𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴: lıllılı.ıllı.ılı Multi x F!Reader ıılıı.lllııılı.
"Nothing Can Change This Love - Sam Cooke ⋅" ★
𝟶𝟷:𝟻𝟷 ━━━━━━●─── 𝟶𝟹:𝟶𝟹 ⇆ ◁ ❚❚ ▷ ↻
W/C: 14.3k // Summary: Shutter, Click, Boom !! Snapshots of you and your beloved, all neatly tucked into one place. A whirlwind of late-night ice cream stops, and a clown messing with your laundry. From bad dreams to accidentally getting hunted down by his coworkers— what haven’t you been through?
Featuring: T. Rogers, B. Thomas, J. Nyras, J. Woods, T. Wright, and a Jack In The Box !!
Tags: Hurt/comfort, reverse-hurt/comfort, Tim’s fatherly disappointment, Brian’s inability to say no to you, Suggestive in some, Toby getting hit on mid-kill, using EJ as a relief from period cramps, LJ’s battle with detergent, YEARNING, and a high content warning for sugar
A/N: This is genuinely so tooth rotting I don’t even know what to say. It was very fun to write though- so I hope you have fun reading it !! KISSES FROM MEEE ^3^ !!
➽──────────────❥ Chase ᯓᡣ𐭩
This was a bad idea.
Hindsight was twenty-twenty, you supposed- but you missed your boyfriend. Toby had been gone for a week, a whole seven days without your baby. He wasn’t even sure when he was coming back, either. Simply promising he’d be back in your arms in one piece soon, and that it’d most likely be a longer job. You didn’t know if you were going to make it.
Therefore, you hatched a plan the night he was preparing to leave.
Making a map of the woods while he’d slept, you felt a little guilty. Slipping from his arms as carefully as you could, you weren’t anxious about him catching you, though. The day had been eventful. A cute picnic date before he had to return to his slaughterhouse of a home, and carry the burden of his axe. Activity after activity, ending it with a bang. Literally. Once you were sure you had drained him for all he was worth, you cleaned him up and pretended to doze off.
Now, was your map perfect? No. Was it usable? Yes. You’d started taking mental notes when you would go on strolls with him. Asking innocent enough questions about landmarks and such. Things like “Do you ever trip on that log when you’re coming to mine?” or “Wait, is that the river you cross? Is that why your boots are always muddy?” Playing naive, your prods were disguised as random things you noticed on the way.
Your lover, bless his heart, trusted you blindly. Answering your requests without a second thought, saying “Oh, all the t-time- kidding! I’m su-super smooth, I’ll have you know. I jump over it-“ and “Nah, I walk down that way. Between the tr-trees.” He truly made it too easy, none the wiser to your evil deeds. The morning of, he had kissed you goodbye at the door, whining that he’d miss you, then exiting with a grin. You were set into motion the second his figure disappeared into the shrubbery. Going out and tracing his steps, scribbling down on a notepad the trails he’d told you about.
You’d spent hours, days refining your chart. Finally satisfied after nearly losing your mind trying to differentiate the paths, you were set.
It was terribly risky, you knew what he did, yet your gnawing ache for his affection overpowered that by a thousand. The goal was to find the infamous mansion, sneak in through a window or something, and then stay with him for a night or so. You’d be gone by sunrise; it should have been a breeze. And maybe you were delusional to think you could out-stealth seasoned killers, what of it?
Toby’s first meeting with you was a mess; you’d been a witness to him hacking some guy’s head off. Running away and screaming as he chased you. He cornered you, weapon raised and ready to strike. Before his muzzle dropped clean off his face, dragging his goggles along with it. The set had taken damage in the prior scuffle, tumbling onto the pavement with a sharp clang. You gasped. He was gorgeous.
Hair wind swept from the action, and brunette locks framed his face. Freckles littered across his skin, with the poutiest lips you’d ever seen. A jagged gash dug into his cheek, but if anything, it made him oddly more attractive. It just fit. Went with the sweater, the way he carried himself. He’d sneered in response, baring teeth.
“I g-got somethin’ on my face or what?-“
“My god, you’re stunning.”
Arms pausing awkwardly over his head, with his manic grin wiped completely. Blinking at you, and you blinked back. The air was tense. Clearing your throat, you coughed into your fist, “My bad.” Dropping his axe and letting it swing by his side, he was stunned. What was wrong with you? Why weren’t you panicking? You were literally screaming bloody murder two seconds ago, and now you looked borderline sheepish. There was no way you thought this was going to work. Come on, flirting with the enemy was so cliché.
He knows your type, thinking you can get away with anything just because you’re pretty. You’d probably spit on him if you saw him anywhere else. It pissed him off. Liars. At least you were funny, though, he’d give you that. “You’re- fuck. You’re a real piece of work, you know that? Like you ca-can’t be serious. In what world did you think I was gonna’ let you off, huh? because you what? Hit on me? Like-“ Monologue rampant and seething, flailing his hands in exasperation when he spoke.
You didn’t hear a word that came out of his stupidly kissable mouth.
Sweat beaded down the lines of his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing every time he swallowed. His shoulders were broad, and the fabric of his hoodie was worn down; the curve of his bicep outlined harshly. Thin cotton draped over the divots of his pecs, chest heaving with exertion. Lord knows you’d prayed for times like these. Tongue swiping across your canines as you stared, eyes almost half lidded. He chokes, freezing mid-sentence,
“-Are you even listening to me?”
“I need you so bad.”
His jaw dropped. He was threatening you- and you were horny? He had to be hallucinating; this was clearly the plot of a bad porno he’d been watching. He probably hit his head somewhere, dreamed up the entire thing. His body was still in bed- did he even have a job today? When was he even assigned this? Thoughts cut short when you grunted loudly. Exaggerated to catch his attention, you sighed. “Crazy idea- but like, dinner?” You were insane. Genuinely unwell. “Baby, please. I know a really good spot- oh, you like kill people, though- we can work on that. Wait, did he deserve it? Because you’re super cute-“
And you unnerved him deeply. The weirdest person he’d ever met by far, witness be damned, he should’ve turned around and sprinted.
So why the hell did his face feel hot? This was not happening; he was not about to find love in a warehouse with some ill-minded civilian—
He did, and the rest was history.
Your thing was, the last time you’d run into a crazed slasher, he’d fallen head over heels for you. That had to mean Lady Luck was on your side, and you were willing to risk it. Bet on red, or whatever they say. Not that you’d know, you weren’t a gambler. Packing your bag, you slung it over your shoulder, lacing your boots with determination. The trip would be smooth sailing, and you were sure your map was at least ninety-five percent accurate. I mean, what’s the harm in a quick visit, right?
A lot. There was so much harm in a quick visit.
Slumped against a tree, you panted. When he said he had work, you did not know it meant he was hunting. In the same woods you lived. Apparently, from what you’d overheard, there were trespassers, proxies from another house that had gotten too bold. Whatever that means. Any strange faces shot on sight, you were incredibly screwed. More screwed than an Ikea furniture set, how the fuck were you going to survive this? Curse your libido and your dumb and outrageously sexy boyfriend. You needed a game plan, fast.
You had been carefully stepping through the branches, trying not to snag your hair on twigs, when someone shone a flashlight directly into your eyes. Far away enough to give you slack to flee, but it was too late. He’d seen you. Barking orders to the rest of the group, tone commanding and stern.
You ran like hell. Forcing your legs to keep going, muscles burning, and adrenaline flooded your veins. Darting through the birch, frosted soil crunching under your weight. With only the moon to guide you, you veered between shrubbery. You could hear them in the distance, hot on your tail; you’d walked these grounds hundreds of times. And you refused to die by the hand of some masked man with a shotgun. The wind stung, biting cold whipping across your face.
Their torches flickered harshly, casting shadows that drowned the forest in stripes. Voices booming, echoing as they taunted you- your lungs seared. Bolting down the treeline, you weaved in and out of the evergreen, ducking behind a withering trunk to catch your breath. Thank god for the mandatory P.E in your youth.
Crack.
Heavy footsteps rounded your spot, and you braced. You were not dying tonight; you would fight with all your might if it were the last thing you did. A silhouette appeared at your side, tilting closer by a millisecond, and you dug your heel into the dirt. Tensing your abdomen, stance locked, you grit your teeth and spin. Swerving left, you drove your elbow into his nose. Hard. The force caused him to stumble back, cussing. The yelp was suspiciously familiar as you lunged forward, winding back your fist.
“Fu-fuckin cunt. You— muffin?”
You freeze, arm slowly descending. “Toby..?” Standing in front of you wasn’t a random, frenzied madman. It was your random, frenzied madman. Pushing up his goggles, his gaze immediately scanned the area. “What the hell are you doing here? Jesus fuck- what if Masky f-found you, hu-huh? Then what?” You didn’t know who ‘Masky’ was, but sure. Worry emanated from him in waves, his shoulders jerking sporadically. Hatchet held limp by his hip, “You can’t just- what were y-you thinking?“
You threw your palm up, gesturing while you huffed.
“I don’t know- I missed you. And it’s been over a week, okay?-”
“You could’ve gotten killed, they would’ve— you missed me?”
Covered by the muzzle, but you could still see his love-sick pout. Basically, feel his tail wagging behind him. “Way too much, actually. I thought I was going to die, Tobes.” You straightened up, smoothing your shirt. Coy and yearning, you laughed quietly. His eyes were always so expressive, pupils dilating and swallowing the bronzed hue. “Babyy.” Dragging the syllable, he reached for you with grabby hands. Gloved fingers wiggling, such a puppy.
You sank into him, wrapping around his frame, and burying your face into his shoulder. Toby smelled like earth after rainfall, ambered leaves and something so uniquely him. The kisses that peppered your hair were feathery. Endeared where he held you. “What am I supposed to do with you, pretty girl?” Mumbling against your scalp and humming, “Gonna’ make me lose m-my job here.” Crickets hidden away, not yet tombed by the seasons. Their song mended with the drafts in chimes. He was terribly doting, with a soft spot for you bigger than Texas. It was genuinely becoming a problem.
Because the minute he saw you, felt you, it was as if he were somewhere else. The amour overgrowing his heart, and warming his roots. His loyalty borders on doctrine, the very thing that keeps him alive.
When his back is against the ropes, beaten bloody and by the skin of his teeth. When his grip wavered, exhaustion marrow deep, and it felt like he was going to lose. He prayed to you.
Tilting your chin up and tugging down his metal guard. You captured his lips slowly, sharing both air and soul. Inhaling, he sighs, “You’re ruining me.” Whispered with such devotion, it made you ache. “So I’ve been told.” Cradling his face, your touch is careful, tender, while he traces your spine. His appetite simmering as he leaned in to taste you once more—
“Rogers.”
Yanking you off him in a flash, he threw you to the ground roughly. And with your cheek smushed into the mud, your sight lands on the masked figure that appeared from the evergreen, rifle strapped across his chest. He stood a few feet from where you were, looking down at you before his leer flicked up.
Toby had pinned you in a half-hearted arm lock, stuttering, his explanation clumsy and rushed. “I- um, I got her-“ clearing his throat loudly, sniffling. “Damn, tha-that was a close one, a-aye Masky? These civi’s sure are s-slippery, huh?” Grin not convincing in the slightest, the other man’s judgement boring into you. This motherfucker was going to take you both out. You cough, “Ow. Please- let me go, you… ruthless vagabond.” Monotone, he grunted, his eyes unreadable.
“You burying ‘er with the rest?”
“Yeah- yeah, I’m gonna’ dismember t-the hell outta’ this bi-“
The sharp chill caused by your glare had his maw clamping shut. Swallowing, he shifted.
“Out of thi-this… very respectable young lady. Who is… most likely too kind for her own good- and uh. Probably ta-takes chances on folks who maybe don’t d-deserve it. An angel, really-“
Even with the stranger’s face hidden, you could tell his brow was arched. You were hit with an odd sense of almost fatherly disappointment.
“-I’m assuming. I mean, w-who knows?- But she’s probably gotta’ stable job, real u-upstanding citizen. Or something.”
‘Masky’ clicks his tongue, rigid. “Hurry your ass up, we’re expected back tonight.” Nodding in your lover’s direction once, before turning around, not sparing you another glance. You watched as he faded into the shadows, vanishing out of view. Toby helped you up, dusting off your jeans and fixed your jacket. Staring at each other mutely, he broke the silence.
“… I think w-we’re okay-“
“I’m going to smack you.”
͙͘͡★
The rustic engine sputtered, rumbling by the side of the road. Dim glow reflected off the cement with the truck stalled in neutral, and leather-gloved fingers tapped the wheel. Brian’s passenger side swings open, metal creaking as Tim slides in, the lock clicking shut behind him.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a lighter, cigarette caught between his teeth. The ashes spark, and he inhales. Smoke curling up lazily, a hum sounds from his left.
“The kid’s got a girlfriend?”
“Mm.”
➽──────────────❥ Confess ᯓᡣ𐭩
2:15 AM
Vision bleary, you blinked at the alarm. It was placed neatly on your nightstand, tucked next to the lamp, the red lettering flickering once in a while. You couldn’t sleep. The day had gone well, with chores out of the way and productivity sustained until the last hour. The thing was, your body just simply refused to rest. Instead, fading in and out of consciousness since you’d gotten into bed, lover next to you. Speaking of lovers, you shimmied onto your side, sheets rustling quietly.
Brian.
Lying flat on his back, mouth slightly agape, completely dead to the world and snoozing away. He had returned on a whim, telling you he was free for a weekend with red still splattered on his sleeve. The work he did was gruelling. Sure, he never went into detail about what exactly he did out in those woods, but he didn’t have to. It was obvious. You’d known him long enough to know vaguely the tasks he was assigned, to notice the sag in his shoulders. The circles under his eyes when he would inevitably come home to you.
It was nice seeing him like this, you thought. Carefree with ruffled hair and drool collecting at the corner of his lips, it made him look human. More human than he probably felt most days. Snug under the covers, your head on his shoulder, finally relaxed after the violence had faded away. It could never reach him here, not with you, in your arms; he was invincible. Or so he told you.
The silhouette of raindrops painted his face, shadow cast by the street lights below. It was drizzling, the pitter-pattering making the perfect white noise. You should have been exhausted, knocked out long ago, yet you weren’t. Wide awake and bored out of your mind. Tracing shapes onto his bare chest, an idea sparked- ice cream. The craving hit you like a freight train, salivating as you pictured the taste.
Glancing at the window, then back at your peaceful, almost-basically-boyfriend, the shame began creeping in. You wanted the sweet treat so bad, but he was tired. And he deserved to rest, slaving away and subjected to horrors beyond comprehension.
You knew you were a selfish and terrible person when you leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. Pulling back to note your damage, nothing, his breathing was still even, unaware of your evil plans. Trailing pecks against his cheek, you littered his skin in affection, from the bridge of his nose to the crown of his head. Stirring slightly, his nose twitches, so cute. Even with his scars, he still looked like your baby at every angle.
You continue your assault, humming against his lips, leaving the ghost of a kiss. This time, he snakes an arm out from under the pillow, cradling your waist and smoothing down the curve of your spine. Nuzzling his face, you whispered,
“Bri?”
“Hm?”
Simply grunting, his lids still closed. “Can we go to the shop and get ice cream?” You felt bad, but alas, your need for a snack was as strong as a battlefront soldier. The words, taking a moment to register, were you sleep-talking? Dreaming about going to the store with him was a new one. So domestic and genuine, even when you were far away. It was endearing, the thought making his lips pull up a tad. Slumber is fighting to take him, slowly drifting into the warm fog, before your guilt-ridden mumble brings him back. “I want Dippin’ Dots. I saw a poster earlier, it’s only like a ten-minute drive.”
His brain stutters to life at your question, cracking one eye open to squint at you. Voice thick with sleep, rumbling low in his chest as he tries to reason with you. “You can’t wait till mornin’, dolly? We can get ya’ somethin’ sweet for breakfast.” You knew he was right, and honestly, it was dumb to disturb him in the first place. Your poor overworked lover, not even in rest does he have reprieve. Curling into his side, you peck his collarbone, “Kay.” Ready to force yourself to sleep, not thinking more of the request.
Brian, however, was now incredibly alert. The second your defeat reached his ears, guilt flooded his veins like ice. He was well aware he never deserved your devotion, your trust; you were an angel who took him in despite his sins.
You rarely asked anything of him, no more than the wish for his safe return, and he’d brushed you off as if you were a chore. Burying his face in your hair, he sighs, “Dippin’ Dots, huh? You sure they got it?” Your head shoots up at record speeds, “Yes, why?” Lord, you were adorable. Cuddled up on him, completely swallowed by his sweater. Hopeful grin as stars filled your pupils, he’d have to have gone crazy to ever deny you.
“I don’t know, I’m cravin’ ice cream.” Said with a teasing lilt that has you giggling, “We have to go, please please- it’ll be so good, Brian-“ Giddiness rubbing off on him, being with you made it easy to forget his hands were stained with blood. Made it easy to forget there was a time when he wasn’t yours, wrapped in fondness and tooth-rotting sugar. You were his lucky charm, like liquid sun in a bottle, and he’d fight with all his might to keep you shining. Chuckling, he nods, “Go get your shoes, sweet pea.” And you threw the blankets off with efficiency, jumping out of bed, your excitement clear as day.
You meet him at the door, rocking on your heels. “They have new flavours! We can get a bunch and try them-“ basically bouncing while you talked, you stared at him as if he’d hung the moon. It truly did wonders for his ego. Such a menial task, and it brought you joy so bright it was blinding. He thinks he might be the luckiest bastard on earth. “We’ll get all of ‘em. As many as we can carry, my girl.” A wink and he swings open the door, bowing dramatically.
͙͘͡★
The brisk air whipped across your skin, radio playing some old song you didn’t recognize. Tune crackling out of the speakers, you glanced to your left. He was so handsome, pretty, honestly. Stop lights glaring off his profile in waves, striping him in the hues as you drove passed. “I’m so excited- this is fun, are you having fun?” Your head turns to him, eyes bright with humour. Sometimes he wishes he could freeze time, stay in a loop with just the two of you. Relive the seconds where you’d look at him as if he were something more than this.
A person worth your tender hands and trusting heart. Too bad he can’t, so he whistles low and laughs instead. “Sure am, sweet thing.” Amused, his cadence lightened when the gas station came into view. Hopping out of the passenger side, Brian grumbled about how you were “Supposed to wait for him to get the door.” You walked hand in hand to the front, the fluorescent glow contrasting with the dark sky above.
The door chimes when you step through the threshold, and there it was. Your holy grail. Dippin’ Dot stand in all its glory, framed by the aisles. Rushing forward, you grin, pointing enthusiastically at the display. “Bri, look. She’s gorg.” He thinks you’re impassioned over the silliest things; he loves that about you. “I’m lookin’, I swear.” Throwing up his arms in mock surrender, you both lean over the glass.
Strawberry cream, birthday cake, and mint-chocolate swirl.
Fresh additions to the ever-growing pile of flavours. You hummed, “Wow, can life really get any better than this?” In his opinion, it honestly can’t. Not with you like this, “Mm, I doubt it, darlin’.” A click of his tongue, and you’re sliding open the handle. Cool air brushes your nose, and elbow deep in the shop freezer, you pull out the mini treats. Chilled plastic bundled in your arms, he follows in your steps.
Grabbing multiple containers, his gloved hands bordering on a balancing act. Gaze sweeping his form, “Your greed sickens me, Bri.” You sneer, features contorted in faux accusation and judgment. The statement makes his jaw drop, “Well, excuse me, pretty miss. I know damn well you did not drag me to this store-“ Snorting, your mouth pressed into a thin line, suppressing your laugh. “-At near three am in the goddamn morning-“ closing in on your space as he continues.
Disbelief is strong in every breath. “-To be criticized by your hypocritical self.” The look on his face is priceless. You couldn’t hold it in any longer, the giggles bubbling up your throat. He scoffs, “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up- I’ll be taxin’ you later.” With a side eye that could kill, he moves to the register, plopping down your shared goods.
Check out was a breeze, you and your treasoned lover settling into the back seat. He still wasn’t over it. Peeling the lid back, he opened his mouth in incredulity, “Greed? Really? After all I’ve done for you? All I’ve sacrificed-“ You doubled over, Brian was serious and unfeeling, until he just… wasn’t. “Yeah? And what have you sacrificed?” Whipping to face you, finger jabbing his chest, emphasizing each word that left his betrayed lips. “My. Heart.” He was the most irritating man you had ever met. “Oh, wow, mister heartless over here. My most sincere apologies, truly.”
Deadpanning as hard as he could, he sighed, grumbling quietly. “Thought I was cared for under this roof- apparently not. God forbid a man ask for some lovin’-“ snickering, you shoved a spoon from the pack into his lap. “Eat. Before it melts.” He was pouting, stabbing into the undeserving container with force. “And besides, I can’t be too sappy with you. People would get the wrong idea, and then my crush would never ask me out.” Pausing, his eyebrow raised, grunting around the bite.
“The hell is that s’possed to mean?”
“Um, the guy I like, Brian. Keep up.”
Huffing, he leans back. The confusion was obvious; he was so easy to rile up. “I-I’m sorry. The guy you like?” His head cocking to the side, offended and shocked all in one. “Yes, the guy I like. He’s pretty neat, and he’s kind of possessive. I don’t think he’d appreciate you being all over me, you know?” Mouth agape, he squinted at you as if you’d grown four arms and then some.
Had he cracked his skull open on the concrete? Fallen through a portal on the ground, perhaps? What the hell was happening? “Right, of course. And- and would you mind walking me through this lil’ crush of yours?” You felt a tiny bit bad upon seeing his despair, but not bad enough to stop. “Well-“ you start, chewing lazily.
“He’s really tall, and like- super strong.”
Inhale, exhale, he reminds himself. You had to be a sadist or blind. I mean, have you seen the things he’s capable of?
“Charming too, and a total smooth talker-“
His eye was twitching with vigour.
“He’s also kind of mysterious; I don’t even know his name. He told me he worked in the woods, though. Has this rifle slung in the back of his truck; it’s like his baby.”
Some random ‘mysterious’ man, and you didn’t even know his name? And he had a gun just out in the open? Where the hell were you even meeting these people? This guy was clearly evil as shit. Preying on you, an innocent civilian who didn’t know better.
You were kind, giving to a fault, and whoever this was- was evidently taking advantage of that. Probably had nefarious plans for you, some creep who had body bags in his basement.
“Okay, don’t judge me, but I’ve never seen his face. He always wears this mask, with his hoodie up and everything. But I can tell he’s pretty.”
Initially, he was upset. Now? He’s concerned. Angry on your behalf. Could you hear yourself? Talking crazy for a man who allegedly stalked the moods in a mask. His mind flooded with ways to dispose of your so-called crush. Track him down, dump him in a ditch somewhere. He probably thinks he’s some hotshot, strong and invincible.
He had nothing on Hoodie.
Years and years of training, wrath carved into his bones. He’d blow the sad sack’s head clean off, bury him six feet under and spit on his grave. Maybe throw him to Jack, let him be torn apart slowly, and Brian would laugh.
“Actually, I have seen his face once. Sometimes he pulls up his mask to smoke; he’s got the cutest tooth gap. Dimples, too.”
He was probably ugly. And his teeth sounded stupid.
“I really like his accent, his voice is my favourite. I think he’s southern.”
Wait. What?
“And he does this thing, calls me his pretty miss- or darlin’. It gives me butterflies like crazy.”
Oh.
“Yeah, I have a massive crush on him. He’s so cool though, do you think I have a chance?”
Ohh.
His body language changes in the blink of an eye. From stand-offish to cocky in a flash. Leaning back, he crosses his arms, chest puffed out. “You know what? I think you gotta’ shot.” Crooked smirk on full display, and you giggle. “Really? You mean it?” He nods, index tapping his chin in feigned contemplation. “Mhm, sure do, sweet thing.” The sugary pet names flow out like syrup, frozen treats melting between you. “Okay, okay- I think I’m gonna’ confess. Let me call him so he can meet us here.”
Pulling out your phone, you click his contact. Endearingly saved as “Bri Bri <3”, pressing it to your ear when it rings.
Across from you, he shifts. Turning to the window, holding up his buzzing cell and swiping to answer.
“Hello?”
“Heya,’ pretty miss.”
“I know it’s late, but do you think you could meet me at the store we always drive past? I have something really important to tell you.”
“The one offa’ highway eleven? At this hour? I mean, I’m actually right around the corner- could make a quick stop if ya’ need. The hell you doing out so late anyway?”
“Getting ice cream with my friend, he’s really sweet. Drove me all the way here, and all that.”
You can see his shoulders shake in your peripheral vision, sniggering under his breath. This was silly, and he knew it.
“He good to you?”
“The very best.”
“Alright, I’m pullin’ in now. See you in a sec, dolly.”
The line cuts with a click. Swivelling around, you whisper, as if you couldn’t let anyone else hear. “Sorry, do you think you could get out? He’s right outside.” He hummed, expression earnest, “Of course, tell me how it goes, yeah?” Opening the car door, he slides out, steel-toed boots hitting the pavement. Head held high as he rounds the vehicle. He grabs a black ski mask from the trunk, red frown stamped on the fabric. Slipping it on and tugging his hood over. He straightens up, fully committed to the act, and he walks back to the side window.
Knocking on the glass, posture stiff, commanding as he usually was when he had to wear the cover. Unlocking the latch, you push the door open, and he sprawls down next to you. “So, what’d you want to tell me?” Tone steady, stoic like when you first met him. You remember how nervous you always got, fidgeting and restless; it’s funny looking back now. He made you feel so safe, his presence warm; it’s strange thinking about a time he’d had you on edge.
Breathing in deep, you confess, “I’m sorry for dumping this on you- but Hoodie. I’m madly in love with you, and I couldn’t bear going another moment without you in my arms.” He thinks you could win an Oscar if you wanted to. Bottom lip wobbling, hands cradled to your chest in fervour. You were fit for the screens, he’s sure. “In love with me? Oh, darlin’, I’ve been waitin’ to hear that all my life.” Throwing yourself at him, you grasp at his sweater, “Kiss me, lover.” And he tips you back, movements theatrical. Your mouth molds to his through the cotton, passionately making out like you were in a soap opera. Moans exaggerated for effect.
Parting from him, you gasp, “You have to go- I can’t be seen in such disarray.” The profession makes him huff, “You’re right. But I’ll be back for you, ya’ hear?” With that, he pushes off of you, dramatically exiting and allegedly disappearing into the night. Brian makes his return just a moment after.
Scooting close, he rasps. “So? How was it?” You twiddle your thumbs, sighing dreamily, “Girl, he totally kissed me like I was the last woman on earth.” His palm shoots up, clamping over his lips, “Oh em gee, girl. No way, what happened next?” Absurdity was finally catching up; a beat passes before you both erupt in laughter. The sound so love-sick it was nauseating. You collapsed against his chest, tears at the corner of your eyes, “That’s exactly how it happened the first time, by the way.” He snorts above you, “Yes, queen def.” Pitched up and mocking, you slap his shoulder.
“That is not how I talk- and nobody says that, Brian.”
“Well, I beg to differ. I’ve heard your little phone calls, y’know. That’s what you sounded like when yer’ friend told you her man was a scrub-“
Bickering late into the night, he insisted it was definitely something people said. Rattling on about how “He may be off the grid, but that doesn’t mean he’s ancient.” The roll in your eyes was growing heavier with each passing second. He was the biggest annoyance ever to walk the land.
But he was your annoyance, and you wouldn’t rather have it any other way.
➽──────────────❥ Worry ᯓᡣ𐭩
You had never been more panicked in your life.
Jack was going to kill you. Okay, well, not kill you, but he’d hate you, and that was arguably worse. He had left early in the morning, dawn barely peaking over the horizon. Easing from your sleeping form carefully, he had told you the night prior that he was wanted back. An upcoming assignment that required almost all the residents to be present. They needed his knowledge and methodology. His power.
It bothered you a little; he’d promised that he finally had the free time, a weekend off to relax with you. Just to leave hours later, swearing he would make it up to you. Settled atop his chest, his large palm resting on your head, thumb smoothing back and forth.
He had muttered gentle apologies, deep baritone filling your ears, and you knew he felt terrible. Understood that you couldn’t hold him to regular standards and schedule, yet that hadn’t stopped the pit that formed in your stomach when you woke up alone. And you were aware that perhaps you were being a bit childish, petty. It’s not like he was going to be gone for long, either, giving you a full rundown to soothe you before you slept. It was only two days, and he said that he would be home in forty-eight hours at most.
The task needed him in both the infirmary and active on the field; it would be finished faster if he were there. You comprehended that perfectly fine, it was just fucking- everything. Abdomen cramping, your period had arrived and was terrorizing you yet again. And anything that could have possibly gone wrong had gone wrong. Literally all you wanted to do was be held, cuddle up to your lover and rest, but of course you couldn’t do that. Because, of course, the one time you needed him, he was busy.
It wasn’t his fault; it’s not like he could call in sick or just not show up. Emotions festering into a storm, twisting your gut and conscious all kinds of wrong. Which is how you ended here. The original plan was to paint, get your mind off the nagging turmoil, and unwind. It should have been working, helping ease your tense muscles while you waited for the Tylonel to kick in.
Cool breeze fluttering through your curtains, your studio was serene. Tinted with moonlight and wrapped in a safety bubble. Yet, your resentment against your very undeserving boyfriend continued to build. At the forefront of your thoughts with each brush stroke, the jabs against the canvas grew more and more frustrated. Your irritation came to a peak when you huffed, standing forcefully and knocking the table in your haste. Hip bumping the polished wood, ready to pace and rant to the spirits in your lonesome- before a crash halts you dead in your tracks.
His tools.
He had left a bundle of spare medical equipment at yours, stowing it away for when he needed it. Technically, it wasn’t even supposed to be there; he’d wanted to bring it back down to his makeshift med-bay. Not keen on the idea of keeping anything “job” related near you and all that. Turning around slowly, a grimace already forming on your face, oh god. The once sterile syringes and mismatched scaples had crashed onto the floor, utterly covered in acrylics. It looked like someone had crashed their clown car into your rug and thrown up.
Bright hues splattered across the tile and most definitely ruined his carefully organized kit. It was so over. See, Jack had never gotten mad at you before; arguments, if you can even call them that, were talked out and resolved with patience. That’s just how he was; the only time he’d ever gotten visibly upset was the incident with his mask. It was early in your relationship, and you’d knocked it off by accident, teasing him when you went to cradle his cheeks. Apparently, it wasn’t hooked on correctly, slipping off and revealing his face.
The lightness in the air had vanished, and he’d stormed off without another word to leave you to sit in your sorrows. It was resolved with a lot of tears on your end and guilt on his. Jack’s monster guilt complex was as tall as the Empire State Building, so it took some patience- but you still wouldn’t count it as him being mad. This was something else entirely, all his hard work, his carefully collected supplies. Currently useless because you couldn’t keep your tantrum in check.
It was difficult enough retrieving them; he couldn’t exactly stop at the pharmacy to get more either. Now, he would be forced to find a way to replenish his apparatus, and it was your fault. He was overworked as is, coming back expecting peace, just to find out his very dumb, very mortal partner had royally fucked up.
Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, the ache for comfort and weight of the day finally catching up to you. This sucked. And when he came home, he’d probably scold you. Telling you off and giving you the cold shoulder. With his face unreadable, voice stern the entire time. Maybe he’d leave again, having had enough of your insolence and deciding he was better off alone.
Fists balled tight at your sides, you sighed, a sob catching in your throat as you heard the front door swing open. The rustling of keys, followed by shuffling against the welcome mat. Your relationship was crumbling to an agonized end. You prayed he’d at least have the mercy to stop your pulse before eating you. Storing your organs in a cellar, and forgetting your embrace with them. Footsteps rounded the corner, and you were counting down the seconds. This was it.
The silhouette of his head tipped into your peripheral vision, ramble spilling out before you could stop it. “I’m sorry- I was being stupid. I didn’t mean to, I just- I don’t know-“ Your tangent was frantic, desperately trying to explain. “I was mad at you because- like. You said you were gonna’ stay over, and then you left- it was an accident. I knocked it over, but- but I’ll get you more stuff-“ Hiccuping, overwhelmed with the words fading into obscurity when he moved closer.
Face tilting to the side, curious. Through your panic, you couldn’t see it; Jack actually seemed quite unbothered. He didn’t know what he’d return to, but it was definitely not you in shambles over literal spilled paint. He would’ve thought a loved one had passed with the amount of grief that emanated from your frame. So worked up, to the point of hysterics and for what?
Humans were so fickle. It was almost funny.
He should’ve been offended, honestly. Did you really think so lowly of him? Expecting him to lash out over something so minuscule, hurt you as if he were some troubled teen with no concept of permanence? They were just tools; he had plenty of them, and he was sure you knew that. Simply metal, objects that meant nothing compared to you. His one and only, searching for you the way the moon does the sun. An eclipse of the heart. Guiding him when he is lost at sea and blinded by despair, you reminded him of the north star- even now.
Trembling in front of him, you’ve never looked more beautiful. Hair sleep ruffled, in your worn-down pyjamas, it warms a part of him he didn’t know existed.
Reaching up, his motions steady, and you brace. Shutting your lids, posture rigid, only to feel a tap on your nose. You blinked up at him, and he was- amused? Pulling back his hand, he exhales. Chuckling quietly and tugging off his mask. It lands with a muted thud, resting on your desk. His eyes were terribly soft when they met yours. “Were you expecting me to be upset?” The question was hushed, gentle as he leaned into your space.
“I- I thought… It was your equipment, I thought you’d be like- mad or something.” Humming, he tilts your chin up with a faint grin. “Such an odd girl, am I that terrible to you?” His grip is firm, but never harsh. Grounding you, and you pout.
“So you’re not mad?”
“No, my dove. I promise, I am not mad.”
Pressing his lips to your crown and peppering kisses against your skin, you sniffled. His thumb tracing idle circles at your waist, “Okay… I love you.” Mumbled into his chest, your hands finding shelter in the fabric of his hoodie. The timid confession makes him laugh, muffled by your hair. You were adorable. “So easily pleased, perhaps next time I should play along and frighten you.” Teasing, he pecks your lips.
You truly have no idea why you thought he’d be mad. It was Jack, after all, your lover with never-ending patience and a penchant for always knowing what to say. He pauses, clicking his tongue, expression suddenly serious. Shifting, he lifts your arm to inspect, “There’s paint on your sleeve.” A random observation, your eyebrow raises in confusion,
“Oh, it probably splattered when it dropped.“
“Mm, how messy. You should get cleaned up; a hot shower is known to ease nerves.”
Where was he going with this? He’d been detail-oriented since you’d met him, you suppose. Still, this seemed strangely urgent in the grand scheme of things. Opening your mouth, going to ask what he meant, before he cuts you off. Stoic, as if he were delivering grave news.
“I heard there’s been a drought lately.”
Ah.
You swear he thinks he’s so funny. It’s astonishing how most people’s impression of him was terrifying, even among those he worked with. Comical, because all he did was bite you and take up an abnoxious amount of space on your bed. A giant, very territorial cat. He was lucky; he was cute—pretty privilege at its finest.
Shaking your head, “Are you propositioning me, sir?” And he straightens up, squinting in feigned thought. “Only if you’d want me to.” Fortunately for him, you were very easy, especially when he came home looking like that.
Thoroughly convinced, you trekked down the hall, you pinky linked with his. Undressing each other, dodging his kiss just to catch him off guard. A game of affection, and you were in the lead. Much to his disagreement.
The glass fogs with steam. Peeking over your shoulder, you laughed. He seemed so out of place, rinsing the sudds from his body, nearly too domestic.
When you first ran into him, he was intimidating, scary and looming. Touch avoidant, barely spoke a word, and then you wormed your way into his soul. And if anything, at his core, he was clingy. Not that you’d ever tell him that. It’s just that he had developed a habit, unspoken yet persistent. If you were cuddling, and it was one of the rare times you were holding him instead of the other way around. He would slowly, but surely, nudge your shirt up. Eventually, he’d be lying face-first into your chest, head halfway shoved under the cotton.
You don’t think he realizes that he does it either, his need to be closer than close weaved into his subconscious. He gave you cuteness aggression like no other; therefore, you had to act on it.
Sliding up behind him, cheek smushed between his shoulder blades as your hands glide down his front. Trailing up his V-line with a feather-light touch, he huffs. “Can I help you, pervert?” You gasped, scandalized, “How dare you, Mr. Nyras- I would never.” Palms cupping his pecs, fingers sinking into the muscled plush to emphasize your point. Glancing down, his gaze was unimpressed. “Right.” Giggling, you kissed along his spine, caresses dipping lower until his head tipped back with a pleasured groan.
Period be damned, your water bill was going to be diabolically high this month.
Worth it.
➽──────────────❥ Lose ᯓᡣ𐭩
Baking, Jeff was awful at it.
So many skills, yet he could never get it quite right, couldn’t figure it out. Oh, but his baby? Yeah, you had that shit down to a science. Loved it, and he loved to watch; it was like his morning coffee, a cup of scotch to soothe his aching muscles and ease the demons he carried with him. Even if just for the night. Jeff was an addict by definition, needed to get his fix, like he would die without it. Crumble to nothing if he didn’t get home in time, because who was he if not yours?
All the achievements he’d fought for, killed for; a stain on his shirt to brush off, it numbed him. Yet, they were nothing compared to the rush he got looking at you, that heaven-sent whisper of “You’re home.” Spoken with finality, mixed relief, a hushed prayer that he would be more than a distant ‘what if?’
It’s not like you didn’t try to help him; he was just hopeless. He appreciated it for sure, but it just simply didn’t come naturally to him, and he was fine with that. You could say it was pride, ego, in learning something new. Or, maybe, just maybe, somewhere in his proclaimed unfeeling heart. He liked being adored by you.
It was difficult at first, this life. Growing up and fending for yourself through gritted teeth was how it was. How it is, until he ran into you. Somewhere, along the way, his teeth would grind a little less, and the weight on his back would get a little lighter. He didn’t even see it coming, you know? He’d swear up and down that you were, in fact, a witch. Sent to get revenge, betray him at his weakest. Karma in the form of a Bluejay. He was so sure of it; nonetheless, he stayed. Stayed for the moments where you laughed so hard you cried, where the ticking clock would slow, and he decided that you were worth it. A love larger than life.
To die by your hand after sins like his would be a privilege, a blessing in disguise. He’d give it all up if you asked for it, a throwaway comment, and he’d risk everything. Sacrifice his mind just to see you look at him the way you do now, stars in your eyes like he had hung the moon in your name. Who was the fool, the mercenary who had abandoned his post, or the lover who stayed long enough to find him?
It’s a Monday, he used to hate Mondays, but now they were his favourite. He gets to bother you at your job. Like the bastard he is, he always shows up early to gawk at you like a degenerate from outside the bakery. Hood up, hands tucked into his pockets, the sun barely peaking. Businessmen and colleagues alike stuck in the morning rush. You always yelled at him after because he scares the customers away, and honestly? He is a terrible fucking person because he doesn’t even listen when you scold him. Standing there, arms crossed, nodding as if he understood completely. It’s lacklustre though, too busy memorizing your face and all that.
The way your eyebrows scrunch up and you pout, or when you’re really worked up and you start jabbing your finger into his face. Sometimes he just stares at you, when he wakes up before you, when you’re humming a song he doesn’t recognize as you do your skincare. It’s domestic, patchwork collage of all his favourite moments, kept in a box locked tight behind his ribs.
He thinks you’re pretty like this, well. He always thinks you’re pretty, but this is in his top five for sure. When you’re working and your hair is sticking out in every direction possible, it’s late, but you’ve just “Gotta’ get this recipe right!” Your apron is scrunched up and smeared with batter, flour smudged on your cheek as a cherry on top. There’s this thing that you do with him. Whipping up a storm of buttercreams and strawberry shortcakes, forgetting heads or tails in the process but ending up with magnificence anyway. So you created a system, steps in operation to ensure perfection; left, right, left.
Sharing a cramped kitchen with a thousand rolling pins and icing toppers took work, so he would toss things to you, tools and helping hands. It became routine over time, passing whisks back and forth; pass, shout, pass, shout. Left, right, left. It makes him feel like he’s falling for you all over again, the mundanity of it all. Normalcy.
He also likes that you can never hear shit, because then he can lean down and get real close, tease you about it. It’s every time, too, and it never gets any less funny, the “One more time?” With your eyes widened and that huffy, embarrassed laugh that follows, he swears to his grave and back that he finds it annoying, makes fun of you and says your head’s “A tad empty, huh?” Always kisses you after to soften the blow, though.
He tells you he cares, or tries to, but sometimes he feels like there are no words in the dictionary to describe it. He’s on edge when he’s away from you, that cold of the winters in his childhood sinking into his bones. His hands are stiff, and he’s tense. So tense it’s almost painful. After long and gruelling jobs, he comes home, and he holds you like he’s lost you before. Grabbing you like a lifeline, and he’s hanging on by a thread.
His girl, “Baby, my baby.” The only reason he’s still here, you keep him sane.
When he first met you, really met you, let you see all his nooks and crannies. Half drunk and all the way gone, a late night in, where he’d reach for your hand in the dark. Entwined your fingers together and laughed something warm. On nights like those, he’d tell you that you took half his heart and switched it with yours. It’s why you understand him so well. That you shared a soul, and as a result, it came easy for him to love you. How It was barely his choice, that he was yours since you took your first breath. You and he fit like two puzzle pieces, crafted to perfection and sitting snug on a shelf. So impossibly battle hardened by war, yet he worships you like a saint.
He misses you sometimes.
It happened in the winter. Always winter. A crossfire he wasn’t even aware of. The blood on his hands had finally come to drown him and taken you with it. Now he’s here, in this bleak hospital bed. The blue-toned lights of the make-shift med bay make his skin crawl. Nothing like you, everything reminds him of that time. When he was blind enough, careless enough, to fall.
He can’t even be mad, not like he deserved you to begin with. Shouldn’t be shocked that some divine intervention finally fucking stepped in and took you away. Took you away from him. Perhaps this was fate. His destiny was written in the stars, forever doomed to walk this earth alone. Baring his sins for all to see. With no angel to keep him safe, no arms around his waist to scare the skeletons in his closet, a kiss pressed into his temple to seal the deal.
So he’ll close his eyes and sigh out an “I love you.” Borderline non-audible, just the shape of the words whispered into stale air. It comforts him in a way, you did share a heartbeat after all. And if he focuses just enough, somewhere in the beeping of the monitors and work bustle. He can hear it.
“One more time?”
͙͘͡★
The click of your shoes echoes through the rickety mansion halls; walking to the basement lab that holds your beloved but reckless boyfriend. “I swear he has a thing for fighting inanimate objects- like, is it sexual?” Muttering to yourself as you grip the metal door, and there he was. Looking unhappy as ever.
The entire reason you were here was because Jeff, being the violent dumbass that he was. Slipped on ice, mid date, slamming face-first into a stop sign. Broken nose and all. Then, being so incredibly smart and calm about things, decided to punch it. Splitting his hand open in the process, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so embarrassed; he couldn’t even look at you on the car ride here. Mumbling about “Stupid fucking karma ruining my life-“ and “Great now she’s gonna’ fuckin’ leave me, might as well die-“
Jeff was stubborn, and for such a supposedly ruthless killer, he was borderline theatrical. Your love had changed him, for better or worse. Heavy on the worst section, because he had transformed into the biggest baby over the span of your blossoming relationship. And okay, you could admit, it was partially your fault.
Coddling him, bandaging him with trembling hands, breaking him down and rebuilding him into the man he is today. In your defence— how could you have possibly known that all the sick days and whispered confessions would make him play into it?
You’d witnessed him vault fences that seemed sky-high and tackle opponents almost three times his size. Flinging his knife around with ease, always suave and egotistical. He carried himself like a man who had looked death itself in the face and laughed. A living and breathing curse, immortality rewritten in flesh. He was merciless, brushing off bullet holes and wounds that would make the average person queasy from just the thought of them. When you’d first met him, he’d nearly straight-up refused your care. Disgusted by comfort, the idea of having to ‘settle down’ or ‘rest’ because he had people who ‘worried’ about him. Then, as the years passed, his glass heart had shattered under your touch.
Started seeking your warmth in his dreams, letting you have him, both whole and broken. And he liked showing off, cocky as he lifted heavy objects with ease, cheesy one-liners flowing off his tongue with practice.
Saying things like “These muscles ain’t just for show, babe.” Teasing you with his signature glas-glow grin when he’d come home in stitches with a black eye, telling you he “Couldn’t even feel it.”
Pride was woven into his DNA, but heaven forbid if he somehow accumulated a couple of paper cuts in your presence.
Oh, he’d whine something terrible. Crumbled onto his knees at your feet, crocodile tears while he begged for an ounce of your sympathy. Clutching the injured limb, shivering, he would swear up and down he was out of commission indefinitely. Fully expecting you to baby him, drop everything and run to his aid. You had created a monster.
This time was no different.
You, being the doting lover you were, went to get snacks for him while he was getting patched up. However, you had forgotten how fucking dramatic he was, because the second you stepped in, he was glaring at the wall like it personally spat on him. Scowl deepening by the second, “Jeff? You alright there?” Huffing a laugh, he finally looks at you, “M’fine.” He was so lucky you loved him, because seeing how convinced he was that you were going to break up with him was hilarious.
So hilarious, you burst out laughing on the spot. “You think you’re sooo funny, don’t ya’?” Cocking his head to the side to emphasize his dissatisfaction, a sneer was evident on his lips.
“Jeffery, I’m not leaving you because you ‘lost’ to a sidewalk post.” Gigging into your hand was something he liked watching you do, but right now it was making his eye twitch. Here he was. In this stupid fucking DIY hospital bed, with the love of his life, cackling at him for being a coward. It’s as if he could almost hear that obnoxious stop sign, mocking him. Taunting in all its Fuck-You-Red glory.
Running a hand down his face, he groaned, deep and guttural. The painted lines of S T O P fresh in his mind, first it beat the shit out of him; now it was making you laugh. He genuinely could not believe that a road sign was taking his girl. The thought made him sick to his stomach, I mean, seriously? Years and years of devotion and loyalty ending in this. Humiliation and defeat.
Sitting at the edge of the bed frame, you snort, “I can hear your self-deprecation from here,” chuckling as you lean over, pressing a soft kiss into his cheek. The one he’s been yearning for since the incident, “I promise you, I’m not leaving because you fell on your ass.”
“You swear?”
“Yes, you idiot. I swear on it.”
Sighing, he sags into the tattered mattress; “Then why’d you leave?” Turning away from you, fiddling with the sheets, as if he was scared of what your answers were going to be.
The nerve of your lover. You swore his IQs were in the negatives sometimes; his antics knew no bounds. “Because you said you were hungry, remember? We were gonna’ get food before you slipped.” He huffs like an angry child before facing you, “I’m dying and injured ‘cause the sins of my past have come for me, and you left.” He spits out the last word with such venom you’d think he actually meant it; lord knows he loved to play with you.
You rolled your eyes so hard you thought you saw the back of your skull. You’d like to think that in another life, he was an actor. And with the precision he delivered these lines, it’d be believable.
Squinting at him, you poked him square in the chest. “You’re the most irritating man I’ve ever met,” and he had the gall to gasp at you. Mouth agape and eyebrows raised. “You know other men?” You were going to kill him one day. Snuff this motherfucker out in his sleep. You weren’t a secret proxy from another manor or assassin like he claims you are, but god, did you debate on starting at times like these.
With a quick slap to Jeff’s shoulder, you let yourself fall into his chest, breathing him in. “You’re stupid,” and his hands traced patterns into your shirt. You hate that he knows you. “Yeah, but I’m yours, so clearly you’re the fuckin’ odd one here.”
He was annoying, but he was right; still yours. Loved him more than pastries and sweets combined.
Unfortunately.
➽──────────────❥ Cherish ᯓᡣ𐭩
Tim heard you before he saw you.
The padding of your feet against the hardwood floors. Except this time, it was accompanied by a quiet sniffling, the noise making him perk up. He was in the middle of tidying up, his version of it anyway. Sitting at the kitchen table and cleaning the pistol that usually hung by his belt. The gun fell slack in his hand when you approached. He opens his mouth to question why you were awake, before your appearance shocks him.
Eyes ringed with red and puffy, wetness collecting at your lash line, you looked anguished. Shrinking in on yourself, his original assumption was your safety. Did someone break in? That didn’t make sense. The cabin was built far into the greenery, and he would have heard it. Maybe you’d gotten a call with bad news? Yet he swore the last time he’d seen you, you were tucked into bed, sleepily telling him to join you when he was done- so what was it?
Brows furrowed with concern, he set down the rag and metal. “You okay, hun?-“ You cut him off, voice cracking, agony so heavy it made his heart sink.
“You cheated on me.”
The accusation has him frozen. Confusion contorting his features, he stutters, “I- pardon?” You huff, somehow exasperated from a betrayal he had no recollection of. “With the girl from the bar. You were drinking and t-the place was empty- then you bent her over the counter because I’m ugly, and you don’t like me anymore.” Hiccuping as you spoke, sobs catching in your throat. For the first time in years, he was utterly stunned.
Lord knows he loved you, loved you something fierce. Would kill in your name without a second thought, knee deep in massacre if anyone even dared to touch you. But good heavens, did you throw him for a loop sometimes.
Cheat on you? In what world would his gaze ever stray? You were his eyes’ crown jewel, his lady through and through. That being said, just how the hell did you end up at this conclusion? “I assure you, I have not been doin’ any bending of the sort. What are you talking about?-“ Interupting again, hot tears streaming down your face. “I saw it, Tim. You were all over her. Saying how she was the best you’d ever had- and t-that she was gorgeous.”
Your sorrow was palpable, trembling where you stood and crying your poor eyes out. The sight had his chest tight, but Christ, had he never been more lost in his life.
His brain was racking for anything that could have possibly made you think that he’d thrown away your trust. Yet, nothing. He hadn’t even gone to the bar recently, let alone gotten drunk enough to do something he didn’t remember. And even if he had, he knew damn well he wouldn’t have started touching up on some random woman. Lips pursed in thought, he squinted at you, “And when- when did this happen?” Snivelling, you whispered. The admission was meek and laced with something that sounded suspiciously like guilt. “… In my dream.”
And there it was.
Dream Tim had a terrible habit of doing you dirty. He was constantly out and about, the Playboy type. All rugged and mean, smashing pints left and right, whistling at waitresses and using people for their bodies. Awful temper, too. Apparently, the man had a penchant for punching holes in your wall. Cursing you out and saying he never loved you, laughing in your face when you cried. An overall despicable human, honestly. The dream you’d told him about before this was even worse in his opinion.
He’d spit at you mid-argument, stomped out when all you had asked for was that he return on time for dinner. You had prepared a date night or something like that, and he’d come home tired from a job. Took it out on you, calling you horrid names and accusing you of being unfaithful. Had the audacity to yell at you while lipstick stained his collar. At what point does he start taking offence at your drowsy visions?
There have been moments when, after you’d spill the details and he’d comforted you, he had sat down and truly self-reflected. Did he come off this way? Because why in gods name was he so toxic when you went to sleep? Sure, at the beginning of your relationship, he was a little colder than he wanted to be. Sterner than he should’ve been, but he’d made it clear he was sweet on you, hadn’t he?
You’d witnessed his anger only once, when you had ventured too far on a walk. The woods were safe with him at your side, but you’d gotten lost. Letting go of his hand and rushing to chase a dove you’d seen. It was innocent, really, not your fault in hindsight. You’d brought along a little scrapbook, taking pictures with a Polaroid camera he’d swiped for you. Doves in the wild were rare, and you were excited.
The problem was, the others had already been sent on an assignment in the area. They wouldn’t have recognized you in time. Brian, maybe, the rest barely knew about you. Simply acknowledging that he had a girl. He was a private person by default, especially with the life he lived. They would’ve slaughtered you. Leaving your carcass to rot, burying you half-assed or for animal feed. Images of your butchered and battered limbs flashed through his mind as he screamed your name. Racing to find you in time. His baby, his baby, on the ground, cold. Adrenaline high, heart beat roaring in his ears. He was terrified.
When he’d eventually found you, he was shaken to his core. Grabbing your arm rougher than he should have, eyes wild while he scanned you for injury. He had raised his voice, called you stupid for running off like that. Told you how close you were to becoming fuel for the soil, said cruel things with his teeth bared. He would never forget the look on your face after he was done.
Breathing shaky, your decorated notebook hanging limply by your side. You seemed so small, blinking back tears as you apologized. It made him feel like a monster, frightened you so bad you’d forfeited all your fight. It’s not what he wanted, to steal you of your joy, break you down until you refused to meet his gaze. He just needed you to understand how close you were to death, how close he’d gotten to losing you. The grief was something he wouldn’t have survived.
He’d spent hours, weeks, making it up to you. Promising you with all he had that he’d never scare you like that again. And you reassured him that you knew. Knew that he hadn’t meant it, that he was just worried and panicked. But your subconscious was already stained, marred with his violence, and he damned himself every day for it.
Rising from his seat, he tugs you to his chest. Cradling the back of your head and pressing his lips to your crown. “C’mere, buttercup.” He squeezed you tight, rocking you back and forth, “I know, baby, I know.” Hushing you gently, he was so warm. His embrace always reminded you of a crackling hearth. Strong muscle layered under plush, sturdy and grounding. You think this is what it’s like to be held by a bear.
Cuddling deeper into the cotton, your arms slip under his jacket. Fingers curling into his shirt as you hum, you feel fuzzy. He had a knack for soothing you; he was talented like that. People often thought Tim was born for fury. Made to wreak havoc and wear brutality as if it were a gold medal.
You begged to differ.
His care for you came like second nature. Easy going, his fondness for you was soft, and it seeped into everything he did. In the way he swayed you under starlight, when you were restless, and the crescent sat high above the clouds. Waltzing you slow, your kitchen as a ballroom, you’d step on his feet and he’d kiss you dizzy. In the quiet that followed his absence, because maybe if you focused with all your might, the wind would take his shape. Breathe you in and carry you home. He tells you, you have him spellbound, bewitched him in entirety. Love singing brighter than the morning’s bird song.
Your sadness long faded, so perhaps you just liked being babied by him. Blinking up at him through your lashes, you mumble. “… Do you still think I’m pretty?” And he chuckles, low and smooth. A special melody, saved only for you. “The prettiest girl I’d ever goddamned seen, sugar cube. They should hang paintin’s of you at museums.”
Leaning in close, he whispers, “Think I’d get jealous, though. Would ya’ be mad if I wanted to keep you for myself?” It makes you giggle, him playing along with the bit. “I’d be okay with that.” Nodding as if the statement was as serious as politics in a courthouse, his grin was wide.
“Yeah?”
“Yes, yes, I promise.”
Nose brushing his, his laugh fans across your skin. “Pinky swear?” He pulls back, holding up his hand, expectant. Linking your fingers together, prepared to let go after a second, before he stops you. “The hell you think you’re doin’, missy? If you don’t kiss it, it ain’t gonna’ count.” He could be so silly sometimes. Demanding while he waited. You tip down, pecking your thumb as he meets you at the other end.
“There, now it’s sealed.”
“And you better not break it. Don’t need you naggin’ me for being a selfish bastard- you hear me?”
Shaking your head with passion, you snicker.
“Never.”
Tutting under his breath, you saw the lightbulb go off in his head. Abruptly scooping you up by the thighs, and you squeaked, clutching at his shoulders. Your feet dangling, when he started marching towards the kitchen. “Tim-“ He huffed, a man on a mission. The objective? Getting his baby back to full energy.
Even though your cheeks had dried, he could still tell your doubt lingered, knew you better than you knew yourself at times. Setting you down on the countertop, he crowded you, positioning himself between your legs. He kissed the bridge of your nose. Tim was certain he had a foolproof plan. “You cried out halfa’ your body weight, my girl. Gonna’ wither away if we don’t get somethin’ in that system of yer’s.” And you couldn’t believe people thought your lover was cruel. Pampering you as if he’d die if he didn’t, take his heart with you and leave him soulless.
Pivoting, he cracked open the pantry, “Watcha’ craving, sug’?” You tried to stifle your laugh; he was being so awfully sweet- unfortunately for him, you had a comedy streak. One that you were not letting go of any time soon. Humming, you exhaled, lips already twitching.
“Tim Tams.”
The sigh he lets out nearly shakes the cabin. Turning to you, unimpressed, he deadpans. “S’that right.” Not amused in the slightest, and you snicker. Looking to the side, you muttered a remark that had his world spun on its head. “It’s what you’re saved as on my phone.” With a glare so merciless you’d believe he’d hunt you down next, he rested his hands on his hips. “Y’know what. Maybe I will stop by the bar tonight-“
“Timothy.”
“I’m jokin’, I’m jokin’—“
➽──────────────❥ Try ᯓᡣ𐭩
You were going to throw him away.
Jack In The Box was painted brightly on the wind-up toy, placed right next to the evidence of his crime.
He doesn’t even know why he kept the old thing, a relic of suffering and buried grief from his past. It just kind of came along as he went, and he could barely stand looking at it most days. That’s why it was tucked away in your laundry cabinet, his sign of trust to you. He could’ve hidden it in his illusions, a place in between times; it was simply that it seemed better suited in your care.
He still hated it, though. The memories of being condemned to the wretched prison haunted him, but currently? He wanted nothing more than to jump inside and pretend he didn’t exist. Maybe he could play it off and pretend the entirety of your relationship was a figment of your imagination. “Gaslight” you about it, or whatever the word was.
Jack could pinpoint exactly where his life began falling apart.
The day had started perfectly. With him coiled around you, limbs stretched and exaggerated so he could properly bundle you. He didn’t need sleep, of course, yet his favourite activity was when you would bunker down for the night. He’d watch you with fascination as you worked through your routine. Doing your skincare, putting colourful stickers on your face, you’d told him they were “Pimple patches, they help my skin-“ and “It’s so I can be pretty, and smooth!” How exciting, not that he agreed with that last statement.
He thought you were plenty pretty and very smooth. However, you looked like you were enjoying yourself, so he liked the patches nonetheless. Then you had settled into your sheets, him folding and twisting to fit on your human-sized mattress.
You were such a sweet little thing, cuddling against his furry cloak, whispering silly secrets and confessions until your breathing slowed. Pillow Talk, you’d called it. It made him feel special, seeing you so vulnerable, no walls or personas in place, so you wouldn’t be judged. And here, he wasn’t a nightmare clown, a force to be reckoned with, feeding on fear and agony. Instead, he was “Jackie.” Child-like wonder personified, full of colours and laughter. Your striped lover with a sweet tooth.
It makes him sad sometimes; it took so long to get to where you were. Sleepless nights and crying fits, lashing out at you when all you wanted to do was help. You didn’t deserve any of his anger, his wrath, and it’s not like he meant any of it. His tantrums were destructive, spewing such cruel things for a reaction, to test you. The guilt rattles him when the house is silent, clouds his head, and gnaws at his throat.
If only the stars had gifted him to you first.
He knows you would’ve taken care of him, kept him safe and dusted his music box with care. Nurtured his joy into something grand. It would’ve saved you a world of pain, too. If he could reverse time, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Go back and romance you the right way, scream at himself for being so reckless. For hurting the only person who had seen him, really, really seen him and stayed.
You don’t think about it, writing it off as simply a process, reassuring him it wasn’t his fault. That he had been forced and molded with brutality against his will. And you were probably correct, you always were, yet he still feels terrible when he spots the chips in your walls. Caused by his episodes, snapping his teeth in your face as if he’d planned to hurt you. Lost himself in the storm and got too close to marring you for his liking. You were good, wholeheartedly good. He used to hate that about you. Now, he stares at the moon and hopes that whatever magic had brought him to life lets him keep you.
A miracle, you were a miracle, and he’d unravel trying to keep you whole if it was the last thing he did.
Melodrama aside, he had messed up. Bad.
You left a few hours prior. Rambling about your weekly Girls Night™, running around and getting yourself all dolled up. Jack thought you were quite dashing, like a princess. He’d told you so when you were powdering your cheeks with glitter, and you had snickered in return. Turning from your vanity, you cupped his cheeks, “Let me try something?” A siren’s call, and he was nothing but a sailor, weak against the tides.
He was completely covered in lipstick by the end, your lips acting as stamps, staining the white that painted his skin. After a healthy thirty minutes, you were satisfied with your canvas, telling him he made a very cute test subject. Cartoon birds swarmed his figure; his powers tended to go haywire when you were around, too giddy to suppress his original purpose.
His body was sparking with fireworks, and he looked like a New Year’s kiss, rocking back and forth where he sat. Giggle fit bouncing through the halls and lighting the way with it, he wanted to stay here forever.
Tidying up your glosses and miscellaneous tubes, you did a spin, presenting your outfit with glee. Joking and saying, “I’m so happy you’re not just some guy. My friend told me that her friend broke up with her boyfriend because he was a total bum-“ Popping your lips in the mirror, you swiped the corners, fixing the pigment. “-Like, she couldn’t wear half of her closet, he was all like ‘oh my god, that’s too short.’ Can you believe that?” He couldn’t believe that, actually.
It seemed strange to care that much, and he was very fond of what you wore. The bright colours made you shine, especially when it was short. Then he could stare at your legs, the slope of your ankles, decorated with whatever accessories you’d deemed fitting for the outing.
Not that he would ever admit that out loud, it felt… perverted. And a little shameful, you most likely wouldn’t mind. Teasing him for being so flustered, even after doing very naughty things with you. He couldn’t help it, and it’s not like you cared, but still. His embarrassment was put on hold as your rant continued.
“Imagine sitting there, unemployed and facially challenged- mind you, he’s broke. He doesn’t cook, he doesn’t clean, but he sure damn well waits at the table for dinner. It’s outrageous, Jackie. Outrageous. He’s such a parasite, I’m surprised she didn’t leave him sooner- personally? I’d def leave. Kick him to the curb, like seriously.”
Honestly? He had no idea what you were talking about. The man sounds like a tool, obviously. He understood that, it was your word choice that stuck out to him. ‘Unemployed, facially challenged’??? It’s not like he could go out and just get a job- but he provided in other ways, right? Did he count as facially challenged?
Jack was aware he wasn’t exactly conventional in the looks department; it was just- you always told him that you thought he was handsome. Your “Pretty boy” when you’d play with his hair. In that moment, he realized that he, in fact, had no money. Is that what you looked for in a lover?
He also realized he had never cooked for you a day in his life, and he didn’t need to eat. It never crossed his mind to fix you a plate when you got home from work- and he didn’t really clean either. I mean, he supplied you with as many sweets as you wanted, and he helped organize things here and there. But, he just sort of… existed, overall.
Moral support, whisking you away to a circus he’d created out of thin air. Taking you on adventures to ease your woes, eating the random men who would try following you home, while you were none the wiser. Subjecting them to unfathomable horrors, before consuming their still beating hearts. Yet, was that what you needed? Was this a warning in disguise? A subtle way of hinting that if he didn’t get his act together, you would kick him to the curb?
His inner turmoil was at an all-time high when you kissed him at the door. It was still early in the evening, and you wouldn’t be back until past midnight. He decided, he was going to surprise you. Make you a feast, do your laundry and run you a bath with the scents you loved so much. Your feet would be tired when you returned, it would be perfect. It was a flawless plan on paper, but the issue? He had zero clue about how to do any of those things.
He folded your clothes with you sometimes; however, that was not the same as figuring out how the lump of metal in your basement worked. The cube was an enigma, and what was the difference between normal soap and detergent? At least he had vaguely memorized the ingredients of your favourite meals, and he’d watched you cook countless times. Surely, it wasn’t that difficult. It couldn’t be, he had lived for decades on decades, able to reconstruct the constellations on your bedroom ceiling with a snap of his fingers. This would be a breeze.
Everything had gone wrong.
The dish he’d intended to make was much more of a gruelling task than he had expected. Your once polished skillet was now borderline melted through, and your kitchen was a mess. Ingredients strewn about, your poor fridge raided as Jack searches for items that most definitely did not belong in that recipe. The finished product was a charred disaster; he had cleaned up the counters to the best of his ability.
Still, the evidence remained in the form of your ruined cutlery and the toxic fumes radiating from the metal. The pan refused to fit in your trash. Left by the sink as he desperately tried to redeem himself with the next goal. His fight with your washing machine was legendary. Jack had poured far too much detergent into the slot, and with his hands tied in the war against your stove- the sudds had won. Stepping into your basement, he almost drowned. The bubbles were nearly stretching to the pipes overhead, and he had to trudge through to turn the god forsaken thing off.
Your bath was a whole other battle, but it was one he triumphed in. So there was that. However, the damage had been done, and what was he supposed to tell you? That he was sorry for somehow almost simultaneously burning and flooding your house? And on top of that, your bath had probably gone cold by now, the self-loathing sweeping his frame harshly.
Defeated, he dragged himself down your hall, swinging open the stocked closet and staring at his music box. The worst part was that he couldn’t even blame you if you banished him back there. He sighed, head thumping on the wooden door. You were going to hate him. He was sure of it. You did so much, gave so much, and all he had done since he’d met you was make things harder. Limbs going limp, he sagged onto your floor, content to wallow in his misery until you got home.
͙͘͡★
Shuffling, you toed off your shoes, locking the front door behind you. It had been fun, catching up with your friends and hopping from function to function. Adrenaline fading, you were ready to relax, cuddle up to your spindly boyfriend, and tell him all about your night. Wait, your boyfriend.
Now that he was on your mind, you realized what was missing upon your arrival. Normally, he would’ve been on you the second you entered, clinging to you and littering your face with affection. So where was he? Concern seeping in, you wandered deeper into the house with caution, calling out to him.
“Jack? My baby, where are you?”
Rounding the corner, the sight that greeted you was confusing. It was as if someone had spilled the saddest bowl of noodles onto your hardwood floors. A pile of feathers and stripes, his face paint streaked with tears. The hues smeared on his sleeves and claws. You crouched down, settling on your knees, and he sniffled pitifully. “I’m sorry.” Voice cracking, he curled further into a ball. What in the world happened while you were gone? “For what, lovey?”
Threading your fingers through his hair, your comfort breaks the dam completely. Unfurling, he throws himself into your lap, burying his face against your thighs. With his arms cocooning your waist, he hiccups. “I wanted to- I tried to help. But I’m not… good at it.” The last half of his confession whispered, waterworks on full blast, and soaking your outfit. He sounded so dejected, given up before you could even respond. “You are good at it, you help me lots.” He perks up slightly, puppy eyes making your chest tight.
“I burned your pan, and the washing machine wouldn’t work. I- I cleaned it, though. I tried to. You always… teach me things, I wanted to take care of you. So you’re not so tired all the time.” You cradled his cheeks in your palms, tilting his head up. “You do take care of me, where is this coming from, hm?” Thumb wiping his tears, he doesn’t know how you do it. Breathing life back into his lungs without breaking a sweat.
He takes a measured inhale, snivelling, “I don’t want to be difficult, and I know I was- bad to you. I didn’t mean it, I didn’t- I promise I didn’t.” Bottom lip wobbling, you soothe him carefully, “I know, and you’re not difficult. Loving you was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.” He wishes he could capture your warmth and store it away, kind in ways he never deserved.
Jack huffs, letting out a humourless laugh, “It’s putrid, I’m rotten from the inside out.” And you hum, resting your forehead on his. “Never to me, not if it’s you.” He doesn’t believe you’re human; you couldn’t have been. Made of soft starlight and dreams, he thinks you’re what he was supposed to be.
Kissing away his sorrows, your lips pressed to the corners of his lashes. “You make me feel so safe, Jackie. There is no me without you.” He basks in it. When you hold him, it feels like the world goes quiet, as if he hadn’t existed before your love could reach him. Where nothing bad had ever happened, and he was far away. “Really?” Pecking his cheek, you nod, giggling.
His ethereal abilities gave him away, the dotted pupils in his eyes shaping into hearts. Love-struck, his smile was delicate, a fragile thing. It was funny how blind he was to it, carrying your entire world in his hands. If the sun ever went dark, you’d spend your last moments praying shelter would embrace him the way you did. Because Jack would spend his fighting to make sure the reaper couldn’t touch you at all. And you were sure he’d win.
Gathering each other off the ground, you’d laughed the entire way to bed. He spun yarns of his courageous survivals against your oven, telling you of the monsters that lurked beneath the sudds. Slumber draped over you, a warm blanket mended for the soul.
Slipping in and out of consciousness, he promised to finish the tale when you woke up.
A bedtime story, saved for a rainy day.
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A/N: TEARS IN MY ABG EYES IM SICKKKK. Also I sprinkled random references in here so I hope you laughed ^3^ !!
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romaincrisis
tangentwithtanner
origamiaround
