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Very serious Vivocuck/Jimbo x TerryCrews drunken beating fanfiction

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This tag connotates the discussion as something much more serious than a regular Serious tag.
8doe

8doe

LGTOW (LIFTQS GQQNING THEIR QWN WQY) enthusiast
Gem Autistic Islamic
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Sep 28, 2024
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Jimbo sat on the edge of the couch, hands clasped tightly in his lap. His breath was shallow, the quiet of the room thick with the sound of the ticking clock. Terry was in the kitchen, his movements erratic, slamming cupboards shut as he muttered to himself. The smell of alcohol clung to the air, strong and bitter.
"Jimbo!" Terry's voice suddenly broke through the silence, harsh and demanding. "Did you touch my stuff again?"
Jimbo flinched at the outburst, but he tried to remain calm. He had learned over the years that responding with anger only made things worse. "No, Terry, I didn't touch anything. I swear."
Terry stepped into the living room, his face flushed, eyes wild. "You think I'm stupid? You think I don't know what you're doing? You never respect me—never!"
Jimbo stood up quickly, his heart pounding. He had seen this look in Terry’s eyes before. The rage that built up behind them always seemed to come from nowhere. “Terry, please... you're drunk. Let’s talk about this when you’re sober.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” Terry shouted, his fists clenched at his sides. Jimbo backed away, but his legs were already trembling. "I put up with your crap every damn day, and this is how you repay me?"
Terry was too close now, and Jimbo’s instinct to protect himself kicked in. But there was no place to run. His back was against the wall.
Then, as if the weight of his words had finally hit him, Terry stopped. His expression faltered, guilt flashing in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I... I don't know what's wrong with me."
Jimbo’s breath hitched. His chest tightened, a mix of fear and sadness. "You need help, Terry. This isn’t you. This isn’t us. I can't keep doing this."
Terry’s face contorted with frustration, his hands shaking. "I don’t want to hurt you... I don’t want this to be us, either. But... it’s like I can’t stop."
For a long moment, there was only silence. The weight of their reality hung between them.
“I can’t keep living like this,” Jimbo whispered, more to himself than to Terry. “I can’t keep pretending everything is fine.”
Terry’s eyes welled up with tears, but Jimbo couldn’t bring himself to comfort him this time. Not when it felt like they were both standing on the edge of something far more dangerous than either of them wanted to admit.
 
Jimbo sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers gripping the sheets. His heart still pounded in his chest, but the initial shock was starting to fade, replaced by a deep, gnawing fear. Terry was silent now, his back to Jimbo as he sat in the living room, the light dim from the setting sun. The silence between them felt suffocating.
Then Terry's voice broke through, softer now—almost regretful. "Jimbo..." he started, his tone quieter, more controlled. "I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I don’t know what came over me."
<domestic abuse space
Jimbo lifted his head, blinking, trying to process the sudden shift. "Terry... you said you wouldn't do this again." His voice cracked slightly. "Why does this keep happening?"
Terry stood up, walking toward him with slow, measured steps. His eyes were soft now, his face full of sorrow. "I hate myself for what I did. I never meant to hurt you. I swear, I don't want to be like this. You're all I have, Jimbo."
Jimbo wanted to believe him. He wanted to reach out and accept the comfort Terry seemed to be offering now. The guilt in Terry's eyes—those rare moments where he showed remorse—felt like a lifeline, something to cling to.
<domestic abuse space
But Jimbo couldn't ignore the deep knot in his stomach. “You said that last time. And the time before that.”
Terry dropped to his knees in front of Jimbo, grabbing his hands and squeezing them. "I know, I know... I was drunk. I don’t even remember what I said half the time, but I remember how much i hurt you. I remember seeing the pain in your eyes. It destroys me." His voice wavered, and for a brief moment, Jimbo felt a flicker of hope that this time could be different. "I can get better, Jimbo. I promise. I’ll quit drinking. I’ll do whatever it takes. For you, for us."
Jimbo felt a warm pressure on his chest—like a weight lifting, but only for a moment. “I just... I need you to be the man I married, Terry. Not this person. I need to feel safe again.”
<domestic abuse space
Terry’s face softened further, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was a smile Jimbo had seen many times before—one that hid all the things that would come later. The promise of change, the gentle touch, the words that seemed to heal the cracks in their relationship... but only temporarily.
“I’ll be that man, Jimbo. I swear to you. You mean everything to me,” Terry murmured, leaning in to kiss Jimbo’s forehead, brushing away the tear that had slipped down his cheek.
<domestic abuse space
For a moment, Jimbo allowed himself to believe it. The warmth of Terry’s touch, the tenderness in his voice... it felt real. Maybe things would get better. Maybe Terry could get better. But deep down, Jimbo knew the truth. He had heard these words before, and though he wanted so badly to believe them, part of him feared that the cycle would start all over again.
 
Over the next few days, Terry was on his best behavior. He’d wake up early, make breakfast for Jimbo, offer to help with chores around the house. He apologized for his behavior repeatedly, each time promising that he was done with the drinking, that he wanted to make things right. He was affectionate in a way that almost felt normal again—soft whispers in Jimbo’s ear, his hands gently brushing against Jimbo’s as he passed by.
<recovery space
Jimbo couldn’t help but feel the weight of relief. He had missed the gentle Terry, the one who made him feel loved. It was as if everything would be fine again, as if the abuse had been a mistake—a bad chapter in their otherwise happy life.
<recovery space
But the cracks were there, just under the surface. The way Terry would snap at small things, the way he sometimes would fall quiet, eyes glassy after drinking too much in private, but never in front of Jimbo. Jimbo noticed, but he didn’t want to confront it. Not yet. Maybe it was just a rough patch.
<recovery space
Eventually, Terry’s behavior would start to shift again. There would be little things at first—small lies or hints of frustration. Terry’s temper would flare over something trivial, but he would quickly apologize, his words soothing but empty. He might even go a few days without drinking, giving Jimbo hope, but it was always followed by a relapse. His promises would become less frequent and less convincing.
<domestic abuse space
Jimbo began to feel like he was walking on eggshells again, waiting for the next outburst, the next apology, the next brief return to normalcy. It was exhausting, but somehow Terry’s false assurances always pulled Jimbo back in, just enough to keep him trapped in the cycle.
<domestic abuse space
Jimbo would think, Maybe this time will be different. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t.
 

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