Usually in bed, the most you get is heavy breathing and grunts if he’s dominant. Degrading with a sprinkle of praise, maybe a dragged out groan if it’s good.
But if you’re riding him with his wrists tied above his head, he gets whiny real fast. Especially if you’re edging him. He gets impatient, the denial getting to him about an hour in. His willpower isn’t weak exactly, it’s just that being inside you and knowing you can give him what he wants at any second makes him snappy.
After a certain point he loses his rasp a bit, too.
The base of it slowly becomes shaky, his once rough baritone cracking. His brows knot up when he glares at you, irritated. “You’re such a cunt.” He’ll snarl, bark orders- but you know he doesn’t mean it.
Because slowly but surely, his resistance will chip. His insults will begin to dampen, going from cussing you out to trying to bargain for you to move. He’ll start squirming, bucking his hips up with an unsteady huff.
“C’mon- just fucking move-“ Face flushed, his cocky persona crumbling by the second. He’s so hard it hurts, and you’ve been edging him for hours. Humping his cock just right, and squeezing him the way you know he likes best.
He’ll go from laughing at you to pouting and denying it. You can see it so clearly on his face. The internal fight in his head.
He hates begging, so he’ll try convincing you every time. He’ll offer you head, tell you that if you let him cum, he’ll make it worth your while. Jeff will debate his own skills in bed with his eyes half-lidded, chest heaving and his muscles tensing against the restraints.
Then his pitch raises, his words tilt up at the end. He gets breathier, quieter and more needy. More restless and you’ll feel his thighs twitch under you.
His head tips further back, eyes struggling to stay open. Huffing faster and faster until it sounds like he’s on the brink of hysteria. And when you finally lift your hips to sink down on him to the hilt, his pupils roll up into his skull.
Jeff’s jaw falls slack, lips bitten red and parted as he pants. He says the things he usually does, but this time, they don’t seem as nearly as demanding. His voice comes out too soft, too unstable to carry the weight it normally holds.
“Y-Yeah, like that- fuck.” More of a hitched sigh than an instruction. His gaze is unfocused, spine arching off the mattress by an inch before he slumps back down. Like he so desperately wants to appear unbothered.
“Take it so good- keep going. Ah- shit.” It’s barely praise, talking just to talk. He’s rambling because if he doesn’t, the noises forcing up his throat will be too obvious. Because if he does, his desperation won’t make you hungry.
“Gonna’ cum. Mm- g-gonna’- hah- I’m-fuckfuck—“ It’s a plea and a warning in one. There’s a part of him that’s hooked on the withheld release, high off the power you have over him. He wants to fill you so badly it’s painful, yet there’s a whisper at the back of his head that begs you to hold off just a little longer.
When you’ve passed the fifth round of edging him, his speech grows incoherent. He turns almost silent, the only sounds escaping him clipped and slurred. Then, during the peak of it, mercy finally appetizing to you. The slam of your cunt not ceasing even though it’s clear his ability to stave off his climax is near its end— he’ll moan so loud his cadence becomes unrecognizable.
Throaty and wanton, his eyes cross before scrunching shut. “Shit- b-baby.” He’ll bite his lower lip just to gasp as his shoulders bow, head thrown back while he trembles. His pale skin has tinted with blush all over, his shoulders and chest dusted in pink.
Drool collects at the slits of his cheeks, mouth forming an ‘O when you grind down onto him. You fuck him through the orgasm, making it last until he’s writhing. He’ll hum into the kiss, but his tongue is halfway limp.
He’s too overwhelmed to properly reciprocate, and his lips aren’t closed enough to lock in yours. It’s sloppy, spit smearing everywhere. He’ll watch you through bleary eyes and try to chase you back up.
In those moments, he forgets to ignore how much he needs you. Forgets to suppress how terribly he wants you close. Jeff will whine openly if you pull away too soon, pout without trying to hide his face if you get “mean.”
He’ll rub his cheek against your palm when you cup his face, slurring something along the lines of “Why’d y’stop?” With the most doe-eyed expression you’ve ever witnessed. Sub space for him is rare, but when it settles in, it always shocks you.
He acts so uncharacteristically vulnerable, asking for your touch with such raw hope it makes your heart hurt. It’s a slip of his mask, and you get to see less of Jeff, the unfeeling, barbaric weapon- and more of the boy before the fire.
Someone exposed and in need of grounding. Wanting to be handled with warmth and care. His stamina remains high though, so you finish him off slowly.
No harsh riding or bouncing yourself to make him scream- instead, you roll your hips gently. Rocking yourself on his cock with your nose brushing his. Your palms cradle his cheeks, and you tell him all the sappy things he claims to hate.
You tell him he makes you feel good. You whisper that you love him against his lips, letting your breath mingle with his when he nods in response. You soothe your thumbs along the scars on his skin, and he angles his head to attempt to kiss you, even if he barely has the energy for it.
When he cums, it’s muted. A stuttered exhale, his voice cracking a tad. His lids flutter closed, and he’ll lean into you, mumbling inaudibly. He bucks up into you once, twice, before he goes boneless.
His eyes follow you while you slip off of him, pupils blown wide as you peck his forehead, settling onto your side to undo the rope. His arms slink down, Jeff immediately reaching for you.
You can’t even get up to grab a rag because he’s burying himself into your chest. He’ll lie there silent for at least twenty minutes before he regains self awareness, simply listening to your heart beat and humming once in a while if you talk.
He’ll scoot back a smidge after, still slightly dazed, and raise a brow at you like you were the one who did something unexpected.
“What?” As if you didn’t just feel him curl into you and sniffle. Yet you know him, and you’re aware that if you call him out, he’ll scoff.
You swipe the hair sticking to his forehead out of the way, toying with the ends, while he stares. It’s a special intimacy that arrives once in a blue moon, and on those nights, Jeff tells you things he promised to never say out loud.
Sometimes it’s memories of his mom, sometimes it’s a stupid fight he had with brother. Sometimes it’s random things he noticed about you.
Facts that you don’t remember talking about, habits you didn’t know you had. It makes you realize how perceptive he is, how much he actually pays attention to details that most people deemed unimportant.
He’ll draw shapes on your bare hip, and mutter dumb jokes into your hair. A lightness that doesn’t exist elsewhere, the walls he built absent.
Jeff doesn’t verbally say it back, but he’ll trace a heart onto your back when you tell him you love him without heat between you. His mouth won’t form the syllables, but he’ll kiss your crown longer than necessary, and exhale like he’s trying to breathe his intentions into you.
With fondness, allowing his sentiment to seep into your mind as you fall asleep. He loves you, too.
guys can we write habit x trans male reader and tim wright x trans male reader
please for the love of god there is literally nothing which makes no sense because a trans male character would make sm sense for the creepypasta universe bro
I know I already posted this on tumblr a few days ago but I hated the last panel so I completely redid it. Anyway, Eleanor takes Liu to get a haircut idk
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
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— ^ ^ —
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.”
