#tim wright x reader fanfiction | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cherri3berri3s · 9 months ago

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Bull in the Heather Pt.1┃Ticci Toby x reader

Warning: maybe brief mentions of self-harm, in-depth descriptions of manic episodes, active violence, verbal/physical abuse + drug use

Synopsis: After your bipolar boyfriend is placed in the psych ward on account of murder, you're faced with the task of understanding why and more importantly, what forces are leading to his odd behaviors?

Word count: 3k+ words Category: angst

Death plagues my senses.

Various flickering lights scattered across the dense room as the bright contrast etched into my memory. The white plastered walls were muddied with the occasional grease stain and random droplets of blood, more than likely a result of a petty fight from at least one of the patients. Not to mention the smell reeked of old urine and medical supplies, almost like being shoved inside a ginormous latex glove.

They say it goes against human nature to ignore death and walk right to it, yet I still find myself rushing to embrace even the slightest glimpse of it. The sound of my flats obnoxiously clacking against the imperial textured floor strains my ears, making each step that more nauseating.

I feel sick. Almost as though my stomach could spill any second knowing what I know now. And still, I'm here to see him.

Walking eagerly down the dingy hallway, a man in blue right at my side. I feel the pressure of his gaze watching each movement I've drawn to make. Stopping abruptly at an isolated door, his calloused hands dashed straight to the keys buried deeply within his pockets.

"He's been raging like a bitch in heat for a couple of days now," the man before me remarked, a small hint of a southern accent peaking in between words. "Just don't do anything stupid enough to make the aftermath my problem."

" Trust me, it doesn't matter what I do," I announce, an eyebrow raised as my eyes dart to the name tag hung near his chest. "Watching him, you'll understand soon enough."

A vivid chuckle escapes his lips. Unfazed yet humored by the words that cheekily spilled from my mouth. Like clockwork, the clicking sound of the now-unlocked door rings throughout the hall. His hands impatiently awaiting my response to turn the knob.

"You think you can handle this one, don't you."

" I think I got this from here on out… 'Mr. Wright'."

As sudden as it was, the door flew open. Revealing two other staff standing firmly on either side of Toby; unburdened by the underlying unruliness of his demeanor. Sitting amongst the room of empty seats and active surveillance was none other than the one person I traveled all this way to see, the one person I needed so desperately to be near.

As each vigorous step loudly ricochets throughout the near-empty room, the only active movement other than mine was Toby's eyes furiously following my every move. His body remaining as still as it was long before I entered the room.

Seated across from him, I felt dejected. The sorrow in the situation briskly destroying the little pieces of admiration I'd been holding onto just for him. All the while those eyes I've grown to cherish seemed even more lifeless and dull than they did before.

"Hi baby" I said lightly. My gaze fixed upon the man I could've sworn I was beginning to understand even the tiniest bit.

His elbows laid across the table as support, bringing forth his scarred body just inches closer to mine. Our faces leveled to each other as a bewildered grin met his expression.

"You worthless bitch." He says between gritted teeth, that smirk never faltering. "Don't walk your prissy ass on over here thinking we're gonna play house just that easily." He spat, lingering closely before slowly sliding back into his seat. His brows remained furrowed as his body simultaneously looked both calm and tense. His intense stare stuck on me in deep thought.

"...You put me here." He claims with surety.

"The police put you here-"

"You told them to bring me here,"

"It was either that or jail," I add harshly. The air in the room growing thinner as my once active attempt at being nonchalant slowly began to vanish.

"I still don't know what you are," I delicately claim, not once removing my eyes from the person in front of me. "And I still don't know what you do either," I pressed on. Focused on his abstract mannerisms. "But I'd be damned if after all of this you'd still want to hold what I don't know against me." I finished, irritated and worried.

"You'll know exactly what I can be once he's found me." He asserts, an eerie yet light-hearted smile meets his lips. His brows finally softening in its wake.

"Who's he Toby?"

"Him; The operator. The operator and all his little-" He begins, shortly raving on as I shake my head in detest. Uttering 'no' continuously out into the open.

"Not this 'operator' bullshit again,"

"He made me what I am," He proudly voices, almost confused as to why I despised the thought. "As perfectly fucked as it is, I can't wait for him to change you too."

"Don't tell me this shit! Toby, these police fucks found human remains linked back to you and all I've been trying to do is get your nut ass back home." I bitterly voiced. Toby's now partial silence and unmoving expression eating away at my thoughts. "Don't tell me this 'operator' bullshit is the reason."

"Not possible…" He confusedly says. Without warning, he leaps out of his seat, yanking my arm to move my body closer to his regardless of the table barrier. The staff unhesitantly sprinting to action yet soon stopping at my gesture against it. Leaning into my ear, Toby whispers-

"How can a body be found when I've burned them all."

"I never said how they found the body…" I reason in a low voice. My eyes never leaving his even after his fast-paced movements. Locked in his stupefied daze, I continue, " I know you're guilty, but right now, I want you back home anyways." Our bodies trapped in an unmoving touch beginning to soften with his now lighter grip. "Just tell me why baby, tell me how to help you-"

"The cops tell you to say that?" His head tilts, smirk returning to his cheeks."Bad enough your ungrateful ass is why we're sitting here to begin with, right?" The grip he held on my arms once again continued to tighten, rage displayed all throughout his brown pupils.

"Not even a fucking fool with a dick for brains and a head between their thighs would wanna find their way home with you." Arrogantly, he plops down into his seat. Everyone else in the room left standing and on edge.

"Y'know, you've changed everything but the fucking situation at hand, and come to think I thought you were smarter than this Y/n."

Glaring upwards, his clenched teeth continued to expose his thoughts.

"I know my place in this world, and it will always be by The operator."

Steadily, I found my way back onto my seat. Arms crossed just as the curly haired brunette across from me. "Why choose a life in all of this when you know damn well I've been loving you." I say, soft-spoken as his expression remained unfazed.

"I'm sorry, did you want me to play dress up too?" he chuckles, sneering as he looks me up n' down. "You wouldn't know what love is even if it fucked you to sleep every night."

"Tobias," I breathily utter, despondent in my approach. "Just help me understand this shit and I swear I'll get you outta here."

Playfully, he states "You think I've been needing you? You think I fucking want your help?"

"I think you're forgetting every sacrifice I have made and will continue to make for you." Leaning into the table, my arms still linked together, I assertively imply "You can kill me if you think I'd let it all stop right here."

"Well then, I guess you can add one more body to the list. You'd be a good human only if you were a dead one anyways, right my love?" He leans in closer, the table keeping us both distanced yet barely disengaged.

"Tell me now, what is 'The operator'?"

"May he have mercy on what's left of you after they're done." Toby muttered, leaning comfortably back in his chair. "Es ist zeit mein Vögelchen." He relays, a void yet cocky expression overtaking every inch of his face.

"You're a piece of work, Toby."

Without a second to spare, one of the lingering staff swoops in. Tapping my shoulder to signal that they did indeed want me out of the hospital room.

Swiftly getting up from my seat, I couldn't help but look to my lover one last time. His signature black gloves were long confiscated, exposing the tears in the brittle flesh of his hands from excessive biting. The gash in his cheek covered with gauze and medical adhesive tape preventing him from moving to the next best thing when it comes to his picking habits.

As pained as I remained seeing him in such a bland and revealing setting, I couldn't help but get this twinge of understanding telling me that he was cleaner and possibly far healthier than before.

Realizing I'd been distracted by my brief observations, I avoid settling the score, opening my mouth to speak to him once more.

"Is this your final choice?"

"Fuck you." He spit. Anger and aggression seeping from his lips in a final attempt to draw me away. The guard escorts me back to the main entrance impatiently as an air of embarrassment hit my cheeks.

Nearly stumbling out the door, I adjust my leather trench coat and place on my metal oval sunglasses.

'What a waste of my fucking time. I already knew he would try pushing the buttons.'

"Y'know, even I could've told you that he's been manic all damn week."

Shooting my head towards the unknown yet familiar voice, I immediately realized it was the same asshole who escorted me in.

"Oh wait, I think I actually did." He sarcastically shrugged, leaning against the entrance wall.

"Oh yeah? Well I think I need a fucking smoke." I pessimistically added. Reaching straight for my coat pocket.

"Well now you're talking my language, what kind?"

"Virginia slims." I said smoothly. Flickering the lighter until it sparked on the tip of the cigarette.

"Virginia slims? Might as well get you some Parliaments."

"Yuck," I exclaimed, making a feigned face of disgust. "You insult me."

Undoubtedly, the two of us erupted in a brief fit of chuckles. Amused by the other's bitchiness at such a time of momentary significance. However, the now swift silence ate quickly at the other's tongues. Leaving what felt like an odd bubble of time to speak what's really been on our minds.

"So, you come out here dressed like Carrie Moss and wonder why you get thrown back to the door?" He addresses. An eyebrow raised; less in a questioning way as much as it was humorous.

"That's far from what happened."

"Oh right, he told you about The Operator first, then kicked you out."

Almost instinctively, my head speedily bolts back up to his face. Ignoring the cigarette lazily hanging from my mouth as I snatched it with both my pointer finger and my thumb.

"Sounds like he knew you'd bite off more than you could chew." He finishes. Pretending to analyze the situation as though he'd discovered the secret of the year.

"So what are you saying," I sputtered out intensely. No longer shying away from the truth that this guy knows something. "He thinks he's helping me?"

"How charming of him." He smirks, indirectly answering my question. "Gee- I didn't think his balls were full grown."

Without a chance to process, he pulls out his own cigarette. The bent pack of Marlboro reds still shining in the afternoon light. "Before you got here he was just a twitching- time bomb with a strange habit of stuttering." Lighting up the cig, he takes one long inhale before releasing the strong vapor into the air. "I didn't think he'd control it the way he did just to tear you a new one."

" Correct me if I'm wrong," I rushed in, slight confusion riddling my face as my motives for understanding the situation changed. "But I didn't know hospital staff were allowed to dabble in their patients' personal lives. If that's what you are, Tim Wright."

" I suppose," He said, placing the cig back onto its resting spot on his lips. Silence overtaking the mood once again, leaving only thoughts to fester.

Turning back around, I place my attention towards fetching my car keys to immediately get the fuck up outta there. Walking with haste, I momentarily stop to respond.

"Well it was nice fucking around but-" Briefly turning back, I realized that… he's gone. '...How freaky.'

Making it to my car, a white lined piece of paper remained folded onto my windshield. Hesitantly, I snatch the sheet straight off. Flipping it to see the bold words written in black Sharpie.

'He's always watching' Underneath, the note's signed by Tim.

"How sweet," I snidely whispered. Paranoia and worry getting to my head.

A faint hint of gas drifts past my nose, wafting in the air alongside a more savory smell. Cans of diced tomatoes and marinara lay empty as scraps of cheese littered the counter. The T.V. in the next room serving only as background noise to keep my head temporarily occupied.

A full week had passed since I'd last seen Toby, and as tough as it was, I had gone on convincing myself that it wasn't too bad. Just more ominous and lonely than usual.

My phone rested on my ear as I remained attentive in a short-lived conversation with my mother. Extremely tired of the bullshit 'I told you so' responses I had been getting. It only took a day and a half for word to get around that Toby got thrown in the psych and suddenly, this woman couldn't stop blowing up my phone.

Dusting off my hands, I listened to her unfiltered banter as my arms crossed to my chest.

"I always knew I gave birth to a fucking felon. Had you done as I said almost two years ago now you'd still be home you rotten bitch! "

Pacing the floor in my white baby tee and low-rise bell-bottom jeans, I measly affirmed her every word. "You've done nothing but bring shame to me and break our family apart! All for that basket-case you laid up with, "

Taking a deep breath, I rolled my eyes. Harboring the truth of what I'd actually wanted to say, opting to only listen to her mouth run instead.

"You're an unwanted embarrassment that's made herself some psycho's TRAMP !"

"Ma," I said in a serious yet unfazed tone, "Have you been taking your meds?"

"Oh, so NOW I must be crazy for saying what I think needs to be said?"

Chuckling lightly, I switch my phone to my opposite ear. Amused by my mothers' rampage and active attempts to ignore my current concerns.

"Not crazy; unmedicated mama."

As she huffed in annoyance, her constant shifting can be heard on the other end. "I can't believe you're the only one of my children to do this to me."

"Do what ma? Talk?" I jokingly pressed on. An unintentional smile meeting my face. "Look, If you need more antipsychotics I'll gladly give you mine. Just go bake a cake or something. Maybe sniff some crayons…"

"Listen here you ungrateful bitch, just bring the pasta you made over and…blah blah blah." Was all I heard amidst her next response.

Interrupted by a deafening crash upstairs, my movements came to an immediate halt. Glass toppling over and crackling into tiny pieces echoes over the static of my phone. Sharp crunching can be heard as another set of footsteps resound throughout the whole house. Dauntingly, it stops near the stairs in complete silence.

If there was one thing I could thank Toby for doing, it was stressing about my safety so much that he taught me self-defense. Hearing the creaking of the steps, I recognized two male voices. Low and steady, not loud enough to differentiate. Watching idly behind the kitchen wall, I stand close to the archway, knife in hand.

For every step that made its way towards my direction, I positioned myself and prepared to make a silent move. Seeing feet just barely pass the walkway, I swing my arm around in a defective punch drawing attention away from my grasp on the knife.

Expectantly, the unknown visitor ducks away from the punch, discarding the knife as he begins restraining both arms above my head, roughly pinning me against the wall. As my back abruptly slams into the sheetrock, I instinctively lift my leg to kick him in the balls. Watching as he only gasps and clenches my wrist tighter, I lunge towards the guy's neck. Biting down as hard as I could without letting go.

In an instant, I'm yanked from the man by his 'friend' and restrained midair, not yet ready to go down without a fight. Struggling against my captor, I aggressively kick and punch before hearing the two voices word vomit defenses.

"Y/n, baby it's me! Scheiße…"

"Let me the FUCK GO-" I screamed, elbowing the one holding me in the throat.

Backing off towards the wall, I get a clear view of the pair.

Without a doubt, there stood Toby before me. His curly brown hair messily framed his face as he stood on edge and ready. Unlike his hospital attire, he wore a black " Smashing Pumpkins" t-shirt, loose jeans, and some black Vans. Next to Toby grasping his throat in a coughing fit stood a very familiar face as well, still recovering from the massive blow to his neck.

"What the hell Tobias," I said in a stern yet breathless voice. "You dickwads just broke into my fucking house!" I pressed on, beyond angered and befuddled.

"Well no shit we did!" continued the man in a red flannel, "I'm glad we're all on the same page-"

"I knew you weren't some fucking doctor or whatever bullshit you said you were," I raged on, "You brought this fucking liar to my house?!"

"No, no, I brought Tobias to your fucking house! Now say thank you so we all could fucking move on," Tim sorely stated, rubbing his throat as he exasperatedly stares into my direction.

Side-eyeing the both of them, I calm down just enough to speak through a huffed sigh.

"What are you doing here?" I exhaustedly replied

"Damn, I almost thought you wanted me here," Toby said with a tilted head and a partial smirk on his face.

"Don't fuck with me-"

"I just got out, can I explain this to y-you later?" he brushes off, attempting to walk away.

"No."

"Great," Tim perked up, "Now we can talk about important things. Like how you brought out a damn meat cleaver to chop up dear ole' lover boy to pieces-" he calmly states.

"I didn't know who the fuck you both were-"

"Well I'm glad you know now," Toby smiled, a gentle laugh escaping his mouth as he sits down on the couch. "I guess I came back here just 'cause I missed you so much" He muttered, tilting his head back to release a prolonged sigh.

"I find that hard to believe." I relay with an unamused look.

"Maybe you w-wouldn't if you were sitting your ass down with me," Looking up at me with wishful eyes, Toby doesn't budge. Taking a deep breath out, I find myself walking over to my boyfriend, his eyes never truly leaving mine as I sat close by.

"Mein vögelchen," he lets out in a soft tone, his eyes fluttering as his doe-eyed expression ate away at my thoughts

"You're an idiot." I breathed out, a distance still marked between us.

"I know," he whispered, his lips curled in an almost saddened reality. Hurt passing right on by as he longingly wanted to say more. "You still like me?"

"If I didn't, you'd probably be chopped n' fed to the neighbors' dog by now." I laughed, garnering a chuckle from Toby himself as he relaxed. "I'm actually surprised I didn't hear any barking this whole time,"

In a heartbeat, the room stilled. Toby looked to the side in a slow yet guilty manner as Tim refocused on the conversation.

"I had no parts." Tim casually said, irritated nonetheless as he remained still by the window. Looking out occasionally as though there were more to spy on.

"What the fuck did you guys do to the neighbor's dog?"

"I don't know, maybe you should ask him." Toby said, nodding to the window as if the dog could speak for himself.

"I need a fucking cigarette," I exclaimed, hopping outta my seat to make my way back to the kitchen. "You fuckers still haven't told me why you're here and now you've killed a fucking dog!" I passive-aggressively spit.

"He's not d-dead he's just knocked out," He claims, gesturing for Tim to pass him a light "Our little puppy friend is trippin' off some trazodone from the ward" He mumbles with the cig between his teeth, taking a long ass hit.

"Like that makes it any fucking better!" I add, "Bad enough your ass is already wanted for 'alleged' murder."

"Bad enough I had to break him out of the hospital for that exact same reason," Tim buts in, arm lazily thrown on the wall as he goes back to watching outside the window.

"Un-fucking-believable, un-believable." I shake my head, pissed that I'm now caught in the middle of it. "You need a chaperone and even your chaperone is a fuck up."

"Look, you wanna know why we're here?" Toby nods to me, resting his cigarette between his two fingers. "You wanna know what the fucking operator is?"

"Yes, I think I actually do."

"Don't be stupid," he bites back, placing his smoke back onto his lips as his next breath in was rugged and deep.

"You have any visitors coming?" Tim questions, my head rushing towards where he stood.

"Hell no,"

"Great, well you both can be stupid later," Tim says, shutting the window and ushering towards the lights in the house. "There's someone on their way here."

Hurriedly burning out the ash on the tip of his shoes, Toby runs up the stairs with familiarity. Hearing a knock roughly shake the door, Tim looks at me, muttering a short plan as he rushes far into one of the rooms upstairs.

Listening to the steps loudly run throughout the house, I'm once again left to face the brief yet unanswered knock at the door.

"Fuck"

A/N: This shit took fucking weeks to finish and I'm far from actually being finished w/ the plot line. Anyway, there's a lot more in the works that I've enjoyed making

You’re free to reblog if you want!

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88th-entry · 17 days ago

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Tim Wright

A-Z Alphabet Headcanons ⋆ ๋࣭ ⭑

＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿

‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾ ‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾ ‾‾‾‾‾‾‾ ‾‾‾

๑‧˚₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹ A/N:

1, this is my first time writing smut, so i apologize if it sux or is inaccurate </3 2, there may be some inconsistencies / contradictions !! i tried to catch them all, but there still may be a few. 3, these HCs take place a little before - during the start of MH, not after. Also reader and Tim are mentioned living together only once, so do with that information as you please.

⊹ ̟˖ ⁀꒷꒦︶ ° . • ────── ⦻

⦻ ────── • . ° ︶꒦꒷⁀ ˖ ̟ ⊹

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

- Tim is impossibly sweet. His go-to is lying in bed with you in his arms, holding you like fine china until you fall asleep. If you don’t, he’ll frequently check up on you.

- Occasional kisses your forehead, asking if you need water or a snack in a whisper that makes you melt. He’ll happily get whatever you need.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

- His favorite part on you are your eyes. Watching your brows stitch together and eyes roll back as he bottoms out… he’s gotta stop himself from coming on the spot.

- His favorite part on himself would probably be his hands. He loves cradling that gorgeous/handsome face of yours while you’re trying to adjust to his size, thumbs slowly rubbing back and forth along your cheeks as he reassures you that you’re doing a good job.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

- Tim doesn’t exactly like coming in you if you’re afab, even if you’re on birth control. The idea of being a dad scares him (for a multitude of reasons), so he’d rather not risk it. But he’ll come in your mouth if you’re alright with it; maybe your stomach. More often than not, however, he’s coming in the condom.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

- Tim would be a liar if he were to say that he’s never hoped to wake up to you giving him head. Something about you doing that in his sleep is weirdly hot. But he doesn’t even know where to begin asking you, so he probably won’t.

- But if he does? Lord, that’s the hardest he’ll ever come in his life.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

- Yeah… Love Tim, but I know he got zero play until well into his adult years. Isolation from his childhood played into his adulthood so much, and his romantic and sexual life aren’t the exceptions. He wouldn’t ever do a one night stand with a stranger. Too much, too fast. And he never got many partners in college. Maybe a few boyfriends or girlfriends here and there, but nothing solid.

- He had fooled around here and there, sleeping with a partner if they got close enough, but he was still relatively new to the whole thing by the time you two got together.

- Safe to say you’re definitely one of the first for him. But he’s a quick learner.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying)

- He’s more of a missionary guy; cowgirl, a close second. Any position where he can admire your face or pull you into a kiss, he’s down.

- Also just about any position where you can suck his cock. He loves head way more than he’d like to admit.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

- Not too joking, but also not terribly serious. If he accidentally yanks your hair or you knee him while trying to change positions, he’ll laugh it off, kiss you and continue.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

- Not clean shaven. He tried for his first partner, but he ended up nicking himself a bit. So he’d prefer not to.

- If you want him to, he’ll shave. But most he’s doing is trimming it down bi-monthly.

- And yes, the carpet indeed matches the drapes!

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

- Tim is incredibly intimate during it. He always had difficulty letting anybody in, so once you finally break down his walls? Absolutely cherishing the time you two spend together. He makes sure you’re loved and you know you’re loved. And what better way to do that than take you out to a nice dinner then drag you into the bedroom?

- If you ask, he’ll be a little rougher, since his pace is usually slow and soft. But he’s hesitant. Never putting any real pressure on your throat, never slamming into you so hard you can’t walk for several days after. He’ll do anything for you, but hurting you is one he’s a bit reluctant towards.

J = Jack Off (Again pretty self explanatory, how often do they get off)

- He doesn’t jack off too often. He almost never did before your relationship, and in fact, did it more regularly after he got with you. He just never had a real reason to before you.

- Of course, if you’re nearby, that’s ideal. But sometimes the mere thought of you gets his blood rushing south. And if you’re at work, he’ll jack off on his side of the bed, scrolling through pictures of you on his phone to finish.

- If you’re lucky, he’ll wait ‘til you get home to shower you in kisses and (not so subtly) feel you up as he leads you to the couch.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

- Honestly, isn’t all too kinky.

- But one thing he REALLY likes is seeing you in lingerie. As soon as he sees those matching lacy bra and panties, he’s pouncing on you right then and there.

- If you don’t have/want to wear lingerie, you moaning loudly as he’s making out with you means an IMMEDIATE hard on for him. Just something about it.

- And, let me just throw this out there, slight dacryphilia. Watching small tears build up in your eyes as you slowly sit down on his cock makes him want to grab your hips and ram it into you. He won’t, but it’s a recurring thought. (new fic idea lols)

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

- Prefers private places, so the common locations are the bedroom and living room. He also really likes the kitchen (fucking you while you sit on the counter)

- He’ll agree to his or your car, just nowhere that’s too public. He won’t fuck in a parking lot or anything, so don’t push the topic.

- Might let you suck him off while he’s driving, but he’ll prefer it to be at dusk or night and on an empty road.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

- Lingering touches are definitely a turn on for Tim. As a guy who never got loved on in his early years, he yearns for any and all touches.

- As soon as you run your hands down his chest, clothed or not, he’s letting out a shaky breath.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

- Nothing that seriously hurts you. He’ll slap you, sure, but not on the face and never harder than a quick, softer hit. Don’t beg him to do you rough. It makes him uneasy.

- Tim’ll get uncomfortable at the slightest mention of doing it in front of someone else. Don’t even ask.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

- He’s a big giver. He just wants to make you happy. For afab, he’ll let you ride his face for as long as you want. It got to a point where basically the entirety of his beard around his mouth turned lighter. To which he shaved it. Never stopping eating u, tho.

- For amab, he’s not great at giving head at first. But damn, if he doesn’t get real good, real fast. He’ll suck you off long as it means you fall apart above him. Just don’t force him down. It feels claustrophobic.

- Also really loves receiving!! Probably prefers it tbh. You sat between his legs, mouth full of him as a gentle hand on your head encourages you to take more with every dip. The sounds you make are heavenly. To the point where his head is fallen back, hand covering his mouth as strangled moans escape with time you go down.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

- Like previously stated, this man wants you to feel loved. So his go to is soft and sensual. Of course, he’ll pick up the pace if you so ask but he won’t plow you into the mattress or anything.

- Even then, afterwards, he’ll feel a bit bad. Even if you reassure him it was amazing, he’s massaging your thighs and asking if there’s anything else he can do.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

- Doesn’t like quickies unless it’s giving head. Otherwise, he prefers to take his time with you. Foreplay that lasts damn near fifteen, twenty minutes before he finally slips a hand into your underwear.

- But, if he’s really wanting you (or vise versa) and time’s low, he’ll suck you off/eat you out whilst he pumps himself. Still gonna take a while, though. He wants you enjoying every second.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

- If you’re an exhibitionist or into that kinda stuff, Tim might agree to doing a semi-public thing. Like giving head in the woods or getting you off in an alleyway when no one’s actually around. Even then, he’ll be apprehensive. He’s just so anxious someone’s gonna pop up out of nowhere.

- But it’s a big no if someone’s in the room over or, god forbid, the same room. He loves you, but the thought of someone walking into the room to find you giving him head is enough to make his skin crawl.

- Anyway. He’ll experiment if it’s something you already know you like.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last)

- Tim will go for about two rounds, if you want longer then you’ll have to take the reins. He just doesn’t have that much stamina.

- The whole ordeal lasts an hour on average. He really tries to drag it out every time for you. It just makes hearing and feeling your climax that much sweeter.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

- Tim never saw the need for toys when he was single. He had himself and that was enough. He got introduced to them by a previous partner, but he hadn’t used them often.

- But if you were to introduce them, he wouldn’t object. The first time you two tried it, he pressed a vibrator against your clit/pumped you with a fleshlight and watched as you cover your mouth to cover up the noise. He definitely found things out about himself that night.

- He wouldn’t want to use anything that would hurt you or restrain you too much. It’d take a bit of reassurance that you actually want to be cuffed to the headboard. But he’ll do it.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

- Tim isn’t much of a tease during it. Not that he’s real serious, but because he wants you to enjoy it. He can’t see how edging you for anything longer than five, ten minutes does that.

- Before, however, he’s whispering little things in your ear that make you press your thighs together. He’s no stranger to riling you up hours before he plans to actually do anything. Even in public, he’ll lean over and tell you in a hushed voice just how much he’s wanting you then and there.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

- He doesn’t get loud until he’s close to coming. And even then, he buries his face against your neck to muffle all his grunts or glues his mouth to yours so you swallow his moans.

- The loudest thing’ll probably be the headboard hitting the wall. If someone else is in the house, that’s likely what they’ll hear. That and your sounds, depending on how loud you are.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon)

- Strictly uses pet names on you during it.

- “Baby,” “Honey,” “Sweet thing” are some he uses the most.

- Also, if he’s filing out paperwork at home or something, more often than not will he let you suck him off under the table. It makes doing the work that much more difficult, yes, but it’s so worth it.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

- Not too terribly long, probably around 6-6.5 inches.

- But he’s thick as hell. It’ll take a while to get used to the stretch, but it still knocks you the fuck out every time.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

- When you two first moved in together, Tim had a hard time keeping his hands off you. He couldn’t help it; he loved you so much.

- But he calmed down after about a month. Now, he’ll initiate things a couple times a week. If you don’t want it that often, he won’t be heartbroken. He’s happy to spend time with you, watching a movie together or something.

Z = ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

- Despite if he’s tired or not, Tim’ll always make sure that you’re alright before he lies down with you.

- He ensures you’re asleep before closing his own eyes. Sometimes if he isn’t tired, he holds you in his arms as he waits until you wake up, gently running his fingers through your hair or pecking your forehead. He won’t even think of leaving you alone like that, even if it’s getting up for a snack. He can wait a couple hours.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thank you SO much for reading until the end! This was lengthier than I anticipated ( ̧⸝⸝⍢⸝⸝)ི

Reblogs are appreciated! ♡

P.S. — if this gets, like, any attention at all, I’ll work on a Brian one (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

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littlespace-imagines · 9 months ago

Note

Hii! Could you do a poly Masky and Hoodie x little reader fluff? 😋

I absolutely love that you write nonsexual littlespace! I may or may not have read multiple fics, multiple times from you 😊

Cg!Masky x little!reader x Cg!Hoodie

Contains: fluff, established relationships, poly!Tim and Hoodie x reader, Tim had a hard time and needs some care, reader gets woken up by these two idiots.

“Scoot ‘em over.”

“No, we can’t they’ll wake up.”

“So what? They’ll fall back to sleep.”

“Dammit, Tim, it’ll take forever to get em back to sleep!” The small argument woke you up more than if the men had just moved you, you rubbed your eyes and them flutter open. The room was still dark, save for a burning candle on the nightstand. The familiar masked men standing there still arguing as you sat up.

“Daddy? Papa? You’re home?” You mutter sleepily, Hoodies gloved hands are the first to ruffle your hair as press a kiss to the side of your head.

“Sure am, pretty. We are home.” Brian replied, shooting a glare to the white-masked clad man who moved to rub his temples.

“Scoot over, baby.” Tim said softly and you obliged, giving them enough space to sit on the bed. They each tugged off their respective masks and Brian reached over and ran a hand through Tim’s hair the stressed man clearly relaxing a bit at the reassuring contact. Tim turned to look at you, tugging his gloves off as his hand instantly sought the soft flesh of your cheeks. Desperate to feel you and remind himself he’s home. He’s free of the operator even for just seconds.

Brian is already moving, changing into pajamas and fluffing the pillows. The two men had a difficult mission, the kind where they wondered if there was any end to the hell they lived in, but the fact you were here waiting to cuddle between them it reassured them they were doing something right. To have your love, your trust, your dependence obviously meant there was still something left of their souls and hearts.

Tim doesn’t remember changing but you saw how Brian helped him, you saw Brian whisper sweet things in his ear as he helped Tim lay down, you instantly cuddled into his side bringing Tim back in pilot of his body, a weary smile crossing his face.

“You guys think I can sleep in the middle tonight?” Tim asks, you and Brian both look at him.

“Tim, you don’t even gotta ask.” Brain says and you nod, you can feel Tim’s body relax and he nods.

“Just checking.” He mumbles and you lay your head on his shoulder.

“I just… need my loves.” He mumbles, a kiss pressing into your forehead as Brian slides into bed, receiving his forehead kiss with a hum. Brian throws one of his firm arms over the both of you, guiding you all into a laying position.

“And your loves need you, Tim.” Brian mumbled into the other man’s hair, he felt you nod into Tim’s shoulder.

“Goodnight Daddy, Goodnight Papa, love you both.” You mumbled sleepily.

“Sweet dreams, sweetie, love you so much.”

“G’night baby. I love you too.”

You hear before Brian blows out the candle, the room washing dark with only the sound of your breathing filling it until you all drift to sleep cuddled up.

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f3arth3for3st · 4 months ago

Text

Fuck You, I'm Chaotic: A Creepypasta Friend scenario series

"Ticci" Toby: First Interaction

Wordcount: 2,325 (2K)

"Ticci" Toby

The two of you met in the street when you had accidentally bumped into him when you were walking.

The souls of your shoes knocked agilely against the damp cement. It's coursed surface, tinted dark as the drizzle overhead dampened the hair atop your head that hung; low, avoiding eyes of passersby. The weighted plastic bag that constricted around four of your five fingers restricting the circulation that coursed the veins, thumb pressed firmly to the baggies folding crease, feathering over it in a sort of self-soothing manner.

You were used to the constant gas station runs at ungodly times and coffee scorched tongue. You rather enjoyed the change in scenery away from your house and the walls that felt as if they were suffocating you even when your parent's shouts stain the painted walls like a blood stain.

You were a good kid.

At least that's what others have told you.

You've never touched a cigarette within your seventeen years of life; you've never seen a reason to for the addiction you had developed was that of the smell of aging books and foxing pages that curled under your fingers as your enchanting eyes raked the words, soaking in every and any syllable printed along the organic vellum. Along with the brain buzzing symphonies that sang enchantingly through the miniature speakers that resided within a simple pair of earbuds.

Your home didn't feel homely but more of a cell you were forced to dwell within. You had learned to stay silent during their exchange in harsh words. You've adapted to pressing your spine as close to a wall as possible when they sauntered by; steps usually heavy; ladened with anger that always stained their sharp gazes, daring you to say or do something they deemed unfitting and out of line.

But you never did.

Despite the ball that festered within the core of your throat and the twinging that clutched the coil of emotions that grew within the confines of your chest, taut against your ribs like a boa constrictor. But you would swallow thickly and cast your gaze to the floor, slipping away till you could no longer feel their fiery gaze that seared the skin of your back.

A shuddering breath fluttered your aching lungs as you released the breath you hadn't realized you were holding as the gentle winds that clinked the browning leaves together like tangerines and the rolling thunder that sang just below a mellow hum akin to that of a muted violin. Faint grey clouds cast overhead.

If you glanced up, you would be able to see the layers that made up of the precipitation that gathered in the normally crystal blue vastness, it was intriguing to you, watching the lower clouds drift below the others, almost like a moving picture that was blurred every so often when a droplet of water washed over one of your pupils.

You were on your way back home after being sent on one of these said quick late gas station runs by your father which took longer than you anticipated since the card your mother had begrudgedly given to you had Insufficient funds which resulted in you having to pay out of pocket with your own allowance money, which put a rather harsh damper on your already somewhat souring mood considering it was just nearing dusk that cloaked the clouds above in a dreary hue, but when you stepped out, the sun had gone, casting the noon into a thick quilt of evening. Not that you could see it anyway.

The bell of the gas station's door rang behind you as it opened with a groan of obedience and Jeremy, the man who owned the small store bid a fairwell.

The upturn of your chin and lingering of your eyes caught that the air had turned angrier than before you last stepped out into the world. The sky that was lazily quilted in a thin grey was now thick and weeping silently. Small, almost microscopic tears rained from above. Not enough to be overbearing, but enough to be comforting like watching snow fall within the first weeks of winter.

You hadn't tended to stay out long, especially after the aging reports of the teens that were bludgeoned to death not far from the high school you attended, reporters from neighboring news announcing their unfortunate and rather horrific deaths.

A shudder rumbled your spine.

All of them, a quartet of adolescent teens although scattered in age and size; were stabbed umpteen times, but one had passed due to an overdose. The stories gave you chills when you listened to the passive warnings and advisories to make do with the little daylight fall brought followed by the extensive hours of night that had come sooner than you had wished.

Another upcast of your eyes caught onto the inky silhouettes of the tree canopies that waved like a slow dance to your favorite song.

The thought of music playing to assist the mingling browned leaves made your fingers itch, the tips tingling with the impulse to retrieve the white wired headphones that wrapped around the portable device that sat heavily in your hoody pocket, weighing it down like an anchor to a roaming boat atop settle waters.

You were always warned by those around that it wasn't a wise idea to stroll about with earbuds in your ears, deafening and blinding one of your few senses that may save your life but alas; impulse won as you slowed nearing a halt.

The coffee that rested warmly in the palm that lacked the plastic bag now rest, nestled protectively in the crick of your elbow, the bottom resting on your hip to assure it didn't slip from between the folds of your hoodie's loose material. The hand, unoccupied; ferreted around the pocket at your stomach, grazing against the firm material of the earbuds before gingerly pulling one out. Careful not to damage the delicate cords within the thick white casing that protected them.

Unraveled, one slipped into your ear before the other took its place in the other, the elongated button that was mainly used for volume and phone calls sat achingly under your index finger as it gives a clickyou having pressed the button.

It was like entering a whole new world away from what you were doomed to reside in. Each tone and groan of a cord made your mind swim with a sense of serenity, the sting of the coffee's solution made your tastebuds dance, the pirouette almost correspondent to the way the leaves swayed with the Zepher, you didn't need to remove the wired earbuds to hear the way the herbiage clicked together. It brought a smile to your dried lips.

It felt...

Tranquil. Despite the weighted plastic bag that wrapped your fingers with a deadly vice.

Reality had slipped from your fingers for a moment, your legs ambling. One in front of the other. Your brain, so caught in the fantasy of arcadian music. That you had failed to notice the unmoved form that stood before you, seeming just as dazed and oblivious to the oncoming body as you were in this time.

The heat of the caffeinated beverage that had unknowingly taken its place back into your palm sloshed in its restraints, the fragile thin plastic that entrapped the tongue numbing warmth split, dispelling the libation, splashing against the sensitive skin of your hand, as seconds passed the warmth spread, the sticky liquid soaking into the material of your hoodie, its tint turning a shade darker than normal as it sucked the caffeine like a dry sponge to water.

With an oof the tranquility your body had subjected itself to dissipated as a headphone fell, tugging on the other that tumbled after it, the cord taut as one clinked against the hard coursed cement, the bag that bound your deadened fingers seemed to grow light as it swung forwards, knocking into the others leg before the weight returned seeming heavier.

You stumbled back as the other jolted forwards regaining lost balance, baffled. Enlarged eyes swam with panic as you immediately discarded your own comfort, reaching out to gingerly touch the others arm that was being used to regulate their teetering balance.

"Shit, I'm so sorry dude are you alright?" You hissed, tone laced with concern and internal scolding as you stabled the poor soul you had collided with.

He stood around your height, maybe even taller, maybe shorter, but no words fell from their lips. "I apologize man, I wasn't watching where I was going, I didn't spill anything on you did I?" You respond hastily, tone akin to desperation as the hooded man turned to look at you, deep brown eyes that peered calloused from beneath the hood resting over his head the illumination of a nearby streetlamp cast a soft glow to his abnormally tinted skin. The dark tufts of burnt chestnut hair that swept around the hem of the hood made it look even more illish, but those eyes. Those dark, desensitized eyes; glared. The orbs benumbed, senseless, and obdurate. You paused, taking notice of the almost deathly pale skin akin to grey was marred with old faded, and newer raised pinkish-white scars but before you could explore his features farther, he yanked away. Almost as if he had touched something hot.

"Don' fuckin' touch me." He sneered; eye lids forced into a trained glare, his voice harsh and raspy, the bite behind the barking words and yank made your arm slump back to your side, knuckles brushing against the bag that sat at your feet, you having carefully discarding it to assure the man's comfort; which was widely unappreciated according to him.

A puff of hot air snaked past your flared nostrils, brows following close behind with a harsh furrow, the physical contortion of your features seemed to have made his own sour as he scoffed turning back to the road glazed with the light drizzle.

Your eyes rolled, a shallow whatever filtering your lips as you spun your hanging headphones around your palm, stuffing it haphazardly into the pocket of your coffee stenched hoody, the cup that once held the energy replenishing beverage now sloshed about with little to no contents; your interaction with the man looked to have officially come to an end when he stepped off of the edge of the sidewalk, walking for a moment before slowly progressing into a nimble jog as he crossed the road leaving you alone under the nearby lamp post that flickered ominously.

"Who pissed in your Cheerios..." You grumbled under your breath before crouching slightly to retrieve the bag of gas station groceries before your eyes caught a particular item discarded; despite the increasingly darkening surroundings as day turns to night it was littered in rain droplets. Slowly, a long breath wheezed past your throat as the bag left the ground, the plastic slick with water as you extended an arm to retrieve the item.

The round lenses were a faded orange, a few dark stained splotches littered the glass and outer part of the googles, it was heavier than you had anticipated, the thin cold metal resting against your sticky coffee splashed palms made them buzz with numbness as the weight grew. The elastic band meant to hold them to one's face now soaked up a good portion of rainfall that pooled in the palm of your hand that gleamed under the light of the streetlight.

Upon closer inspection of the face article under the flickering sodium light, you noticed the shallow scrapes and scratches, a few deep lacerations in the metal made the pad of your thumb grow anxious as the impulse to run the flesh over the damage crossed your mind before being shoved aside by another thought.

He must have dropped it during the collision.

Although the man was an ass, he probably needed these for his welding projects or something among the sorts.

Guilt knotted your throat as you straightened your posture, head turning, and eyes raking the surrounding streets to see if the man had come to retrieve his headgear but much to your dismay not another soul strolled the worn, water darkened cement.

The contriteness that washed your thoughts were the voices of your home folk warning you, reminding you spontaneously that it was unsafe to wander with earbuds dug into your ear ducts. Warning about how you were oblivious of your surroundings and with the recent and rather constant disappearances or slayings of neighbor of different streets; it was especially dangerous. But for some reason the notion of chasing the man down to deliver his fallen gear whispered within the dark depths in the back of your mind, the voice almost canceling the one of reason.

Just the simple thought of the instances snapped you away from the depths of your mind as you noticed the intimidatingly darkened streets that glowed with electricity.

A chest swelling rumble from the sky made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as paranoia took its hold, the recent thought of possibly chasing the man down and give him back his belonging was thrown out of the window for the time being as you shoved the gear into your hoody pocket, weighing it down more than your phone had.

The lightning that flashed overhead and the ominous shadows of the trees to your fear laced mind resembled that of spindly fingers and haunting tendrils curling and stretching to wrap you in their clutches.

The bark of thunder and nearly blinding snap of lightning was enough to make your fear numbed muscles regain consciousness and comply with your desire to return home.

With the rhythmic pound of your shoe souls against the cement that grew damper with the hardening rain that dampened skin and slicken the bag between your fingers you bounded swiftly towards the direction of home.

You would have to return his goggles another time...

_______

Unedited

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thatssomegoodsoup · 4 days ago

Note

We've seen girl dad Tim, but can we see what boy dad Tim would be like?

I'll try my best!

this has been in my requests since April 18 2025 and I've just now answered it as of July 12 2025 my bad

BOY DAD TIM HCs

CREDIT FOR ART: @antlergrave

He likes playing sports with you!

^ Outside of being a typical boy dad, he likes doing whatever hobbies you like :3

He encourages letting your emotions out

You two play DnD together

You two like roughhousing

He would support you if you came out as LGBTQIA+

Your favorite show to watch together is Transformers

You two went hunting in the woods together pre-Marble Hornets events

Reader got sent to live with his parents after he disappeared into the woods at the end of Marble Hornets

He doesn't smoke around you

Brian often babysat you when you were little

You witnessed his spiral into madness due to the Operator

Tim was always emotionally supportive and there for you

Credit for divider: @sister-lucifer

Tbh I have no clue what men really do lol, so I'm using like 20 sources for this (I have so many tabs open that my crappy laptop is lagging) (i'm also going off stereotypical boy dad too)

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your-oddities · 7 months ago

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╭─────────.★..─╮

Backseat

╰─..★.─────────╯

Cautions: None besides fluff!

Word count: ~1.3k

•——•——•——•——•——•——•——•

You press your foot on the gas nearly as hard as you’re able to. Sounds of the car protesting loudly grow by the second, though the vehicle won’t budge. You can almost hear grunting coming from behind the car, just barely audible over the engine’s roar. Several seconds pass and, deciding it’s not doing either of you any favors, you take your foot off the gas. You stick your head out the open window and look to the back of the car.

“Is it working?” You shout, trying to look around the trunk. All he responds with is a groan before you watch as he comes around to the driver’s side.

The bottom of Tim’s jeans and every inch of his shoes are practically caked in mud, his shirt also somehow getting dirtied up by the sludge. He trudges to the driver’s side, shaking his head. “Nah. Wheel keeps on spinnin’ but it won’t move.” When you lean back into the car, he rests his elbow on the open window.

This couldn’t have possibly come at a worse time. You two were taking the backroads home after a tiring day. It’s been all too long since you two have been home, your bed ready to replace the nights spent snoozing in the passenger seat. But things turned for the worse when a deer came from the darkness of the woods and darted in front of the car. Tim successfully steered out of the way, though also managing to drive into a large patch of mud on the side of the road. And now, after a few minutes of trying to force the truck out of its spot, the both of you silently agree it’s time to throw in the towel.

Silent seconds pass, the conversation lulling. Not a car passes by, not a helping hand. So, not sure what to do, you turn to Tim. "Now what?" He keeps on looking down the endless road, and it seems as though he hadn't even heard you. But he finally answers with a sniffle and a simple shrug of his shoulders.

"Dunno." Tim replies before looking back to you. "Text Brian and hope he's awake, I guess." He wipes his muddy hands on his already dirtied shirt, fishing his phone out of his pocket. You watch while he taps away at the screen.

“Hope? So we just, what? Wait here if he isn’t up?” Staying yet another night in this old, beat up truck is less than ideal. But you don’t have the money for a night in a motel, much less the energy to walk to one. So, before he even answered, you knew what the response would be.

He looks up from his phone and purses his lips a bit. “I mean, what else are we gonna do? We don’t got many options here.” He slips his phone back into his pocket and takes his elbow off the car. He quickly climbs into the back of the truck and slips off his grimy shoes. You lean heavily against the back of the seat with a weighted sigh escaping you. Out of the corner of your eye Tim’s hand snatches his pack of cigarettes from the center console, and mere seconds later the smell of nicotine and smoke fills your nostrils.

Silence takes over in the absence of conversation. Inevitably, you’ll have to fall asleep in here. And, inevitably, you’ll wake up with every part of your body hurting in some way or another from staying in the same position all night. You take a glance in the rear view mirror towards the man behind you. He looks to be even more tired than you are. His eyes are almost fighting to stay open, a cigarette hanging from his lips. His eyes meet yours in the rear view mirror, yours swiftly looking elsewhere.

You curse mentally as he speaks up. “You cold?” He asks, honestly sounding bored. You’re almost confused by the question before your upper body shakes as a shiver runs through you. You hadn’t paid much mind to the cold. The heater doesn’t work well, so you two have been dealing with the chilly temperature for nearly the whole ride. You suppose you’ve gotten used to it.

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Kind of.” The words sound awkward coming out of your mouth. There’s no apparent reason behind it. At least, not that you can think of. “But I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

Looking back to the mirror, it’s obvious your words did little to nothing in convincing Tim, eyes fixed on you. But he doesn’t call you out on it. Rather, he scoots over a smidge and gestures with his head as a sort of ‘come on’ motion.

The smiling tugging at your lips is involuntary. You’re not even sure why he’s inviting you back there, but you can’t help feeling pleased nonetheless. Now hopping out of the driver’s seat, you climb into the backseat with Tim. His muddy shoes sit in the open spot for your feet, so you opt for a criss-cross position on the seat. “Sorry about the shoes.” He apologizes sincerely.

You merely shrug. “Don’t worry about it.” You shut the door behind you before looking back to Tim once more. Now, instead of an almost unreadable expression on his face, he’s simply smiling as he looks to you. His hands rest on his legs, the cigarette lazily held between two fingers. If there was just one contagious grin in the world, his would be it.

With his free arm, he opens it up to you. The wave of his hand only further solidifies what he’s wanting you to do. You’re cautious, of course. He’s never been one for physical contact. You lost track of the amount of times your arm or hand brushed against his accidentally and he immediately steps back or puts his hand in his pocket. But this, this is a warm welcome in contrast to the closed off demeanor he has every day.

Hesitantly, you nudge closer to him. He doesn’t rush you. Instead his eyes follow your movements as you edge closer towards his open embrace. Once you’re close enough, he places his hand on your shoulder and squeezes you into a surprisingly comfortable position. Your body is stiff at first, of course. You’ve never been in this sort of situation with him, much less one where you could touch him at all.

His hand rubs up and down your arm slowly. That alone serves to calm you. Your muscles relax and a deep breath escapes you as you realize that you’re gonna be here for a while. You almost immediately rest your head on his shoulder. A quiet laugh shakes Tim a little and he holds you closer.

He brings the cigarette up to his lips, taking a long, slow drag. The tip burns red until he finally breaks away a few seconds later. Smoke leaves his parted lips and his eyes shut. When he opens them again, he looks down to you. “Want it?” He holds the cigarette towards you as an offer. “Might help you feel warmer.”

You’ve smoked before, and so it’s not like this is far too new for you. Wordlessly, you grab the cigarette from between his fingers and bring it to your mouth. Breathing in deeply, eyes shut. Reluctantly, you pull it away and breathe out. Grey smoke leaves your lungs and your eyes open again. Glancing back to Tim, you hold the cigarette out for him to take. But he shakes his head. “I’m good. You can finish it.”

You’re unsure of what this change in his personality is due to, but it’s surely welcome. You lean against him heavily and his arm tightens around you. You take another drawn out drag from his cigarette, eyes shutting. His head rests against yours as a heavy sigh leaves him.

The night felt a little warmer after that.

• . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . •

Thanks for reading !! Reblogs appreciated ヾ(^_^)

probably not gonna post for another month … el oh el … so happy holidays ! ♡

#marble hornets #tim wright #slenderverse #marble hornets fanfic #marble hornets fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfiction blog #he makes me ill #i love him tho #x reader #tim wright x reader

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blushonmycheeks · 25 days ago

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currently working on a AFAB reader x masky x hoodie oneshot 🤭 includes lots of tension, power-play, 'making a movie,' and being fucked with a gun! how fun!!!

if anyone is interested, i will post it when it's complete! <3 trigger warnings will be included, loves ♡

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seas1mping · 1 year ago

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Nobody is ready for this headcanon

LJ listens to Mitski

Slender listens to Mitski

Tim and Brian listen to Mitski

I listen to Mitski

#I DONT WANT THEEE WORLD TO SEE #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #laughing jack #creepypasta fanfiction #hoodie #brian thomas #masky #tim wright #slenderman

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kupkate04 · 1 year ago

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A Hapless Endearment || Creepypasta x F. Reader || Ch. 1 - To Grandmother's House We Go

—Quick author's note—

I'm sure you all know the drill by now, but for those of you who don't, here it is:

Y/n = Your name

L/n = Last name

N/n = Nickname

H/c = Hair color

E/c = Eye color

F/c = Favorite color

B/m = Birth month

S/t = Skin tone

B/s = Body shape

B/c = Blush color

L/c = Lip color

H/l = Hair length

Also, I try to leave Y/n up to interpretation as much as I can, although some things will still be assumed about her, whether that be the kind of food she likes or her style of clothing, etc. It's difficult for me to fully write for a character who's a "blank slate", just thought you should know! Enjoy reading~

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

She exudes an inaudible sigh, propping her jaw in her palm and gazing through the somewhat smudged surface of the glass. Trees and houses of varying sizes whiz by, blurring together and composing an evanescent of greens, browns, whites, and yellows. The sun sits high on its invisible throne above. Its warm, golden rays break through an army of fluffy clouds, capturing the atmosphere in a brilliant, cheery radiance.

Struggling to imagine the clouds morphing into fun, inspiring shapes due to her current lack of concentration, she frowns, letting her discouraged eyes fall. The engine hums, the AC whirs, and wheels scrape the asphalt below, bringing the passengers closer to their destination. They've halted a few times to allow everyone a chance to stretch their legs and collect themselves, which has been Y/n's saving grace. Still, after ten hours of riding, her muscles are stiff and she is more than eager to be free from the confinement of this chatter-brimmed bus. Nestled in her lap is a backpack, and below the seat, directly behind her legs, lies her duffel bag; both have been stuffed with an assortment of clothes and other items she deemed imperative to bring along.

Headphones have been diligently positioned over her ears, the tunes that flood from which manage to block out most of the incessant noise surrounding her–including the ungodly snores of the man to her left. She fiddles with the wire, twirling it absentmindedly around her finger as she stares at the window frame, her mind wandering aimlessly amidst a blanket of fog. Languidly glimpsing to the side reveals her seating buddy has his head resting on the back of the bench, eyes closed and mouth hanging wide open. It's a wonder he hasn't caught a fly in there yet.

Ah, well. At least he doesn't stink.

She lets the dirty glass support her temple, her eyes threatening to seal shut. She's barely seized a wink of sleep throughout the course of this little road trip and her body is beginning to feel the full effects of it. Pondering momentarily how much longer it will be until they reach the station, a fleeting peek at her phone screen informs her of the time: 6:44 in the evening. The bus left at 6:30, so there shouldn't be much time remaining. Gosh, she can't wait to stand again. She's not even sure she remembers what her feet feel like.

She succumbs to the temptation to yawn quietly, giving her drooping eyes a reprieve. She thinks about what she's going to do when the bus parks and she saunters through the folding doors to reunite with her grandparents. It's been so many years since she saw them last. She was...nine?

Memories of her childhood have grown faint, but she can recall how happy she always was around them; how much boundless joy they brought her simply by existing. They were never neglectful, impatient, or spiteful, no–only caring and affectionate and overflowing with love. She's missed having that kind of positive influence in her life. It's been hovering in the distance for so long, just out of reach. Taunting her.

But now it doesn't matter, because she's coming back. She's finally going to see them again.

It's unfortunate that it took seven years to convince her father to let her return. He's so swaddled in his needless resentment and self-pity that it's blinded him. She doesn't understand how he could care so little–be so detached from the two people who raised him with every ounce of adoration they possessed because of some silly disagreement a few years prior.

She isn't certain what transpired exactly; all she knows is the vague comments she was told by her mother. It was likely an argument based around the roads he was traversing to make an income, as it seems highly in-character for him to get offended by something so trivial. Knowing him, he blew their moral concerns out of proportion, pitched a hissy fit, and vowed never to speak to them again, dragging his daughter and wife into the crossfire.

It was that reason and that reason alone why Y/n had to wait until she was sixteen to pay dear Nana and Pops a visit. He only relented because she wouldn't stop bothering him about it for two weeks straight after she found out both her parents would be out of the country during the summer for their jobs. She didn't want to be stuck at home for three months without any friends to spend time with, and she didn't want to go back to camp either, so traveling to Alabama for a summer vacation seemed like the only logical solution. They dropped her off with some money on their way to the airport, she bought a ticket, boarded the elongated vehicle, and that was that.

Her father had been less than enthused on the matter, and she recalls his torpid, irked expression reflecting in the rear-view mirror of the car as they pulled up to the bus stop. Her mother, on the other hand, was rather indifferent; far too invested in whatever messages lit up the screen of her phone to concern herself with domestic conflict. Y/n could only imagine which one of her flings she was texting this time, as situations involving her work certainly never gained her attention so fiercely.

A melancholic indignancy bubbles up within the girl's chest at the countless encounters she's had with her mom as of late that involved puny excuses, middle-of-the-night departures, and poorly-disguised secrets. She's never outright confirmed it, but her behavior is undeniably suspicious. She smiles more at her phone than she does when she's ever with her husband, and her 'husband' in question doesn't even seem to notice—or, if he does, simply doesn't care. Y/n hates it. Her family is falling apart at the seams and she's powerless to stop it.

A bitter sensation grabs at her tongue and she desires to spit the foul taste out, though only swallows and chews the inside of her cheek, attempting to rid herself of the disconcerting concept. She searches the hollows of her mind for something, anything lighthearted; a memory that contains laughter, joy, fondness. However, she finds nothing. She’s unable to remember a delightful moment between herself and her parents that took place recently. A time when her father outwardly expressed happiness or her mother was shamelessly candid.

It's a distressing realization to approach, that her family hasn’t acted as a true family since she was twelve years old; only still a child when her clinquant life slowly came crashing down before her. She isn’t sure the exact minute that it happened, nor does she have a specific reason as to why it happened. All she knows is that her parents steadily grew more and more distant, drawing themselves out of her sight until the feeling of inevitable abandonment seeped in.

She tried to communicate with them, collapse their walls and get them to allow their only child back in, though each time without fail, they forced themselves farther back into the cold, bitter darkness and left her desperate, longing for their love and affection. It became apparent she was getting nowhere with them, so after many fruitless attempts, she threw her hands up in surrender.

The example they set was not a good one, yet she couldn't help but subconsciously follow their lead. She grew emotionally drained, jaded—bordering depressed, even. Suddenly, maintaining any relationships outside of her home became a chore; a nearly impossible task that needed more energy than what she was willing to sacrifice. The more her friends noticed her inner turmoil, the more they tried to help, and the more she pushed them away. After all, if her parents didn't care, why should she?

She would get over this miserable hump eventually, and she would do it alone. Cutting contact with her dearest companions was an easier feat than one would expect, as it was accidental and gradual and she always affirmed herself with the fact that it wasn't permanent. She could always get in touch later. But weeks passed, and then months, and she made no effort to do that. At some point, she convinced herself that they wouldn't take her back now anyway. It had been too long, and she had treated them coldly. She wouldn't want to be friends with her, either—there was too much drama and emotional baggage.

It feels as if the person she once was fades from reality a little more every passing day, becoming invisible among people and society as a whole, including herself. Somewhere in the back of her troubled mind lays her positive outlook on life, and it's been locked in a box with the key thrown away.

Now sixteen years of age, she still struggles with these ill-fated circumstances and her dilapidated mental state but has learned to drive a vast majority of it into the chasms of her brain, leaving her an empty, aggrieved husk.

She blinks, reemerging from her thoughts of deep disdain as she registers the large vehicle she sits in turn off the main stretch of road and park in front of a building—the Fairfield bus station. She's here.

Despite the otherwise displeasing series of events that lead up to this, she feels a glint of excitement, pausing her music and gingerly removing her headphones, being careful not to tangle the wire as she unplugs it from the MP3 Player and wraps them around the f/c object. She then takes hold of her backpack, still open from where she retrieved the source of entertainment, and shoves them inside, zipping it closed after finishing.

Eagerly, she bends over to reach below the seat and lift up her dufflebag in preparation before glancing out the window, e/c irises gleaming in the rays of sun. The bus brakes, the door is slid open, and several of the passengers rise. She isn't far behind, throwing her bags over her shoulder and squeezing past the man's broad legs, being careful not to thwack him upside the head with her luggage as she does so. He's barely disturbed, stirring for a few seconds before drifting off back to the realm of dreams. Merging into the middle aisle, she tries to control her rapidly-beating heart as she treads to the exit, being mindful of the people surrounding her in every feasible direction.

How will Nana and Pops react to seeing her again, after all this time? Will they still love her? She has changed in significant ways, and not necessarily for the better, either. Surely that won't deter them, right? Of course not. I'm one of their only grandchildren. They won't stop caring about me just cause I've grown up.

Though her pep-talk does little to soothe a new wave of anxieties that wash over her like an angry tsunami.

Oh gosh. What if it's super awkward?

She maneuvers down the stairs and makes distance between herself and the mode of transportation, scanning the crowd to locate the elderly pair her thoughts center around. A whirl of nervousness penetrates her stomach, her brows knitting together subtly.

What if they've changed? What if they're just like Dad?

But as she meets the warm brown eyes of Nana from afar and notices the giant, surprised smile stretching across her features, all doubt withers away, and she offers a meek wave. The lady bumps the arm of the hefty man sitting next to her to gather his attention before she springs to her feet and sprints to greet Y/n, her expression contorted into one of pure bliss. A small grin tugs at Y/n's face, and she stands idle, taking into account Nana's appearance as she hurries forward.

She’s adorning a floral dress, patterned with tiny petaled flowers of all different shapes and a skirt that drapes down to her shins. Her shoes are simple beige sandals, and her grey, fine hair is tied back into a Chinese-inspired bun. Her eyes are kind and welcoming, though sunken with age and life experience, and the wrinkles that crease her forehead and cheeks only clue Y/n in on how old she must be getting, now.

"Y/n!" Nana calls out, voice brimmed with exhilaration as she dodges other pedestrians before reaching out and enveloping the h/c in a tight embrace, her frail arms wrapping around her frame and reeling her in as close as she can. Her actions almost knock both of them to the ground, but Y/n balances herself before she can stumble and reciprocates the gesture.

"Hi, Nana," she says, tone more genial than it's been in a long time. A pleasant scent wafts up into her nose; a peaceful aroma, a mixture of strawberries and cinnamon. She hugs back with her free arm soon after, squeezing her grandmother’s scrawny torso with as little force as required so she doesn’t somehow injure her.

Pops joins his wife with a notably calmer pace and snakes his arms around the two smaller individuals, his slightly yellowed teeth apparent through his beam. A stout man of classic tastes, he wears a 1950s fedora, a baby blue collared shirt, and suspenders. His hold is strong and secure and Y/n feels an almost overwhelming sense of comfort slam into her without warning. She chuckles—a soft, elated sound—and her chest is flooded with gleeful fuzziness. It's certainly an odd, foreign type of feeling, but she accepts it nonetheless. "Welcome home, kiddo."

"We've missed you so much," Nana chirps, pulling away after what has to be a solid two minutes and prompting Pops to do the same. Her wrinkled hands grasp her shoulders before sliding up to cup her face, gently tilting it upward to get a better look. A stunned expression crawls across her attributes before it’s replaced by a wider—if it’s even viable—smile. “Oh, you’ve grown so much!” She turns her head. “Phil, do you see her?”

“Aye. I sure do,” he says with a proud nod of his head. “She’s just as pretty as she was the last time she visited.” Blush dusts itself along the apples of her cheeks and she averts her line of sight, embarrassed. He chuckles. “Just as bashful, too.”

“Leave her alone.” She pivots again to face her, excitement dancing in her faded brown eyes. She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear before giving her another hug. “We’ve missed you, sweetie. It’s been too long.” Y/n nods timidly, not accustomed to being so doted on. Behind her, the wheels of the bus grind against the asphalt as it leaves shortly after the doors close, and she twists her head around just in time to see it drive away, leaving her there for the summer. There's no other place she'd rather be, and their presence is only confirming those feelings. "We have so much catching up to do! I haven’t seen you since you were a little girl.” She looks back at the old woman and feels her squeeze her arm. “How old are you now? Fifteen?”

“She looks more grown-up than that,” Phil comments, and Y/n shrugs, biting her lip.

“Uh, I...turned sixteen in B/m.”

“My word!” Nana exclaims, cupping a hand to her mouth to emphasize. “You’re practically an adult, already!”

“Only a few years older than that darned cat of yours, Farrah,” he says, and Y/n’s eyes light up at the mention of the familiar feline.

“Marshmallow?” she questions, astonished enthusiasm coursing through her, once again. “He’s still alive?”

“Why, yes, he is,” Farrah laughs as if amused by her inquiry. “Getting on up there, though. I’m a little shocked to know you remember him.”

“Of course I remember him,” she says, the volume of her voice increasing with glee. “He’s my little buddy. I wonder if he still remembers me...”

“I’m sure he does,” Phil says. “He was always followin’ you around. Probably cause you spoiled him all the time with leftovers.” The corners of her mouth pull upward and she rubs the back of her neck.

“Well...he needs to be spoiled. Too sweet not to be spoiled.”

“Very true.” Farrah smiles.

“And yet I can’t even have a dog in the house,” he grumbles playfully. “You cat lovers don’t make any sense.”

“We don’t have to ‘make sense’,” Farrah says. “Cats are gorgeous, wholesome creatures, and they deserve to be treated as such.”

“Sure, sure.” He waves her off. “You treat that cat better than you do me.”

“Well, you’re not covered in angelic fur and lay on my lap to cuddle, now do you?” She raises a thin eyebrow, and he scoffs.

“I can lay in your lap if that’s what you want.”

“No, thank you.”

“Well, c’mon woman, make up your mind!”

“My mind is made up! Now, come on, dear.” She tugs Y/n to her and begins walking toward the grey-blue Toyota Corolla that sits motionless in the parking lot, and the teenager follows, readjusting the bags hanging on her shoulder.

“You want me to carry those for you?” Phil asks, and she glances over at him, her eyes widening, taken off-guard by the abrupt offer. But she collects her bearings rather quickly and shakes her head with a grateful smile.

“N-no thanks, Pops. I got it.”

“Whatcha got in those things? They look heavy.”

“Um...clothes and stuff,” she replies quietly as they reach the 2007 vehicle, Nana shuffling into the passenger's seat and Pops opening the back door for her. She tosses her luggage to the opposite side and climbs in, smiling up at him to signal that she's done. He nods in acknowledgement and shuts the door, soon claiming the area behind the steering wheel and cranking the engine. The interior of the car smells like lavender, thanks to the cardboard air freshener swaying below the rear-view mirror, and the beige-toned leather lining the seats is torn in various places, no doubt because of how many years it has under its belt.

"You got any'a that modern technology that kids use nowadays?"

The air conditioning blasts through the vents to cool the space as he puts the car in reverse to back out of the lot before shifting the gear, navigating between other automobiles, and driving onto the highway. Y/n clicks her buckle into place and twiddles her thumbs, jerking her shoulders up lightly, though she knows he won't be able to see it. "I—I mean, I have a cellphone, if that's what you're asking..."

"A cellphone, huh?" He eyes her in the mirror and she shrinks away meekly, unsure of how to react to the sincere attention. "We have one of those. Don't really know how to work it though."

"You sure do know your way around Solitaire for someone who doesn't know how a phone works." Nana's light jab makes him scoff playfully as he stares through the windshield observantly.

"You know what, Little Miss Sassypants? Yeah, I do. That app is the only reason I ever even pick it up."

"And when you do, you're playing it for three hours straight."

"It's enjoyable!" Huffing, he shoots her a glare of faux annoyance. "Don't act like you ain't got things that you spend hours at a time doing."

"My hobbies are productive, as opposed to yours, so that excludes me from this discussion."

"That sounds like code for 'I know I'm losing so I'm gonna back out now before I'm called out on it'."

"False." She flattens out her skirt and narrows her eyes at him. "I don't speak in code, dear."

He laughs gruffly at that sentence, plainly not buying her words. "Keep thinkin' that, sweetheart."

The frisky banter has Y/n failing to suppress a grin, having forgotten how well her grandparents get along, and why they've stayed married for almost sixty years. If only Mom and Dad had that kind of chemistry. Maybe then their home wouldn't be so void of love and life every waking moment.

"So how was the trip, Y/n?" Nana twists around to the best of her ability to catch a glimpse of her granddaughter, seeming to completely brush the mini argument aside and spare Y/n her undivided recognition, eyes touching base with her own.

"It was okay," she mumbles, voice just loud enough for them to understand her. "I'm ready to stop riding for a while, though."

"I'm sure. You traveled a long way. I'm glad you stayed safe."

Pops decides to contribute to the conversation. "How's your dad doin'?"

Her face scrunches up faintly as she racks her brain for a suitable answer that won't draw any concerned feedback. "Uh... He's busy. Him and Mom both."

"Figured that much. Probably why they're leaving the country in the first place, huh?"

Her gaze drops to her knees. "Yeah..."

"Do they do that often?" Nana asks, her tone curious. "Take trips for their job?"

"That's like, forty percent of what they do..." She registers the car turning left sharply, onto a dirt road that leads into a capacious patch of forestry. They pass a faded blue and white sign, and the letters in bold printed across its surface reveals: Oneiric Lane, half a mile.

Wow, almost there already.

"But, um...it's usually not so far away," she continues her previous statement as they drive over gravel and rocks in their path, making the ride a little bumpy. "Not usually for such a long time, either."

"They still workin' for the same company?" Pops says. If Y/n were to listen extra closely, she'd be able to detect the tiniest hint of enmity masked within his voice. She blows a bubble into her cheek.

"Yeah, but it got sold to another corporate body a couple years ago and they changed a lot of things. So both of them have been on duty a lot more since then."

"I bet that's been stressful."

"It's..." She could speak the truth, but the truth would dampen the mood, so she goes for a lighter alternative. "It's fine. They don't mind some extra work. Just means more money in the bank."

Pops mutters something under his breath, but Y/n can't decipher it. She can only assume it isn't anything particularly nice, based on the conversation that elicited it.

Before she can dwell on it for too extensive of a period, a familiar, Victorian-style cottage becomes visible, and a ghost of a smile sweeps across her features as she perks up. Around the house lies a white picket fence, fringed with beautiful flowers of all different colors, their stems having grown tall and coiled themselves around each individual post, giving it an engagingly untamed appearance.

At the gate, about ten feet from the front door perches an intricate white arch made of wicker and intertwined with more vibrant plants, and the house itself is a muted shade of cyan, with an ornate wooden roof that sparkles like tiny crystals in the glittery stream of sun. The window frames are white, their shutters open to allow optical access inside of the home, and stained glass roses rim the transparent pane.

The whole architecture makes it look as if the words from a book of fairy tales crept out of its pages and sprung into existence, staying hidden between the trees until someone comes across it. It takes her breath away, and she stares in awe, waiting anxiously for Pops to guide the Toyota off the road so she can jump out and get re-acquainted with it all.

I forgot how incredible this place was... She unbuckles, practically leaning against the glass in building anticipation as the car comes to a stop in their driveway, a few feet from the gate and underneath a willow tree. She extends her hand hastily to grasp the door handle and swings it open, the early summer breeze caressing her skin as she hops out, the bottom of her shoes making contact with vivid green grass. She steals a big whiff of the unpolluted air, natural scents swirling through her nostrils as she drags her belongings out of the car and slings them over her shoulder once again.

Nana copies her movements and Pops isn't too far behind her. She gives her an encouraging pat on the back, then motions for her to trail after her as she moves toward the arched gateway, unlatching it to grant her entrance. "Wait till you see the dinner I'm whipping up, Y/n," Nana says as they walk along a neat path of polished stones and white marble. "You still like pineapple casserole, right?"

"Yes," Y/n says with no hesitation, the very image of the dish making her mouth water. Although she hadn't had the privilege of eating it in years, one thing she can remember clearly is how delicious it was—then again, everything Nana cooks is delicious, so maybe that point is moot. On either side of the orderly pathway are two rows of tulips, comprising pink, white, red, and violent, perfectly maintained. It astounds her how her grandparents can keep the garden so alluring while also making sure the house is in tip-top shape. They surely tidied up before she arrived, but they're also the kind of people who like a neat living space, so she doubts they had to do much.

"I'm so happy to hear that!" She claps cheerfully as they reach the painted oak door, and both females make room for Pops as he conquers the porch stairs and wrenches the screen toward him, the creaking of its old and unoiled hinges evoking a sound similar to a screech. He rifles around in his pocket, pulls out the keys, and unlocks the entrance, holding it open as his wife and granddaughter stride through.

Y/n examines the property in wonder. Along the floor lies a hand-knitted rug, shaped like a rectangle with additional ruffles at its edges. On her left is a vacant doorway to the living room, with a vintage floral-patterned sofa resting against the wall, and next to it, facing the front door are two chairs; one matching the couch and the other a darker, less feminine material. A frosted glass coffee table sits in front of them, and beneath it is a hickory plank floor.

Past the living area is a small dining room, with a wooden table and four chairs slid neatly on every side, and behind that is an antique China cabinet with double doors and several drawers, all of which are transparent and hold various cups, platters, and knick-knacks that have been collected over the years. Straight ahead is a linear staircase; she remembers it leading up to the bedrooms and the second bathroom. To her right is a kitchen, with a white, ceramic-tiled floor, a long countertop that curls around the edges of the room; the refrigerator and the oven both fit snugly.

Hanging overhead is an oven light and cabinets with crystal knobs, and in the center is an island, with a vase of lemon yellow roses, a casserole dish, and a couple of pots.

The fragrance of honeysuckle crawls into her nose, as well as the smell of a currently-cooking turkey, mixing and creating a rainstorm of nostalgia. She almost cries from raw mirth. I really missed it here...

“Make yourself comfortable, dear,” Farrah chirps from behind her, giving her a few moments to get used to her new—but amicable—surroundings. “If you need me, I'll be finishing up dinner.” Y/n gives a soft hum in response, stepping farther inside and allowing herself to succumb to the wave of memories that bombard her.

Her eyes sweep over everything in reverence as she comes to a halt in front of the staircase, glimpsing back at her grandmother with a sheepish demeanor and parting her lips. “Um...am I staying in Aunt Darcy's old room? Or somewhere else?” A flash of realization shimmers in Farrah’s eyes before she steps forward and nods her head.

Farrah nods as Pops shuts the door, blocking the bright sunlight and capturing the area in a bit more darkness. “Yes, that's where you can sleep, store your things, anything. Of course, your dad's room is available too, but I didn't figure you'd want to stay somewhere with all those ugly band posters."

She breathes a quiet laugh. “Y-yeah, Aunt Darcy’s room will be fine." She spins on her heel and begins her small trek up the dozen or so stairs. The concept of being in her father’s childhood bedroom doesn’t sit right in her stomach. “Thank you, Nana.”

“Are you sure you don’t need any help with your bags?” she questions from below, her soft voice echoing upward and easily extending to Y/n’s ears. “They look awfully heavy.”

“No, it’s okay, I got ‘em,” she reassures, attaining the top step and taking a moment to pilot the somewhat narrow space before her. On the floor is a thin white rug that stretches the length of the hallway; to her immediate right is a small, polished table that supports a dainty-looking bouquet of petunias in a glass vase. On her left is a door that's been left ajar, divulging a bit of the interior and reminding her that this is indeed where she’s going.

She uses her free hand to push it open, lighting up when she wanders inside. The walls are a pristine, rosy pink, with a floor crafted out of ash wood planks that complements the design and hues nicely. On the opposite side of the room is a bed, made as a sort of cubbyhole into the wall and at a direct angle next to a window. Built into the wall are two bookshelves, both on either side of the bed and filled with colorful books of assorted sizes.

Beneath the mattress is a long drawer which she recalls to be a trundle bed. Attached to the ceiling above is a set of turquoise sheers, slid to either side of the sleeping niche, and loosely tied to the wall with some twine. In one corner, next to the other window, hangs a basket swing, with two pink pillows placed inside to cushion it. To her right is a closet, the door shut and a shoe organizer clinging to its top edge. Inside the pouches are several pairs of footwear, each separated and easily discernible.

A white, fluffy rug lays spread across the floor, underneath a clothes hamper, a small, cushioned bench, and a cotton bean bag chair. A chipped desk sits pressed against the wall, with several drawers inside and a stool of the same color pushed neatly beneath it. A reading lamp stands atop the surface, along with a couple of minuscule baskets to hold diverse writing tools; a notebook and binder stacked onto each other, a glass paperweight, and a mirror.

She releases an inaudible sigh, the corners of her lips quirking up into a content smile as she walks further inside, depositing her bags on the bed and doing a double-take of her temporary bedroom. A giddy sensation arises within her chest; one she hasn’t experienced in far too long. She turns her head and gazes through the open window, viewing the yard of green grass and colorful flowers below and admiring how the sun’s stunning yellow beams peer down through the towering trees.

She unzips her duffle bag and removes a pile of clothes from the main compartment, busying herself over the course of the next thirty minutes. The walk-in closet isn't huge but still larger than she remembered, meaning there's plenty of space to store all of her clothing pieces. She takes note of the fact that a vast majority of her aunt's stuff is no longer here, and she presumes Nana removed them to create space or Darcy herself came by and collected everything. Y/n hangs a good half of her items and keeps the rest folded, stuffing them into the shelf of drawers across from the door. She refrains from unpacking her art supplies and other accessories just yet, as it would feel weird and wrong to get so comfortable here after so little time.

After throwing her—now empty—bag into the corner, her stomach rumbles and she concludes that the last thing she ate was a honey bun, and that was hours ago. Yearning to ease her mild sense of famine, she pivots, leaves the room, and descends the stairs, once again being swathed by the pleasant smell of food, only this time, it's much more intense.

Farrah sends Y/n an affectionate smile as she turns off the oven and waves her in. “Hi, sweetie. Are you settling in okay?” The teenager nods, letting the smell lure her, and steps inside.

“Yes, ma'am. I had forgotten how nice this house was.” The woman chuckles in response, grabbing one of the three plates on the counter and passing it to her. She takes it in her hands and shoots her a look of gratitude.

"It isn't as clean as I would like it to be, but oh well. I'm too old to dust away every little cobweb." She sighs in disbelief, eyes twinkling. "Maybe I should hire a maid."

"That might be a good idea. You don't wanna overdo yourself." Nana occupies herself with making a plate of food for her husband, listening to Y/n talk and humming along. "But, uh...while I'm here, I'd be happy to help you with anything you have to get done."

"How sweet of you to offer, N/n." She grins as she scoops a spoonful of mashed potatoes onto the dish. "I'll keep that in mind. Now, please—eat something. It's all ready."

"Thanks for this, Nana." She finds her way around the woman and gets a serving of everything—potatoes, turkey, rolls, pineapple casserole. The thought of indulging herself makes her want to melt. "It smells delicious."

"Oh, you're so welcome, dear." She pours a glass of milk for Pops and offers a toothy smile. "I hardly ever get to cook for anyone besides your grandfather and myself. This is an honor."

Y/n feels compelled to hug her again, but ultimately resists the urge, not wishing to take a chance on spilling the food being held in both sets of hands. Tears threaten to rim her eyes, her grip tightening on the plate. Such displays of selflessness is a stranger to her, but she cherishes every second of it. "I love you, Nana."

She fails to see the way Farrah's heart swells at her words, her face contorting into one of deep adoration. "Oh, I love you too, Y/n—me and Phil both. So much. And we're so happy you wanted to come visit us."

After a short exchange of smiles, Nana departs and Y/n finishes gathering her meal, fetching a bottle of water from the fridge and heading into the dining room, noticing Pops already sitting at the table, silently awaiting his own share of food. She lowers herself into the chair opposite him, the steam from the hot meal floating up into her face and making her eager to taste it.

“Hello, young lady,” he greets, and she meets his copper-brown eyes. “This house treatin' you okay?”

“Yes, sir,” she replies with a slight dip of her head.

“Is it cozy enough for ya? I know you’re used to all those fancy items and rich city life, so I’m sorry if it doesn’t meet your expectations.” Her eyes widen almost a comical amount and she stares at him as if he’d attempted to behead her. Taking a scoop of mashed potatoes with her spoon, she swiftly shakes her head before taking a bite.

“No, Pops, it does. The country’s amazing.” She brushes a strand of h/c hair behind her ear and swallows the flavorful vegetable. “City life isn’t that good. Honestly, I’d rather be here than in some hundred-thousand-dollar penthouse.” A large, satisfied smile takes residence on his wrinkled features and his eyes crinkle up before he laughs blissfully.

“You hear this, Farrah?” He regards the said woman as she enters the dining room, taking her rightful seat to the side of her spouse and passing his plate to him. “This girl hasn’t been tainted yet. We should keep her here, make sure she stays that way.”

A kind grin etches across her lips, though she dismisses him. “I don’t think her parents would approve of that, Phil.”

“No, they wouldn’t care,” Y/n murmurs in response, noticing the pitying looks being thrown her way, and she eats a forkful of casserole to fill the somewhat tense silence that’s fallen over the table. She keeps her eyes trained on the platter in front of her, suddenly finding it much more interesting.

“I’m sure that’s not true, sweetie.” Farrah’s voice is tender and reaffirming. Y/n only shrugs.

“They'd probably forget I was here at all, after a while. Too caught up in their own lives to really remember something like that.” Her tone drops within each word, embarrassment creeping up into her mind and flushing her cheeks a pale tone of b/c. Phil shakes his head disapprovingly while Farrah just watches her with sympathy.

“That’s shameful,” he starts, his voice flooded with disdain. “You're their daughter. How could they just forget about you?"

“I...I don't know. They just can, and have gotten pretty great at it, too.”

“When did all this start, sweetheart?” the old woman questions, sipping her drink.

“A few years ago, I guess...” It’s silent for several moments and Y/n wishes she wouldn’t have even interjected at all. Perhaps she just feels that she can tell them anything. Way to ruin the mood, genius.

“Hun, they’re not...abusing you, or anything, right?” The teenager can sense the reluctance in her words as if she’s afraid to hear the answer, and Y/n is quick to shoot her inquiry down.

“N-no, Nana, don’t worry. Nothing like that.” She releases an audible huff of air, relieved.

“Don't they spend time with you or anything?” Phil asks, leaning forward and facing her with agitation. She scours her brain for a coherent reply.

“Uh...no, not—not really.” She glances up briefly to meet his eyes, trying to shroud the hurt found in her own. “They hardly even talk to me. They don’t even talk to each other anymore. Dad’s always too busy and Mom is...” She swallows, probably a little too hard, and subconsciously taps her foot against the floor; a nervous habit she's taken to whenever her anxiety levels rise.

Her mind flashes with images of her mother sneaking out in the dead of the night. When asked about it, she'd snap at her, insist it was for 'business', and leave it at that. She remembers that one time she borrowed her phone to email her teacher, since hers had stopped working the previous day, and instead got notified of a message, received from a man with an unknown name. Initially, she believed it was a coworker or friend, but the contents of said 'message' involved raunchy flirting and, upon opening his contact, these advances were heavily reciprocated, and he wasn't the only one. It made her sick to her stomach. Sure, she was aware that Mom and Dad weren't exactly at a healthy place in their marriage, but she never thought one of them would actively cheat on the other. Those actions were guaranteed to ruin a family, yet her mother didn't seem to care in the least.

Her foot makes a soft thump noise each time it collides with the floor, though her mind blocks it out as she tries to draw herself back into reality. “Uhh... Keeping secrets.” Phil and Farah share a glance.

“What kind of secrets, darlin’?” her grandfather asks, and her grip tightens on the fork in her hand. Does she really want to say this?

“I—I think, well, uhm... She’s cheating on Dad.” She doesn’t look up to see the startled expressions on their faces, afraid that they’ll judge her and her parents. “I mean, the way she's been acting, texting people all the time, sneaking out of the house, e-especially at night, and I’ve caught her before but she just got mad and said it was ‘business-related’.” She brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Plus, Mom and Dad haven’t gone on a date in forever. And I don’t know, it’s just...worrying.”

“Sweetie,” Farah starts, and Y/n internally winces at the strict tone that her voice adopted, “that kind of behavior is unacceptable.” She shakes her head in agreement, taking another bite of her food though finding that her appetite is steadily decreasing. “We need to talk to them about this.”

“No,” she interjects, finally meeting Farrah’s eyes with frightened e/c ones. “They can’t know I told you all of this. They—they’ll hate me.”

“If this is true, something needs to be done,” Phil says, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in distaste. “You don’t need to be in a house with two people that are so unstable. We could call them and you could stay with us.” Although the thought of living in a house with her loving grandparents sounds fantastic, she refuses by shaking her head again and speaking in a tremulous voice.

“N-no, it’s alright. I can deal with it.” Although her parents don’t seem to care about her anymore, she would most definitely shatter whatever remnants of a relationship they still have between the three of them if they were to find out what she told Farrah and Phil, and she doesn’t want that. She doesn’t want her parents to despise her; that would be a horrid feeling. And she wants to avoid experiencing it.

The rest of the dinner goes by at a leisurely pace for the girl, with her grandparents attempting to talk about more lighthearted subjects to cheer her up, and it moderately works. They ask her about school, her friends, whether she’s in a relationship yet, to which she responds with valid answers: “It’s good”, “I don’t have friends”, and “No”. It makes itself more apparent to them with every reply she isn’t living a normal, decent life. But they figure it’d be best not to pry too much. After all, she’s here for a break, not to be harassed with questions and pity.

She stands with her plate and bottle of water in her hand after swallowing the final bite, pushes the chair back under the table with her foot, and walks past Farrah and toward the kitchen, feeling full and tired. Her gaze shifts to the window, perceiving the orange and pink mixture in the sky through the leaves of the trees, signifying that the sun is setting below the horizon and darkness will soon replace its blaze of light.

“Marshmallow is probably waiting outside if you wanna let him in for the night,” the woman hollers from the dining room as Y/n discards her dishes in the sink and rinses them off under warm water. Thinking about seeing the furry feline after such a long time causes her heart to skip in excitement, and she nods, knowing Farrah won’t bear witness to it.

“Okay, Nana.” She finishes washing the porcelain and silverware and props them in the plastic drainer resting on the counter-top before walking a little quicker than normal, unlocking the front door and nudging it open, being welcomed by a cooler evening gust of wind.

She glances around the small porch and can’t help but smile when she lays her eyes on the white and grey cat sitting on an old chair, swiping his paw over his face to clean himself. He peers up at her curiously, and she approaches at a gradual pace to avoid scaring him.

“Marshmallow? You remember me?” She sticks her hand out and lets him sniff her fingers before fondly rubbing his head. “It’s Y/n. I haven’t been back for a while.”

He stands and lets out a small meow, rubbing against her palm and enjoying the affection he’s receiving. She moves forward and wraps her arms around him, deeming it safe enough, and lifts him to bring him inside. He bumps his head against her neck and she can hear distinctive purring; a sound she hasn’t heard in years.

“Aww,” she coos, unable to stop herself from coddling the furry creature. “I missed you, too, little buddy.” She turns, walks back into the house, and shuts the door behind her, nearly colliding with Farrah as she goes into the kitchen, holding two plates and a glass with a few droplets of liquid remaining.

She takes notice of Y/n and grins at the sight. “Ah, see? We told you he’d remember you.” The girl scratches Marshmallow under his chin, eliciting another meow of content from his mouth. His tail swishes and bumps her on the arm, making her chuckle.

“Yeah. He’s just as soft as I remember, too. And cuddly.” As she says this, she hugs him closer to her chest, and Farrah smiles warmly as she places the plates in the sink. “Do you need help cleaning up?”

“No, thank you, hun.” She parts her lips to object, but Farrah shakes her head. “You just spend some time with the fur baby. Finish settling in.” Y/n feels Marshmallow struggle against her hold, so she crouches and loosens her grip, allowing him to jump down and sprint to some area on the first floor, presumably his food bowl.

“Are you sure? You know I don't mind.”

“I can’t believe you’re the spawn of my son,” she says, chuckling and wiping down the surface of a saucer. “It’ll be fine, sweetie. I’ve got it covered for now. You go and relax.” Y/n figures that as stubborn as she is, her grandmother is much more so and it won’t do her any good to argue about it. Emitting a sigh, she grabs her water bottle from where she laid it on the island in the center of the kitchen and hesitantly ambles toward the staircase.

“Okay...but, tell me if you need help?”

“Stop worrying. You’re the guest here.” Without another word, she heads up to her temporary bedroom, unaware that she’s being followed by a certain feline, and sets her bottle on the desk before grabbing her backpack to move it off her bed. As she twists around to walk to the desk, she stumbles over Marshmallow, who's rubbing against her leg, and just barely catches her balance before falling on the poor cat.

It takes a short moment to calm herself and get over the unexpected adrenaline rush that swamps her system, but once she does, she scoffs. “Trying to trip me already?” She reaches down and scratches his head, and he momentarily stands on his hind feet as a response. “Silly cat.”

Marshmallow finds a bed on the cozy-looking beanbag as she finds a place for her bag and goes to sleep rather swiftly, his body curled in around itself as his shoulders gently rise and fall with each breath he takes. She strokes his cheek tenderly with her index finger, admiring the ivory and light grey fur that graces his small frame. She can barely remember the last time she pet an animal of any kind because it was so long ago, and many grim things have happened since then.

Sitting on the bed, her eyes drift out the window, where the sun has almost completely vanished and a full, bright moon now replaces it, dozens of stars beginning to litter the sky, all surrounding the miraculous white orb. I never get a view like this from the city.

She can’t help her entrancement of the scenery and feels a trace of disappointment that she hasn’t seen more of it. All because of her selfish parents. She leans her head against the windowpane and surveys it, blended emotions making her feel conflicted. But she assures herself that it will be fine. She will be fine. Everything will work out in the end.

Yeah. There's nothing to worry about.

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