Madness Combat Oneshots [Hiatus]

JEB X READER super random and messy

i haven't updated in so long hashhdhj. . . yes it's been summer, i have face to face school in less than a week sad face, but yeah decided to write TW mature themes, mention of sex but is not a smut, descriptive notes... yeah. . .

despite you and jeb not being legally married, he still loved considering you his wife. he liked calling you mrs. christoff when you two would eat out, liked wearing the promise ring you two gave each other. he also amused you; his loyalty; his devotion; how he loved to keep you by his side and only you. yes, you were a little younger than him, but past the age of 18 nobody longer cared about age gaps. every time you brought up the age gap, you were worried about jeb's reputation; you heard people call him a pedophile because of his relationship; you feared him leaving you because of it.

jeb was very busy, yes. he had a job at nexus, and even outside of work he always had his nose in a book. during the early stages of the relationship you feared he would have no time to spend with you; that, compared to those books he would write and write about, on paper and on the computer, you were a bit bland. you didn't want to speak with him about this--the unnecessary "bitching" (as you called it) of a poor, unsatisfied wife was not something a hard-working husband would want to hear about. so you kept silent about it.

you allowed your own husband--your human mate--to spend as much time as he wanted to work. sometimes you would barely come to see him anymore because of it. there, in his divine workroom, littered with bookshelves and papers (--some strewn about on the ground--) he would stand with a book in his left hand and a pen in his right. he was always writing about his beautiful discoveries. they would never make it to paper, but he was still ecstatic to be writing about them in the first place. you thought that it was beautiful of him.

"jeb?"

your small, faint voice was like a breeze in the ambient surrounding. in front of you, standing somewhat open and somewhat closed; an inch of light radiating from the crack in the door, was jeb's office door. your hands were still against the soggy wooden door, pushing it ever-so-slightly so as not to bother him.

once the door was fully hilted and stood open in front of you, you met with the sight of your husband(?) with---as usual, you kind of expected it even before you opened the door---his head tilted down and his eyes scanning the page of a book. even with the loud squeak of the door opening (wd40 required, wd40 unavailable) he didn't seem to notice you.

or, perhaps, he was ignoring you.

You didn't really wanna think of him that way... To you Jeb was the "dream" husband; other times he would be sweeter; other times he would be an angel. Despite his kind(?) personality, he did end up neglecting you at times... You couldn't blame him---couldn't even bring it up, honestly---especially because most of the house's income came from his hard work. You didn't feel the need to invalidate his hard work; his pain-in-the-ass complaints regarding Phobos or the workload. You knew damn well that if you were in his shoes, you'd be sleeping during work hours.

But that's how Jeb was---your husband, in other terms---and you didn't want to change a single thing about him. He was, whenever you'd look at him well enough, perfect in your eyes; always putting others first; thinking of himself as the first and ultimate sacrifice (unegotistically); respecting your---his wife's---boundaries (sex happened rarely, mainly due to his habit of shutting the rest of the world out as he worked, and because you were quite unsure if you were 'in the mood', and he respected that). You felt like the lacking one for wanting to confront your own husband, somebody who'd obviously change his ways for you, about something he was doing that was making you feel like more of a roommate than a wife.

"Jeb." 

You repeated, this time more sternly. There was a certain edge to your voice that made him jump in the slightest and immediately stop what he was doing. There were no head-turns to indicate he was interested in a formal conversation with you; no follow-up question of "yes, honey?" after you called out his name. The room was merely filled with a sullen yet loud silence.

Still, you knew that he was listening. 

"Why don't you spend time with me anymore?" A stutter popped out when you began your sentence. You rather hoped he didn't find that weird. Your attention shifted to your fingers as you continued to fiddle with whatever hangnail was available to you---this was an unfortunate habit you had, brought by your anxiety and nervousness. 

"...What do you mean?" That was Jeb's small, meekly-sounding voice. It was low-pitched in tone and you knew he wasn't in the mood for a conversation like this.

"I mean... your work." You explained, the fear in your body growing larger and larger. "You barely spend time with me anymore. I'm beginning to (...) miss you."

And then there was no reply from the man in front of you (with his back turned to you, you didn't know what his reaction was). He inhaled and exhaled deeply, perhaps in hopes that whatever stress built up within his bones would wash away. You knew they didn't. They never did.

Suddenly, a loud spin of his office chair cracked through the room. He stared at you, his eyebags more noticeable and the energy from his face drained. You felt... guilty, for confronting him about such matters. He was a hard-working man, but only because he wanted to provide you with something for the wasteland you two lived in.

He stood up; his steps were quiet; faint; nearly mute. Within seconds, his hand brushed against the soft skin of your cheek, and you looked up at him; the fear within your body leaving as soon as you made eye contact with your husband. You nearly melted into his touch, the strength from your hands nearly nonexistent as you tried to reach out and place your hand on his.

"(Name)..." He muttered out; drowsily; softly. His eyes were on your slightly shorter figure as he smiled. The thoughts of having an absolutely perfect wife (you) floated through his mind. He wanted to thank God at that moment for blessing him with you.

"I'm sorry if I haven't been spending much time with you... I'll make sure to work on that." His other hand moved to brush the hair from your neck, gently caressing that area as he tiredly kept his gaze on you. You felt... too much; love; appreciation; insecurity; not feeling like you were worthy of this kind of treatment from him. Yet he seemed to be all over you, his gentle, rather calloused, hands brushing against your skin.

With a sudden swoop, you were in his arms as he carried you bridal style. Kisses on your forehead were repetitive as he had you in his arms; his gorgeous, beautifully colored orbs in his eyes gently admired you---his wife... he couldn't believe that sometimes---as his hands kept their grip on you whilst he carried you.

"Remember, (Name)..." He said to your tired form (by this time, you allowed your head to lay on his chest) as he eyed you.

"I love you."

And, with the last small kiss onto your forehead, you felt yourself drifting to sleep in absolute comfort.