finding out the creeps have slept with each other. (this was so fucking funny i love being a multishipper)
MATURE CONTENT!!! MDNI!!!
warnings for: talk of sex, implied masturbation, cyberstalking(?), threesomes, vulgar language
ft. brian thomas, tim wright, tobias rogers, jeffery woods
pt 1. (you’re here!) -> pt. 2
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a/n: this one is ALL OVER THE PLACE. formatted with tim’s conversation being a follow up to brian’s, toby and jeff’s are separate storylines from the gc with ben which will be in part two.. (also what toby describes is a ticcijeff fic i abandoned lowkey)
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.
