Can I request a little thing with Bonten Mikey and pregnant wife reader? Like reader just stops showing up one day and the rest of them get worried and one day she just shows up with baked goods and a big ole baby bump!
“surprise bump.”
bonten mikey x pregnant!fem!reader
the bonten executives are used to seeing you.
mikey’s wife. their queen. the only person who can walk into the room and calm even the nastiest of storms.
except… one day, you just stop showing up.
meetings, dinners, late-night hangouts—you’re nowhere. mikey doesn’t explain much either, and the tension starts to brew. ran teases about you leaving him. rindou jokes (too nervously) about a secret affair. even mochi starts pacing like a worried uncle.
by the time a whole month passes, they’re seconds away from staging an intervention for their boss.
and then the door to the bonten lounge swings open.
“hi boys,” you greet sweetly, balancing a tray of neatly wrapped baked goods.
every head turns. jaws drop. because it’s not just the muffins you’re holding—
it’s the very obvious baby bump you’re carrying.
“holy shit,” rindou blurts, nearly dropping his phone.
“what the—” sanzu almost chokes on his cigarette.
kokonoi actually blinks three times in disbelief.
ran whistles low. “well damn. so that’s where you’ve been hiding.”
mikey doesn’t say a word. he just gets up from his chair and walks over, as if the entire world has slowed down. his dead eyes are lit up in a way none of them have ever seen, and when he reaches you, he just… rests a hand on your belly like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
you smile up at him, kissing his cheek before handing him one of the muffins. “sorry for vanishing. i got a little busy.”
“a little?” mochi sputters. “you’re pregnant!”
you laugh, setting the tray down on the table as the others crowd around—half curious, half reverent, like they’re staring at some kind of miracle.
rindou immediately tries to reach for a muffin, but sanzu slaps his hand away.
“don’t touch the queen’s offering before she says you can.”
“what is this, communion?” ran snickers.
but beneath the jokes and chaos, there’s a soft kind of awe in the room. because for the first time, they’re reminded that their boss—the king of bonten, the man with the dead eyes—has something to live for. something warm.
mikey doesn’t let go of you the entire time. his hand stays over your bump, protective, possessive, like a silent warning: she’s mine. they’re mine.
and when the others finally get their muffins, rindou mutters under his breath, “guess it’s true then. what the queen wants, the queen gets.”
Swears it’s all out of love. He wants to keep you as safe as possible, round the clock. He isn’t supposed to know your address, your place of work, your car registration number- he just does. He becomes addicted to new shreds of information on you, like you’re his favourite show and each new piece is a brand new episode he cant look away from.
He’ll climb up trees to stare in your bedroom window, watching you sleep for hours and imagining all the ways he could get away with crawling through your window and lying like a dog at the foot of your bed.
If he’s taking time to memorise your routines, he means no harm, really. He’s fallen for you, and he was never taught how to act normal in a situation like that.
♡ Ben ♡
Absolutely shameless about stalking you, to the point it borders on disgusting. Has cameras on your house, in your bedroom, in your car, in your workplace, anywhere you might just walk into. There’s a tab open on his computer that he can flick to and just watch you go about your day. He’ll sit while he’s waiting on a game to load, mindlessly watching you cook dinner for yourself.
He’s completely perverted about it too. Will angle cameras so he can stare down your shirt and watch while you get dressed. Gets off on the fact that you have no idea it’s happening.
Contacts you on occasion. He’ll text you from an unknown number just for kicks as he watches you confused, trying to decipher where it’s come from. He’s a technological mastermind, and in terms nof stalking, his game is miles above the others.
♡ Jeff ♡
He is not a stalker. Lets be real. If he falls in love with you, its gonna be an absolute slow burn. He thinks he’s too good to waste time following around someone else.
Saying that, he coincidentally appears in your area more times than he needs to be. He’ll brush it off, knowing no one has the guts to ask him why exactly, he’s been spotted near the same house six times in one week. He lies to himself, more than anything.
If he’s feeling really agitated about your whereabouts, he might tell Ben to work some of his magic and show him where you are. By this point, he’s obsessed with you to the point that even a ten second headstart won’t do a thing to save you.
♡ Tim ♡
He completely deludes himself into thinking this is for the greater good. Even if you have nothing to do with the Operator, he tricks his mind into thinking that if he leaves you unattended for more than a few days, you’ll get tracked down and targeted by him.
He blends in well with his surroundings. If you’re a regular at a certain coffee shop, he’ll coincidentally be sitting at the window table everytime you walk in. He’s the stranger sitting across from you on the bus, and the guy in the store standing next to you, idly browsing the drinks section.
Sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night for water, and you swear you see a shadow standing in your backyard. It’s fleeting though- disappears when you rub your eyes. He never makes his presence known to you.
♡ Brian ♡
He’s a lot more cryptic about it than you think he’d be. Sure, his main priorities are remaining anonymous, but that doesn’t mean he can’t treat you every now and then.
He has all your routes mapped out, and uses this knowledge for benevolence more than anything. On icy mornings, expect to find the path you take to work has been completely cleared. On sunny mornings, expect to open your front door to see a fresh bottle of lemonade- a gift from a neighbour- waiting for you.
He never means to hurt you. He just thinks you’re precious, living in the world as innocent and naive as you do. He likes it when you look relieved at a gesture he’s sent your way. He hates that he’s such a lover, but it’s carved into his bones.
♡ Jack ♡
Probably the best, and most terrifying stalker to have. He’s extremely tactical, being an expert at breaking and entering, and lacks humanity more than any of the others, which is terrifying if you ever wake up at the wrong time.
He invites himself into your house to watch you sleep. He feeds on your energy. He’s starving for you, how can you blame him? Even being around you, watching your chest rise and fall is the sweetest of tortures and the foot of his addiction.
He picks locks and covers his tracks before sunrise. He’ll sit at the edge of your bed, only moving in the night, and gently brush his fingertips against your bare skin while you sleep. Each night, he gets closer and closer to acting on his impulses, but your beauty is a reckoning. It’s the one thing that makes him hesitate.
If your first thought was "intention," I’d love to invite you to look at things from a slightly different, simpler perspective. Let’s go back to the very beginning together—to the heart of it all, where complex concepts aren't even necessary yet.
It feels like we’ve perhaps overlooked the simple foundation that shifting rests upon. It’s so easy for us to look for complex answers when the most beautiful truths are often the simplest ones.
What is shifting, really?
It’s simply a gentle move of our focus to another reality. And awareness of oneself there. That is the lovely essence of it, and perhaps it’s all we truly need to hold onto.
In this simple truth, we don't necessarily need words like "intention" or "letting go of control." No matter how we approach it, it all leads back to one thing: our focus of attention. We don't need to worry about the end of the journey when we are still embracing the beginning. Every little thing we do—whether active or passive—is just a way to help our focus find its new home.
No matter what theory or concept you feel drawn to, it all rests on this one beautiful condition: shifting your focus. Even if you see shifting as moving your awareness to another reality, it still flows from where you place your attention.
Focus of attention = the gentle guide of our subjective experience.
We could also talk about why "accidental" shifts happen, and it’s because our focus and our awareness always walk hand in hand. Our consciousness naturally follows our attention, flowing wherever we choose to rest our mind.
Why do we use affirmations, listen to subliminals, or meditate? It’s all just a sweet way to help our attention stay focused on our desired reality.
ଳ he swore to only keep his eyes on ume and follow his good example, but then you just had to become a distraction
ଳ character; sugishita kyotarou (wind breaker)
ଳ tags; floof, tsundere sugi, short fight scene, afab reader, no y/n
"You've been staring at her a lot lately huh?"
Just like that, Sugishita was snapped out of his stupor. He rarely narrowed his eyes at Ume, but if someone teased him about her... then not even Ume-chan is an exception to his grumpiness.
"No," he grunts and looks away.
Ume pats his back with a reassuring smile on his face. He said something about how it's okay to like someone because it's totally normal.
Yeah, right. Normal.
But the thing is—Sugishita's an anomaly. He's different in a way that he had never loved anyone before, let alone "liked." Some people were just not made for it and he believes himself to be one of those people. His purpose—he says—is to become stronger so that he can be someone Ume can be proud of. Even better if he could become someone that the great Umemiya Hajime could rely on.
However, he was nowhere near to attaining that. The idea of love is then out of question. He just had no time for trivial things.
It's funny though—how his mind and body are doing completely different things. A part of him doesn't want to stray from the path that Ume has carved for him, but another fuels this urge in him to simply stare at you. Admire you from afar. Because you were the most delicate thing in his eyes.
Compared to the self-assured and confident Kotoha, the new part-timer at the cafe was a bit laidback. But she was the bubbliest and friendliest person that the Furin boys have come across.
Each time they would come and visit the cafe, she'd be standing at the counter with a warm smile on her face. And once everyone has their food in front of them, she would happily listen to Ume's tales about the day's fight or Nirei's rants about the people he "observes." She'd giggle at Sakura's bashfulness and be amused by Tsugeura's enthusiasm.
She had a special talent in that she could make anyone feel at ease.
And Sugishita was sure that it would be the same thing all over again. No matter how nice or kind someone is—they'll be too intimidated to even converse with him.
But that wasn't the case with you.
He could still vividly recall how his heart skipped a beat the day he first met you. The boys had come to the cafe to wind down after a major scuffle. They had cuts and bruises all over, but they laughed as if there was no pain at all. As the newbie, you didn't know better and acted with the utmost concern.
Much to everyone's surprise, you came to Sugishita first.
"Does it hurt?" you ask, pointing at a cut on his arm.
His brows furrow and his lips press into a thin line—an obvious indicator that he is in no need of your help. But he should've known that it wouldn't be enough to push you away.
"Here," you say as you offer a band-aid to him. "Sorry, it's a bit childish with all the elephants on it, but it's all I have."
In spite of his unwelcoming demeanor, you persisted. Even the other guys around him were stunned at your resolve. But they remained quiet, wanting to see how Sugishita would react.
Sugishita sheepishly took the cute band-aid from your fingers, shoving it immediately deep into his pocket.
You smile. "You should wash that up and plaster it on as soon as possible or it'll get infected."
When he finally spares you a glance, he sees the maddeningly bright smile on your face. It almost reminded him of Ume when he annoys him.
"Thanks," he whispered. It took all of his willpower to say one syllable because he knew that there would be consequences.
Sakura piped up. "Oh, so you do know what gratitude is?"
The consequence being—a certain two-toned boy would get on his nerves.
Of course, the usual back-and-forth ensued. Sugishita got too heated up that he nearly forgot the band-aid in his pocket. When he glanced over to you again and saw how you laughed at their bickering... he swore you had done something to his forsaken heart.
He often found himself daydreaming like a kid when recalling that day. It made him happy to an extent, though he'd never admit it. But he mostly repeated the events in his head because he was trying to figure out why his heart was thumping so loud then and why he felt so nervous around you.
It bothered him to no end because he was this big hulking guy and you were... just a girl who probably wouldn't hurt a fly. He had fought guys thrice your size. Yet, here he was; scared at the thought of you sitting next to him and talking to him.
Throughout his daydream, he failed to notice that you had disappeared and went out to buy some milk for the cafe. Kotoha was busy cleaning the kitchen, so the errand was left to you.
It left Sugishita bored. He wasn't really interested in whatever they were talking about and Ume was busy eating anyway. And you were... well, he didn't know where you were. He'd rather be kicked in the shins twice than ask where you had gone.
Everything comes to a halt as they heard commotion from outside. And by the sound of it... it was you. His question was answered in the worst way possible.
"Let go of me! Stop!" you cried out desperately, but to no avail.
"C'mon, lady. We were askin' ye for some change so nicely, weren't we? Don't be a bitch and show us some kindness, will ye?"
The shady group of guys who were outside the convenience store saw you and decided to follow. So here you were, getting mugged.
Everyone in the cafe knew the situation straight away. They were all ready to jump into action, but none of them would have expected what happened next.
To put it simply, Sugishita just shot out of his seat without another word or thought. Kotoha was sure that the cafe's door would fly off the hinges with how strongly he swung it open.
His fiery stare was zeroed in on the scumbags that had you surrounded. His mind was empty except for two things: to beat these fuckers up and to save you.
He stomped over to you, the shady men becoming aware of his approaching and menacing presence.
"Watcha want, punk? Walkin' over here like a—"
The guy's sentence was left unfinished as Sugishita's fist met his face. His punch snapped and didn't waste any time slugging the rest of the men. Though they tried to fight back, they were no match for an extra aggressive Sugishita.
His senses only came flooding back when he felt a pair of arms around him. He inspected the ground below him where the men had fallen unconscious... and then he realized that you were clinging on to him like a koala.
"THAT WAS SO SCARYYYY," you cried. As you did, you squeezed him tighter. You were probably pushing his boundaries, but the adrenaline and fear got the best of you. You could apologize later for the tears that had seeped through his navy blue cotton shirt.
And normally, he would push you away, but strangely—it felt... really good. His hands hovered in the air, unsure of what to do with them. He helplessly looked around. But as he turned his gaze back at the cafe, he saw the boys and Kotoha watching them from a distance.
They were smiling and snickering, flashing a thumbs up at Sugishita for saving the day.
When it finally sank in—he was in a state of catharsis. He still couldn't put a finger on what it was that he was feeling. But all he knew was that he liked your warmth and that you still made him insanely nervous.
To some extent, it was like his eyes were opened to a world never seen before. And you were the key to that hidden realm.
He gulped and slowly placed a hand on your head, gently stroking it albeit he was shaking. Was it from punching too hard or was it because of you? He wasn't sure.
Buuuut, maybe Ume was right about this being totally normal.
i do not think toby is shy around women. and i also dont think hes a fuckboy. i think he is just a very candid and indifferent person sometimes. i think he lacks a filter. maybe before he became a puppet for slenderman, he was a little bit shy around girls, (though i find it more likely that romance took up a very tiny amoeba sized fraction of space in his brain, given how hostile & difficult his life was. i think he was unconcerned with all that.) but at this point all that would go out the window. he will say whatever he wants to say. and its not some smug cool guy facade like whatever jeff has going on. its just simply the way toby is. if he thinks a girl is hot, he would say so. if he wanted to separate the top half of her body from the bottom half of her body with his hatchet, he would say so. i think he is just honest. he will unflinchingly say something quite bold with a straight face, something that most other people with social awareness and a loud conscience would have a difficult time with. to him, things just are what they are. he doesn't really understand why most people will refrain from speaking without thinking.
without a second thought, making a poor excuse for a sandwich at the kitchen counter, he will think outloud, "that last gi-irl was so hot...f-fuck, i should've let her get a few shots in at me before killing her.." he sighs to himself, tim and brian pausing their discussion on the other side of the cabin, looking over their shoulders at him with mildly disturbed expressions. toby doesnt really know what an inside thought is. he just sees things for what they are, and feels no guilt over voicing anything. he doesn't think it makes him cool, it isn't performative, and in a way, it makes him more weird than if he were to just be shy. just because he has a stutter and tics doesn't mean he's bashful. thats a grown man with cruel tendencies who murders people.
─────────────────────────────── ready to start - arcade fire
── .✦ do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. dividers by me.
CONTAINS NSFW, MINORS DNI
✦ . Summary: (No correlation to other parts, only prologue) The bottle lands on Tim.
✦ . Characters: Tim Wright (Masky) x Reader
✦ . Warning: Alcohol, cigarettes, erotic asphyxiation, breath control play, semi-public sex, dirty talk, oral fixation, blowjobs, choking, risky sex, nicotine high, dizziness, hair pulling, fingers in mouth, spit, oral sex, rough oral sex, first time blow job
✦ . Words: 12.1k
✦ . Note: Please do not hang me and kill me for how long this took to post. Apologies! Hopefully the length makes up for it! School is officially over, so now I can dedicate my time to writing more, so be on the lookout! For all my blow job lovers (I see you and I appreciate you), this is for you!!!
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It was ironic watching your fate be decided by a lousy beer bottle you hadn’t even gotten to drink out of yet.
But everything in this lousy mansion is out of your hands anyway.
The bottle spun on the coffee table, wobbling through the leftover alcohol and cigarette ash stains before it slowed and finally stopped.
It landed on—
You looked up.
Tim.
Before the room could go completely silent, Jeff let out a loud, ugly laugh.
“Well shit,” he crowed, leaning back on the couch and covering his face with his hands. “Looks like Timmy gets the consolation prize. Try not to bore her to death in there, old man.”
Tim didn’t snap back. He just stared Jeff down from across the circle, his eyes dark and narrowed. There was something almost smug in the way he tilted his head, like he already knew exactly how much this was eating Jeff alive, how he could practically see right through his asshole demeanor.
He stared at Jeff long enough for the boy to sink back into himself a little, but not without rolling his eyes and crossing his arms as he broke the stare down to glare out the window.
But then Tim turned and walked straight past you, his boots thumping on the floorboards as he headed down the short hallway toward the closet like he had all the time in the world.
You stayed seated for a beat, your heart suddenly kicking harder than it should.
Nina wasn’t having it. She popped up behind you with a bright, mischievous laugh and hooked her arms under yours, hauling you to your feet.
“Nope! Don’t be a baby, babe. Go on!”
She gave you a firm shove toward the direction Tim just went. A couple of the others whistled and clapped as you stumbled forward, but as you looked back one final time in anxiousness, all you saw was Jeff’s wide eyes watching you fade around the corner. In amongst the distraction, Brian had moved from his spot and was now leaning against the wall nearest the hall towards the closet. As you approached, he rummaged into his jacket pocket and fished out a silver flip lighter, pushing it into your hands before you could pass.
You looked down at it, feeling the cold weight in your hand, before looking at him—only for the blond to give you a very confusing nod before he let you go. You shoved it into your back pocket.
Tim was already at the closet door. He yanked it open, reached up, and pulled the chain for the single bare bulb dangling inside. Weak yellow light spilled out over the hanging coats and junk boxes, flumes of dust floated out, and you had to wave the air in front of your face to keep from coughing. He stepped aside, one hand still holding the door, and tilted his head toward the inside.
You hesitated. “Tim, I can just—”
“Get over yourself,” he cut you off, keeping his face flat and unreadable. Before you could retort again, he stepped in close, using his body to herd you forward until you were inside the cramped space. The door pulled shut behind him with a final click.
The muffled music and laughter from the living room dulled instantly, only the floorboard thumps under your shoes to keep you company.
Tim reached down and fiddled with the dials on his wristwatch, setting the timer with a few soft clicks. Seven minutes. The little hands began ticking immediately.
You both stood awkwardly about a foot and a half apart, your backs pressed against opposite walls of the cramped closet. You kept your eyes glued to the floor, occasionally fiddling with the hem of your shirt or picking at your fingernails. Tim, on the other hand, didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was watching you. His gaze was steadily honed on you, occasionally flicking toward the closed door like he was listening for footsteps or somebody snooping outside. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, digging around until he found his trusty pack of cigarettes. He shook one out and slid it between his lips like he always did.
Then he started patting his other pockets.
“Shit,” he grunted under his breath. “Left my lighter with Brian.”
“Oh, wait.”
You hesitated for a second before reaching into your back pocket and pulling out the worn silver lighter Brian had given you moments ago. You held it out to him without a word.
Tim’s eyes flicked down to the lighter, then back up to your face. A knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he took it from your fingers, his hand brushing yours.
He flicked it open, lit the cigarette, and took a long, deep drag. The tip glowed bright orange in the dim light. He exhaled a thick plume of smoke toward the ceiling, watching it curl and drift in the stale air, pockets of smog dancing like little ghosts around the lightbulb.
You raised an eyebrow. “You really think it’s smart to smoke in a closet this small?”
Tim shrugged one shoulder, completely unbothered. He took another drag, then lowered the cigarette, smoke pooling from between his lips as he spoke.
“Probably not.” His voice was gravelly. “But I've already decided to be in here with you. Might as well add this to the list of bad choices tonight.”
You laughed.
He leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes never really leaving you. The smoke continued to drift lazily between the two of you, filling the small space with the sharp scent of tobacco.
You shifted your weight against the wall under the intensity of his stare, your arms loosely crossed. The smoke was already starting to make the small space feel even stuffier.
“Do you think Jeff’s gonna retaliate at all?” you asked one-offedly, reaching for anything to conversate about.
Tim took another slow drag, then exhaled through his nose. “No.”
He sounded sure. Almost bored.
“Jeff’s emotional and jealous and got a nasty fucking temper,” he continued, flicking ash onto the floor. “But if he’s actually mad, he’ll turn that shit on somebody else. He’s too scared to come at me.”
You let out a laugh, nodding. “Yeah… that sounds about right.”
Tim tilted his head slightly, studying you. “Why’re you concerned?”
“No reason,” you said quickly, shrugging. “Just… you two seem like you’re in some kind of secret competition. It’s weird.”
Tim went quiet for a long moment. He brought the cigarette back to his lips, taking two slow puffs while he thought. Smoke curled up between you like a hazy curtain.
“Maybe we are,” he finally admitted.
You shook your head. “You’re not the type to do childish shit like that.”
Tim let out a short, rough laugh, almost like he was surprised by your response.
“For the right person?” he said, “I might.”
The silence that followed felt heavier than moments before. The muffled noise from the living room seemed to fade even further away, only the cadence of the speakers thumping enough to let you know the party was still happening. You were both just… looking at each other.
Then Tim pulled the cigarette from his mouth and held it out to you, offering it between two fingers.
You took it carefully. When you brought it to your lips, you could still feel the warmth from his mouth on the filter. You took a puff, the smoke filling your lungs with that familiar burn.
Tim’s gaze stayed locked on your mouth, watching the way your lips wrapped around the same spot his had just been. His head tilted slightly, something unreadable shifting in his face as he tracked the motion.
When you lowered the cigarette and exhaled, he was still staring. So you stared right back at him, no longer pretending to study the floor.
Tim looked… different tonight, even if only slightly. His clothes were his usual thick jacket and jeans, but they were cleaner than normal, no random gunpowder smudges, no dirt or dried blood. His hair was a little more put together, and that ever-present stern, gruff expression sat heavy on his face like it always did.
It was nice seeing him without his mask amongst so many people, but that also meant that he couldn’t hide behind it, that he had to face you and everyone else with his whole self—no Masky there to save him.
“You’re being tense,” he said bluntly, breaking the silence.
“Well, yeah,” you answered, letting out a short breath.
Tim shrugged one shoulder, reaching out to take the cigarette from you and promptly taking two deep drags. “We’ve been alone together plenty of times before. This isn’t any different.”
“It is different,” you countered. “This isn't a mission or some supply run or something. This is… this.” You gestured vaguely at the cramped space left between you.
“I didn’t know context mattered that much to our relationship.”
You let out an awkward little laugh, shifting against the wall. “It’s funny you’re even calling it a relationship.”
Tim raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
You just shook your head, laughing again under your breath, unsure how to answer. He was being so blunt tonight, more direct than usual, like the straightforwardness was a shield. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw kept flexing, but he wouldn’t relax. It was like he was ready to punch you and run at any moment, if he wasn’t going to yell at you first.
“…Are you nervous?” you asked quietly.
Tim didn’t answer right away. He glanced down at the watch on his wrist, studying the little ticking hands.
“Six minutes left,” he said instead, completely sidestepping the question.
You let out an awkward laugh and shook your head.
“It’s okay if you’re nervous, you know,” you told him. “This is weird, but it’s just a stupid game to embarrass everyone. It’s not serious.”
Tim’s eyes narrowed. “I know that.”
He passed the cigarette back. You brought it to your lips and inhaled, mostly just to give your hands something to do. The smoke filled your lungs, but it did nothing to ease the thick tension sitting between you, even if it did make you a little lightheaded.
The two of you kept staring at each other.
You finally spoke again. “Are you only playing because Jeff egged you on?”
Tim let out a dry laugh and looked down at his boots for a second before his gaze returned to yours.
“No,” he said simply. “I’m playing because I wanted to.”
“Why would you want to play something like this?”
“Why would you?” he asked, turning the question right back on you.
The air felt heavier. You swallowed. “I’m… not sure.”
Tim’s eyebrow lifted slightly.
“Really?” It seemed like he was almost teasing you.
You held his gaze for a long second, then let out a breath.
“No.”
He took the cigarette back when you offered it, but he didn’t bring it to his lips right away. He just kept watching you, smoke curling slowly from the tip.
The timer on his watch continued its quiet ticking. Five minutes left.
Tim finally spoke again. “Good. At least we’re being honest now.”
You narrowed your eyes at him.
“You think I’m not being honest?”
Tim shook his head slowly. “Not with yourself.”
You let out a short, disbelieving breath. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re not being honest with what you want.”
“Oh, so you know what I want now?” you shot back, irritation rising fast. “You know what’s best for me?”
“Yeah,” he said simply, like it was obvious. “I’ve got a pretty good idea.”
That irritated you more than it should have. You pushed off the wall slightly, glaring up at him.
“You’re just being rude now, man.”
“You’ve never had a problem with my rudeness before.”
“Context,” you muttered, reiterating the idea he couldn’t seem to grasp.
“Ah, yes,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Context.” He took one last drag before dropping the cigarette and crushing it under his boot. “Like the context of Jeff pretending he’s got some kind of claim over you… and you going along with it.”
Your stomach twisted. “Jeff does not have a claim over me.”
The words had barely left your mouth before Tim took a single, big step forward.
The already cramped closet shrank instantly. He loomed over you, his broad shoulders blocking out most of the weak light from the bulb overhead. The smell of smoke and pine and that familiar warm scent that always clung to him filled the air between you, almost overwhelming you. You pressed your back against the wall once again.
He stared down at you, almost looming.
“Then who does?”
His face was close now, close enough that you could see the thick stubble on his jaw and the tired lines at the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t touching you, but the sheer presence of him made your back press harder against the wall.
You glared up at him, your heart kicking against your ribs as the silence stretched, but after a long moment, you finally answered.
“Nobody.”
You caught it.
For just a split second, Tim’s dark eyes flicked down to your mouth as you said the word, watching the shape of it on your lips. He snapped them back up to yours almost immediately, probably hoping you didn’t catch it. But you did.
You swallowed, then added, “Not even Slenderman.”
Tim let out a short, rough laugh.
“He wouldn’t like hearing you say that too much.”
“Well…” you tilted your head slightly, still staring up at him, “he’s not here, is he?”
This time, Tim didn’t even try to hide it. His gaze dropped to your mouth again and stayed there longer. You watched his jaw flex, the muscle ticking under the skin as his eyes traced the curve of your lips.
It felt like it was getting harder to breathe.
When his eyes finally dragged back up to yours, they seemed darker than before.
“No,” he murmured. “He’s not.”
Before you could say anything more, Tim reached into his jacket pocket again, pulling out the same pack of cigarettes.
You huffed. “Seriously? It’s been, what, two minutes since your last one. Can you really not take a break?”
He didn’t answer. He just shook another cigarette out, lit it with the same silver lighter you’d handed him earlier, and took two puffs. The tip burned bright orange, and exhaled the smoke through his nose.
Then his hand moved.
He reached out and clasped your jaw firmly, his thick fingers pressing into your cheeks and smooshing them together until your lips puckered. Your hand flew up on instinct, grabbing his wrist and tugging down, but he didn’t budge an inch. His grip was strong.
“Tim—” your voice was a little muffled against the strain of his grip. For a second you wondered if you’d actually pissed him off.
“Open.”
You blinked. “What?”
“Open your mouth.”
You searched his face, looking for any sign that he was joking, but there was nothing playful there. You didn’t know if you could laugh out of caution of making him more mad, so… you did what you were told.
When he was satisfied, Tim leaned in and placed the lit cigarette between your puckered lips, then used his thumb to close your mouth around it.
“You know what to do,” he murmured.
He didn’t let go of your jaw.
You had no choice but to inhale. You took a normal, comfortable drag, the smoke filling your lungs before you exhaled it through your nose. You stared up at him, confused, waiting for some kind of explanation. Was this supposed to be degrading? Some weird power move? Or some weird one-off joke that you’ve never known him to make?
But his grip stayed firm on your cheeks, and his expression didn’t change. He didn’t look satisfied.
You started to squirm, pawing at his arm. “Tim—”
“More,” he said.
You tried to speak around the cigarette, fumbling the filter between your teeth. “What’s happening right now—”
He stepped even closer, one of his boots planting between your feet so your legs were forced to part slightly. His other hand came up to tilt your chin higher, making you look straight up into his face. The overhead light cast harsh shadows over his stern features.
“Keep going,” he grunted.
You furrowed your brows, but obeyed, taking another drag. Then another. He watched every inhale with utmost interest.
“C’mon,” he said quietly, almost coaxing you. “Don’t stop.”
You inhaled again, deeper this time, pulling harder on the cigarette. The smoke burned hotter going down. Your head started to feel light.
“Again,” he continued. “As much as you can.”
You kept going, breath after breath, the nicotine hitting harder with every pull. Your vision began to swim. A heavy, dizzy fog rolled over your mind as the rush flooded your system. Your knees felt weak. The hand you had on his arm tightened, trying to steady yourself as the world tilted slightly.
Tim’s grip on your jaw stayed iron-still, holding you in place while he watched your face closely, seeing every detail of your flushed cheeks and drooping eyes and your steadily relaxing muscles.
“That’s it,” he muttered, soothing, almost. “One more. Big one.”
You whimpered softly around the cigarette, head spinning badly now, but you did it anyway. You pulled long and deep until your lungs were burning and the dizziness crashed over you like a wave. The nicotine buzz was overwhelming and sharp and heady, and making everything feel floaty and too warm.
Tim finally pulled the cigarette from between your lips.
You immediately exhaled hard, right into his face—a thick cloud of smoke rushing out as you tried to empty your burning lungs. The motion triggered a coughing fit. Your eyes watered, your vision became blurry, and you felt completely dizzy and messy, probably looking a little disheveled.
But Tim kept his hand firmly on your jaw, holding your face in place. A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched you struggle, not out of malice but he was clearly satisfied now.
Your head was still swimming badly. You tried to steady yourself, taking shaky, deep breaths of the thick, smoggy air in the tiny closet. The nicotine buzz was intense, making everything feel too floaty and too warm and too out of your body.
“Tim… I feel really dizzy,” you managed, a little breathless.
You heard him chuckle, “I know.”
His thumb slowly dragged across your bottom lip, wiping away the spit that had gathered there from coughing and your heavy breathing. His eyes followed the motion.
Then, without warning, he brought the cigarette back to his own mouth, took one long, final drag, and dropped it to the floor. He crushed it under his boot right next to the first one.
Before you could even catch your breath, Tim leaned down and kissed you.
He grabbed both sides of your face with his rough hands, holding you firmly as he brought your faces together. Your hands shot up and pressed against his chest, bracing yourself against the embarrassment that was breaking through your mental haze. This was ridiculous. It was some weird, controlling kink thing… but your brain wasn’t working well enough to care.
All you could focus on was how warm his hands felt against your cheeks and how good his mouth felt on yours.
Then his tongue pushed past your lips, and he breathed the smoke from his lungs into your mouth.
The sudden rush made your head spin all over again. You let out a muffled groan and gripped the front of his jacket tighter, your fingers twisting into the thick fabric. Tim responded by dropping his hands to your waist and yanking your body flush against his.
Oh.
He was hard. You could feel him clearly through his jeans, pressed against your lower stomach. For a split second, nervousness flared in your chest.
Should you be nervous? Probably.
But the thought dissolved almost as quickly as it came.
Fuck it.
You kissed him back harder, desperate to feel something solid amongst all of your dizziness. Tim groaned in his throat and tilted your head, kissing you like he was starving for it, like this was all he’d ever wanted.
It became too much.
The smoke, the nicotine, the heat of his body—you couldn’t breathe. You pushed against his chest with both hands. Tim pulled back just enough for you both to gasp for air.
Thick smoke wafted out of both of your mouths, curling between your faces and up into the muggy air. You noted how Tim’s face looked, how the smoke parted around his jaw and up above the dark hair in his head. His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide as he stared down at you. His hands stayed locked on your waist, but his chest rose and fell rhythmically under your palms.
It was getting hard to tell if Tim had always looked this good, or if the overwhelming amount of nicotine in your bloodstream was making your brain go numb.
But after a minute of panting, you felt your senses returning—most notably, the loud pulse of the music from the living room vibrating through the walls and into your shaky bones. You slowly started regaining your steadiness, the dizzy fog beginning to lift. Tim slid a flat palm up your back.
“Deep breaths,” he hums.
You obeyed without thinking, too deep in whatever headspace he’d pushed you into to pretend it didn’t feel ridiculously good. Each inhale felt almost euphoric, your chest rising and falling as you breathed in the thick, smoky air. You gripped the shoulders of his jacket, and after a moment you noticed he was breathing in time with you, drinking down fresh air as you did.
You glanced up at his face. The usual stern mask he wears had fallen into something lazier, almost hazy. He looked a little lost just staring at you with his half-lidded eyes.
When you blinked long enough to reset your vision, you met his eyes again, and he began to lean in toward your lips, his eyes dropping to your mouth in time with his movement. You let him come to you, tilting your chin up to meet him—
His watch started beeping sharply under his sleeve, knocking the moment right off kilter.
You both jerked back, staring at each other like you’d completely forgotten why you were even in the closet in the first place. Whatever obnoxious spell you both were under vanished. From outside, the music in the living room suddenly cut off. You could hear laughter and the sound of people scrambling down the hallway toward you.
Tim stepped back, putting space between you again. He adjusted his jeans, and tried his best to smooth his jacket out. By the time the door flew open, you were both standing roughly where you started with your backs against opposite walls, trying (and failing) to look casual.
The closet door swung open and you were immediately hit with fresh air and very nosy faces.
Toby’s was the only one you registered, though. The thick cloud of smoke rolled out past them into the hallway. He wrinkled his nose dramatically, grimacing at you two.
“J-Jesus, man,” he laughed. “You’re really smm-smoking in h-here? In a fucking clo-closet?”
Tim just blew air through his nose, clearly unimpressed. He shoved Toby’s head to the side and stepped out, brushing past the group without another word. He didn’t even glance back at you before heading down the hall.
You tried to follow, but Toby’s eyes locked onto you and he let out a shrill laugh.
“Ho-ly shit. You don’t loo-look too hah-hot right now.”
“Shut up,” you groaned, brushing past him as he started firing off questions.
“What’d h-he do? D-Did he make yo-you cry? Why do you smell like an ahh-ashtray? Wait—did you guys actually do an-anything or—”
You ignored him and made a beeline for the kitchen, desperate for something cold to drink. Your head was still swimmy and light, the nicotine making everything feel slightly tilted as you stumbled through the still-trashed house.
You passed Tim on the way. He had already found his usual spot right next to Brian, the two of them leaning against the wall like they were physically incapable of being more than three feet apart for more than ten minutes. Tim’s eyes flicked to you as you walked by, but he didn’t say anything. Brian, however, didn’t take his eyes off of you as you passed, gathering all the information he needed just from the state of you.
You yanked open the fridge, grabbed the first beer you saw, and popped it open. You drank nearly half of it in one go, the cold yeasty liquid soothing your raw throat and helping ground you a little.
Unfortunately, you weren’t alone for long.
Toby wandered in after you, Natalie right beside him and EJ trailing quietly behind them. The three of them formed a little triangle, watching you like a very nosy, very abrasive little troupe of bastards.
Most of the party in the living room had devolved into loud chugging contests and some money-gambling version of Go Fish that involved way too many rules and even more yelling. You were grateful almost everyone else was too distracted to notice how obviously rattled you were—except for these dipshits.
Toby leaned on the island counter, grinning wide enough to make your blood boil a bit. “So… you guh-gonna tell us what hah-happened in there or do w-we have to guess?”
Natalie tilted her head. “You look like you just got punched in the face… but, like, not in a bad way.”
You opened your mouth, ready to snap something mean and defensive, but before you could get it out, Brian walked into the kitchen.
“Alright, that’s enough,” he waved a hand at the trio. “Move along. Go have your little orgy somewhere else and leave people alone.”
Jack let out a raspy little laugh, which was rare enough that it surprised you into laughing too. Toby whined dramatically but let Natalie tug him away. The three of them shuffled out, Toby still throwing questions over his shoulder until they disappeared back toward the living room and out of your field of vision.
Once they were gone, Brian opened the fridge, rummaged through the junk and pulled out a beer for himself, then popped the tab. He leaned against the counter across from you and took a sip as he studied your face, which you were trying very hard to make seem normal.
“You alright?” he asked quietly.
You nodded, sipping at your beer if only to give your hands something to do. “Yeah… just a little… shaken up.”
Brian gave an understanding nod. “Tim can be a little intense sometimes. He’s either completely honed in or not interested at all. Sometimes he forgets that not everybody is like that, too.”
Your face burned with embarrassment, but if there was anyone you could talk to about this, it was Brian. He knew Tim better than anyone.
You tapped the cold glass of the bottle in your hands for a second, then asked, “Do you think he only did it because he was pissed about Jeff?”
Brian shook his head immediately.
“Nah. Tim doesn’t work like that. Jeff’s just an annoying, loud mouth kid to him. He doesn’t lose his head over shit like that.”
You stared down at your beer, chewing on your lip. “Then… why?”
Brian took another sip, then jerked his chin toward the back door.
“He’s out on the porch right now. And—he’s not smoking.” Brian raised his eyebrows. “When Tim’s not smoking, it means he’s thinking. Thinking real hard.”
He pushed off the counter, nodding toward the fridge.
“Go take him a beer. That’ll ease him up.”
You watched Brian disappear back into the living room, then immediately pressed the cold beer bottle against your forehead and closed your eyes. The chill helped a little, but your stomach was still doing nervous flips. Not scared-of-Tim flips. Just stupid, schoolgirl-crush, heart-in-your-throat flips. Barf. It was embarrassing as hell.
“Get it together,” you muttered to yourself.
You popped open the fridge again, grabbed the last beer, and started heading for the back porch.
But the second you reached the kitchen doorway, you froze.
Jeff was standing there, leaning against the frame, and blocking your path. He didn’t say a word. Just stared at you. And it was so… unreadable. His eyes flicked over your face, your slightly messy hair, the flush still lingering on your cheeks.
You stared right back.
The silence stretched uncomfortably. For a moment it felt like neither of you would move, but for as much ruckus as Jeff had caused tonight, you were more-than-willing to be rid of him right now. You had bigger things on your plate.
You squared your shoulders and shoved past him, knocking his arm out of the way with your shoulder.
He didn’t try to stop you.
You moved quickly through the hallway, the noise of the party fading behind you as you pushed through the back door and stepped out onto the wrap-around back porch.
The night air was cooler out here compared to the thick mug of coffee alcohol and smoke inside, trading the damp smells for fresh pines and wet dirt. Most of the party had moved or stayed inside, so the porch was vacant for the most part. But at the far end, where the railing curved into shadows and no one could see if they didn’t come outside, stood Tim.
He was leaning forward on the railing, staring out into the dark tree line like he was looking for something. He didn’t turn when he heard the door open. He didn’t glance over as your shoes creaked across the wooden planks. But you knew that he knew it was you.
You walked up and stopped beside him, setting the unopened beer on the railing near his hand, little beads of condensation dripping onto the wood.
For a few seconds, there was only the sound of crickets and the low hum from inside. You looked out into the treeline too, seeing how the dark shadows gave way to a black void beyond where the porch lights could reach. There were so many creatures and monsters out there, but none of them even came close to shaking your nerves like the man standing right next to you.
“Hey.”
Tim finally turned his head, his eyes sliding over to meet yours.
Tim’s stare had always been like iron, so sharp and guarded and prickling with intensity that kept almost everyone at arm’s length. But right now it looked… weary? Tired in a way that seemed deeper than just the late hour and the shitty beer.
Then his gaze dropped to the bottle in your hand.
“What’s this?”
“Peace offering,” you said, pushing it toward him a little further. “You looked like you could use one.”
Tim looked at you again, then at the bottle, before taking it. He twisted the cap off and took a long pull. Almost immediately his face twisted and he huffed through his nose.
“Jesus Christ, that’s awful.”
You couldn’t help but smile as you took another drink from your own. For a while, the two of you just leaned against the railing side by side, listening to the crickets and the distant rustle of the woods. The party noises inside felt miles away.
Eventually Tim huffed again, almost like he was annoyed with himself.
“I’m sorry for overstepping in there,” he said quietly. “I got lost in the theatrics of it all.”
You shook your head. “I would’ve told you to stop if I didn’t like it.”
…
You both caught it at the same time—the admission, the way it lingered. Your eyes met again.
Tim turned his head fully toward you, that weary look sharpening into something more focused.
“Did you like it?” he asked, and it’s like the words turned to static as they reached your ears.
You looked down at your shoes for a minute.
It had thrown you off, sure. The tightness of the space, the weird dynamic between you two, even the sheer amount of embarrassment from having to play this game at all made your brain feel like mush. But you couldn’t deny it.
It felt good.
The dizziness. The way your head went fuzzy and floaty. The way he took control of you completely and didn’t let you hide from it. The way every thought in your brain is stamped out the moment oxygen is absent from you.
Yeah… it felt good. A lot better than you were ever going to admit.
You took a big drink to buy yourself time for something witty to say, only to realize you’d already finished the entire bottle and there were only droplets left. You sighed and met his stare again.
“It’s a weird question,” you grimaced with an awkward little laugh.
Tim didn’t laugh with you.
He pushed off of the railing and stepped closer, close enough that you were suddenly the same distance apart as you’d been in that stupid closet. And who would’ve thought, but the fresh air out here suddenly became thicker in your lungs too.
His free hand lifted slowly. You watched it rise, your heart kicking off its rapid thumps like shoes in a washing machine once again. His fingers brushed the side of your neck first, and he was sure to feel the goosebumps that were rising there, before they slid from their position to lace around either side of your throat. His palm rested just under your chin.
You stalled completely. Went stock-still.
Heat flooded your face so fast you were sure you looked ridiculous. That familiar, stupid nervousness rushed back over you like a wave, making your breath catch and the tips of your fingers feel numb.
“Do you know your answer now?” he grumbled.
You stared up at him, completely dumbfounded. The words wouldn’t come. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Before you could find your voice, Tim reached down with his free hand and pried the empty beer bottle you’d forgotten about from your fingers. He set it on the railing beside his own, then closed the last bit of distance between you until your noses almost bumped.
His fingers flexed against the sides of your neck, applying the easiest amount of pressure to your airway.
You gasped sharply and your hands flew up on instinct, grabbing his wrist tightly.
“Is this okay?” he murmured.
You didn’t answer right away. The pressure made your breath go shallow, a warm, heavy feeling blooming in your head. It wasn’t painful—just intense. Overwhelming. Your pulse hammered against his palm.
After a second, you gave him a small nod.
That was all he needed.
Tim leaned in and kissed you, his beer-tasting lips sliding to meet yours, while his hand squeezed a little harder around your throat. It pinpointed your senses onto him—onto how labored he was making your breaths, how fuzzy he was making you feel, how warm and mushy and light all at once.
You whimpered against his mouth, the sound embarrassingly whiny and needy as you squeezed your eyes shut. Your fingers tightened around his wrist, doing little to keep yourself afloat as your knees weakened.
Tim’s other hand slid down and grabbed your hip firmly, fingers digging in as he pulled you tighter against him.
You tilted your head up further, sliding your hands from his wrist all the way up to the collar of his jacket. You tugged at him, yanking his chest flush against yours. Tim grunted, growling into the kiss and pushing his tongue between your lips, invading your senses.
Things started to get muggy really quick.
His hand around your throat tightened just enough to make your airway feel suddenly shallow. Every breath came out smaller, sweeter, turning your little gasps and whines into something embarrassingly needy between kisses. The more you whimpered, the more Tim chuckled warmly against your mouth.
He finally pulled back just enough for you to gasp in a proper breath, but his hand stayed glued around your throat firmly. Spit glistened on your swollen lips. You were the picture of bliss right now with your hazy eyes and flushed cheeks and lightheaded demeanor. Tim studied your face for a second, then shook his head slightly, like he wasn’t satisfied.
“You’re still too coherent,” he grumbled.
His hand left your hip and rose to your mouth. His thumb traced slowly around your wet lips, smearing the spit across them until they shone. Then he pushed his thumb between your parted lips, sliding it over your tongue.
You tasted the salt of his skin and sighed.
He gently bobbed his thumb in and out of your mouth, teasing, his eyes locked on the sight. You wrapped your lips around it instinctively and started licking, swirling your tongue under the pad of his thumb like it wasn’t completely desperate and embarrassing.
The effect on Tim was immediate, though.
“Fuck…” He pressed his thumb deeper for a moment, then pulled it out slowly, dragging it across your bottom lip. His hand around your throat flexed again, applying that perfect amount of pressure that made your head swim even more and your blinking grow more rapid.
“You have no idea what you look like right now.” His hips pressed forward against you, letting you feel exactly how hard he was. “How good you look.”
Tim dipped his thumb back into your mouth, sliding it slowly over your tongue. Without thinking, you started bobbing your head, sucking on it with gently eager pulls.
“Good job,” his voice dripped with approval.
The words hit you like a spark to dry tinder. Your stomach flipped, heat flooding low in your belly.
He pulled his thumb out, dragging it across your bottom lip and leaving your mouth open and wet. Then he latched his mouth back into yours, kissing you deeply while his hand squeezed tighter.
You moaned into his mouth, the sound snagged as your air began to dissipate.
The kiss turned heated, your tongues sliding hot and messy, teeth nipping each other's lips, both of you breathing hard through it. Tim growled against you, devouring every little sound you gave him.
He pulled back just enough to speak. “If you wanted this the whole time, you could’ve just asked, sweetheart.”
Then his grip on your throat tightened hard.
Your eyes widened. A sharp, shrill sound escaped you as your airflow suddenly cut off completely. Your hands flew back to his wrist, gripping tight. Your eyes fluttered with tears and rolled slightly as the pressure built fast in your head.
“That’s it,” he kept his voice steady. “Don’t be too loud now, can’t have anybody seeing what a mess you are, now can we?”
In your haze, everything felt overwhelming. The rush of blood making your face burn hot. The tight, rigid tension in your body. The floating sensation in your head. It was turning you on so badly you could barely think, could barely keep tabs on the rest of your body.
So, you gave in.
Your body went a little limp in his hold, trusting him, melting against his chest. Failed little breaths turned into choked, whimpering moans that rumbled against his palm. Your thighs pressed together as heat throbbed between them horribly. Tim groaned in time with your sounds, pressing his hard cock against your hip and grinding away, letting you feel how much this was affecting him too.
“Does it feel good?” his lips brushed your cheek as he kissed you almost tenderly. “You can let go. I’ve got you, doll.”
You were clawing at his wrist now, not to pull him off, but because the pressure in your head kept building at a staggering rate, a bright white heat spreading through your senses, numbing everything else. It felt so fucking good. So freeing. Like every nerve in your body was lit up and floating at the same time.
You felt warm lines of tears roll down your cheeks.
“Awh… poor thing,” he breathed. “Don’t you know anybody could walk around this porch right now and see you? Anyone can see what a… fuck… what a mess you are.”
He stilled up after he said that, like he realized something, like he just had the air punched out of him.
Then he finally let go.
The rush of air back into your lungs hit you like a truck. You coughed violently, your chest doing great swoops as you gasped and choked, desperately trying to pull oxygen back in and getting interrupted by your own coughs. Your legs buckled, but Tim caught you, his arms wrapping around your waist and holding you upright against his chest.
He grumbled his support through it, “There you go. Take it easy.”
When you finally felt steady enough, you lifted your head from its position of staring blearily down at your shoes. Your cheeks were wet with tears, and you could still feel the mess of spit on your swollen lips. The embarrassment tries to wash over you, but is ultimately overpowered by the thumping ache in your stomach and head.
Tim tilted your chin up with his thumb, studying your face carefully.
“You alright?” he asked, glancing from one eye to the other, registering how much wider your pupils had become.
You took a shaky second, then nodded. “…Yeah.”
It was silent for a moment, before you both spoke again:
“You satisfi—?”
“Can you do it again?”
Tim groaned. “Fuck.”
He grabbed your arm and tugged you backward along the porch, moving you both around the corner of the house where the wrap-around deck tucked against the wall. It was much more private here—someone would have to step fully outside and round the corner to see you.
The second you were hidden from view, Tim’s hands landed on your shoulders and pushed you down.
Your knees hit the wooden planks without any resistance. The dizziness was back full tilt, so you swayed a little as you settled, fighting the fog in your head to look up at him. Tim towered over you, broad and dark against the night sky, the porch light casting sharp shadows across his burly face.
Jesus Christ, he’s hot as fuck.
He stared down at you for a moment, breathing harder now, his chest rising and falling in big pulses. He brought both hands to either side of your face, cupping your cheeks and curling his fingers under your jaw. His thumbs brushed over your tear-streaked skin, wiping some of it away.
You broke eye contact and looked straight ahead, right at your eye level.
Fuck.
Tim’s bulge was obvious, straining hard against the front of his jeans, the thick outline pulsing slightly with his heartbeat. Your lips parted on a shaky gasp. Even with your vision still a little blurry from the lack of oxygen, it was so evident, you couldn’t look away. Your mouth watered.
You wanted it. Horribly.
Tim slid one hand to the back of your head, cupping it to keep your limp, oxygen-deprived body from tipping over. Your skin felt prickly all over, your nerves buzzing and firing off in little shivers.
You dragged your gaze back up to his face, swallowing hard.
“I want it,” you whispered, your voice so small you barely even heard it.
Tim’s lips curved into a grin, his eyebrows raising in mock question. The sight of it made your stomach flip.
“Yeah?” he murmured, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “You want it so bad… then you’re gonna have to take it for yourself.”
Your eyes dropped back down in front of you, then up to his belt. Your hands felt weak, but you raised them anyway and you worked at his belt buckle, the metal clinking as you pulled the leather through the clasps, fighting to get it open.
Tim didn’t help you. He just stood there, letting you struggle with the button and zipper, punctuating every step of the way with little sighs or grunts of approval.
“That’s it,” he said when you finally got the zipper down. “Go on, then. Show me what you want.”
Tim leaned his shoulders back against the side of the house, the wood creaking under his weight as he rolled his hips forward just slightly, like he was offering himself to you—or asking you to hurry up—you weren’t sure.
He was wearing dark navy boxers, and right at the tip of the very prominent bulge there was a small, damp spot where the fabric clung to him. Heart hammering, you shifted higher on your knees. Your hands were still shaky from the lack of oxygen earlier, but you reached up anyway, curling your fingers into the waistband of his boxers. His skin was warm, almost hot, under your fingertips. You noticed the dark trail of hair starting just below his navel, leading down and disappearing beneath the fabric.
You swallowed hard and tugged his boxers down.
The second you pulled them past his hips, his cock sprang free, so heavy, bobbing once right in front of your face.
Oh my god.
He was big. Not porn-star scumbag long, but thick like the rest of his body, girthy in a way that made your stomach tighten with nervous excitement. The flushed head was already glistening with pre-cum, a shiny bead forming at the slit and threatening to drip right there in front of your lips. He was thickest in the middle, the length curving a bit where a prominent vein snaked the underside, throbbing every few moments. You could see it twitch slightly in time with his pulse. All to lead to a dark, messy patch of hair at his pelvis.
Everything felt hazy. You were a little awestruck and more than a little intimidated.
Tim let out a relieved huff when his cock finally fell free, almost like he’d been holding his breath. You could feel the heat rolling off him, smell the musk of his skin and the air from the night. Your thighs pressed together instinctively as another wave of dizzy heat washed through you.
Tim’s voice groveled from above you, “You gonna just stare at it all night?”
There was a punch of amusement in his tone, but mostly it was strained, like he was trying very hard to stay patient while you knelt before him, wide-eyed and visibly overwhelmed.
His cock gave another twitch right in front of you, another bead of pre-cum forming at the tip.
“I… I’ve never… I mean—”
Tim chuckled. “Use your words.”
You swallowed over the lump in your throat, your cheeks burning hotter. “I’m nervous,” you mumbled. “I’ve never done… this before.”
Tim raised an eyebrow, tilting his head so he was looking down the bridge of his nose at you. The corner of his mouth twitched.
“Nobody’s used this mouth before?” he asked, almost disbelieving.
He slid his hand from the back of your head to cup under your chin, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip before tugging it down and parting your lips for him. His brows furrowed as he stared at your open mouth.
You licked your lips nervously. “Will you… be easy?”
Tim let out a chuckle, the sound warm in his chest.
“As much as I can be,” he grinned.
Then both of his hands moved to either side of your head, cupping your jaw and cheeks. You placed your hands over his, clutching his fingers tightly as he guided your head forward. Your heartbeat was so violent in your chest you thought he’d be able to hear it.
“Open up.”
You parted your lips wider, your eyes fixed on his tip as it disappeared under your nose and he eased the head past them. The tip bumped your tongue, the salty taste of his pre-cum spreading across your mouth. You let out a shaky breath through your nose, squeezing his hands harder.
The thick head of his cock slid over your tongue as he pushed in slowly. You opened your mouth wider on instinct, trying to make room for him. He tasted warm and a little gritty, exactly like how he always smelled naturally. Your eyes fluttered closed as you tried to relax your jaw, breathing quickly through your nose.
Tim let out a groan above you, “Fuck… so wet,” his voice tight with restraint.
He angled your head a little more with both hands and pushed forward again. The tip bumped against the roof of your mouth, making you jerk slightly. Tim hissed through his teeth.
“Watch your teeth, sweetheart.”
He adjusted the angle and pushed a little deeper. You felt your lips stretch around him as roughly the first third of his length filled your mouth. It was a lot and heavy on your tongue, stretching your jaw in a way that made your head spin even more.
You ran your tongue slowly along the sensitive underside of the head, licking at the leaking slit.
“Shit—” Tim cursed sharply, his hips twitching forward on their own.
He shifted his weight, steadying himself against the wall, then tugged your head back and forth, bobbing you along the first few inches of his cock. The motion was slow, letting you get used to the size and weight of him.
“That’s it,” he breathed. “Just like that. Relax your jaw… good. Suck a little harder when I pull you forward—mmh—yeah, fuck, just like that.”
He guided your head forward and back, daring to pull you a little deeper on his length every time.
“Easy now,” he instructed, stroking your cheek. “Don’t try to take too much yet. Just focus on relaxing—good. Yeah. You’re doing good.”
You could feel his hesitance in how he grabbed you, how he was holding himself stiff to not jar you too roughly. But you asked for this, so he shouldn’t hold back for your sake.
So when he pulled your head back, you scrunched your brows and pushed forward instead, taking more of him into your mouth. Tim groaned, his thumbs pressing harder into your cheeks as you stretched your lips wider around his size. Nearly halfway now.
You coughed around him, your eyes watering as he filled your mouth so completely. The stretch burned pleasantly at the corners of your lips and your jaw ached from the awkward stretch, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let go of his wrists. One hand braced against his pelvis, feeling the tense muscle straining there, while the other wrapped around the thick base of his cock and gave a tentative squeeze.
Tim cursed sharply under his breath, his thumbs digging harder into your cheeks. “There you go,” he grunted.
You leaned in and took him deeper, sucking on the first half of his length as best you could. The hand wrapped around his base made it easier to angle him, letting you slide your lips further down his shaft. You bobbed your head slowly, trying to find a rhythm, your tongue pressing and sliding along the underside as you worked him.
Tim's hips tried to buck forward before he caught himself.
“Shit… you sure you’ve never done this before?” he breathed, staring down at you. “You’re a fucking natural.”
He slid one hand into your hair, gripping just tight enough to guide you, and started pulling your head back and forth rhythmically. You let him set it, relaxing your jaw as much as you could while your hand continued stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach. Your spit was already coating him, making everything slick and messy, dripping down his shaft as your tongue ran over every inch you could reach.
Tim’s breathing grew ragged, broken up by low grunts and curses every time you sucked harder or swirled your tongue around the sensitive head.
“That’s it… ahh—fuck,” he murmured when you choked a little. “Who would’ve thought you’d be this good.”
He rocked his hips in time with the movement of your head, fucking shallowly into your mouth while his fingers stayed tangled in your hair. The obscene wet sounds coming from your mouth were the only noise rivaling the crickets and bugs in the woods, besides Tim’s heavy breathing and the mumbled jump of music from inside. Please let it be loud enough so nobody can hear, you thought.
You tried to take more of him, pushing forward eagerly, but the thick head of his cock nudged against the entrance of your throat and you immediately choked, coughing hard around him. You had to pull back, gasping with watery eyes.
Frustration burned in your chest. You wanted this—wanted him—so you tried again, forcing yourself deeper. Same result. Your throat closed up, and you gagged, pulling back with a wet, embarrassing sound.
One more try. You opened wider, shoved your face forward, and immediately choked again. Lewd, messy noises spilled from your throat as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.
Tim’s hands tightened on the sides of your head.
“Easy,” he cooed. “Slow down, doll. You’re pushing too hard.”
He guided you back until just the swollen tip rested on your tongue. You sucked on it obediently, apologetically, swirling your tongue over the leaking slit, tasting the salty pre-cum that kept dribbling out. Tim let out a moan, gritting his teeth as he watched.
You tried again anyway, your jaw aching in protest as you shoved forward, furrowing your brows in concentration. The wet sounds that came out of you were filthy. Tim groaned again, but this time he pulled you off completely, his cock slipping from your lips with a slick pop.
You gasped for air, spit and tears smeared across your chin and cheeks as you recollected your senses. Tim wiped at your face with his thumb, smearing the mess even more as he looked down at you.
“You’re doing perfectly,” he strained. “What’s the matter?”
You swallowed, still catching your breath, staring at his throbbing, spit-slick cock hovering in front of you—which you wanted so desperately.
“I want you to go harder,” you choked over a hoarse voice.
“You’ve barely started. You need to get comfortable first—”
“I don’t care,” you cut in, looking up at him with watery eyes. “I want you to use me. Like how you choked me earlier… I want to feel that. I want you to make me feel that way.”
Tim stalled, staring down at you. His cock gave a big twitch right in front of your face, drooling another thick bead of pre-cum that slowly dripped down the shaft. You could see the conflict in his eyes—the careful, controlled part of him warring with raw want.
Then something in his expression shifted.
He reached down and planted his hand firmly on the crown of your head, his fingers curling tight into your hair. He jerked your head back so you were looking straight up at him. His face was dark now, eyes laden with lust.
“I’ll tell you what to do,” he gripped. “But you listen to me. You fight me and you’ll hurt yourself. Understand?”
You nodded quickly, your heart racing.
Tim gripped the base of his cock with his other hand and pulled your head forward. He tapped the glistening tip against your bottom lip a few times, teasing the spit that gleamed there.
“Open.”
You parted your lips obediently, slipping your tongue out to meet him. He slid the head into your mouth, letting you close your lips around it. Then his hand moved to the back of your head, planting a base there.
“Relax,” he ordered. “Don’t fight it.”
Before you could even nod, he pushed forward, sliding deep in one smooth thrust until the head bumped the back of your mouth and pressed against the entrance of your throat. You gagged instantly, but he pulled back just as fast, only to push in again, setting a relentless rhythm.
“Oh, there we go,” he grumbled through his pleasure. “Good fucking girl. Just let me use this pretty mouth.”
Tim didn’t hold back anymore.
He tightened his grip in your hair and started fucking your mouth with punctuated thrusts, his hips snapping forward to push deeper into the wet heat of your mouth with deep grunts and growls. You grabbed onto his jean-clad thighs for balance, digging your fingers into the rough fabric as you squeezed your eyes shut, trying your best not to fight the constant intrusion despite how your body wanted to.
Every forward snap of his hips made his belt buckle jingle beside your ear. Lewd gags and choked little noises escaping you with every thrust as the thick head of his cock battered the back of your mouth.
“Fuck…” Tim hissed through gritted teeth, tugging your hair. “That’s it—just take it. Christ, your mouth feels so goddamn good.”
He moaned when you gagged harder around him, his hips stuttering for a second before he pushed in again, a little deeper this time.
“Shit—easy, sweetheart, easy,” he panted, even as he kept thrusting. “I know it’s a lot—mmh—but your choking is so pretty. C’mon, try again.”
You grunted around him with every deep push, spit dripping down your chin as your throat convulsed. Tears slipped freely down your cheeks now, but you didn’t pull away. You held onto his thighs tighter, trying to take deep breaths of air through your nose whenever he pulled back.
Tim cursed under his breath, half at you, half at himself.
“Fuck, I shouldn’t be doing this to you… not like this—ah, shit—” He groaned loudly as you swallowed around him. “But you feel too fucking good. This greedy little mouth… sucking me like you were made for it.”
Tim slowed his hips, easing you forward until just the thick middle of his cock rested between your lips. He let you suck him slowly, dragging your wrapped lips from the middle of his shaft all the way up to the swollen, leaking tip.
“Relax,” he sighed. “Don’t fight it. You’re gonna take all of me.”
A sharp jolt of nervousness shot through you like electricity, but it only made the heat between your legs throb harder. You blinked slowly with glassy eyes, and nodded around him.
He cupped the back of your head firmer. “Lean your head back a little… yeah, just like that. Open wider for me, doll. Relax your throat. Let me give you what you want.”
You did as he said, tilting your head back and opening your mouth as wide as you could, sucking gently on the tip while your tongue swirled around it.
Tim started pushing in again. This time he didn’t stop where he had before.
You felt the prominent vein along his shaft slide over your tongue as he fed more of his thick cock into your mouth. Your jaw ached from the stretch, especially when he reached the widest part of him. You coughed around his length as the head pressed firmly against the tight entrance of your throat.
“Easy… easy,” Tim breathed, holding you still. “Just breathe through your nose.”
He abused that spot, shallowly fucking the head of his cock against the beginning of your throat with small, insistent nudges that made you gag and choke wetly around him. Spit dripped down your chin in messy strings.
“Relax your throat,” he grit out. “Let me in. Come on, sweetheart, open up for me. I know you can take it.”
You whimpered around his cock, tears slipping down your cheeks again, but you tried—focusing on his voice, on relaxing your throat even as your body instinctively fought the intrusion, on every buzzing nerve in your head.
He pushed forward again, feeding more of his thick cock past the uncooperative ring of muscle at the back of your throat. The stretch burned, and you choked around him, again and again, but Tim didn’t pull back.
“C’mon,” he growled. “Let it happen.”
You tried. God, you tried. But the deeper he went, the harder it became. It was like he was pushing into your brain. You couldn’t tell if you were more frustrated that you weren’t being choked on his cock, or that him choking you like this wasn’t working.
“Look at me.”
You forced your watery eyes to peel open and up to his. The intensity in his stare was almost too much—you had nowhere else to look. Only his tan skin, dark hair, and everything you never knew you wanted so badly.
“Just focus here,” he muttered. “Keep lookin’ at me.”
He kept pushing, inch by inch, until the widest part of his cock forced its way past that tight ring. Your throat spasmed violently around him. You coughed and gagged, your body jerking and trying to pull away, but Tim held your head firmly in place, refusing to let you pull away.
“Shh. Relax… just relax,” he growled, trying to be soothing even as his own breathing grew ragged. “You’re doin’… so good. Takin’ me so deep. Fuck, I can feel your throat squeezin’ me…”
Finally, with one last slow push, he bottomed out.
Your nose pressed flush against his pelvis, buried in the coarse patch of dark hair. His length throbbed deep down your throat, completely cutting off your air. The fullness was overwhelming to an alarming rate.
Tim let out a long groan, his hips jerking and settling as he held you there.
“Jesus Christ… all the way. You got every fuckin’ inch.” His voice was hoarse, something you’d never really heard before. “Good. Such a good fucking job for me.”
You were getting lightheaded fast.
The world blurred at the edges, a warm, floaty haze settling over everything. Your throat fluttered and squeezed around the thick length of Tim’s cock, every tiny twitch and throb pulling another noise from him. But underneath the strain, the ache, the burning stretch… you felt nothing but bliss.
He’d bottomed out completely. The heavy head of his cock nestled deep in your throat like it belonged there. It felt like a bell had rung somewhere inside your skull—a deep, resonant thrum. The pressure, the fullness, the way your body fought and then haphazardly surrendered… it was overwhelming in the best way. You couldn’t breathe. You were gagging softly around him, tears streaming down your face, but none of it mattered. It felt too good. Like being choked from the inside out. Like something filthy touching a part of you no one else had ever reached.
Tim’s hand slid tenderly over your wet cheek, his thumb brushing away some of the tears as he looked down at you.
“So pretty,” he rasped. “So warm.”
His hand drifted lower, cupping under your jaw for a moment, petting you almost sweetly. Then it kept going.
You felt his palm settle over the front of your throat.
Your dazed eyes blinked into focus.
Tim’s fingers curled around your neck, squeezing with a good amount of pressure while his cock stayed buried. Your hand flew up and gripped his forearm where you felt it. A muffled whine vibrated around his length as your vision began to tunnel, black creeping in at the edges. Your head felt like it was floating, pulsing with white-hot heat, but the lack of air made everything sharper and softer at the same time. Everything was contradictory.
“Settle down… I’ve got you,” Tim murmured. “Look at you. You’re doing great.”
He kept the pressure steady, not crushing, but firm enough that every shallow, failed attempt at breath turned into a weak, pathetic gag that made your head strain further. Your body trembled. You felt like you were burning alive—every nerve lit up, body aching, head spinning so badly you thought you might actually pass out.
And you didn’t care.
It felt too good. The numbness, the heat, the overwhelming fullness, how Tim was looking down at you like you were the only thing in the world… it was addictive.
Tim’s thumb stroked over the front of your throat, feeling the way his own cock bulged there as he held you pinned.
You gazed up at him through puffy, tear-blurred eyes, barely separating where his face began and the porch lights ended. But what you could see was flushed raw, his stern mask cracked open to leave nothing but visceral need.
He gave one involuntary bump of his hips, nudging just a little deeper, and cursed sharply under his breath.
“Shit… I’m not gonna last like this,” he growled.
Then something shifted in him. Anxious, restless energy took over, and his hands moved to either side of your head, his fingers threading into your hair as he carefully dragged his cock back. You felt every thick inch sliding out of your throat—the sudden rush of air, the wet, obscene pull, the way your throat shuttered and clenched around nothing once he was almost all the way out.
You barely had time to breathe before he thrust back in.
Fuck.
The stretch burned as he pushed deep again and bottomed out. Then he did it again. And again.
Tim started fucking your throat in earnest.
He was growly now, almost animalistic with deep, frustrated grunts escaping him with every rough snap of his hips. He’d pull back halfway, just enough for you to feel the head drag across your tongue, before slamming back in, forcing himself past that tight ring and burying his cock to the hilt.
“Fuck—that’s it,” he rasped, voice breaking. “Take it. Just fuckin’ take it all.”
Your jaw had gone completely slack, your lips stretched wide around the base of him as he used your mouth. Every thrust punched a wet, choked gag out of you. Spit poured down your chin in messy strings, dripping onto your chest and the wooden porch below. Your hands stayed clenched tight on his thighs, holding on for dear life while he fucked your throat with growing urgency. Your body fought desperately for air that never came, but your brain couldn’t be more happy.
Tim’s hand slid from your hair to your cheek, his rough palm surprisingly gentle as he brushed away some of the tears still rolling down your skin. Then his thumb slipped into the corner of your mouth, hooking inside and pulling your lips open even wider, exposing your tongue for him buried under the weight of his length.
You blinked slowly and let your head go completely lax in his hold. You wanted him to use you exactly how he needed.
“I’m close,” he rasped, groaning as his thrusts turned sharp and frantic. “Fuck… I’m gonna cum.”
You looked up at him through wet lashes. His usually neat hair had fallen forward, dark strands messy and sticking to his forehead, hanging into his eyes. He looked completely undone.
“Shit—fuck,” Tim cursed sharply.
He pulled his cock out of your throat in one smooth motion. You gasped in wet, raw breaths, your chest heaving as fresh air finally rushed back into your lungs. Before you could even steady yourself, his thumb tugged your bottom lip down, holding your mouth wide open for him.
He pressed the swollen, leaking tip of his cock right against your tongue and started stroking himself in fast, frantic strokes. His body shook with how close he was.
You whined loudly around him, the desperate sound vibrating against his tip as you looked up at him with teary, needy eyes, silently begging the best you could.
That did it.
Tim practically growled when he came.
Thick, hot ropes of cum spilled across your tongue and flooded your open mouth. He kept stroking himself through it, gritting his teeth hard to stay quiet, his shoulders shaking as pulse after heavy pulse poured over your tongue. You moaned, the taste so satisfying and evidence of your hard work.
“Ah, God… swallow it all,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Swallow what I give you.”
Even as he came, he kept his thumb hooked in the bottom of your mouth, holding you open so he could watch every rope land on your tongue. His whole body trembled with the force of it, his hips twitching as the last few weak spurts dribbled onto your lips.
“Christ.”
When the last of his release had spilled across your tongue, you closed your lips around the sensitive head of his cock and gently sucked.
Tim’s hips twitching at the overstimulation. “Mmnh… you’re gonna kill me.”
You pulled off, then swallowed, feeling the warmth of him slide down your throat. The taste of him lingered on your tongue, so salty and warm.
Exhausted, you slumped down, your chest heaving as you dragged in deep, full breaths. Your head was still spinning, and you could feel the mess of yourself, all the spit and tears drying on your face. You lifted a hand to wipe at your chin, but Tim caught your wrist and swatted it away.
“I got it,” he muttered.
He slid down the wall, his back pressed to the wood as he tucked himself back into his boxers and jeans, quickly fixing his belt. Then he leaned forward, using his rough hands to haphazardly clean the mess from your cheeks and chin. When he was satisfied, he wrapped his hand around your arm and tugged you forward to turn your back against the wall too, your shoulders leaned against the other’s. The warmth of his body grounded you amongst all the haze.
For the first time you could hear it over the rush in your head, the party was still kicking inside, random yelling and loud music still evident against the quiet out here now.
“You okay?”
You looked over at Tim, whose face was the picture of exhaustion, mental and physical. You nodded, bumping your shoulder against his playfully.
He watched you for another second, then turned his head to stare out through the porch rails into the dark woods. The crickets kept chirping like nothing had happened.
“I shouldn’t have done that to you,” he muttered. “Not out here.”
You let out a tired laugh, leaning your head back against the wall.
“You’re dumb if you couldn’t tell how badly I wanted it,” you said, your voice a lot more hoarse than it had started. “I’m more disappointed you didn’t pull something like that sooner. You clearly wanted it, too.”
Tim quietly chuckled, a bit of light breaking through that dark stormcloud that always hovered above his head. For a moment the two of you just sat there, catching your breath and relaxing again. Then you both turned at the same time, your eyes meeting together. You leaned in slowly, and he did the same, faces drawing closer until your lips were barely a breath apart—
“Whoops.”
You both snapped your heads toward the voice.
Brian stood a few feet away, looking mildly awkward but mostly amused, three open beers clutched between his fingers. He was trying and failing to hide the smirk on his face.
“Am I interrupting?” he asked, tone far too innocent.
Tim let out a long, exhausted sigh and dragged a hand down his face. “C’mon, man.”
Brian stepped closer anyway and handed over two of the beers. Tim took them, passing one straight to you without a word. You accepted it gratefully and took a big, long drink. The cold, bitter liquid felt like heaven on your raw throat.
“Toby had a whole stash under his bed,” Brian explained, leaning against the railing across from you. “Party’s kinda revived itself since you two disappeared. People are doing chugging contests again.”
He took a sip of his own beer, eyes flicking between the two of you with barely-hidden amusement.
“So… had a good time mingling?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Tim shot him a flat look. “How much did you hear?”
Brian shrugged, the picture of innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just guarding the door like a responsible friend looking out for his pals.”
You nearly choked on your beer. Tim just shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he took a long drink from his own bottle.
The three of you sat there for a moment in surprisingly comfortable silence, the distant chaos of the party drifting through the walls while the cool night air brushed over your heated skin and wore off the strain. Brian’s smirk never quite went away, but he didn’t push it.
Tim’s shoulder, however, stayed pressed right against yours.
Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated!
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 wandering 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 distant 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.
Tim every time he opens his phone to texts from Toby and Brian
(also so excited for Tempest chpt 4! time to reread it again 🙂↕️)
The Pigeon Problem ->
Ft. Brim x Toby x GN! Reader !! :p
Throwing another Drabble you didn’t ask for at you #idgaf
— ^ ^ —
Overworked, underpaid.
Toby is just as energetic as you, so you bounce off the walls as a pair. Brian, the other supposedly responsible one, enables you. The man can’t seem to say no to you ever, and it sickens Tim to his stomach. Someone’s gotta put their foot down eventually, and it makes him look evil to shut down your fun.
Except he’s a complete hypocrite because he can’t say no to you either. Not really.
Timothy Wright had said the word to you one time, and one time alone. And it completely backfired.
It was nearly one in the morning, and you had come back from a night out with friends. Bar hopping, something like that. You returned drunk, giggly while he wasn’t home- and convinced Toby to match your stumble. By the time his boots hit the shoe rack, you two were warm-cheeked and tripping over each other.
Not only were you wasted, both you and Tobias were emotional drunks. You’d been cuddled up on the couch when he walked in, watching a nature documentary about pigeon neglect. He thinks. Either way, the damage had been done, with you reaching out to him saying you had to go feed the birds.
First off, he was dead tired and did not feel like chaperoning two inebriated, over-affection dumbass’s. Second, he couldn’t let you leave alone. Sure, Toby was competent, and could definitely protect you- but he was not sound of mind currently. Lord knows you’d walk hand in hand straight into traffic. Tim was not taking the risk- so he bunkered down on his answer. “No.”
It was the worst decision of his entire life.
You were silent initially, the echo of his reply lingering in the air- then you pouted. Then your eyes grew shiny. And then a small, barely audible hitch in your breath reached his ears. It began slowly, yet before he knew it, he’d done the unthinkable. He’d made you cry.
Hot tears bubbled at your lashes, dropping down your cheeks as you sniffled. He didn’t know what to do. They were just pigeons. You could feed them in the morning. Why was this so important to you? What bond did you even have with the species?
He stuttered for a moment, looking to Toby for help- only to find the boy’s bottom lip wobbling.
This could not be happening.
You’d somehow blue-toothed your sensitivity to the younger brunette, and now he was snivelling along with you. Tim had told Toby no countless of times, barking orders at him, scolding him with a coldness you’d flinch at. But this wasn’t work.
He was at home, and you two weren’t even dressed properly. Wearing his flannel and Brian’s sweatshirt, you were hiccuping on the sofa, staring up at him like he’d betrayed you greatly. Pupils wide and glossy while you sobbed. The level of puppy eyes he was hit with could kill a man.
You looked so sad, the flannel slipping off your shoulder, Hoodie’s old college sweater bunching at Toby’s wrists. It was domestic, nearly too vulnerable. It felt wrong to speak to you anything but gently. Yet here he was.
And when the sniper stepped foot through the door, all hell broke loose.
Both of you jumped up, darting to hallway. “Brian-“ His name spilled from your mouths in unison, and he almost fell over from the force of your joint tackle. Standing in the doorway of the living room, he had Toby clutching one arm, with you hanging off the other side. He shuffled in place, pulling you and the boy against his chest, confused.
Brian glanced down, blinking at the way you two buried yourselves into his coat. “What…?” He squinted at Tim, making him groan as a dragged a palm down his face.
“They wanted to feed pigeons and I said no.”
“Why in the hell would you do that?”
“It’s damn near two am, Bri. They’re drunk, we can’t-“
“They’ve been on a pigeon kick the entire week. They’re gonna’ cry all fuckin’ night, Tim.”
Dropping his voice to a whisper, he spoke through gritted teeth. Tim had no idea what’d he done, and how much work it’d take to calm you down. When he said you were emotional drunks, he meant that.
The salt on your skin didn’t dry until six am, and that was after everything they tried.
Holding you close, with you in Brian’s lap and Toby in Tim’s? Nothing. It quieted you, yet that somehow made it more sad. You were so pitiful, sniffing faintly, no reaction other than your slow wet blinks.
Kissing, the two of you sandwiched between them? Nada. The tremble of Toby’s lips against his was making the guilt eat him alive, and Brian’s disapproving glare over your shoulder didn’t help much. Apparently, you didn’t even close your eyes. That’s how bad it was.
Though, eventually, all fires had to burn out. You fell asleep curled up around each other, and Hoodie sighed. “This is why I tell you to check yer’ phone. They’ve been talking about it all week.” His statement was met with a disbelieving grunt.
“I did check my phone. God forbid, I ain’t think some fuckin’ birds would mean this much.”
“Well, they’re doin’ a thing right now. Pigeons are in- hell if I know—“
And the worst part was, you didn’t even remember it the next morning.
Following some downsized troubles, your lovers come home to find you MIA. Nothing trained killers couldn’t handle. Yet, upon discovering your whereabouts—
It turns out that the weather is harsher to people as tall as a ruler on a good day.
!! Ft. Brim x Toby x F! Reader !!
Honey, I shrunk myself !! Whatever will they do I wonder? Also EJ cameo -> this is sick fic adjacent :pp
Pt 1 Here <3
────୨ৎ────
— ^ ^ —
The boys had one girlfriend, and she’d somehow gone missing.
After the previous shrink debacle, they had very begrudgingly gone back to work, and everything had been smooth sailing up to this point. No more haywire missions, no life-threatening injuries, their schedule could even be described as almost leisurely.
Well, as leisurely as it could possibly be. However, that weekend when they’d returned as usual, you were nowhere to be seen.
Tim was the first to arrive.
Watch reading ‘9:45 PM’- He’d taken off his boots, hanging his coat on the rack. Calling out to you, only to be met with silence - alarm bells immediately blared in his head.
You were supposed to be home, and if you were going out, you would’ve texted. The only message he’d received all day from you said that you were leaving for a walk, so you wouldn’t answer for a bit. That was at noon.
You should’ve been back ages ago. The sun had long set, and you hated staying out past dark alone. You’d told him that it made you anxious, especially since you knew supernatural dangers existed in the wild. He had turned the house upside down in his search, only to come up empty-handed.
Worry overtook him rapidly, fear tainting his vision like ink in water. “Hun? Where you hidin’?” He tried to keep his tone light, yet his words shook nonetheless. Each step was accompanied by a prayer, every breath shadowed by the hope that you’d be found safe and sound. He was just overthinking again, too anxious about you for his own good- that’s all.
He looked in all bathrooms, the kitchen, the office, and the entirety of the second floor. It seemed as if you’d disappeared into thin air.
Dropping rigidly onto the sofa, he dialled you once more, then again, and again and again. He waited for your voice to ring out, but it never did, making him more uneasy by the second—
“Tim, can ya’ ask her if she’s missin’ her phone? Swear one of these days she’s gonna’ lose it for good.”
Whipping his head to the left, Brian stood at the living room entrance, your cell phone in hand. Tim’s expression could only be described as frantic when he rose, rushing over. “Where did you get that?” The desperation in his voice had the other man taken aback, and he arched a brow. “... On the porch? She left it by the seats-”
“She ain’t home.”
Brian’s leisurely stance faded immediately, eyes guarded while he straightened his spine. “The hell you mean she ain’t home? Her shoes are here.” Tim dragged a hand down his face. “I- shit-” Muttering, he marched down the hall, bursting into the office with the blonde in tow. “I got back an hour ago, been tryin’ to find her since.”
Urgency drove his actions as he plugged a drive into his laptop, and Brian inhaled sharply. “You think someone saw her with us?”
Already checking his holster, counting ammo, the gunmetal was cold against his gloved palm.
Tim sighed, flipping through security cameras in the area. “Might’ve. If they followed her here, they ain’t amateurs.” He grit his teeth, going to speak when Toby popped his head through the ajar door. “That’s w-where you guys were. Are we eating s-suh-soon? She said she wanted to make soup ‘cause it’s cold.” The innocence in his question made him tense up.
He stuttered for a beat before the blonde cut in. “She’s missing, Rogers. Keep your hatchets on you.” His tone was blunt, lacking any sort of warmth. It left no room for hesitation or defiance, because he wasn’t talking to Brian; he was talking to Hoodie.
The statement registered a moment later, and he adjusted his stance, rolling his neck to the side. Toby’s playful attitude had been replaced with an iron callousness. It didn’t matter if they were at home; your safety was up in the air, which meant this was now an assignment.
They moved swiftly, slipping into their roles like a second skin. Masky reloaded his pistols, latching a dagger onto his belt while Hoodie went over all video logs with your silhouette from the past twenty-four hours. Toby paced, restless. “When’d she leave?” Giving his axe a loose toss when the older brunette grunted. “Texted us at twelve, but her phone was on the porch. I don’t know if she even got past the fuckin’ yard.”
He caught his weapon by the handle and clenched his jaw. “We literally built this c-cabin so people wouldn’t find us. How the fuck did this e-even-” Tapping his foot on the carpet harshly, his head jerked. He was gripping the hatchet hard enough for his knuckles to turn white, and Hoodie clasped a firm hand on his back.
“Focus.”
While it might sound cold to others, he knew what the man meant. They couldn’t afford panic or distraction on the field- this was reassurance. Focus was accuracy, focus was an indispensable skill, and a higher success rate. He wasn’t being reprimanded; he was being told that if they kept a clear mind, they’d find you alive.
Toby swallowed dryly, nodding. “She’s... she’s fine, right?” Zeroing in on the floorboards- the sniper gave his shoulder a squeeze, letting go after a beat. “She will be.” Although the ‘she has to be’ went unsaid, the gravity of your wherabouts remained.
With the footage not being of any help, the trio suited up. Guns at the ready, adrenaline kicking in as they made their way outside. They were hunters, and they’d stop at nothing to track you down. Sniff you out like police canines on foot if they had to.
Except that the minute the oldest two crossed into the grass, Toby yelled from behind them. “I- I think I found her.” The pair whirled around, hurrying to him- and there you were.
Asleep, curled up under the daisies. Completely unaware of their prior stress. You had gone on a walk earlier, and Tim was correct, you hadn’t made it past the yard.
The thing was, you were too curious for your own good, and the rock had been so pretty. You’d ignored the strange sigil painted atop, picking it up without a second thought. Which led to you shrinking. Which led to now.
You wiggled slightly, comfortably fitting into the centre of a fallen flower. You had one to support your head, and another to cup your hips, with your tiny feet hanging over the basket's ledge. The planter was placed on your porch railing, and you’d miss it if you were headed straight.
Unless you were just a tad bit shorter.
See, Masky and Hoodie were blunt men, very direct and to the point. Toby, on the other hand, liked to wander. He subconsciously lingered by anything eye-catching, and miniature limbs in a flower basket stood out like a sore thumb. Especially if they had your socks on.
Masky pinched his nose bridge. “You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding.” Sighing loudly, he reached up, unhooking the planter. The motion caused you to blink back to life, and you gasped upon seeing them. “Oh- god, what time is it?” Rubbing your eyes, Toby was mesmerized. You were tiny. A pint-sized, little replica of their lover.
He totally understood why you were so giddy when they were small.
He exhaled wistfully, raising his hand to scoop you into his palms. “How did you get s-so mini, angel?” You sprawled over his skin, basking in the freely given warmth. You hadn’t realized how chilly it was until he’d picked you up.
“I found a cool rock- then it started glowing, and now I’m like... yeah. I locked the door, so I couldn’t even get back inside! And you wouldn’t be back till way later, this was the only spot to nap.”
Your explanation had Brian letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and he chuckled quietly. “Scared us real bad, y’know that?” Holding out a finger, he stared in fascination when you hugged it close. “Ugh, I would’ve called, but I couldn’t get down after I climbed up there.” You confessed, feet swinging.
Tim had set the basket down, already unlocking the front door. Again. “Should’ve goddamn known. Of course it was some weird ass magic bullshit- why would it be anything else, right?” He mumbled to himself, ushering the rest of you inside. Toby carried you as gently as he could. “Did you nap all day?”
“Basically, the flowers were actually pretty cozy.”
“Yer’ like- what was that movie? Thumbelina?”
Brian kicked off his boots, and your trio made your way upstairs, wooden steps creaking under the weight. You hummed excitedly. “I loved that movie. We should rewatch it... Tim Tim, have you seen Thumbelina?” Unclipping the holster from his belt, he called over his shoulder. “No, ma’am.” Your bedroom was constantly busy, even more so when the boys would get home at the same time.
“What? But it’s such a classic.”
“I ain’t had the time growing up, was too busy keepin’ myself alive since my parents didn’t feel up to it.”
The blonde pressed his lips into a tight line, holding in his laugh while you gawked. “Oh, well. Um.” Stuttering, you could see Tim’s shoulders shake. “I’m- ‘m teasin’ you, sug’-” He spun to face you, unbuttoning his shirt. “S’okay, we can watch it. Swear on my ma, I won’t bring up my tragic past.” His smirk made you pout.
“No, you can talk about it if you want! You can always talk to me, I promise.” Your earnest nature was not lost on him, and he cooed. “I know, baby, I know.” You were too damn adorable for your own good. Inching lower, he caressed your cheek with a thumb. Careful not to jostle you. “Let’s get you into somethin’ more comfortable, yeah?” And once you nodded, he retrieved you from Toby’s grasp.
The next fiasco to tackle was your clothing. You’d shrunk in your outside wear, and your normal pyjamas didn’t exactly fit at the moment. He placed you on the vanity, resting his hands at his hips in thought. “Rogers, you ain’t got any tiny shirts in that collection of yer’s, do ya’?” The younger brunette had a habit of picking up random trinkets, and Tim was praying the hobby would save the day.
Though much to his dismay, Toby shook his head, shucking off his sweater into the hamper. “Nah, it’s just r-rocks and stuff.” The disappointment on Tim’s face was palpable. “Mm. Brian, you think of anything yet?”
“We got sewing supplies.”
➽──────────────❥
Who knew making doll-sized clothes would be this difficult?
Brian was assigned the task of sewing the garments, while Tim cut out the patterns and Toby ensured stability. Well, your stability. They’d positioned you on a tissue box at the dining table, measuring your shoulders and height. The boys took it so seriously that Tim had even brought out his reading glasses.
The frame was perched on his nose bridge as he scoffed, hunched over the laptop. “Who the fuck is designing this shit? Why are there so many layers- it’s one t-shirt.” The screen displayed a tutorial on how to properly stitch the arm holes. A step-by-step guide that Brian squinted at. “Okay, fold- then tie the knot in a loop...” He mumbled under his breath, glancing back down to pull at the thread.
“Lover’s, I can just wear this. You don’t have to make me a new closet.” Yet Tim waved off your comment. “Uh uh. This magic bullshit wouldn’t even be around you if it ain’t for us. We’re grown-ass men, we can learn to sew some shorts.” Focusing on the text when Toby snorted. “You got to have y-your fun, now it’s our turn.”
“Made us kiss like some damn Barbies. Yer’ gonna’ try on these clothes and like it, girl.”
“Tim-”
“Don’t Tim me. Now hush.”
The three of them were gathered under a dim lamp they moved from the bedroom. The singular bulb lighting the fabric, Brian tugged back the string, finishing off the pattern. “Alright- put this on.” He held the minuscule piece in front of you, and you shuffled off your dress. Left in nothing but your underwear, the cotton slipped over your head with ease. “How’s it look?”
You struck a pose, framing your face in your palms- Toby snickered. “Totally fit for a magazine, muffin.” They spent at least an hour constructing your new wardrobe, and it was nearly midnight by the time they finished.
Tim slouched into the seat, pushing his glasses to rest in his hair. You were dressed in a plain white shirt, slightly lopsided sleep shorts hugging your hips. But it was comfortable, made with love, and that’s all that mattered. You yawned, the day's weariness catching up to you. Brian hummed. “Slept till we got home, an’ you still tired?” His teasing lilt made you huff. “I’m allowed to be sleepy in my own house—”
You bickered all the way to bed, Brian’s argument being that since you were small, one normal hour was way longer for you. You disagreed strongly. “That’s not how it works.”
“I can’t hear you, missus- ya’ gotta’ speak up.”
“Tim, do something.”
“Leave ‘er alone, Bri.”
“I can hear you just fine, angel.”
Perpetually ready to back you up, Toby pats your form lightly. Your usual arrangement had been altered, and Toby was in the middle for the night. Tim on his right, Brian on his left- you were tucked into the collar of his sweater, using it as a blanket. Brian rolled his eyes. “Suck up.”
“You’re j-just mad ‘cause she wanted to sleep on me.”
“She ain’t want nothin’. We flipped a coin, and you rigged it.”
“No, I didn’t!”
“You act like I didn’t see you catch it all tilted-”
“If y’all ain’t shut the hell up.”
Tim grunted, clicking his tongue before you giggled. “I want a goodnight kiss.” Wiggling your feet under the fabric, Brian was propped up in a flash. Squishing closer to lean in. “Tell me if I suffocate you, darlin’.” His lips covered your features, and the warmth drowned you whole. He parted from you with a barely audible ‘mwah’, Toby taking his place.
He scooted up a smidge, then ducked his chin down. Letting you hug his face and press yourself to his mouth. Your bedroom was full of hushed laughter. Quaint, as it offered the comfort of candlelight. Then Tim, with a fake disgruntled attitude and all, was the last to go. “Should get you a bell for next time.”
The man pecked your forehead as best as he could before settling onto his back. Slumber, creeping along with the tides, you were out in a blink. And despite the situation, you’d never felt safer.
They reminded you of guard dogs, loyal to a fault, no matter the odds.
➽──────────────❥
Toby awoke with sunlight forcing its way behind his lids.
However, the minute he decided to sleep in a bit more, a dampness on his chest made his eyes shoot open. You were shivering, cold sweat soaking through both of your shirts. Even with his sleep-addled brain, concern immediately had the leftover fog disappearing. He nudged you.
“Baby?” Whispering again, once you didn’t budge. “You’re f-freezing- c’mon.” Still, he was met with nothing- then you let out a meek whimper. Your face was scrunched up in pain, and you trembled violently. Something was wrong. He hurriedly sat, shaking Tim. “Masky, I think she’s sick or s-suh-something.”
The killer rasped in response, rubbing his temples while he adjusted to the brightness. “What the hell do you mean she’s...” It took a single look for him to catch up, and he cursed. “Shit. Alright.” Swinging his feet off the mattress, before gesturing to the boy to wake Brian.
The two were swift, Toby cradling you to preserve warmth as Tim dug through your bathroom cabinet for medicine. Brian narrowed his eyes, gaze sweeping your body. “We gotta’ check her temperature.” He frowned, joining the other man to search in the drawers. Your lover returned with the tool after a moment, and Toby grit his teeth. If you were smaller than usual, would the cold hit you harder?
The blonde held the thermometer to your lips, grimacing when he had to force your mouth open. 105.2 degrees, you had a fever. “Tim, it’s high. We need to give her something now.” Unfortunately, it appeared your cabinets were useless. They didn’t even have tylonel, and you were growing weaker by the second. Tim slumped against the door frame.
Shoulders tense, he dragged a hand down his face. “We need to take her to Jack.” His statement had Toby’s head whipping towards him. “We can’t just fucking bring her there. It’s not safe, what if someone sees-”
“If her temperature’s dangerous normally, what do you think’s gonna’ happen if we leave it, huh?”
The gravity of your current state spilled into his gut like cement. Toby swallowed dryly. “How do we know EJ’s gonna’ be good about it?” Rubbing your back, he attempted to soothe you while Brian buckled his belt. “Jack ain’t running his mouth. The bastard barely talks most days.”
This was going to be a weird fucking med-bay visit.
➽──────────────❥
After they’d killed the engine, the three made their way to the basement.
You’d been tucked into Toby’s breast pocket, most of your weight supported by his unwavering grasp. He refused to just let you curl up in there, and he held the curve of your body through the cotton the entire ride. Now, standing at the basement entrance, he sighed.
Masky descended the stairs first, the other two following closely. “Jack? We got somebody sick. Her fever's real high, and she’s... she got hit with somethin’ to make her small.” His voice bounced off the concrete walls, then, after a beat, the cannibal in question stepped from behind the curtain. “She?” Tilting his head to the side, he inhaled. “An outsider.”
The words rolled off his tongue like an accusation, and Toby interjected.
“Don’t f-fucking start. She doesn’t deserve to suffer because you’re on y-your fucking high horse.” His outburst was met with a slight head shake, Jack raising a claw to placate him. “I was not denying your request; I was simply curious. That’s all.” He sputtered wordlessly, and Hoodie squeezed his shoulder, turning to Jack.
“Can you fix it?”
“Assuming her physiology is the same, yes.”
Stepping forward, he carefully removed you from his sweater, presenting you. Their medic pitched lower, sniffing you in a way that made Masky clench his jaw- before he reclined. “Mm, it’s a common cold. She will be fine.” Then you were swiftly picked up, and Toby had to stop himself from lunging after you.
Hoodie would give Jack one thing: the guy had the ability to stay unbothered in any scenario. It’s not that he wasn’t gentle with you; he just carried you with such little reaction that it threw your boyfriends off.
Lying you onto the medical table, he’d placed a heated towel down so your chills wouldn’t worsen. His movements were methodical, quick and done with skill. He filled a small spot plate with Acetaminophen, using a dropper tool to collect the syrup. Your head was propped up delicately, and he nudged the pipette past your lips.
The medicine pooled into your mouth, its sharp flavour causing you to swallow. You grimaced, then your lashes fluttered open. Everything was hazy, yet when your vision finally focused—
A giant, dark blue mask encompassed your view. Black voids where eyes should’ve been. Even in your current state, you could tell the man was massive. His inhuman baritone froze you on the spot as he uttered one singular sentence.
“I warmed up a rag so you wouldn’t get cold.”
You yelped.
Toby darted over immediately. “Hey, angel. You f-feeling okay?” Crouching, he rested his chin on the table, holding the edge while the other two padded closer. “Yeah, I’m fine. I think.” You glanced back at the looming figure, sitting upright weakly. “Who’s…?” Masky sighed. “We didn’t have anything at the house, and you had a fever. This is um- this is EJ.” He gestured to the doctor, and Jack gave you an oddly polite wave.
“The medication will activate faster because of your size. Nausea and other symptoms should lessen once you eat.” Withdrawing, he grabbed the lab instruments from your side, walking to a counter near the back. Your lovers took his place, and Hoodie rubbed your shoulder with his thumb. “S’always something with you, huh?” Meant to be teasing, but his worry was evident.
You leaned into his touch, pouting. “It’s probably because I stayed outside for so long. Sorry.” He shook his head at your tone. “Enough. It’s not yer’ fault- jus’ try not to give Rogers a heart attack next time.” The mention of his name had Toby huffing, and he stood, reaching out to let you cling to his hand.
“I didn’t wanna bring you here, but you were shivering like crazy. EJ’s g-good though, you can trust him.”
“I mean, he seems nice. He’s like your medic, right?”
“He does his job.”
Masky rolled his neck, and the doctor in question returned. He flexed his hand slightly, debating, before he murmured. “You…” Circling a finger amongst all of you, he cocked his head to the right. “Are all involved, correct?” His statement fell over the killers, making Hoodie shrug. “You could say that.” Toby coughed into his fist awkwardly.
Jack, unbothered by the invasiveness, continued nonetheless. “And you two are-?” He wagged a claw between Masky and Hoodie. “Yup.” The blonde nodded slowly, and Masky pinched his nose bridge. “And Tobias is?” Apparently, their resident cannibal had a knack for romance- Toby gave him a stiff thumbs-up.
“How intriguing. How did a sniper, a butcher, and a tempered serial killer end up in a relationship with a civilian?” Curious, Jack clasped his hands in front, expectant as you exchanged looks. Masky broke the stalemate, stern. “It just happened, alright?” Yet, the tallest persisted anyway. “I never thought you three would connect so deeply, but I suppose proximity creates intimacy. Do they ever… overwhelm you?”
Hunching down, the suggestion in his wording hit you like a brick, and Masky cleared his throat loudly. “Thank you, Jack. We’re goin’ now.” You were lifted off the surface, still swaddled in the cloth, when they began marching up the stairs.
Except, much to your lover’s chagrin, you thoroughly enjoyed feeding the fire.
“It does get overwhelming sometimes, but my stamina’s gotten better.” Masky clamped the pad of his finger over your mouth and shushed you through gritted teeth. “Little lady, if you do not-” Alas, you were not one to give up.
Wiggling to give yourself room, you chirped from his shoulder at Jack. “We kiss in circles. They throw me and Toby around a lot- I like it though.” The groan that escaped Masky was physically felt, Hoodie snickering quietly while Toby gasped, scandalized.
“I see.”
“I swear to the fuckin’ heavens above, EJ-”
“I bring no judgment. I’m quite happy you’ve found an outlet.”
Every day, Timothy Wright begs god to help him understand how this happened. And every day, he is ignored.
➽──────────────❥
Midnight, the manor was silent aside from the television speakers.
Jeff sagged into the couch, Ben and Nina occupying themselves with a debate on whether or not their favourite character would survive the new season. “He’s gonna’ die, bro.” Throwing his hands into the air exasperatedly, she responded by jabbing a finger into his chest. “No, he’s not! They literally built the whole plot around his backstory.”
“I hope he dies, he’s annoying as shit.” Jeff’s comment made Nina scoff. “You’re only saying that ‘cause your fav died.”
“No, the fuck I’m not? He’s annoying. You’re just fucking biased.”
“He was a good character- but he’s still dying, Nini.”
Bickering, they continued their disagreement as Jack rounded the corner, scanning the room. He hummed, glancing back and forth between the three. Jeff raised a brow. “You going hunting?” His comment was brushed off, then the medic tilted his head in thought.
The conversation had dimmed, his presence making the proxies curious. It was rare for EJ to leave the lab, let alone long enough for them to talk to him casually. “… What’s up, man?” Ben popped a chip into his mouth - only to choke on it once Jack spoke, and Jeff nearly broke his neck looking up.
“Can you leave me alone for like five minutes please…”
“Why? Are you uncomfortable?”
“Uh, yes?” Did he really ask you that with a straight face, when he’s literally standing by the bathroom door like some needy puppy who can’t stay away from his owner? “I want to pee in peace, so both of you need to leave. Now.”
Ah yeah, your son is also standing by the door beside his dad. He was the first one to go on the lookout for you actually, and his father simply followed him around the house until they found you here, in the upstairs bathroom.
You thought that if you used this one instead of the one on the other floor they’d understand that you wanted some privacy.
How foolish of you to think like that.
It’s as if you’re not aware by now that these two are imprinted on you like little ducklings and will follow you around at any given opportunity.
It was very endearing at first.
Hugo was very open with affection from the very start and that clinginess of his seemed to pass onto your son. The little boy sticks to you like glue more often than his father does. He has been like this since he was a newborn. Every time a family member tried to hold him when he was younger, he’d start crying and would only stop once he was in your arms again. He also refuses to eat unless he’s sat on your lap while doing so and your bedroom is practically his too since he sleeps with you and vivien more often than he sleeps in his own crib.
All those other displays of his attachment to you are cute, but this? This is just silly. “I can’t even piss in peace in this house. It's genuinely ridiculous."
“I don’t see how us being here makes any difference.” Your husband really pisses you off sometimes. No pun intended taking into account your current position. “And I didn’t finish the story I was telling you earlier.”
“I can’t do it with you two looking at me like that Vivien!” you exasperate, even when trying your best to keep your anger in control. “Just—tell me your story once I’m done, okay?”
“Ah…okay.” Finally it clicked in his brain that his time to leave was way overdue. “[S/N], we need to go. I think your mother’s getting angry.”
“But I wanna stay here with mama…” you almost feel bad for kicking them out after hearing the disappointment in his voice, but you’re also deserving of alone time. They’re not going to die simply because you want to tend to your basic physiological needs. “Here mama, I hold it for you.”
“Thank you my love…but I don’t need you to hold the toilet paper for me, It’s fine.”
“Why don't you want me to hold it,” He’s pouting already. “Mama…do you not love me anymore?” Where the hell did this come from now?!
“What?! No baby, of course I do!” You look at your husband for help, just to see he looks as desolated for being kicked out of the bathroom as the little boy beside you.
To Love Is To ✦ Multi x F! Reader: Miscellaneous memories of you and your love-struck slasher. Wrapped up and laced with a bow.
Tempest ✦ Masky + Hoodie x F! Reader ✦
Series Summary: 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. Now the picture perfect spouse- is the man sleeping next to you really who he says he is?
Chapter I ᯓ You & Your Husband ✦
Chapter II ᯓ The Soldier & His Wife ✦
Chapter III ᯓ The Hunt ✦
Chapter IV ᯓ A Worrier ✦
TBA… ͙͘͡★
➽──────────────❥
Hoodie//Brian Thomas ⦻
1-800-Midnight-Caller ✦ Hoodie x F! Reader: Mystery man by the payphone. You’re enamoured as you are cautious; yet you can’t help but pick up when he rings you during a storm.
TBA… ͙͘͡★
➽──────────────❥
Eyeless Jack//Jack Nyras ⦻
Sweet Meat ✦ EJ x F! Reader: There is a man on the edge of the woods, and he’s completely infatuated with you.
Sunday & The Blue’s ✦ EJ x F! Reader: You’re a messenger working under The Operator- the issue? You’re in love with the resident cannibal.
TBA… ͙͘͡★
➽──────────────❥
Jeff The Killer//Jeffrey Woods ⦻
Yours, In Scarlet and Sunshine ✦ JTK x F! Reader: Jeff swears up and down he can’t stand you, but emotions and honesty have never been his strong suit, now have they?
Left-Right-Left ✦ JTK x F! Reader: His love for you is deep and warm. Something that keeps his heart beating, but just how long can perfection last?
TBA… ͙͘͡★
➽──────────────❥
Ticci Toby//Tobias Erin Rogers ⦻
How To Boyfriend 101 - A Guide for Parasites ✦ Ticci Toby x GN! Reader: An exploded lab, a newly built house and one crush later- he’s desperately trying to pretend that he’s your boyfriend and not a brain eating amoeba.
TBA… ͙͘͡★
【EveryManHybrid ★ >>】
➽──────────────❥
Evan//Habit ⦻
XOXO - Habit’s Ver ✦ Habit x GN! Reader: SFW and NSFW relationship head-canons !!
➽──────────────❥
˖Ი𐑼⋆ Bitty & Bonbon ────୨ৎ──── ₊ ⊹ ᰔᩚ ݁
AKA -> The Adventures of Habit and His Favorite Rabbit ᕱ ᕱ
!! Breakdown of their nicknames !!
!! Reader’s Psychology/View of Their Relationship !!
The Kick-Off !! ✦ ft. Habit x F! Reader (First meeting):
Habit & His Gaslighting ✦ ft. Habit x GN! Reader:
Daddy’s Home ✦ ft. Dom! Habit x F! Reader:
Reassurance But Evil & Perverted ✦ ft. Habit x GN! Reader:
Sorry Not Sorry ✦ ft. Grovelling-Adjacent! Habit x F! Reader:
Oh God He’s Rabid ✦ ft. Habit x AFAB! Reader:
Extra Sub! Habit scene ^^
Aphrodisiac Habit but he bottoms (and he’s mad about it) ^^
Oh No You’re Sick ✦ ft. Habit x GN! Reader:
Extra Fluff! Habit thinks you’ve gone missing (you haven’t) ^^
Early-Bird ✦ ft. Habit x F! Reader:
TBA… ͙͘͡★
【⦻ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⦻ Drabbles ⦻ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⦻】
➽──────────────❥
The Creeps With a Touch-Avoidant S/O ✦ ft. Multi x GN! Reader:
Jack’s In… HEAT ?? (And so are you) ✦ ft. EJ x Menstruating Reader:
A Boy Failure & His Magical Music Box ✦ ft. Human LJ x GN! Jester Reader:
Lap Sitting ✦ ft. Soft-Dom! Jeff x F! Reader:
Lover Worship ?! ✦ ft. Toby + EJ x GN! Reader:
Where’s Toby ?! ✦ ft. Werewolf! Toby x GN! Reader:
Fuzzy & Headrocked ✦ ft. Sub! Evan x GN! Reader (somno):
HOLI-WHAT ?! ✦ ft. Multi x GN! Reader (Christmas w the creeps !!):
Sweet Summer Lovin’ ✦ ft. Farmer! Tim + Handyman! Brian x F! Reader:
Ice-Breaker ! ✦ ft. Hoodie x GN! Reader (Brian’s view on relationships and trust):
Kiss Me Soft ✦ ft. Hoodie x GN! Reader (Patching up Brian):
Hearts Crown Jewel ✦ ft. Thief! Hoodie x Princess! Reader:
Claws & All ✦ ft. Dilf! EJ x F! Reader:
SO HELP ME GOD !! ✦ ft. Multi x GN! Reader (Embarrassing moments in bed):
Raw & Older ✦ ft. Older Bf! Toby x GN! Reader HC’s:
Penny For Your Thoughts ✦ ft. Masky x Crybaby! Reader (Comfort/reverse comfort)
Have You Ever Tried This One ? ✦ ft. Multi x GN! Reader (Favourite positions):
Late-Night Laundry ✦ ft. Masky x F! Reader + Hoodie (Silly side quest):
Grasshopper ✦ ft. Toby x GN! Reader prt 1:
Sunspot ✦ ft. Toby x GN! Reader prt 2:
The Space In Between ✦ ft. Hoodie x AFAB! Reader (Marblejar):
Downsized ✦ ft. Brim x Toby x F! Reader:
MIA ✦ ft. Brim x Toby x F! Reader (pt 2):
Extra Extra !! (More fluff) ^^
The Pigeon Problem ^^
How you all met ^^
Cowgirl !! ✦ ft. Sub! Hoodie x AFAB! Reader (Riding torture):
You got kids ?! ✦ ft. Dilf! Brian + Tim (Headcanons):
Fawn ✦ ft. Masky x GN! Reader (Marblejar):
Un-Sober Me Up ✦ ft. Hoodie x GN! Reader:
A Distraction ✦ ft. EJ x F! Reader (desk head):
Take Her Him Down- Pound Town !! ✦ ft. Bottom! Hoodie x AFAB! Reader (pegging):
Fantastic Mr Fox ✦ ft. Fanboy! Hoodie x Magical Girl! Reader:
“Bro your brothers hot” ✦ ft. Best friend’s older brother! Jeff x F! Reader:
A Looker ✦ ft. Toby x AFAB! Reader (mutual masturbation to just the tip):
Obsessed ✦ ft. Toby x AFAB! Reader:
High-Tailed ✦ ft. EJ x AFAB! Reader:
Because ✦ ft. Toby x F! Reader prt 1:
Dressed & Confused ✦ ft. Toby x GN! Reader prt 2:
Bark For Me ✦ ft. Masky + Hoodie x F! Reader (pet play):
Silly ✦ ft. Multi x GN! Reader:
Monochrome & Yearning ✦ ft. LJ x Bsf! GN! Reader:
The Filler Episode ✦ ft. Multi x GN! Reader:
Destination Honeymoon Ave ✦ ft. Hoodie x F! Reader:
Track Star ✦ ft. Sully x AFAB! Reader (marathon sex):
Bread Winner ✦ ft. Masky + Hoodie x AFAB! Reader (pegging):
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⦻ Pillow-Talk By Babs »-♡→
Downtime ✦ ft. Toby x AFAB! Reader:
Softy ✦ ft. Jeff x AFAB! Reader:
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The Sharing is Caring Saga ✦ ft. Masky + Hoodie x F! Reader !!
You’re Brian’s girl, and Tim has a crush.
Desk Pet pt 1:
Tim’s Weak Will pt 2:
Double Stuffed pt 3:
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Sand Jack In The Box Kind of Love ✦ ft. LJ x GN! Reader !!
warning: some mentions of blood & minor injuries, hurt/comfort fluff
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the neon green numbers on your alarm clock glow 2:03 am. you really should be asleep since you have a massive calculus exam tomorrow, but you're slumped over your desk, desperately trying to memorize formulas. your headphones are blasted, a chill lo-fi beat playing to keep your brain alive.
right in the middle of a song, a heavy, dull thud hits your window screen. it sounds like a wet sandbag slammed into the glass.
"what the heck was that?.." you mutter, pulling your headphones down around your neck as you get up to open the window and check what caused the sound.
you're expecting a bird or some cruel prank, definitely not what you saw, which is a soaked figure in a torn up black-and-red suit collapsing onto your sill.
before you have time to process the fact that spiderman is bleeding on your school dorm windowsill, he groans, pulls his mask up past his nose to breathe, and you instantly recognize your quiet classmate, miles.
it seems he's too exhausted to climb up to his dorm room.
"please don't call the cops... or my parents" he mutters quietly.
"of course not" you immediately answer out of instinct.
you reach out and grab his shoulders, pulling him inside. he’s deceptively heavy, his muscles dense, and you stumble back a bit under his weight.
"jeez, what happened?" you ask, trying to steady him.
miles just groans in reply, his head rolling back as he lets out a weak sigh.
you guide him over and put him right on your bed. the expensive, light-colored blanket your mom bought you for college is immediately soaked with murky rain water and a smear of dark blood, but you find yourself not really caring anymore. right now, your classmate is hurt.
"stay here," you say softly, pressing a gentle hand to his uninjured shoulder to keep him anchored.
miles nods weakly, his eyes already fluttering shut as his head hits your pillow.
you rush into your tiny en-suite bathroom, tearing through your cabinets. you grab a pack of antiseptic wipes, a bottle of saline, and a handful of the biggest bandaids you can find.
when you come back into the bedroom, he looks completely ready to fall asleep right then and there. his eyes are closed and his breathing is shallow.
"hey, stay awake for just a second," you murmur, kneeling on the mattress beside him. "i have to clean you up first."
you gently start wiping the blood and rain from his forehead. miles winces, his brow furrowing as the antiseptic stings his skin. he opens his eyes just a crack, looking at you with a mixture of gratitude and intense embarrassment.
"m'sorry," he mumbles. "ruining your carpet... your bed... i'm sorry."
"stop apologizing, miles. just breathe," you whisper, wiping away a streak of grime from his cheek.
you move down to his shoulder where the black fabric of the suit is badly shredded, exposing a nasty, jagged scratch that's still oozing blood. you carefully clean the edges and press a large bandaid firmly over the wound.
once the bleeding stops, he looks good to go. you try to nudge him to stay on the bed or at least move to the small futon couch across the room, but he stubbornly shakes his head.
he slides off the mattress and slumps onto the floor, propping his back against the side of your bed. he didn't wanna walk over to your couch; he's just too dead to the world.
within seconds, his chin drops to his chest, his breathing deepening into a heavy sleep. you stare at him for a moment, marveling at how the city's biggest hero looks so small sleeping on your cheap dorm rug. you pull your extra comforter off the desk chair and gently drape it over his shoulders.
you wake up the next morning to find your window open, a breeze blowing the curtains, and a tiny, hand-written sticky note on your desk that reads:
"thank you IOU big time. pls don't tell anybody my identity -m"
you smile, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as you peel the note off the paper. you walk over to the open frame and look out the window, shielding your eyes from the sun.
far off in the distance, between the tall brick buildings of brooklyn, you can see a tiny black-and-red figure swinging effortlessly through the city skyline, catching the morning light like he always does.
the whole city watches him every day, but now you know exactly who's under the mask. and as you look down at the messy handwriting in your hand, you think that's oddly sweet.
