Oneshot book (fictional characters)

Masky/Tim stuff

Head canons and scenarios for each!
CW: Self-hate, gore, swearing,

Stubborn: "Tim, oh my fucking God. Can you just admit you were wrong? You do not know where we're fucking going!" Brian yelled, slumping back against his car seat. "I do fucking know! I just made a wrong turn!" Tim retorted. "Sure," Brian muttered, rolling his hazel eyes underneath his black mask. "Quit being a stubborn asshole."

Chubby: As his eyes grazed over the parts of his body, a kind of shame washed over him. Grabbing at his tummy, a sickness fell over him, complete disgust lacing his sullen features. "Tim, your body is fine," you assured, wrapping your arms around him from behind. "It's perfect to me, okay?"

Dad bod: His arms raised, and he flexed his gained muscle. "Dad bod energy!" Brian cheered. Tim's eyes fell onto the brunette man a foot or two away. "Up yours!" Tim joked. 

Not very touchy: You extended your arms, waiting. "What?" he asked, flicking the ashes of his small cigarette onto the concrete. You moved your arms, giving him a look. "You want a hug?" Tim scoffed, taking a long drag of his nicotine stick. (Lmao idfk) "Tough luck, kid."

Bad hygiene: As Tim stared in the dusty mirror, the smell of sweat overwhelming, he peeled off his clothes, dropping them into the hamper, he stepped back into his bedroom, walking to the closet. He grabbed some clothes, slipped them on exhaustedly, and fell into bed, falling asleep as he hit the pillow.

Hairy motherfucker: Your fingers brushed along the revealed skin of his, hand being tickled. "Damn, you hairy motherfucker." you joked. "Whatever," he rolled his eyes ruefully. "You still love me."

Intimidating: Tim's figure towered over the smaller boy, casting a dark shadow over his cowardly features. "Who are you talking to?" he snapped. "I'm sorry," the boy apologized. "Who the fuck are you talking to?" he repeated. "I'm sorry, sir."

Doesn't like sugary things: "How do you want your coffee?" you asked, peeking your head from the kitchen to watch Tim's eyes flicker to yours before his answer. "Black," his eyes flicked back to the book he was reading, eyes moving slightly with every word he consumed. "Like your soul?"

Doesn't like cheesecake (y'all ruined it): "Want a slice of cheesecake?" you questioned, slipping a piece of the sugary treat onto Brian's plate. "No?" he said, yet his answer sounded almost questioning, as if he were confused by your inquiry. "What?" you replied, noticing his foreign tone. "I don't like cheesecake anymore," he said, eyes refusing to leave his distraction. "Why?" you pressed. "Brian."

Black coffee: "What can I get you to drink?" the waitress asked. "Coffee," Tim answered. The waitress' eyes turned to you, waiting. "And you?" she pressed. "I'll have (f/d)," you answered. She nodded, walking off. Returning a moment later, she placed your drinks down, sliding packets of sugar to Tim's side. "Milk?" she asked. He shook his head. "I like my coffee black; thank you, though,"

Favorite food is prob grilled cheese with tomato soup: As your eyes fluttered open, the scent of food filled your nose. Toddling into the kitchen, you watched as Tim put the last grilled cheese onto his plate. "Whatcha eatin'?" you asked. "Grilled cheese and soup," 

Basic bitch: Opening his closet, flannels, jeans, and hoodies hung. "Red flannel, red flannel, or red flannel?" you teased. "I think I'll go with the red flannel," he joked. "Good choice,"

Listens to classic rock (like AC/DC or something): Climbing into the car, Tim flicked on the radio, scowling and sighing as some hip-hop song began to play. "Hand me that CD, would you, (y/n)?" he requested. Handing him the flat piece of plastic, he took it gratefully. Inserting it, he pressed play, and AC/DC's 'Highway to Hell' began to play. After a few minutes of the song playing, he sang along the entire time. "I'm on a highway to hell!"

Aero sexual: "What's your sexual preference?" you asked, glancing over at Tim, his eyes red. "None of the above,"

Needs time to himself: "Tim, can't you just tell me what's wrong?" you whined, following behind the towering man. "Nothing's wrong, (y/n), I just need some time to myself. "Are you sure?" you pressed. "I'm sure!" he slammed the door behind him, making you stop in your tracks. "God damnit, Tim."

Smokes all the fucking time: You clambered out of the bed, the smell of smoke slightly preset.  "Tim?" you muttered, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting of the room. He hummed slightly, torso pressed against the windowsill, hand and head out of the window with his other cupping his hand's elbow. "Why the fuck am I in your bed?" 

Brian forces him to drink tea 'cause it helps smokers: "Timothy, you smoke excessively. Just drink some tea," Brian said, placing the steaming cup in his friends' reach. "Fuck you, Brian," he snarled. "Well, I'm not going to let my friend die from black lungs!"

Good at math: You groaned loudly, eyes snapping shut in anger and frustration, as your hands pressed against your cheeks. "Oh my fucking God," you whined, tears pricking at your eyes, but you couldn't tell from what emotion. "What?" Tim asked. "Nothing," you lied. Eyes scanning over the paper once again, for the millionth time, perhaps, you sighed. A shadow cast over your figures, making you struggle to read the other equations. The paper lifted as Tim took the paper from your desk. "Are you kidding? The answer is negative sixty-seven,"

Hates math: "Thanks, Tim," you muttered. "No problem," he sighed. "What?" you inquired, writing down the answer. "I have to help you write out the equation, don't I?" he mumbled. Looking back down at the question once more, you concluded that the answer was yes. "Yes..." you answered. "I fucking hate math,"

Petty: "Tim, where's my slice of pie?" you asked, closing the fridge and standing to your full height. "My stomach," he replied. "Why?" you hissed. "Because you drank the last beer,"

Strongly opinionated: "Tim, oh my fucking God..." you pinched the bridge of your nose, holding your eyes closed angrily. "I'm sorry, is Brian not dirty blonde?" he hissed. "He's fucking brunette!" you yelled. "He's fucking dirty blonde!"

Hard to convince he's not right: "Tim, coffee is/isn't better than tea," you argued. "Lying asshole!" 

Bad at reading: "Tim, what's the order say?" Brian asked, glancing at his friend. "It says that we have to," he stopped, squinting his eyes. "Kill a guy names Duke Aubertine."

Needs glasses but refuses to get them: "Dude, you can't even read the fucking cover!" you teased. Tim's eyes squinted. "Fuck you,"

Anger issues: "Tim, you've got something on your shirt," you said, pointing to a spot in the center of his chest. He looked down, and you flicked his nose up. He grunted, pushing you away lightly, as he stormed off.

Okay cook: Your door creaked open, and you spun around to see the towering man in your doorway, holding a plate. "Made you some spaghetti," he said, placing the glass on your desk. "Thanks, Tim."

(NOT PROOFREAD; I'M SORRY IT'S BAD)