Once Brian discovers you in a magazine, he’s absolutely hooked. Collecting volume after volume, he even starts tuning into your show. So when you announce that you’re stopping by Rosswood for meet and greets, he’s searching for a disguise in a heartbeat- but what happens if you get attacked after hours?
Well, Mr Fox himself comes to your aid, of course!
!! Fanboy! Hoodie x Icon F! Reader !! W/C: 5.9k
-> You were a magical girl, he was a sniper from the south, can I make it anymore obvious? ->
────୨ৎ────
— ^ ^ —
Addiction sank its teeth into Brian before he could blink.
It began so unassuming, harmless in the grand scheme of things. He’d driven to the pub like he always had, parking behind neon lights and aged brick. His truck sat tucked into the alley, near the bar’s back door. The same routine, nothing spectacular about it- that is, until he entered the bathroom.
The space was dingy, with one toilet, urinal and sink. Littered with graffiti from porcelain to tile, even the mirror was cracked. A singular, buzzing light hung overhead, and his lighter sparked, smoke curling into the air. He leaned against the exposed heater. The white paint was chipping terribly, leaving dry flecks that smeared on his jeans. The mission had been shit.
First off, he lived with a bunch of useless fucks who couldn’t act right to save their lives. Too loud, too reckless. They never cleaned up after themselves, leaving dirty clothes at every corner. The laundry machine itself was dusty, used primarily by Tim, Jack, and him. Tobias, on a good day.
Second off, their food was already scarce, and after a long bender, it had been depleted by at least sixty percent.
They had ruined the kitchen. Throwing dry ingredients everywhere and devouring everything in the pantry. The only thing left in the fridge was beer. On top of that, the assignment he’d been tasked with was over two weeks long. He couldn’t even pack a fucking granola bar- because they didn’t have any.
Budgeting was rough. Most of their food was either stolen or purchased with pickpocketed cash. It worked well enough; however, the tactic was always based on luck. A fifty-fifty chance of landing on someone who carried real money. Sometimes they’d have a decent amount to spend, able to cover actual meals. Other times, it was barely sufficient for snacks.
Cards worked in theory, but it wasn’t worth the risk. Cards could be tracked and cancelled on the same day. It was easier to rely on paper, loose twenties wadded together. So imagine his surprise when their monthly food supply was vanquished in a weekend.
Hoodie wanted to kill somebody.
He had taken that frustration out on the sad, deadbeat who’d been getting too nosy. Yet he was left unsatisfied, carrying his irritation all the way to the bar. He’d snagged the guy's wallet. Spending it on a room-temperature whiskey and a pack of smokes. However, the flashing lights were starting to give him a headache, which led him here.
Now, standing in the cramped outhouse, he took a drag. Watching the pollution waft slowly, before a flash of colour caught his eye. A magazine was hanging in a basket close to the sink. With a vivid front cover, the tagline read- “Talk about rowdy roommies, am I right?”
The art illustrated a brightly toned character winking at the audience. Dressed in frills, you even had a little wand. There was also smaller text below. “A Guide for Gun Slingers & Magical Girls with too many problems!” The irony was not lost on him, and he huffed an almost laugh. He had no idea how the two correlated, but modern things will be modern, he supposed.
After debating for a moment, he reached for the pamphlet. It’s not like anyone was around, and he was bored. What was the harm in browsing? The blonde had time to kill anyway. He just wanted to see what gunslingers had to do with “Magical Girls” or whatever. It was fine, nothing out of the ordinary.
He flipped the thing open, immediately flash-banged with more colourful text. This time, you were 3D and sprawled on the floor. Okay, so this was a photoshoot..? Maybe?
The speech bubble above stated, “Man, these folks wouldn’t know respect if it hit them in the face !!” It made him exhale through his nose. Yeah, they really wouldn’t. Then he turned to the next page, then the next, and the next—
Brian had finished the entire magazine.
He hadn’t even noticed that he was close to the end until it was over. You discussed a wide range of issues, from fashion dilemmas to relationship struggles. Even including cleaning tips, budgeting for beginners and a weapon variety section. It was a shockingly well-rounded bathroom read.
Alright, he’d give the corporations their flowers. You seemed like a good enough influence, and your design wasn’t bad on the eyes either. Honestly, you were... funny. It’s not like some random comic could truly solve his problems, yet some of your advice stuck. You were relatable, in a weird, disembodied way. And for whatever reason, he still hadn’t set the pamphlet down.
It was entertaining, and technically, he wasn’t fully finished. He had skimmed, a speedy once-over deal. He hadn’t actually read the tiny blurbs on the sides. The paragraphs with the solutions- it was only right if he took it for the road.
That, right there, was the beginning of the end.
Although he did find it decently pleasant, the trouble came with his desire for a follow-up. He liked A Guide for Gun Slingers & Magical Girls with too many problems ! ™ He could admit that. It was convenient to have on hand. A good way to keep his mind busy. It was hard to find respectable media these days, and that tied into his current situation.
The one he had was labelled as “Volume. 14” Which meant there were at least another thirteen to read. The issue? They didn’t seem to have the series anywhere. Not at the local bookstore in town, not in another bathroom, not even at the corner store. The bastards had bad song covers on DVD, but not your pamphlet. Like what kind of establishment were they running?
He searched high and low, coming back empty-handed each time. A man could only reread the same feature so often, you know? He was getting desperate, not that he’d ever say that out loud. Yet, Hoodie knew one thing, one fact that stayed true throughout the months.
He needed the complete collection.
ᯓ★
The discovery was like finding nirvana.
Rifle clattering onto the table, his hands moved with practice. Oiling the metal, checking for nicks and rust. Brian was settled on the worn-down couch when Jeff dropped next to him. Flinging his knife into the air, he caught it before fetching the TV remote. The station flickered to life, and the second he glanced up, he saw it.
Saw you.
Waving at the camera, you greeted the viewers cheerfully. “Yellow! Welcome back, my angels!” Shining brighter than the early sun. Your voice was bubbly- chipper when you went on to catch the audience up. This episode was about your fight against an ancient evil. A grand finale, titled “Bad Habits Die Hard.” It was narrated by you- a part of your abilities.
You could break the fourth wall, interacting with the screen as you pleased. Your crew of allies gathered on a vast battlefield, bracing themselves for the storm. You fought valiantly, wand in hand, while you parried strikes. A spark here, a flash there, the beast screeched in anger. His lip curled up in a snarl, and he whirled his arm back. Skin splitting to reveal rows of jagged teeth.
Though just before he could lunge, you tugged another character in front of you. A bunny fighter of some sort, donning floppy ears and a fluffy tail to match. They pressed their palms to their lips, then flung their hands out for a special attack. Cupid’s Shot, activated by blowing a kiss at the opponent. It hit the guy square in the chest, and he flew back.
Skidding against the dirt, plumes confettied into the wind. There were even cartoon birds and hearts swirling around his head. You turned to the camera after, snickering about his weakness for your friend. Apparently, they were actually married, and this was simply a lovers’ quarrel.
The episode ended with you celebrating the win. The moral of the story was that communication was important, a priority in relationships.
“Remember, you can’t keep something shining if you don’t polish it. Think gun metal! It’ll rust if you don’t oil it, grow rickety if you don’t take care of it. Love is the same way! And I’ll see you next week- signing out, yours truly.”
The outro played once you’d winked, and a commercial came on. Brian, despite his lingering denial, was hooked. I mean, come on. Rifle puns, action, it had humour, too. You were witty, quick-tongued. Ignoring the fact that he thought you were attractive like a teen with a crush. He found himself disappointed that it was over—
“Did you seriously watch that shit?”
Jeff had fallen asleep the second he turned on the TV. Awaking to your theme song blasting, the killer was confused to say the least.
However, Hoodie was quick to straighten up. “What do you think?” Shooting him a glare sharp enough to cut. It made the other sneer, shoving off the sofa while barking over his shoulder. “Jesus fucking christ- who pissed in your cereal?”
He walked with a stumble, clearly inebriated from whatever he’d drunk earlier that night. Jeff only crashed onto the couch because he didn’t have enough coordination to make it up the stairs. Leaving a streak of blood on the armrest and everything. He’d gone hunting, then got wasted. Fucking typical. Brian drew a heavy breath.
Finishing his original task, it was past one AM by the time he reached his bed. The old mattress creaked as he slumped down. Same shit, different day. Stripping to nothing but his boxers, he sprawled on his back. Scruffy sheets under him. Jeff’s words echoed through his mind. What the hell did he even mean by that?
There was nothing wrong with your show. It was a nice watch, and it had a good message. He was simply too dense. Wouldn’t understand a healthy mindset if it shot him between the eyes. You were balanced, both caring and cutthroat. Sometimes you were selfless, other times you did things because you wanted to. It made you feel real and respectable.
Jeff just didn’t get it.
ᯓ★
“The hell are you doing?”
Elbow deep in grime and guts, Tim was exhausted. Ready to finish the job and head home, he’d turned around to find Brian frozen.
They had been sent out to take care of some stray hikers. Conspiracy theorists who got too nosy. The couple were long dead- the only thing left to do was get rid of the bodies. Yet the other man seemed preoccupied, staring entranced at a corner of the cabin.
The victims' setup wasn’t out of the ordinary by any means; there weren’t even weapons or supplies to take. Their rented-out shelter was a run-of-the-mill vacation house, decorated with the bare minimum. So what in the world was Hoodie distracted by?
His previous question went unanswered for another beat, then Brian blinked back to life. Stiffly grunting, “Nothing- we can bury ‘em out back.” An expected response that Tim thought nothing of. He knew well enough that the work they did wasn’t light, and it’d get to you no matter how cold you’d grown to it.
Dragging the corpse closest to him through the back door, he returned just to see Hoodie missing from his prior station. The body (that should’ve been hauled up by now) was untouched, and his partner had gravitated to a shelf near the fireplace. He looked like he hadn’t even noticed that Tim had entered the room, shifting in place as if he were making a life-or-death decision.
Upon stepping closer, he observed in confusion as Brian reached for a plush toy sitting on the ledge. A brightly coloured doll, with sparkly cheeks and a fantastical outfit. He was holding the thing with so much care that it threw Masky off. The sniper had never been a fan of the sentimentals, and even if the toy was attached to an old memory- why now?
They were drenched in blood and tired enough to collapse. What value could it possibly possess to make Hoodie drop everything and retrieve it from its spot? Tim cleared his throat loudly.
“You got plans for that thing—”
“Jesus fuck.”
The blonde jolted, spinning to face him sharply, doll still in hand. “I thought you were gettin’ the body.” His tone made Tim raise a brow, and he muttered, puzzled. “... I did. Thought you were gettin’ the other one.” The two stayed at a standstill for a moment before he nodded in response. Shoving the mini-plush into his jacket pocket and moved to hoist the carcass over his shoulder.
However, Tim was now even more perplexed. While Brian wasn’t terribly open, they trusted each other. Had each other's backs at the worst of times. Why the hell was he being so weird about it? Assuming it was probably related to his childhood, the man followed him as he marched outside. Lighting a cigarette on the way.
They dumped the limbs into a pre-dug grave, burying their tracks with the usual protocol. Everything had gone to plan, and Brian was only slightly shaken up about being caught. It was fine, good even-
Until Tim unlatched the glove box.
In hindsight, the chamber wasn’t the best place to store his collection. But he was always on the road, always active and sent out day after day. It just made the most sense to keep the magazines there, and it hadn’t affected him for the worse either. Till now, that is. Because the second the compartment opened, all hell broke loose.
Saved photocards, pamphlets, and merch-themed trinkets tumbled out onto the brunette's lap. All with a person who bore a striking resemblance to the toy he’d grabbed earlier, printed front and center. The silence between them fizzled with tension, then Brian swallowed hard.
“... I can explain-”
“Who the fuck are you?”
Tim squinted at him, cig hanging limply from his lips. Never in all his years could he have predicted this. A fanboy. Hoodie was a fanboy. The evidence was clear as day, and the exasperation on his friend's face only damned him further. “I started reading, alright? Ain’t nothing wrong with havin’ a hobby.” Revving the engine, his defence was met with a scoff.
“What is all this? You been collecting this shit?” Masky muttered under his breath, picking up a Polaroid to inspect it. You were posing with a glowing wand, winking at the camera under pastel lights. In another, you were sitting on a beach chair. Styled in an up-do with flowers in your hair, a vibrant bikini, pulling the whole look together.
If you told Tim a year ago that Brian was into fairy princesses or whatever this was, he would’ve shot you.
The pressure continued for at least another ten minutes. Pictures on pictures, your little snapshots came bedazzled, too. Stickers on the frame, key charms of your logo spread over his thighs. At this point, Timothy Wright was questioning everything he knew about his lifelong companion.
“So, you get into it recently or?” Tim reclined after half-hazardously pushing the belongings back into the glove box. Crossing his arms when Hoodie grumbled. “Got into it a while back-” He opened his mouth, only to be cut off by the others' outburst. “It’s a good series. It ain’t like that mind-rotting shit you see everywhere. It’s honest fuckin’ work, Tim.”
The passion in his voice was not lost, and Masky side-eyed him like he’d grown three heads. He supposed that people needed outlets- it was just that those outlets normally involved alcohol, violence or substances.
On one hand, he was somewhat glad Brian wasn’t losing his mind, downing unmarked pills. On the other hand, he was a grown-ass man with pictures of some random girl in his truck. It was an odd situation to navigate, and he wasn’t sure how to respond.
The man wasn’t doing any wrong, and this was objectively a harmless interest. It was just jarring because of how they lived, who they were. Imagining Hoodie going through the Polaroids alone, excitedly reading each volume, felt dystopian. Unrealistic, almost, yet here he was. Utterly balls-deep in your story and willing to defend your name.
Tim was stuck at a crossroads. He technically could just let it go. Let Brian continue his love for your media and keep to himself- but this was a golden opportunity. Hoodie was damn near the baddest of the bunch, and his favourite pastime was reading about magical girls.
It was hilarious.
Turning to his left, he exhaled slowly. “You like the frills, huh?” Teasing laid on thick. His jab had Brian clicking his tongue in annoyance. “Shut the hell up. S’not like that, she’s- she’s good at what she does. It’s a well-produced show-”
“You watchin’ shows now?”
“We spend all day blowing motherfuckers heads off- but fuck me if I ain’t wanna’ see that shit on TV, right?”
His sentence ended with a sharp huff, and Masky whistled. “Shit, didn’t mean it like that. You jus’ ain’t seem like the type.” Smoke curled into the air, wafting past Hoodie's vision as he readjusted his grip on the wheel. It made him frown.
“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Offended before Tim could explain himself, he had to laugh. “Easy- I’m sayin’ yer’ not exactly the sparkly type.” He was right, and Hoodie, despite himself, felt his lips tugging up. “I’m versatile.” Brothers in arms, even if they got on each other’s nerves every minute of the day.
The rest of the drive was brisk, the boys bickering back and forth for the entirety of it. And when the manor was within sight, the car slowed to a halt.
Brian rushed up the stairs as discreetly as he could. He was sore from head to toe, exhausted beyond belief- yet, he had done it. The plush he’d snagged of you wasn’t just regular merch; it was a special model. A rare, limited edition replica. He saw the launch a bit ago, but it wasn’t anywhere near their town. And it’s not like he could ship it here.
Even if he could, with what money? They were barely getting by as is; he couldn’t drop a few hundred for a collectible. It wasn’t in his cards- or so he thought. The moment he laid his eyes upon your figure on that shelf was a moment unlike any other. It was perfect. They were already long dead, and the plush was his for the taking.
Stepping into his room, he locked the door behind him. It was time to get serious. That had been the last assignment for this week; he hadn’t been scheduled for any more jobs. So tonight was for me-time. He took a quick shower to clean off the blood and dirt, then immediately plugged in his laptop.
There were a plethora of streaming websites that offered reruns and new drops of your show. From season one to season five, they had it all, and he wasn’t caught up due to being on the field basically all month.
He swiftly tapped the twelfth episode, shuffling against the pillows while the screen flashed the words. “Sand Castle Dilemma.” Beach themed, huh? Most of your plots were battle-involving, so this must be a filler of some kind. Either way, he needed a much-deserved break from gore, and this would be a nice change of pace.
The viewing went as expected, with you and your friends wrestling over who had the best sand sculpture. And maybe it was stupid, but your lighthearted jokes always brightened his mood. Brian was in the middle of appreciating your artistic talents on the shore, the episode coming to an end, when you said something that made him pause.
“Breaking news, loveys! I’m going on a super-duper top-secret mission. If you’re in the Rosswood area, I could really use the help. But between us, I think I got it—”
After your dialogue faded, instead of the usual credits, an info page popped up. You were going on tour, doing meet-and-greets in different towns. Gathering “allies” in your fight against injustice, they were expected to dress up in their Sunday best. Basically, put on a hero suit, for lack of better wording. It had him sitting straight, hurriedly searching for details. Of course, he couldn’t go, but it wouldn’t hurt to look.
Yet the more he read, the more he wanted to attend. It didn’t even cost more than a pack of smokes, and he could last a week without lighting a cigarette after every drive. It’s not like anyone would notice, he could just slip into the crowd. Stay long enough to see you, maybe get you to sign something, then he’d disappear.
Yes, there was a very high possibility that he’d scare you. Yes, he was willing to bet on those odds.
It wouldn’t be your fault, of course not. He knew what he looked like, how he came off- it was natural for most civilians to avoid eye contact standing around him, let alone interacting with him. He made people uneasy. Which worked great when he was trying to literally waterboard information out of someone, but not quite suited for a cheerful meet-and-greet. So with a heavy heart, he accepted a blaring, very troubling fact.
Brian needed a disguise.
ᯓ★
“You want… a fox head?
“Mm.”
Laughing Jack had been around for a very, very long time, and never had he been this stumped. When there was a knock on the attack door, he’d expected Jeff, high and in need of snacks. Ben, annoying him to bum off sweets- shit, maybe even Toby. What he had not planned for was Hoodie. The ever-brooding, always scowling Brian Thomas himself. Asking for a mascot fox head of all things.
He quirked his head to the side, curious. “What for?” The evident excitement in his swirled pupils made Hoodie roll his eyes. “An assignment. I need to blend in with some fuckin’ parade bullshit.” A lie, but LJ didn’t need to know that.
The jester clapped his hands together loudly, cackling while he strided into his seemingly endless circus-themed space. “Oh, goodie! It’s about time that Mr. Boss sent you to do something fun.” He rifled next to a comically sized popcorn stand, throwing out things that definitely did not fit behind the machine. Fucking clowns.
Brian sighed, and LJ tugged up a cartoonish mask. Bouncing back over, he held the costume out to Hoodie theatrically. “This might be my finest work yet!” The item was lined with soft fur, orange with black-tipped ears and a button-nosed snout. He grunted a “Thank you.” Then headed on his way, promising to owe the monochrome demon a favour later.
If he came home with at least one thing of official merch, this would all be worth it.
Hopefully.
The next step of his disguise fiasco was the outfit. All his current clothing was either blood-stained, grimy, or worn down beyond the acceptable limit for nice events. He needed something new. Immediately. Your tour was arriving in town that very week, which meant he had to have the items ready in less than two days. It was time to get serious.
Though with his budgeting struggle, he couldn’t just walk into any respectable store. It left him with one resort left. Robbery post murder. Not great, yet it was necessary.
The second greatest embarrassment he’d ever experienced was during the next mission.
A three-man job. Him, Toby, and Tim had packed into the truck like sardines, executing the target before disposing of the bodies. The usual stuff. His plan was to linger behind a bit, give himself enough time to snoop the victim's wardrobe and snag some decent pants- maybe a sleek button-up. Except that Rogers apparently had the same idea in mind, and Hoodie was caught red-handed.
Standing in the doorway, Toby gaped at Brian, jaw slack. He’d snuck up the stairs, going to grab some new laces since his Converse were starting to break down, only to find the sniper holding up a suit jacket to his chest. The two stared at each other for a hefty thirty seconds, and the boy pursed his lips.
“You going s-somewhere soon or?”
Brian marched towards him instantly, muttering harshly under his breath. “If you run yer’ goddamn mouth, I’ll make sure you ain’t wake up tomorrow, Tobias. Do you understand?” Toby threw his hands up, shaking his head frantically. “Okay! S-shit- I wasn’t gonna’ snitch, man, jeez.” The older man narrowed his eyes, shoving the garments into his bag and pushing past Toby after.
The car ride was oddly tense on Toby’s behalf, Hoodie glaring at him through the rearview mirror every few seconds. He shrank further into his seat and gave Masky a lacklustre thumbs up when he raised a brow from the passenger side.
The blonde felt bad to a certain extent. He knew Toby wasn’t ill-intentioned; it’s just that he couldn’t risk anyone tampering- whether by accident or not.
He’ll stop by the gas station and pick up the boys' favourite candy another day.
ᯓ★
This was it.
He felt like a grade-A dumbass loitering in public with the mascot head on, but it was for a greater purpose. And in all honesty, if it weren’t for the ludicrousity of the mask, his outfit was actually pretty passable, in his opinion.
A rustic tanned suit, beige dress shirt and slacks to match, the look finished with a muted yellow bowtie. He stood amongst the bustling fans as he waited for you to make your appearance. While he was utterly humiliated by his own choices, he was also filled with anticipation. You were going to be here. He was going to be able to hear your voice in person.
God, this was pathetic.
He scrunched his eyes shut, taking a moment to suppress the self-awareness. However, before he could spiral too far, a honeyed pitch echoed across the stage. It was a smaller setup, stationed close to the woodline for event privacy. The venue occupied was usually used for community plays, yet it was grand all the same.
You bounded out from beyond the draping curtains, waving animatedly to the audience. The blinding lights made you glow, multicoloured as they swooped the crowd before landing on you. Skirt swishing, he thinks he can see glitter explode out from your shoes when you step.
“Hello, my darlings! I’m so glad you could make it out tonight! There’s an urgent mission that needs your help. Who’s up for the challenge? Because we need the bravest and strongest at the frontlines.”
The show was made to be interactive. It didn’t act as the normal fan sign-up; instead, it was a live reenactment of your show's plotlines. You had weapon replicas for auction, along with games to play on stage to win extra items.
People were called up randomly, and the age demographic was shockingly vast. It turned out he wasn’t the only one who thought you were the greatest thing since sliced bread.
Originally, he wanted to try attaining an autograph- but pushing his way past people to get near the stadium front was something he would judge himself too much for. He settled on simply watching from a distance, enjoying himself for the evening and pretending he didn’t have enough blood on his hands to drown a nation.
However, in the middle of a spin-to-win type game, a “villain” jumped up from stage left. They swung their sword towards you, challenging you to a duel with a henchman at their side. You planted your heels firmly, hands on your hips, declaring. “Well then- I suppose I should call in my super secret backup!” You winked at the masses. “Where’s my sniper!” Then the beams of light circled the audience- sharply stopping directly on Brian.
The flashes made him squint even through the mask, and he faltered. Okay. Sure. If he could snipe men in moving cars, doing it for the sake of showbiz couldn’t be that hard, right?
The people around him cheered, lively, while he was ushered up. Now stationed on the platform, he drew a slow breath. It was too late to back out now, and if he was going to do this, he was going to go all the way. Brain kicking into gear as he transitioned into his improvised persona. He dropped into a deep bow, one hand on his chest, the other behind his back, when he rose. Thank god for his acting classes back in college.
“At your service, pretty miss.”
His mannerisms appeared to surprise you for a second, before your eyes sparkled. Grinning, you snatched a bedazzled rifle from your box of gadgets, tossing it at him before focusing on the threat. Your star-accented wand was pointed at the pair, with him joining you by your side- and the rest was history.
Hoodie stayed on stage for the majority of the night after that, since you seemed to take a liking to him. Naming him your “Trusted right-hand man.” The two of you battled various attackers, helping the younger fans aim with fake crystal laser canons and hyping up the crowd. As stupid as it might sound, it was the first time in years he’d laughed that much.
The kids were sweet, bushy-tailed, with enough energy to put Rogers to shame. It reminded him that not everyone out there was born cruel, that not every person who walked the earth had their fate damned to sin. And his banter with you was flawless.
You riffed off one another, bits on bits, your humour somehow lined up perfectly. He would throw out an idea, and you’d incorporate it into the next act like you’d known each other for years. You’d even said the same thing at the same time throughout the night, to the point where half the audience believed he was an unannounced hire.
Still, even the most sensational experiences had to come to an end. Slowly, the set began wrapping up, and you bid him goodbye, saying that if you ever needed help saving the world again, you’d know just who to call.
Walking back, his watch read ‘11:31 PM.’ A night well spent. He sighed, cracking his neck. He doubted he’d ever do anything like that again, but it was a good memory to keep. The night when he wasn’t a cold-blooded killer, but a wondrous hero who fought in the name of justice. It made him huff a chuckle quietly, going to remove the mask— he heard you.
“What the fuck-”
The panic in your voice had him straightening his spine, alert. He darted around the corner, boots thudding against concrete. The dim street lights showed him your silhouette a couple of paces down the block, terrified as you stumbled away from the source of your horror. A rake.
They roamed this part of the trees, normally scared off by noise, yet the hordes had faded. It was rare they came wandered this far, but he guessed the accumulated scent of humans lured the beast out for dinner.
Where was your security? Not that it mattered. You were alone and in danger, and he was not going to let you get hurt. The gun was in his hand before he registered that he was running.
He charged forward, mascot head still covering his features when he slid in front of you, pistol aimed at the creature.
You gasped. “It’s you.” Clutching your hands to your chest, you jolted back harshly, watching the disfigured husk lunge at him. Brian, on the other hand, barely flinching, pulled the trigger. The bullet pierced the rake's leg, and it screeched inhumanly.
Warping its limbs violently, it whirled a claw at your saviour, and he ducked smoothly, practiced. He moved skillfully, sweeping his leg to the left, then pushing in. He swerved to avoid another slash, jumping over a low hit before jamming the steel barrel under the thing’s jaw. Its brain’s splattered with the loud reverb from his pistol, and it slumped to the pavement.
Chest heaving, he rolled his shoulders back, not facing you while he tucked the gun into his waistband. “You alright?” You stuttered, disoriented. “Yeah- yeah. I’m fine. I think.” You didn’t know what just happened, a headache forming the longer you stared at the crumpled body on the ground. You glanced up, and he spun on his heel.
“Why are you out here?”
The teasing lilt you’d gotten accustomed to had vanished, replaced by a stern edge. You swallowed. “I was- I don’t know, it gets stuffy in the trailer. I wanted to walk for a bit.” The explanation made him grunt, clicking his tongue. “Bring yer’ people with you next time. This town’s not what it seems. It ain’t safe past dark.” You nodded, your mysterious co-star turning to leave, hauling the monster up by the arm to tow with him.
Your hand shot out, grabbing his sleeve, and he froze. “Thank you for saving me. Can I, um. Do anything for you?” It most likely wasn’t terribly smart to cling to him. It’s just that you were still shaken up, and you weren’t ecstatic about walking to the car by yourself. Dangerous or not, he clearly knew what he was doing. You were safer in his presence, you’re sure.
Sighing, his head tilted a fraction over his shoulder. “You should get back, missus. I’m not someone you wanna’ be around.” You pouted, desperate. You didn’t care anymore; you would beg if you had to. “Canyoupleasewalkmeback?” The words were rushed out- he hesitated, then the man turned to you. “If I walk you back, you can’t tell nobody I was with you. You hear me?” You nodded hurriedly once more, and he shucked the corpse onto the floor, making a mental note to take care of it after.
He stayed by your side until you reached the border of the stadium entrance, the distance chatter of your crew reaching his ears.
You mumbled, fidgeting with your thumbs. “Will I ever see you again?” He exhaled through his nose. “You should pray that you don’t.” With that, he swivelled around, his figure fading out of view and into the midnight.
Despite everything, his absence left you strangely empty.
ᯓ★
Almost a full week had passed, and Brian was back on schedule.
He still collected your magazines, keeping up with your episodes. He hated how badly he wanted to linger. Alas, it wasn’t safe. You’d already seen too much, and he couldn’t risk putting you in any more danger by staying longer than he had. Though the way you looked at him would play on loop every time he closed his eyes.
Your smile, how you held onto him during the walk. It felt nice to be able to comfort you. Even if you had no idea what you were getting into or who he really was, he liked to think that you meant it when you laughed with him.
Snagging a cigarette out from the box, it sat loosely between his lips as his lighter clicked to life. The flame sizzled against tobacco, and he shuffled through the newspaper lazily.
The truck was parked out in front of a corner store near the highway. They had just finished a stakeout, so he had room to breathe. Flipping to the next page, the header was printed with bolded text. He grinned.
Ive bene writing, but none of it is finished so I haven't really posted it, Ive kinda just been letting myself float from one thing to the next when I write since that's how my brain works
The joys of being unmedicated
I promise I WANT to write stuff, it's just genuinely hard for my brain to do so for making a finished product, and I don't wanna post anything for y'all that's half assed
except its just each night he tries an increasingly disgusting unethical kink on the reader
do we see the vision
@schrodingers-freak
WATER SPORTS 🗣️🎤‼️ WE PLAYIN WATER SPORTS 🎤‼️ INTERCOURSE 🗣️🎤‼️ HE PLUGGIN IN HER PORTS 🗣️‼️🎤
It’s humiliation + exhibition, cum-dump + free use, choking to your absolute limits, edging + branding, knife play + pet play, impact play + rope bunny reader, and water sports + cum-holding in that exact order.
lıllılı.ıll..ılı T. Wright + B. Thomas x F! Reader ıılıı.lllııılı..lıllıl
"Take a Slice - Glass Animals ⋅" ★ ➤ ➤
𝟶𝟷:𝟻𝟷 ━━━━━━●─── 𝟶𝟹:𝟶𝟹 ⇆ ◁ ❚❚ ▷ ↻
W/C: 12.6k // Summary: A tale as old as time. You’d been wed for years, and the sparkle that you had sworn was brighter than the sun itself had dimmed. Stuck in a lackluster marriage with nowhere to go, you accepted your fate. Until your husband goes missing, and upon his return, he seems… changed.
Reborn, with an insatiable appetite for you and you alone, suddenly the picture perfect spouse- is the man sleeping next to you really the one you’d fallen for at the start?
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Tags For The Series: The “coming back wrong” trope, toxic relationships, body shaming, arguments, canon level violence, dub-con, slight dead dove, doppelgängers, alternate timelines, cunnilingus, p in v, oral receiving (m), double penetration, breeding, marking, hurt/comfort, angst, domestic fluff, descriptive gore, dry humping (yay we cheered !!), OG! Tim is a bastard, and so is Brian, Dom + Sub themes, and rituals/sacrifices
A/N: OMG GUYS MY FIRST SERIES !! I’m very excited !! This was originally supposed to be a one shot, but the story is way too complex to fit into such a short length- anyway :pp HAPPY READING !! ^3^ kisses from me !! As always, art and headers done by yours truly <3
★Back to Masterlist★
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You loved your husband.
You did, promising your heart to him the day he got down on one knee. Since you’d met him, Tim had been a careful lover, attentive and thoughtful. He didn’t exactly scream his devotion to you from the rooftops, but he didn’t have to. Showing you how important you were to him through the little things, late drives, quality time, and simply unwinding together. You were happy.
It’s not as if you needed much; you never did. Never asked for more, even when he barely said those three special words back to you. “I love you,” you’d whisper, and he’d nod. Grunting quietly, squeezing your hand so you knew it was reciprocated. It was hard for him to express himself openly, letting himself be soft, letting himself be seen.
He had told you vaguely about his upbringing, how cruel it was, and you didn’t push further outside of those short moments. The topic was a scar, one that had never quite healed, scabbed over, and was hot to the touch. Your relationship had been far from perfect since the start, yet that didn’t matter; it was more than enough. Yes, it may not have been stereotypically romantic, and maybe it’s not what you had imagined growing up.
Head in the clouds, dreaming of a knight who would sweep you off your feet, dip you with a kiss that made the stars shine brighter than they ever had. He wasn’t a fan of the dramatics, his version of a date being a long car ride and a stop at the diner. And perhaps, there was a small part of you that longed for flowers, spontaneous but planned dinners.
The whole nine yards. Where you’d doll yourself up all pretty, Tim leaning down to kiss your ring, saying something so smooth that your stomach would fill with butterflies. Still, it wasn’t a necessity, and you were grateful for the life you had. It never bothered you, that unyielding wall of his, because he consistently reassured you through action.
It was just… sometimes, the years would develop a habit of dulling things.
It wasn’t his fault. Working long hours, out in the cold, in the middle of nowhere. Being employed in lumber was no joke. He’d rise before the sun, slipping from your side without a word, only to return after dusk.
You understood that he hadn’t suddenly stopped loving you because he was more tired, simply drained by the hard labour and harsh conditions that came with the job. Though the further you got into the marriage, the more the actions that you had clung to so dearly began fading into obscurity.
Dates growing far and few in between, you couldn’t help but start to feel lonely. Neglected, when he’d inevitably come home, brushing past you with a chaste peck to the temple. You couldn’t even remember the last time he’d looked at you with anything more than mild indifference.
If you asked him, he’d say you were beautiful. Tell you that you were getting into your head for no reason, and nothing would change. You’d tried a handful of times, going shopping with your friends, buying a lacey slip to surprise him with.
The disappointment had been gutwrenching.
He had stepped through the door and glanced at you briefly. Gave you a quick kiss as he mumbled something along the lines of “That’s nice, you going out?” Going out. He’d asked you if you were going out. Not even registering it was lingerie, that the supposed love of his life was standing centre of the living room in silk and garters.
Walking to the couch, he sprawled against the cushions. Cracking open a bottle and switching on the television, Tim hadn’t spared you another glimpse. Humiliation flooded your body when you stared at the mirror, the bathroom door locked.
You inspected your reflection, how the fabric hugged your curves, and you thought it was a good choice. At least a little enticing, you’d spent hours getting ready after all. Hyping yourself up, excitedly dusting your cheeks. It was the first time in months you’d genuinely felt pretty. And the most crushing part was that he seemed bored.
His gaze didn’t sweep your frame; he didn’t grab you hungrily, kissing you breathless before tossing you on the bed. It made you feel stupid to think he’d care, embarrassed to assume he still saw you like that. In that moment, the shame felt oddly familiar. Reminding you of an instance in the past.
Brian. Tim’s best friend. His right-hand man, they grew up together, inseparable from the start. He never liked you. Of course, he hadn’t explicitly stated the fact, yet it didn’t make it any less obvious. You’d interrupted once, when they were hanging out near the porch, chatting next to his truck parked in the driveway. Missing your husband, you decided to meet him at the front, the warmth dwindling the closer you got.
Brian was talking about you, making comments about how you weren’t what he was expecting. That when Tim said he had settled down, he’d thought you’d be more “Y’know.” You hated that you knew what he meant. Your man had a type, flings from bars and bottle girls he’d pulled into motels for the night. Bombshells, Brian called them, and apparently, you were not up to par.
Your heart sank, tears pricked at your eyes, and you had turned around. Tim barely defended you, brushing the questions off with an unbothered “She’s good to me, that’s all I need.” When he eventually came inside, you were already tucked under the covers. Sniffling silently, he didn’t say a word. Gone by the time you awoke, he never brought it up.
The memory haunted you. Swallowing the hurt down for weeks until you forced yourself to move on. Tim started staying out later. Choosing to stop by the pub, his group of coworkers invited him to drink. Let loose, and you doubted any of them cared enough to remember that you were waiting on him. They talked about you, too, probably made quips at your expense, throwing jabs at your appearance.
You wouldn’t be shocked if he joined them. A while ago, when you’d brought him lunch, and the minute you walked in, they went dead quiet. Like they all knew something you didn’t. An inside joke you weren’t allowed to be a part of. The worst of them being Jeremy Sanders. A couple of years older than Tim, he was rowdy and never once thought before he spoke.
He stuck out more than the rest; it wasn’t even just his mannerisms. Dingy “Houston Astros” baseball hat worn askew on his head, with a beat-up flip phone in his hand, and the stench of stale sweat wafting from his clearly unwashed clothes- Sanders dressed the part of a sleaze to a T.
The man even whistled at you one time, yelling, “Shit, I mean- if you don’t want her, I’ll take her- I’m easy, I promise.” And Tim had barked at him to shut his trap. They still got drinks together, though.
Then came the lingering leers.
You didn’t go out often, yet when you did, you swore his eyes would stray from yours. Casting looks at the women that passed you by, and you realize that deep down, he’d never actually commit to it. But that hadn’t prevented your nails from digging into your palm anyway. Everything came to a peak when he returned from a particularly exhausting shift. And you weren’t faring any better.
Earlier that day, you had gone to a local bakery, a hole-in-the-wall type of business. Hazy lighting overhead, with earth-toned decorations lining the walls, made it cute. Cozy in a way that made you smile, waiting in line, when a laugh caught your attention. A couple. Her ring sparkling in the sun, glimmering as her lover whispered into her ear.
Linking their fingers together, she giggled. Hushed and love-sick, the corner table was filled with desserts. You always had a sweet tooth, the fridge never had room for them, though, Tim said they weren’t ‘practical’. As if joy had to be. He told you they wouldn’t fill you up, wouldn’t provide the right nutrition. Muttering that you didn’t need the extra carbs, changing the subject while you yanked at your shirt, sucking in just a little.
There was no point, and if Brian was there, you’d be even more stuck. His eyes would pan down your body, judgment stale in the air; you disliked it most when he visited. An outsider in your own home, your efforts to appease them would isolate you. Tim would give you a tight half-smile, his friend boring holes into you. It was a lose-lose situation.
The pair leaned into each other, and a disgusting envy crawled up your throat. Blistering and ugly, you watched as they kissed, softly, real.
It splintered terribly hollow in your chest.
So when a monotone remark left his lips that night, the dam broke. Spilling every tiny thing that had collected over the years, it was killing you. The weight was too heavy to carry any longer. You don’t know exactly when it happened, but at some point- your house had stopped being a home.
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Throwing his coat onto the sofa, Tim ran a hand down his face. “Where the fuck are you getting this from-“ Already sick of your nagging, he sighed. Boots kicked off only a minute ago; he couldn’t even remember what he’d said to set you off. His tone lit your nerves, you scoffed. “You’re never home- and you don’t talk to me.” What the hell was your problem? He’d been gone all day; the last thing he needed was you bitching at him about shit that didn’t matter. “I’m talking to you right now, ain’t I?”
You were staring at a stranger, his eyes void of any fondness or understanding.
“You know what I mean-“
“Do I? ‘Cause all I’m hearing is that you’re in yer’ fucking head again.”
Said sternly, his patience waning by the second. “All I ask- is for some peace and fucking quiet. How hard is that for you to understand?“ It hurt. Sure, you came on stronger than you had intended to; you just wanted comfort. For him to reassure you, hold you for longer than ten seconds. Remind you he still loved you. Instead, he scowled, standing in front of you with irritation staining his features.
“I know that- I just- it feels like you can barely tolerate me sometimes-“ letting out a humourless laugh, you throw your arm up. “We never do anything. We don’t go on dates, we don’t kiss for more than a second at a time-“ You paced back and forth, desperate to get through to him. Find the man who would ruffle your hair when you were sad, the one who turned on your favourite song in the car.
“When was the last time we even fucked, Tim-“ And he groaned, “Is that what this is about? Because you’re needy? Give me a break.” It was like he wasn’t listening to you, picking and choosing what to respond to. “You know what? Yeah. It is. You don’t look at me- and you act as if it’s such a chore to even hug me when you get home-“ cutting you off, he sneered.
“Jesus fuck- because it is. I’m tired as shit, alright? I can’t just drop everything ‘cause you feel lonely-“ pinching the bridge of his nose, he exhaled harshly. “Fuckin’ suffocating me every goddamn second- like Christ have some self respect.” Your throat felt tight. Frustrated and overwhelmed, you snapped. “So I’m a chore now? Because you fucking hate me, right?” Tugging at his hair, his voice raised. Booming through the walls.
“I didn’t fucking say that-“
“You didn’t have to.”
“Oh, here we fuckin’ go-“
He slammed his keys onto the coffee table, jaw tensed. “You always do this- head shoved up your ass. Whining about shit that ain’t real, I work day and night- making sure you’re fed. Would it kill you to give me some space?” The marriage you had crafted so tenderly, built from the ground up, was falling apart before you.
Tears welling up, is that what he thought of all this? Of you? Just a leeching parasite, someone he had to take care of, not because he wanted to. But because he was forced to. Your love was a trap he’d been shackled with, something to withstand, instead of basking in. “All I want is for you to listen. It doesn’t even feel like I’m yours anymore-“ Interupting you with a disbelieving snort, “And now you’re crying, great. So I’m the bad guy, right? Do you hear yourself? Making shit up to yell about- you don’t get tired of it?”
When had he gotten so mean?
“Making shit up? Did I make it up when Brian said I wasn’t enough for you? When you stare at the girls walking past-“ Grief bubbling to the surface, your insecurities finally breached. The salt wet your cheeks, dripping down and soaking your collar.
There had been a time when the sight would’ve had Tim cradling you close. And that broke your heart something awful. “When your friends laugh at me- and don’t say they don’t because I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it, Tim, hurrying me out when I visit you, like you’re ashamed of me. Do you think I’m stupid? Honestly, do you think I’m genuinely such a fucking idiot that I don’t notice?” Your tangent was gaining speed, angry and betrayed as you sobbed.
The look on his face told you everything you needed to know. Confirming your worst fears, while he stood across from you, stunned, his expression unreadable.
“Why are we doing this, huh? You obviously stopped giving a shit- I mean, do you even love me anymore?” Hiding your sorrow behind your palms, you wiped roughly at the tears, and he crossed the room in strides. Pulling you to his chest, he sighed. “Don’t say that, I didn’t- fuck. Of course I love you, I just… I fucked up, alright?” Mumbling into your hairline, his arm wrapped around your back.
“They don’t know what the hell they’re talking about. I just gotta’ work with them, and I rush you out ‘cause you don’t need to hear that bullshit. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” The promise had you clinging to him; it felt good. Being held made it easy to forget your hurt, made it easy to trust his words.
The next couple of weeks were a dream. He would come home earlier, taking you out to the diner you’d met at, his jacket hanging off your shoulders while you walked to the car. Kissed you and bed you, the sex was good. Not mind-blowing, and perhaps you wouldn’t finish every time, it was just nice.
Having him over you, having him close, whispering until you fell asleep. You felt slightly guilty about lying, faking your moans near the end. He was giving you what you wanted, wasn’t he? And Tim didn’t talk you through it or anything like that, you simply enjoyed seeing him bare. As close to vulnerability as you could get. It wasn’t grand, but it was enough. You were happy, and for a moment, you believed him.
However, bliss never stuck around for long, now did it?
Slowly but surely, things had fallen back into routine. Tim once again drifts, returning later and later. Not bothering to ask you how your day was, your conversations growing bleak. Stale, after the feigned honeymoon phase had faded. And you realized you were stuck.
Even if you had cried again, brought up his lack of effort, what would come of it? The same two, three weeks of recycled lines and dates? It’s not like you could leave either; he paid for everything and took care of the finances. You had your savings, sure, they wouldn’t get you far, though. Up-rooting out of nowhere, abandoning your friends and family- where would you even go?
The people were close-knit, and unless you moved towns completely, you’d run into him constantly. Adding onto that, you still loved him. Despite it all, the arguments, the loneliness, you still searched for him in every room you entered. The worn-down ache of what could have been crippling you. Living more in your daydreams than in the present, and chasing false shadows in the dark.
You think it must be a fate worse than death to be in love with a man who didn’t exist.
Sitting on the edge of the mattress, you let yourself descend. Back hitting the plush duvet, you glanced over. He was packing for a work trip; his job had assigned him a position across the state. His hands were picking up tools and organizing the clutter while you stared into the fireplace. The hearth had been built into your bedroom, a brick chimney stretching to the ceiling, directly in front of the frame.
You had always pictured setting up a seating area next to it, a rug and pillows to cozy up to. He never indulged you. Scolded you half-heartedly, telling you that it was childish to sit on the floor.
The flames crackled, and he spoke, “I won’t be gone longer than a week.” Not looking up and zipping his carrier closed, you hummed. “Okay.” With that, he slung the pack over his shoulder. Nodding at you, he marched out the double door. His footsteps thudding faintly down the stairs. For a cabin structured from earth and trees as old as time itself, you would’ve expected it to feel warmer.
Tim had stopped kissing you goodbye years ago.
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The days flew by swiftly.
Busying yourself with hobbies, you waited as you always did. Deciding that if this were your life, you were going to make the best of it. His absence bothered you a little, not that it was something you weren’t used to. Tidying up around the home, reading when you wanted to relax, it was pleasant. You didn’t often have the house for this long; his getaways normally only lasted about a couple of days at most.
You wanted to treat yourself, you’d been stressed. Pessimistic, due to your struggles involving your more or less devoted husband. And what better way to unwind than a night on the town? Getting dressed, you slipped on your favourite pair of shoes. You saved the pair for special occasions, having bought them with a fancy dinner in mind. They had been collecting dust in the back of your closet, so putting them on now felt a tad exciting.
Straightening your outfit in the mirror, you did a spin. This was fun. You thought you looked pretty, the hues accenting your skin, hair done up in a way that framed your face. A part of you wished Tim were here to see it- shaking your head, you quickly suppressed the thought. Today was about you. Smacking your lips together to even out the pigment, you headed to the door. Locking it behind you with a newfound determination.
The booths lit up the streets in sparks of colours. Lining the sidewalks as you went, the crowd was bustling and lively. Weaving through the groups, a sparkle from one of the shop tables caught your eye. A necklace. Adorned with sapphires and jewels, it was the most stunning thing you’d ever seen. Your jewellery collection was… lacklustre, for lack of a better term.
The gifts and shopping were done on his dime, and it wasn’t that you were impoverished, far from it, actually. He just never saw the use in having multiple options to choose from. Saying you were fine how you were, and that there was no need for the extra extravagance. You weren’t materialistic by any means; it was just you’d always had an appreciation for the finer things.
The brooch would’ve been a perfect anniversary present. In another life, your lover would have shown up at the stroke of midnight, bouquet in hand, with a decorated box at his side. Sliding the bijouterie around your neck, sweeping your hair aside to clasp it shut. Walking to the display, you stared at the gems, hung up on a velvet bust. Oh, how you had never wanted anything more. You bit your lip, cautiously lifting the price tag, and the number had your jaw dropping. Nearly three grand.
Pouting, you huffed. Tracing the delicate metal with your thumb, Tim would kill you if you bought it. You couldn’t, but god if you wouldn’t dream of it. Browsing the rest of the selection, making pretend outfits in your head with each bracelet and ring you admired, you giggled. Looking never hurt anybody, and you were having a good time.
“The necklace to your liking, miss?”
Gaze darting up, you met eyes with the seller. An older fellow with thick circular-rimmed glasses perched on his nose bridge. “Oh, it’s beautiful, but I was just looking.” Glancing back at the jewellery in question, it glimmered radiantly in the soft glow. “Well, if you change your mind, I could put it on hold for you?” The question made you pause, put on hold?
Perhaps you could save up, pick up a side gig somewhere. Help out your neighbours here and there; it’d take a while, but surely you could make it. You already had some checks set to the side for miscellaneous expenses, and it realistically wouldn’t take too long. Debating for a beat, you perked up, “I- okay, yes. Could you put it on hold?” And he nodded, a welcoming grin pulling at his mouth. “Sure thing, she’s a one of a kind piece, I’ll have you know. It’ll look real nice on someone like you.”
You watched him take it off the stand, placing it in a silk-lined box, then shutting the latch. Scribbling “Reserved” on a sticky note, before turning to you. “I’ll be seeing you around, then?” Laughing, you agreed, “I’ll be back, just need to save up a little.” The small talk was light, and he waved you off warmly. Continuing on your adventure, the interaction had boosted your mood. Your heels clicking against the gravel, when you stopped, tilting your head in confusion. Tim’s friends.
His companions gathered around another booth a few feet from you. You could’ve sworn he told you that they had all been shipped off to the same place. They were assigned by section, never sent one by one, so what were they doing in town? It had been five days since he’d left, which wasn’t out of the norm; he had finished jobs early before- but Tim hadn’t called you once. If you weren’t there when he arrived, you knew he’d try contacting you.
The tallest of the bunch did a double-take, and recognition flickered across his face. Calling out to you, he shouted. “Where’s Tim?” The men surrounding him snickered. You hated talking to them, yet your worry overshadowed your need for comfort. Where was Tim? Now you were even more lost; they could’ve been mocking you, you supposed. It was just such a strange jab, and with the way his attention stayed on you, he seemed like he was genuinely curious. Making your way to the group, you stood in front of his coworkers. “I’m sorry- did you guys just get back?” He raised his eyebrow, and you couldn’t blame him.
They weren’t even in their work clothes, and they smelled of booze and greasy takeout. It didn’t make sense; they had to have just returned.
“Just get back? The hell are you on about? We got back Tuesday.” The rest were focused on you, atmosphere heavy with judgment. Tim had left on a Sunday; the drive alone would have taken him a full twenty-four hours. If they were back now, that would have to have meant—
“The job got cancelled, drove all the fuckin’ way out there- just for boss to tell us it was ’too dangerous’. Some bullshit if you ask me-“
Another one of them chimed in, “Shit, the storms messing with my paycheck now? I mean, come on-“
The chatter faded into the background, replaced by the blood roaring in your ears. Excusing yourself with a clumsy apology, you rushed home. The memory of them standing there replaying, wait. This wasn’t adding up; they always hung out as a unit, but after doing a mental head count- you realized at least three of them were missing.
Stumbling through the front door, you dropped onto the couch, trying to rationalize the situation. Tim, Brian, and Sanders, all out of the picture. Nausea started to fill your gut, heavy as a brick in your stomach. Where was he? Tim may have neglected you, but this was something else entirely. To leave suddenly on a trip and not tell you? That had to be out of the question. Was he hiding something from you? He wouldn’t lie to you, would he? Running off with a mistress and leaving you in the dust- that didn’t feel right either. If he had, he would’ve definitely told his friends.
They were irritating bastards, that’s what made them easy to read. They would’ve shoved it in your face, laughed at your misery, and they didn’t. Appearing almost as confused as you were. You felt sick. Rising from your spot, you paced. Grabbing your phone and dialing the only person you could think of. Brian. He would have to know where Tim was, right?
It rings once, twice, three times— nothing. Voice mail echoing from your speaker, and you called him again. Every time it would ring for the full bit, then cut after the recorded message. The job had been cancelled from the start, so where the fuck was he? Panic trickled in, making your hands shake.
You racked your brain for anything that hinted at his whereabouts. They said they’d returned due to unsafe working conditions; had something happened to him? Images of his car flipped on the highway flashed through your mind. What if he was— no. No, no-nononono- this wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be, not right now, not to you. It wasn’t real; this was all just a terrible nightmare, and you’d wake up any second.
Bile at the back of your throat, breath coming in short puffs, and your vision blurred. You slid down the wall, collapsing, and you hiccuped. You were terrified. For him, for yourself, and what would become of you now. Problems or not, he was yours, loving him more than you thought you could love anything. You’d take it all back if you could, every complaint, every argument.
Keep your mouth shut forever if you had to, as long as he came home. Never utter a single word if it meant that he would return to your arms, safe and with a beating heart.
You blacked out on the hardwood that night. The storm battering against your windows, glass vibrating from the force. And when your eyes opened, his boots were still missing from the entryway.
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It had been exactly one week, two days, and fifteen hours since Timothy Wright had gone missing.
You were falling apart at the seams. Switching between mourning him, then talking yourself into believing he was still out there. Just lost, that’s all. Filing the police report the morning you woke up, the officers told you, “Not to worry.” He was a grown man carrying all his paperwork on him- and how could you explain that this wasn’t like that? That it wasn’t like him to get up and leave- yet they stared at you anyway. Pity in their gaze, you knew what you looked like.
A desperate wife, far too concerned for her obviously non-commital husband. They accepted the report nonetheless and turned you away, acting as if they knew him. Were you naive? Had he really abandoned you? Simply growing bored, deciding it was better this way, and finding some girl to disappear with. You barely ate, more restless and tormented with each hour that passed.
Your closest friends had tried their best to help, but they couldn’t truly understand, now could they? Either telling you that acceptance was the first step, or to try and calm yourself while law enforcement searched. You knew they weren’t looking. Refusing to waste their efforts on a person who clearly did not want to be found. What were you supposed to do? And perhaps, Tim had planned this from the start, counting down the days until his work trip to make his escape. It’s just- was it so wrong to expect better of him?
If he was going to leave you, you would’ve thought he’d at least have the decency to get a divorce. Not fake his death and never talk to you again.
Rolling onto your stomach, you buried your face into the (his) pillow. Cuddling the fabric, lying on his side of the bed, gave you a sense of comfort. You had put on his old flannel, the one he’d forgotten to pack. Sniffling, you curled into a ball. This was awful. What was worse? Staying in a constant cycle of mystery, not knowing if he was even alive- or having his finality be confirmed?
Having to live without him for the rest of your years. Strands sticking out at odd angles, your hair was a mess. Was this why he left? Because you didn’t take care of yourself? You had caught a glimpse of your reflection earlier, when you were digging through his closet, and the sight made you grimace. Rubbing your eyes, you exhaled miserably, ready to turn in for the night.
It felt like you’d been awake for too long, even though you’d just rotted in your room all day. Lids drooping, a hazy fog fell over you; maybe you could pretend he was on the way home. Only ten minutes away, and he’d be walking through the door the moment you lost consciousness. What a nice thought. Slumber winning the fight as you sagged against the mattress—
Click.
Your eyes shot open, what? The sound of the front door unlocking immediately sent alarm bells off in your head. No one had the key. No one, except you and-
Tim.
Throwing the blankets off of you, you jumped out of bed. Stumbling over your feet, you ran out of your shared quarters and raced down the stairs. Adrenaline searing from head to toe, your heart thumped rapidly while you rounded the bottom step. It had to be him. It had to be. You rushed through the halls, finally arriving at the foyer, and you couldn’t believe it.
There he was, shuffling off his work boots, completely fine. Standing with his back turned to you, without a scratch on him from what you could tell. Relief flooded you. Bounding up to him, you threw your arms around his middle, nuzzling your face into his jacket. And in your excitement, you had failed to realize that he was at least half a foot taller than when you’d last seen him.
Letting out a choked laugh, you could cry. “I was so worried- I thought- I thought something happened to you. Where have you been?“ His hand wrapped around your forearm, tugging you around and to his front. Palm soothing up and down your spine, and you grasped at his shirt. Cheek pressed against the cotton, he chuckled.
“Musta’ scared you somethin’ terrible, buttercup.” Opening your mouth to respond, you paused.
His voice. Tim’s cadence had always been on the deeper side, but the base of his words had you stunned. Gravelly, with the baritone rumbling in his chest. Also- buttercup? Even at the beginning of your relationship, when you couldn’t get enough of each other, he never called you anything like that. He wasn’t fond of nicknames, preferring what was on your birth certificate instead. Pulling back, you looked up, gasping. Scars.
He was littered with them, smaller ones slashed across his face, some poking out of his collar. And now that you could analyze his form, when had he gotten this jacket? It was clearly lived in, the tan leather fraying at the edges, scuffed up from years of use. Brows furrowed in confusion, you mumbled, “What… happened out there?” You didn’t know what you were expecting. However, it was most definitely not the snicker that left his lips. Your husband wasn’t constantly stone-faced, of course- yet he wasn’t exactly easy-going either.
Down to the way he carried himself, his body language was entirely different. Almost teasing, his thumb traced idle circles at your hip.
“It was awful. Big crash on the highway- swear I had to fight my way back to you, babydoll.”
The sugary pet names flowed off his tongue with practice. His answer should have made sense, but he seemed so unbothered by everything. Tim had been missing for almost two weeks, and currently, he was brushing it off as if it were simply a bad weekend. Before you could question him further, he sighed, kissing the crown of your head. “I’m starvin’, why don’t we eat out tonight? ‘M sure yer’ exhausted, my poor girl, hm?”
Accent heavier than you’d ever heard, maybe the crash rewired him or something. You’d seen articles about it, when people would wake up from comas speaking different dialects. Still, it was nearly uncanny how he handled you. Uncharacteristically charming as he took your hand in his, making his way to the kitchen with you in tow. Closing in on the island, he scooped you up like you weighed nothing. Not a single grunt when he sat you on the counter. Had he always been this strong?
The skin on his palms felt calloused against your bare skin, and he squeezed the plush of your thighs. Crowding you at the table's ledge, he cocked his head to the side. “What’s on your mind, sug’?” Hushed, his tone gentle. The way he said it had your face hot. It wasn’t even just how he spoke to you; it was his gaze. Warm and endeared, he looked at you like you were the only woman alive. His features were sharper, too, as if he really had fought his way back to you. Slaying monsters to reach your doorstep.
The room suddenly seemed smaller. You stuttered, “I don’t know, I was worried about you. Are you- um, okay? Did you go to a hospital?” Timid, fiddling with the hem of his zipper, he cooed. “Oh, ain’t you just the sweetest thing? I’m right as rain, promise.” The affection was layered on thick, his attention overwhelming you. Parting from you, he patted his jeans, humming. “I’m all over the place today- guess I’m more shaken up than I thought. Would you be a doll and lend me yer’ phone? Think I lost mine.” Nodding, you slipped the device out of the flannel's breast pocket, handing it over to him.
Going to swipe the screen, he stopped, clicking his tongue. “Could ya’ unlock it?” He appeared almost bashful, asking you. You thought he had memorized your password ages ago. Though that was prior to the crash.
Typing out the code, you passed it to him once more. Watching him scroll through local restaurants- he probably wanted to order from that diner again. “I’ll just get the usual; we haven’t had it in a while.” Which was true; while it was a place you’d frequented often, you hadn’t been on one of those drives in months. Tim raises a brow at you,
“From where, hun?”
“The diner, you know- with the sausage you like.”
It wasn’t uncommon for people to need time to get back into the swing of things. He most likely had to go into survival mode when he was out there. The thought of him shivering made your heart heavy. It wasn’t your favourite, but eating a meal he loved with him after something that traumatic was the least you could do. Blinking at you, he huffed. “You sure that’s what you want? I know you don’t like heavy dishes this late.” That had you leaning back.
You’d mentioned it briefly once, but he just never brought it up. It was such a tiny detail to worry over, so why did he care? Especially now of all times. “I don’t mind, it’s your favourite. And I think you deserve it.” You quipped, smiling softly. Yet, he seemed more displeased than ever. Waving his hand in the air, he focused back on the phone.
“The hell I do- how about we try that little Italian place? The one close by, somethin’ real cozy.” He looked at you expectantly, and you swallowed. This was… new. “Um, sure. Do you think you’ll like it though?” With a side eye that could kill, he shut down your doubt, “It’s dinner with you, sugar. What’s not to like?” Stated like a fact, he leans in, settled amidst your spread legs. “The cars totaled, mm. I know this is a lot to ask, but if Brian drives us, would ya’ mind if he stayed for the meal? He’d whine about being a cab if he didn’t.”
The consideration was sweet. Tim never really asked if Brian could come over; it was more something you’d have to find out. The annoyed glare you got when you’d enter the occupied room was an alert on its own. And you could tolerate Brian’s judgment if it meant Tim would keep acting like this. “Okay, I mean- as long as he wants to.” Honestly, you’d be surprised if he agreed to the plan, though your lover looked certain nonetheless.
He grunted in acknowledgement and swiped to his friend's contact. Clicking the ID, he laughs, “Saved by his last name? That’s cold, baby.”
You had no idea what that was supposed to mean. He knew well that Brian wasn’t fond of you. Perhaps the accident had caused them both to rethink their ways, and that was a nice notion. Sending the short message, he placed the phone down. Noses brushing together, and the atmosphere turned soft. “Missed you, y’know that? Thought I was gonna’ die out there without my pretty wife.” Flirty, and you held your breath.
The tips of your ears flushed, you didn’t know how long this would last, but you’d savour it anyway. Sighing, you toyed with his collar. “What’s gotten into you? You’re never this- I don’t know, sappy?” His expression made you giggle.
Offended, it was boyish in a way you weren’t used to. “What? I can’t be sweet on my lady?” Butterflies filled your stomach. His lady, since when had he become such a smooth talker? Ducking down just a tad, you hid your face in the hollow of his shoulder. The man who’d seen you at your worst- even causing it at times- suddenly felt like a crush.
It was the strangest thing.
You supposed it made sense; he had just returned from a life-altering incident. Maybe he was simply grateful to be home, the near-death experience making him realize how much you meant to him. Still, that didn’t explain the mass he’d accumulated in the span of just two weeks.
Tim worked in lumber, and he was never weak per say. However, his shoulders had broadened a remarkable amount; even through the jacket, you could see the outlines of his arms.
The curve of his bicep, with roped muscle straining against the leather. Black cotton pulled taut over his chest every time he moved. Could someone really build up that much from adrenaline and forced survival alone? And how did he recover so fast? The scars that littered his frame were long healed over, some layered at certain conjunctures. As if they’d closed, just for the skin to be lacerated once again.
Confusion swarmed you, yet another feeling overpowered that while you cuddled deeper into his hold. Attraction.
Did it make you a bad person for thinking that he looked... good, like this? Rugged and charming, with lazy grins to last you for miles. He reminded you of the outlaws from the romance books you’d read. Cunning, swauve, where they didn’t even try, and he flirted like he hadn’t already won you. A dangerous edge to his words, even the ones laced with sugar.
It contrasted his actions, handling you like you’d shatter. Your flesh was a mirrored slate, one that he refused to mar with his touch. For every cruel print he’d leave would only reflect back onto him.
You hummed, basking in it, “I missed you too. I cried every day; it was terrible-” Burrowing into his collar, you continued. “... I like it when you’re like this. When you hold me.” The confession left your lips hushed. Fragile, as it hung in the air. “C’mon now, yer’ actin’ like I don’t kiss up on you every damn day, sug’.” Muttering into your hair, he twirled the strands around his finger.
Your saddened puff makes him pause, “I know, it’s just... it’s stupid-” before you could withdraw from him further, he grabs your chin. Tilting you up to meet his gaze, “It ain’t stupid, and I can’t be good to ya’ if you don’t talk to me, now can I?” He coerced your vulnerability, running his thumb along your bottom lip.
Peering at him through your lashes, you sighed. “Sometimes it feels like you don’t like me as much- not that I’m unhappy, I just- I mean, you’re good to me. You are, and you’re busy- I get it, I just wish you were...” Tucking a stray hair behind your ear, he waited patiently for you to finish. “I don’t know, I just- wish you were here more. I- I like talking to you, but you’re always tired when you get home. It’s not your fault, I just get lonely sometimes.” Trailing off, your thoughts failed to stitch together under his watchful eye.
His face was unreadable, then, for a split second, something sparked. Anger akin to disgust.
It sent a shiver down your spine, and was gone as fast as it came. Expression shifting to guilt, he clicked his tongue, “So I’ve been bad to you, huh?” Pressing a soft kiss to your temple, he continued. “Ain’t no point in denying it now- but you listen and you listen good. I swear to you, I will spend as long as it goddamn takes makin’ it up to you, ya hear? And if I ever make you cry again, you better take my rifle and aim it right at my head, 'cause I’ve clearly lost my mind, gorgeous-”
He cupped your face, shaking you to exaggerate his point, and you giggled. Your joy pleased him. Leaning in, he littered your cheeks with quick pecks. “Neglectin’ my pretty wife- that don’t even sound like me. You sure it was me and not some other bastard with sideburns?” The kitchen lit up with your laughter, and you swatted at his arm. Hands reaching to cradle his jaw, you vowed to keep this memory with you forever.
A tender warmth bloomed beyond your ribs, and it felt as if this singular moment had rewritten all the hurt he’d ever dealt you.
Resting your forehead on his, your breath fanned across his skin. Intimate in a way you had longed for since you’d met him. Cheesy and cozy, you think your heart has grown wings. Soaring high above the clouds, carried by his promise and the sincerity behind it. Lips inching closer and closer, “Tim-”
HONK!
The abrasive noise cut through your carefully created atmosphere. Brian’s car horn barked loudly from the driveway, and your disappointment was palpable. Tim snickered, parting from you, he straightened his coat. “Speak of the devil, he times it to ruin me, I swear-” Rolling up his sleeves, he extended a hand, helping you off the counter.
Rushing up the stairs, you got dressed as fast as you could, throwing on a cute enough outfit. You met him in the foyer, his boots already on. Giving you a scan, he huffed. “You’re cruel, my girl. Lookin’ like that and expectin’ me t’want to leave.” Your cheeks felt hot. You weren’t wearing anything special in your opinion, yet with the way he stared at you- you’d think you were standing there in nothing but a garter. “Enough, he’s probably getting impatient.” The shy grumble had him chuckling. Opening the door, he gestured for you to walk out.
The night air was crisp, breeze gracing your skin in waves. The headlights blared against the pavement as you walked to the truck. You couldn’t help but feel a pit form in your stomach. Dread trickled in like a leaky tap; your evening had been picturesque up until this point. Knowing Brian, though, he’d inevitably say something that would tank your mood. Approaching the vehicle slowly, caution in your stride when his silhouette came into view. However, the minute he saw you, Brian let out a low whistle.
You barely recognized him at first. He was taller, and even the way he leaned against the car had changed. “Well, I’ll be damned if it ain’t the missus.” Greeting you with a mock salute, he sniggered. “Can see why Tim was late-” And your lover exhaled heavily next to you, “You’ll shut that maw of yer’s if you know what’s good for you.” Disgruntled as ever, he shook his head, shooting you a look.
Okay. That was definitely different.
Usually, when you had to interact with Brian for whatever reason, he was mildly annoyed at the least and fully irritated at the worst. Now, he seemed borderline elated. Cheery, while he caught up with Tim, it was almost uncanny. Inspecting him at a closer distance, he had also somehow accumulated a collection of scars. The most striking one slashed across his face, stretching from under his lip to over his brow. He catches your curious leer, cocking his head to the side with a knowing smirk.
“Somethin’ on your mind, pretty miss?” His acknowledgement and praise throw you off. Stuttering to come up with an excuse, he interrupted you. “Kidding. You’re so jumpy, darlin’. S’just me.” The jab was playful, his hands held up in feigned surrender. “Is he that terrible to ya’? Tim, y’bastard- the hell you doin’ all day that’s got ‘er this stiff?” Said with a shit eating grin plastered across his face, Tim elbowed him in the ribs. Groaning from the impact, he snorts,
“See that? He’s mean ta’ me too, say the word and I can get ya’ far away from here-”
“Shut the fuck up, Brian.”
Not amused in the slightest, he yanks open the backseat. Ushering you into the truck while ignoring his proclaimed best friend. Settling against the cushion, Tim clicked the safety belt into place over your lap. Their dynamic was different, too. They’d always been close, but never this... Jokey? And Brian sure as hell never actively spoke to you, let alone enough to banter. The most you’d get from the stoic man was a harsh glare, and that was on good days.
They rounded the car, Brian behind the wheel, with Tim slipping into the passenger side. The engine sputtered to life, and you were on the road.
At least ten minutes had passed before you broke the silence. “Was it- um, were you both in the crash?” Brian answered you first, tutting quietly, “The crash? Ah, yeah. Real nasty thing, scuffed us up good.” Pausing, he hummed. “Must’ve been scary for you, havin’ to wait on your mister. We would’a got back sooner if we could- but the storm ‘n all that.” You fidgeted with your sleeve, eyes darting up at the rearview mirror, and Brian was already staring back at you. He focused back on the road after a beat, and you blinked.
Jeremy Sanders. Both the boys were back, so that probably meant he was too, right? “Is Sanders okay? I mean, I’m just assuming - I think his wife filed a missing persons report, so.” Your comment made them exchange glances, the space abruptly tense.
Tim was the one who responded this time, “S’that right? Mm, don’t think we saw ‘im that day. Did we, Bri?” And his friend nodded lazily, agreeing with a grunt. “No, sir. Can’t recall speakin’ to a Sanders. You sure he ain’t come back with the rest, dolly?” Tapping his gloved fingers on the wheel, you had no idea why you felt so uneasy.
Their answers were plain. Yet, there was this odd, unspoken truth between them, something that clung to the men in smoke. “Really? Maybe I’m misremembering- it’s just I ran into your coworkers at the market, and he wasn’t there—” Tim cut you off sharply, the ice in his tone stunning you. “Did they say anything to you?”
Cold, with an underlying razor edge, and Brian chimed in. “S’okay, you can tell us. Them boys have no manners, wouldn’t know respect if it shot ‘em between the fuckin’ eyes.”
His teasing lilt had vanished. Goosebumps prickled your skin; it wasn’t like he raised his voice- if anything, he was far too calm. Monotone, as the eerie silence dragged on longer than comfortable.
All of a sudden, you weren’t in a car with your husband and an old companion, but locked in a cage with two predators. And you’d dropped the key.
Self-awareness appeared to be a practiced talent because, as your anxiety built, Brian snorted. “Christ, that drive back was brutal though- wasn't it, Tim?” He scoffed, “That’s one way to put it. Had me freezin’ my balls off out there.” And Brian snickered, gasping dramatically.
“You kiss your woman with that mouth? Oh, darlin’, how the hell do you put up with him? Lord knows I couldn’t.”
“Well, God didn’t mean for everybody to be smart, and that’s exactly why yer’ here-”
Their bickering picked back up, with the occasional inclusion of your name in the mix. Successfully switching subjects, yet your confusion lingered. They answered your questions directly; there was nothing about it that should’ve made you feel this way. So why? Before you could truly dwell on it, the truck tires screeched to a halt. You had arrived.
Unlatching the seat belt, Tim opened the door to your right, steadying you when you hopped out. Brian followed closely, and the three of you headed to the entrance.
It was a cozy eatery. Family-owned, with rustic lighting and exposed brick. The heat from the open kitchen wafted across the floors, immediately warming your numbed fingers. Breathing in, you felt looser, maybe you were being paranoid- and it was never too late to grow as a person.
“Hi! Welcome to The Greenery, table for three?”
The hostess greeted you enthusiastically, smiling when you confirmed. Leading you to a corner booth, she zipped around to the other tables the moment you sat down. She was pretty. Tim’s type, in tiny shorts and a perfect updo. Sight straying from the menu, you half expected him to be following the sway of her hips. Instead, his eyes were locked on you. Squeaking quietly, you ducked down into the pamphlet, the sound of their overlapped chuckles making your face hot.
“Find somethin’ you like, yet?”
Brushing his foot against your ankle, Tim took a gulp of the complimentary water. The atmosphere was romantic, with quiet jazz mingling in the chatter around you. You’d think Brian would stick out more, but oddly enough, he didn’t. Blending right into the scene, like you were just friends getting dinner.
Clearing your throat, you set down the pamphlet. “The risotto sounds good, um-” The dynamic between the three of you had changed, and even if the whole thing was unexpected, it’d only be right to at least try and include Brian. “W-what about you, Bri? Are you, uh, craving anything?” Cringing at the nickname, you didn’t know why you’d said that. Tim had used it earlier- you weren’t Tim, though.
Maybe you were moving too fast? And he’d sneer at you, mock you for overstepping. Yet when you go to correct yourself, his delighted snicker stops you. “And here I thought you didn’t like me, darlin’.” Resting his arms on the table, he leaned forward, high-spirited. “I, for one, am cravin’ the biggest plate of fettuccine the world's ever seen. I’m watchin’ my figure though, you think it’d have me bloated or?-”
Words exaggerated, with his eyes crescented, dimples indented on his cheeks, clear as day. Like he was having so much fun simply talking to you.
And for the first time since you’d met Brian, you laughed.
The dread that had initially made home in your stomach was fading more and more as the night continued. It was as if his unfriendly nature had done a full one-eighty degree turn, suddenly keen on getting you to smile. It made you feel almost guilty for expecting the worst, “You know, it’s funny that you say that- I thought you hated me since like forever.” You confessed, folding the menu and pushing it aside. Brian, for some reason, appeared genuinely shocked.
His brows shot to the roof as he blinked, and Tim didn’t seem to have a clue either. Both of them were staring at you with confusion smacked across their faces- had you read all the previous encounters wrong? It’s just that his disdain for you was so blatantly obvious.
You understood that trauma could rewire a person, but he had to know what you were talking about, right? “Not that I’m holding it against you or anything- you just never really- I don’t know, spoke to me? And you’d look at me weird when I tried to say anything- I’m sorry. I- I didn’t mean to ruin the mood, I just—”
Brian reached over the table and took one of your fidgeting hands into his. The action was jarringly intimate, and he cut you off gently. “Hey, s’alright. You ain’t ruin nothin’, and I‘m sorry it felt like I didn’t like you. ‘Cause I promise ya’ I do, like you a whole lot, actually.”
Running his thumb along your knuckles, he soothed you. “Yer’ the best thing that happened to Tim. The bastard wouldn’t survive a day out here without you, and if he ever acts otherwise, I’ll smack him up the head.” Tim huffed, “If anyone’s the bastard, it’d be you-” rolling his eyes, he shifted closer. “But he ain’t wrong, you’re doin’ jus’ fine, baby. I’m lucky you put up with me for this long.” Their joint reassurance settled softly in your chest.
Now, you really feel bad for expecting the worst. “Okay.” Your shy grin seemed to be enough to ease their concerns, and Brian pulled back. The waitress approached just in time, taking your orders and dashing off into the bustle.
You spent the rest of the evening bantering back and forth. With Brian absolutely demolishing his dish, and Tim judging him for how fast he chewed. As if you’d been a trio all your lives, the conversation flowed easily, and it finally felt like you fit.
Not a burden or a nagging wife he’d have to tell to leave because his friends were over, but someone he wanted to show off. Someone he was proud of.
After you had finished, they even argued over who would take the bill. It was the most unserious thing you’d ever witnessed. Tim claimed that since you were his woman, he’d have to pay. Saying, “It was only right-” while Brian combated that he “Drove here and therefore technically hosted.” Shaking your head, you sighed. Boys.
The drive back was light, filled with laughter as your husband defended his honour. Brian had been appalled when you’d told him that Tim hadn’t gotten you flowers in over a year, and Tim gasped something terrible. He said that he’d lost his mind and had been possessed by “The spirit of a deadbeat” five months into the marriage. Told you to forget everything up until this point, and swore on his grave he’d do better. His companion tutted disapprovingly from the driver's seat, giving you a look through the rearview.
You wished with all your might that the warmth from tonight would last for the rest of your days.
ᯓ★
➽──────────────❥
Back in your pyjamas, you slipped on the thickest socks you could find. While the storm may have eased up, winter had arrived in full swing. Snowflakes blanketed the soil outside, and you crossed your legs to watch. Perched at the window seat, the fireplace roared behind you, your bedroom glowing a hazy amber. This was not how you had pictured ending your week, and you could not be more grateful for it. Mug cozy in your hands, you sipped, and the sugar immediately coated your tongue.
It was sweeter than usual, too sweet for it to be good for you, according to Tim, anyway. But it had been a good day, and you thought you deserved to indulge, just a little bit.
Walking out of the ensuite bathroom, his hair was still damp, with the towel slung around his neck. Tim sat down next to you, leisurely leaning on the sill, and he cocked his head to the side. “Watcha’ drinkin’?” His change in demeanour was making you perverted. Water droplets dripped down the lines of his throat, with the short sleeves struggling to contain his newly attained muscle- Tim looked edible.
Hands in his pockets, and the sweats were dragged low on his hips. The plain cotton tee had rolled up a tad, giving you the perfect view of his happy trail. Snapping you out of your thoughts, he smirked, like he knew. “S’that tea or?” How embarrassing. You stuttered, hiding your face behind the rim when you swallowed a mouthful. “I- yeah, it’s tea. I know you say I don’t really need the sugar, I was just craving it.” He raised a brow at you, “What’s that supposed to mean? I know you gotta’ sweet tooth, hun. Ain’t no shame in it.”
Letting out a hushed laugh, you placed the cup down. “You’re so nice now, it’s weird.” That had him grunting, raising his arm, he brushed the hair out of your face. “Was I not nice before?” His gaze mapped out your features, traveling from the slope of your nose to the curve of your lips.
“No, you were- it just feels like you’re... softer now. I guess.” Frowning, he mutters, perplexed. “Barely done anything for ya’ sweetheart. Was I that bad t’you?” It was as if you were complaining to your new boyfriend about an ex who had done you dirty.
You giggled, “It’s not like that, you just worried about my health a lot. Don’t need the extra pounds and all that.” And he scoffs, visibly irritated. Mad at the Tim before the accident, it seemed. “That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard. Surprised you haven’t kicked me to the curb yet. Someone’s been lacing my coffee at work, because I think I was on somethin’ when I said that to you, sug’-”
Tugging you closer, he lifts your leg, swinging it over his thighs. You straddled his lap, hands finding purchase on his chest. Humming, you smiled. He appeared so utterly distraught at his prior actions; it was endearing.
“It’s fine, Tim. Really-”
“No, the hell ain’t. Should’ve socked me in the jaw the second I opened my mouth. Yer’ a stunner, my girl- prettiest thing I’d ever goddamned seen.”
The weight of his words shocked you, saying them like they were the only truth he’d ever known. Sighing, he nudged his hand under your shirt. Caressing your waist, “You believe me, don’t ya’? Fuckin’ gorgeous, you hear me?” His eyes searched yours in desperation; the need for you to understand was bare, aching. Everything he’d ever done, ever sacrificed, was for you.
Every blood-curdling moment, where he’d grit his teeth and refuse to yield. When his mind had fractured, and static took hold of his body. With the earth laid scorched beneath his feet, malice blinding his sight- he would scream your name. You were what kept him here, the tether between morgue and soul.
Somewhere far away, in a place between times, Tim stood amongst a vast sea of corpses. A man stained with valour and grief. Rifle heavy in his hand, his ribs torn open, the beating heart that sat half buried in soil mocks him. You are nowhere to be found, yet he calls your name anyway.
You never respond.
Breath fanning across your skin, he wrapped his arms around you. Tightening his hold when you go to question him, “Tim?” He exhales heavily into the crook of your shoulder, “I’m alright, just missed you, baby. That’s all.” His sudden switch in attitude worried you. Running your fingers through his hair, you pressed a kiss to his temple. “I missed you, too. I can’t imagine how scary it was when you crashed.”
Pulling back, he breathes through his nose, “Wasn’t that bad, knowin’ you were waitin’ on me. You’re all I need, y’know that? Nothin’ on earth could stop me from gettin’ home to you.” Whispered against your lips, he kisses you. Slow and deep, savouring it. Mouths slotting together as your saliva mixes, you cradled his face. Hooking his hands under your thighs, he lifted you, rising and stepping to the bed. Scrambling to steady yourself, you grabbed at his shoulders.
You gasped, he’d always been strong- but he’d never just hauled you up without a single grunt. “Tim, what-” he silenced you, pressing his lips to yours once more, before breaking off. His expression could only be described as longing. “Need you, honey. You’ll let me have you, won’t you? Been waitin’ too long- it’s killin’ me.” Waiting too long? You’d offered yourself plenty of times in the past, but he was simply never interested.
Missing for two weeks, sure- however, compared to the borderline celibacy of your marriage, that was nothing. Tossing you onto the sheets, you landed with a soft bounce. “What’s gotten into you?-” Even on your honeymoon, he’d never looked at you like this. Half-lidded, intoxicated, while he crawled between your legs.
Caging you under him, he chuckled darkly, pupils dilated and drowning the hue around them. “You have no idea how hard it was to pretend I didn’t wanna’ bend you over that goddamn table in front of everybody.” The last of his restraint had fizzled into nothing, and he dipped down, nipping at your throat.
The feeling of his teeth had you arching off the linen, “Ah-” and he groaned like he was starved. Leaving heated kisses along your collar, he slinked lower, pushing your shirt up as he went. Your breast spilt across your chest, lying bare and vulnerable. When you would fuck, it was usually under the covers, and while you’d be naked- it was more just focusing on the sensation rather than the visual. Tim complimented you, of course, but he was never the type to stare and take his time breaking you down.
Until this exact moment, that is. Apparently, he’d returned to you with an appetite. “Lift yer’ hips for me, sug’.” You already felt incredibly exposed, embarrassed by his attention. Yet, you couldn’t help but comply. Raising up an inch, his thumbs hooked under the waistband of your shorts. He rolls down the material with care, slipping it off your legs and throwing it to the side.
You squirmed under his gaze, the revealed skin becoming victim to his lips as he trails kisses from your inner thigh up to your ankle. “Oh, angel. Yer’ too good to be true.” Since you were only going to bed, you’d failed to put on underwear, and now you were suffering the consequences. Core presented bare, your folds were slick in arousal, glistening under the dim light. Tim whistled low at the sight, “So wet, my girl. You want it that bad?”
Whining, you hid your face behind your hand, turning from him. His sweet talking, combined with his touch, was overwhelming. Clicking his tongue, he grasped your wrist, tugging it down and pinning it at your side. “Uh uh, you look at me or I stop, you understand?” Stern and in control, his tone sent shivers down your spine.
Nodding weakly, you sniffled. His presence was authoritative, commanding you as if it were second nature. Resting your leg on his shoulder, he slid a finger along your slit, spreading you open. Circling your puffy clit, he snickered when a moan forced its way past your lips. And you shuddered harshly as he applied more pressure, drawing out your pathetically suppressed sounds.
The pleasure sparks all the way to your toes, vibrating through your body mercilessly. It felt so good, and he’d barely touched you; you normally didn’t even feel it this much when you had full-on sex with him. When had he learned you inside out? Bending down, he pecked your cheek, an act far too innocent for what was happening.
“S’this what you needed? A little lovin’ from your husband, right? You were so tense at dinner, had me worrying my heart out, baby.” Southern drawl coated his words thick with honey, mocking you.
It had only been a couple of minutes, and you were already dangerously close to the edge. Vision bleary, your sensitive cunt drooled onto the sheets, puddling under your ass. He kept skimming his fingers up and down your folds. Middle and index rolling your twitching nub, then slipping down to tease your entrance. Prodding in just the tips of his fingers, before pulling them back out, he was playing with you.
The constantly switching stimulation had you writhing beneath him, clawing at the duvet, and whimpering. “Poor thing, I’ve been neglecting you, hm? Ain’t I jus’ the worst?” His grin was anything but remorseful. Tears bubbled at your lash line, and you could barely keep your eyes open. You hiccuped, “I wanna’ ah- just-”
Your thighs were trembling, jolting as he smacked your pussy. “You wanna..? I’m lost here, babydoll. Can’t help you unless you use your words real proper like.”
Rocking your hips into his hand, you mewled. “Hah- Tim, wan’ it- ngh, deeper.” He hummed, scolding you. “Now, that’s not how we ask, is it? Give me a good wife to fuck and use yer’ manners.” Tim was being so mean, you couldn’t even think straight, and he wouldn’t stop toying with you.
Tapping your clit like a button, he dragged the pads of his finger over your weeping hole, but never dipping inside. The coil in your gut was painfully tight. He was such a bully. “Please! Please- please, wanna’ be good.” Your little begs were too cute, like an eager puppy.
Your ears were ringing, shoulders bowing sharply off the mattress when he finally fills you. “Oh- fuck, Tim-” Lewd shlick shlick shlick’s echoed through the room as he pumps in and out of your sloppy tunnel. Gummy walls spasming around the digits, and your eyes rolled back into your skull. Your thighs squeezed together, only to be obstructed by his hips, legs jerking sporadically. Your release splurted out in pulses, soaking both his hand and the linen.
What the actual fuck had just happened?
Tim had made you cum in five minutes flat. On his fingers alone, at that. It wasn’t that he was inexperienced; it’s just that his skill had somehow skyrocketed over the span of fourteen days. Your head was heavy, lolling limply against the sheets, but he wasn’t done. Matter of fact, he hadn’t even started.
Leaning back on his haunches, he withdrew from your dripping heat, and your arousal acted as thin ribbons. Stretching between you when he brought his hand to his lips.
His tongue swirled around the digits before pulling them out with a wet pop. “You’re jus’ too sweet, pretty thing. Ya’ think it’s the sugar?” Grabbing the hem of his shirt, he shucks it off in one tug. Back on you in a flash, his arms braced by your head, and he brought his weight down. A simmering grind, you could feel him through the fabric. You’d just cum, and you were already aching for more, but it wasn’t your fault. He was just too good at touching your needy body, splaying your cunt open with every rock of his hips.
The air was heavy, thick with sex and sweat. Lips molding to yours, he swallowed every whine you made. Hearth crackling amidst lust, your breath hitched, oversensitive.
You whined, raking your nails down his back, breaking the damp skin in jagged lines. The friction on your clit was dizzying. “Please-”
Your eyes shoot open as your phone buzzes off the nightstand.
It slips from the drawer and clatters loudly to the floor, making both of you freeze. Tim groans, completely content with ignoring it, when the lit-up screen catches your attention. Brian. Saved under “B. Thomas” and currently spamming your inbox. The device vibrated repetitively on the hardwood, distracting you. Why was he calling so late? It had to have been at least a quarter past midnight, and you were sure Brian should have been comfortably at home. On top of knowing the woods like the back of his hand due to work, he didn’t live far- he wouldn’t be contacting you unless it was an emergency.
Your husband, however, appeared to be set on blocking out the damn thing. Continuing to kiss you as if he’d die if he didn’t. “Tim-” Barely a grunt, “What if something happened-” Smooch, “He could be hurt-” Mwah. You were getting nowhere, shoving at his shoulders, and he finally gave you space to breathe. Blinking at you, confused. He wet his lips,
“You alright?’
“Brian’s been calling for five minutes straight- what if it’s an emergency?”
“Why’s another man's name comin’ out of your mouth in the bed I pay for?”
“He could literally be bleeding out right now-”
“Then let him.”
“Tim.”
Sighing with his whole chest, he gave you the most betrayed look he could muster before rolling off. Shuffling onto the edge of the mattress, he swung his feet onto the ground. Tim scowled heavily, staring at the phone he’d picked up with disdain. All he asks for is one night. One night, uninterrupted, with his woman. And of course, that’s when the bastard needs help.
May God punish Brian.
Glancing up to the ceiling, he took a deep breath. Shutting his lids and gathering the strength not to yell the moment he answered the call. After a beat, he swiped across the screen, bringing it to his ear with an irritated grumble.
“What.”
Pulling your shirt down, you shifted onto your stomach and tried your hardest to listen in. From what you could make out, the reason for his disturbance was something along the lines of a malfunction in his engine. Apparently, Brian had made it about twenty minutes before the truck went dark. Now, he was stranded on the road, with your cabin being the closest option in the on-and-off blizzard.
He hangs up after responding to whatever Brian said last with a disgruntled “Yer’ lucky she’s a fuckin’ saint- should leave you out there for the wolves.” Running a hand down his face, he turned to you. “He’s outside, sugar- he’s askin’ to stay for the night.” As horny as you were, Brian had been through enough, and you had a perfectly usable spare room just down the hall. “Okay, can you let him in? I can’t exactly greet any guests like this.” Propped up on your elbows, you laughed.
Tim looked so upset. Borderline pouting, he puffs, annoyed down to the bone. Not at you, but at his invasive friend who always showed up at the worst time possible. “Ain’t you say he was mean to you? We should leave ‘im out there to repent-” Throwing himself back over you in a half crawl, he groans loudly into your nape when you giggle, “Go open the door for him, he’s probably freezing out there.”
“Baby-”
“Go.”
Giving your shoulder one last kiss, he parted from you, trudging out of the room. Shirt still off, he adjusted himself through the joggers. Cock blocked by his very own companion. You stifle your snort, and Tim exhales noisily from the corridor. The steps creaked under his weight, bare feet padding along the carpet as you redressed yourself upstairs.
The door swings open with a harsh whoosh. Snow pelting down, and the glow of your home drifted out into the night. “You’re such a shit head, Bri. I jus’ got back, you couldn’t have stopped by tomorrow?” Tim snarked, arms crossed over his chest.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, Brian whistled, “Hostile. I interrupt you ‘n the missus or somethin’?” Your lover's eye was twitching. “Shut the hell up and get in, you’re lettin’ the heat out.” Ushering his friend inside with haste, he gave the tree line a quick scan before shutting the entrance.
You could already hear their bickering starting up from the top of the staircase, making your way to the pair, blood rushed to your cheeks when Brian grunts at the sight of you. Placing his duffel down, his gaze sweeps you from head to toe. “Well, shit- I miss the fun or?-” Getting cut off by Tim’s hand swatting at the back of his hood. “Eyes offa’ her- I’ll drag you out myself, don’t think I won’t.” Going at each other's throats right until they got separated.
Your mismatched trio ended up talking for a bit in front of your shared chambers- Brian telling you more about the whereabouts of his truck to be looked at in the morning, then he bid you goodnight with a playful salute, heading off down the hall.
Tim sprawled on the mattress, pushing the blankets down while he settled into bed. The day's exhaustion finally caught up to you. Gliding your foot over the edge of the hob, you yawned. “I’m glad you’re both safe- I think the storms picking up again.” Arms above your head as you stretched, the warmth of the fire licking across your skin. You peered at him over your shoulder from where you stood, and he grinned. “I’m glad, too. Now c’mere, ‘m startin’ to miss you.” Humming, you twist around to join him- ah, you forgot to grab a drink on the way up.
Mouth suddenly dry, you huffed, “Wait, I’m gonna’ get water- do you want a cup?” He blinks at you lazily, reminding you of a domesticated tiger. “Mm, I’m alright, hun.” Slinking further into the plush duvet, and you headed downstairs.
The trek should have been quick, yet on your way back, something catches your attention. Brian’s bag. In the rush of the conversation, he must have forgotten it by the welcome mat. He’ll probably come looking for it later anyway. Why not bring it up for him to save him the trouble? Glass in hand, you crouched down, reaching for the handle, before you freeze.
With the black zipper not fully shut, the muted colours stood out against the dark nylon. Inside the bulky luggage lay an object that didn’t quite blend in amongst the rest.
A baseball cap with dark red splattered on the brim.
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A/N: YESSS !! FIRST CHAPTER IS HEREEE !! Many things in store… many mysteries to solve… I wonder who’s hat that is 🧐
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This fic is angst! Please beware, it is written so that you may cry about these fictional men and the thought they can’t fall in love.
Please enjoy!
Go support Moonbtch and Jummy on twitch! They are the OG creators of GreedyBoys and Jimmy and Mooncock!
Moon sat, watching Jimmy from outside the area in which the human was captured.
He felt so guilty, but so, so happy. Jimmy was within his reach now, all his.
Entropy couldn’t get their hands on him now but he looked so sad. He no longer had his joys, no audience to entertain, no flowers to plant and enjoy.
He took the one thing that made Jimmy, Jimmy.
His humanity.
Moon felt bad, yes, he was guilty, and looking at Jimmy’s expression made him want to break down.
They stared at each other most of the time, barely any words or actions passing, just eyes meeting for long moments.
Jimmy wasn’t mistreated, no, he was fed, given water, properly taken care of. Moon would never mistreat someone he cared so deeply about like that.
“Why do you do this?”
Jimmy’s voice comes out harsher than he means it too, meaner than he thought he could be towards Moon.
Moon stares at him, holding his gaze as he sets down the tray of food, their hands gently touching for a split second before Jimmy yanks the tray away from the non-human man in front of him.
“I….This was the only way we could both get what we want while being safe”
Moon looks at Jimmy longingly.
He knows Jimmy has no memories, he knows Jimmy technically doesn’t know who he is right now.
But, he’s safe.
Safe from Entropy, and that’s all that matters.
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Please know before reading this it is considered 18+
No there are not dicks, or sex.
But there are things that are suggestive and freaky
–This Fic Is Based On NO Idea Just For Cute Fun–
SO FLUFF AND WHOLESOME CUTE STUFF (kinda)
FIC BELOW
Jimmy and Mooncock sat in their home, a small house on the outskirts of a small town. A comfortable love, a comfortable life.
Jimmy had continued enjoying the small joys of life, working jester gigs during the summer, being a barista during the other months, living life to the fullest as best he could.
Moon was not sure how to live his life, so used to having to swapping between the realities to try and to find the one that worked. A love that was meant to only happen light years away, not in the other room. It took him a couple months to figure out how to go about things, how to live like this in a way that wasn’t left wondering about those “what if”s, about all the ways he could’ve done things better.
This one doesn’t feel real, it should not be a reality that’s liveable.
Some days are easy, walking with Jimmy to the grocery store, laughing, letting the Jorbos cause small cases of chaos as they do.And then there are days that are hard. Where Moon struggles with Jimmy’s mortality, with the fact that he gets new gray hairs, new wrinkles, new aches and pains, while Moon stays mostly the same, changing small details of his immortal humanoid form to keep up with Jimmy’s ever changing mortal one.
Today was one of the good days however, sitting on the couch of the living room, watching a cheesy romcom while the Jorbos were doing what they did best all around the outside yard, cause chaos. Occasionally the little creatures would come in through the small animal door that was installed in the front door, dropping those little crystals near Moon and mimicking some noises they had heard, then booking it back outside.The house was calm, nothing other than the soft sounds of pitter patter outside, and the movie playing on the TV.
Slowly, Moon felt Jimmy’s hand slide up and down his thigh, the touch soft, but the intention clear as day.
It wasn’t uncommon for nights like this, soft touches and whispered words underneath the soft glow of a dim lamp.
Moon leaned closer to the human next to him, hands gently running through his hair, staring at the strands of gray that littered it.
But Jimmy was still so pretty with those bits of silver in his hair. He leans into the touch, keening at the gentle way Moon’s fingers slipped through his hair, gently touching his scalp. The touch was reverent, a love that would continue to pass between them for the countless rotations they would go through.
Slowly, Jimmy’s hands moved to Moon’s shirt, a soft silk fabric that looked so beautiful on him, his hands worked, not quick, not rushed. Just moving as if it were nothing, undoing those buttons, eyes staring into Moon’s.
Moon moved slightly, his free hand tracing Jimmy’s jaw, then slowly pressing a thumb against his bottom lip. His hand in Jimmy’s hair continues to gently card through it, softly pulling some strands to make the other man gasp before him.
He gently presses his thumb onto Jimmy’s tongue, said human’s hands gently working on pressing underneath his now unbuttoned shirt, slowly feeling the muscle the lays beneath the skin.
Jimmy bites, not harsh, but enough for Moon to make a sound, a beautiful, lovely sound.
The soft hushed whispers, the sound of clothes moving and bodies being pressed in different ways.
It wasn’t just sexual, it was intimate, reverent touches from two lovers who have loved for eons.
It is a love that crosses all, the love that will end all, yet also begin it.
It is the love that comes above all love, it is our universe.
It is forever.
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Jummy and Moonbtch
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