- I love discussing about pretty much every subject , from the most mundane activity to the deepest and abstract philosophies.
- Indeed my ask box is open for everyone. You can ask whatever you want , BUT i will ask you to do not use it to ramble about you're traumas or private matters, appreciated.
• LIKES
- current favorite activities : sleeping, neglecting my work and pestering blogs that i like with dumb asks.
- i enjoy different fandoms
- literature, history and sociology are my forte.
• Don't for the love of god
- If you are a bigot, ignorant with conservative and hateful ideologies : you already know where the door is, you may take your leave.
[I'm not a writer, i only reblog things i like, but who know i may start writing something]
Reader who has a real job and actual bills. Reader who prioritizes her own peace over his feelings. Reader who has hobbies that don’t revolve around a man. Reader who actually has a life outside of him. Reader who says “no” and means it. Reader who isn't easily impressed. Reader who’s petty. Reader who has trust issues. Reader who chooses her girls every single time. Reader who has a body count and isn't ashamed of it. Reader who is exhausted by male fragility. Reader who holds grudges. Reader who’s a mess. Reader who’s mentally ill. Reader who makes mistakes. Reader who’s manipulative. Reader who’s selfish. Reader who’s morally gray. Reader who’s awful. Reader who genuinely doesn’t give a fuck.
the backrooms movie made me realize that my deepest fear isn't monsters or labyrinths or even death. it's failure.
seeing clark divorced, struggling with money, no friends, sitting and drinking and festering in his own self pity brought tears to my eyes faster than anything ever had before.
I saw him out of breath hopping around on the peg leg with the pirate impression talking about how you don't even need credit to buy from him and I was so close to sobbing it wasn't even funny. putting on a face when you're breaking down inside with no hope is terrifying to me.
I was so sad during the kitchen table scene because everything Mary said was true, he was lost now. It's like seeing someone you wished would succeed just give up and fall asleep in their grave.
forgot that being obsessed with fictional characters is not something normal people do. I hear someone say they’re too obsessed with a fictional character and for a moment I’m like “???? and what about it? isn’t that like??? normal???” then I realize that for a lot of people, it’s not.
I genuinely cannot imagine not being obsessed with the characters from the media I hyperfixate on and I genuinely cannot imagine not having a piece of media to hyperfixate on 😭
𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴: lıllılı.ıll. Hoodie x F! Reader .lllııılı..lıllıl
"Stalker’s Tango - Autoheart ⋅" ★ ➤ ➤
𝟶𝟷:𝟻𝟷 ━━━━━━●─── 𝟶𝟹:𝟶𝟹 ⇆ ◁ ❚❚ ▷ ↻
W/C: 8.2k // Summary: Hard work was hard work. Brian’s day to day consisted of blood-labour, ridding of evidence, and a drink, if he was in the mood. He didn’t have time for relationships- until a stranger starts following him around.
He believes it’s fate. So, when you break into his house, he decides to keep you. People did say it was good to have a wife to come home to, right?
Tags: Stalker! Reader, Yandere! Hoodie, Dom! Hoodie, Dubcon-adjacent, cunnilingus, oral (m-receiving), breeding, baby trapping (ish), 69, felching, overstim-to-watersports-pipeline, p in v, pet play (kinda?), he calls you puppy like twice, humiliation, intox, choking, kidnapping technically but you really want it, and talking you through it
A/N: This one is really freaky but have fun reading !! ^3^
➽──────────────❥
Brian was quite the romantic, in his opinion.
A full week off, the cabin that he and Tim ransacked months ago was finally of use. However, his companion had been sent on another solo job, and the house was empty aside from him.
He had his laptop propped up on the counter, the screen displaying a recipe he’d been wanting to try. It was rare that proxies got downtime, and he’d finally had the chance to unwind.
A home-cooked meal, ingredients he’d painstakingly saved up for, and an ice-cold beer on the side. It was going to be perfect.
In theory.
The thing with being a killer was that you didn’t get to practice your culinary skills much. Which meant that he couldn’t just eyeball it. Which also meant the chicken was burning and slightly oversalted.
He was glad he’d only used a third of the meat to start with, because this was not going as well as he wanted it to. He sighed, shucking the charred remains into a bowl- when a clatter echoed from the hall.
He switched the stove off, wiping his hands on a rag. He was wondering when you’d show up.
You were his stalker- affectionately. He’d caught you staring at him across the gas station two months ago, and you’d been tailing him ever since.
At first, he was cautious. You could’ve been a spy or someone who got too nosy about business that wasn’t your own. However, after a week of his own research, he realized you were neither.
You just had a crush on him. It was obvious that, less than five days in, you were beyond flustered even being near him. A cute little thing, he thinks.
Your lack of skill was endearing, and he didn’t mind playing pretend. If you wanted to watch, he’d indulge you. Hoodie was going out of his way to pose for your pictures, doing the absolute most in broad daylight.
Stretching with a grunt, flexing his arms more than necessary. He’d wipe split liquor from his chin with the bottom of his shirt, giving you a direct view of his V-line and pecs.
Yet you would be too nervous to even hold the camera properly, sprinting off with a blurry shot at best. He had worked his abs the day prior, too. A shame, really.
Don’t get him wrong; he liked the whole cat-and-mouse act, but you were hopeless. He doubted you’d ever follow him home or break in, so he had to lure you out of your shell. Use a breadcrumb trail to get you into position. The works.
Earlier that week, he’d talked obnoxiously loud on the phone. Telling Tim about his plans, about how he thought he should “Go shirtless more often.” Maybe even invest in a pair of low-hanging sweats, you know?
He ducked into an alley, waiting for you to linger just around the corner, then he dropped the exact address. It was like shaking a bag of treats at a stray cat. Almost too easy.
Now, standing in the kitchen, Brian decided to make you a taste tester. You were already here, and he’s sure you’d be willing.
The sound of shuffling, followed by the thump of footsteps, grew closer. He could hear you cuss quietly; your struggle to sneak around had him holding back a laugh. How polite of you to remove your shoes.
Craning his neck to the side, he occupied himself with re-oiling the pan, his chain catching the light in slivers. He was bare from the waist up, his boxer band snug against his hips. He was a man of his word, after all. Though he was curious about how you’d react. If it were an enclosed space with no readily available exits, would you be bolder?
You had come all this way, and he hoped that you’d push yourself out of your comfort zone. It’d be rude not to. He prepared this evening for both of you; the least you could do was surprise him a bit.
His back was still turned when you tiptoed into the room, hunched over to make yourself smaller. He saw you nearly trip in his periphery, and he grinned, a plan stitching itself together in his head. He wanted to check exactly how inexperienced you were. And yeah, perhaps he didn’t have the right to be jealous- but he’d be lying if he said the idea of not being your first didn’t bother him.
You liked him so much that you probably walked here despite the trek. Probably giggled thinking about him, cheeks warm as you debated on what to take as a souvenir. To Hoodie, that was special.
Watching was a love language, one that he was uniquely fluent in. Who better to settle down with than someone who understood it perfectly, right? The muted padding of your socks on hardwood.
Two creaks to his right, about three paces away. Then silence. Three paces… Ah, you were going for his jacket. Except that the coat in question was his usual one, the leather thick, made for harsh weather. As much as he wanted to let you take it, he’d need it on the way back.
He clicked his tongue, speaking curtly. “Take somethin’ else, baby. I’m still wearin’ that one.” The metal tapped the glass stovetop, the burner switched back on, and you hummed. “Oh, okay. Thank you.” You swivelled on your heel, scanning the room for other items.
Thirty seconds passed. You picked up a stray glove lying on the coffee table. One full minute. You debated between snatching the empty cup near the sofa and going for his sweater thrown across the armchair. If you organized the items well, you could fit both in your bag. Another minute. The clock ticked by, repetitive while you searched.
“You hungry?”
“Um, a little-”
You shot up.
Eyes wide, your satchel fell to the floor, and Brian arched a brow. “I’m testing a new recipe. Thought you’d wanna’ try.” He was facing you now, a smirk gracing his lips when he cocked his head to the left, giving you a once-over. “You gonna’ stand there all night? It’s bad manners not to greet the host.” Teasing.
With his arms crossed, the contours of hard muscle were etched harshly under the dim light. His happy trail peaked over the elastic band, leading up to his navel, scars littering his torso. His chest was covered in sparse hair, the plush squished together. And he was so tall. Broad, his shoulders sculpted, a steel cross pendant framed in the middle of his pecs—
“It’s also bad manners to stare.”
You met his gaze in an instant and stuttered, unsteady on your feet. “Sorry- I didn’t mean to, you know. Well…” Your palms were clammy, heart racing a mile a minute. Yet he seemed relaxed, too calm for someone who had just found out their home was being intruded on.
He raised his hand, beckoning you with a finger. “C’mere.” He swivelled around after, and you were quick to obey, scrambling over when he placed two chicken breasts into the skillet. You stood awkwardly by his side, the meat sizzling against blistering oil. The kitchen felt claustrophobic. You didn’t know what to do with your hands.
Brian was right there. You could practically smell him.
Why would you think that?
That was weird. This was a terrible idea. But he clearly wasn’t normal either- he couldn’t be. No regular person would be unbothered by a situation like this.
“You’re good with chicken, yeah? It’s all I got, but if you really ain’t like it, we can order something.” You nodded at that, shoving down your inner monologue. “No, it’s okay. Chicken’s good.” He mirrored your response. Flipping the meat with tongs as he grunted. “Mm. I made a salad to go with it. You want a vinaigrette or ranch?”
“… Ranch. Please.”
“Water or beer? There’s wine in the cellar, too.”
“Water’s fine.”
The chicken had developed a sear. Golden brown when he gave it another flip. “You sure? We can open a bottle. Promise, I don’t mind.” He said, unhurried. The kitchen was quiet aside from the sound of his tongs hitting the pan once in a while, the proximity making you sweat. You fidgeted with your sleeves. “Okay.”
A meek reply, he smiled, checking the meat's internal temperature with a food thermometer. “Alright- help me plate this; then we’ll eat.” The heat was shut off, and he moved to wash his hands, opening the cabinets a second later. He pulled out two bowls, balancing them in one hand, and grabbed wine glasses with the other.
Once he’d placed the cutlery on the counter along with everything else, he glanced at you. “Well, I’ll be damned- I didn’t burn it this time. Should call you my lucky charm, darlin’.” Your ears were warm, and you avoided his eyes, stepping closer. “Y-yeah. It looks good.” The meal was put together swiftly, Brian handling it alone despite his earlier request.
You should do something. He had asked- maybe he just forgot?
“I’ll bring the food to the table while you get the wine.” You tittered, a nervous laugh escaping you.
He stared at you for a moment, features blank enough to have your blood running cold, then he grinned. Chuckling as if you’d said exactly what he wanted to hear. “Sure. Dining room’s right around the corner; I’ll be back in a bit.”
He walked past you, and you swallowed, picking up the bowls carefully before trudging into the hall. A light switch was flicked up, porcelain sliding onto the oak surface when you set the bowls down. You made another round to return with the glasses, taking a seat afterward.
He breached the doorway with a bottle in hand and settled in across the table. “That coat ain’t stuffy?” Nodding at you, he uncorked the wine. The dark red sloshed against the glass, both your cups filled halfway. “I mean, I don’t notice it. I guess.” This was definitely not how you thought this would go.
He stabbed his fork into the chicken, taking a bite as you followed hesitantly. “It’s warm in here. Yer’ gonna’ melt in that thing.” He snickered, and you tried your best to smile. “I can take it off if you want.”
A pause, then he gave you a look. “If I want?” Twirling the utensil slowly, he tapped it against the bowl once, sighing.
“You’re acting like I’m keepin’ you hostage, honey. Relax.” He drawled, lazily chewing while you faltered. “I’m relaxed- I was just saying.” Now that he had pointed it out, you were overly aware of the jacket’s weight.
The material hung heavily on your shoulders, almost dragging you down, your body heat simmering beneath the layers.
The once spacious table had shrunk, the walls closing in like you were trapped in a bubble. You could suddenly feel everything. The way the wooden chair stuck to your thighs even through the denim, the clink of glass each time he took a sip.
It was as if the air around you had grown tight, and the bulbs overhead thrummed loudly. Buzzing on your skin, suffocating you with its vibrance. You tugged at the zipper despite his reassurance, shrugging off the coat. Conversation. Be present.
“Thank you for cooking.” You said, breathing out at the ease in temperature, as he chuckled. “Oh, of course. It’s your first time here. I gotta’ impress you.” Winking at you, he reclined a tad, cutting off another chunk of the meat. “So, you do this often?”
A casual question. His tone was unhurried, still eating like this wasn’t absurd. You were simply a friend dropping by, a fun companion he’d met at work, and not a stranger who broke in. Your nerves fought your infatuation, your mind at war with itself.
Should you be grateful that he was so forgiving, or concerned that he wasn’t? He hadn’t interrogated you at all. Hadn’t shouted at you, sneering in disgust, appalled at the extent of your obsession.
The man was treating you shockingly well, nearly too friendly in your presence. The uncanny fondness he showed you made your head hurt- but you liked him.
His attention was addicting. The laughs he’d give you had your cheeks hot. It’d be smart to run, to sprint as fast as your legs could carry you. It was just that your crushes never really worked out, and he was everything you’d wished for, served on a silver platter.
Brian had been courteous all night, considerate towards your preferences. Regarding you with thought and flirting with you as if he returned your feelings. You couldn’t help the sugary giggle that slipped past your lips.
“No, I don’t get out much. I haven’t had dinner with someone like this since last year.” He grinned at that, humming when you swallowed a mouthful. “Yeah?” His fork clattered against the bowl's rim, chair squeaking under him, and he arched a brow.
“What about the stalking, then?”
You choked.
Blinking, your sputter was rushed. Posture turned stiff. “I- I wasn’t trying to. I just- I don’t know. Um.” He rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward. “Wasn’t trying to… what?” His gaze was analytical, and he shrugged, tapping a rhythm onto the oak. “It’s okay; we can be honest. I saw you takin’ pictures of me earlier, but ya’ ran off before I could pose properly.” His cheery nature had you restless in your seat.
Taking off your jacket had been a godsend, because you were currently boiling from the inside out. Had you been that obvious? You shifted in place, rubbing your ankles together. “Sorry.” Your sad mumble made him snigger, head slumping down, with his shoulders shaking. “Yer’ real cute, I’ll tell you that-” He straightened himself, exhaling.
“Really, though. You ever done this with anybody else?”
He was having fun- maybe you should too.
He appeared content when you acted comfortable, so it couldn’t hurt to banter.
You steeled yourself, suppressing the butterflies in your stomach. “What if I have?” You were ready for a laugh, a witty remark, but the second you glanced up, the hairs on your nape rose.
Brian’s grin had been wiped clean off, and he stared with an iciness you weren’t expecting. Slowly, as he stuck his tongue against his inner cheek, he narrowed his eyes.
Head tilted by a fraction. “Who?” While his cadence was monotone, his body language was screaming at you. Wound up like a caged tiger waiting for you to drop the key.
You simpered, strained. Attempting to brush it off. “Ah, I wasn’t-” He interrupted you, tunnel-visioned on your previous statement. “Did you like ‘im? I swear I won’t say nothin’.” The way his jaw tensed told you otherwise. He was smiling again, but it was off. Too sharp, not reaching his eyes, his chuckle hollow at best.
He spoke with barely contained animosity, working himself up the more he thought about it. “You keep the photos you took back then, or no? Tell me, c’mon. Do ya’ think about him?” His gaze was bordering on manic, agitated in his own skin. You rambled quickly. “No! There- there isn’t anyone else. I was kidding.” He froze at that, expressionless.
The silence prickled you, tension thorny amidst the stalemate- before he whistled low. Teasing lilt returned when he shook his head playfully. “You’re cruel, dolly. Thought you were gonna’ break my heart there.” The mood switch was jarring, and you forced yourself to adjust, scooping up another bite. He gestured to your still-full glass.
“Try it. It’s good.”
“Right- yeah.”
The cup was chilled in your palm, and you took a large swig, downing the rest in record time. The alcohol wasn’t terribly strong, but it burned nonetheless. You cleared your throat, and the glass was set back on the table, liquor kicking in almost immediately.
Being a lightweight had perks, though you weren’t sure that applied to your current predicament. It was fine- just something to calm yourself down.
Yet, drink after drink, the wine’s effect increased tenfold. Every time you emptied your glass, he’d pour you one more, evening the playing field by matching your pace. Except his tolerance was far higher than yours.
You had gone through a full bottle, on your second, and he was still impeccably upright. But he’d take care of you if you got too messy, wouldn’t he?
His hand smacking against the surface made you jolt, his cheer loud. “Goddamn, pretty miss. You sure can drink!”
You laughed at his excitement, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. It was easy to forget how scary he’d been only a moment ago. Especially with the intoxication settling in, you were on cloud nine.
You swayed a little. “Only if I’m trying to look cool.” The buzz soothed your jitters, and all you could focus on was the curve of his jaw. He was so pretty, charming like the princes you’d read about in storybooks. His scars gave him an edge, while his dimples made him appear sweet. A perfect balance.
Your eyes drifted to his lips, memorizing the hue. They looked soft, perhaps a bit chapped from the weather, but you’re sure they’d feel nice. You had dreamed about him daily, fantasizing about his hands on you, thinking about what he’d say.
It had begun about two months ago- the stalking, that is.
You had met him one year prior.
The rain had been brutal, flooding the roads and drenching you in the downpour. Winds so strong that the water droplets battered against the concrete like hail, thunder shrieking into the night. You were terrified, shaking in a thin jacket on the side of the road. The man you’d been chasing had lied to you.
He had smiled when you confessed, asking you to dinner. Texting you for days, swearing he was over the moon. He picked you up that night, and the drive was grand, filled with laughter the entire way. However, when you arrived at the designated location, instead of a cozy picnic under the stars, you found an empty parking lot.
He ushered you out of the car, and trusting him, you did so happily. Then it happened. The skidding of tires, overlapping voices, your heartbeat in your ears. His friends yanked you by the hair, snipping off chunks.
They jeered, they mocked and humiliated you- for believing someone like him could ever love someone like you.
They left you in pieces, sobbing on the cold cement. The storm began shortly after, and you were forced to drag yourself home, lost in the whirlwind. And that’s when you ran into Brian.
His truck had come to a stop on the highway, engine still rumbling, while he stepped out. You were blocking the road, and even though he seemed annoyed, he let you hitch a ride.
If he noticed your state early on, he didn’t say anything- not until you asked.
“Is there something wrong with me?”
He’d grunted, glancing at you briefly. “No.” He was probably just pacifying you. Probably just making sure the stranger in his passenger seat didn’t throw a fit. But it was enough.
You had spent your entire life being unsure. You never knew where you fit in. The town was small, and for whatever reason, it seemed like you were born wrong. You were always too loud or too quiet. Either too promiscuous or a prude. Your affection was viewed as an abomination, the person at the centre of your desire recoiling at the idea.
You were the one just slightly out of frame in photographs, the friend who walked on the grass, and was never saved a seat at the table. A background character in a picture-perfect scene, unneeded.
You would be alone in a full room, forgotten about, even if you screamed at the top of your lungs. Isolated since the moment you opened your eyes, in a broken home with parents who held you for necessity's sake.
Nothing ever made sense; nobody ever had the right answers. But he did. You asked him if you were off-putting; you asked if you were disgusting to be around. You asked him over and over again if he thought you didn’t belong. Not providing any information for him to logically respond to. Yet that didn’t matter, and his reply would remain the same.
“No.”
Because Brian was different. Because he understood.
You tried so hard to ignore the constant flashing memories of that drive. You did things to distract yourself, going out more, indulging in new hobbies. They never stuck, though.
Soon enough, all you could think about was him. He was the only person who made you feel seen, the only one who comforted you when you offered nothing in return.
Because Brian was good.
You had the pictures of Brian taped to your wall. You saved Brian’s half-smoked cigarettes to kiss when you were sad. Brian was sweet to you. Brian’s voice was smooth like warm honey. Brian was—
“— Alright?”
Your pupils snapped up to his, and he huffed, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I said, are you alright?” When you failed to answer, he snickered. “I’ve been callin’ yer’ name for the past five minutes.”
You pouted, tittering while you slumped forward. “Oh, sorry.” He got to his feet, rounding the dinner table and snagging the nearly empty bottle along the way.
“We hafta’ do something about those nerves of yours. Apologizin’ after every sentence- you’re worrying me, baby.” His grasp was firm on your jaw, tilting your head back.
The glass rim nudged against your parted lips, and he grunted. “Don’t worry, I got you.” Bitter, with undertones of sweetness coating your palate. You gulped desperately, deep scarlet dribbling down your chin.
It was starting to overwhelm you, and you clumsily reached for his wrist. Pawing, trying to pull back, but his grip refused to waver.
“Shh, s’okay. Nice an’ easy- jus’ like that.” He murmured, hushing you. Your lungs burned, the lack of oxygen making your head spin. Your eyes were barely open by the time he withdrew, and he brought the bottle to his mouth, downing the remaining liquor. He exhaled after, breathless.
The wine hung limp at his hip, his grin satisfied. “Atta’ girl.” He ran his tongue along his teeth and slouched slightly.
Tapping your bottom lip once. “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.” With that, he hauled you up, your arms wrapped loosely around his neck as he walked down the hall.
He kicked open the bedroom door, stepping to the mattress before laying you down.
He crawled to kneel between your legs, resting on his haunches. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.” You giggled drunkenly and nuzzled your head against the sheets. You were floaty, the duvet soft beneath you. “Mm… ‘m pretty?” You slurred, making him laugh. “The prettiest thing I ever seen, sweetheart.”
The linen smelled like him. He was looking at you. Hazy, you were so excited it felt as if your chest would burst. “Fuckin’ perfect.” His touch brushed over your collar, dragging down to your stomach, an inch above your waistband. “Did you pretend it was me when you used yer’ fingers?” He muttered, drawing shapes.
You hid your face behind your knuckles, bashful under his gaze. “Mhm.” The mellowed light from the bedside lamps bathed him in gold, his grin sultry as he hummed. “Show me.”
You pouted at that, and your whine had him hungry. “You wanna’ be good for me, don’t you?” Urging you softly, he nudged your shirt by a smidge, thumb hooked along the edge. You’d do anything he asked. Anything at all, even if it was mortifying.
The cotton scrunched over your chest when you tugged up your shirt, and his eyes flickered to the button of your jeans, expectant. “Go on.” He hadn’t even done anything, yet you were already on the brink of tears.
Complying anyway, unsteady fingers reached to undo the zipper, your hips shimmying slightly. You slid a hand into your underwear, gathering the wetness, before you circled your clit.
Your little gasps were mouthwatering. The plush of your chest squished together in a frayed bra, moving a bit every time you’d jolt at your own touch. He rubbed his thumb up and down against your skin, one palm on your hip, the other settled beneath your thigh. Keeping your legs open despite your embarrassment.
“Does it feel good?” He uttered, and you nodded pitifully. You’d done this countless times, but his focus had heightened your senses.
Brian was so close to where you needed him, separated by only a couple of layers of fabric. Your mind wandered, images of how he’d take you filling your head.
Would he be rough, or would he break you with care? Ruining you, leaving you crying for more when he’d slow his rhythm to a grind. Would he make you cry, or would he have you high off endorphins, nurturing your obsession until you couldn’t handle it anymore?
You slipped your fingers into your messy cunt, humping your own hand in desperation. He clicked his tongue. “You can do better than that.”
With thinly veiled disapproval, he squeezed your waist. It had you scrambling to appease him, and your cunt squelched loudly. However, it appeared your pace wasn’t up to par.
His warmth left your hip, and he cupped his knuckles atop yours over denim. Forcing your digits inside deeper, rocking you onto his large palm. “Ah- Brian.” You whimpered, soaking your panties.
It was sloppy inside your underwear, with arousal sticking to your inner thighs. “Did you say my name like that by yourself, too? Or did ya’ get shy?” He said mockingly, drinking in the view, when he continued.
“Imagining me touchin’ you here- bet you made a fuckin’ mess on your toys.” He had your darkest secrets laid bare, and you whined.
The weight of his hand had your body in overdrive, the constant shlick-shlick of your fingers pumping inside loud and exposing. “Not my fault- couldn’t help it- mmph.” You couldn’t even defend yourself properly, pitchy gasps interrupting your argument. It had greed gnawing at the base of his skull, the need to break you spiking.
He drawled the words, lazily bouncing you. “C’mon, princess. Give it to me.” The coil in your gut curled tightly. Your clit was rutting against your palm with every thrust, the reality of his proximity crashing into you.
Your pussy pulsed, twitching wildly as you came. Lids shutting while you arched. You hadn’t even caught your breath yet, and he grabbed your wrist.
Your fingers glistened with the proof of your orgasm, held in the air. “Mm.” He cocked his head to the right, amused. Then he pulled your hand to his lips, swirling his tongue around your digits. He groaned like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
Brows furrowed, swallowing, his saliva mixed with your slick, dripping down your arm. Depraved- starved. He withdrew a second later, swiping away the residue with his thumb.
The sight made you clench down on nothing, and he smirked, releasing your hand. He traced up your ribs, kneading your breasts through the bra. Toying with your sensitive buds until you writhed. Hickeys were littered all over your throat, down the valley of your chest, with Brian hovering above you.
He snagged your waistband blindly. Yanking your jeans and panties down your thighs before he reclined, hauling them off completely, the pair thrown aside. He was back over you in a blink, his patience dwindling.
His cock was throbbing, so hard it ached as he dropped his hips, grinding against your bare core. The coarse cotton slotted between your folds, making you mewl lewdly.
You were drenching his sweats, staining the fabric with your lust. He had your cunt pressed flush to his bulge. “You want me?” Grunting into the hollow of your shoulder, husky. You could feel him twitch, the ridges of his length snug to your cunt. You ran your fingers through his hair, your arms thrown around his neck. “Please- please.”
You were too empty. Needy to the point of anguish. “Want it- I-I wan’ it, please.” Your begs landed like burnt sugar, blistering and tooth-rotting.
He pulled away just enough to examine your desperation, nose brushing yours, and you slipped your hands down past his chest. Palms flat on his shoulder blades, holding him close. He cooed. “Poor baby. I’m so mean, hm?” Yet the way he angled his face to lick a stripe up your cheek betrayed his sincerity. You were crying.
You didn’t notice the blur in your vision, didn’t realize how pathetic you’d become. “Brian.” His name sounded close to a prayer coming from you, and all he did was hum, basking.
He tasted your tears sweetly, so coddling it was suffocating. “I know. It’s okay; I’ll take care of you.” He mumbled against your skin, extending an arm down to untie the drawstrings.
The elastic sagged, and he freed his shaft out of his boxers, cockhead sticky with pre. He lined himself up to your neglected pussy, tip catching on your weeping hole. “Deep breaths, yeah?” Then he sank in by an inch, stretching your entrance to accommodate his girth.
Just his tip thrusting in was enough to have you shaking. It was almost too good, the pleasure making you want to go limp. Mind-numbing and wracking you in waves. You were drooling, stupid on him before he even filled you.
Brian was thick. His cock felt heavy, bullying its way inside slowly as he rolled his hips. “Hah- nngh, s’good.” You slurred, eyes unfocused- he chuckled roughly. “Actin’ like you ain’t ever been fucked, my girl.” He rocked himself deeper, halfway in while you squirmed. “Not the same.” You whined, and your nails dug into his shoulders.
“No?” Whispering over your mouth, he gritted his teeth- and it took all his willpower not to split you in half when you shook your head. “Mm-mm, wasn’t you. Doesn’t-ah- feel good if it’s not you.” You were too adorable for your own good.
Pliant under him, staring at him as if he were your saviour, the hero in your story. It made him possessive. Dangerously so.
It made him want to keep you. Trap you here with him with bolted locks on the doors. The outside world wasn’t fit for people like you. You didn’t deserve the harshness it offered, didn't need to be subjected to the cruelty of strangers.
You’d clearly been through so much already; this level of obsession doesn’t just manifest overnight. You had most likely been struggling with no one to turn to. A sweet thing like you, all alone? It wasn’t right. The only logical option would be to protect you. That’s what any caring husband would do— wasn’t it?
If you were sick, Brian had to be decaying by now. He thought he could suppress it, but his fixation had begun consuming him.
Latching onto his organs, infecting him like a parasite. He’d lived as a ghost from his early adulthood till the present. He didn’t have an identity, never had a real place to call home. Feared wherever he went. Yet you never saw that.
You never categorized him into an isolated box. Instead, you held onto him for comfort. He was someone you deemed safe, and the feeling it gave him was indescribable. You wanted this- you wanted him. You loved him.
But he loved you more.
Hysteria pumped through his veins, the last of his sanity shattered. “Such a smooth talker, huh? You’re too good to me, dolly.” He snapped his hips forward without warning, piercing you to the hilt. His calm demeanour had developed an edge, and you jerked off the mattress. He was ripping you, forcing his cock in mercilessly.
You wailed, pain shooting through you sharply. He was so big it hurt. Tearing your poor cunt, the sting making you sob- yet he was finally inside. Brian was really here; he was inside of you, and it felt fucking euphoric. All the nights of picturing this very moment were incomparable.
Nothing came even close to his weight on top of you, nothing paralleled the fullness of being speared on his length. The scent of his need, his sweat tacky against your skin when he rocked in further.
Your head was spinning, heart beating violently behind your ribs. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. The wires in your brain fizzled, bolts sparking before they ruptured.
The thick drag of his cock was driving you insane. You could feel each throb of him, every vein, the curve of his shaft prodding against your most sensitive spots. He had carved his signature into your womb, branding your core with his lust. It was drowning, limerence so strong it was unbearable. Its hands had wrapped around your throat, and your lungs were on the brink of collapse.
He was here and fucking you. You were finally Brian’s girl. The sheets were a disaster beneath you, crickets chirping outside in tune with your pants.
Your breathing grew short, overwhelmed, while you struggled to hold back from arching.
It was too much. It was too much- you couldn’t handle it. He was making your pussy feel too good— you love him, you love him- youlovehimyoulovehim—
Brian watched in awe as your shoulders bowed. You scratched at his arms, frenzied. Eyes wide, with your spine lurching to form a semi-circle. “Hah- ah -'m cumming- can’t-” You rambled, irises rolling up, your ankles locked around his waist. You had hearts in your pupils, and he cooed. “Oh, sweetheart. Yer’ makin’ it hard to wanna’ let you go.”
Pulling out to just the tip, he slammed back inside your abused hole. Snickering drunkenly at the moan you let out. “You’d let me keep you, yeah?” He rasped, setting an agonizing pace. Slow and deep strokes, his girth pumping in and out. The bedframe creaking, his toned pelvis smacking against your mound wetly.
“Let me be selfish an’ have you to myself-” The smell of sex and fever was pungent in the air, aphrodisiac-akin. “I’d treat you nice, baby. Keep ya’ real pampered.”
Brian looked debauched. His hair stuck to his forehead with perspiration, skin flushed from the heat. The sculpted muscle under your touch had you whining, and he grunted when you twitched around him. You were so fucking tight, milking him for all he was worth.
“I’d spoil you, get you a diamond bright enough to make bastards cry.” His words rumbled deep in his chest, the bass of it making you shiver. “I’d show you off good- my sweet little wife; they’d be seething jus’ lookin’ at you.” He rolled his hips skillfully, grinding his cockhead against your cervix.
“So jealous they’d lose their fuckin’ minds cause they couldn’t touch you-” Your thighs trembled fiercely. His base kept rutting into your clit, your lids drooping. Eyes crossed as he worked you open. “Because they couldn’t fuck you the way I do.” He murmured, his baritone hypnotic next to your ear.
“They’d never reach this deep, hm? Couldn’t make you sound this pretty, not like I could.” He nipped at your jaw, leading up to the corner of your mouth. “Cause yer’ my baby, ain’t you?” Then he molded his lips to yours, groaning into you. He tensed his arms, his hips ramming forward- hard. Fisting the covers near your head when he sped up.
You choked. Suffocated by the kiss, his tongue shoved down your throat, starved and ruthless. “B-Brian-” You hiccuped, muffled by his hunger. Your teeth clacked together, and he licked at your canines, devouring you greedily. The mattress squeaked with every thrust, mahogany battering against the wall.
The headboard slammed into the plaster, decorative frames tumbling onto the ground from the force. Brian was fucking into your cunt like he was mad at it.
Balls slapping against your ass, harsh as he reclined, with ribbons of spit connecting you. Your kiss-swollen lips and lewd expression had him crazed, irate at the thought of anyone witnessing you vulnerable.
It was barbaric, pummeling into you animalistically. Bruising your pussy and splitting you on his cock like a toy.
“Fuckin’ look at you-” He yanked at your bra swiftly, snapping the front wire clean in half. Your tits spilled out, bouncing in rhythm with his hips. He had one arm bracketing your head, his free hand groping your chest- the calloused grip making you jolt.
“You’re mine. Nobody else’s.” He snarled, each syllable spat out with ice. He could see the fear fighting against your lust at his change in tone, and he snickered meanly. “Don’t get scared, now. You wanted this.” The pleasure was sharp, Brian refusing to take mercy on you for even a millisecond. “You chased me- followed me around like some lost puppy desperate for cock-”
The noises coming out of your throat barely sounded human. You were dizzy, orgasm building rapidly from the nonstop stimulation. “So you’re gonna’ act like it, you understand?” He sat up a tad, wrapping a large palm around your windpipe, your leg thrown onto his shoulder. His chain swung over your face, clinking when it’d hit his chest.
You snatched the pendant between your teeth, and the groan that left him was guttural.
A gluey ring had formed at his hilt, spilling down his balls, off-white lacquer staining the linen. He squeezed harder, and you were lightheaded from his clasp, drooling. “If I catch any motherfucker bein’ sweet on you, I’ll fuckin’ gut him.” He sneered, his lip curling up in a borderline growl. Utterly livid.
“I’ll blow his brains across the wall- cut him up and feed him to the fucking dogs, you hear me?” The threat made you clamp down on him like a vice, and you writhed aggressively, the steel slipping from your mouth. You mewl, cumming, with your vision blacking out at the edges. The tightness had him hissing, his chest heaving as he spurted against your cervix, stuffing you to the brim.
The room was quiet for a minute, nothing but your shaky breaths and his rough exhales ringing in your ears. You were boneless atop the sheets, sleep creeping in, only for your nervous system to restart when he abruptly freed himself. “You ain’t impressing me that easy-” He slumped next to you, sprawled on his back; then he grinned.
“Sit on my face.”
Despite your weak limbs, you hurried to follow his instructions. Stumbling closer and clumsily straddling his head, you hesitated before he clicked his tongue. “Not like that. You gotta’ earn it, dolly.” He gave your hip a pat, nodding past you. Oh.
Fire lit your cheeks, and you readjusted accordingly. Now facing away from him, your palms resting on his stomach, you’d never felt more exposed. It was such an embarrassing position, your still leaking pussy shoved right in front of him- but his voice disrupted your panic. “You’re a smart girl. I know, you know what to do.” You swallowed thickly.
Pitching forward, your body lowered until you were flush on top of him. His length was coated in your release, glistening when you let your jaw fall slack. You took the head into your mouth, and suckled at the tip, your hand stroking up the base. He tasted heavy. Like salt and musk, you moaned around him. Lashes fluttering closed.
You forced him deeper, tears bubbling on your waterline- you jumped at the warmth of his tongue. He was circling your clit, licking up your spillage. His nose buried in your slit while he lapped at your cunt.
The lingering sensitivity from your last orgasm had yet to fade, and you shuddered above him. Pathetically clawing at his thighs, your nails raking against the skin. Leaving angry red scours as he gorged himself on you.
You were attempting to focus with all your might. It was simply difficult to form a coherent thought, let alone use your mouth, when Brian was eating you from front to back.
He would hum around the throbbing bud, tracing figure-eights, then he’d tug your hips backward. Fucking you onto his tongue, the muscle probing past your entrance just to return to flicking along the rim.
Slick and spend covered his lips, pouring down his chin and onto his collar. It was debased, dirty the way he had you spread wide. Your jaw had become worthless. You could hardly crane your neck to suck him off properly, practically limp. He didn’t mind too much, though. He had promised to spoil you, so this was par for the course.
He bucked up suddenly, planting his feet for leverage. The new angle had your folds smothering his maw, and he gulped languidly. Taking advantage of your exhaustion, fucking your throat with the only anchor being the weight of your head. Every time you gagged at the intrusion, the vibrations would cause his eyes to disappear up into his skull.
Your pooling saliva made your mouth feel fucking perfect. Warm and sopping wet, the best cock sleeve he’d ever felt- second only to your pussy. You hollowed your cheeks, and he cussed against your heat. “Fuck- good puppy.” You wanted to stay here forever.
The praise had you burning alive, and you gathered whatever pitiful strength was left to take him all the way. Nose shoved into his hilt, slurping pornographically. It was disgustingly messy.
The entire lower half of your face was smeared with cum, his tip knocking into the back of your throat over and over. Being stuffed like this had you hiccuping. The dual-ended pleasure ransacking your frame, making you quiver uncontrollably.
You didn’t have time to warn him; your vocal cords were basically useless at this point. Good puppy. You were good. The phrase replayed on loop, and you spasmed.
Squirting as he pumped hot milk down your throat. You drenched his chin, splattering up to his brow, soaking the pillow.
And Brian laughed. Pinching your ass just to hear you whimper.
His cock slid past your teeth, flopping plump on his navel. Syrupy strings clung to your lips, and his seed bubbled when you coughed. You were the definition of obscenity. Skin painted with white ropes, your puffy cunt on display.
He manhandled you off him effortlessly, flipping you onto your stomach before propping up your hips.
Your thighs were trembling something awful, yet, if anything, he thought that made you more beautiful. Wrecked and corrupted, all by his hand. No less than stunning. He fisted himself, jacking off against your slit. His length collected your dripping arousal, and he tapped it against your clit.
“Jus’ one more, princess. Be strong for me, yeah?” Taunting, he steadied you with a firm hand on your waist, nudging himself in line with your pussy. He could see it clear as day.
Sitting down after work with you, his pretty wife, joining him for dinner. He was sure you’d be happy, fitting just right into his life. Keeping you was fate, the natural order of things.
“T-Too much- nngh- Brian- ah.” Aw, you didn’t even know what you wanted. How precious. He hummed, gently petting your hip. “Oh, it’s alright. You ain’t gotta’ worry about talking.” Then he bottomed out in a single quick thrust, groaning in pure satisfaction. “Fuck-” The overstimulation made you so tight, like doused silk around him.
With his head lolling back, he rolled his hips. Fucking you lazily, low pants punching up his throat. A muted, simmering ecstasy. Brian believed that you were heaven-sent.
His balls slapped against your folds while he used you to chase his own high, the soft plap-plap-plap of skin on skin echoing through the room. Stretching his neck, he glanced down, entranced. Watching his girth slip back and forth from your ruined hole.
You were crumpled into the pillows, eyes glazed over. It felt as if you couldn’t breathe, your air stolen by the repetitive thumps of his length. In and out, in and out. Deliberate and measured. You scarcely remembered your own name, and you could do nothing but moan. Taking him face down ass up like a cock-drunk whore.
Your clipped gasps were muffled by the stuffing, and he sniggered, sounding absolutely gone.
“I’ll get ya’- mmh- all the jewels y’want. Gonna’ set you up real comfortable- we can renovate. Make the cabin so pretty you’ll never wanna’ leave.”
He was force-feeding you the fantasy, injecting it into your bloodstream before you could even comprehend the gravity of his fixation. “I’ll build you a little swing in the yard. It’ll be nice to relax out there when you’re carrying.” He glided his tongue over his canines and hauled you back onto him. “It’s good for you to get some sun, dolly.” Pounding into your cunt with abandon, rabid.
Your need had created a puddle on the duvet, your pussy drooling incessantly. You thought you were going to die like this- your nerves scorched at the ends, his ardour devastating and inescapable.
His chest heaved, every muscle tensed from exertion. Hoodie’s pupils swallowed his irises until his eyes resembled voids. Obsidian tinting with mesmeric transfixion.
“Sounds like a fuckin’ dream, don’t it? S’why I gotta’ make sure it takes.” He slurred, lids heavy. “Treat this pretty pussy the way it deserves.” The liquid filth rolled off his tongue like molasses, and he snapped his hips sharply, making you paw at the cushion.
Brian stretched you on his girth for hours, having your tunnel memorize his shape. Fucking you through the mattress, then yanking you up.
Pressed against his chest, with his bicep locked around your throat. He bounced you onto him, and your shoulders bowed. Spine curving beautifully, your lover as the archer.
He was breeding you mean, and loving you tender. Filling you steadily, his promise of “one more” was simply a courtesy.
You had gone fucking dumb on it. Blacking out between the orgasms that he pulled from you, only to awake mid climax, your frame convulsing.
Snot and spittle smearing all across your features. Everything was spinning, your mouth permanently fixed in an ‘O.
However, the cant he had your hips at made his shaft strike onto the extra delicate spot inside you. Pushing right against your bladder. You’d finished almost a full bottle of wine, and the unrelenting friction of his cock inside you was catching up.
Overflooded, his appetite seemingly endless. The heat in your gut was blending with sharp spikes- your body sending out alerts in flares.
“Wait- ah- ah- B-Brian. Guh- gonna’—” You jerked forward, struggling against the iron bar over your neck. Though your fight was useless. His hand on your waist wrenched you back before his touch descended. “S’alright, darlin’. Make a mess for me- I got ya’.” He purred, drawing letters onto your clit.
‘B-R-I-A-N’. Over and over, claiming. Marking you, obsessed by classification. Your legs quaked, joints locking- you flung your head back. “I can’t-please- feels different- I can’t.” Your peak was approaching speedily, and he kept hitting your sweet spot. Striking bull's-eye, not missing even once. You writhed, your walls squeezing him desperately.
His palm pressed flat over your lower tummy, feeling the protruding bulge. You were so fucking cute, it made him want to cry.
“C’mon, you wanna’ cum? yeah? Give it to me- fuckin’ give it to me, honey.” He rambled, cock throbbing inside you. “Ngh- Oh, fuck-” You sobbed, thrashing, your blunt nails sinking into his hips.
The added pressure was nauseating. You’d been holding it in too long- it hurt. His weeping tip rammed into your cervix, once, twice, three times—
Your eyes rolled, and it gushed out of you furiously.
Warm as it poured down your thighs, drenching both his pelvis and the covers. Humiliation- exhilaration taking hold of you. The pleasure had you going slack. Arms limp by your sides, a complete factory reset.
He dropped his head, teeth piercing your shoulder when he spilled hotly into your cunt. Brian’s hips jerked as he rode out the aftershocks, grunting. “Shit.”
He mouthed at the bite, kissing up your neck. “You really are a puppy.” His chuckle was hoarse, and he unwrapped his bicep from your throat, easing you two down.
Now, with you resting in his lap, he swept the hair away from your damp forehead. Pecking your temple sweetly like he hadn’t just rearranged your guts.
“We can go for a drive tomorrow. Stop by yours an’ pick up yer’ things- get you settled here.” Your delirious nod had him grinning, and he slipped his length out from your pussy.
Shuffling to lie on his back, your cheek resting on his chest. Brian hummed, trailing his finger along your spine. You phased in and out of consciousness while he spoke. “Poor girl, I really tuckered you out, huh?”
He was terribly comfortable, and you felt so safe. Snug in his embrace, your body was exhausted, your breath finally evening out.
His voice acted as a lullaby, and sleep threatened to drag you under. But not before he pressed his lips to your crown, muttering to himself.
You’re hired as the housekeeper by the big boss— but unfortunately for you— the creeps see you as their housewife.
The job was self-explanatory. HELP NEEDED, the newspaper said. LIVE-IN HOUSEKEEPER FOR SHARED RESIDENCE — Full-time. Basic cleaning and cooking skills required. Duties: deep cleaning, laundry, organization, and light meal prep. Housing provided with a private bedroom and bathroom. STRICT CONFIDENTIALITY & DISCRETION REQUIRED. Background check and references mandatory.
Looks innocent enough, right?
Innocent enough to have you working for them in the duration of 5 months and counting.
You wanted it to be a mundane yet honest routine, peaceful work hours with minimal interaction—
But certain residents just make it too hard to do so.
For instance: you’re making dinner. Simple. But they aren’t simple.
“Honeeey, I’m hooome,” the exaggeration of the fake gusto in Jeffrey’s voice hung sourly in your ear as you flipped over the savory mix of beef and broccoli in the pot.
Nonetheless, you kept smiling.
Jeff creeps closer. “Are you making me dinner, honey?” His grin was wider than ever, his cold, large hands resting on the back of your waist, toying with the ribbon lace. You knew the nickname was a mockery of your position, but you still couldn’t help but blush.
You serve him quietly, still smiling, and when he sees you giving him the bowl of rice and stew, the fake high-tone of his voice drops to a dangerously low rasp.
“Why, thank you, honey.” Jeff tilts his head menacingly, smile wider than before.
He squeezes your ass briefly with a squeal from you before leaving.
Another instance, you cleaning their guns. But they have more than just ammo locked and loaded.
You were nothing more than delicate with the cotton pinched between your hands moving through the breach all the way to the muzzle when Toby sputters.
“Yuh-you have s-such pretty hands… can I– can I huh–hold ‘em?”
You smile and about to say yes, but Tim on your left side interrupts.
“Get back to work, boy. She ain’t here for you,” he gruffs, muttering under his breath. “Y’need help there, sugar? You ain’t hafta tire yourself from this–”
“She wants to stay, Tim.” Brian butts in. “I can tell.” the end of his mask was still hung on the bridge of his nose, but you can tell— no, you can feel his eyes on you.
You smile politely and continue, catching the three of them staring at you at least one time.
You also remember folding BEN’s clothes and neatly piling them in one laundry basket labeled with his name.
It wasn’t a big deal. Your mother taught you how to fold clothes in the right and quite fast way, and this was no problem. Plus, you knew BEN wasn’t really a neat person. You just wanted to help him out a little.
And along with doing his laundry without being asked, you’d also whipped up some waffles smothered in nutella with whipped cream on top, shaped like a heart.
You need knock on his door only three times before he shuffled to open it. His eyes widened, revealing more of the black of his scleras.
He looks at you, then the neatly folded clothes, the waffle, then back at you.
“Aw, no way, ma,” the red pupils of his eyes seemed to sparkle at you. “You… you did this… all for me?”
You nod, offering the plate with his waffles toward him. He takes it.
“No, no way. No way I’m gonna let you get away with this unscathed,”
You raise an eyebrow in confusion.
“Let me make it up to you, ma,” BEN’s grin screamed half-high and excited. “I can make it up to you, I swear–”
Then, he sets his eyes slowly, slowly, until they landed on the pushed-up look of your tits held by the apron you were still wearing.
“I know more ways than one.” He cocks an eyebrow, one hand holding the plate, and the other pulling at the tie of your apron.
And finally, the most unexpected but surprisingly pleasant memory: giving Jack a massage in his own clinic cot.
You noticed he’d been a little too stiff lately.
He was organizing pill bottles in his cabinet when you came in, quietly, and asked softly to give him a massage.
Jack had denied at first, but seeing you so very sweetly insist— how could he say no?
You’re behind him on your knees while he sat in front of you facing the wall. Your hands worked to find the gnarly knots and firmed to let them free, slowly working from the edge of his shoulder blades all the way up to the base of his neck—
He’s… he’s purring.
Jack had tried to stop it– but your palms were simply magic in flesh’s form.
After you were done, you two sat in comfortable silence, before:
“I have a full 12-hour shift this Thursday in lieu of Tim and Brian’s patrolling duties.” He pauses, twisting his body around to look at you from behind.
“I would like… some company.” Jack clears his throat. “Stay with me for the night. My shoulders could only work for so long. You should know. After all, it’s you who knows how to touch me.”
Miscellaneous snippets with you and your not-so-murderous boyfriend.
Including — Jeff’s confusion on fruit bats, defending Toby against pickles on his burger, biting EJ, gossiping with Brian, Tim’s beef with your dog, Habit’s jealousy, and LJ trying his best to grovel <3
!! Multi x GN! Reader !! W/C: 7.5k
Ft. J. Woods, T. Rogers, J. Nyras, T. Wright, B. Thomas, One Bad Habit & A Jack In The Box
-> very silly and fluff filled ^3^ slightly fem coded reader in Toby’s (?) but no pronouns used !! ->
Dividers by @honeyluvsw + @bbyg4rlhelps
────୨ৎ────
— ^ ^ —
Gone Batsy ▶︎ • ၊၊||၊|။|||| ↻
In hindsight, Jeff probably should’ve known there was something wrong with you.
It wasn’t his fault. He just thought you were a bit weird- maybe a little unwell, but not supernatural.
You squeaked at random times, nibbled way too fast instead of chewing normally, and your ears were sharper than usual. The cartilage pointed outwards, and they twitched in response to sound, yet he assumed you were simply into a niche subgenre of style.
However, now standing in your yard under the moonlight, he realized he might be dense after all. He’d stopped by for a surprise visit, slipping into your neighbourhood stealthily. Planning to scare you by climbing through your window, just to be stopped dead in his tracks before he made it past the grass.
You were a vampire.
Or something.
He thinks…?
Hunched below the large oak tree in your garden, you were suckling on prey out of view. Gulping down fluid, you shot up the second he grunted. “What the fuck.” A stalemate settled over you two, and you wet your lips, collecting the residue. “I thought you were busy today.” Even at this distance, he could see the glint of your pointed fangs.
Still dressed in a bloodied hoodie, he gaped at you while you wiped your mouth clumsily, absolutely aghast. “You’re a fucking vampire?” You huffed, squinting at him like he was the odd one for asking. “What? No. Why would I be a vampire?” He threw up his arms. “Because you’re literally eating some organ bullshit in front of me?” The accusation made you deadpan, and you turned to face him fully, said prey in hand.
An apple.
A drained, deflated, slightly browned apple. He faltered, palms still hovering in the air. “The hell is that?” You sank your canines into the fruit's flesh, and his confusion grew when it shrivelled further. The insides had been turned to a grainy pulp- then you cast it aside. “I wanted a snack.” Crickets were loud in the background as he narrowed his eyes; your porch light was the only source of illumination.
“Okay?”
“Jeff, just say what you want-”
“If you’re not a vampire, then why the fuck do you have fangs?”
“I’m a fruit bat.”
You glanced away from him, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Kinda’.” You mumbled, and his arms dropped, eyebrow raised. “A fruit bat.” His bewildered tone hung between you for a moment before you shrugged, meeting his gaze. “Yeah.” He pursed his lips, opening and closing his mouth multiple times, blinking at you.
Okay. That was definitely fucking new. Like, a fruit bat? A fruit bat. In what world was that an acceptable answer? He knew human-eating monsters existed, but really? The worst part was that he could tell you weren’t messing with him. He could read you like a book, and currently, his lover was being utterly, unrefutably truthful. He pinched his nose bridge, gesturing at you dramatically after.
“So you just- what? Pounce on pineapples and attack grapes?” You rolled your eyes, beginning to walk towards the back door with him in tow. “I eat like a normal person, stupid. I just like to drink the juice.” You were referring to your ability to consume nectar. You could retain the nutrients by simply draining the fruits- it was more fun that way.
He shucked off his boots on the mat, padding into the kitchen behind you. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Jeff said, exasperated. “I don’t know- I just- like. It’s not something you just bring up.” You countered, and he puffed in response. “I literally stab people daily, and my boss doesn’t have a fuckin’ face.” Crossing your arms, you reclined against the sink.
“Okay, I should’ve told you, but I didn’t know when to talk about it-”
“You’re a bat. I don’t think timing really matters.”
“A fruit bat!”
“Same shit.”
A pause, then he gave you a once-over, sticking his tongue into his inner cheek. “… Were you born like that?” You sighed. “Yes.” If you thought the concept of your existence had finally settled in his mind, you were wrong- because he stared at you as if you’d told him the moon was made of cardboard.
“How the fuck did that happen?” You hopped up onto the surface, perched on the kitchen sink ledge. “My mom was a fruit bat. It’s genetic.” He lifted his arm, drawing circles in the air in your direction when he spoke. “You- okay. Mm.” He clasped his hands together and pressed them to his mouth. “Be honest. Have you ever considered biting me?” The question had you sputtering. “No! Never. I wouldn’t hurt you- we don’t feed on blood.”
Much to your dismay, that’s not what he meant.
Your concern swiftly faded into irritation as the light in his pupils brightened. “I swear to god.” He, naturally, proceeded anyway. “Do you think you could, though? ‘Cause I can work with the fang shit-” The second the words left his lips, you exhaled loudly, throwing your head back in annoyance. “I’m not biting you because you wanna’ be a pervert!”
“Why not?” He argued, pleading. “You cannot be serious.” You gawked at him, and he groaned, crowding your space, his hands on either side of you. He pitched closer. “It’ll be hot. I can handle pain, babe.” Jeff’s masochism streak truly had no bounds.
Excitement was plastered across his face, and you grabbed his cheeks, irked. “Why are you like this?” He snickered, leaning into your touch. “You can mark me up- promise I’ll be a good for ya’.” He raised his brows suggestively, a snort forcing its way out of you despite your stance. “C’mon- c’mon, c’mon. You know you wannaaa’.” He dragged the vowels, persuading you the way he knew best- by making you laugh.
His antics, unfortunately, worked every time, and you giggled. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you finally dropped your guard.
“Fine.”
“You could hold my knife and everything. Make me really fucking feel it—”
“Jeffery.”
➽──────────────❥
Pickle Problems ▶︎ • ၊၊||၊|။|||| ↻
Toby never thought he’d be the one clutching his shirt while being defended, yet here he was.
You had gone out on a late-night snack run, stopping at a twenty-four-hour eatery. It was still a gas station, but it had a full, hot-to-go section where you could order from. He saw it while walking with you and decided it’d be nice to switch it up since you usually just went to the local corner store.
“We feeling spicy chips or normal tonight, Tobes?” You grinned, holding up two bags. The sodium lights hummed faintly overhead, and he bit his lip, debating. “Mm… spicy. I’m gonna’ be brave.” You nodded, the snack swinging at your hip while you walked to the register. The menu glowed from behind the counter, hung up near the ceiling. You called over your shoulder to him.
“Can you pick out a drink for me? I’ll order for both of us.” Your request was acknowledged by a short “’Kay!” And he stepped down the aisle, circling to the open fridge section at the back wall. He scanned the selection, wiggling his fingers over the miscellaneous bottles before grabbing a couple. He heard you talking with the cashier as he slipped the drinks into his comically large pockets. Men and their jeans, you’d said to him once. He thought about it every time he swiped something.
Shuffling to catch up with you when you finished paying for the items, the two of you made your way outside. You settled on a scuffed bench to the side of the shop, and he snagged a container from the plastic bag, opening the box. “I got you a burger- no pickles or tomatoes.” You said, eyes warm. “Oh my god, y-you know me.” He gasped teasingly, bringing the sandwich up to take a bite- when a single slice of pickle fell out.
It landed with a sad splat, and you both stared at it for a solid ten seconds. Smacking his lips together, he went to laugh, only to be interrupted. “No fucking way.” You clicked your tongue. “I literally told him not to put pickles on your shit.” Heavy irritation was written on your features. He blinked at you, chuckling. “It’s fine, I can just pick t-them off-”
You rose to your feet, bag in hand. “It’s not fine. We’re going back inside.” With that, he scrambled to match your pace, hovering his hand out, unsure. The automatic doors slid open, and you marched up to the counter, an overly polite smile gracing your lips.
“Hi, we just ordered- I asked for no pickles on my man’s burger, but we found some. Could we get it remade, please?” Sugar coated your tone, but Toby knew better. That was your “Do not piss me off” voice. A cadence he had been the victim of many times.
The cashier barely glanced up, with far too much attitude in his mannerisms. His name tag read ‘Jace.’ “I made what you asked for. We don’t do refunds.” Your eye twitched, and your boyfriend swallowed. Your anger may not be targeted at him, yet his heartbeat quickened all the same.
“I’m not asking for a refund, sir. I’m asking if we could get it remade- and I’m very sure, I requested no pickles.”
“I did my job. What else do you want?”
“I want my order remade because it’s not what I paid for.”
“Listen. I don’t know what your problem is. I made your fu-”
However, upon finally meeting your gaze, the man froze. While Toby was nonthreatening to you, you often forgot how he was perceived by most people.
His eyes were sunken in, bruises littering almost every inch of his skin, with scars peeking out from old bandages. There was a certain malice that lingered in his movements, this abnormal sharpness that followed every twitch.
Muted, but just noticeable enough- his shoulders would jerk, his teeth grinding every few seconds. Like he was only a fraction away from splintering. The boy’s eyes burned into his own.
The hairs on his neck stood on end, and Toby murmured, focusing back on you. “Can you ask for extra ketchup?” His words were eerily monotone, his fingers clinging to your sleeve when you nodded at Jace. “No pickles, extra ketchup, if you would be so kind.” You smiled, coy and expectant. As if you could see it in the way he breathed out.
There was something deeply wrong with this couple.
His view flicked down- less than a second, but he saw it. The distinct specks of red that dotted the cuffs of your lover's sleeve. If you were this comfortable with the guy, you had to be just like him. If not worse.
Jace was stupid, but not that stupid.
He straightened up instantly, simpering with a weak grin. “R-right. Yeah, sure.” He spun on his heel, darting to the back swiftly, leaving you and Toby alone. He turned to you, pouting. “I hope he adds a lot, I wanna’ s-suh- smush all the sauce together.” You hummed, then tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “That’s ‘cause you’re weird and like your burgers soggy, Tobes.” He stuck out his tongue at you. “Yeah, and y-you kiss me after, s-so.”
Smacking his shoulder as the cashier returned with your food, you giggled. “Stop.” The worker stayed quietly across from you until you noticed his presence, and the order was handed over without fuss.
The night air was cool, the breeze caressing your cheeks while you enjoyed your takeout. Toby sniggered from your right, chewing. “I think we scared the cashier.” You shrugged before wiping the crumbs from the corner of your mouth. “Well, he should’ve been nicer if he didn’t want problems.” Your logic made him snort. “You’re s-so evil, muffin.”
“And you’re my accomplice. What does that say about you, Mr?”
“I never said it was a bad thing! I think you’re p-pretty when you’re mad.”
“You have a thing.”
You were right, he did have a thing. Perhaps it was toxic, but observing you get in someone's face- cocky with him standing behind you, had Toby more hot under the collar than he was willing to admit.
You didn’t need to know that, though.
➽──────────────❥
Too Chewable ▶︎ • ၊၊||၊|။|||| ↻
Happy as Jack may be, there were times when he couldn’t understand you if he tried.
He’d come over after being away for more than two weeks, a mission up north. They needed his strength, his prowess and grit to turn the tide in their battle. He had torn through the defences easily and ripped into their bodies without mercy. A ruthless soldier.
When Jack fought, his blood trail heeded a warning, telling anyone unlucky enough to witness his carnage to move with caution. Feared even amongst the proxies.
Razor-sharp claws that could slice into almost everything, with a maw strong enough to pierce bone. He was terrifying, a monster by right— unless he was here, of course.
“Let’s wrestle.”
The question froze him mid-act, making him turn to you with a confused expression. He’d just stepped out of the shower, still towelling his hair, when you spoke. Propping yourself on your elbows, you were sprawled on your stomach. “It’ll be fun!” The sheets hadn’t even been untucked yet, and your foot thumped against the pillows, body angled towards the edge of the bed.
He arched a brow. “You want to… spar?” Tossing the towel onto a chair, he padded to you while you sat up. “Yeah, and you can teach me how to suplex people with the strength of a thousand men.” Flexing your arm, you nodded at your lover eagerly. Then you rose, standing in front of him. He cocked his head, peering down, unsure. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, my dove.”
Your difference in stature was undeniable, and he couldn’t fathom ever being rough with you. Seasoned killers could barely hold their own against him on a good day, so staring at you now had him hesitant to say the least.
Dressed in your pyjamas, you looked so comfortable, warm with your gentle eyes. The idea of throwing you around for the sake of violence made him frown.
Alas, you were determined, taking his large hand in yours and pressing it to your chest, fingers intwined. “We can do it on the bed, it’s not like we’re actually fighting-” You pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I trust you.” The excitement in your gaze was weakening his will by the second, his lips twitching up before he could stop himself. Damn his inability to deny you.
“… Alright.”
With that, the two of you climbed atop the covers, his frame settling over you. This was supposed to be effortless, but Jack wasn’t exactly versed in domestic warfare. He didn’t know where to start or how to handle the wrestling without harming you. Simply hovering above you, stiff as you muffled a laugh. “Tell me if I’m holding you too hard.” He murmured, and you grinned. “Jack, you’re literally not moving.”
“Love.”
“Yes. I promise I will tell you if you get too rowdy- but you won’t, ‘cause you’re way too careful for that.”
Sighing, he shook his head at your teasing. Leaving light pecks on your cheek, then pulling back. “Mm, try getting out from under me.” You glanced down, noting the gap between your bodies. He was lying in the middle of your thighs; all you had to do was flip him over. It couldn’t be that difficult, right?
Hooking a leg onto his hip, you used the momentum of turning to knock him down- only for your lover to stay stone still. Attempting again, you latched onto him fully, putting all your weight into the rotation.
Jack hadn’t budged an inch.
You huffed. “Why are you so heavy?” Rocking back and forth (or aiming to) as he chuckled quietly. “Attacking me, then insulting my weight, how rude of you.” You gave it one last push, his spine finally meeting the linen with a soft thump. He was splayed on his back, his arms limp at his sides, when you pouted.
His hair was still damp from the bath, chest bare with sweats hanging low on his hips- allowing Jack’s thick happy-trail to peek over the band. The picture-perfect example of a boyfriend. But you couldn’t afford any distractions.
Your gaze darted to his stupidly smug face, unbothered and aggravatingly relaxed. “You’re not even trying.” He ran his tongue against his teeth lazily, canines reflective in the low light. “I did try. You won.” ‘Intimidating’ your ass- he was more like an overgrown house cat than anything else. Your torso was pressed flush to his, and you rested your chin on your palm, poking him in the cheek with your free hand. “Put. In. Effort.” Every word emphasized by a jab.
He exhaled through his nose. “Fine.” The reply was short, and you snorted at his blunt tone. However, before you could prod him further, your shoulders were snug to the mattress.
He’d swapped your positions so fast that you didn’t register it had happened until you were beneath him once more.
Grip firm on your wrists, they were pinned by your head while he caged you. His jaw unlatched wide, revealing jagged incisors. It gave you the exact view his victims had. A beast holding them down, their strength pitiful in comparison, no matter how much they struggled. His head descended, and his nose brushed the sensitive skin of your throat, a basey clicking noise reverberating from his ribs—
Then he left a feather-light kiss against your neck, drawing back with a slight smile.
“There. We’ve fought. Are you satisfied now?” You lunged up in a flash, sinking a bite into his shoulder. You wiggled your feet, chewing on him softly as he was rendered speechless. He could feel your dull teeth compressing his flesh, and he blinked, both amused and stupefied.
The moment he released his hold on you, your arms looped around his neck, continuing to gnaw on him. He faltered.
“My dove?”
“Mhm?”
His palm supported your head when you detached, easing you onto the pillows. “What are you doing-” Yet he was cut off, your mouth securing to his bicep. You took advantage of his confusion and flipped him over. Your barrage was relentless, covering his upper half in marks- your lover simply taking it, boneless.
Your legs were swinging, little hums filling the room while he observed you. You would nip his throat, then bite near his collar. Groping his chest with one hand and feeling up his arm with the other. It wasn’t even sexual; you seemed content just using him as a chew toy. He sometimes wonders how he got here.
Ten minutes passed, and you reclined, satiated. “If I was you, I’d be way worse. Like-” Your fingers squished the fat of his pec, mindlessly squeezing. “You have so much relastate, Jack.” Your amazed expression forced a breathy laugh out of him.
“Thank you, little lamb.”
“You're welcome. Also, if I was a giant cannibal, I’d never eat you. Maybe, I’d like- nibble, but not fully, you know?—”
Jack thinks he’s going to spend the rest of eternity loving you.
➽──────────────❥
XOXO - Gossip Girl ▶︎ • ၊၊||၊|။|||| ↻
Most people would say that Brian was a killjoy.
You were not most people.
Flipping to the next page, you scanned the words. Immersed in your book when he bursts through the bedroom door.
His chest was heaving, coat swiftly thrown to the side, before he faced you with wild eyes. “Dolly, you will never fuckin’ believe what happened today.” He said, slumping down onto the floor, leaning against the mattress.
You scooted to the ledge and crossed your arms in front of you, lying on your stomach. If Brian was shaken up, you knew you were in for the ride of your life. “I thought you were just doing recon?” His head lolled back, glancing at you. “We did, but then we came back and guess who the hell was waitin’ for us?” You squinted at him, quizzical.
“Who?”
“You remember that motel girl I told you Tim was seeing?”
“You’re fucking lying.”
His words had your jaw hanging open, and you rose onto your elbows, now alert. “She tracked ‘im down- was sitting in her car when we pulled in.” You gawked. “How’d she even find you guys? Isn’t the house super far out?” Combing a hand through his hair, he shrugged, aghast. “Lord knows. Shit, if she wasn’t pissed, though.” You nudged closer. “What’d Tim say?”
Tim, from what you’d heard, had a long history of scandalous romantic affairs. He never stayed with one person for long, and if he did, it didn’t end well. Him and your lover were brothers in arms, with Brian carrying the more domestic passions, it seemed.
He’d had his fair share of lacklustre relations, but they were all one-night stands, clean cut. Not to mention the fact that he was with you now, blissfully claiming the title of your boyfriend.
He sighed, sticking his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “What didn’t he say. They were yellin’ at each other for over thirty minutes-” He tossed an arm onto the bed, body turning towards you. “Apparently, she thought they were exclusive. Saw him out with another missus, and lost her mind.” You gaped as he shot you a look.
“She said he told her he’d call her the night she saw ‘em together, too. Was screaming her damn head off on the porch- they got so loud, Rogers woke up and came outside.” You felt terrible on her behalf, but you’d be a fraud if you said you weren’t on the edge of your seat. “He’s so messy, oh my god.” You snickered, fully invested.
“Yer’ tellin’ me. She was sayin’ that Tim was a good-for-nothin’ liar, had him all sorts of wound up.” He grunted, and you tilted your head to the side. “I mean, is she wrong? Like, if the man I was talking to promised to call, and I saw him with someone hanging off his arm, I’d be so irritated.” The scoff that left Brian made you snort.
“That’s what I fuckin’ said! But that bastard don’t listen-” Flinging up his hand, “And that ain’t even the craziest part, baby.” He narrowed his eyes, jabbing a finger into the mattress. “Motel girl knows Clockwork.” You raised a brow, wracking your brain.
“Wait, who’s Clockwork?”
“Rogers ex.”
You gasped with all the space your lungs had to offer, mouth wide in astonishment. “Brian.” He clicked his tongue and gestured into the air. “We had to drag her out- she wouldn’t leave until Tim forced her into the car. She was callin’ him shit I didn’t know existed.” Slapping a palm over your lips, you muttered harshly. “Not him being yelled at in front of his own home. I’d literally die.”
“After she left, Tobias told me that the girl’s insane. When he was still with his ex, she’d show up to shout at ‘em both ‘cause she had problems with Clockwork- didn’t even flinch when she saw him.”
“Tim actually has the worst taste in hook-ups. He needs to reevaluate or something because this is not it, girl.”
“Sweetheart, don’t even get me started.”
You giggled at his building exasperation, and he groaned, pinching his nose bridge. “This ain’t the end either. He’s goin’ to see her tomorrow. Y’know, sometimes, I wish I could see into that damn head of his ‘cause I- mm.” You angled yourself, leaning forward before kissing his temple. “Talk to me, lover.” Brian hummed at the affection, shoulders easing. He nuzzled into your cheek while his lashes fluttered closed.
“You’d think after havin’ his ass chewed out, he’d make better choices, but no.” Continuing, he pointed into space, circling nothing as he talked. “S’all ‘Brian, you don’t get it! I got somethin’ real here!’ And ‘I have it handled, stop looking at me like that!’ Like-” He shot up, whipping towards you head on, bothered to hell's end.
“The only thing real here is the fine I’m gonna’ hafta’ pay when she bashes my windows in because she thinks it’s his truck. I mean, would it kill him to find someone who likes to paint once an’ awhile?— A nice lady who doesn’t threaten my well-being ‘cause he ain’t wanna’ turn on his fuckin’ phone. Maybe somebody who knits instead of trying to take us both out, since he wants to do fuck all- all the goddamn time.”
His tone was heated, and he wrapped up the tangent with an aggravated “Ugh.” Lip curled up in frustration. “I’m sick of it, dolly. I am.” He crumbled back down, huffing. “The world is so evil to you, Bri Bri. You’re so strong.” You cradled his neck, pecking along his cheekbone. “Hopefully, he settles soon, and you’ll be free from this torment.” Your teasing had the edges of his mouth tugging up.
“If his next missus ain’t whip some sense into ‘im, I’ll do it myself.”
“You’re gonna’ fight him on behalf of the maneaters?”
“Sure am.”
With the crooked grin on his face, perhaps you’d buy him a T-shirt that said ‘Number one ally’ on it.
➽──────────────❥
Barking Opposition ▶︎ • ၊၊||၊|။|||| ↻
Tim had hit the lowest point in his life by far.
You were mad at him.
He hopes he dies.
He doesn’t know how it happened or when it happened, but it happened. And now, he’s condemned to couch duty for the foreseeable future.
Your prized possession, your absolute, all-time favourite comfort sweater, had been ruined. An irredeemable amount of blood had gotten on it, and no matter how hard he tried, the dark patch refused to come out. He’d sat on the sweatshirt by accident post-mission, dropping onto the sofa in his dirtied jeans. The crime was realized too late, and you caught him in the act, mid-panic. That was two days ago.
He agreed that it was his fault. You had warned him multiple times about being careful, reminding him to move with caution when he came home after a job. Alas, he was used to the living conditions of the mansion, where everything was already caked with grime, and nobody batted an eye at bloodstains. Except that was the manor, and this was your home.
After The Incident took place, you’d rightfully given him the cold shoulder. All his apologies were met with an icy glare, then you’d spin away from him dramatically, leaving him in your shadow to sulk. To make matters worse, the dog you’d begged him for had taken his spot on the bed.
Every goddamn morning, it would prance out from the bedroom. Jolly, smug as it cuddled up to your side. You’d pet its head, telling it how handsome it was- how well behaved and polite. The puppy was basking in your love while Tim got nothing. Not. Even. Scraps.
Tim hated that dog more than he hated the operator.
That dog couldn’t protect you from otherworldly dangers. It couldn’t defend your name righteously as a good man should. It didn’t help you with laundry and the kitchen sink pipes when they’d act up. It couldn’t even talk- and yet, it was the one curling up on your chest when dusk fell. The thing was practically rubbing it in his face at this point.
He remembers what the stray did, as if it were yesterday (it was). He was minding his own business when it came sniffing around the corner. Strutting to his seat, it had turned its nose up, skipping away as if it only came to show off. The tag on its new collar read- “Best Boy,” and he had never felt more betrayed. Best? Best? You had to be joking.
He’d fought borderline wars to make it home in time for dinner, and that good-for-nothing dog had taken his position in your life overnight.
Tim was fuming.
He hadn’t gotten a single kiss from you in over forty-eight hours. Forty-fucking-eight. He was dying of thirst watching an ill-fitted replacement drown. You weren’t responding to any of his messages either, simply leaving him on read or giving his text a thumbs up if he told you something you deemed important. You were probably spooning the puppy right now, having it tucked into you. Being terribly sweet on that stupid, undeserving, wretched, godforsaken motherfucking—
“Masky, are y-you good?”
Toby’s voice jolted him out of his thoughts, and he whipped to the side. The boy had settled next to him on the porch bench, equally as scuffed from the prior assignment. His cigarette was snapped in half from how hard he’d squished it during his inner monologue. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
Though his words were nowhere near convincing, making the younger proxy arch a brow. “… Are you sure? You’ve been s-staring at the truck like it killed your family, man. John W-Wick style.” He sighed in response, closing his eyes for a moment before he snagged out another cig, lighting the smoke tiredly. “I fucked up, Rogers.” He spoke with so much grief, Toby leaned back.
“What’d you do?”
“I- lord. Favourite sweater. I stained the son of a bitch, and now I’m sleepin’ on the couch.”
“Oh yikes.”
Huffing, he reclined, taking a long drag. “Haven’t been loved on since. I might as well have ended up in a ditch tonight.” He exhaled heavily, and Toby nodded in understanding, sympathetic. “I remember when I stained my baby’s f-favourite pillow. I was in the dog house for weeks.” That had Tim scowling. “The fucking dog- should’ve never gotten a pet-” Facing the boy once more, he gestured at him with the cigarette.
“It’s sleepin’ in my spot, Rogers. Can you believe that? After all I’ve done. I get thrown away like fucking chopped liver- for a dog.” Toby shook his head, shrugging defeatedly. “Yeah, I’ve b-been there. Happens to t-the best of us, Masky.” Tim buried his face in his palms and groaned. “The hell am I supposed to do, huh? I can’t even get a damn kiss after all this bullshit.”
Toby slumped against the bench, trying his best to come up with a solution. Masky had always given him advice when he was learning the ropes of being a good partner, so it was only fair that he put in effort now.
It felt like his brain was steaming from the strain, but after a few minutes, he sat up. Light bulb sparking above his head. “Have you tried using a boombox?” Tim looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “What in god’s name are you talkin’ about, Tobias?”
“When I f-fuh-fucked up, I stood outside with a boombox for l-like an hour- and it worked!” He explained, raising his hands. “Listen, if they love you enough, the boombox always does w-what it’s supposed to. Trust m-me.” Tim narrowed his eyes, inhaling the smoke before puffing in disbelief.
“I’m a grown ass man. It’s not doin’ shit, and I ain’t got the time to stand outside for an hour.”
“Okaay- well, don’t b-blame me when you’re still s-sleeping on the couch tonight instead of being held, Masky.”
He went to scold the boy for his tone, only to be interrupted by Toby standing suddenly, phone pressed to his ear. Tim could hear the sappy nonsense spill through the speaker, and the other killer grinned, mouthing at him. “Gotta’ go, angel wants me home.” The porch was occupied by him alone after that, the silence giving him room to think.
He wasn’t showing up with a dumb boombox. He couldn’t. It probably wouldn’t work anyway. There was no way it would actually make you any less mad, and he wasn’t risking the chance of your mood worsening. Absolutely not, he was not buying an oversized stereo to blast cheesy music outside. That was idiotic; he was far too old to be pulling off stunts like that. He wasn’t doing it. He will not do it—
The boombox rattled in Tim’s backseat as he drove, and he prayed that he wouldn’t have to kill Toby Rogers tomorrow morning.
➽──────────────❥
Purple With Jealousy ▶︎ • ၊၊||၊|။|||| ↻
Habit was seething.
This was Evan’s fault.
Gengar. A Pokémon. A fucking cartoon character. He had a shirt with the little shit printed on the front. Nothing spectacular, just a faded tee he had in his closet- yet you seemed to like it. You said it suited him, the creature sharing his grin or something like that. He never thought anything of it, never cared about it.
Until now.
Recently, he’d come home to find you hugging a life-sized plush of the character. It was round and stupid-looking, but so were the rest of your stuffed animals, so he brushed it off. You told him you’d bought it because it reminded you of him, and he had scoffed. Okay, he found it a tiny bit endearing that you got a dumb purple pillow to hug when you missed him. But that wasn’t the point.
The present issue was that the whole “only using it when he wasn’t available” thing seemed to have slipped your mind. You had begun bringing it to bed with you, saying you didn’t want it to get cold. Which made zero fucking sense, but sure. It was fine-
And then it fucking wasn’t because you were currently facing away from him, cuddling with that ugly bitch.
You had let go of his arm in your sleep, rolling over to latch onto the toy instead. Habit, of course, noticed immediately. He didn’t need rest the way you did, and the second your warmth left him, his eyes shot open. The only reason he was there was to hold you- or else you’d get sulky. With that logic, why were you even an inch away from him, let alone embracing something else?
His teeth were grinding harder by the millisecond, and he scowled, glaring at the back of your head. You were snuggling into its chest, humming quietly. Grabbing onto it like it was your boyfriend, when your real boyfriend was less than a centimetre behind you.
Its stupid, featurally challenged smile had him livid. It was so fucking ugly. Genuinely an eye sore to see. Its fat fucking head wasn’t even, and its stubby limbs stuck out at odd angles. It looked nothing like him. It couldn’t keep you safe or soothe your worries. It didn’t take care of you the way he did, and it definitely couldn’t fuck you the way you liked.
It didn’t even have a fucking dick.
So why. The actual fuck. Were you nuzzling the hideous ball-shaped teddy as if you loved it?
You held the son of a bitch with so much fondness that it made him irate. His eye was twitching, and he had half the mind to yank it out of your arms. This wouldn’t have even happened if Evan’s stupid ass hadn’t bought the shirt. Yet much to Habit’s dismay, Evan was a fucking nerd who liked merch, and now he was losing his carefully nurtured rabbit to a cotton stuffed purple whore.
If he could sink his hands back into the depths of Evan’s soul to choke him, he would.
A vein was popping out of his neck, and he turned onto his side, staring at the toy with visceral hatred. “I’m going to find your creator, and rip his spine out of his fuckin’ throat, you hear me?” He muttered under his breath, full of malice.
He slipped an arm around your middle, tugging you back into him, and you squirmed, still attached to the parasite. This had to count as cheating. He huffed, reaching over to wiggle the fabric from your grasp. Your fingers eventually loosened, and the plush rolled off the mattress, landing on the ground with a muted thump. Jesus- fucking finally.
Habit exhaled when you shuffled, turning to face him, then rubbing your cheek into his chest. You inhaled deeply, a soft smile gracing your lips as you nuzzled deeper. He felt your thigh nudge between his legs, and you were fully cocooned in his embrace soon after. Contentedly babbling about whatever you were dreaming of.
Clearly, you were much more comfortable this way. “Gengar” was an unnecessary addition to the household, and he would be taking care of it in the morning.
While your lover didn’t need sleep, the lull of your heartbeat was calming. Repetitive, like white noise amongst the crickets outside- his lids were drooping before he realized. It wouldn’t hurt his vessel to rest a little extra, so he yawned and buried his nose in your hair to call it a night.
Though as the next day rolled around, his anger returned tenfold.
Everything was great, dandy, even. He’d planned to throw it out when he awoke, but he had business that he’d forgotten to wrap up. He could just toss the thing when he got home; it wasn’t a big deal. However, upon stepping foot into the house, the sight that greeted him had him holding back a yell.
Gengar was sitting at the fucking dinner table. You were eating with it. Talking to it. You had propped it up with a dumb bib and everything. Its rotund ass was in his seat. With his plate. Having a grand time with his bunny. Habit marched up the chair with a sneer, grabbing the plush’s head harshly.
You gasped, a pout already forming while you scrambled to rise onto your feet. “Bitty! What are you doing?” He grunted, replying roughly.
“I’m burning the bitch.”
“What? Why?”
“Bonbon, do not piss me off—”
➽──────────────❥
Bogeyman Down ▶︎ • ၊၊||၊|။|||| ↻
Laughing Jack was currently doing everything but laughing.
Oh, he’d really done it now- you were livid. Absolutely ticked to the moon. He’d done the one thing you’d asked him not to. The singular requirement you’d talked about prior. Do not mess up your life because he was in his head again.
And Jack had meddled to high heaven.
As stubborn as he was, he, unfortunately, could admit that this was his fault. Kind of. Maybe. Definitely. Whatever. In his opinion, the man with you looked suspicious. He was all over you. Laughing as you walked, nearly falling into you while you joked around. It had Jack feeling beyond betrayed, and he perhaps acted a bit irrationally.
He waited for you to part ways, then he snapped. Following the guy home before slipping into his dreams, tormenting him to the brink of psychological breakage. When he awoke that morning, he couldn’t even speak. Wouldn’t respond to any stimulus. His roommate was in shambles and beyond worried, so they called in professionals.
Which is when Jack found out that the guy was not a friend.
He was your cousin.
Your thoughtful, very close, and well-respected cousin. You’d informed him earlier that month that “Jay” was coming to visit, talking about it briefly while you two were under the covers. Though regrettably, he’d been quite distracted.
You had a habit of feeling him up for fun. You’d grope him through his shirt, grab his ass roughly mid-conversation, and knead at his thighs if you were bored. That night was one of those nights. It’s not that he wasn’t paying attention; it was just hard to stay focused when you were practically stroking him over his boxers. “It’s keeping my hand warm!” You’d said- and then you proceeded to pump him until his eyes crossed.
So gods forbid he was a little off course when analyzing your cousin.
Still, that didn't matter because you were very angry with him currently. You knew what’d happened from the second the man's roommate called you, turning to him with a glare that chilled him to the bone. You had left swiftly to visit Jay after, and now he was sulking alone past one in the morning. Curse that boy.
Alright, he was reaping what he sowed, but he missed you. You’d been mad for over two days, and he was dying. Literally dying, he swears he could feel himself withering by the hour. Yet the faith he had in your love remained; you were mad, yes, but you promised you weren’t breaking up with him. Therefore, he had to plan this out carefully. He was not about to put your relationship on the line due to recklessness.
The hospital halls were illuminated by cold overhead lights, humming dully as he slinked down the corridor. He’d made a bouquet for you, a bundle of your favourite flowers, with treats mixed into the stems. Tied together with a large red ribbon, a classic.
He saw the ajar ward door at the end of the walkway, and he padded forward, heart felt speech prepared. One step, another, then a shocked gasp made him falter. Twisting around, there was a nurse gawking at him two paces away. Her face was drained of colour, aghast at the view in front of her. Jack loomed over the scattered carts, lit by the faint glow of the private room behind him.
It cast shadows across his features, the glint of his edged teeth reflecting white. His form was towering, barely fitting beneath the ceiling. Skin pale, with makeup cracking along the curve of his painted lips.
A haunting sight that sent piercing fear through her nerves, making her grip her necklace shakily. She stared at him for a moment, their eyes holding tension while the awkwardness crept up his spine. “Hello…?” He greeted, trying to be cordial, and she staggered back. Muttering under her breath, “Babayaga.” He frowned at that.
Blinking a few times, he opened his mouth, closing it rigidly after debating his options. Usually, he’d simply get rid of any witnesses, but you were mad enough. If he acted out of line, your patience would definitely wane, and he couldn’t afford that.
Jack swallowed, shuffling blindly to the side, attempting to reach the door handle. Her eyes were still glued to his figure— light flooded into the dim hall.
You, in all your irritated glory, were stationed at the room's entrance, and he swivelled to you. “Gum drop-!” Though you didn’t let him finish, completely focused on the worker trembling in his shadow.
You held a palm up in his direction, effectively silencing him. “Hi. Sorry, my boyfriend’s really eccentric. He’s just visiting.” The tight smile you were giving the woman had him gulping dryly.
“Your- your boyfriend?”
“Yes. My boyfriend. He’s harmless, I promise. Just tall.”
“Right.”
She obviously did not trust the information one bit, but she nodded nonetheless. Returning your grin weakly, before swiftly speed walking her way around the corner, signing a cross over her chest.
You turned to him, eyes narrowed. “Jack.” Good god. Alright. “Yes?” He said with a nervous half laugh, and you scowled. Drawing a deep inhale, your tone left no room for nonsense. “You know what you did.” Jack hummed in acknowledgment, then you crossed your arms.
“This is the last time you piss me off.”
“Mhm.”
“You will not do it again, and if you start feeling off about somebody, you tell me about it. Because we are in a relationship, and that’s how it works. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my sweet.”
Your glower made him deflate more and more, shrinking into his fur cloak until his chin was tucked by the end. He’d fought immortal creatures for fun, been through unfathomable carnage, yet nothing compared to the disappointment of his spouse. You were scary when you were mad.
The staleness stretched on for another beat, then you sighed. “Stop overthinking and talk to me.” Moving closer, taking his hand in yours. “I love you so much, it’s not fair when you keep doubting me.” His palm cupped your cheek, and you stood chest to chest. “I trust you with my life, and I need you to trust me too, Jackie.” The earnestness in your gaze made his shoulders drop.
“I know- I know. I just-” He murmured, tugging you into him, the flowers pressed against your back. “I’m not… good at this. But I’m trying- I swear, I am.” He whispered into your hair, “I’ll be better.” And his vulnerability was clear as day.
You buried your face into his chest, clutching at the wrapping around his torso. “You’re not in a box anymore, and I’m not leaving you behind. No more bottling things up, okay?”
His bottom lip wobbled, and he squeezed you. “Okay.” Abandonment issues be damned, he’d rather spend another five hundred years imprisoned in a tupperware than lose you.
“What the fuck?”
The foreign voice made him shoot up, whipping his head to the source. Jay was leaning on the door frame, confusion plastered on his face. “He’s- He’s fucking!? That’s- I saw him!” He stuttered, and you held your hand up, attempting to de-escalate the situation.
“Wait- okay, it’s not what it looks like. Take a breath-”
“Take a breath?! He literally gutted me, I fucking felt it.”
