Jeff had been on a mission all week. It was a big one, he was in a hurry and forgot his hoodie on his bed. Slowly you snuck in, peeking your head around the empty room. Posters decorating the room, some falling. A messy bed and the room was dark but cozy? Your eyes spotted his hoodie tossed carelessly on his bed still bloody but you didn't care you missed him do much. Your fingers grabbed the fabric and you slowly slipped it over your smaller frame it practically swallowed you whole! You wore it all day long not parting eith it once. Later that night you sat on the couch watching tv, hands under the hoodie, hoodie up so only your eyes peeked out, legs curled under the blanket.
Soon the door opened .ᐟ.ᐟ
To engrossed in your show you didn't realize. You felt safe, at home but then a familiar voice graced your ears. "What are you doing doll?" Your eyes snapped to him. Bloody, hair messy, breathing heavy but there's a look in his eyes. A look of pure possession and of course you ran to him, wrapping your arms around him. One if his strong hand traveling down your body to settle on the small of your back, other hand holding his knife. "Missed you too princess." He murmured kissing your head, his hand tightening on your back, grounding, possessive, his.
BEN
BEN wasn't home, be was out on a punishment by Slenderman for lack of completion. You thought it was absurd. Ben himself even said he was no proxy, that he didn't, couldn't be punished like them. Yet he chose to live the same as the other residents, chose to be apart of this twisted family. With a shrug you sat more comfortably on his gaming chair wearing his favorite tri-force hoodie and hat, your Nintendo in hand. You lowered your chin under the collar to fill your nose with his scent, lazily spinning his swivel chair.
A crackle and BEN teleported right to his bed.ᐟ.ᐟ
"Aw shit baby I'm so sore." He whined, hands above his head. He looked over at you and just froze, face reddened instantly in a cute blush. "Holy shit babe your so cute in my clothes!" He squealed tripping over his own feet to stand beside you. You looked up at him, one knee up, one dangling off the chair. "Hey Benny" you muttered, fingers lazily clicking the buttons. His heart fluttered, "Calling me pet names and wearing my clothes is peak cute girlfriend behavior." He whined dropping to his knees in front of you, arms around your waist, face in your stomach. Your fingers ran through his blonde locks and he sighed, content. "Missed you baby." He said softly, nuzzling into your stomach.
Toby
Slenderman had him chopping wood in the backyard. His sweatshirt off, left discarded on the porch. You slipped outside, careful not to disturb. Thankfully the loud chopping covered your steps. With a sigh of relief you slipped it on, and sat on the porch with a cup of water. The sun beat down on Toby, sweat dripping down his lean frame. You appreciativly sat there admiring him.
When he was done, he turned to come back in and saw you .ᐟ.ᐟ
His whole body froze, you were expecting him to be mad at how still he was. Slowly he approached and stood right in front of you smelling of wood and sweat. "Are you...?" He asked hesitantly and you nodded, holding out your glass of water to him. Surprised, he took it and gulped it in one go. After he was finished he stared at you with dark eyes. "I like seeing you in my clothes." He admits, one calloused hand running down your arm. You stood up, arms wide and he immediately grabbed you up, face in your neck. "All mine yeah?" He said in your ear, placing a kiss right under it. "All yours." You repeated softly, arms wrapping around his back, nails piercing his skin.
EJ
Standing outside his closet you internally debated if you would grab his hoodie. He wasn't paying attention to today, busy in the basement, working so this ought to get his attention. With a devious smile, you grabbed one of them, slipping it on. The end brushed the tops of your thighs. With silent steps you snuck down to the basement and stepped inside. His back was turned, white tank top stretching across his build. You climbed up on the medical table, swinging your feet slightly. You purposely sighed loudly, enough to get his attention.
Then he finally turned to you .ᐟ.ᐟ
"What are you planning?" He said lowly, if he had eyes they'd definitely have narrowed by now. "Nothing" you say sweetly feigning innocence. "Really? Nothing?" He places a tool down, walking over, arms around either side of you. "Nothing, you say but you sit here in my workspace, in my clothes, knowing exactly what it does to me." He continued, long fingers brushing the underside of your jaw precisely. "Hm maybe." Your dreamily as you placed your hands on his rough shoulders.
Helen
You came home late one night wearing his blue coat. It was cold, you couldn't find your own, and the thought of wearing his clothed made your stomach fill with butterflies. Thing was, Helen loved cleanliness and organizing. He would most definitely scold you for misplacing yours and be nitpicky with you using his. You planned on sneaking it back but as soon as you snuck inside...
He stood right in front of you in his snug black turtle neck
"Oh hi! Fancy seeing you here..." you try to joke but his face was anything but silly. You sighed, wringing your hands together. "Sorry...I couldn't find mine and I was running late..." you trailed off looking up at him. Thats when you noticed he didnt look mad or even remotely upset just a fierce sense of ownership and protection in his piercing blue eyes. The revelation making your heart pound harder for a completely different reason. "Thats alright. I don't mind you using my stuff." He said in his low calming voice but you didn't fail to hear the underlying tone suggesting more in his words then he let on.
Masky/Tim
It's been a long day at work for you. All you wanted to do was snuggle up with your boyfriend just to see he wasn't home yet, informed by BEN. You wanted to cry, exhaustion catching up to you and soin hot tears flooded your waterline, until you spotted his hoodie resting in the rack. With slow steps you grabbed it and hugged it close. Slowly you pulled it on and immediately felt better like he was really there. Your fingers traces the cigarette burn when the door opened.
Masky walked in, tired and drained .ᐟ.ᐟ
He took off his mask, eyes looking around his room to see you cuddled up in his hoodie on the bed. "What are you doing sweetheart?" Tim asked, the exhaustion heavy in his voice. "Missed you." You say quietly, sinking lower in his hoodie. He found it incredibly adorable despite himself. He sighed, and climbed into bed next to you. Trying to pretend he's unaffected even when you wrap your arms around him, even when you snuggle up into him. He was very much affected.
Hoodie/Brian
This man never takes his off so of course you snuck it when he showered. It was just sitting there no harm right? It was still warm. You laid on the bed in his room, scrolling social media when you heard the shower turn off, steam filing out of the open door. You heard him shuffling around and muttering in confusion.
Then he walks out, spotting you curled up
"Have you seen my-" he stopped short, registering the sight before him. He suddenly wasn't mad anymore. "Someone's comfy." He said with a slight smirk, arms crossed, hair still wet. You rolled over to face him with a mischievous smile. "It's very cozy." You said with mock seriousness. "Is it now?" He responded, crawling next to you, arm around your shoulder.
Brian who keeps a stack of polaroids of you on his dash. Calloused fingers reverently running over them when he’s too far away to hold you.
Brian who won’t admit it but your touch grounds him. Reminds him what he has to come home too. What he has to survive for.
Brian who gruffly tells Tim to shut up when he lightly teases him after finding out Brian keeps one of your shirts in the glovebox alongside letters from you.
Brian who lays his head in your lap after a long, rough mission. Letting your fingers tangle in his hair. He’s embarrassed by the vulnerability of it all.
Brian who watched you gulp down glass upon glass of the sweet tea he made. Proud his lover enjoys it so much
Brian whose hands always find your waist around the cabin. Whether you’re cooking, folding laundry, or simple relaxing. His rough hands will always slip under your shirt.
Brian who loves you. You’re his whole world.
A/N: whoa!!! First real writing post *gasp!!* sorry if this is ooc, it’s my first time writing for Brian… anyways hope you enjoy!
Hiii!!!!! I saw that you had requested opened and wanted to request the creeps (mainly Tim, Brian, habit, and toby but any others ) texting the reader about one or 3 things. 1) the reader passed out from insomnia maybe on them? 2) reader drunk confessed to having a crush on the creep or 3) the reader befriended some random creature (like a deer or a crow) and said creature is taking too much of readers free time.
If non of this speaks to you I honestly just go free have fun!
Thanks!
Anon
┗━━━━Drunk Words, Sober Thoughts ━━━━┛
Features: Tim, Brian, Habit, Toby, Jeff, Nina.
Author's Note: I will be doing all three !! This one first, then the insomia one as headcanons, and then the animal one as a smau. Im so glad I got to write without correcting my spelling mistakes for this 😭😭. I type fast and often mispell stuff and my friends say I type in simlish LMFAO.
Warning: AFAB!Reader, Dark/DD DON’T EAT, ANGST, Family issues, older Tim and Brian, slight age gap (Tim and Brian are early to mid 30’s, reader is mid 20’s).
Summary: Invited to spend Christmas at her grandparents’ rural farm, she expects a quiet holiday—unaware that their ranch hands, Tim and Brian, have already decided she belongs with them. When a winter “accident” leaves her alone, their comforting devotion becomes the very thing that traps her.
Thank you @cryingintheclubdhmu for help with this! I know you might think it was simple help, but to me it meant a fuck ton❤️🩹🩷
A/n: I’m gonna have to make a part 2😼💔
The beginning of November was always something you looked forward to—ever since you were a kid. Now at age 19, it’s still something you look forward to. That age marked the time in your life that you finally escaped your parents’ house and built a life of your own— real.. but shaky.
It hadn’t been easy.. I mean it was life. Of course it’s not going to be easy. Nothing about living in that environment ever was. The world was cruel, and your parents weren’t even half of it.
It always felt like walking on glass, cutting your foot and apologizing even though it wasn’t your fault the glass was broken in the first place.
But you did it, you survived it—endured it.
And throughout all of it, the only thing keeping you sane was your grandparents.
You loved your parents, but sometimes they became so unbelievably bitter with your life.. especially your mother. The woman who said she loved you more than all things worth, but you hardly ever saw her, or your father, as a kid—grandparents being your shield, rock, and, at this point, your parents.
You owed them everything you had, so the least you could do is spend the season with them.
They never pressured you. Never rushed you. Never twisted your choices into obligations. They simply cared.
Genuinely.
Patiently.
By the time you were sixteen, they had practically raised you anyway.
Spending the holidays with them wasn’t a chore.
It was a comfort.
It was home.
You planned for months to go to the countryside to visit your grandparents…. Behind your parent’s back.
But, it’s not necessarily “behind their back” if you had nothing to do with them, nor they you, half the time.
The planning was easy, telling your mother about it was a whole different story.
The moment you mentioned leaving town for a while, your mother exploded. Her voice shrieking waves through your car speakers, cursing up a storm and spewing words like a geyser—accusing you of “abandoning family”. Even if she hadn’t left town within a twenty-mile radius in years.
You had a headache, jaw clenched so tight your brain pulsed, knuckles lightened in color around the steering wheel. Chewing the inside of your cheek till the taste of iron coats your taste buds.
“Mhm,” you said. Knowing the women on the other end couldn’t hear you for shit.
“Yes, ma’am.”
And “I know.”
Some “Uh-huh.”’s
Following behind in replies. It was all you could get out without starting a fight that would last for weeks.
You looked at the clock on your cars screen.
9:34 in the morning..
She had been yelling at you for 14 minutes straight and you haven’t even gotten to the outside of town yet.
After 2 minutes, you were finally fed up, cutting her off mid-rant.
“Okay, Mom— y..yes! I— oh no, I’m losing you!”
You shouted it loud enough to drown her out, hanging up before she could screech back.
The silence that followed felt like oxygen.
Sweet, relaxing oxygen as you turned on the radio. Slumping back in your drivers seat, one hand rubbing circles on your temple and the other on the steering wheel.
God, you needed this trip.
You needed them.
You sigh, watching the road in front of you as you drive.
Snow had started collecting on your windshield.
The farther you drove, the more everything familiar disappeared behind you.
Tall buildings faded into sparse houses. Then soon it was miles and miles of fields. And then, even the fields gave way to dense, dark pine.
You had drove for 3 hours already, finally finding a stop at a gas station. You throw on your jacket, getting out of your car and buying gas to fill your it.
The temperature had dropped from mid 80’s to a low 20. Rubbing your hands together as you fill the vehicle up with gas. Back leaned against the side of your black car, watching the snow fall. Your back and bottom hurt from sitting too long, stretching your arms over your head as you waited for the gas to fill the tank.
It was peaceful.. in, a weird way. Watching the snow fall, it gave you a rare sense of peace.
You pull your phone out of your jacket pocket, scrolling through your contacts to find your grandparents’ home cell.
You call them, taking a deep breath and smiling when they answer. Your grey haired grandfather answered, shouting to your grandmother that “our granddaughter is calling!” on the other end.
“Hey, Papa!” You smile, giggling to yourself at the man on the other side of the screen. His reading glasses far down on his nose and his face too close to the screen that you could count the wrinkles.
Before he could answer, “Hey, Sweetie.” Your grandmother exclaimed, grabbing the phone to aim the screen towards her.
The two turned and scolded each other, but it was cute. It was different from how your parents would argue—they wouldn’t let you see them argue, your parents couldn’t care less if you saw them shouting insults at each other.
Your grandmother took the phone from the man, shooing him away so he could talk to you. “How far away are you? Are you doing well?” The woman asked.
You nodded, “Yes, Grandma I’m doing good. I’m not too far away now.” You start, “I’m at that old Circle–K. The one with the blinking K.”
“Oh- the one where you drove our old Chevy into the light pole.” Her words made you remember..
You were maybe, 12. Your Papa had went inside to get some beer for a bonfire that night. And you, being the mischievous little gremlin you were, got into the driver seat and put the truck in reverse, pressing the gas just a little too hard. Then a loud ruckus erupts from behind you.
“Shit!” You gasp, looking out the side mirror.. you had in fact ran into the light pole. The old wooden beam was cracked and leaning forwards. Not quite falling, but obviously not up right.
The look on grandpa’s face was surprised, not angry. He could never be angry with you.. but you were practically raised in fear. Tears rolling down your face and heavy huffs and sniffles come from you.
You hid your face in your hands, mouth spewing apologies like a lifeline. “I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry grandpa!” But when you looked up at the sound of the man calling your name.
He didn’t sound mad, didn’t sound angry or even disappointed. The man had an arm propped up on the windowsill of the old truck, you looked into his eyes. The man just laughed, not at you. More at the situation.
The loud pank! Of the gas nozzle. Making you jump. You didn’t even hear anything your grandma was saying… not even her telling you about their new farm hands.
“Oh-hey, Grandma. I got to get going okay?”
“Okay sweetheart! Be safe!” She said, making kissing noises, followed by your Papa nudging her to the side, and saying bye as well.
You hang up, putting your phone back in your pocket and removing the gas nozzle from your car. And soon you were back on the road.
You had driven for another hour and a half or so.. your GPS had fucked out 30 minutes ago, “No service…” you muttered, tapping the screen. But it didn’t matter, you knew this road like the back of your hand.
Huffing, you threw the device onto the seat next to you.
In the backseat sat some presents you had wrapped for your grandparents, sliding gently with each curve of the road.
A sweater for your grandmother, a paperback mystery novel for your grandfather, a few trinkets you knew would make them both laugh, And a memory book of all the years you three spent together.
The sky started fading into deep colors, from bright purples to dark navy blues. The thick snow a blinding white against your headlights.. the drive was always the scary part—leaning forward in your seat, gripping the wheel tighter.
But you took a deep breath and just imagined yourself already there with them, deep in thought, enough for the nerves to fade. Enough to imagine your grandmother’s arms around you and your grandfather insisting you eat something warm the moment you walked in.
Only twenty minutes left.
Maybe thirty.
Your heart raced, excited like a kid opening presents on Christmas Day.
It was beyond dark outside when you drove up the long dirt, snow covered driveway. Thick pine trees enveloped the sky overhead. The road looked like it had some kind of work done, different from how your Papa usually does it.
For as long as you can remember, he plowed the driveway in wide, imperfect paths—gentle curves where he got distracted, uneven lines where the tractor’s blade bumped over roots. Little things you’ve grown up recognizing. They always made you smile.
Yeah, it was nothing like that.
The snow was pushed back in, clean straight lines.
Too straight.
Efficient. Precise—that was more of Grandma’s type of thing.. But that wasn’t something your grandmother did. So it made you wonder a bit.
Machine–cut edges with no hesitation. No slight curve, or wobble that wasn’t necessary. Just a path straight enough for the shape of the road it was.
Bright lights wrapped around the limbs of the trees and up the trunks. Flickering lights scattered down the driveway in bright white, red, and green.
As you drove slowly down the road, a farmhouse appeared in the distance. It too was lit up with lights.
From what you could see, you saw your grandpa’s old truck was parked under the carport along with your grandma’s grey Nissan. What caught your eye was another truck; black with dark tinted windows.
“Hmm, interesting..” you mumble, eyebrows furrowed. Maybe it was a neighbor? You thought, parking in your usual parking spot to the left of your Papa’s. The second you park, the front door opens and the outside lights turn on.
Before you can even get out of the vehicle two arms are wrapped around you, firmly. “Hey, Grandmama.” You smile, her face buried in your shoulder.
“Oh, my sweet grandbaby!” She exclaimed, kissing all over your face. You laugh, arms wrapped around her in return.
After a bit, she pulls back. Your grandfather is standing behind her. His plaid shirt tucked into his jeans, holding a jacket to put over your grandmother’s shoulders. The poor woman must have forgotten it when rushing to you.
“Hey, Papa.” You smile warmly, the two of you hugging before your grandmother joins in.
The reunion was warm and perfect for all of five seconds… until someone cleared their throat from behind you.
The sound cut into the moment, clean as if it was a freshly sharpened blade.
You turned, and your grandparents let go of you, looking in that direction as well.
He stood at an average height, at about 5’10.
He had broad, square shoulders, but they held a weight you couldn’t quite put a finger on.
His hair was dark and parted roughly to the side, falling just enough to shadow his eyes. A few days’ worth of stubble sharpened the lines of his jaw, but not too much it looked ragged or choppy.
He wore a dark Carhartt jacket, broken-in at the seams, the kind of wear that didn’t come from style but from long days and hard work. Under it, a deep red plaid shirt hung loose and untucked. His jeans were faded at the knees—soft, frayed, the fabric thinning where he must’ve knelt a thousand times.
Work-worn, Weather-worn.
“O-oh! Sweetheart, this is Tim. He’s one of your grandfathers hands.” You grandma’s voice spoke up, bringing you out of your thoughts.
But it was followed by, said man, interrupting. “I could have told ‘er that Diane.” Your grandfather cut in, you just laughed, turning back towards Tim.
”Here, Miss– Let me help, yeah?” He spoke, lending his hand to your shouldered duffel bag of clothing you brought.
“Oh, uh- yeah, okay.” You replied, taking the bag off of your shoulder and handing it to him.
“Oh, Mr. Wright! Where’s Brian?” Your grandmother asked, calling to the brunette as he walked toward the farmhouse to put your bags inside.
“He’s in the barn Mrs. L/n.”
“He’s polite..” You thought to yourself, blinking as you turned around back to your grandmother. She grabbed your hand and started leading you inside, talking about all the stuff she’d been baking and making with her wood crafts.
Tim brought the rest of your stuff inside, with the better lighting you could really get a look at him. He was… handsome. He looked rugged, but it was the good kind, of course.
The man had caught you staring a few times that night.
He just looked at you, already catching your eyes.. already looking at you.
You hadn’t met this, Brian.. yet. But if he was anything like Tim, then you wouldn’t make it a week, let alone almost two months here.
It made you blush, hiding your face behind your drink as you helped your grandma with a puzzle she had been working on.
It was a kind of thing you two did together. Like when you were a kid.
“So, how was the ride over here?” Your grandpa asked, sitting on the sofa a few feet from the dining table watching some kind of old movie.
“It was fine, Papa.” You replied, looking up from the puzzle, eyes, then again, catching Tim’s who was in the kitchen.
“How’d your mama react when you told them?”
“Diane.” Your grandfather warned, head tilted down to look over the rim of his glasses towards her. “I was just asking her a question Mike.” She insisted, it made you laugh at how they bickered.
“It’s fine, Papa.” You insisted.
You continued to tell them how the conversation with your mother went, about how you weren’t really able to get a word in when suddenly, the front door opened.
From the corner of your eye you saw Tim walk towards the door where the person walked in.
The other man’s voice was deeper, but not as gravely as he spoke to Tim.
Your eyes drifted up when the man turned the corner.
Drifted up, cause he was in fact almost 2 heads higher than Tim..
“Brian, how’s the barn?” Your grandfather spoke, looking up at the man, Brian.
It was as if you had started daydreaming—your ears closed off to everything around you as you looked up at the man. His hair was a lighter brown, but a darker blonde. His eyes…
Blue, a very pretty blue.
Cold as the winter outside, warm enough it made you a bit dizzy. Pretty enough it’d make you loose the hold to a conversation.
He wore a mustard-yellow hoodie, jeans, and heavy work boots. Snow melted at the cuffs.
You never heard Brian’s answer about the barn. Ears filled with a dreamy static, your breath stalling as his eyes met yours again. His gaze slid toward you. Not fast. Not slow. Just deliberate.
You finally came back to your senses when your grandma made a whoop! Noise, happily dancing in her seat when she finished the puzzle.
“You have two, farm hands?” You ask her and she nods. “Y’know how old we’re gettin’ sweetheart. We ain’t how we used to be.” She spoke, simple as that, then leans in and whispers, “Your Papa thinks it’s a waste of time but he knows it deep down.”
“Ah- I heard that!” He replied, pointing playfully at her to which she just giggles, pointer finger back at him.
Brian and Tim circled the dining table to head into the kitchen. Two pairs of eyes lingered on you as they passed.
A quiet shiver crawled up your spine.
Not fear.
Not yet.
Just something… aware.
It made you nervous, their eyes landing on you again when they rounded the corner into the kitchen, then they looked at each other briefly.
But you being nervous about how they looked at you should have been the least of your worries…
ⓘ Vxncevis — 2025. You have no permission to steal, translate or use this for ai.
˗ˏ older boyfriend! brian moser, no specific reader ⊹ was requested by anon and i couldn’t disappoint cause i was already cooking on my idea sheet. also, he’s kinda toxic soooo read with caution ᢗ𐩄 ૮ ˶> ε <˶ ྀིა
older bf! brian who’s second nature is to hold the nape of your neck. rubbing the little hairs when you’re lying on his chest, gently guiding you through a crowd—it’s a causal way of keeping himself and sometimes you steady but he holds you there when he’s deep inside too. to push your body down to meet his thrust, so you can get a better view of how you’re connected between your thighs if the stacked pillows behind your head aren’t enough.
introduces you to older music. you might dabble in 80’ or 90’ but that’s all he listens to. will play record or album and adore when he finds you humming along or knowing a couple of words.
he adores being useful. you’re perfectly capable, but he insists on doing the practical stuff—fixing a hinge, checking your car. he takes pride in competence: “if I can build prosthetics, i can change a hinge.” to him, it’s not negotiable, he’s there so you don’t need a stupid repairman.
he’s a patient teacher. he’ll show you how to dice something in the kitchen, how to “do it the right way.” it’s half control, half genuine care. if you don’t know how to cook something, or handle something, he’ll take his time showing you, hands guiding yours, voice soft. he loves being the one you learn from. when you get worked up over not quite getting it, he’s calmer, steadier. “hey, it’s alright you’ll get better,” he’ll murmur, brushing your hair back.
if someone your age flirts with you, he won’t yell or even mention it right away. he’ll say, in that low, deliberate tone with small half smile to himself: “he wouldn’t know how to handle you anyways.”
if you’re mad at him or simply won’t answer his questions. he’ll just stare. it’s a cold, deliberate, steady and completely on you type of stare. he’ll wait without a word until you break and speak up first.
when you come to him talking about someone treating you poorly. he’s always on your side, even gives you advice. it’s almost always about how you should just stop speaking to them and how they’re draining you, even when you insist it’s not worth that. really, he’s just trying to get you alone but most times you listen without question because he knows better.
sometimes he’ll blur the line of anger and intimacy on purpose: pulling you close, kissing you mid-argument, using touch to scramble your emotions until you forget what you were mad about in the first place.
he doesn’t want you to think too hard or at all for that matter—just let him handle things. when you’re in between decision or is stressing about a bill (which he would never let even begin to happen unless you don’t tell him).
He is eating it up! Toby loves when you’re touching him like it means nothing. When you dig your fingers in his arm to grab his attention? Yes, baby, you have his full attention. Or when you nudge him to get him to look at something on your phone? His mind gets all fuzzy; don’t expect him to actually register whatever you were trying to show him.
He’s not dumb; he sees you’re a touchy person by nature, and it drives him nuts seeing you interact with other creeps. Especially Tim. Whenever you look all doe-eyed at him or giggle at the mean comments he always makes, it angers Toby. Why do you act so nicely and doll-like for that jerk? It must be because he’s the leader of the group; you’re just giving him attention to be nicer to you, right? Seeing you with such a prick, flirting with this poor excuse of a man—it is so beneath you! It’s not fair; all this frustration builds up inside. It’s all the hatred and strong feelings that get him all hot and bothered; he can’t explain his boner whenever that happens. He’s ashamed of how many times he jerked himself off at the thought of you brushing yourself against lowlife creeps.
Tim
Tim loves the way you look up at him. Do you have false lashes or a nice cat eye? Fuck, why are you doing that to him, doll? He can’t look away now; he locks his gaze on yours completely. The flirting you noticed Tim goes wild for is teasing. You get a sharp tongue with him, pressing on all his cords, and he loves playing to your song. He’ll bite back—mean and snarky—maintaining eye contact and getting closer to you. Pushing you back, testing your physical boundaries the same way you do his psychological ones. He’s the one who responds the most to your flirting, entertaining a dangerous back-and-forth, cat-and-mouse-type dynamic.
However, he is very possessive and jealous, so you flirting with other guys is a big no-no. It gets him aggressive. Not because he is truly interested in you or thinks you are in him—he point-blank hates sharing. So he’ll be slamming doors, shoving into the person you’re talking to, and kicking things out of his way.
You edge him on often, switching your attention to Jack mid-conversation, suddenly all interested in how his night is going. Tim has yet to grab you whenever he has his little anger fits, but you hope he’ll soon do so.
Brian
He is the most mature proxy; he won’t take your flirting as personally as the other two. He won’t indulge in enjoying the attention, much less flitting back. He is the kind of man that keeps to himself most of the time, and romantic interactions are rather sensible. He cannot allow you, or anyone for that matter, to fathom the idea he might have feelings and desires just as any other man.
That being said, he does have feelings and desires just as any other man. He gets off on your voice, like, really bad. Whenever your giggle transforms into laughter at something he said, he blushes like a little boy. He still remembers the one time you called his name right after coming back from your jogging session in the woods. He remembers that one quite often.
It was a hard one to spot; you really thought Brian had no weakness for you whatsoever. One mission got you two working together. You were playing control tower from miles away, the only form of communication being a radio. It was him and Toby, blind bats in old catacombs, with only your voice guiding them back to the surface. Brian always asked you to repeat instructions and pretended he didn’t hear you; he’d stall, hoping you’d call his name. And you did.
He definitely lurks outside your door at night, hoping to hear your most intimate moments.
As for you flirting with other people? He doesn’t really care as long as you two are not a couple.
Eyeless Jack
Jack is not really into classic flirting. He holds himself tall and imposing, so you don’t often feel comfortable touching him casually nor joking around with him. If you do, he retracts quickly and obviously, making you feel awkward and out of place. Jack doesn’t care if you flirt with him or with other creeps.
He is very sensible to your body, though.
He smells your cunt whenever you get aroused. It distracts him, but he does a pretty good job pushing that thought to the back of his mind. He hears your heart beating, pumping blood through your veins, and he loves to hear it pump faster. He imagines him pumping you at the same rhythm. You got back from a mission, high on adrenaline and in need of his help? Fuck. He does a pretty good job controlling himself; he’s done that for ages. The real problem arises when he is the cause of all those changes.
Do you begin rubbing your legs together when he enters a room? Or does he hear your heart skip a beat whenever his hands hover above yours? He smells the anxiety on you; there's no use trying to hide it. The way he tries so hard and fails so miserably is pathetic. He gets animalistic. Jack will try his best to calm himself down, retreat whenever you are around him, and fuck himself with your stolen panties. Anything just to maintain composure when around you. Even if you think you want him, he knows you do not, so he will do his best to maintain the distance.
You want him, get him all hot and bothered, and still flirt with another man? Even if it’s as little as a casual joke, Jack will go insane. If it’s very hard for him to control the instinct to breed you, to bite you down and fuck you dumb, ignoring the drive to get rid of any competition is impossible. He will, most definitely, become a danger to all residents.
