to you?â
Cold, with an underlying razor edge, and Brian chimed in. âSâokay, you can tell us. Them boys have no manners, wouldnât know respect if it shot âem between the fuckinâ eyes.â
His teasing lilt had vanished. Goosebumps prickled your skin; it wasnât like he raised his voice- if anything, he was far too calm. Monotone, as the eerie silence dragged on longer than comfortable.
All of a sudden, you werenât in a car with your husband and an old companion, but locked in a cage with two predators. And youâd dropped the key.
Self-awareness appeared to be a practiced talent because, as your anxiety built, Brian snorted. âChrist, that drive back was brutal though- wasn't it, Tim?â He scoffed, âThatâs one way to put it. Had me freezinâ my balls off out there.â And Brian snickered, gasping dramatically.
âYou kiss your woman with that mouth? Oh, darlinâ, how the hell do you put up with him? Lord knows I couldnât.â
âWell, God didnât mean for everybody to be smart, and thatâs exactly why yerâ here-â
Their bickering picked back up, with the occasional inclusion of your name in the mix. Successfully switching subjects, yet your confusion lingered. They answered your questions directly; there was nothing about it that shouldâve made you feel this way. So why? Before you could truly dwell on it, the truck tires screeched to a halt. You had arrived.
Unlatching the seat belt, Tim opened the door to your right, steadying you when you hopped out. Brian followed closely, and the three of you headed to the entrance.
It was a cozy eatery. Family-owned, with rustic lighting and exposed brick. The heat from the open kitchen wafted across the floors, immediately warming your numbed fingers. Breathing in, you felt looser, maybe you were being paranoid- and it was never too late to grow as a person.
âHi! Welcome to The Greenery, table for three?â
The hostess greeted you enthusiastically, smiling when you confirmed. Leading you to a corner booth, she zipped around to the other tables the moment you sat down. She was pretty. Timâs type, in tiny shorts and a perfect updo. Sight straying from the menu, you half expected him to be following the sway of her hips. Instead, his eyes were locked on you. Squeaking quietly, you ducked down into the pamphlet, the sound of their overlapped chuckles making your face hot.
âFind somethinâ you like, yet?â
Brushing his foot against your ankle, Tim took a gulp of the complimentary water. The atmosphere was romantic, with quiet jazz mingling in the chatter around you. Youâd think Brian would stick out more, but oddly enough, he didnât. Blending right into the scene, like you were just friends getting dinner.
Clearing your throat, you set down the pamphlet. âThe risotto sounds good, um-â The dynamic between the three of you had changed, and even if the whole thing was unexpected, itâd only be right to at least try and include Brian. âW-what about you, Bri? Are you, uh, craving anything?â Cringing at the nickname, you didnât know why youâd said that. Tim had used it earlier- you werenât Tim, though.
Maybe you were moving too fast? And heâd sneer at you, mock you for overstepping. Yet when you go to correct yourself, his delighted snicker stops you. âAnd here I thought you didnât like me, darlinâ.â Resting his arms on the table, he leaned forward, high-spirited. âI, for one, am cravinâ the biggest plate of fettuccine the world's ever seen. Iâm watchinâ my figure though, you think itâd have me bloated or?-â
Words exaggerated, with his eyes crescented, dimples indented on his cheeks, clear as day. Like he was having so much fun simply talking to you.
And for the first time since youâd met Brian, you laughed.
The dread that had initially made home in your stomach was fading more and more as the night continued. It was as if his unfriendly nature had done a full one-eighty degree turn, suddenly keen on getting you to smile. It made you feel almost guilty for expecting the worst, âYou know, itâs funny that you say that- I thought you hated me since like forever.â You confessed, folding the menu and pushing it aside. Brian, for some reason, appeared genuinely shocked.
His brows shot to the roof as he blinked, and Tim didnât seem to have a clue either. Both of them were staring at you with confusion smacked across their faces- had you read all the previous encounters wrong? Itâs just that his disdain for you was so blatantly obvious.
You understood that trauma could rewire a person, but he had to know what you were talking about, right? âNot that Iâm holding it against you or anything- you just never really- I donât know, spoke to me? And youâd look at me weird when I tried to say anything- Iâm sorry. I- I didnât mean to ruin the mood, I justââ
Brian reached over the table and took one of your fidgeting hands into his. The action was jarringly intimate, and he cut you off gently. âHey, sâalright. You ainât ruin nothinâ, and Iâm sorry it felt like I didnât like you. âCause I promise yaâ I do, like you a whole lot, actually.â
Running his thumb along your knuckles, he soothed you. âYerâ the best thing that happened to Tim. The bastard wouldnât survive a day out here without you, and if he ever acts otherwise, Iâll smack him up the head.â Tim huffed, âIf anyoneâs the bastard, itâd be you-â rolling his eyes, he shifted closer. âBut he ainât wrong, youâre doinâ jusâ fine, baby. Iâm lucky you put up with me for this long.â Their joint reassurance settled softly in your chest.
Now, you really feel bad for expecting the worst. âOkay.â Your shy grin seemed to be enough to ease their concerns, and Brian pulled back. The waitress approached just in time, taking your orders and dashing off into the bustle.
You spent the rest of the evening bantering back and forth. With Brian absolutely demolishing his dish, and Tim judging him for how fast he chewed. As if youâd been a trio all your lives, the conversation flowed easily, and it finally felt like you fit.
Not a burden or a nagging wife heâd have to tell to leave because his friends were over, but someone he wanted to show off. Someone he was proud of.
After you had finished, they even argued over who would take the bill. It was the most unserious thing youâd ever witnessed. Tim claimed that since you were his woman, heâd have to pay. Saying, âIt was only right-â while Brian combated that he âDrove here and therefore technically hosted.â Shaking your head, you sighed. Boys.
The drive back was light, filled with laughter as your husband defended his honour. Brian had been appalled when youâd told him that Tim hadnât gotten you flowers in over a year, and Tim gasped something terrible. He said that heâd lost his mind and had been possessed by âThe spirit of a deadbeatâ five months into the marriage. Told you to forget everything up until this point, and swore on his grave heâd do better. His companion tutted disapprovingly from the driver's seat, giving you a look through the rearview.
You wished with all your might that the warmth from tonight would last for the rest of your days.
áŻâ
âœâââââââââââââââ„
Back in your pyjamas, you slipped on the thickest socks you could find. While the storm may have eased up, winter had arrived in full swing. Snowflakes blanketed the soil outside, and you crossed your legs to watch. Perched at the window seat, the fireplace roared behind you, your bedroom glowing a hazy amber. This was not how you had pictured ending your week, and you could not be more grateful for it. Mug cozy in your hands, you sipped, and the sugar immediately coated your tongue.
It was sweeter than usual, too sweet for it to be good for you, according to Tim, anyway. But it had been a good day, and you thought you deserved to indulge, just a little bit.
Walking out of the ensuite bathroom, his hair was still damp, with the towel slung around his neck. Tim sat down next to you, leisurely leaning on the sill, and he cocked his head to the side. âWatchaâ drinkinâ?â His change in demeanour was making you perverted. Water droplets dripped down the lines of his throat, with the short sleeves struggling to contain his newly attained muscle- Tim looked edible.
Hands in his pockets, and the sweats were dragged low on his hips. The plain cotton tee had rolled up a tad, giving you the perfect view of his happy trail. Snapping you out of your thoughts, he smirked, like he knew. âSâthat tea or?â How embarrassing. You stuttered, hiding your face behind the rim when you swallowed a mouthful. âI- yeah, itâs tea. I know you say I donât really need the sugar, I was just craving it.â He raised a brow at you, âWhatâs that supposed to mean? I know you gottaâ sweet tooth, hun. Ainât no shame in it.â
Letting out a hushed laugh, you placed the cup down. âYouâre so nice now, itâs weird.â That had him grunting, raising his arm, he brushed the hair out of your face. âWas I not nice before?â His gaze mapped out your features, traveling from the slope of your nose to the curve of your lips.
âNo, you were- it just feels like youâre... softer now. I guess.â Frowning, he mutters, perplexed. âBarely done anything for yaâ sweetheart. Was I that bad tâyou?â It was as if you were complaining to your new boyfriend about an ex who had done you dirty.
You giggled, âItâs not like that, you just worried about my health a lot. Donât need the extra pounds and all that.â And he scoffs, visibly irritated. Mad at the Tim before the accident, it seemed. âThatâs the dumbest shit Iâve ever heard. Surprised you havenât kicked me to the curb yet. Someoneâs been lacing my coffee at work, because I think I was on somethinâ when I said that to you, sugâ-â
Tugging you closer, he lifts your leg, swinging it over his thighs. You straddled his lap, hands finding purchase on his chest. Humming, you smiled. He appeared so utterly distraught at his prior actions; it was endearing.
âItâs fine, Tim. Really-â
âNo, the hell ainât. Shouldâve socked me in the jaw the second I opened my mouth. Yerâ a stunner, my girl- prettiest thing Iâd ever goddamned seen.â
The weight of his words shocked you, saying them like they were the only truth heâd ever known. Sighing, he nudged his hand under your shirt. Caressing your waist, âYou believe me, donât yaâ? Fuckinâ gorgeous, you hear me?â His eyes searched yours in desperation; the need for you to understand was bare, aching. Everything heâd ever done, ever sacrificed, was for you.
Every blood-curdling moment, where heâd grit his teeth and refuse to yield. When his mind had fractured, and static took hold of his body. With the earth laid scorched beneath his feet, malice blinding his sight- he would scream your name. You were what kept him here, the tether between morgue and soul.
Somewhere far away, in a place between times, Tim stood amongst a vast sea of corpses. A man stained with valour and grief. Rifle heavy in his hand, his ribs torn open, the beating heart that sat half buried in soil mocks him. You are nowhere to be found, yet he calls your name anyway.
You never respond.
Breath fanning across your skin, he wrapped his arms around you. Tightening his hold when you go to question him, âTim?â He exhales heavily into the crook of your shoulder, âIâm alright, just missed you, baby. Thatâs all.â His sudden switch in attitude worried you. Running your fingers through his hair, you pressed a kiss to his temple. âI missed you, too. I canât imagine how scary it was when you crashed.â
Pulling back, he breathes through his nose, âWasnât that bad, knowinâ you were waitinâ on me. Youâre all I need, yâknow that? Nothinâ on earth could stop me from gettinâ home to you.â Whispered against your lips, he kisses you. Slow and deep, savouring it. Mouths slotting together as your saliva mixes, you cradled his face. Hooking his hands under your thighs, he lifted you, rising and stepping to the bed. Scrambling to steady yourself, you grabbed at his shoulders.
You gasped, heâd always been strong- but heâd never just hauled you up without a single grunt. âTim, what-â he silenced you, pressing his lips to yours once more, before breaking off. His expression could only be described as longing. âNeed you, honey. Youâll let me have you, wonât you? Been waitinâ too long- itâs killinâ me.â Waiting too long? Youâd offered yourself plenty of times in the past, but he was simply never interested.
Missing for two weeks, sure- however, compared to the borderline celibacy of your marriage, that was nothing. Tossing you onto the sheets, you landed with a soft bounce. âWhatâs gotten into you?-â Even on your honeymoon, heâd never looked at you like this. Half-lidded, intoxicated, while he crawled between your legs.
Caging you under him, he chuckled darkly, pupils dilated and drowning the hue around them. âYou have no idea how hard it was to pretend I didnât wannaâ bend you over that goddamn table in front of everybody.â The last of his restraint had fizzled into nothing, and he dipped down, nipping at your throat.
The feeling of his teeth had you arching off the linen, âAh-â and he groaned like he was starved. Leaving heated kisses along your collar, he slinked lower, pushing your shirt up as he went. Your breast spilt across your chest, lying bare and vulnerable. When you would fuck, it was usually under the covers, and while youâd be naked- it was more just focusing on the sensation rather than the visual. Tim complimented you, of course, but he was never the type to stare and take his time breaking you down.
Until this exact moment, that is. Apparently, heâd returned to you with an appetite. âLift yerâ hips for me, sugâ.â You already felt incredibly exposed, embarrassed by his attention. Yet, you couldnât help but comply. Raising up an inch, his thumbs hooked under the waistband of your shorts. He rolls down the material with care, slipping it off your legs and throwing it to the side.
You squirmed under his gaze, the revealed skin becoming victim to his lips as he trails kisses from your inner thigh up to your ankle. âOh, angel. Yerâ too good to be true.â Since you were only going to bed, youâd failed to put on underwear, and now you were suffering the consequences. Core presented bare, your folds were slick in arousal, glistening under the dim light. Tim whistled low at the sight, âSo wet, my girl. You want it that bad?â
Whining, you hid your face behind your hand, turning from him. His sweet talking, combined with his touch, was overwhelming. Clicking his tongue, he grasped your wrist, tugging it down and pinning it at your side. âUh uh, you look at me or I stop, you understand?â Stern and in control, his tone sent shivers down your spine.
Nodding weakly, you sniffled. His presence was authoritative, commanding you as if it were second nature. Resting your leg on his shoulder, he slid a finger along your slit, spreading you open. Circling your puffy clit, he snickered when a moan forced its way past your lips. And you shuddered harshly as he applied more pressure, drawing out your pathetically suppressed sounds.
The pleasure sparks all the way to your toes, vibrating through your body mercilessly. It felt so good, and heâd barely touched you; you normally didnât even feel it this much when you had full-on sex with him. When had he learned you inside out? Bending down, he pecked your cheek, an act far too innocent for what was happening.
âSâthis what you needed? A little lovinâ from your husband, right? You were so tense at dinner, had me worrying my heart out, baby.â Southern drawl coated his words thick with honey, mocking you.
It had only been a couple of minutes, and you were already dangerously close to the edge. Vision bleary, your sensitive cunt drooled onto the sheets, puddling under your ass. He kept skimming his fingers up and down your folds. Middle and index rolling your twitching nub, then slipping down to tease your entrance. Prodding in just the tips of his fingers, before pulling them back out, he was playing with you.
The constantly switching stimulation had you writhing beneath him, clawing at the duvet, and whimpering. âPoor thing, Iâve been neglecting you, hm? Ainât I jusâ the worst?â His grin was anything but remorseful. Tears bubbled at your lash line, and you could barely keep your eyes open. You hiccuped, âI wannaâ ah- just-â
Your thighs were trembling, jolting as he smacked your pussy. âYou wanna..? Iâm lost here, babydoll. Canât help you unless you use your words real proper like.â
Rocking your hips into his hand, you mewled. âHah- Tim, wanâ it- ngh, deeper.â He hummed, scolding you. âNow, thatâs not how we ask, is it? Give me a good wife to fuck and use yerâ manners.â Tim was being so mean, you couldnât even think straight, and he wouldnât stop toying with you.
Tapping your clit like a button, he dragged the pads of his finger over your weeping hole, but never dipping inside. The coil in your gut was painfully tight. He was such a bully. âPlease! Please- please, wannaâ be good.â Your little begs were too cute, like an eager puppy.
Your ears were ringing, shoulders bowing sharply off the mattress when he finally fills you. âOh- fuck, Tim-â Lewd shlick shlick shlickâs echoed through the room as he pumps in and out of your sloppy tunnel. Gummy walls spasming around the digits, and your eyes rolled back into your skull. Your thighs squeezed together, only to be obstructed by his hips, legs jerking sporadically. Your release splurted out in pulses, soaking both his hand and the linen.
What the actual fuck had just happened?
Tim had made you cum in five minutes flat. On his fingers alone, at that. It wasnât that he was inexperienced; itâs just that his skill had somehow skyrocketed over the span of fourteen days. Your head was heavy, lolling limply against the sheets, but he wasnât done. Matter of fact, he hadnât even started.
Leaning back on his haunches, he withdrew from your dripping heat, and your arousal acted as thin ribbons. Stretching between you when he brought his hand to his lips.
His tongue swirled around the digits before pulling them out with a wet pop. âYouâre jusâ too sweet, pretty thing. Yaâ think itâs the sugar?â Grabbing the hem of his shirt, he shucks it off in one tug. Back on you in a flash, his arms braced by your head, and he brought his weight down. A simmering grind, you could feel him through the fabric. Youâd just cum, and you were already aching for more, but it wasnât your fault. He was just too good at touching your needy body, splaying your cunt open with every rock of his hips.
The air was heavy, thick with sex and sweat. Lips molding to yours, he swallowed every whine you made. Hearth crackling amidst lust, your breath hitched, oversensitive.
You whined, raking your nails down his back, breaking the damp skin in jagged lines. The friction on your clit was dizzying. âPlease-â
Your eyes shoot open as your phone buzzes off the nightstand.
It slips from the drawer and clatters loudly to the floor, making both of you freeze. Tim groans, completely content with ignoring it, when the lit-up screen catches your attention. Brian. Saved under âB. Thomasâ and currently spamming your inbox. The device vibrated repetitively on the hardwood, distracting you. Why was he calling so late? It had to have been at least a quarter past midnight, and you were sure Brian should have been comfortably at home. On top of knowing the woods like the back of his hand due to work, he didnât live far- he wouldnât be contacting you unless it was an emergency.
Your husband, however, appeared to be set on blocking out the damn thing. Continuing to kiss you as if heâd die if he didnât. âTim-â Barely a grunt, âWhat if something happened-â Smooch, âHe could be hurt-â Mwah. You were getting nowhere, shoving at his shoulders, and he finally gave you space to breathe. Blinking at you, confused. He wet his lips,
âYou alright?â
âBrianâs been calling for five minutes straight- what if itâs an emergency?â
âWhyâs another man's name cominâ out of your mouth in the bed I pay for?â
âHe could literally be bleeding out right now-â
âThen let him.â
âTim.â
Sighing with his whole chest, he gave you the most betrayed look he could muster before rolling off. Shuffling onto the edge of the mattress, he swung his feet onto the ground. Tim scowled heavily, staring at the phone heâd picked up with disdain. All he asks for is one night. One night, uninterrupted, with his woman. And of course, thatâs when the bastard needs help.
May God punish Brian.
Glancing up to the ceiling, he took a deep breath. Shutting his lids and gathering the strength not to yell the moment he answered the call. After a beat, he swiped across the screen, bringing it to his ear with an irritated grumble.
âWhat.â
Pulling your shirt down, you shifted onto your stomach and tried your hardest to listen in. From what you could make out, the reason for his disturbance was something along the lines of a malfunction in his engine. Apparently, Brian had made it about twenty minutes before the truck went dark. Now, he was stranded on the road, with your cabin being the closest option in the on-and-off blizzard.
He hangs up after responding to whatever Brian said last with a disgruntled âYerâ lucky sheâs a fuckinâ saint- should leave you out there for the wolves.â Running a hand down his face, he turned to you. âHeâs outside, sugar- heâs askinâ to stay for the night.â As horny as you were, Brian had been through enough, and you had a perfectly usable spare room just down the hall. âOkay, can you let him in? I canât exactly greet any guests like this.â Propped up on your elbows, you laughed.
Tim looked so upset. Borderline pouting, he puffs, annoyed down to the bone. Not at you, but at his invasive friend who always showed up at the worst time possible. âAinât you say he was mean to you? We should leave âim out there to repent-â Throwing himself back over you in a half crawl, he groans loudly into your nape when you giggle, âGo open the door for him, heâs probably freezing out there.â
âBaby-â
âGo.â
Giving your shoulder one last kiss, he parted from you, trudging out of the room. Shirt still off, he adjusted himself through the joggers. Cock blocked by his very own companion. You stifle your snort, and Tim exhales noisily from the corridor. The steps creaked under his weight, bare feet padding along the carpet as you redressed yourself upstairs.
The door swings open with a harsh whoosh. Snow pelting down, and the glow of your home drifted out into the night. âYouâre such a shit head, Bri. I jusâ got back, you couldnât have stopped by tomorrow?â Tim snarked, arms crossed over his chest.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, Brian whistled, âHostile. I interrupt you ân the missus or somethinâ?â Your lover's eye was twitching. âShut the hell up and get in, youâre lettinâ the heat out.â Ushering his friend inside with haste, he gave the tree line a quick scan before shutting the entrance.
You could already hear their bickering starting up from the top of the staircase, making your way to the pair, blood rushed to your cheeks when Brian grunts at the sight of you. Placing his duffel down, his gaze sweeps you from head to toe. âWell, shit- I miss the fun or?-â Getting cut off by Timâs hand swatting at the back of his hood. âEyes offaâ her- Iâll drag you out myself, donât think I wonât.â Going at each other's throats right until they got separated.
Your mismatched trio ended up talking for a bit in front of your shared chambers- Brian telling you more about the whereabouts of his truck to be looked at in the morning, then he bid you goodnight with a playful salute, heading off down the hall.
Tim sprawled on the mattress, pushing the blankets down while he settled into bed. The day's exhaustion finally caught up to you. Gliding your foot over the edge of the hob, you yawned. âIâm glad youâre both safe- I think the storms picking up again.â Arms above your head as you stretched, the warmth of the fire licking across your skin. You peered at him over your shoulder from where you stood, and he grinned. âIâm glad, too. Now câmere, âm startinâ to miss you.â Humming, you twist around to join him- ah, you forgot to grab a drink on the way up.
Mouth suddenly dry, you huffed, âWait, Iâm gonnaâ get water- do you want a cup?â He blinks at you lazily, reminding you of a domesticated tiger. âMm, Iâm alright, hun.â Slinking further into the plush duvet, and you headed downstairs.
The trek should have been quick, yet on your way back, something catches your attention. Brianâs bag. In the rush of the conversation, he must have forgotten it by the welcome mat. Heâll probably come looking for it later anyway. Why not bring it up for him to save him the trouble? Glass in hand, you crouched down, reaching for the handle, before you freeze.
With the black zipper not fully shut, the muted colours stood out against the dark nylon. Inside the bulky luggage lay an object that didnât quite blend in amongst the rest.
A baseball cap with dark red splattered on the brim.
âœâââââââââââââââ„
âœâââââââââââââââ„
A/N: YESSS !! FIRST CHAPTER IS HEREEE !! Many things in store⊠many mysteries to solve⊠I wonder whoâs hat that is đ§
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