ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Hey, I think you forgot…
> Or, the small things about the creeps that still affect them in relationships
> Warnings: Canon typical allusions to violence and suggestive material briefly mentioned
> Including: Jeffery Woods, Toby Rodgers, Natalie Ouellette, Eyeless Jack, MH Duo x gn!reader
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
Jeffery Woods
As much as he was infatuated with his Glasgow smile, his burns were left neglected for the most part.
At least, that was before you came around.
While I’m not too sure how “thing of bleach” and alcohol burns work, I am sure that man was probably a little crusty by the time you met. It took quite a bit of persistence on your end to get him to admit the issue— let alone fix it.
It took months into your relationship for any change.
It came in part from his own stubbornness. Jeff isn’t particularly known for his humility and grace. But the lack of progress came equally in part from a stronger distrust. It’s hard, admittedly , to parse people’s motives when you only interact with serial killers.
But for those who he can trust, who can enjoy his brash company for what it was, he was content to let them trespass a few boundaries.
For you, this looked like sitting on his lap applying burn ointment every few nights and keeping his cuts and blisters clean. Sure, he might sit there whining, complaining, and teasing about how you’re overly concerned— but don’t believe his bluffs. Afterall, he’s the one pulling you down by the hip.
“I mean god fuckin’ damnit! And THEN the little shit whines for his dad, so now I gotta deal with that nuisance-“
It was almost comical. The poster child for murdering urban legends being so worked up about his recent attempt on an 8 year old’s life.
He paced the room, his room, gesturing wildly as he recounted the failed mission.
And while you’re sure the world of extra work and attention about to be drawn towards him would certainly be annoying for you both, he seemed more bothered at the moment by the fact he was bested. By a child.
His hands never stilled, waving erratically, mock chocking the child, raking through his hair, scratching at the dry patches of his skin beneath his jaw.
“God!- You ain’t even listening to me, are ya?!” Finally he stills, leaning over you as you sat on his bed, head tilted. It would be intimidating if you knew he was all bark and no bite.
“Dunno, it’s sounds to me…” You linger on the word, drawing it out as your eyes dash to his almost leathery skin. “Someone’s just grouchy”
“Wh-“ He sputters, even more confused as you stand abruptly, digging through the nightstand drawer.
“I mean c’mon, you could’ve just asked” You snicker as you push him back, causing him to stumble and sit down.
“What’re you- hey quit it” He grumbles as you cage him, knees either side of his thighs, and gather up some of the balm. He kept grumbling on, making no move towards getting you off.
“I’m still mad at cha” he mutters, tilting his head back for you to get his neck.
“Uh huh.”
Toby Rodgers
Maybe it’s something to do with his enthusiasm or the gash in his cheek, but there’s only so much you can do by means of cleanliness.
I’m sure by now, the concept of Toby being an eager lover is essentially cannon. I hear you, and I raise you the repercussions of his own enthusiasm.
That is to say, there is spit everywhere.
Innocent peck? Longing kiss? Late night makeout? Head? It doesn’t matter, his saliva is getting absolutely everywhere.
For clarification, in no way is he ashamed. In fact, any attempt of pointing it out is often met with the most shit-eating grin. On several occasions he’s probably licked you through the gap to watch you squirm.
He learned after the first time, he enjoyed it too much to stop.
If the constant mess didn’t happen to be your thing, he would make an effort to try and improve what’s left behind. But truthfully, there was some desire he find for your skin covered in his last attempt of loving up on you.
Like a dog, he was most excitable when you’d leave and when you’d come back.
In fact, he was so consistent that coming home from a mission you were sure to be greeted by your ever-so-eager boyfriend waiting to practically tackle you.
And tackle he did.
You’d hardly gotten through the door when your back was slammed against it, forcing it shut again. It was almost as if he was preventing you from leaving again entirely.
He was too giddy for words, grabbing at your clothes and hair, anywhere for purchase, to get you closer and closer and closer. By the time he was content, the nape of his neck was all you could see.
His attention shifted rapidly, as it always seemed to, while he focused on breathing you in. The crest of your hairline, the plane of your forehead, the curve of your neck, the apples of your cheeks, the ridge of your nose, and on and on and on.
By the time you were able to get a grasp of where you were and what was happening, it’d felt like he’d been everywhere. It felt like he’d managed to cover every inch of your skin in less than a minute.
Your hands, much stiller than his own, grabbed a face as his head jerked, stilling him. You nudge forward to meet him, feeling the cold breeze of your motion on-
Holy shit you were covered in saliva.
No wonder it felt like he surrounded you, as it seemed like he certainly did. It looked like a failed attempt at cannibalism.
“God damnit, Toby”
By the time you finished sighing he still couldn’t tamper down his grin.
Natalie Ouellette
Several times she’s reached for you, to pull you closer, to try and regain your attention, and just… miss.
Natalie suffers from a near comical lack of depth perception.
Mentally, she’s cursed her past self for gauging out her eye. Because, in the middle of a tense romantic moment, she reached for you and either jabbed you in the face or reached for absolute thin air.
For a long while it irked her. She couldn’t even do something as simple as grabbing your hand without being worried she’d ruin it. A feeling of possibly ruining her chance that she swore she’d buried with her past self
After she got over the frustration, even though it took a short eternity, she found it to be almost enjoyable. She learned to bask in seeing you flush in the face —partially from the moment prior and partially from laughing— and finding good fun in her mistakes only endears her to you further.
Summers were always brutal. It seems no matter where either of you went, there was no way to beat the heat. The humidity seeped into every room, making your life feel the same swampy heat for the span of 3 months, no matter how busted the ac was or how high the fan could spin.
Tonight though, it seemed especially worse.
The buzz of the cicadas mixed with the engines running, mixing in your head and muddling your thoughts. Each notion that passed your head came slow and sticky, few and far between, lacking in the quick reason that you’d usually pride yourself for.
Somewhere between the heat and your current… predicament, you lost all sense in reality. Your grasp narrowed down to the girl you lay entangled with.
Both of your skins were sticky with sweat as the humidity clung onto you. And sure, it might’ve been the alcohol, or the high coming off a mission well done, or the fact the tension between you both was thick with yearning. But chalking it up to heat was just easier.
Easier than confronting what that much endearment in your best friend’s eye might mean like this— with tangled legs in the back of her truck because neither of you are ready to say goodbye.
An evil grin takes her face, evil because you know she knows exactly what you’re thinking, and she knows you’re noticing.
“Yknow,” She drawls, enjoying the moment as you squirm, sitting up to get a better view “You don’t need t’ be so nervous” Her head tilts, the clock in her eye catching the light of the moon.
You swallow, the heat feels like it’s in your veins now. Desperately, you try to shove down all the new and old feelings it awakens. The urges you swore you wouldn’t act on for the sake of a friendship “I have no clue what you mean”
She laughs, the non committed chuckle that only exists to humor your response.
“Sure y’ don’t, hun” Her hand comes up past your shoulder, almost like she’s trying to cup your face.
All at once she leans forward, and with nothing to catch her grip, falls into your chest.
Mission failed successfully?
Eyeless Jack
While he’d like to say that being a “monster” for so long has not negated his humanity, his relationship with you has certainly proved enlightening.
He doesn’t get it really, your questioning. In fact, you seem to never run out of them. He can’t recall a day since you’d met where he hasn’t been inquired upon.
Namely, to how having no eyes, many teeth, and a tail aren’t common human traits, and how exactly that works for him.
I have much to say, to the point this section would easily triple the others, but for the sake of equality I’m going to focus on the fact of his tail.
Especially how it’s robbed him of his composed facade and ability to lie.
Sure, you can take him at his word, that he’s not amused by your shenanigans, but his tail flicking behind him betrays his carefully designed persona. The image he fronts to keep himself away from the others.
His rows of sharpened teeth, a maw— really, empty sunken sockets that drip, and a frame not quite right is uncanny enough to send most that cross his path fleeing. And yet you won’t. Because the same anatomy that’s so scary won’t let him hide his amusement.
It’s not all bad, though. It’s kept you around after all, and who’s he to be ungrateful for the best thing he has?
He honestly had no clue why you kept finding yourself back in the clinic.
The first few times it was warranted. Intake, a stabbing taken in defence, a broken nose, the likes.
And sure, he could’ve questioned the visits over shallow cuts or the common cold— but who’s he to judge someone for being health conscious?
But now, with you sitting atop the examination bed, airing your stream of consciousness out to him, he really wonders why you’re here. By all standard metrics, you should find yourself anywhere else.
It’s not like he’s the most engaging conversation partner. In fact, he’s sure he’d hardly uttered more than 6 sentences to you since you’d met.
Alas, there you sit, talking about some recent internet drama between some celebrity couple. Personally he doesn’t see the engagement of others’ infidelity, but he digresses. Or something like that, he hasn’t been paying active attention.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” He sucks in a breath turning around to face you, not at all deterred by the gaping holes in his face. “But I believe we both have work we need to get done”
He feels the urge to smile, to placate the disappointed look that takes your face. But as he considers it, he’s reminded that showing off his method for killing things as unsuspecting as you isn’t polite manners.
“Yeah I guess you’re right.” You hop off the table, only to pause and look down at your ankle.
“Uh….” You swallow, looking back at him.
“Jack?” You laugh nervously, your brows furrowed slightly.
He becomes then, keenly aware of the fact his tail is wrapped around your ankle, preventing you from leaving. It was instinct, an unconscious attempt to keep your company. One so strong he needs a conscious effort to loosen his grip.
“Sorry, my apologies” He’s not sure if his blood works the same, or if he can blush. But if he can, he’s certain he is.
“No worries at all, I’ll see you soon” He can hear you grin, no need for vision. “Don’t miss me too much!”
He thinks he might die again.
Brian Thomas
It was maybe a year or so into your relationship when you started to realise it. The winces if he’d turn to sharply, the sputter in his breathing if you pressed against his ribs, the leaning on countertops to balance out his instability.
Again, I’m not well versed in the effects of being shoved off a balcony. But I do know that not only would it hurt, but that kind of hurt would last a long while afterwards.
This is one I don’t see becoming relevant until further into your relationship because his position has little room for inefficiency.
There’s an ever looming threat in their line of work. What becomes of dead weight. The things people do to stay alive truly are impressive, and that drive only became more potent now he had something to live for.
While the worst of the injuries were managed and tended to, the deep aching pain was one he forced himself to ignore. As all things did, they got worse.
By the time you notice there’s an issue, other people are about to. Only after facing that can you start getting him to medicate instead of just swallowing down the pain every day.
It’s the closest thing to domestic he’ll get. His lover staring him down after asking if he took his meds before leaving on a job, sweetening you with a kiss as he grabs the bottle and turns to leave.
It’s almost enough to feel normal again.
It’s not as if he tried sneaking in. He knew better by now than to try sneaking things past you. And besides, what kind of lover would he be, lying about what he was doing.
That was to say he was trying not to wake you up. Or so that was the excuse he told himself not calling or texting his return to you.
Relief came in the form of a dark house. That you were sleeping, unworried, and to be pleasantly surprised by his return. All the murder aside, he was pretty good at this domestic thing.
He hummed quietly, slinging his bags over his shoulders and making his way inside. Despite the dark of the house, he didn’t find it difficult to find a table to stash his equipment for the night.
All things considered, a successful mission in every aspect.
And then the kitchen lights turn on.
“Well there you are” You sound incredibly unimpressed. Unamused in a way that spells a night on the couch.
“Hey, Darl’n I didn’ mean t’ keep ya up” He abandoned the table in favor of hopefully pleasing you. The crappy motel left enough of a creak in his eternally pained back— the couch might just kill him.
“You didn’t.” You quirk an eyebrow, seeing past his faux sleepiness.
“I didn’t?” He smiles, confused more than anything.
“Tim called and let me know yall were headed back.”
Well shit.
“See, hun-“
“And more interesting than you not telling me yourself, is this” You lazily hold the bottle of pain medication, the motion causing it to rattle.
He stares at you, wondering whether he can talk himself out of the hole he’s dug or to keep on digging.
“So here’s what’s happening. You,” You pause for emphasis, jabbing the bottle into his chest lightly. “Are going to take two of these and go right to bed before I consider sending you to the couch”
He pauses, partially in disbelief and partially for more orders.
“Clear?” You tilt your head and smile, and he swears he’s never been more in love in his life.
“Crystal.”
Timothy Wright
Holy slowburn.
The entire lead up and forging to his spot working under the operator was in mistrust. In Alex not disclosing anything, in Jay never giving the full truths, and in his way of life falling to the mercy of some creature’s whim.
Additionally, with any person he comes across becoming a potential victim to the operator, there isn’t room for sentimentality.
Allies he’d made, friends snuffed out too soon, haunting him long after they’d mysteriously gone missing. Every connection being so intangible, smoke between his fingers, filling his lungs for only a moment.
It takes a while— years, maybe, for him to accept that you’re not going to be ripped away. That the person you show yourself to be is real and genuine and someone he can rely on. Someone who can actually stick around.
You, to him, are the physical manifestation that there is still right things. That he’s not beyond hope or yearning or a good life. That he’s more than just shooting and people that can’t be saved.
If there were one thing aside from the obvious for him to complain about, it’d be the motels.
It made no sense: how a motel in butt-fuck nowhere, with all these rooms, was at maximum occupancy in the middle of a thunderstorm. But between sharing a room with you or sleeping in the truck, he supposed he could suck it up.
Besides, it wasn’t like you were such bad company.
He leaned out the window, his elbows catching the water that overflowed from the gutter so he could smoke. There wasn’t much sunlight he could parse out from the clouds, but it was something to watch.
“Finally, dry clothes” You groaned, saved at last from being soaked to the bone. He doesn’t look for you, instead waiting for you to join him, as you always seemed to do.
“And hot water. For as bummy as these rooms are, I’d buy 10 of em’ for hot water.” You laugh, dry, looking up at him. He tears his eyes from the dying sun to look at you.
His lungs itch from holding the smoke, causing him to shudder, but he can’t help but want to pause the moment.
You’re so much like the sun it hurts. The thing his world revolves around, bright and damn-near blinding. Your hair is soaked from the shower, in clothes stolen and ill-fitting. But for the first time since his last stolen moment with you he feels properly alive.
“Yeah” He exhales with it. He’d give a thing for another moment like this. More of his clothes, all the money in his pockets, the suffering his life absorbs and inflicts, all for one more moment. “I’d give anything.”
feel free to request!
