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perlelune · 11 months ago

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Glory And Gore | Feyd-Rautha

The trip to Giedi Prime you take with your mother should have been a mere diplomatic gesture. Instead, you find yourself prey to the inevitability of fate as it sinks its claws into your flesh.

Warnings: NON-CON, Deception, Parental Neglect, Cannibalism, Mutilation, Bene Gesserit Reader, Knives, Murder, Forced Marriage, Primal Kink

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

“I don’t want to.”

“You must.”

“Mother-”

“Use it!”

The authority dripping from your mother’s voice has you shrinking in your chair. You lift your gaze. A shudder slithers through your frame. Your fingers squeeze around the armrests, gripping so tightly you can feel the iciness seeping into your veins.

You study your mother’s face.

An unsettling realization crashes over you.

You no longer are looking into your mother’s eyes…but at the Bene Gesserit. You steel your features and iron your resolve.

You swallow a deep, calming breath.

“Give me the blade,” you repeat, for perhaps the hundredth time that morning. The exact count has evaporated amidst your heated nerves long ago. Your mother is unyielding today, pushing you further than she ever has before. While her purpose eludes you, the urgency etched in her manner from the moment she tore you from bed that day doesn’t. Today, your mother will not settle for surrender. She demands results.

Results for all the years she spent drilling the Bene Gesserit ways into you.

There is no hint of being swayed in your mother, her handle on the dagger unwavering. No twitching. No slackening of her grip. Your spirits dim.

“Again,” she barks.

Pearls of sweat gather on your brow as you strain your mind once more. The humming courses through your blood, the echo of power swelling in your mind. Fiery tendrils trickle through the veil of hesitation and nervousness.

You grasp at the threads, the fleeting wisps of control, pulling on them with all your might. Still, they slip through your fingers like sand. Frustration flares inside you with every attempt.

You persevere, enduring through the agony bleeding inside your mind. Through the liquid fire sweeping through your veins.

You meet your mother’s harsh stare.

“Give…me…the blade…” you articulate, injecting every bit of hazy conviction glowing inside you.

For a while, you and your mother hold each other’s gaze. A battle of wills. An ephemeral, pathetic one that ends as it always does…with your mother snickering at your failure.

She shoots up from the chair, exasperation evident in the drawn-out sigh she unleashes.

“No willpower. Just fear,” she says, pacing across the room.

“Apologies, mother,” you mutter, lowering your head in shame.

The Voice. The damned Voice. In eighteen years, you have never mastered it.

She approaches you, kneeling in front of your chair.

“Child, you must never fear, because fear��”

“...Is death,” you finish. The Bene Gesserit words are woven into the very fabric of your mind, for you have uttered them so many times since childhood.

She places her forehead against yours, cupping your cheeks.

The combination of your two voices echoes in the room.

“Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me…”

As you recite the familiar prayer, a wave of serenity swaddles you in its calming tide.

Your eyes flutter open.

Your mother’s fingers wrap around yours.

“Reverend Mother will see you tomorrow.”

“So soon?”

“You are of age. It is time.”

“Time for what?”

A shadow flits across her eyes.

“For the Gom Jabbar.”

“Gom…Jabbar.” A crease appears on your forehead. “What is it?”

A tense smile spreads on her face, her grip on your hand growing tighter.

“You will learn soon enough,” she says.

Rest eludes you that night, your mother’s words weighing too heavy on your mind for it to float away in peaceful slumber. Tormented by nightmares, you toss and turn between your sheets.

A beast chasing you, its claws sharp and long…Like knives. Darkness creeping on your every step. Fire shooting through your veins.

The world in flames, while you burn alongside it.

You awake drenched in your own sweat.

Hugging your knees, you lean against the headboard. You stare ahead. Moonlight drizzles through your carved window, casting shapes of silvery light against your walls. The same granite walls you have known since childhood. Usually so familiar, comforting. Today the sight of them reminds you how utterly alone you are.

Your thoughts churn, the storm of doubt and gloom within you grazing its peak.

Per custom, you are a disappointment to both your mother and the Sisterhood. The Voice. The Weirding Way. No matter which skill your mother and the myriad of Bene Gesserit teachers you had over the years attempted to drill into you…you failed to master every single one.

It’s not for lack of trying on your part. You wish you knew why. Why your voice always cracks. Why your hand always falters. Your mother has never given hope to lure a steel-mindedness out of you that was simply…never there. No part of you wishes to bend others to your whim or cause harm. You don’t crave control or power. Only serenity and peace.

The next day springs forth in a haste, the blinding light of the sun arriving too quickly for your comfort. There is a deliberate languid nature to your motions as you get dressed, fussing with your hair and dress. A pointless attempt at delaying the inevitable.

Gom Jabbar. You mulled the words over and over in your non-sleep. Mighty oppressor or mighty enemy. The translations from Chaksobar to Galach are plentiful. While you don’t know what awaits you on the other side of the door, from your mother’s pinched expression the day before…unpleasantness is guaranteed.

You trudge inside the dark room, a chill shooting through your spine at the sight of the still figure of Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam sitting in the middle. Her pale, weathered features, wrinkled and creased like ancient parchment, stand out amidst the unsettling gloominess ahead. Even behind the black veil, the older woman radiates an aura of ancient, mystic power, her presence both fascinating and intimidating.

No word unfurls from her tongue at first, her keen, bird-like eyes assessing you. Despite the urge to cower, you hold your chin high and stiffen your spine.

“Your Reverence,” you greet, bowing so low your nose almost grazes the tiled floor.

“Come closer, child.”

Your feet move on their own before you even register the command. Shock pulses though you as you approach the Reverend Mother. The Voice…She used the Voice on you. No Bene Gesserit ever did that before. None would even dare. Not on a Count’s daughter.

You land in front of her, stunned and shivering.

She collects a viridian metal fox from beneath her robes, its eerie light glowing ominously in the darkness. Your heart stutters as you note the chasm inside the box, a lightless void reflecting nothing but complete blackness.

“Put your right hand in the box,” she orders.

Her tone is bereft of the thrall of the Voice now. Willing compliance... you realize this is what she wishes from you. You stare at the pitch blackness inside of the box, the sight alone stirring your unease. Hesitation limns your fingertips.

“I…”

The Reverend Mother’s firm voice booms across the air like thunder.

“Is this the respect you show to your elders?” she roars.

You flinch. Shameful heat lurks its way inside your cheeks. Mother would be embarrassed if she saw you now, denying the Reverend Mother herself, the Emperor’s Truthsayer.

You inhale a wide breath and place a tremulous hand inside the metal box. As the darkness engulfs your appendage, a cold wave creeps over it. The prick of a needle on your fingers follows closely. Sensations vanish from your hand, only an odd numbness remaining.

The old woman’s gaze sharpens. Her wrinkled hand shoots upward with a quickness that leaves you speechless, halting right beside your neck.

A glimpse of metal beckons you from the corner of your vision. Temptation to turn your head simmers within you but an instinct set deeply into your bones screeches at you not to move.

You yield to to the second hunch.

“I hold at your neck the Gom Jabbar,” she informs. “The high-handed enemy.”

“Poisoned needle?” you absently wonder.

You catch the shadow of a smile through the black veil.

“Your mother did say you were a clever one.” She tilts her head slightly, reminding you of a vulture circling its prey, gauging the right moment to swoop down and sink its claws. “A soft heart with a sharp mind.” Dread coils around your heart. “The test is simple, girl. Your hand must remain in the box. Keep it in the box, you live. Withdraw it, you die.”

“What’s in the box?”

“Pain.”

Tingles begin to spread.

Your breath snags, needles starting to dig across the back of your hand. But unlike before, the sensation lingers this time. Growing and growing. Uncomfortable at first, then unbearable. Then, it turns blatantly hellish. Fire licks your flesh, the flames causing your entire body to break out in sweat and your breaths to come out labored and uneven.

Pain such as this cannot be of this world, you begin to think.

The kind that grows more vile and intense every second. You writhe, tears rushing to your eyes. Your free hand clutches your stomach, twisting the flesh in desperate need of an anchor amidst the unnatural agony. The room fogs around you, your quick, panicked breaths and the wild drumming of your heart filling your ears.

The longing for death comes and goes, the impulse to withdraw your hand teetering over a precipice. At least, death would bring release from the unfathomable pain.

Blessed freedom. You nearly surrender to that wayward instinct. Nearly.

In the end however, the acute, overwhelming awareness of the lethal needle less than an inch from your neck keeps your hand inside the box.

“An animal in pain would chew its own leg to escape a trap,” The Reverend mother says calmly, unfazed by your tears and sobs. “But a human would bide its time, suffer through the agony until he might remove the threat to his kind. This is a test of humanity. This is what us Bene Gesserit do. Set humans apart from animals.”

An eternity in the pits of hells seems to drag along before she gives you permission to withdraw your hand, her hand dropping from your neck.

“Enough,” she says.

You tear your hand out of the box with a trembling exhale, astonished when your gaze tumbles upon smooth, unharmed skin. You turn it upside down, flabbergasted. It looks the same. Yet the furnace within the box made the burning feel so real, so vividly, terrifyingly real, that you were convinced the flesh and bones were devoured by the flames. You expected a lump of bleeding, smoking flesh. In disbelief, you fold your fingers several times. You wince. Phantom pain still sits in your hand, your nerves alight with embers of ache.

Suppressing a fresh surge of tears, you lift your eyes to the Truthsayer.

“Your tolerance for pain is sufficient,” she states. “Congratulations, child. You are human enough to serve our purposes.” She hums in thought, a sliver of satisfaction seeping through her solemn inflection. “You may not be a complete waste of genetic material after all.”

“You almost failed the test, I hear.”

You shift in the bench opposite your mother, her imperious tone ripping the wound of your glaring incompetence open once more.

Your attention wanders above the closing gate of the starship. You commit the luxurious plains of your planet to memory. Your chest twinges with preemptive melancholy. From what you heard, Giedi Prime is a dry, depleted rock where trees are replaced by rows of factories and metal skyscrapers which only blot out the dusky skies even more. A nightmare from the sounds of it. Though your mother insisted you join her on the trip, arguing your presence is key to the success of the treaty.

So you swallowed your reluctance and agreed to come.

“I thought I would lose my hand,” you mumble, your fingers clenching. The awe over the flawless state of your limb hasn’t left you.

“Her Reverence would never maim a prospect,” your mother argues.

You nod, gaze colliding with hers.

“Just kill them if they fail to prove their humanity?”

You still recall the sharp, poison-dipped tip pointed at your neck. The oppressive weight of impending death nipping at your flesh.

The line between surrender and success had been thin. Too thin.

Your mother’s stern brow furrows.

“Pain is always a possibility…One you must embrace.”

“Why? Isn’t the Gom Jabbar a singular occurrence?”

Instead of answering you, your mother lifts a black, oblong chest from beside her. You noticed it before but forgot to inquire about its purpose.

The metal and dark accents of the object mimics the Harkonnen style. Your fingers sweep over the symbols engraved on the box.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Open it.”

You do as instructed. The inside of the chest reveals a set of knives, a long obsidian one and a short silvery one. The blades glimmer as you lift them, their sharp edges catching the artificial light of the cockpit.

“They were forged from the finest steel on Alderan,” your mother says. You give a puzzled stare. Your mother elaborates, “You must gift them to the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen upon arrival. For his coming of age.”

Right. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen’s birthday celebration. You were told there would be a grand spectacle in the arena, that he was a great warrior, revered and admired by his people…perhaps even more than his uncle the Baron Vladimir. Day after day before the trip, your mother has impressed upon you the importance of attendance, of embracing the Harkonnen customs as if born into them. Every single one, however uncanny, crude or brutal.

So, much as the concept of spilling blood for entertainment repulses you…you shelf your disgust for now. Personal feelings must capitulate to diplomacy.

Your critical eye sweeps over the knives. These must have cost a fortune. Sinister beauty and artful skill fused in ominous synergy inside a finely made instrument of death.

“It’s fine craftsmanship,” you say. Your fingertip drags across the curved edge. A crease appears on your forehead. “But the edges…they could be sharper.” Your eyes light up. “I could finish before we land.”

You sift through one the heaps of precious stones and minerals lining the walls of the cockpit.

Victory floods your being as you find what you sought. A flat whetstone that shall serve your purpose well. You find a spot on the floor and begin your task. The knives shine brighter with every swift glide of your hand.

The frown on your face deepens.

“I hope the Baron’s nephew is pleased with our gift.”

You know next to nothing of him. Though you surmise if your families are to start trading with each other, getting along would be wiser.

Your mother smiles at you though it fails to reach her eyes.

“I have no doubt he will be very pleased with all the gifts you bring him, daughter.”

The frosty, pollution-heavy winds of the lifeless planet whip your face as you set foot outside the car. Your eyes roam over the large building housing the Harkonnen arena. The imposing structure casts an intimidating shadow against the nebulous, gray sky above it. Dormant volcanoes peek through the horizon in the distance, the only remnants of natural landscapes.

Hopelessness surges through you.

Despite having landed less than an hour ago, a fierce longing for Alderan’s endless green fields and snowy mountain peaks roars inside you. Every cell in your body screams to go back inside the ship and return home.

But you can’t. Such a display of rudeness would be a disaster for diplomatic relations. So you plaster on a smile and ignore the potent stench wafting around you.

You exert meticulous sovereignty over your expression when the Baron floats toward you and your mother. Nothing could have prepared you for this. The sight of the bald, massive man hovering towards you and your mother in his suspensor chair.

The floating figure of the baron stops in front of you and your mother. A circle of servants, clad in black clothing, follows behind him. You note their bowed heads, the way their eyes never rise high enough to look directly at you or your mother. A brand marks their necks, one you recognize as the sigil of House Harkonnen. You’re reminded how ubiquitous the slave trade is on Giedi Prime. Your mother mentioned it but the harsh reality of it didn’t strike you until now.

“Welcome to Giedi Prime,” Baron Vladimir greets. His gristly tone surprises you, eliciting a chill across your spine you swiftly suppress.

“My Lord,” your mother says, sinking into a graceful bow.

You mimic her. The baron leers at you.

“She is even more exquisite in person.”

You recoil, the glint in his calculating stare stirring your unease.

Your mother’s gaze sweeps across her surroundings.

“The na-Baron isn’t in attendance?”

“My dear nephew is preparing himself in the gladiator pit. There are rituals we Harkonnen observe upon one’s coming of age.” Your mother nods.

The baron smirks, his focus swinging to you. “Perhaps you could pay him a visit, little one?”

You clutch the small chest in your hands.

“I…”

“Go on,” your mother urges, shoving you forward.

You gasp, almost tripping in your shock. The baron’s commanding voice rises.

“Slave!”

One the cowering servants leaps from the circle.

“Yes, sire?” the boy mumbles.

“Escort the girl to my nephew at once.”

The servant approaches you. His gaze briefly lifts before finding the floor again. A pang of empathy twists in your chest as you note the fear etched in the servant’s eye. You find yourself wondering what these eyes have witnessed, what horrors lurk on the wretched rock.

“Follow me, my Lady,” he says.

As you’re led away from the welcoming party, you toss a glance at your mother above your shoulder. The message written in her eyes and stern expression is clear as lake water.

Do not cast a veil of shame upon our house. Remember your duty.

Sucking a deep breath, you turn away.

You and your retinue of two guards and an attending maid are taken to the bowels of the arena. A horrid stench clings to the walls as you trudge through the dim walls. It grows more potent the closer you get to the pit. Your chest heaves. The urge to empty the meager contents of your stomach in the sand tickles your dry throat. You quell your disdain with a shake of your head.

You are here to present your house in a positive light, help Father’s treaty with House Harkonnen be a success.

As you enter the room, you get your first look at Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. Warmth finds your cheeks. He’s almost bare, his rippling, pale muscles on full display. Two servant girls paint broad, black strokes over his carved back. The dark color stands out against his alabaster skin. Not a stray hair covers him and you suppose he’s as smooth-skinned and hairless as the rest of his kind.

When his dark gaze settles on you, you take tremulous steps forward.

You open the chest and present the knives to him.

“This is a gift for you, Lord na-Baron Feyd-Rautha,” you say, your voice cracking at the end.

Silence hangs for what seems eons, Feyd-Rautha cocking his head as he gauges you. It takes every ounce of bravery inside you not to flinch. His presence alone has every hair on your body stand at attention.

There’s a cold intensity in his glare, a tautness on his slender features.

You feel as prey being assessed. The urge to run itches your flesh. Your mother’s quiet warning echoes in your head. Remember your duty. You dig your feet into the ground, willing your roaring pulse to steady.

You hear him speak for the first time. His voice is hoarse and deep. Like the scratching of a stone over a sharp object.

“Would you like some fresh meat, my darlings? Lungs, a liver, perhaps?” he offers, smirking at three women sitting in a corner of the room. Their inky, whiteless orbs and ravenous grins send a chill through your spine.

His eyes fall on the knives inside the chest. His hand sweeps over the blades, an odd gesture almost reminiscent of a lover’s caress. He places the silver knife against his tongue, as if to taste the sharpness of the weapon. You shudder as you watch him, a foreboding feeling spreading across your flesh.

For a brief span of time, the well of your buried childhood memories tugs you to its depths. You recall a day when you were little. Your father took you hunting in the forests of Alderan. You chased a butterfly and got lost. You fell across a field. When you rose, you were nose to nose with a fierce predator. It stared at you a while, so still as its slanted, yellow gaze pinned you to your spot that you thought you were safe. You didn’t notice the calculated way it was prowling towards you, its maw opening slowly in anticipation of its next meal. The gift of tender, unsuspecting flesh. It’s not until your father speared the creature with his sword that you realized the jaws of death almost closed in on you. As it sprawled across the field, it unleashed an ear-piercing dying howl.

You were struck with shock that day.

A similar shock rocks you to your core when Feyd-Rautha slices the throat of one of the servant girls at his side and stabs the other repetitively. Time freezes as the lifeless bodies of the slave girls hit the sand with a loud thud.

Speckles of dark blood stain the bottom of your light tunic.

Your wide gaze lands on the other slave girl, tucked in a corner of the room. You watch her shrink in fear, the quaking in her hands so intense she nearly drops the tray she’s holding.

Horror fills you. She isn’t wondering if she’ll be next…but when.

Feyd-Rautha’s attention swings back to you. Dread coils around your heart.

“Hm, these are shockingly adequate,” he purrs appreciatively, grabbing the other knife from the chest.

It’s hard focusing on his words. Behind him, the three bald-headed women are swooping down on the poor servant girls’ corpses like vultures ripping a carcass to shreds. One of them pulls out a knife and slices the girl open from neck to gut. They bury their hands inside the girl’s body and grab fistfuls of her soft insides that they greedily shove into their mouths. Pieces of guts and dripping flesh jut from their pale lips, trickling down their chins and necks.

One of the women catches you staring and flashes you a blood-drenched, black grin.

You shudder. The maid at your side chokes on a sob, her hand flying across her mouth. Even your guards are appalled by the display, one of them averting his eyes.

A whispery croak slips through your lips.

“I s-sharpened them myself this morning,” you say, your fingers tightening around the chest.

A crooked smile unfurls on the na-Baron’s lips.

“Well, aren’t you full of surprises, pet.”

His smile expands. “How rude of me,” he says, tossing a casual glance at the ghoulish spectacle behind him. The women are still gleefully feasting on the slain slave girls. “Would you like a bite as well?” His mirthful gaze flicks over your heaving chest. “Fresh heart, perhaps?”

You swallow past the lump in your throat, forcing a placid smile onto your face.

“I-I’m quite alright, my Lord. I already ate.” The chomping noises of the cannibalistic women rises, one of them tearing into the slave girl’s side with her sharp nails.

Sickness spreads through your being. You avert your gaze.

“I shall leave you to get ready for your entrance, my Lord,” you stammer as you give a quick bow.

“I look forward to our next meeting, my Lady,” Feyd-Rautha says, the amusement never leaving his face as you scurry out of the room.

A tremor still lingers in your hands as you join your mother in the golden box above the triangular arena. The moment you sit at her side, she questions you.

“So, what did you think of him?”

“Who?” you reply, feigning ignorance.

She sighs. “Feyd-Rautha.”

You press your lips. The crowd chants his name as he steps into the arena, clutching the blades you gifted him at his sides. He walks slowly, with purpose. Yet there’s a hint of tedium in his haughty gait. As if today was no different than any other day for him, and the taking of more lives were nothing more than a mere footnote in his long list of tasks for the evening.

Sadist. Psychopath. Deranged.

These are some of the few choice words that surge inside your mind in response to your mother’s inquiry.

You utter none of them.

“Why does it matter? Our stay on Giedi Prime will be short, will it not?”

You peer through the binoculars your mother hands you. There’s a gut-wrenching brutality to the na-Baron’s practiced motions.

You watch him cut down two Atreides gladiator-slaves with ease. It’s clear something has been done to the men, their wobbly, confused steps through the arena a painful scene to witness.

Your chest seizes every time his blade tears into the poor mens’ flesh. He snarls after a series of successful strikes, seeming more beast than human when he bares a row of black teeth.

A shiver ripples through your spine.

“You must keep an open mind,” your mother heeds.

The last gladiator-slave is different. You note it right away. There’s a lethal precision in his movements that was amiss in the other Atreides soldiers. Panic swarms the golden box. Baron Vladimir’s advisor begs him to cancel the fight.

“This one isn’t drugged,” he says, fear lacing his tone.

“This will spoil my nephew’s birthday,” the baron rumbles, dismissing the man with a withering glare. He remains disturbingly calm. “Show me who you are, dear nephew.”

You take a deep breath. The rest of the fight veers to an unusual route. Feyd-Rautha removes his body shield, welcoming the challenge the Atreides soldier offers with open arms.

A psychotic smile decorates his lips as he fights for his life. For the first time since the fight began, he comes alive in the arena.

The vicious trading of blow after blow has bile rising to your throat. Unable to stomach it any longer, you bolt to your feet and mumble a rushed apology to the Baron.

“I shall retire to my chambers,” you say.

As you exit the golden box, the excited clamor of the crowd as they scream Feyd-Rautha’s name follows your hasty steps.

You sneak a glance through the high, blue doors. The sight inside the vast hall has your blood curdling. Debauchery the likes of which you have never witnessed unfolds before your eyes. A peculiar blend of orgy and slaughter occurs in the hall. You’re failing to comprehend what you’re seeing, relief coursing through you that you refused the Baron’s invitation.

Once more, you are stunned by the vast cultural differences between your people and the Harkonnens. Sickened, you step away from the doors. Twisted curiosity led you there, and blatant disgust will take you straight back to your room.

The dusky, barren walls of the Harkonnen keep are a stark contrast to the colorful tapestries that can be found all over Castle Alderan.

Homesickness tugs at your heart strings. This alien world is hostile, wretched. You long for the familiarity of your bed and the warm, soothing winds of your planet.

As you roam the hallways, a prickling across your nape has you whirl.

Your sight fills with Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.

Your chest clenches. Your head whips around, a fresh urgency livening your steps.

“Should you not be celebrating your grand victory, my Lord?”

“Frivolous pleasures do little to sate me,” he says, easily keeping up with you. His gravelly baritone ripples across your spine. “This isn’t for me…It’s for them. And my uncle knows it.” His arm brushes yours. You bristle. Amusement bleeds in his tone. “Where are you running off to, pet?”

Pet. You tense at the belittling moniker, the one he forcefully bestowed upon you.

“To my chambers. The evening has exhausted me.”

“You left early.”

You cast a puzzled frown upon him.

“In the arena," he specifies.

Your fingers curl into fists. The unfairness of what you witnessed still staggers you. The Atreides soldiers weren’t given a chance. Pigs led to their inevitable slaughter. And Feyd-Rautha plucked joy from their misery, seeing every slave as a tool to satisfy his unquenchable thirst for blood.

“I have no stomach for violence, my Lord.”

A humming sound pours from his throat.

“Perhaps it was careless then.”

Confusion flutters through you.

“Careless?”

A wicked smile tilts his lips skyward.

“Of my uncle to hand me such a delicate flower…one whose petals are bruised so easily.”

You let out a hollow laugh, dread gripping your insides. Loathing the way his dark gaze slides over your frame, you set your eyes forward.

“You say such strange things, my lord.”

“Do I?” He adds casually, “After all, you were promised to me.”

Your heart falters, missing a beat. He must be drunk, you ponder, in a feeble attempt to placate yourself with reassurance.

“Perhaps you ought to sleep the evening off, my lord. I believe victory may have gotten to your head, warped your perception.”

His sinister chuckle bounces against the walls.

“A pet with a sharp tongue. How fortuitous.”

It’s the only warning you receive before he snatches your wrist and slams you into a nearby wall.

You gasp. He pins your wrists beside your head, trapping you between him and the wall. You squeal, eyes bulging at the abrupt impact. You can already feel bruises form beneath his steely grip.

You fight to get free but he doesn’t budge. Sadistic enjoyment contorts his features as he admires your fruitless struggle.

He leans close to you. Your pulse soars.

“What are you doing?”

His lids sag as he drinks you in.

“Well…sampling my other gift, of course,” he whispers, lust oozing in his voice.

His mouth crashes over yours. You go dizzy. The kiss is bruising, staggeringly possessive. A brutal, sloppy clash of lips, teeth and tongue. You give his lip a harsh bite but it only draws a cheerful laugh from Feyd-Rautha. The acrid tang of metal coats your tongue. He moans against your lips and starts exploring your curves.

As his hands pluck at your soft flesh, fear surges through you.

“Let me go,” you scream, trying to use the Voice. There’s a flicker in his eyes and you feel hope…but it swiftly vanishes. One of his hands fastens around your throat while the other charts a dangerous path under your tunic. His fingers crudely poke and prod the apex of your thighs.

Your panic swells.

“Unhand me this instant!” you shout, a trickle of power rushing in your words.

Feyd-Rautha shakes his head, your thrall only seeming to last a few seconds. Mirth shimmers in his inky orbs as he studies you.

“Are you trying to use Bene Gesserit tricks on me?” The hand around your throat tightens. You claw at his arms, your vision flickering as he taunts, “Why don’t you try again, little witch?” He sinks two fingers through your dry entrance. Tears swim in your eyes at the aching, sudden stretch. His cruel voice flows against your temple. “Perhaps I ought to slice your tongue and shove it down your throat for our wedding.”

The hammering of your heart grows deafening. You swallow your tears and look into his eyes. You gather a thin breath to speak.

“Back away…” you croak weakly, desperation flailing inside your chest.

He gives a slow blink. To your surprise, the hand around your throat slackens. His eyes narrow as he leans away from you, a dazed expression on his face. You don’t take time to bask in fleeting relief, racing to your mother’s room as soon as his hands aren’t on you anymore.

Once you reach your mother’s chambers, you fling yourself into her arms.

Her arms wrap around your shuddering frame. She caresses your hair, gently whispering, “Daughter, the hour is so late…Is something the matter?”

You release a shaky breath, sinking further into her embrace.

“May we return to the ship? Go back home?”

“Why?”

You cast a tearful gaze towards her.

“Haven’t we done our duty, mother? Is it not enough?”

A long weary breath flows from her lips. Her hands curl around yours. She takes a deep breath before speaking again.

Her face becomes stern, impenetrable.

“Apologies, sweet child. We cannot.”

You search her harsh gaze. A heavy silence settles between the two of you. You retreat, horror clogging your airways as unsaid words hang in the air.

“Mother…What have you done?” you mumble, a fresh wave of tears breaking past your lashes.

“You are to marry Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen in three days’ time,”she bluntly announces. Your jaw drops as you take another step back. “All the arrangements have already been made.”

Your voice trembles.

“And Father agreed?”

“It was his idea, approved by the Reverend Mother herself.”

The deepest pits of hell welcome your plummeting heart. You sink to the floor, the weight of your kin’s treachery growing too heavy to bear.

“And you did not speak against it?” you mutter, disbelief confining your breath.

Your mother falls to her knees, joining you on the floor.

She cradles your face. “It is your destiny. We are Bene Gesserit. We exist only to serve.”

“He is a monster.”

“I’m afraid it’s irrelevant.”

A sharp breath spills from your throat. Your head snaps up.

“Is this all I am to the Sisterhood?” You unleash a dry laugh. “A broodmare to be sold and used to further their plans? To you and father…”

Her mouth wobbles. “Our way is not to question, but to answer when duty calls.”

You bring a quivering hand to your throat. You can still feel his harsh fingers crushing your windpipe.

“Do you see what he has done to me?”

“Mother, please…”

A flash of regret appears on her face. It barely lasts a second before a mask of indifference drapes over her features again.

“You should rest,” she says, cupping your cheek. “You will need your strength for the days ahead.”

You take in your mother’s blank expression. The blatant lack of emotion despite her knowing what Feyd-Rautha did to you. You swallow a shivering sob. It might have hurt less if she struck you across the face. Or drove a dagger through your chest.

The room chills around you as you reach a sinister conclusion.

You are completely alone.

Packing your scarce belongings takes little time. You didn’t bring a lot with you on Giedi Prime. The trip was supposed to be short after all. A mere courtesy visit to honor your father and the Baron’s alliance. How naive you were.

In the end, you are just a pawn for the Bene Gesserit and your father to move around. You always knew marriage would come eventually. It is what you have been prepared for your whole life. But you harbored the faint hope that your future husband would be kind, or at least a decent man.

As you recall every instance of Feyd-Rautha’s cruelty, horror clutches your insides.

There isn’t a sliver of kindness in him. You venture he may even draw sick pleasure from others’ misery. The smile that touched his lips when you struggled against him still chills your veins.

It stuns you that someone like him, who seems more animal than man, even passed the Reverend Mother’s test, that he somehow withstood the pain, and maybe even embraced it.

Logic dictates that he must have however. Otherwise the Reverend Mother wouldn’t ratify the crossing of your two bloodlines.

The mere thought fills you with dread. He is dangerous. A monster who thinks, who plans, who schemes, who gathers joy from pain.

You come to a decision. You will not be Feyd-Rautha’s bride.

You must find your way back home. The sisterhood can find another sacrifice to fulfill their prophecy. It will not be you.

You wait for the keep to be quiet, not a sound lingering in the cold, blue hallways. You conceal a few belongings beneath your cloak. Another set of clothes, a compass, some jewelry and other valuables you’re hoping to trade for safe passage on a starship. Doubts wander inside you.

Where will you go? What will you do? Will you survive the weather conditions and atmosphere of a completely different planet? You still remember your brief visit on Salusa Secundus for the Princess Irulan’s coronation day. How you couldn’t move without fire rushing to your lungs. How every single step felt like you were taking a hundred. You could die.

Still, the prospect scares you far less than what awaits you in the Keep.

Uncertainty lies in your future. But you do know one thing. You must run as far away as you can from Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.

Getting past the guards is easy enough.

You use what you remember of your Bene Gesserit training to sneak outside the fortress.

Harko city welcomes you in all its dull, somber rotting glory. You cross past discarded piles of rubbish and large oily puddles as you race through dark alleyways. Everywhere your gaze rests, it’s assaulted by sheer decay and putrefaction. Unlike the clean, cold, pristine interior of the Keep, the city is crumbling.

The putrid stench rising from the streets almost causes you to turn back. In the end, you refrain, steadfast as you rush through the busy streets. Every second is precious. You could get caught, dragged back to the Keep.

The back of your neck prickles. Your pulse escalates. The presence of three men hovers at the edge of your sight. Pretending you didn’t notice them, you subtly hasten your strides.

They catch on quick, too quick.

One of them pounces on you. You keel over and collapse on the harsh, dirt-covered ground. You try to crawl away, fright engulfing your senses.

Another of the men grabs your ankle and yanks you towards them.

Leering smiles float above you in the dim light of the alley.

“Hm, we could fetch a good price for that one,” the last man says. “Such a pretty little thing with pretty, pretty hair…”

The man who caught you barks a derisive snicker.

“An outworlder. How exotic.”

The second one bends closer to sniff the air around you. Your throat constricts as you turn your head.

“Not just any outworlder,” he says, his head tilted in curiosity. “This one smells like royalty.”

Elated chuckles burst in the darkness.

“That royal bitch will make us rich.”

The man who smelled you licks his lips.

“But shouldn’t we sample the goods first?” Fear shoots through you. “Never had me a highborn gal before.”

“Me neither.”

“This is a once in a lifetime-”

The man chokes mid-sentence. Your mouth drops as a blade is driven through his neck from behind, practically beheading him. Blood rains over you. Wet spots drip onto your face and dress as each of the men is gutted by a swift, ruthless opponent. You watch one pull a knife. He doesn’t get to use it, unleashing a blood-curdling scream when his hand is sliced at the wrist. The fingers of his severed hand twitch as it hits the floor. He sinks to his knees, wailing while cradling his bleeding stump against his chest. He meets his end with a brutal smash of his head into the stone wall. Gray matter spills from his skull as his eyes roll back and he falls in a dark puddle lifelessly.

The last one tries to run but is dealt with in the same merciless fashion.

Your wide, horrified gaze sweeps over the massacre. The speckles of blood on your face are still warm with the heat of the dead men’s bodies.

A shaky breath spills from your throat.

Your head rises. You come face to face with Feyd-Rautha’s expressionless stare. He picks up your trembling frame from the ground and tosses you over his shoulder. He strolls over the men’s corpses as if they weren’t even there, huffing a deep sigh of annoyance.

“You should be glad I found you in time, pet,” he says.

He throws you inside a car. The door slams and you huddle in a corner. Feyd smirks at your shrinking form.

“Truly? Nothing to say after all that fuss?”

Tremulous words trickle through your lips.

“Just let me go home.”

He slants his head, the corners of his lips lifting slowly. “No.”

“You could say that you didn’t like the look of me,” you insist. “That I repulsed you.”

Feyd-Rautha snorts.

His hand shoots out, moving too fast for you to comprehend. He leans over you, fingers squeezing your throat. “Pet…you were mine before you even set foot on Giedi Prime.” His dark gaze drags over you. You get a glimpse of black teeth as he grins. “The only place you’re going tonight is my bed.”

Once the car reaches the Harkonnen keep, you’re roughly pulled from your seat. Your chest tightens as you note the severed heads of your guards and maid lined in a neat row near the gates. Their lifeless eyes are wide open, staring at nothing.

You stumble back, hands flying to your mouth.

Satisfaction twinkles in Feyd-Rautha’s dusky orbs.

“I had to kill these incompetent fools, of course. They let my precious bride slip away.”

You gawk at him in shock. Guilt presses inside you. If you hadn’t tried and failed to escape, those poor people might still be alive. Tears swell beneath your lashes.

The na-Baron exhales, gripping your arm and tugging you along when you refuse to move. He smiles. “Do not worry, pet. We will find you new servants. Better ones.”

You end up in a large room inside the Keep. A tub filled with water sits in the middle. Feyd-Rautha’s concubines flash black-teethed smiles at you as you crash into a heap on the floor.

“Get her ready for me,” he says.

“Yes, master,” the three women reply in concert.

Your eyes swing upward in alertness.

“Ready for what?”

His inflection is chillingly matter-of-fact.

“Well, our wedding ceremony, of course.” You unleash a whimper as his fingers twine in your hair, twisting your neck backwards. His feral gaze seems to peel the layers of your blood-soaked tunic. “Why wait a few days when I can have you as my birthday gift tonight?”

His hand coils around your jaw, forcing your head to pivot. Your gaze falls on a slave girl standing fearfully in a corner of the room. You’re struck with recognition. She was in the arena before his fight, tending to him along with two other girls. Two girls who are now dead. Courtesy of Feyd-Rautha. She glances at you before her eyes tumble to the smooth black tiles again.

“Do you see her?” he whispers, his chest brushing against your back.

Feyd-Rautha beckons the girl with two fingers. She staggers forward.

“Speak, slave,” he orders.

The girl opens her mouth. However, instead of uttering words, only distorted whimpers come out. Horror twists your insides as you realize something crucial is missing inside her mouth.

“W-What happened to her?” you ask, dreading to hear what you already suspect.

His dark chuckle resonates in your ear.

“She can’t talk anymore. Do you know why?” His lips graze your cheek, his raspy tone lowering. “Because I took her tongue.”

Your stomach sinks.

When you attempt to turn away, his grip on you becomes harsher. He forces you to keep your eyes on the girl.

“I want you to take a good look at her.” His hand spreads over your chest, right above your hammering heart. “Try any of your Bene Gesserit tricks on me again…and I will feed your tongue, and perhaps even other parts of you to my darlings here.” He snorts. “After all, I only need one part of you intact to make me an heir.”

“Do you understand, my love?” he inquires, his husky bass dripping mockery upon the last two words.

You swallow a large gulp of air. “I-I understand.”

He storms out of the room and you sink to the floor. His concubines dive upon you. They nudge you to the tub and remove the clothes off your quivering frame.

The blood, grease and dirt is scrubbed off your flesh. Scented oils are massaged into your skin and hair. A dress is wrapped around your body.

You numbly let it all happen, defeat sinking its hooks deep inside your soul.

The farce of a wedding ceremony flies by in a blur.

Baron Vladimir and your mother are both in attendance, the two wearing satisfaction on their faces, albeit in different manners. While the Baron is smug, your mother is attentive. Not a single emotion betrays her face and you feel thoroughly abandoned.

Before the ceremony, she mumbles in your ear that the Reverend Mother requested a girl-child. You know the process, have been taught how it’s done. But it’s a cruel reminder…that you are nothing more than a tool in the larger schemes of the Bene Gesserit.

And that perhaps, your entire life you have simply been your mother’s mission. Maybe she even feels relief to be delivered from her duty.

The thought overwhelms you with sadness.

You stand before Feyd-Rautha in a flowing white dress while he dons black from head to toe.

He astonishes you by uttering his vows with the utmost seriousness, swearing to protect and cherish you until death forces the two of you apart. Death...In that moment, you find yourself silently wishing for its swift, imminent arrival.

When the Harkonnen priest whirls to you, the words stick to your throat, refusing to unfurl from your tongue.

“Does the bride consent to the match?” the officiant repeats.

Shell-shocked, you shiver in your spot. Feyd-Rautha’s mouth quirks upward.

“Oh, she consents. She is simply too overwhelmed with happiness to speak,” he replies on your behalf, openly taunting you.

You grimace as he slices the inside of your palm with a dagger and brings it to its lips. Your blood coats his mouth and his tongue flicks out. He hums at the taste, a smile blooming on his face. He does the same to himself, digging even deeper in his alabaster flesh. You flinch as he presses his bloody palm against the bottom of your face.

The Harkonnen wedding ritual concludes with him planting a rough kiss on your lips. He shoves his tongue inside your mouth, pulling you against him.

When the ceremony ends, he hoists you in his arms and takes you to his bed.

As promised, he lays his claim on your body right away.

Your wedding dress is ripped open with a few precise slashes of his knife. Your insides coil, the fear of him driving the weapon through your soft flesh keeping you docile underneath him. You don’t say a word, your tongue shackled by his earlier threat. He takes a moment to drink you in, relishing the rapid rise and fall of your chest as he drags the tip of his blade across your skin. He savors your fear like the sweetest offering, growing harder against your thigh as you tremble beneath him.

His black-toothed grin freezes the blood in your veins.

“My pretty little pet…all mine to play with, finally,” he rasps.

There’s no gentleness in the way he explores your body, scratching and nipping at your flesh as if to make sure no one dares doubt whom you belong to when you leave his chambers. Every plea for him to slow down is met with renewed ferocity. He tastes and fondles every inch of your quivering flesh. Your nipples pebble under his palms. Your core ignites below his tongue. Pleasure and pain mingle in sinful, twisted harmony.

Your back folds and your eyes roll back as a myriad of confounding sensations assaults your senses.

As he buries himself inside you to the hilt, he frees a satisfied grunt.

Pain clamors through you when he starts to move. Your walls catch fire at the aching, brutal stretch.

Holding your wrists above your head, he pours every ounce of lust and aggression inside you. You feel it in every stab inside your core.

His pale, muscular form pins you to the bed as he thrusts deeper inside you, reaching a tender spot that has you releasing an ear-splitting scream. You squirm over the soaked sheets as he takes you again and again, the mix of blood and arousal coating his length easing his blunt intrusion. Your helpless wails mingle with his feral moans.

Raspy words in the coarse Harkonnen tongue are heatedly whispered into your ear. You don’t understand any of them and it makes your terror grow.

You feel as if you will break, shatter at the seams beneath his rough, careless touch.

The agony seems to stretch into eternity.

Feyd-Rautha’s lips skate across your bruised cheek.

“Do not fret, pet. I shall aim not to break you just yet,” he teases, sinister promises lurking in his lewd inflection. “Not when our fun has just begun.”

A single wayward tear traces a slow path down your cheek.

He greedily licks it, purring at the taste of your misery.

You feel him strain against you as he nears his peak, his thrusts getting slower and deeper. He comes with a deep roar.

The na-Baron spills his seed inside you. Your eyes shut. Power flows inside your womb as you conjure the right outcome.

A girl they desired. A girl they shall have. As you writhe beneath Feyd-Rautha, forced to bear his rough, bruising touch, you wish your daughter fierce and strong.

Strong enough to pluck the stars from the heavens. Strong enough to unweave the tangled threads of time.

Strong enough to twist the arm of fate itself if she wills it.

#feyd rautha #feyd rautha x reader #feyd-rautha #dune fanfiction #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune part 2 #dune #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #dark fic

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kyseya · 6 months ago

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Backstory - farm brothers

So it’s fairly clear that Weston and Lucas are not normal people. Surprise, surprise they’re killers. I wanted to have a little Texas chainsaw massacre slasher vibe but don’t know if that worked very well.

Basically they lure(or people just end up there by themselves) folk to their farm and kill them. Though there are instances where they let some walk away without a scratch, but that’s only if they’re needed, will definitely be missed and could potentially be traced back there, and haven’t the slightest clue what’s truly going on at the farm. The Callaghan brothers can’t have anyone running their mouth, you know.

Their parents were pieces of shit and only had kids to lessen the work load. The farm belonged to their fathers side of the family. their mother had never planned to marry their father but an unexpected pregnancy and pressure from others made them stay together. The two of them were miserable with each other, always fighting and blaming the other partner. The mother was mostly mad about having to spend the rest of her days on a ‘dirty farm’ and work. The father hated being married to a vile, selfish woman who barely helped with anything. His own parents were old and his siblings had quickly moved far away to prevent having anything to do with the farm, which meant everything landed on him.

It was the mother who began using her son as a helping tool. Tasks like sweeping, feeding the animals, collecting the eggs and cooking simple meals were passed to him. At first, when Weston’s dad found out he was furious. But not because it came at Weston’s expense, no, it was because he saw it as a sign of ultimate laziness.

The earliest memories Weston has is of his parents fighting over him. He remembers when his father would reprimand his mother about using him to do her labour(he wanted her to suffer the same tiring days he does) while she screamed back. But then it stopped and his father would no longer complain. Nearly a year after that his little brother was born, and of course he became the one taking care of him after he didn’t have to nurse anymore.

Lucas followed his older brother everywhere. He was his second shadow when he went around and did his chores. It was fine with weston, he wouldn’t admit it but it became a comfort knowing he was a hero to someone. It made life easier. Unfortunately their parents wanted to put Lucas to work too, the moment they considered him old enough. That wasn’t the worst part though. Their mood soured significantly over the years and they verbally abused them on a daily basis, a couple shoves and blows were hard to avoid. You’d think they’d be happier with the easier load.

Weston would have been able to take it ifd only been him, but seeing his younger sibling being treated as dirt too, that wouldn’t fly. The hatred grew stronger each day. When it had boiled over the edge, the older one had decided on a plan. They would kill their parents. Sadly, they were too young at the moment, there was no way they’d be able to overpower two adults as they currently were. They would have to wait until they were older. And so they did. Years they waited for the right opportunity. The abuse and work never stopped, in fact, the older they got the more take they had to preform. Eventually everything was done by them and nothing was done by their parents. They finally got what they wanted, total freedom from the harsh farm life.

The day Weston told Lucas the plan to kill their parents, he had expected a little pushback from him, but he was surprised when Lucas was totally in on it. One might say he was even excited.

It was really easy to murder them. You just had to corner each one when they were alone and then slice their neck. The kids had far outgrown the adults, they were no match for them anymore.

After their mother and fathers death the brothers took over the farm. Despite all the bad memories they still liked it there. It was rather peaceful(especially when no one criticised you on how to feed the pigs), plus, they didn’t have much of an education beyond reading and writing. Where would they even go? At least on the farm they had food and shelter.

The killing didn’t stop though. It appeared the first murder had awakened something in the both of them. They both had found out they enjoyed it. The power and pleasure in seeing their parents fear stricken faces was too good of a high not to experience again.

Although, they might make one exception to the killing if you’re cute enough~

#yandere imagines #kyseya oc #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere x reader #kyseya’s dungeon #yandere #possesive #weston callaghan oc #Lucas Callaghan #the Callaghan brothers #yandere farmer #farmer yandere #yandere farmer brothers #Yandere brothers #yandere farmers #country yanderes

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nemesyaaa · 5 months ago

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from the sea // pirate!rafe cameron x mermaid!reader

summary ; he was the too scary captain of the ship, and you were the too gorgeous mermaid of the sea. you were on his way, he was on your territory.

but mostly, you were not allowed to go on the surface alone since your mother's death because of dangerous and killer men like him. so when you unfollowed the rules of your father, you faced the consequences.

genre ; fantasy blurb. siren x captain dynamic.

warnings ; fantasy story ? possession. rafe has whip scars/and one eye. fear enthousiast. slight of violence. reader is a mermaid with tail. light gun play mentions and using. smut. gaslighting. dubcon. no shells on breasts reader. webbed fingers. lust as a sin.

author's note ; it's a 3k words. no songs inspiration for this one. i just wanted to make a fantasy au.

you were that kind of beauty that aspired to make all men go crazy over you, and it was for this reason that you had taken so many pirates adrift, to their bodies to their ships. you were beautiful and indeed the bewitching and seductive creature that legends and tales spoke of, but you were also the dangerous monster that the captains with monstrous scars on their faces and marks on skin who had survived your man-eating canines were whispering about in the back of a tavern to overly curious and drunk sailors.

you were the wife of all the gods but above all, those who defended their oceans. but only since your mother's death, your father firmly forbade you from going to the surface, either alone or accompanied. you were forbidden by the all-powerful sovereign of the seas. and his law was indisputable because he was the king and the monarchy. one day as his daughter, you will also be the head of the kingdom, and hold the power as him, even if you're not interested in it.

but like all girls your age, you had trouble listening to your father. no, you had this innocent and blind thirst to chase men. and, you had never had an incident before, so what could stop you ? you only had to slip into the clear waves, and let your magical and fairy body disappear through the eddies of the water which made your flowing silhouette as fast and shiny as a shooting star. the feeling of diving into the soft waves that play hide and seek with your sparkling and enchanted tail while the water gently embraced your mermaid skin was always the best.

you were the only dazzling thing of the perfect blue. the sweet and salty waves kissing your nakedness and long mermaid tail illuminated with colorful reflections ran alongside the rest of your bared chest in the flapping of a fin. you looked nothing like a fish that fishermen wanted to eat, but you looked like an underwater creature that captains wanted to capture.

one stormy evening, you decided it was time to go to the surface. you needed to break the rules to survive. with all the youth and rebellion of your free will, you had left the abyssal depths to face the dangerous world.

the sea was raging, and the waves were decidedly uncontrollable and violent. the shadow of a boat disturbed by the marshy assault of the storm on the waves wavered from one end to the other. that meant you were going to be able to have fun. you could also hear from here the agitation of the crew, the fear and the tension building. you easily spotted the captain because he was much taller and broader, the one who didn't frown a single eyebrow, and who remained calm as if it was the storm that should be feared. his voice shouted orders that you couldn't hear because of the raging sounds of the hard weather. he had a parrot on his right shoulder, and bangs stuck to the sweat of his forehead lightly sweeping his face. he looked delicious, you licked your bottom lip, flicking your mermaid tail to move.

you barely lifted your head out of the water in a crashing entry, emerging from the water by sending your hair flying back, a splash of water falling noisily into the waves and attracting the attention of the sailors above of the boat.

“ captain, captain, look !! there’s a siren ! ” said a sailor who pointed a finger toward you.

“ she's gorgeous ! ” replied another.

“ those tits…”

“ stop being horny, that creature can kill you. i don't pay all of you to do all the work so everybody on the ship move his fucking ass before i throw you all on that storm. am i clear ? and if i don't hear a yes right now, i will let that siren eat every single piece of yours. . ” warned the captain with a deep and somber tone.

“ captain yes, yes captain. ” echoed all the sailor voices.

“ man, you can't say that when you have a fucking boner while looking at her. ” commented a sailor.

“ shut your mouth, barry. it's not her at all. ”

“ do you think i'm dumb to think it's one of the men on the ship ? come on, you can lie with that mouth but that hard dick in your pants betrays you. don’t worry, nobody is immune to tits, especially when they're wet as a fucking pussy.”

“ mind your business. ”

“ as you want, captain. ”

a smile appeared on your soppy lips, as you disappeared again into the tormented waves. you had surrounded the ship, swimming only around the boat. you loved it when everyone was fascinated by you, catching with their eyes all your flawless moves as a show.

water being your domain and your home, you took the initiative to do some twirls by immersing your entire body in the water to bring out only your tail as you leaped to the surface with some back flips and observing your audience. you stood on an icy rock, resting your webbed and manicured fingers against the stone.

“ someone is gonna fucking do his work here ? ” shouted the captain. he was actually running out of patience because of his crew being so attracted by the siren. “are you all dumb on purpose ? this is exactly what she wants, to get all of your attention, and kill you. ”

“ captain accept there is nothing you can do. that woman is too stunning. ” cutted one man, literally drooling over his huge beard, giving up his activity for you.

“ do you think she cares about you ? you're just a prey for her. but right, this is not my problem. you can leave my ship and die. ”

once comfortable on the rock, , you begin to open your mouth to sing a sweet song that would bring them as well as this storm to their doom. your voice was just a trap to lure men.

you had no shells on your breasts as the tales loved to tell. actually, you were completely naked from the top, water running down your chest to your mermaid glowing tail. your skin was still cold and damp, like your eyes. but it shone through the moon, and the white pearls on your body lit up every inch of your flesh like stars. you were of a beauty that had thrown more than one sailor into the water. you were in the image of no god, no man, no woman, you were the angel of the sea. you had a throne in every wave, a kingdom wherever you swam.

your hair fell deliberately on your shoulders, and your angelic voice currently pierced all the foam. the storm was raging, and you appeared as their savior, a halo of light projecting above you to cover your superb figure. you were beautiful and unrealistic like a work of art.

when you weren't expecting it, one of the men you had guessed to be the captain had lowered a boat. he was certainly tall and imposing, a long coat covering his entire frame, and immense leather boots with roughly tied laces on his feets as he approached you. he had a pistol stuck in his glistening and leathery belt, and above all an eye patch over his face. you took a look at the cross scar hidden in his shirt of which you only saw the scary top of the burned mark of the probably iron.

he rowed up to you, until you felt his scent replacing the salty smell of the sea. you quickly understood that there was nothing like the other men you had managed to charm. not unlike the others, this man seemed to be able to corrupt anyone, men and women, humans and mermaids alike.

he placed his boat near the rock to look at you more closely.

“didn’t your father warn you not to come near men like me? i’m sure he did gorgeous, i bet you’re just not smart enough to listen to him. ”

you backed away but he put his gun on the tip of your tail to stand you still, making you shake. “y’know what that means? I’m in charge here. ”

“let me go!” you responded, waving your tail limply, but he pushed his finger against the trigger of his gun to scare you.

"you'll leave when i decide. so stand still because from now, all your rules are made by me. ”

“you should fear my father, he will kill you.” you replied.

he laughed in a mocking tone, and moved closer to you with a smirk. “you could kill me too though, couldn’t you mermaid ? but look at you, shaking like prey ready to die by my hand.”

“are you going to kill me?”

“ is this a question or a wish ? or maybe a dirty mermaid fantasy ? ”

“i don’t want to die.”

“If that pretty mouth can sing like it does then it can beg too, don’t you think? If you want me to spare you, you’re gonna have to be a bit more convincing.”

he lowered his gaze towards your glossy and watery body, his weapon buried in the flesh of your stomach, before slightly moving up to your breasts, your nipples arching against the gun. you shivered at the contact of the metal against your skin.

he slid the gun up to your throat, pushing the barrel against your vocal cords. you coughed, and placed a hand around his.

he had sworn "oh fuck...legends don't tell all the things siren can do to a man…"

your webbed fingers, surrounded by tiny fins, had found their effect on him. you looked so sweet and innocent, but you were a creature who knew how to be machiavellian so he had to keep an eye on you.

“you don’t want to die?” he asked, repeating your words.

rafe was not a man of morals, he made fun of laws and conventions. and above all, why would he deprive himself when a beautiful mermaid was willing to do whatever he wanted just to be spared.

you were desperate, and frighteningly attractive. rafe would be lying if he said it didn't stimulate him. his cock was clearly hard and painfully stretched against the leather of his pants, forming a bulge just below his belt. and it was starting to be so uncomfortable. he only wanted one thing, it was to fill your soppy mouth surrounded by divine dripping lips until he felt your throat tighten around his dick, because his girth prevented the air from passing into your cavity.

oh yes rafe cameron was cruel. he wanted you to die, but in a completely different way.

and what he wanted, he got. he was a captain admired and respected by all and who had a high reputation both on the seas and on land. he was rich and miserly. he had as much money as he had girls.

he pulled down his pants, freeing his thick length to reveal it before your eyes. you'd be lying if you said you'd seen one before. It was the first time you saw something that big, it was terrifying. you didn't even know what this sailor wanted you to do with it so you looked at him with curious and desperate eyes.

oh that innocence burning in your gaze had shot a charge through rafe's body and his cock had twitched, letting precum drop on your face and the blood inside him completely heated.

"open your mouth...yes, like that. show me your tongue, i'll help you, gonna tell you how to do it.”

he had thrust himself into your mouth before giving you instructions, telling you how to make him feel good, while his dick found a way to your throat. you were even wetter inside than a real woman and it felt perfect and insane. you started to suck him, your lips vibrating around his throbbing girth that stuffed you real quick.his tip was slightly salty from the precum dripping from it that you had swallowed, making the ship captain above you groan.

pushed by his grunts and his tight grip through your hair, you pumped him faster because you were starting to understand how it worked. he never tired of your lips that foamed, and fully encircling his cock which as you licked got bigger and bigger, your naked tummy spiraling as the growing feeling.

with one hand, he had plunged himself completely into you, your head completely trapped between his firm fingers, and your nose buried in his pelvis. you gagged on him, a spurt of drool coming out of your mouth when he pulled out, as you gurgled strongly . your saliva hung from his glistening tip down the length of his hardened dick, all the way to his heavy balls.

he re-positioned himself inside you, his massive dick now dripping inside your soaked mouth as you continued to suck and lick with the fear knotting in your stomach of being killed. but you could feel that his body was relaxed, his muscles were loose, and you could hear every deep sound of pleasure coming from his lips.

he was both fascinated and over the moon, because your wetted tongue twirling around his hot cock was perfect. oh if he could have fucked you, he would have. he couldn't help but fantasize about how he would have fucked you on this rock, his large hands on your tits caged them like bra and pressing them against his thick fingers that would easily crushed them.

he also loved how your throat was so capricious, clenching around him while your tongue hungrily brushed his entire growing bulge. the feeling was intense, and you could hear his breaths become harsh.

that's what he liked about corruption, you were too good for him, a creature blessed by all the gods who had nothing to do with a mortal as rich as him, because you were too divine , too wonderful but at that moment, you were in the same rank. you were at his mercy.

you placed your wet hands on his hips, leaving trails of water on his body and impressive marks of whip that left scars on his skin. rafe could have sworn it was the gentlest touch in the world. the tiny fins around your fingers, tracing the straight line of his waist, down to his firm ass as you sucked him to death, drove him so crazy with your long soaked tongue that made him gasp.

and even if he was not a believer, he was convinced that heaven could not be so wonderful.

a few minutes later, his dick had convulsed around your mouth, and you felt large hot streams filling your throat down to your tummy. you swallowed, and he smiled before stroking your hair gently.

“ good job, little mermaid. don’t you deserve a reward for that ?”

you didn’t really know what that meant but you nodded.

he had taken a long pearl necklace from his pocket. “turn around. let me help you. ”

and you complied. he had hung the expensive and luxurious jewel around your neck, the length of which was so long that he had to make several turns until a hundred white pearls covered the entirety of your bust, dangling around your handsome tits.

“do you know what that means?”

you moved your head to say no, and he responded. “that now you belong to me. you’re my prized possession. you need to understand that now you can't leave. without me. ”

he had found a treasure and he was going to keep it. after all, he was a pirate, he stole everything the ocean had. and sirens were not an exception to the rules.

“i want to see my father.”

“mermaid, you are mine, and mine only.” he responded while caressing your soppy cheek. “ you don't need your dad anymore, just me. ”

you lifted your gaze to meet the most beautiful blue eyes you ever met. he was handsome as the devil, and you couldn’t deny it. but you were a mermaid, you belonged to the ocean, not to a man.

you tried to run away but he stopped you by placing his leather boot on your mermaid tail with a smirk, before leaning forward to grab you by the throat, your upper body was arched, his biceps caged your vocal cords tightly, his thick fingers pushed further in your mouth to forced you to behave, your drool dripping over your hanged jaw.

“what did I tell you about making silly moves, huh? behave, unless you want to die. you know what’ll happen if you act up? what you did earlier, with that pretty mouth, we’re gonna do it again. except this time instead of my cock, it’ll be my gun and if you stop, I shoot. And I know you don’t want that, right?”

" no…”

“ yea ? better to be alive. ”

you nodded. because it was true.

"now i have my men waiting for me. but don't worry, you're coming with me.”

“ that's a kidnapping — ”

“ do you think i care ? because listen to me, i don't fucking care. do you know what it means ? that you can pout, cry, scream, whatever tantrum you want to shout, it will not change anything. ”

you shivered when his hands stroked your shoulders, the icy metal of his silver rings brushing your skin. “ don't you want to be cherished ? see that world ? look up, because it can be yours. ”

“ you're not afraid that i can eat you ? ”

“ didn't you see my scars ? i fear nothing, even if you dig those canines in my skin, you will be the only one to be scared of what i can do to you. because babe, be mean to me, i dare you to, and i will be meaner. ”

“ where are your scars coming from, they're huge. and it's not sirens. ”

“oh, it’s a horrible story for a little mermaid like you. stick to your fairytales. so are you gonna come with me willingly or do we have to do things the hard way?”

“ sound like a trap. ”

“ sound like you're smart. ” he mocked.

“ i'm gonna follow you. but don't be too happy, my dad will find you before sunrise. so you're soon a dead man. ”

“ such a mean baby, already wishing that i'm dead. but careful, don't make me correct that mouth myself. it's not the kind of thing you will like. ”

“ because there is a good thing you can do with my mouth ? ” you were curious.

you turned your gaze toward him, and he lifted a brow, not believing your words. “ mermaid, you never kissed a man ? ”

“ show me what kissing is. ”

“ Why would I kiss the mouth that curses me ? ”

“ Should i ask those men on the ship? ”

because of his possessive side, categorically refusing to share you with his crew full of grotesque men, he had leaned down to grab your jaw and press his lips against yours.the feeling was so strange, but your mermaid tail was waving on the cold stone. “seems like you enjoy being kissed. ” he said, as his tongue swirled with yours. “ want to be kissed endlessly ? yea ? then don't make me repeat myself and move that fucking tail to the ship. ”

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ggidolsmuts · 7 months ago

Text

Career Killer, Decision Maker - Yeonwoo

"So, this is it huh?"

"Yes."

"I wish you all the best."

"Thank you, Miss. Lee, it was a pleasure working with you." You hold out a friendly hand.

"Of course, likewise." She takes it.

How did you even get to this point?

After Yeonwoo's confidence boost you were the perfect right-hand man to her, and Yeonwoo kept you close for your good work, and together both of you rose in the ranks—she took care of you, and you backed her up.

Of course, she kept you close for other reasons, and she certainly took care of you as well...

"I didn't know that coming home with you was part of my performance review."

"Shh, not so loud, the neighbors might hear!" Yeonwoo pushes you through her door and shuts it behind her. "It's part of mine." Your pants seem to unbuckle themselves as you take in Yeonwoo's sweet tongue, and soon Yeonwoo is the one doing the taking, wrapping her tongue around your shaft.

"Oh fuck that's so good!" She has you leaning against the door, thrusting your hips out and pushing her head towards it. You pray the neighbors don't hear your piteous whine when Yeonwoo grazes her teeth ever so lightly across your shaft—Yeonwoo is your boss in the office, and occasionally work bleeds into personal life, your knees buckling against her kneeling form. She grabs you by the balls, and you head thumps quite loudly against the door as you cum, dumping a load straight down her throat. When you come to you are the one on the floor, with Yeonwoo standing over you.

"So, as part of our 360 degree review, how was my performance?"

"Exceeds expectations." You shakily stand up and kiss her passionately, sweeping her up in your arms.

"Can you stay the night?" Yeonwoo pleads with round eyes, her fingers tightly gripping your shirt.

"Only if you don't wrinkle my shirt, I'll still need it for tomorrow." She wraps her arms around your neck instead, keeping your shirt unwrinkled, all so that you can wrinkle her sheets with her tonight.

You wake up the next morning with Yeonwoo all dressed up and kissing your cheek—she's already heading out.

"Don't be late."

You arrive slightly late to work, and wearing the same clothes as yesterday, but thankfully no one notices beyond a few knowing grins and nudges from a co-worker or two.

That probably wasn't how things got to this point though.

At least, mostly likely not.

You're hard at your desk, listening to Yeonwoo breathe heavily through your ear buds. She had lost a bet with you the night before, and knowing that she had only a few meetings today, you made her slip a vibrator in her during the day.

"Nngh... Fuck I'm so wet," she whimpers into the phone. "Can I take it out?"

"No, keep it in, you sound so hot." You up the intensity, and you hear Yeonwoo gasp before whining even harder. She squirms in her chair, praying that she isn't soaking through her pencil skirt. You resist the urge to touch yourself, and it is a good thing you didn't as you suddenly feel a tap on your shoulder.

"Hey man, still here?" You quickly sit upright and move yourself closer to your desk, making sure your co-worker doesn't see your hard on. "I was calling for you earlier."

"Huh? Yeah sorry, on the phone with customer support, they've kept me waiting with the stupid music, didn't hear you."

"Oh ugh yeah it's always bad. Anyways we were going to order some dinner in the office, you want any?"

"I'm good, thanks, gonna head out soon."

"Alright. Oh what's this?" To your horror they grab the remote controlling Yeonwoo's vibrator, and hurriedly you snatch it from them—you need to come up with something!

"O-Oh, just a toy, fidget spinner thing, I just click it whenever I'm bored."

Yeonwoo hears your conversation through her own earbuds, and to her sheer pleasure and terror she feels the vibrator inside her pulse erratically. It's one thing to constantly try to resist the urge to just cum in her office, but it's a whole different thing to have the pleasure come in waves. Yeonwoo leaks like a broken dam as they crash against her mental barrier.

"S-Stop, turn it off, turn it off!" She whispers harshly, her mind going white. She takes deep breaths, just trying to not scream as her orgasm creeps up on her inexorably.

"Fu— Mmmmm fuck!" So close, but then— "No! Damn it!" Thankfully she feels the vibrator stop, but unfortunately the pleasure is ripped from her far too quickly—her orgasm was ruined! It takes a while before she can get off her chair, but when she does she is seething.

You and your co-worker are surprised by a livid Yeonwoo storming towards you.

"Miss Lee, I didn't know you were still in! We're ordering dinner, would you—"

"No, thank you. And you, you missed a deliverable and the customer is pissed. We need to fix it, right now. Follow me." Your co-worker is scared into silence as you follow Yeonwoo into the elevator. She walks you out the building and into the carpark. "Get in." You make to get in the passenger seat, but she yanks you back by the collar. "In the back!" As soon as you get in Yeonwoo's on top of you, slamming the door shut with a hook of her heels.

"You fucking ruined my orgasm!" Off pops one, then a second button as Yeonwoo tugs on your collar, pulling your shirt open. You hiss in pain as she leaves a mark on your neck, sucking harshly on your skin. Her hands trail lower, on to your pants.

"Yeonwoo! We can't do it here!"

"I'm not." She pulls your cock out, and in short order she's threatening to suck your soul out, giving you the blowjob of your life.

"Fuck Yeonwoo, fuck... Oh fuck!" You groan and moan, but as you try to thrust and push deep into her mouth she gets off, leaving you to hurriedly pull your pants back up as she opens the door to the night air.

"Now get out and drive us to your place."

"What the fuck Yeonwoo!"

"Now you kinda know how it feels, be glad I didn't ruin your orgasm." It was definitely not the safest thing to do, to drive while horny, and certainly not safe to drive fast while horny, with Yeonwoo next to you rubbing your thigh, teasingly moving up and in. Luckily you make it back to your place in one piece, and as the door slams shut behind you Yeonwoo is ripping your shirt open, hungrily pushing you to the bedroom. The contrast with how she takes off your clothes versus how she takes off her own clothes is almost comical, but with barely measured composure she leaves them neatly on the floor before jumping you. There is a loud ripping sound as you tear off her underwear, trying to gain access to her.

"Yah!" There is a loud stinging pain on your chest as the two of you freeze, the frenzied mood put on pause. Yeonwoo merely bites her lower lip, saying sorry, protecting her underwear, and teasing you, all at once as she silently removes her bra. As you latch your lip on an already stiff nipple Yeonwoo gasps, hugging your head to her chest and pushing her hips against yours needily. The frenzied mood quickly returns when she grabs you underneath your boxers, and it is a signal to kick them off and get naked.

Your lips moan against hers when Yeonwoo sinks her hips on you, and you have to squeeze her ass to hold her still.

"Ugh, I'm close already."

"What?"

"You're the one who teased me earlier."

"Don't you dare cum before me!" Yeonwoo pushes you on your back, and with one hand on your chest she holds you down while she starts rubbing her clit with the other.

"This isn't any better!" you gasp, watching Yeonwoo try and get herself off. She shuts you up by kissing you, letting her own whimpers leak into your mouth. As she gets close to her peak her hips start going up and down, humping you and bringing you close too.

"Yeonwoo—"

"Cum with me, just cum with me..." She grabs your hand, bringing it to her ass that you love so much. You squeeze her reflexively, and Yeonwoo mewls. The two of you cum together, her walls seeming to vibrate around you as your cock throbs against her. Yeonwoo purrs when she gets off you, murmuring happily at the thick load dripping out of her.

"Now that was much better than a ruined orgasm."

"I hope that made it up to you," you whisper, kissing her parted lips.

"Almost, let me use your shower and we're even."

"Go ahead." Yeonwoo sighs in relief as the hot water runs over her lithe body—it was a quick but good session, and she was dreading the long trip home. As she steps out, she is pleasantly surprised by you wrapping a towel around her, hugging her tightly.

"What's gotten into you?" But in reality, she already knew what you wanted.

"You should stay the night."

"I really shouldn't— Mmm..." Yeonwoo really shouldn't stay the night, she'd have to get up early to change, or not change at all. And what if someone notices the two of you coming in together? Your lips are a very persuasive argument against Yeonwoo's concerns though, finding the spot on her neck that would make her knees go weak. She braces herself against the sink unknowingly, allowing the towel to fall off her.

"It's not a good idea," she protests weakly even as she goes on her tiptoes, trying and failing to not feel you hilted deep inside her already.

"It'll be fine," you assure her. Yeonwoo opens her mouth to argue more, but she is silenced by the sensation of something hard pushing against her puckered ring! "Good thing you didn't leave this in the office."

"You— Ah!" Yeonwoo can't help but moan before continuing. "You went digging in my purse?"

"It spilled out earlier. But enough about that, you should just stay the night." A surge of pleasure rockets through Yeonwoo as she feels the vibrator switch on in her ass, and she can only yell when you start thrusting.

"Yes yes yes!"

Little did either of you know that it would be the beginning of the end, for a few people noted Yeonwoo coming in with the same clothes as yesterday, and more than a few people saw how she walked a little different, a side effect from you opening both her holes up the night before. Presumably no one would be able to see how she had no underwear on the whole day, but regardless, lurid rumors began to swirl, the workplace speculating on how she was in a particularly good mood that day.

It then turned toxic, with people wondering if she slept her way to the top, and you had to make sure to never ask Yeonwoo to stay the night again. It got worse when people noted how you had rose in the company with Yeonwoo, that maybe she pulled you up with her, keeping her boytoy nearby. You forced yourself to keep a distance from her, to protect her, to protect yourself, to protect both of you.

"Why are you avoiding me?" she asks you flat out after a meeting, where you unfortunately allowed yourself to be the last one in the room with her.

"I don't know what you mean."

"You don't drop by my office, you decline our 1-on-1s, you want to handle everything by email, and don't pretend I don't notice that you're always the first one out of meetings now. What's going on?"

"People are talking, it's bullshit but the rumors are bad. I'm doing this to protect you."

"You can protect me by telling me what's going on."

"You really don't know?"

"No."

"They say you're sleeping your way to the top, and that we're involved, and that I'm benefiting." Yeonwoo's reaction is muted, but you can see her hands grabbing the folder tightly, threatening to crumple it entirely.

"That's it? That's all? I don't care about that."

"But I do, I hear it, even if you don't."

"You want to get rid of them? I'll promote you, and you can fire them."

"That would be proving them right."

"What do you want me to do then?" Yeonwoo asks, exasperated. You mean I can't do anything for you?

"I think we should stop, you know, our thing."

"You want to break up?" she is quiet, deathly so. Her face turns pale when you answer back.

"I... Didn't think we were in something to break up for? W-Were we?" you ask, suddenly unsure of how Yeonwoo felt. Everything was casual, the sex was great, but you had never asked her out on date, and you never got the inkling she wanted to make things serious and official, but the way she spoke about breaking up...

"No. You're right, we're done then," her whisper cuts through the thick air, and she leaves with a slam of the door.

You continued avoiding her, and thankfully Yeonwoo stopped approaching you individually. That said, you realize painfully that absence does make the heart grow fonder, and you started missing Yeonwoo. Running into her randomly in the offices did not help, and soon you are the one pining for her, rather than the other way around. You also know that there's no way you can get back with her, and working with her isn't helping you forget about her either, so you come to the logical conclusion.

"So, this is it huh?" Yeonwoo asks, calling you in once she saw your resignation email.

"Yes."

"I wish you all the best."

"Thank you, Miss Lee, it was a pleasure working with you." You hold out a friendly hand.

"Of course, likewise." She takes it, and doesn't let go.

"I'll miss you, um, you were a good worker." The last few words tumble out of her rushed, blurting out the truth and then a lie.

"Yes, I'll miss working with you." You manage to couch your feelings better. Your thumb traces the back of her hand, and Yeonwoo twitches, quickly pulling her hand back.

"T-That's all then, good bye."

Much to Yeonwoo's chagrin (probably, you had no way of knowing), you join your competitor, diving into the same work you were doing before except without having to, or in some ways, getting to, see Yeonwoo. All was fine, and she faded from memory eventually—or at least, you weren't thinking of her as much.

You wonder if it was the same for Yeonwoo...

"Should I stay the night?" he asks her, a hand teasingly cupping her breast, no doubt wanting her to say yes.

"No, sorry, I have to be get in early tomorrow."

"What about me? I would love to 'get in' early tomorrow too," the whisper is soft and husky, yet almost repulsive to Yeonwoo.

"No, you should leave." She wraps the blanket around herself and stands up.

"What the fuck Yeonwoo?" This wasn't the first time this has happened, and her amour is pissed. "You never come over to my place, and you never let me spend the night here!"

"We're keeping things casual."

"Even so, it wouldn't hurt for us to spend the night together would it? God I bet you'd be a lot happier in the morning if you get a nice quickie in before going to the office."

"What the fuck did you say?" Now he touched a nerve. "Get the fuck out, right now."

"What? All I'm saying is having some morning wood with your coffee wouldn't be—"

"Leave, right now, before I throw you out naked." He gets the hint quickly, tripping over himself as he dresses, and stumbling out the door, but not before throwing one last barb in.

"You're fucking crazy, you know that? Who would want to be with you?"

Yeonwoo drops to the bed as he slams the door shut, burying her face in her hands, frustrated even after the romp. It wasn't the first argument she had over this with him, nor was he the first person she's had multiple arguments with about it. She could not, and would not, allow someone else to stay over, not after what happened with you. She didn't want to risk her career or her heart anymore. Yeonwoo sighs and picks up the used condom, discarding it, much like everything else she has thrown away.

What did she have to show for it?

Well, she could attend swanky events, wearing a sleek black dress that screamed power and position. "That's something, I guess," Yeonwoo thinks to herself, even as she sips wine more expensive than her secretary's salary. She could relax a little, even in the terse, stuffy atmosphere of a VIP event. Even if it was an industry event, there's no way she would run into—

"Miss Lee, what a pleasure seeing you here!" Ugh, just from the voice she recognized it as an exec at one of her company's biggest competitors. Oh well, just smile and be polite.

"Oh come on now, you knew I'd be here—" She stops short, stunned at who she's looking at next to the exec.

"Of course. I wanted to introduce you to our newest director, I can't believe you let him go."

"Long time no see, Miss Lee," you bow politely to her.

"Oh, yes, small world. I see you're doing well at your new company."

"He has! I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the work he was doing! Anyways, enjoy the event! Come." Yeonwoo watches you walk away from her, and the glass in her hand trembles slightly.

The day done, you sit at the bar and relax, nursing your drink. Seeing Yeonwoo again was enough to throw you off a little, and seeing her in the audience of your presentation made you stumble over a few words, although it was still very well received.

"You're out of practice." You'd recognize that voice anywhere.

"They don't make me do as many of those."

"I'll let your boss know to do so. Still, good enough." Yeonwoo raises her own drink in salute.

"Thanks. It's okay for you to be here talking to me?"

"What, nothing wrong with just two former co-workers catching up and talking shop right?"

"Yeah but we're also competitors. What if someone at your company sees you talking to me, you remember what happened before right?" You watch Yeonwoo's eyebrows furrow briefly, before taking in the rest of her face—you had seen her with and without makeup before but damn, her makeup today looked perfect. You flinch slightly as her hand brushes yours.

"That's all in the past, don't worry about me." She's grabbed your drink, finishing it for you. "Besides, if you're so worried, how about we do it in my room?"

"Y-You mean talk right?"

"Of course, just talking business."

You should've known better, but you find yourself not talking business, but getting down to business with Yeonwoo as she pushes you on the bed. Automatically your hands go to her waist, admiring her curves over the slim black dress and letting her get on top of you.

"Fuck I've missed you so much," she murmurs into your neck, her hands diving daringly under your shirt. Yeonwoo's soft body presses into you, and you allow yourself to drift down her body, feeling her ass and squeezing—god that feels so good! She's smiling into your neck, using a hand to guide you to her chest, wanting you to feel her there too. She purrs as you kiss her lips, her jaw, her neck...

But that's not the only sound you hear, you hear a vibration. A phone, business. Work.

Shit.

"Yeonwoo, what are you doing? We can't be doing this! It's a huge conflict of interest."

"I don't know about conflict, but there's certainly an interest..." She palms your cock over your slacks, kissing you more fervently, trying to get you to comply.

"Do you know what you're doing? You're literally sleeping with the enemy!" You push her back by the shoulders. Yeonwoo sits her hips more firmly down on you, but you manage to roll her off. "We can't be doing this!"

"Is that all I am to you now? Enemy?!" She wraps her arms around you, hugging you from behind—fuck she feels so soft, and you're still hard. "Just stay the night, no one has to know, no one will know..." Her hands drift to your belt, trying to undo it, undo all that she's done to get here.

"Let me go Yeonwoo," you manage to utter, hoarsely. You grab her hands, stopping her. "Please." They retract. "You're not my enemy, I just don't want you to get hurt, to hurt your career."

"That's not your choice to make. Who are you to make choices for me? I just want you back!"

"Are you really going to give up your career for something like this?" Yeonwoo is silent, and you walk out on her. But you're still hard, fuck, how did things get to this?

Yeonwoo was right, who are you to make choices for her? The only choices you should be making are your own. What did you want?

Yeonwoo gazes out her window at the cloudy sky, the sun setting dimly behind it. She's working at home for once, but that also means she'll be working through the night for once too. She sighs and stretches in her chair—another long and boring day. There's a knock on the door, who could it be?

"It's you." She hadn't seen you since that time at the conference, nearly two months ago. Yeonwoo had blocked it out of her mind—it was shameless, cringy, desperate, everything that she didn't want to do, and yet she did it then, in a moment of weakness! And now here you are, standing in front of her, and all she can say is "It's you"? What else can I say? Why are you here?

"Yeah, can I come in?" you ask, cautiously.

"Ah, um yes." She blushes slightly as she leads you in, aware of the unintentional show she's suddenly putting on—Yeonwoo's wearing a blouse appropriate for video calls, but underneath that is the tiniest pair of shorts possible. This was not how she had planned meeting you again. "What's the matter?"

"I've been thinking about what you said last time."

"Oh, what I said last time?" What did I say last time? All Yeonwoo can remember is her throwing herself at you.

"Yeah, about me making the choice for you. Like who am I to make choices for you."

"Oh I—"

"Well you were right, I shouldn't have done that. I should be making choices for myself."

"That's good to hear." Yeonwoo says, not knowing where you're going with this.

"I quit my job."

"What? Why would you do that!" Her mind immediately goes places. "We're not hiring right now, it's not going to be easy to find the budget for you—"

"I don't want to come back."

"Do you have a job lined up already? I can find someone to refer—"

"No Yeonwoo, that's not the point!" Yeonwoo has her breath taken away as you wrap your arms tightly around her. "I left my job to be with you. It's not right for me to choose for you, so I'm choosing for myself."

She's still in your arms, so still that you had to ask. "Yeonwoo?"

"W-What do you mean?" She's grabbing your t-shirt from the back, fists of fabric trembling.

"I want to be with you, and I don't want to hurt your career, so I ended mine."

"But why?"

"I made the choice for us, so you don't have to." She pulls on your shirt even harder, and you had to speak up. "You're choking me like this."

"I can make my own choices right?"

"Yes, of course." Your heart drops for a moment—is she going to choose no, to reject you? Her fingers go to your hair, pulling it, this is going to hurt—

She smashes her lips against yours, wiping away all doubt. She grips you oh so tightly, lips pressed almost too harshly against yours, as if to never let you go—that's her choice.

"That night, at the conference, in the hotel..." Yeonwoo's murmuring into your neck again, hands diving under your shirt once more—it all comes back vividly to you.

"I want you to choose again."

You find yourself on a bed, except this time instead of Yeonwoo's hotel room, you're in her bedroom. She's pressed on top of you similarly, but this time your hands slip easily under her tiny shorts, allowing you to squeeze her ass directly, and it feels even better. She sits up on you, smirking teasingly as she unbuttons her blouse—she has you exactly where she wants you, and you're not pushing her off this time. As the blouse falls off her shoulders you hug her close, hand moving to her back.

"Let me."

Yeonwoo hums as she lets you remove her bra. Her hands run through your hair and move down your shoulders, feeling your arms; her memories of that night run through her head, and she begins sharing them without reserve.

"Fuck... Do you remember that night?"

"I regret leaving," you mumble, squeezing her ass while you bury yourself in her bare chest.

"I'll make you regret it even more, do you know what I did after I finished crying?" She doesn't wait to hear your apology, she wants to skip right to the good part. "Feeling you for the first time in so long, god I just had to get myself off." She's humping you not so subtly even now, and you can feel her through your tent and her tiny shorts.

"Yeonwoo!"

"I wondered if you would come back, maybe turn back at some point. I kept edging myself, rubbing my clit in circles, I wanted you to be the one who made me cum. Except you never did."

"Yeonwoo I—" You feel a strange mix of guilt and arousal, her words painting a picture of what happened in the hotel room after you left. She plunges on, her nails teasing your chest—when did she take your shirt off?

"I debated taking photos, show you just how much I wanted you, needed you." You imagined Yeonwoo on the bed, legs apart, fingers parting her pussy for you, or maybe plunged deep inside her. "That maybe you'd come back to me if I took a video for you." You can imagine, no, recall how Yeonwoo would look and sound when she came—you needed to see that right now!

"Mmm fuck Yeonwoo!" you murmur into her neck.

"Yes, I need you to fuck me, god I'm so wet already." You shimmy your pants and boxers off just enough, and in the time it took you to do that Yeonwoo kicks off her small shorts and soaked panties. Fully naked she simply grabs your stiffness and without another word sinks herself down on you. The sound she makes is utterly unholy, one of want, and one of thirst satisfied.

"Yeon— mmph!" She catches your words with her lips and rides your cock with her hips. There is no stopping the freight train of pleasure pumping right into Yeonwoo as she lets herself run wild with desire, gripping your shoulders tightly and bouncing herself on you with wanton abandon. She covers your cock with slick, and the lewd squelch of her humping joins the moans in the bedroom. All you can do is hold on and try not to cum.

"I'm cumming, I'm cumming, cumming!" Yeonwoo squeals, suddenly going still and sighing as she clenches around you. All the strength seems to concentrate around her pussy as she slumps against you, even as you have to groan and shut your eyes, trying to withstand the strong tugs of her walls around your shaft, eager to have more of you in her. "Oh fuck, never leave me." She sighs into your neck.

"Never again." You roll the two of you over, and Yeonwoo glances sideways at the vacated part of the bed.

"Oh, that was how drenched the sheets were after that night too," she teases, trying to rile you up more. And you knew just how to get her back for it.

"Do you have a condom?"

"Hm? You can cum in me—" Yeonwoo goes pink—she didn't quite mean it like that, but she feels you throb, and Yeonwoo wraps her legs around you. "That is, unless you don't want to?"

It takes all of your self-control to not pound her into the bed, to have her moan your name as you give her what she wants—a thick creampie months in the making.

"Not yet, just get me the condoms." Yeonwoo directs you to a drawer in her nightstand, and you find and pull out an opened box of condoms. "Seeing someone? I'm not going to regret this am I?"

"No, that was a while ago." She caresses your cheek for emphasis. "I haven't seen anyone since, just never threw it out. I didn't let them do me raw, but you can, so we can just skip the condoms and—"

"I will, but." You sink deep into Yeonwoo, and her walls seem to clench around you in response to your words. "I want to fuck your ass."

"Oh!" she whines as you pull out and take a condom from the box. "It's been a while... Since our last time, actually."

"That long? I'll go slow then." Properly wrapped, you push into Yeonwoo's pussy first, getting some of her juice over the rubber.

"No, don't! Make it hurt, like our first time." Your mind goes back to the first time you had Yeonwoo's ass, slamming into her and pounding her until she looked back at you, tears running down her face... and slick running down her thighs. She throws her hands around your neck, bringing you in close as your tip nudges against her puckered hole. "Make it hurt, I want to feel you in my ass, but afterwards, afterwards—" Yeonwoo whines a little as you breach her, feeling something enter her ass for the first time in a while.

"Afterwards, don't hurt me again." You push into her harshly, and Yeonwoo yelps before her cry is muffled by your kiss, holding her face in your hands. Her eyes are watery when she opens them again, but they also sparkle, especially when you mumble into her ear.

"Never again." You push deeper into her, relishing in the unique tightness that is Yeonwoo's rear, adding rubs of her clit to help the pain subside, to give her some pleasure. You focus more on her pussy, happy to keep yourself buried in her ass, just letting her get used to the shape of you in there once more. You rub and pinch and press on her little button, and soon Yeonwoo's squirming underneath you, softly moaning, until finally she can't take it anymore—she grabs your hand, bringing it to her hips instead.

"Fuck me already!" You start pumping her with slow and firm thrusts, and you the see first sign of pleasure from the anal fucking—her lipbite, lethal as ever, a mix of pain and delicious pleasure on her face. "Oh god that's good, you fuck my ass so good... Nngh!" Yeonwoo starts rubbing herself, chasing that high she needed from you taking her ass. To her dismay you pull out just as she's close, but before she can complain you rip off the condom and plunge back into her pussy.

"Mmm!" The sudden and different pleasure catches her by surprise, and only a few hard thrusts are needed for her to throw her head back and cum. She's speechless, head in the clouds while her body bucks and writhes beneath you. Meanwhile you have the box of condoms in hand—Yeonwoo's not going to use them in the future, not if you had your say in it.

So might as well use them all now?

You roll a new condom on your cock, and Yeonwoo can only groan as you push into her.

"Oh fuck, you're in my ass again..."

You give her what she wants on the second go around, rubbing her clit and making her cum while you're stuffing her ass. Once she's done with her anal orgasm you rip the condom off again to fuck her pussy raw to another climax. Rinse and repeat. The process allows your pleasure to subside between rolling on and taking off the condom, letting you fuck Yeonwoo in both her holes longer. Your usually smart and sharp-tongued former boss is lost to bliss, her eyes vacant, tongue slipping out between her lips when you rattle her with a particularly hard thrust. She barely notices when you roll her on to all fours and get behind her, both holes winking and gaping at you, begging for more.

"Nngh!" Yeonwoo groans when you take her from behind, the new position allowing you to get deeper inside her.

"Fuck, you take my cock up your ass so well!" you curse, sliding easily into her.

"Then don't stop, don't stop fucking me!" You answer her with a smack on her ass, watching her cheek jiggle as you do as she says. Yeonwoo drops her head to the pillow, her world spinning as she's quickly cumming again.

"It's so good!" *Rip* You open one more condom.

"Baby..." You toss another one away, letting Yeonwoo get one word in before you put her on back and fuck her pussy again, rendering her incoherently happy once more.

"Too... ahhh much!" You reach for the box, and Yeonwoo's hand is on yours, stopping you. She looks delicate, absolutely shattered, wrecked like the first time you ever fucked her—hair a mess, a bit of drool from her mouth, eyes watery in pleasure. You grab the box anyways, only to find it empty—you've done what you set out to do and used up all the rubbers in there! She grabs the box from your hand, crumpling it and tossing it aside—Yeonwoo had more urgent urges. "Cum for me, cum in me raw, I want to feel you in me now!"

Between her begging and the long session you realize you've delayed your own orgasm for far too long, and you're just about ready to burst. She hugs you close, hips grinding up in response to your throbbing length.

"Cum in me, fill me up." Yeonwoo whines when you start losing it, going even harder into her. "You're so deep in me! Fuck, fuck me deeper, harder! Oh my god, I'm going to cum with you, you're going to make me cum—" She actually goes off the cliff first, but you're right there behind her with a loud groan.

Yeonwoo shudders through her climax, and the first sensation coming off her peak is your throbbing thickness deep inside her, followed by the sound of your moans in her ear, and finally the thick cum splattering her walls. She may have been the one to orgasm multiple times tonight, but Yeonwoo feels you filling her with many orgasms' worth of ejaculate all at once. You rut into her, riding out your own peak, and Yeonwoo moans with you, your cum thoroughly overflowing inside her, oozing out of her pussy and staining her other hole below—the last time she had been fucked and creamed and gaped to this extent was well, with you. The thought makes her hump up into you, legs still around your hips, and you spurt just that little bit more, pushing the cum deeper into her.

"Oh fuck Yeonwoo..." She tilts your head towards her, kissing you passionately, face pink with satisfaction.

"I never want to go without this ever again."

"Did I not stretch you enough yesterday?" you joke at Yeonwoo holding a yoga pose.

"This is a different kind of stretch! But if you want, I'm sure I could stretch some other muscles too?" A wink and a lick of her lips is all she needs to get you to drop to your knees, and Yeonwoo soon has you in her mouth, letting you push as deep into her throat as you can, all while holding her pose. But both of you can only last so long before you're peeling the yoga pants off her, ruining her mat with her squirt and your cum.

Yeonwoo got no work done over that weekend as she made you stay over, and it seemed like every waking hour was making up for a night the two of you missed. Every wink, every lipbite, every wiggle of her hips was an invitation, and Yeonwoo's apartment quickly became a clothing-optional zone. She would wear nothing but a t-shirt, snuggling up with you and have your arms around her, but her naughty hand would inevitably drift between your legs, and the movie is quickly forgotten in favor of Yeonwoo riding your brains out.

"Ugh we need to eat," you mumble, your stomach growling.

"Yeah it's late, I have some leftovers in the fridge, let me go get it." At the sight of Yeonwoo's cheeks walking away from you you grow hungry for something else. You surprise Yeonwoo, hugging her from behind in the kitchen.

"I just ordered some food, don't bother with the leftovers."

"I have plenty for the two of us though!"

"I'd rather eat something else, and the food's coming in fifteen minutes." Yeonwoo braces herself on the kitchen counter as you press your face into her ass, letting your tongue slide between her lips. When you are done with her she's slumped over the counter, and you're wiping her juices from your face.

"Come on, time for dinner."

"In a— Ah! Minute..." Yeonwoo gasps, basking in her peak. She reminds herself to put the leftovers back in the fridge, but that can wait.

Just as soon as she can stand again.

The weekend finally ends with the two of you cuddling under the covers, a streak of white oozing onto her creamy thighs.

"Ah I can't believe it's Monday tomorrow."

"Do you have to go in? Maybe you could work from home and work hard. And then play hard, hmm?" You squeeze a breast, reminding her just what type of "play" the two of you could get up to.

"I'd love to, but I have meetings to be present for."

"Ugh, employment." You kiss her forehead before wriggling out from the sheets. "I'll see you soon then."

"You're leaving? You can stay! I-If you want to." She looked utterly angelic, buried within the sheets, and you wanted nothing more than to join her back beneath them, but you knew better, knew that there'd be devilish happenings if you let yourself stay.

"I do. But I would think that the mighty Miss Lee can't show up late tomorrow, walking all funny like and unable to even sit in her chair properly."

"I'll just say I had a fall!"

"You think that school of piranhas you manage would believe that?"

"But it's the truth! I've fallen for you..." Even Yeonwoo blushes at her own corny joke, and you have to hug her embarrassment away.

"Tch, I've fallen too then. All the way to the unemployment line."

"Yah don't say that, you'll find something for sure! But... Thank you for coming back to me."

"Thank you for taking me back. Don't worry about me from now on." You kiss her again.

"Just worry about us."

A/N: Finally back, just haven't felt like writing and was agonizing around finishing this story. I have other ideas in mind, so hopefully I can get around to those faster, but I just wanted to finish this one first as a sequel to Confidence Booster. Thanks for reading!

#smut #yeonwoo

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e3rt · 3 months ago

Text

JEFF the KILLER rewrite by Ekatlani

Hi everyone, I want to start by thanking everyone who has supported my work so far and waited patiently for this post.

Alongside that I want to thank @gh0ulkitty for the amazing editing they provided throughout this. Without all the community support and help I don't think I would have completed this project to the standard it is.

Thanks to all my mutuals and discord friends for the feedback and assistance as well

enjoy!

Jeff the Killer

By EkatLani

♱

Pig shit. Pig shit, blood and wet earth. That is how Liu would describe his childhood home; a plethora of vile stenches which permeated the air, briefly interrupted by conversation, boredom and family dinners. His brother, too, who sat perched on the wooden fence nasally inhaling the exhumed smoke he periodically released from his dry lips.

It helped with the smell, he insisted, although Liu had an inkling that was just an excuse.

The eldest stood, ankle deep in a slurry of swine excrement, feed and damp dirt, attempting to shovel the bulk of it into a wheelbarrow. Rain had swept through the farm last night, emulsifying the flurry of foulness into the most wretched of chores. The air was still bitterly chill, both brothers wearing heavy layers under their raincoats to stave off the assault of backsplash from the shovel. The heavy thunk of the mud splattering every which way as it landed against the aged metal.

Jeff seemed unbothered, laughing as Liu had groaned awake when the smell carried through the crack of their bedroom window and into the still dark room.

“Cheer up, soldier, no school today!” He had responded wildly while combing his black dyed hair into place, his first cigarette of the day hanging lazily between his bared teeth.

Jeff, for as long as Liu could remember, woke up at the crack of dawn, far before the rest of the house. To do what? Liu didn’t know really, probably to jerk off uninterrupted. He was always showered, dressed, awake before even the laborer that was their father, who frequently pestered Liu for his sleeping habits. He compared him to their mother with a nasty snarl on his lips every time.

Liu had rubbed the sleep from his eyes and, in one wide sweep, he tossed the blanket from his body, slithering out of bed.

His brows furrowed as he sighed deeply, “Fuck this.” Before long, there they were, taking turns cleaning up nature's gift while the aforementioned swine serenaded them with squeals. The brevity of missing school was a small mercy, at least...

Jeff’s boots squelched into the ground as he landed next to his brother. Puberty had been kind to him in some ways. Despite being a year younger, at seventeen, he stood a solid head above the older. Lithe with corded muscles whose strength betrayed his appearance, he was a lot more durable than he looked.

“Pass it over sissy, before I burn my lips.” He spat the butt into the ground, reaching his pale, spindly hand outward. Liu released his grip on the shovel and took his station leaning against the fence, which shifted from bearing his weight.

Jeff may be taller, but Liu was more compact, bearing the physicality of labor from a young age. With calloused hands now tucked into the pockets of his coat, plastic crinkling sharply, he exhaled, smirking at Jeff’s remark.

He took it in stride instead of catching the bait. If he did, it wouldn’t be long until the two were dragged back inside with busted lips and scabby knees. Undoubtedly with hungry stomachs, sent to bed dinnerless.

The younger sibling hunched over the shovel, using his heel to press the sharp end further into the dirt.

“Do you think we’ll finish this today?” Liu inquired, voice hoarse.

“Oh, definitely not.” Jeff responded jovially.

“Ugh, I fucking hate this.”

“Yeah,” Jeff heaved, leaning against the shovel, “Want to do something else?”

“And get our ass beat? Smart move.”

“You’re no fun sometimes.” He decided, dropping the shovel into the slurry, trudging off unceremoniously into the nearby shrubbery. Liu shook his head and continued the work, not bothering to follow him. He’ll reappear before dinner, regardless of what he wasted his time doing.

The farm was an empty open space graced with a selection of pigs, ripe for slaughter, surrounded by thick foliage. The smell he could handle, the shit he could handle, but the blood? Pig squeals sounded awfully human at the best of times, and the panicked screams before death were deafening—a job Liu just couldn’t do. A job Jeff was kept from, if only for his own sake. But no, no slaughter for him.

Liu’s senseless meandering in his own mind was interrupted by the bellowing voice of Mr. Woods, “Alright! Boys, dinner. Inside!” He clapped all the while, beckoning them. Liu planted the shovel and dragged himself inside.

Jeff didn’t come home until after dinner, the likes of which was heavy and uncomfortable. Liu could tell his father was waiting, just waiting for a reason to blow up.

Liu tried to be inconspicuous even as he swatted flies away from his face. As if a sudden move would reveal his inability to complete his chores.

His mother, who was still in the kitchen as the two men ate, insisted on cooking with the window open. Despite the weather, or smell or insects, the narrow window would stay open, and she would gaze out. Placid to the world as she cooked, humming unidentifiable tunes.

The food was tasteless in the dense air of tension, holding Liu’s head as he fixated on the plate. Mr. Woods didn’t speak, open mouth chewing throughout the evening, slurping at his lukewarm beer. The sun had long set when Jeff had stumbled through the door, and Liu braced for the pot to bubble over. Spill its turbulent fluids throughout the home.

His mother stood in place, peaking at the scene from beneath her curtain of dark hair. Still, she made no move to interject, remaining a silent observer in her own home. Mr. Woods said nothing, eerily still, and for a moment, Jeff simply stood in the doorway.

The brothers shared a concerned and confused glance, weary. Cautiously, Jeff broke the pause by walking further, his scruffy Great Pyrenees a few steps behind. The dog strolled lazily, tongue lolling out and white fur muddled from the weather.

Jeff flinched as a bottle suddenly shattered against the door behind him, exploding beer and glass shards everywhere.

“Get that filthy fucking dog out of my house!” Their father roared, sending the dog scrambling away in a panic, back to the fields. Jeff stood, frozen, and Liu hurried to interject. But when his father looked him dead in the eyes, Liu looked back down at his half full plate.

“Good job today boy.” Mr. Woods drawled, the words feeling harsh and unearned. Liu briefly glanced up and nodded.

Mr. Woods then turned back to the boy who still stood by the door and nodded toward the stairs.

Both brothers knew what that meant. Jeff all but ran up the stairs, leaving the rest of the family in a familiar silence. Liu struggled to eat the rest of his plate, casting furtive glances at his father all the while.

Mr. Woods sat back and snapped his fingers for another drink, the wall still damp from his wrath.

Liu excused himself and hurried to bed, laying wide eyed until Jeff returned to their room later that night. He was limping, calves branded with red welts.

“I don’t know why you do it to yourself, Jeff.” He whispered into the darkness of the room.

“I don’t know why you do fucking nothing, Liu.” He rasped, voice dry and sharp, accusatory. And Liu sat with his guilt for the rest of the night.

If Jeff had to describe school, it would be; boring, boring and boring. As were most things. Incredibly boring and uninspired.

He preferred staying on the farm, with the pigs and his brother and his dog and all the things he could do with no one giving a shit. All things that were his and his alone.

He remembered the day he realized he hated school– he must’ve been six or seven? He had approached a girl on the playground who was swinging from monkey bar to monkey bar, small and pudgy with flushed cheeks and twin braids.

Other kids compared her to a pig, making snorting noises at her until she teared up and ran away. Jeff liked her, Jeff liked pigs.

So, when he went up to her, he attempted to jump for the bar next to the one she was grappling, hoping she would like him too. Give him her attention, and he could see her do something other than cry and scream, something no one else got to see her do.

But the little girl kicked at him.

Jeff planted into the sand, brows furrowing in anger as she yipped at him to leave her alone. In retrospect, she probably assumed the boy meant to chase her off the bars and ostracize her like the others, and maybe now Jeff would have responded differently.

However, his frustration at the rejection was more emotional than his young body could contain. How could she, fat and short, push away the opportunity to have a friend like him? Who was much taller than the other boys and could easily make them leave her alone. Was she stupid?

He figured she must be and grabbed her by the ankle, yanking her down into the sand with him. Anger soothed as she hit the earth below.

She scraped both her knees, wobbly and unable to break the fall, her forehead following. Scratched up and teary eyed, she ran to the teachers, and for the rest of the year Jeff had to be sat in a different class from her. Which greatly frustrated him.

So yeah, he hated school, and it was very boring.

Except for Mrs. Goelet, who he found vehemently entertaining. From her uncertain stuttering when the class wouldn’t listen, to her tired crow’s feet– he found her so entertaining.

When the class would boisterously yell at her and ignore every reprimand, he would sit and listen intently. Watching her and her brown hair and long colourful skirts she would stride around in. He would stay after class and pester her with a million questions, knowing she was too reserved to call out his deceitful behavior.

Yeah, that was his too, he decided.

He shuffled through the halls, easily spotting his brother over the sparse sprinkling of peers. He walked right past him, red welts littering his calves with a stinging reminder of the previous night.

Fucking brutal. His dad was a total sadist, holding both his brother and mom on a tight leash. If Jeff had it his way, he’d turn that wannabe into pig feed before the sun set.

Even if he ignored Liu, he was glad it was him over his older brother. Liu would’ve sobbed all night, from either the pain or the humiliation.

Instead, Jeff walked right out to the area behind the gymnasium, where the ass crack end of the school faced more thick shrubbery. Around this turn of weather, you could find all sorts of birds plastered along the bush floor, pecking at the worms that writhed to the surface.

Jeff sat on a tree stump, beckoning a plump pigeon closer with a writhing insect held between his fingers. Pigeons were particularly trusting birds, Jeff had found, easily convinced by food. Sort of like pigs.

The pigeon twitched its little face side to side, hopping closer. When it got close enough, Jeff lashed his arm out, spooking the bird. It frantically tried to flail from his clenched grip.

During the struggle, Jeff heard a small snap, watching as it flopped to the ground. Flapping only with one wing now, broken. Damn. He sighed and stood, leaving the animal to scurry off into the thicket. It would adapt, pigeons were like that, but he didn’t want a pigeon that couldn’t fly. For his birthday he had asked for a birdhouse, but his father had laughed and called him a sissy for liking birds.

Well, Jeff thought his dad was sissy for picking on his wife. So, he conceded to getting his own birds one way or another. However, they die easily from “stress”, Liu said.

“You can’t keep it in a shoe box for fucks sake.” He had tossed the limp bird out their bedroom window, abandoned to the elements of nature below. He had discovered it after it began to smell foul, “You’re seriously too old for this shit.”

Meandering about the woods, he kicked at the ground in boredom until a voice had interrupted his aimlessness.

Multiple voices, approaching from the school. Jeff’s face twisted in recognition, jaw ticking. Randy, the only one whose name he bothered remembering because– compared to the others– he was the only one of any note.

Inexplicably cruel in a way Jeff couldn’t emulate, kind of cool when he wasn’t slobbering over his words to spit them out in time. Randy, along with a group of others, emerged from between some trees, pausing when his eyes landed on Jeff. He smiled like he was fighting a laugh and tapped the pudgier boy on his left.

“Does anyone else smell shit?” He approached, a crooked grin on his face.

“Randell.” Jeff nodded back at him, not retreating as the foxy haired boy closed the distance between them.

One of the girls was looking at Jeff, and he quickly recognized her as Mrs. Goelet’s daughter. They had the same nose and slender neck. He bit back a smile at her, but she simply looked at Randy apprehensively.

Randy was smiling at him with his wolf-like and crooked teeth, “Why didn’t you invite me out here? Aren't we best friends?” The group behind him chuckled, passing glances at each other. Jeff didn’t get the joke.

“I’ll let you know next time. Since you want to see me so bad.” He meant it as a dig, implications slathered in insult. But really, he meant it. Maybe one day he could show Randy his pig farm, then he’d know how bad pig shit really smelt.

Randy grabbed him by the arm, forced joviality forgotten, tight lipped as he seethed out, “Who the fuck would want to go anywhere near you?” The group behind were looking on, hungrily, like a pack of hyenas waiting for their turn.

Jeff was on the ground in seconds, legs buckling, Randy towering above him with clenched fists. Someone yelled something, a plea or sneer. He couldn't discern which among the cacophony of jeers and insults hurled at him.

Randy leaned over Jeff's silhouette, spitting as he spoke, “Piss off, faggot!”

Jeff stood back up, dusting himself off, shoulder checking Randy as he walked away. He passed that girl again, who kept her head down in shame as he stared at her. Reminded him of Liu.

Jeff didn’t know who did it at first, but someone had kicked the back of his knee. Clad in dark baggy jeans they couldn’t see the still aggravated lesions beneath the fabric. Fiery pain undulated from the contact, sharp and unrelenting.

On impulse, he struck, whipping around elbow first and a crunch echoed among the foliage. Writhing in the dirt, clutching his must-be broken nose as pained whimpers left him, was the large kid Randy had taped earlier.

The kid—Troy, he discovered from Randy’s exclamation– was staring at him with a mixture of fear and anger.

Jeff stared back, his elbow smeared with blood, fingers buzzing. His throat constricted with cold, insistent excitement. He was angry, sure, but this was something. Moments like this made the dull repetitive drawl of school worthwhile.

A dull pain radiating up his torso snapped him out of his glare. A rock clattered to the ground beside him. He watched it skid to a halt in the dirt. Someone had thrown a rock at him.

Whipping his head back up, his eyes landed on a raw-boned skinhead kid with gritted teeth.

He was all knees and elbows, holding another rock in hand, standing just behind Randy. The group of kids mirrored his savage expression, an array of disgust and hatred. Okay, Jeff soothed internally, you can’t take all of them.

Searching for an escape, he landed on utilizing his coltish limbs to get the fuck out of there, back burning with the heat of Randy's glare. However, his concern likely outweighed his anger, Randy didn’t give chase. Still, he found ample opportunity to shout after Jeff.

“You’re done Woods! You’re fucking done!”

Jeff sprinted, overwhelmed with adrenaline, his chest tight with exertion. He ran all the way home, not stopping once.

It was a trek. Normally, Liu drove them to and from school in his pickup. For as long as Jeff could remember anyway, Liu would often spiel on and on about how bad the commute was before he got his hands on the beat-up thing. Cold sweat trickling down his spine, he opted to avoid the leering wooden house with peeled paint and deck caved in on one side.

Instead, he ran straight to the pig pen, ducking his head into the squealing solitude.

Maymay had squirming piglets, which paused their suckling to stare at him restlessly, clutching closer to their indifferent mother. She was used to him. The consequence of being barred from slaughter meant the pigs didn’t fear him much.

Their squealing died down, a whine and huff sounding from the back of the pen. His dog, roused from the commotion, stood lazily and inched closer to him with an eager tail. Jeff clutched the hound tightly, allowing him to fall asleep clutched in his grasp.

He was shaking, he realized, his flesh humming from adrenaline. Unlike birds, people don't stop after you crack them. The birds just hate you, and he doubted they’d come back if he left out feed. Chest twisting, he cried out in frustration, causing the dog to stir awake and lick his hand in appeasement.

All this energy, all this want and need, and he had nowhere to put it.

Liu didn't even fight him anymore, no matter what he said, as their father had forced him into fearful resignation long ago. Randy was something, though, something on the precipice he couldn't reach because they all huddled together like scared animals. It’s not like Randy couldn’t put up a good fight alone, so what’s with all the people?

“Always, always.” He muttered into dusty fur, “It’s not fair, never goes my way!” His voice peaked, the welts on his legs painfully prevalent.

The piglets squealed at his tantrum, only serving to further his frustration, jealousy curdling in his stomach. Piglets could do as they please, drink themselves stupid and scream without repercussions. Until their slaughter, which Jeff was denied the privilege of. One piglet, he took liberty with one piglet—he just wanted to know if they all sounded the same. Now, the slaughter stained him, and fuck his hands were still buzzing.

He must have rocked back and forth in that pen for hours until a stocky figure ducked in alongside him. He sighed in defeat when he saw his brother. Liu hooked his fingers harshly through Jeffs shirt collar, dragging him out, murmuring that he stank. The sun was setting now, casting long, intimidating shadows from the tree line.

His brother all but tossed him fully clothed into the shower, turning on the water that was always cold by the evening.

Mud, sweat and feed melted from the persistent spray of water. Jeff shook fiercely as the stream soaked his hair over his face, staring down at the swirling stream of muck sinking into the drain. Jeff felt pulled toward that dark cavern, but his brother lifted him out. He always did, when Jeff strayed too far from the beaten path, it was Liu who corralled him back to normality.

“Mom got a call from school.” Liu’s face was stern, “Was told to get you, been looking for hours.”

Jeff hugged himself under the water, “I like the pen.” He shrugged.

“Gross.” Liu chided, “Thought you grew out of that.”

“I wanted my dog.”

Liu rolled his eyes at that, exasperated, “Broken nose, Jeff. Family wants us to pay.”

Jeff just snorted, making Liu raise his brows. He rolled his tongue under his bottom lip, visibly angry, and he threw his hands up, “Alright, fine. Y’know what? Keep being a freak with your fucking pigs and fucking dog.”

He stomped away, and Jeff’s hand twitched after him. He should apologize, should take some responsibility, really, but he didn’t want to. He said nothing, and with his hand braced on the bathroom door, Liu turned one more time.

“Jeff, I graduate at the end of the year. I want my own life. I won’t always be here to clean up your messes.” he slammed the door, leaving Jeff to clean himself up before supper.

They didn’t speak to each other for a week, but to Jeff, it might as well have been months. In a way, Liu was right, Jeff’s perpetual boredom continuously led to him getting tangled in trouble. But it wasn’t his fault everything was so under stimulating, so predictable.

Sitting in class, he tuned back in, catching himself staring at the neck of the girl in front of him. Mrs. Goelet’s daughter; he should really learn her name.

She was taller than most girls, and Jeff noticed she slouched often. Maybe she was insecure over her height? Jeff never understood women’s insecurities.

When his mother would pester him about her appearance, he was baffled.

‘Do I look fat? Am I beautiful?’ she’d query with distant eyes as she would dress up for his father, desperate for Jeff's approval. He’d sit on the edge of his bed while she tried on outfit after outfit, awaiting his commentary with bated breath. The one time she’d asked Liu, he’d brushed her off, not interested in the plight of womanhood.

Jeff, however, was honest...always.

Even when the corners of her eyes crinkled in hurt at his remarks, Mrs. Woods always came to him.

“I only ever wanted a girl...” she confessed in a drunken stupor one night, her clothes strewn about the bedroom floor and her makeup smeared haphazardly around her face. Immediately making a then seven-year-old Jeff promise to never tell a soul.

She had wrapped her hair for the night taking her Valium with shaking hands, putting her flask back under the bedside table. Jeff never told; he liked knowing something about her no one else did.

He concluded the girl's slouch was a silly insecurity, she would look much better standing tall. The line from the part of her hair to the nape of her neck was disrupted by the poor posture.

At this point, it was bothering him. He flicked the loose lead of his pencil at her, causing her to whip around with a scorned look on her face that quickly softened to embarrassment upon seeing her assailant's identity. She smiled sheepishly and turned back around; Jeff threw the remainder of his pencil at her.

“What?” She hissed in frustration.

“Go with me?”

Jane was pleasant like her mother, if not a carbon copy of her save her choice of dress. Often dressed in dark regalia with lace and smokey eyeliner. She followed him like a dog to the back of the gymnasium, fiddling with her thumbs, anticipating.

She sat on the stump he was on last time he’d come out here, tucking her skirt beneath herself when Jeff pointed to it. She seemed to be waiting for something, as if she expected something from Jeff.

In the awkward tension, she broke the silence, “I’m sorry about last time.”

She spoke quickly, and when receiving no response beyond a quick look, she stuttered out, “I—its...I don’t like Randy.” She explained, shifting uncomfortably.

Still, Jeff didn’t dignify her with a response, causing her words to spill out uncontrollably. “I don’t know why I hung out with him. I don’t anymore—I don't know, I thought he was cool. Clearly, he’s not, I mean he’s a bully and I know that now and,” She took a deep breath, “I’m sorry.”

Before she could continue, Jeff decided it was his turn to speak.

“Jane,” He stated plainly, “I know you’re a good girl.”

That made her skin itch; however, she tried to ignore the feeling. Jeff couldn’t mean any harm; she knew he was a bit...different. His accent a mix of the local western drawl and Eastern European inflections, he often spoke in odd and, at times, disconcerting ways.

Jane would chalk it up to cultural differences, as her mom always told her to be nice to everyone. Even if they seemed different.

Because of her kind nature, she had been sat next to Randy for most of the year. The teachers assumed she would be a good influence on him. He was cruel, but popular somehow. So when she was invited to hang out with them at lunch, she accepted.

Her morals reached a crossroads when the boy she was meant to help ended up attacking someone–Jeff– unprompted. Jane decided she preferred Jeff’s company.

Jeff, who was now rustling around in the bushes, back turned to the girl. She awkwardly tucked her hair behind her ear, “Hey, Jeff...” She looked around the trees, the environment blending into an endless ocean of vegetation. The world felt hazy as alarm bells began ringing in her ears, “What are we doing out here?”

He looked at her this time, halting his motion to smile toothily, “I want to show you something.”

He whispered like it was a secret. Glee dancing in his tone as he returned to the rustling.

He grabbed something from the bushes, causing Jane to lean forward in curiosity, brows knitted together. He covered most of it with his jumper, but the foul smell was pungent. Jane wrinkled her nose.

She snarled a bit as Jeff approached closer, but her curiosity beckoned her to stay. As Jeff unfurled his arms, Janes face twisted into vile detest at what lay in his hands. Nausea roiled through her body in sickening waves at the sight.

Bloated, leaking puss with cloudy eyes, was a deceased piglet Jeff cradled delicately. Its skin looked rubbery, dull, and for a moment, Jane tried to convince herself it was some disturbed art piece. But the smell was undeniable.

The stench of death hung heavily in the air, smothering her. She gagged and then doubled over, dry heaving and sputtering out bile.

Jeff stood motionless, watching her, unflinching. Jane looked up through her lashes at him, panting, but he just looked back at her with no change in his expression. Still holding the deceased pig.

“God,” she sputtered, acid in her throat, “put it away! What’s wrong with you!”

Jeff’s lips twitched with a laugh, “I did, I just took it back out.”

“You’re fucking sick, stay away from me.” She rasped, eyes burning from the acidity in her throat, stumbling away from him in a hurry.

His smile faltered for a moment, “They sound different.”

“What?”

“When they die, they all sound different.”

Jane did not like Jeff anymore, and she went home early. Too afraid to tell anyone what she saw, telling her mom it was just a stomach bug.

Jeff hopped into his brother's car with a fat smile on his face. Liu scoffed, refusing to break his vow of silence, and the two drove home wordlessly. The towns' structures became few and far between the closer they got to home.

Liu rolled down the windows at some point, side eyeing his brother occasionally, nose crinkled in disgust. Jeff had his gaze transfixed on the open road, shifting in his seat restlessly. If the two were talking, Liu would surely question the sudden excitement oozing from Jeff.

Jeff's enthusiasm remained through the duration of dinner, uncaring for the flies that landed periodically on the meat and beet soup. Popping the insects between his teeth as he chewed.

It earned him a swift swipe to the back of the head as Mr. Woods walked past before seating himself at the head of the table. Their mother emerged from the kitchen with glassy eyes, placing a soft hand on his head. Soothing the dull ache, Jeff felt those nimble and familiar fingers in his wiry locks.

Jeff gazed up at his mother, leaning into the touch. Liu, unable to take the lunacy of it all, stood suddenly from the table, his chair grinding against the wooden floor.

“Boy!” His father corrected, “You sit until you’re excused!” Food and spittle fell from his mouth and onto the table, his fist striking the varnished wooden table with a bang.

“I’m not hungry!” He retorted, already disappearing up the stairs.

Mr. Woods looked to his son who was now boldly staring him down as his mother's hand slowly retreated from his dark hair.

His eyes were wild, dancing across the room, practically vibrating as they did so. Almost taunting.

For a moment, Mr. Woods just stared back, eyes narrowed. Then, in a swift motion, he stood, grappling for him with a manic, crazed snarl on his mouth. His chair clattered behind him, crashing into the floor with a bang.

His mother retreated against the wall with labored breath, pupils dilated in anticipation. Watching the scene unfold with blown pupils.

Jeff held his fork in a challenging grip, mimicking his father's threatening stance. He, too, was now shorter than Jeff, something that satisfied a dark part of the boy. To look down on his father in this matter, kindled that burning desire inside him.

Mr. Woods shoved the table, plates shuddering and food scattering, but Jeff held his ground. Mr. Woods face was a dark shade of rage, the tips of his ears red, a feverish glint perspirating on his forehead.

“You little fucker! You better run, you better get the fuck out of here!” He hollered, sloppily grabbing his plate and waving it wildly above his head.

Jeff grabbed his own and, without hesitation, hurled it at the man, consequences be damned. It bounced off his abdomen and shattered onto the floor, covering the space between them in sharp, dirty shards.

His mother found her voice, shrieking and pawing at the air around Jeff.

“Oh no honey,” she wailed, “Oh no darling, stop it! Stop it!”

Her glossy eyes shined, frantic but distant, examining Jeff but somehow unseeing. She held onto nothing, grasping at the air with shaking hands.

Before his father could catch his breath, Jeff twisted on his heels and sprinted up the creaking steps.

He hadn’t even touched the bedroom handle when Liu’s open palm shot out and dragged him into the room. Both brothers held the door shut as it bowed from the unrelenting fury of their father’s fist.

Soon enough, the old man grew tired and yielded, sputtering after their mother who was still wailing from the halls.

The brothers breathed together for a while, unsure if the tirade had finished just yet. Only when the distant moans and yells abjured, did they calm. Looking at one another for a moment, it was Liu who slowly rested his forehead against his brothers and closed his eyes. Drinking in the silence, the stillness.

Jeff spoke, impossibly quiet, “Are you still mad at me?” He sounded child-like. Liu chuckled breathily and then shook his head, separating the two.

He held Jeff's shoulders in a solid grip and looked at him, “No, I stopped being mad a while ago.”

Jeff smiled and nodded, falling into Liu's embrace. His broad hands caressed the back of Jeff’s hair. More grounding than the feathery touch of his mother, whose affection felt distant and held expectations.

Jeff’s smile fell, “I killed a piglet again.” he confessed.

“I know. It’s okay.”

Life resumed to normalcy, if only their own obtuse version of it. Mr. Woods had stormed out of the house as early as he woke, fire in his wake, their mother might as well have been sedated by it. She stood over the sink, cleaning one of the pots for hours, the skin of her hands cracked and sappy. That became the new routine, a welcome change for the duo, who’d much rather deal with their mother’s uncanny dissonance than their father’s unbridled rage.

School was also surprisingly normal. No one pulled Jeff aside for his little stunt with Goelet’s daughter.

He was saddened to see her seat empty that week, and the week that followed. He stopped going to that class shortly after.

Liu was overall better for it; he had made some friends in the absence of his brother, but there was always some kind of block.

He had met a girl, a nice one from the church. He lied about still going, despite not attending since he was small, and she ate it up. The rest of her friends, though, were moody and confusing to him. He often resorted to silence as his default response. One of her friends had said he was “mysterious” which, to him, felt like “weird freak” in a prettier package.

Despite this, they still invited Liu to a party. Apparently, it was one of the girl's birthdays or something. It was an open invite, too, so Liu had hoped to drag Jeff along. Lately, he had been spending more time with his dog than anyone else.

Since the piglet incident, Jeff had even been avoiding the pen, Maymay squealing at him upon arrival with newfound fear.

Their father, luckily, hadn’t noticed the missing one. That, or he assumed the runt died and was eaten by the other pigs. Jeff was particular with the piglet he chose, knowing which one wouldn’t be missed.

Mr. Woods was sparsely in the home lately, residing in the pub during his waking hours. He left the slaughter business to abandon, which troubled Liu deeply. Their mother wasn’t much consolation, as she seemed to withdraw further each day, meals becoming more miserable as a result. Poorly paired flavors in favor of filling the family's bellies, food unwatched left to spoil.

“Jeff.” The eldest stood at the door of their room, poking his head inside, “Come with me tonight.”

Jeff was lounging on the rickety bed, arms outstretched and head lolled to the side. A cigarette hung lamely against his bottom lip; a magazine adorned with various scantily clad women in his grasp.

“Why?”

Liu shrugged, “Might be fun, get out the house and talk to people.”

“Spare me,” he responded firmly, “that's sounds lame...”

Liu shifted, “There’ll be girls?” he suggested, quirking a brow.

At that, Jeff seemed to pause and consider his brother's words. Wordlessly, he stood and began to rifle through his closet, searching for something to wear. Liu released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding and nodded at Jeff.

“I’ll be downstairs.”

The party was fine at best. Jeff was wearing his baggy white hoodie and some distressed jeans with his sneakers, whereas Liu bore an old wifebeater, jumper and his work jeans. Liu’s cross necklace caught the light when he fiddled with it between his fingers. The scent of smoke and beer carried through a backdrop of rainy weather that beat against the tin roof of the home.

It was a quaint set up decorated with warm light, and people sprawled across all surfaces. Liu had quickly found the church girl, as foreign as her presence here seemed to be, and stuck by her for what felt like hours.

Jeff disappeared somewhere into the smokey haze of the living room, muttering something under his breath Liu didn’t catch. Liu sipped on a cold beer that the church girl had presented to him on his arrival. She was blonde, with square shoulders and minimal makeup that allowed a dusting of moles and freckles to peek through.

‘Real marriage material.’ his father would say upon seeing her full figure and long hair pulled into a ponytail. Liu concluded she was too nice to bring home if things continued.

As far as he could tell, she was happy to see him, occasionally gripping his arms and chest as they talked. Feeling brave, he tucked a stray hair behind her ear and watched her cheeks flush pink. She smiled while batting her light lashes, pushing closer to him. His heart stuttered in his chest at the proximity. He opened his mouth to speak, to ask her to sneak off somewhere private but was interrupted.

A loud crash broke the tension, both of them whipping their heads around to follow the sound.

The chaos was blinding. Smoke obscured his vision, and after coughing and waving it away he could faintly see glass scattered on the ground and the living room table tipped on it’s side.

The second thing he noticed were the jean clad legs that lay gangly on the ground with a foxy figure hovering above them.

Jeff was slumped on his back, tossed over the tipped table, clutching his stomach with a wince. Randy balled his fists and leaned menacingly close to him, canines flashing. His brother was snarling viscously, his blue eyes catching the yellow light with pupils like pin pricks as they glared at Randy.

The red head’s clenched knuckles were bloody and pink from impact, tainted by Jeff’s gushing nose. The blonde girl gasped in shock and clutched Liu’s arm, digging her fingertips in the flesh. But he shoved her off, almost blindly, making her stumble as she tried to catch her balance.

Liu pushed through the anticipatory crowd that watched on in hungry fascination. They parted for him as he hurried to his brother's side.

The scene became clearer as he approached. A pudgy boy with a crooked nose stood with a self-assured smirk next to a thin, pale kid who peeked behind Randy. All of them held his vengeful stare.

Jeff didn’t break his gaze once, even when Liu’s legs entered his peripheral vision.

“Got you, fucker.” Randy spit.

“Yeah, you did, now get lost.” Liu retorted, posturing next to his brother. Jeff stood back up, nursing his bruises and brushing sparse glass from his now tattered hoodie. Randy looked at Liu, crinkling his nose.

“Holy shit,” the skinny kid started with a stupid smile, “two for one!”

Randy glanced behind him, “Shut it, Kieth!” He turned back to face Liu, “No one was talking to you, hick.”

He spat the last word with venom, face scrunching with offense, as if the brunette's mere presence was a challenge to his ego.

“Well,” Liu took a step forward, “I’m talking now. So, you can talk to me.” Jeff’s eyes flickered between the two, hands flexing as they hung by his thighs, ready for whatever came next.

Randy laughed heartily, to which his little back up squad mimicked submissively. Without another word, Randy's fist shot forth, but Liu was an artful dodger to quick and violent hands.

Avoiding the impact, he took the opportunity to jab Randy in his side with his elbow. He was winded from the assault; Liu by all accounts had a lot more force and power behind him. Easily crumpling the paper boy on his tower of cards, body like a strong wind that stole his breath.

The two behind Randy looked taken aback for a moment, but the shrill scream of some girl in the crowd broke them out of it. Kieth went to comfort his friend, while Troy stood tall with a sharp inhale, a bead of sweat rolling over his nose and down his chin.

Liu heard the crunching of glass into the carpeted ground as Jeff overtook his position now. Despite the hunch in his back, he was far taller than the fatter boy across from him. Jeff was like a serpent, coiled, dancing, swaying threateningly while staring the boy down.

“Troy,” Jeff spoke with a grin etched into his face, “I’ll put it back into place for you.” He reached for Troys nose, hand hovering inches away from his face. The veiled threat sent the boy out the door, retreating before any conflict continued. Randy's jaw clenched at the spectacle, his eyes widening as he yelled after the boy.

Randy straightened his back, “Fucking useless.”

He tossed an expecting look at Kieth, who despite his stature, seemed far more capable of holding his own. Perhaps a product of false confidence.

He attempted to rush Liu. Why he went for the stacked figure no one would understand. Liu, on reflex, knocked him in the jaw, shaking his fist at the lingering sting. Kieth was surprisingly durable however, and ate the hit with impressive resilience, brushing it off.

He elected for a different method the second time around, gabbing one of the copious sharp objects on the ground and lunging for Liu, swinging in a frenzy.

Liu raised his arms defensively, gritting his teeth when he was slashed across the forearm. It was deep, crimson running in hot rivulets down his arm. He hissed, knitting his brows, braced for another attack.

He poised himself, ready to snatch the makeshift weapon out of the scrawny fuckers' hands. Yet, the second attack never came. Instead, Liu gaped, watching as the attacker's eyes bulged out of his skull. He was hoisted inches off the ground by the material of his shirt. With a sharp smack, he was slammed into the shrapnel littering the ground. Jeff towering above the body beneath him now.

Unfortunately, unlike Jeff’s thick hoodie, the boy had a singlet on, and Kieth yelped as he made contact with the rough debris, knees stinging furiously.

Randy, who still had his hands placed protectively over his torso, took a step back. Liu was ready to utilize the moment of pause, muscles coiled and ready to spring.

But before he could, his attention was drawn away by Jeff, who straddled a whimpering Keith on the ground with his teeth bared in an open grin. He released a series of unrelenting attacks upon his face, blood splattering across his sweatshirt, seeping deeply into the fabric. The white fibers of the hoodie congealed from the onslaught of dark liquid.

The blows escalated from dull thuds to wet squelches of viscera. Liu was frozen in place, entranced by the horror, unable to get himself to move. When Jeff didn't relent even after Kieth had stopped twitching, the morbid entertainment at the conflict dissolved from the crowd, who began to protest in fear.

“Holy shit, he’s gonna kill him!” Someone among the haze of faces exclaimed, dread and panic evident in their voice. The crowd started undulating in an agitated swarm, voices rising, manic.

Finally, Liu’s feet were released from where they were planted against the floor. He cupped his brother under the arm and dragged him off the unmoving figure, tearing Jeff away as if he were a rabid animal.

Keith laid as a bloody pulp on the ground, motionless. Randy was shuddering violently, hands tugging at his hair in raw terror.

Before the crowd could riot or process the boy's state, Liu stumbled away with Jeff, who was staring at the scene with a content smile.

His fingers fumbled fruitlessly for his keys in his pocket, and he yelled for Jeff to get in the car, urgently, finally managing to grab his keys.

Jeff was laughing, chest heaving with mirth, his lips curled in a heinous imitation of joy.

Liu floored the gas, paranoia swirling in his gut with growing nausea and dread. He felt as though he were being suffocated, his throat constricting, unable to suck in enough air.

Surely, surely the boy would get up?

His face was unrecognizable after the attack, swollen and sputtering, gruesome. His fingers had twitched and gone limp at his side. Liu swallowed hard, shaking the thoughts away, banishing them. Periodically, Liu would glance at his brother in his peripherals. But for the entire ride home, Jeff's grin never faltered.

In quiet moments, Liu could hear the muffled sounds of a snicker.

The road was illuminated only by the pickup's headlights, hardly penetrating the smothering darkness. Which didn’t help Liu’s anxiety. If anyone was following them, the dark country roads wouldn't reveal it. Liu could only see right beyond the beams of light on the path in front of him, the surroundings a blackened inky sea, swirling nauseatingly. Liu’s knuckles whitened against the steering wheel.

Liu ushered his brother inside, head wildly snapping back and forth. When the door shut behind them, Liu took his time peeking through the windows before pulling the blinds closed.

When he was sure they hadn’t been followed, he gripped his hair with growing desperation, profanities tumbling from his mouth. He paced around the living room while Jeff sat on the couch sneaking looks at him through his bangs.

He’d stopped smiling, finally, but the corners of his lips still twitched from the comedown of the high.

Liu spun on his heels to face his brother, “What,” he accused, “is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

His voice was shrill, but his brother remained infuriatingly impassive, shrugging and folding his into his lap. His pupils were blown out, large like a feline zeroed in on a mouse, and his breath came in soft pants.

He looked eerily calm, restrained.

Liu's face flushed in frustration, “You could’ve killed him, Jeff! Oh God, he might already be dead...” Liu slid his back against the wall, crumpling into himself.

Jeff’s face fell, “He’s not dead.” he spoke sternly, brows drawing together.

“How do you know that?”

“Because I could feel his breath!” At that response, Liu’s mouth hung open at the audacity.

He wanted to snap back, to retort, but couldn’t find the words. It was a senseless justification; he might’ve been still alive when they left, but that many hits to the head didn’t bode well. Before Liu could muster a response, the silence of the night was broken by a bellowing bark and symphony of shrieks.

The Pen.

The pyrenees was going wild, snarls and barks so vicious you could hear the snapping of teeth colliding with one another.

The brothers were quick to move, exchanging a wide eyed look, quickening their pace the closer they got to the chaos.

As they crossed the field, drawing closer, the brothers became aware of twin lights in the distance, breaking the empty air darkness, illuminating the unseen insects and dust swirling in the air. The wails and barks were rabid, darkness engulfing the scene, shrouding it in the unknown.

The boys heaved as they reached the pen, staggering to stand between the opening and the mystery car.

The dog was positioned on his hind legs, corners of its mouth frothing with saliva. The rumbling engine of the car cut, and from the abyss emerged Randy, red hair illuminated by the light. Something hidden in his grip caught the light, glinting.

The night air was swallowed by barking, the dog practically howling, teeth gnashing.

Jeff and Liu stood apprehensively, backs to the pen, eyes trained on the approaching Randy.

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” Randy seethed, lunging forward with a brandished pocket knife in hand.

Liu instinctively grappled for Jeff, intending to push him out of the way. But Randy collapsed into the wet mud unceremoniously. A blood curdling scream pierced their ears, and Randy thrashed desperately in the mud, ankle firmly clamped between the dog's jaws. The dog swung its head wildly, saliva turning from a white foam into a deep red, meddling with the blood slowly soaking into the fabric of his socks.

He continued to shriek, raising his knife high above his head, trying and failing to strike the beast down. The Pyrenees was a formidable opponent, though, and it lunged for the boy’s face. In the midst of trying to pry away the teeth that sunk into his supple flesh, Randy dropped the blade into the grass below. His arms flailed, fruitlessly trying to find purchase on the blade that was eaten by the soft earth and oppressive darkness.

Jeff lunged forward, grabbing a handful of his dog's scruff, pulling flesh and muscle as he reeled back. Randy clutched the marred skin, blood gushing between his fingers. He writhed around the dirt in pain, screams turning into weak pants.

“What in God’s name!” Mr. Woods was roused by the onslaught of echoing wails and was standing, gun in hand, lit up in the beams of Randy’s headlights.

It didn’t take long for the ambulance to arrive, wheeling away a disoriented Randy on a stretcher. Jeff and Liu gave their statements to the police on the scene. Jeff's hands hadn't left the dog's bloody fur as the night unfolded, red and blue lights shimmering against the crimson splattered on the ground.

The police deemed the incident an unfortunate result of trespassing by foolish kids.

They both received a warning for the night, the knife attack being hearsay since Randy couldn't land a blow and no one could locate the weapon. It also helped that Troy had dogged his friends in, confessing teary eyed to his mother that he didn't want to be friends with them anymore. That, coupled with the nasty gash on Liu’s forearm, relieved the family of most consequence.

Kieth was also fortunately still alive, already roused from unconsciousness in hospital. All things considered, the night concluded a lot better than anticipated. Rattled but safe, the family returned inside to forget about the night altogether, falling into restless slumber.

For the next month, Randy’s father came to their door daily, threatening the family. Mr. Woods was the one to answer first, and had promptly slammed the door shut in the man's face. He would peer through the window, yelling belligerently, cursing the family for what they did to his son.

“I’ll get you and that rotten mutt!” he had exclaimed repeatedly, vein popping in his forehead.

Even when Randy got out of hospital, the abuse didn’t subside, with the father gathering his own extensive bloodline to stalk around the property provocatively.

Jeff started sleeping in the pen again, feeling indebted to his loyal companion. He cooed over him and soothed him against the persistent heckling, hushing him when he would tense at the taunts. He slept, face pressed against his white coat, in case anyone dared to overstep that fence and be a vigilante.

He would wake occasionally to the sound of rocks hitting the pen, once even stirring awake to the smell of meat thrown over the fence, hitting the dirt with a wet thump.

Bait, Randy’s folks were attempting to bait his dog. He hugged that fur tighter every night.

Liu and his father would take shifts sitting on the rocking chair on the old porch, shotgun at arm's length. Mrs. Woods would be seen sporadically peeking out the windows, paranoia drawing her face into tight lines.

The tension wasn’t dying down anytime soon, so the brothers had no choice but to return to school and attempt to complete the year. Their peers had returned to avoiding the brothers like the plague, whispering accusations and poisonous rumors as they passed.

One gloomy night, Jeff had returned home from a long day of school with Liu and headed back out to prepare some feed for the week. Like usual, he dropped his bag on the floor, kicking his sneakers off and stuffing his feet into the faded, mud-soaked wellies propped against the wall.

He made way to the pen, eager to see his boy after a long day of boredom. Peeking his head into the entryway, he searched the room, bewildered when he didn't catch hide nor hair of his fluffy companion. The pigs oinked at him curiously with wide eyes. He pursed his lips.

Ducking back out, he began checking along the outside, searching diligently for signs of life. However, his dog wasn't patrolling the perimeter, either.

No bother, he could be off relieving himself, Jeff reasoned. Yet, a creeping sense of unease tangled in his chest. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he took a deep inhale of the chilly air. Using the lungful to project his voice, breath billowing around his face, he began to call for him.

His feet planted into the sludge as he trudged around the property, a deep pit forming in his gut. The cold felt constricting the longer he was outside and fruitlessly searching, his cheeks stinging with its touch.

After a good half hour of this, his breathing became increasingly ragged, mind racing with unfavorable conclusions. The sun crested the trees, casting a weak golden glow on the darkening fields. Empty. Jeff jogged back inside.

Uncaring about the tracks of mud he left in his wake, Jeff frantically searched the house. He practically turned it upside down, checking in places the big Pyrenees couldn't possibly fit. His movements were progressively more manic, calling to the dog every few moments.

Maybe...maybe his dog came inside? Maybe his father let the dog indoors to avoid the assailants.

Liu still wasn’t home yet, and Mr. Woods was seated in his recliner, reading the newspaper, oblivious to the world around him. Jeff paused his erratic searching to face his father.

“Sir?” He cautioned, not wanting to set him off. Finding his dog was of paramount importance, and if that meant being civil with his father, so be it. Mr. Woods grunted in response, as if to say, ‘get on with it, boy.’

Jeff continued, forcefully casual, “Have you seen the dog today?”

Mr. Woods licked his thumb, the crinkling of the paper deafening as he turned the page.

“The dog?” Jeff encouraged, expecting an answer.

Mr. Woods shook his head, “More trouble than it was worth, boy.”

The air felt liquid, and time seemed to halt altogether. Jeff didn’t feel his limbs moving, nor did he notice the change in the weather when he went back outside.

His mind felt slower than the world around him as the pen came into view. Shadows cast by the trees hung accusatory across the dirt path and Jeff's knees buckled as he collapsed into the wooden opening.

He eyed the flattened earth, marked from years of heavy slumber from his precious mutt. He crawled along the ground, dirt packing into his nails and smearing along his knees. His throat was tight, he wasn't able to suck in enough air, his vision narrow.

Some of the pigs waddled their fat bodies closer, curious, snorting the air around Jeff. He curled up into the depression in the ground, tucking his legs and arms close. Jeff hugged himself and wailed. Taken from him, it was all taken from him.

His tether to humanity, the one thing beneath him he still found care for. Gone in one cruel action.

He sobbed and wailed like a child until his body gave out.

Liu found him that morning, tossing an old blanket over his shaking form. His lips were blue and the tips of his fingers and nose were bitten from the cold. Every shaky breath manifested in cloudy white puffs of air inches from his face. His eyes were open and bloodshot, staring blankly into nothing.

Snot and tears were crusted dryly onto his face. Liu gazed on sympathetically; he managed to piece together what had happened. His warm hand fell onto his brother's shoulder, rubbing comforting circles along his arm.

Jeff didn’t react to the contact, continuing to stare off into space, unseeing. Liu released his hold with a brief squeeze, dragging the hand down his own face.

He was tired. Of all of it. He felt aged and ragged and had no resolve anymore, as if he had been thrown into the whirling depths of exhaustion and despair, unable to claw his way out. He looked at the pathetic mess of his sibling, who seemed so far away at his feet. It was the first time in a while that Liu felt taller than his brother.

“One night.” He told him, “One more night you can stay here, and then I'm taking my brother back.”

There was a small flicker of acknowledgement in Jeff’s cloudy vision and Liu left him like that.

Tomorrow, he’d take his brother inside, clean him up, and scrounge together a way to get them both out of there.

Their father had abandoned his duties as the breadwinner, recognizing that the brothers were getting too big to keep under his thumb and at his mercy. Jeff’s revolt had frightened him and the man for a moment, he recognised his wife in those wild eyes.

He turned to the bottle, face perpetually red, speech slurred, and it wouldn’t be much longer before the money dried up.

Mother had stopped cooking, wandering aimlessly in the halls of the house like a ghost. She was so disconnected from life, she might as well have already been dead. At night, Liu would hear her nails raking along the walls, as if searching for something under the floral wallpaper. Her mind was far gone, maybe buried beneath the creaking wood of the floorboards. A distant memory of a mother haunted the home.

When Liu prepped the feed the previous night, he found himself rationing it. The plumpness of the pigs would fade and they’d become skinny, unmarketable cuts of flesh. Discarded.

Jeff, for all intents and purposes, was his only family left, and Liu refused to let the sickness of this home consume him too. They had a car, and they were both capable of work. Even if it meant scrubbing floors and living motel to motel, Liu would figure it out.

He feared that any longer in this household would drive them both to lunacy.

And on top of it all, his father had shot the dog. The dog that guarded his prized brood and kept the family fed. His father had shot it dead, and the town was still insatiable. Shadows from passing cars danced against the drawn blinds of the home, an ever-present warning. A promise.

Yeah, Liu thought, they needed to get out of here.

He’d allow his brother to mourn, say a final goodbye, and then Liu would drive them both as far away from the wretched home as possible. This bastardization of family, he would take it no more.

Scrambling around their bedroom, the one they’d shared all their lives, he grabbed and stuffed whatever he thought essential into two large duffle bags he’d managed to drag out of the attic. He went over to his bed, gripping the metal frame, and he hauled it back Underneath was a floorboard that protruded outward like a waterlogged roof.

Liu wrenched his calloused hands under the splintering wood and, with a ragged breath, pulled with all his strength to dislodge the panel from its position. Beneath the now open panel was stacks of cash Liu had spent the past year hiding from Mr. Woods.

He had pried the panel open when he began collecting the cash, stashing it away. Any time his father questioned the missing money, he would deflect by reminding him of his wife's medication.

It wasn’t a lot, but it would be enough for the two to survive until they figured out work.

The biggest issue would be getting his brother hired, as they’d never had to get a job outside the farm before. And Jeff was never one for change.

He stuffed the money deep under the clothing off the duffle bag, making sure it’d be hidden from drunken hands.

Lui dragged the duffle bags down the stairs, placing them next to the door. Mr. Woods stared at him, bottle in hand, from the recliner he refused to move from.

“Where the fuck do you think…think you’re going?” He slurred, barely making it through the sentence, drool seeping from the corner of his lip, eyes half lidded and glossy.

Liu huffed as he looked at the pathetic man, “I’m taking Jeff and I away for the weekend. Until everything cools off.”

Mr. Woods took his now empty bottle and hurled it at the floor. He sunk deeper into the recliner, disapproval painted across his features. It didn’t matter, though, because there was nothing he could do to stop Liu.

A miserable acceptance settled over the room, like a thick fog of dissonance. A silence that held many unspoken words. Distantly, he could hear his mother's shuffling feet from upstairs. The air suddenly felt colder.

Day melted into evening, which settled into night. Thick clouds shielded what little light the stars and moon provided in that isolated farm, and it had been a while since the fireflies had been around.

Jeff still stared, open eyed, at nothing, limbs feeling too heavy to move. One of the piglets from Maymay’s litter had curled up near his feet, sniffing and oinking softly. He wondered if the pigs knew their protector was gone, if they missed him. He wondered if they were capable of such emotion; perhaps they only felt scared or uncertain.

If they did, Jeff couldn’t tell either way.

He felt thankful for the blanket draped over his body as a particularly cold gust of wind blew through the open entrance. It carried the smell of alcohol, strong enough to sting his nostrils.

Ugh, must be his father.

Jeff considered killing his dad; it’s not like his dad loved them anyway, and now he had a great reason to kill the man. Not to mention, Jeff knew the pigs would grow hungry soon, judging by the looks of the feed. They’d eat anything but teeth if need be.

The dried spittle on his chin cracked as a wheezed breath escaped him, almost a laugh. He waited for his father to stumble through the door, and Jeff would strangle him right there with the blanket—leaving him to the swine.

He started to shake, limbs tingling awake, and the strange stench grew stronger, breaking through the smell of livestock. As Jeff propped himself up on his elbows, he froze, hearing hushed whispers.

For a moment, he thought the dehydration and lack of sleep was making him delirious, but the voices were unmistakable. Jeff pressed his good ear against the wooden wall, shushing the concerned snorts of the swine.

Maymay peered at him wearily and everything suddenly went quiet. Even the crickets and rustling from the wind stilled. Pressing further into the wall, Jeff heard a faint click and one distinct sentence.

“Light this fucker up.”

White hot flames roared to life, climbing along the wooden shed, kissing the roof before Jeff could even comprehend what was happening. All-consuming heat engulfed the shed, ignited in red and orange, black smoke choking the oxygen. The swine began running around in a flurried panic, squealing.

It was burning, everything was burning. They screeched and tried to dart for the opening, but the unkempt wooden panels quickly collapsed inward, blocking all those present inside the indiscriminate hungry fire.

The heat was unbearable now, licking at his flesh, singing his hair, suffocating his lungs.

Just beyond the sound of wailing meat and hungry flames was the sound of jeers and laughter. Illuminated in red were two figures; a plump boy and a redhead. Jeff finally found his voice and he screamed his throat raw. His shirt had caught, and he could feel the fire dangerously close to the skin beneath, biting it.

One of the pigs was alight already, spreading the flame further in its panic, running in fruitless circles, the smell of burning flesh clogging the smoke. Jeff tried to scream again, but the smoke suffocated him, scorching his lungs. He sputtered and hacked onto the ground, saliva black with soot, vision spinning.

As more pigs collapsed, he found his voice one last time, his hysterical cry breaking through the overbearing noise of burning swine.

Liu’s eyes cracked open, wincing at the light which penetrated through the cracks of the window. He groaned, digging his thumb and forefinger into his eyelids.

He stood, stretching his stiff muscles, yawning

“What is going on?” he murmured, confused.

One eye closed, he peeked through the glowing crack of the window. For a moment, he couldn’t make sense of the scene in front of him. But when reality sunk in, he was rushing down the stairs, stumbling.

Feet heavy, he burst out the door quicker than the locks could bear, leaving them to swing from marred hickory. His parents were stirred by the commotion, chasing after him while shouting.

“What’s wrong with you? Boy!” Mr. Woods slurred, words dying in his throat as his eyes landed on the flames flickering in the distance.

Suffocating, thickened ash filled the air, scents of flesh singing nostrils and howls of agony echoing.

The pen was devoured by flames, the height of it kissing the willowy trees that hung above. Randy and Troy stood just outside the flames’ reach, faces alight with horror at the sight before them.

Without thought, Liu tackled Randy to the ground, knocking the lighter out of his hand. He grappled his wrists, vaguely aware of his father collapsing to his knees beside him.

“It’s gone, it’s all gone!” Mr. Woods yelled, catching the smoke in his throat, coughing.

On cue, the roof of the pen caved in, igniting the fire anew and releasing the trapped screams inside. Some of the pigs, burning, escaped the flames and ran. None made it far, legs failing as they dropped, bodies giving out. Their skin was blackened and raw, layers of flesh and fat exposed to the cold air, eyes melted from their skulls.

Liu grabbed Randy by the collar of his shirt, shaking him in his tight grip, “What did you do? What the fuck did you do?”

His voice broke as his eyes became wet ,not realizing he was crying until a tear landed squarely on Randy’s face. Randy's hands were trembling, mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish as he tried to find an excuse.

Troy was still standing, awe struck at the flames, eyes reflecting the carnage. The squeals were dying out as seconds dragged on to minutes.

Randy sounded like his age for once, naive and afraid, stuttering out, “We-we didn’t… we didn't know.” He shook his head frantically, “We thought it was pigs! Just pigs!”

His words fell on deaf ears, hands releasing their grip on the collar to find the exposed throat of the fox below him. Randy quickly grasped his wrists in a weakened grip, pleading.

Mrs. Woods approached the flames still clad in her nightdress. Her eyes were glossy, fogged with familiar distance.

Horrified understanding trembled across her face in one fleeting sweep. She reached a hand up, concerningly close to the threshold beyond safety, twitching. Mr. Woods motioned to corral his distant wife, but paused when he noticed the now raised hand of Troy. Finger outstretched, his hand quivered as he pointed to the gulf of the fire.

Mrs. Woods muttered, “My baby, my little girl?” Liu released his grip on the throat below him, following the line of hands into the center of the fire.

Emerging from the flames was a figure, silhouette undeniable as it passed over the fallen structure. Feet pushing aside corpses and charred wooden planks, walking like a fresh babe without motor function.

“Jeff?” Liu pleaded, moving closer.

Jeff stepped forth from the flame, following the call blindly.

For a brief moment, he seemed to smile at his brother. It was so brief, it could have been a simple trick of light. Maybe it was a mirage, created in the recesses of Liu’s mind, and maybe none of that mattered anymore.

Before his brother’s eyes, under the smoke obscured stars and glossy gazes, Jeff collapsed to the sullen earth, and died.

The smell of burnt livestock and feces radiated over the distant town, and in some indiscernible amount of time, sirens could be heard approaching the now settling flames. The wet earth and torrential weather were desperately welcomed to cull the manifesting death.

Whatever money Liu had managed to scrounge up over the years had gone to setting up Jeff’s post-surgery home care. It had been several months of inpatient medical treatment and various operations to get him prepared for the return home.

He was adorned in both compression garments and gauze, leaving his face and mouth concealed. His hands and legs remained mostly unharmed; covered in wet earth, the flames had left only first-degree burns to redden the skin.

The rest of his body, however, was littered with both second and third-degree scarring. The taunt skin snaked around his torso in contracture stripes, occasionally making an appearance when the gauze shifted.

The laundry list of medications and wound care the medical team had given Liu was hard to understand, the length of some of the words far surpassing his own vocabulary.

But the fire had eaten more than just his flesh; it consumed the hearing from one ear and half the sight in his right eye, and four of his toes had to be amputated.

He needed help to even walk to the bathroom.

All of that was fine, though. Liu could handle it for his little brother.

What had been bothering him the most, waking him from the ever-present nightmares, was the idea of changing the dressings.

None of the family had seen Jeff’s face since that night.

Their father was halfway in the grave himself, drinking so heavily he spent more time asleep than awake, alcohol always within grasp. Mrs. Woods would only leave barely edible meals outside the brother's room, and if it weren't for those plates, Liu could convince himself she had disappeared altogether. She was a ghost, swept away in the wind, shuffling feet absent. Haunting the house; present, but on a different plane.

Therefore, Jeff’s care was left to Liu, who took on the responsibility without complaint.

Liu sat on a chair across from the bandaged figure sleeping on the wireframe bed. The figure's chest was heaving deeply, small puffs of air escaping his open mouth.

Liu’s hands were clasped in front of his face, brows drawn together. He felt conflicted, finding himself at a crossroad of emotion.

He was surprised, happy, and horrified that his brother had survived.

He wondered if his relief was selfish in nature, if his relief stemmed from fear of having to grieve his loved one, unable to imagine letting go. He wondered if, perhaps, it would have been for the best if Jeff had died that night, unceremoniously among the swine he spent the most time with.

He knew the pain must’ve been unbearable, even with the concoction of sedatives and painkillers constantly running through his veins. From the fitful twitching, to the clammy appearance on the minimally exposed skin, it was sickeningly clear to Liu that Jeff was in pain.

He wondered what was going through Jeff’s mind, if he was cognitive of his fate, and what that meant for his psyche. How had Jeff felt in that pen? Did he wake to the fire and smoke in a panic, scrambling for salvation with the pigs?

It was hard for Liu to picture his brother, so wickedly self-assured and unfazed by the world, being stricken with panic and agony. Subordinate to the flames, fire, light, and consumption.

Realising he was trapped, that this was the end.

Except it hadn’t been, and now he was trapped once again, this time in the confines of his own scorched flesh and gauze holding him together. Liu’s brother, so dependent now, so incapable, any spark of rebellion and acidity stripped against his own volition. How could he possibly be feeling, if he felt at all?

Liu placed a tender hand on the blanket sitting against Jeff’s chest, feeling the muscles twitch upon contact. He reached forth to cup the gauze wrapped around his face, watching his lips strain, breathing becoming more ragged. Carefully removing the metal clips to avoid furthering his discomfort, he peeled, revealing the carnage layer by layer.

As he approached the last of the gauze, Liu's hand trembled. He withdrew, trying to shake his discomfort and gather himself.

He reasoned internally, reminding himself that he needed to do this for him, that he wasn't the one suffering here. Against any mounting anxiety, Liu finished undressing his brother’s face.

He was unrecognizable. A stranger laying in the spot he could have sworn Jeff occupied moments earlier.

His skin was patchy with burst blisters, blooming primarily on the right side of his face, crawling down his neck and jaw in red spirals.

The irritated, pink flesh looked painful, although the nurses had informed Liu that the second to third-degree burns meant extensive nerve damage and the silver lining was minimal pain.

Where his nose once situated, there was nothing but the taut sheen of the skin graft with two dark caverns for nostrils. Reconstructive efforts had done their best to restore Jeff’s appearance, but the muscle and cartilage was too far gone, prioritizing function over aesthetics at that point.

His right ear was flat to the side of his face, the remaining skin of the area a scaley scar with a rough surface.

The parts of his hair that remained were short and unkempt from his hospital stay, a large chunk from his hairline recessed, presumably never to grow back.

The eyes that gazed up at Liu were wide and unblinking, bloodshot and partially cloudy on the right side, looking past his brother. For a moment, Liu saw his brother lying in that pen the morning before, gazing distantly in mourning, and guilt settled in the eldest heart.

If he had dragged his brother inside, wrenching him from his wallowing the morning he found him, none of this would have happened. If he had stopped his father from killing the dog, from putting a bullet in the one thing Jeff truly loved, or if he grew a spine and stood up to the man like Jeff always wanted, this could’ve all been avoided.

But it wasn’t, and now Liu had to take responsibility for this, for his brother, for his only family.

He was waiting for that feeling of recognition, that bond of familiarity to warm inside him.

But there was nothing.

The body before him felt and looked like a complete stranger; uncharted territory.

Pushing aside the rising emotion in his chest, Liu started unwrapping the rest of the layers, revealing more burn, more red.

He redressed the wounds hastily, eyes stinging, trying his best to maintain gentleness in his movements. He stepped back, examining the silhouette before him, swallowing the consequences of his compliance as he forced himself to look. To really look at his brother– or, at least, what was left. He turned away, unable to bear it much longer.

He grabbed his brother's medication, washing it down his throat to minimal resistance apart from some breathy whines, ringing and reverberating through Liu's ears like a sick chime.

Liu slumped back into the chair, throat closing up, vision blurring. His head fell into his hands and he cried. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks in fat droplets.

His brother had died. How could he not be dead? He saw him collapse! He witnessed his brother's soul evaporating from his singed flesh, intertwining with the black smoke rising into the night sky, away from Earth, to elsewhere.

He was mourning a man that was right in front of him and had no one to turn to.

He was living with a corpse. The corpse of someone he loved, taunting him with wheezing breaths and unseeing eyes.

That was how life was for months. Months that passed aqueously and seemed to slip through his fingers. A nonconsensual ravaging of his life that became total destruction of his autonomy.

Liu’s life was consumed by caring for his brother, his parents offering no relief, choosing to retreat into their own vices. If anything, they only added to the oppressive environment, sucking the life from Liu's veins.

All the while, Liu waited, desperately clinging to the idea of his brother, who felt more like a concept than a tangible form or person, in no way reflective of the body on the bed.

There was nothing, nothing in those countless moments Liu spent tending to the body that was once his brother's.

He didn't emit that familiar warmth, no longer exhibiting those quirks and features in his small movements. The earthy, laborious odor of the farm Jeff used to wear gave way to the sterile smell of bacitracin and gauze.

Jeff never uttered a word, which was perhaps the hardest part of it all. All he did was stare off into the distance, eyes dull and lifeless, reflecting Liu's gaze back at him. Sometimes, Liu imagined that he could see an accusing tinge to his stare, as if condemning Liu.

When he wasn't caring for the body, Liu was manically scrubbing at every surface he could reach, the house seemingly in a perpetual state of filth despite his efforts.

The fire had left foul smelling soot that clung to one's nostrils far after it dissipated. Liu found himself cleaning the home multiple times a day, especially in the kitchen, where the open window had welcomed the filth inside.

Scrubbing dutifully, he was lost in his own world. He was like that for a while, until his thoughts were interrupted by a disturbance upstairs.

At first, he convinced himself it was his mother, shuffling aimlessly. But that explanation didn't last long when he heard the distinct sound of metal scraping against wood.

Dropping the dusty rag, he trotted up the stairs, bewildered. Had Jeff gotten up? Was he moving? Did he need something, was he himself again? His heart was thrumming faster against his chest, anticipatory, hoping against all hope.

Liu softly pried the door open, careful to avoid spooking the figure inside.

His narrow vision from the crack in the door only allowed him to see to the corner of the room. Slowly, working from the ground up, Liu's eyes traced the figure occupying the space, his focus a sharp pinpoint. Standing there, murmurming indecipherable words, was Jeff.

Tufts of black hair sneaked from the dressings, his exposed legs pink and blistered, quivering with disuse. The rhythm of his muttering was erratic and soft, as if he were arguing with himself.

Liu risked cracking the door further, concerned, paranoia biting along his vertebrae.

“Jeff?” He inquired gently, voice low. As if on cue, a large slam shook the ground behind him, tearing his attention away, the hairs on the back of his neck raising with alarm.

When he snapped his gaze back to Jeff, his eyes practically vibrated in their sockets. Beneath the blankets, a sleeping figure laid with zero indication of movement.

“What...what?” Liu wheezed to no one in particular, suddenly winded. He squeezed his eyes shut and closed the door again. Liu stood in the empty hall, beside himself, deciding he needed to get more sleep. He casted one last glance behind him as he trudged away, a small part of him expecting to see a clouded eye staring back at him.

The second time an incident similar took place, Liu had been asleep. It was his sense of smell that twitched him awake, his nostrils burning. A strong odor of smoke wafted through the bedroom, parallel to the room Jeff's body occupied. He faced away from the open door, back exposed.

Fitfully, he turned around, noticing a discarded blanket strewn across the other room's floor. The bed was vacant.

Anxiety nipping at his heels, Liu stood, heading for the toilet, assuming Jeff would be there. He froze in place when something from the window caught in his peripherals.

He turned slowly, neck tingling. The window perfectly framed the remains of the pig pen in its center, which was nothing but a pile of charred wood and discarded life.

Standing still, staring at the pile, was a skinny silhouette, outlined with unwinding gauze. Liu’s gaze was only broken when it whipped its head to stare right back.

Frightened, Liu ducked out of sight, heart in his throat as he rushed down the stairs.

It was cold out, his brother must be delirious. Must be having some kind of night terror, or must be lost.

Upon opening the front door, Liu found the darkness of night absent. Golden, hot sun beamed down from above, glittering and sweltering, as if someone flipped a switch on the time of day. Liu's chest felt tight, vision blotted out from the abrupt change of environment. His stomach flipped and nausea threatened to crawl up his throat. What the fuck was happening? Was this some kind of nightmare?

When his vision returned, Liu caught no sight of his brother. His breath stuttered, taking in the sight of pure daylight, entire body shaking despite the heat.

Liu fought his instincts and decided to check out the glowing pen that was practically a beacon beneath the rays of sunlight. He could feel a strange allure to it, as if he were drawn to the area, even when every hair on his body begged him to turn away.

He felt the heavy weight of eyes burning into his back as he wandered further from the home, and he glanced back, sight trailing up to their bedroom window. He discovered the curtains had been drawn closed, a flicker of movement from inside catching his attention.

He dashed back inside, the soles of his feet slipping in the warm mud, sweat trickling down his jaw. He staggered up the steps, leaving the glaring light of day and the alluring pig pen behind.

“Jeff!” Liu called out, panicked, voice strangled.. What the fuck was going on? He shoved the door open, panting.

All that greeted him was the body tucked into the bed, chest rising and falling softly to the sound of crickets. Moonlight casted upon the white sheets, bathing the room in silver light.

After that, Liu’s sleep was on rapid decline. Often, he’d find himself crawling into bed, fighting the waking world, desperate for slumber, only to suddenly be met by daylight streaming in the window.

It felt as if only moments had passed, as if he had slept without realizing. Liu didn’t feel as if he’d slept a wink.

However, more pressing matters smothered his attention. There were two figures he always found himself chasing; the absent body in the bed, and the figure roaming the halls maniacally.

Sounds and scents haunted him, and at one point he frantically searched the halls for hours, convinced he heard the sound of a plump hog’s hooves clicking against the wooden floor. He wasn’t even quite sure what he’d do with the pig if he found it.

Having caught himself nearly mixing his mothers and Jeff’s medication one night, Liu opted to go to bed early, hoping to sleep off whatever was afflicting him.

He rationalized that this feverish nightmare could be insomnia or an affliction, potentially a combination of the two.

Liu decided he would ignore the night’s assault on his senses unless he was sure it was necessary to address. He fed the pain medication to Jeff and then promptly collapsed into his own bed, wrinkling the sheets with a tight grip, “Goodnight, Jeff.” His voice was weary, but he willed himself to lay his head down and close his eyes.

Unbearable pressure on his chest. Suffocating weight grappling his lungs with an iron fist, strangling him. He woke with a start, vision a blur as he attempted to shove the assailant off of him.

He struggled to make sense of what was happening, panicked.

A figure towered above him, dark shadows cast along its features. Loose bandages hung haphazardly by Liu's face, brushing his cheek, exposing only a mouth.

Sleep and panicked confusion still holding him in its grip, Liu croaked out, “Jeff?”

A sharp pain twisted in the center of his chest, radiating in throbbing waves of heat and static.Eyes widening, Liu’s gaze left his brother, catching the glint of silver bathed in the moonlight.

He glanced down, chest heaving, the seams of the gash vibrating. Sticky crimson coated his torso, spreading, dark and rapid.

Was he bleeding? Was he dying? Jeff, did Jeff do this—no, surely not his brother?

The figure above him cracked open its mouth and smiled madly, his brother’s voice fanning across his face, echoing in the empty walls of the bedroom. It let out a long, moaning hush, shushing the figure beneath it.

“Go to sleep...”

Liu woke with a start, gasping for air as he sat upright, clutching his chest, pupils dilated like a wild animal. He whipped his head around, disoriented. He wasn’t in his bed, instead in his father's recliner. He couldn’t recall moving downstairs, but at this point, he didn’t care to know.

Liu felt...good. Really good. Despite the anxious beating of his heart he felt awake for the first time in a long time.

He settled into the recliner, his racing heart calming, relief like a wave in the depths of his bones. It must have been a nightmare, he concluded, considering the lack of blood and his seemingly unharmed body.

With a spring in his step, Liu walked to the bathroom, intending to feel alive again. He splashed cold water on his face to wake his skin, feeling it tingle upon contact.

He leaned down to repeat the motion, suddenly hissing in pain and grasping the counter for balance. Sharp pain radiated from his abdomen.

Gritting his teeth, Liu lifted his shirt, jaw slack when his eyes landed on a large slash along his torso, stretching from under his left nipple down to his right hip in a pink, fresh cut.

It wasn’t bleeding, oddly enough, and looked cleanly patched up.

“The fuck?” Liu muttered, running a finger lightly over the wound, sucking in a sharp breath between his teeth at the sting. He racked his brain at the sight, returning to the nightmare from before.

Surely, his brother hadn’t attacked him? He could barely stand, let alone wield a knife and hold him down.

Liu was standing outside the duo’s bedroom door. Jeff would need his medication soon enough. Something in Liu’s head was telling him not to. Telling him to turn away, stirring a deep feeling of primal instinct in his gut. Was that body behind the door his brother? Was that catatonic corpse, so unresponsive, really Jeff?

Those nightmares and allusions of the figure often felt more real than what was objectively the reality.

Was it so mad to think his brother was capable of such harm?

Jeff, who had been consumed by the fire and had smiled, smiled right at Liu.

Jeff, who killed the piglets he coveted and took glee in fathers' self-destruction.

Was it presumptuous of him to assume his brother–surely not in his right mind–was incapable of turning his anger on his brother?

Liu was reminded of all their childish squabbles in this home, the busted lips and blackened eyes. None of that could be seen in the corpse lying on that bed. He had to be sure, though, and so he opened the door with a deafening creak.

The room was shrouded in darkness and the body lay placid, barely breathing on the wireframe bed.

The world shifted as he stepped forward, “You don’t talk anymore.” He accused. “You don’t even look at me when I change the dressings.”

Fitfully, the figure twitched at the words. Liu scoffed, scornfully, “How can you be my brother?”

He pressed further and gripped the bandaged face with none of the gentleness he had subjected it to prior.

The bandages moved, pushing the flesh beneath which cringed upon contact. Liu’s fingers found the corner of the figure’s mouth and pulled—forcing the mouth into an open lipped smile, stomach turning with revulsion.

The body fought the assault, soft breath turning into pained whimpers, trying to shift its head from the hold. Liu dropped his hand back to his side, leaving the body alone for now. “Yeah,” he realised, “You are definitely not my brother.”

He could see clearly, could see the fingers on his hands and the shoes on his feet. Liu’s eyes did not lie, he saw his brother die in that fire and whoever that was couldn’t be him.

It smelt like death, whatever it was, with rotten soiled flesh leaking fluids into the mattress. He saw that open cavernous nose, a nose that could only be the product of decay. No one could survive what his brother went through. No one.

This thing was within his brother's corpse, wearing Jeff’s skull and forcing Liu to suffer more. To tend hand and foot to a sibling who should be buried. His brother’s body couldn’t rest, was kept perpetually suffering and without the capability to end it himself. For why? What purpose? Liu gingerly touched his shirt over that laceration on his chest.

Liu would allow this exploitation no longer.

He left the room, pushing the door open, but he was met with resistance on the other end. Confused, he tried again, this time the resistance giving way to the sight of his mother on the other side.

Her face was colourless, lips parted slightly. She lifted her hands up to cup her son's face, stroking lightly. Her appearance was offensive, with hair matted into a thick mass and a nightdress stained with urine, blood, and saliva.

She smelt like she looked, rancid, as if she hadn't washed in months, and the hands that stroked Liu’s face felt grainy.

She whimpered as she spoke, teeth coated in plaque, rotted breath wafting over his face,“You’re a good brother.” That was all the reassurance he needed. His heart swelled with her approval; his mother had finally seen him.

Liu lifted his hands to clasp her wrists and led the woman down the hall back to her room, weary. He could barely comprehend the disarray of the master bedroom. A hoarder's hull now, it smelt like a septic tank and had incoherent sprawling's littered on the walls.

He had nothing to say to this, knowing the woman was beyond reason, and having more urgent matters to attend simply made it hard to care. He simply lay his mother down and placed a tender kiss on her forehead. She closed her sunken eyes, the sharpness of her cheekbones unnatural and jagged, and she smiled softly.

For a moment, that youthful, maternal glow returned to her features and then she was gone. Liu's breath caught in his throat.

Liu shut the door behind him, glancing at Mr. Woods, who sat in his recliner that faced the window next to the front door. His reflection was wavey and indiscernible, but he was undeniably awake—bottles littered the wooden floor around him. Liu ignored the man, heading for the tool storage by the garage entry door.

He could feel the peripheral gaze of his father, continuing to pretend it away. His hands gripped the rusted handle of the shovel, feeling the weight of it, deep green paint chipping off the handle. Liu jiggled the door handle, which had gone stiff from the bitter cold outside.

“And what are you doing, boy?” Mr. Woods spoke, not moving his head from its locked position, bloodshot eyes trained ahead.

Liu continued to pull at the handle, “What are you planning now?” Mr. Woods’ voice was croaky and raw, yet still held its stern an unwavering command over his son.

Liu paused for only a moment, a residual habit formed from fear of his authority, and then he began yanking on the handle roughly. The elder man in the recliner began to laugh, a deep rumbling sound that came from his stomach, guttural.

He rose from his chair, revealing a cigarette on his lips that glimmered in the smoke. In his right hand a half empty bottle and in his left a lighter, his thumb grazing the switch threateningly.

Liu felt sweat bead on his brow, and he began slamming his shoulder into the door in a frantic attempt to dislodge it.

Mr. Woods began to ramble, “What are you, boy? So fearful of the now, you haven’t noticed it’s all gone to guts already! We’re all dead, all dead!” He laughed again, uncontrolled, manic, “What do you fear? It’s all happened already, boy! And you...did...nothing!”

Click. Click-click.

The flame flickered from the lighter, and Mr. Woods grinned as he poured the bottle down his shirt. Horrified, Liu watched in stunned silence as his father self-immolated, catching the hem of his shirt with the flame.

Engulfed by sputtering fire, he collapsed back into the recliner, igniting the remainder of the fluid along the ground and spreading the flame.

He slathered his skin as he burned, laughing choked and wild and raw. His flesh sloughed off from his abrasive kneading, revealing the layers of raw skin, muscle, and viscera beneath. He gargled and screamed in agony, writhing in the burning recliner, succumbing to the flames of his own creation.

Liu screamed, the smell of burning flesh clogging his nose and stinging his eyes. Gasping for air, he grabbed the shovel, wedging the metal in between the door and the wall. He heaved, cracking it open, slamming his shoulder into the heel of the shovel. The door finally gave way with a wicked force, shuddering on its hinges.

Liu fell through the door in his desperate scramble to escape, gagging on the taste of his fathers flesh. He landed on a strange, lumpy heap, cold wetness seeping into his clothes.

He recoiled from the feeling, eyes falling onto the body of a Great Pyrenees underneath him, head blown open and smeared against the porch from the door's force.

Liu staggered to his feet, retching and covered in viscera, clutching the shovel like a shield. He ran. He ran far from the house.

He only looked back once.

The dog's head was a crimson smudge on the porch, orange light flickering from the open door and glistening the gore beneath it.

The surrounding forest was like a siren, luring him deeper and deeper, singing to him, a lullaby and a promise.

Blanketed in the darkness of the thick trees, light struggled to penetrate, time ceasing to exist. Liu fell upon a patch of bare earth, a patch of earth seemingly untouched by nature and human life alike and he knew it must be here.

He knew it in the depths of his stirring soul.

He began to dig. And dig. And dig. A large hole slowly broke through the untouched earth, wider and wider with every desperate shovel.

Night and day passively turned into each other in what felt like an endless tango. A loveless entanglement that Liu felt, a grueling dedication to his atonement.

This was his final reprieve and the only way out now.

Stepping back and dropping the shovel to the soil, Liu gazed down at the pit before him. Deep, open and welcoming, an earthy grave revealed itself to him.

It was perfect, the most perfect thing he’d ever done. It might as well have been the only thing he had ever done, the only accomplishment of his life.

Liu followed the scent of flesh back into the home, passing the charred corpse which lay in the recliner, bottle in hand, facing the window.

He trudged up the stairs, arms shaking with exertion, and opened his bedroom door, discovering it was empty. Void.

Panicked, he gripped the filthy shovel in hand, knuckles white. A distant cry. He paused, listening intently. The sound repeated.

It sounded like his mother.

He followed the noise, softly stepping along the wooden floor to minimize the creaking it produced, cautious of what waited ahead, wielding his shovel like a weapon.

As he drew closer, the sniveling transformed into rampant wailing, punctuated by fits of laughter. The sound was uncontrolled and painful, as if forced upon its inhabitant. The high pitched peals of laughter, so reminiscent of his mothers, then deepened into something guttural and gravelly, morphing and twisting.

No longer did Liu hear his mother. In her place, he heard his father.

Yet it was wrong, manipulated and bastardized as it echoed down the hall.

Then it was him, his own voice echoing back at him in a foul mockery.

He wanted to stop, to run away and never come back, urgency burning in his chest and begging him to run for his fucking life,but he found he just couldn’t.

This was his monster, a monster that was the culmination of every time he turned away, and it held his brother with ferocity, gnashing its teeth and howling.

For as long as it lived, they’d never be free.

Closer now, the upstairs bathroom door creaked on its hinges, open. The cold, clinical light inside illuminated the dark hall. Liu inched forward, breath coming in short gasps.

A dark shape stood under the fluorescent light, bandages forgotten on the ground in a dirty, stained pile. Liu looked at its reflection in the mirror, no discernable features among the blood and bile on its visage. Blood gradually formed a puddle of crimson at the disfigured feet, partially dried and cracking.

Liu couldn’t move, frozen, feet planted beneath him and numb. Yet, he couldn't look away.

Sensing his presence, it turned around, revealing its grotesque form, drooling. In its hand was Randy’s discarded knife, soaked in crimson, fatty liquid.

It stood tall and persistent beneath the flesh of its broken body, unfazed by the corpse it wore. The mouth, the maw. As it spoke, blood and mucus projected outward, splattering the tile and mirror.

“Et lingua ignis est universitas iniquitatis,” It began, jaw swinging uncontrollably as it spoke, “lingua constituitur in membris nostris quae maculat totum...” Trailing off as it spoke, choking on its own blood. The sound of it was diseased, grinding against his psyche, like shredding flesh and sinew with bare hands.

Its mouth was cut open on one side, skin floppy and jagged, exposing teeth and a lolling tongue that struggled to remain in its mandibles.

Liu pleaded, nausea rolling through his stomach, his heart stuttering in his chest fiercely. He begged for the figure to halt, to stop and release his brother. Never before had he laid eyes on something so foul.

Yet it continued, raising the blade to its left cheek, maintaining Liu’s attention as it began sawing the sharp edge back and forth with vigor.

Through the blood it sputtered out, gargling, “Corpus et inflammat rotam nativitatis nostrae inflammata a gehenna!”

Its voice was shrill as it sawed repeatedly, slurred speech slowly erasing any remnants of its former self.

Liu pressed his hands to his ears, face scrunching up, pleads drying up on his lips as the words gave way to pain. Pure, unadulterated agony. Like electricity boiling him alive. He choked on a gasp and tried for his voice.

“Shut up!” He cried, tears mixing with snot and saliva down his face, “Leave him! Leave him and let me bury my brother! Let me put him to rest!”

The body kept repeating the words over and over, degenerating into incompressible garble as it struggled to enunciate through the thick liquid. The body threw its head back, laughing to the sky, and then it buckled over to vomit onto the tile floor, a vile mixture of blood and mucus.

Liu took advantage of the moment, struggling as he forced himself off his knees. He threw himself against the figure, crashing into the wall, crumpling.

He heard a blunt thud and they both tumbled forward. The figure, lethargic, slid down the wall, still gripping the blade in hand, swinging blindly.

Liu wasted no time, grabbing the figure by its remaining hair and using his years of experience hauling dead weight to drag the figure down the stairs. It thumped against each step, leaving a blood trail, eyes dull and previous thrashing ceased.

Liu dragged the monster deep into the forest, over roots and under jutting branches, where its open grave beckoned him to finish this.

Into the hole, the body crumbled onto itself, lifeless eyes staring into nothing.

Liu got to work shoveling the soil into the grave, and as he did so the body released wheezy, taunting laughs. This only spurred him on, who aimed the dirt at its head, hoping to snuff it out.

However, even fully covered, the dirt mound misshapen and hasty, the laughter still penetrated through the earth. Transforming it into a rumbling rattle deep within its chest. He shoveled and shoveled until nothing but dirt remained.

Unmoving and destined to rot, Liu collapsed to his knees over the earth.

He wailed, cries clawing their way out of his throat. He continued until his throat could no longer, digging his hands into the earth and gripping the soil as if he could hold his brother one more time.

The laughter beneath died down and silence fell over the forest; no whistle of the leaves in wind, no chirping of birds, no chirping of crickets.

Life ceased; a flame starved of oxygen, died out unnoticed.

Days had passed before anyone noticed what had happened. Dejected and isolated, the Woods’ family were far forgotten in the local zeitgeist.

It took Jane Goelet working up the courage to confide in her mother for the family to be confronted. With the word of Jeff’s state—incapacitated by circumstance—circulating around town, Jane mustered the ability to speak.

She had gone to Mrs. Goelet and floundered over her words as she recounted her meeting with Jeff. Reasonably horrified and seeking answers, Jane’s mother reported the incident and sent police right to the front door.

Unprepared for what they would come across, the two officers had knocked to no response. It was only when the rookie, who curiously peered through the window, witnessing the remnants inside did they call for backup.

The search revealed the fate of the family.

Mr. Woods sat in a charred and derelict recliner, body burnt beyond recognition to the point that dental work was required to confirm his identity.

Mrs. Woods was discovered upstairs in a room that reeked with the pungent odor of death. Her body was bloated, the cause of death undetermined due to the multitude of injuries. A combination of blunt force trauma and multiple stab wounds, varying in depth and originating from multiple weapons.

Liu was eventually discovered wandering the forest, holding one of the weapons—a shovel—tightly to his chest. The cause of the blunt force trauma was taken by officers, and Liu himself was inconsolable. Delusional, dehydrated, he was taken in, bursting into tears sporadically for indistinct reasons.

He was sedated, transferred for medical attention and held in a private room for questioning. The only person who couldn’t be recovered was Jeff, whose body seemingly disappeared without a trace.

Several weeks were spent searching the forest with no sign of the boy. He was presumed dead, and the investigation promptly closed.

Liu faced court for the deaths of the Woods’ family, but due to lack of evidence he was only charged for the death of Mrs. Woods. With reason of insanity, he was sentenced to seven years, on condition of attending extensive psychological treatment and rehabilitation programs.

Rumors carried by whispers throughout the town, unanswered questions birthed tales wild and unbelievable. Jane herself was left haunted, nights filled with dreams of burnt figures and piglets.

Her mind would wander into the unknown months within the Woods’ home, weaving fables of unimaginable suffering.

The few details she could handle her mother recounting did little to quell her obsession.

Inevitably, the only person that knew Jeff’s fate was gone from the world, as if he never existed at all. Dead or alive, Jeff Woods was no longer.

Epilogue

Randy's first stop was the pub.

Maybe not the brightest choice, but it was something he felt nipping at his heels. He was unsure if it was the idea of drowning his sorrows or if it was the occupant who promised to meet with him.

Either way, he walked hastily across town, stern to ignore the burning looks from those whom he passed. The town this time of year felt desolate, snow and ice coating the ground in a relentless hold. Salt sprinkled the roads and sidewalk, glittering beneath the moon.

Randy’s hands were shoved deep in his pockets, ears and nose pink from the cold air. The pub they agreed on was at the end of town, a hot spot for the town drunks and floozy women.

He strolled through the door, cupping his hands over his mouth and breathing out hot air. He rubbed the cold from his fingers while looking around, until his eyes fell on brown hair.

Troy had his back to the door, fingers gripping a short glass, ice swimming around dark liquor. He hadn’t noticed Randy walking in the door and was watching the bartender—a petite woman with pink stripes in her hair—making cocktails.

If it were some years earlier, Randy may have tried his hands at provoking the pretty girl, but now he felt unsure.

Before, he was untouchable, but now it felt like every move was subject to voyeurs' treatment. He was unsure if the few other inhabitants were actually stealing glances at him, or if it was a product of his newfound paranoia.

He took seat on the open stool next to Troy, tapping the counter twice to beckon the lone woman behind it. The larger boy's attention was grabbed simultaneously, and he was looked up from his glass.

Meeting Randy’s gaze, he nodded, “Hey-” the greeting died in his throat, eyes widening for a moment. Randy knew why and he threw him a tight smile. Diagonally, across his face, from brow to chin, was a large and ugly scar. It healed shabbily, unlike the dog bite, which had healed with minimal remnants thanks to his father. This was inflicted by design to be a visual eyesore.

“Turns out,” Randy began, grabbing the fresh drink that was placed on the counter, “People in juvie don’t really like bullies.” he took a swig, feeling the burn down his throat that settled warmly in his stomach,welcomed in the cold air.

It was true. When word got around about what he’d done, the others had dealt with him. In their vigilante justice, they wished for him to feel what Jeff’s newfound reality was. His time locked up was an isolating and uncomfortable experience.

Troy nodded in understanding and held up two fingers toward the bartender. The two sat in silence for a while, a bittersweet awkwardness. Troy had managed to avoid consequence, confessing what they had done on a plea deal.

Three drinks deep, Randy decided to break the tension, “If you wanted to just get fucked up like old times,” He chuckled, smile not meeting his eyes, “You could’ve just said so.”

“Kieth’s dead.” The words were like a gut punch. Troy was staring intently at his empty glass.

Randy swallowed dryly, “W-what?” He sat upright now, “I thought, I heard he was fine after...”

“It wasn’t that.” Troy cut him off, looking at Randy now, “Someone killed him.”

Randy shook his head.

Dead? That couldn’t be true, no way.

But, undeniably, it was. Keith was dead, murdered in his sleep. Randy’s head fell into his hands, running fingers roughly through his hair. He tapped his glass, calling for a refill.

“Do they...do they know who?” He couldn't finish the sentence, struggling to process reality.

“No.” Troy said bluntly, downing the rest of his drink and nodding to Randy, “So watch your back.”

The implication was overt, the scar on his face tingling as Troy left him, Walking out into the cold darkness of night.

Drink after drink, Randy spent hours in that bar, until final drinks were called.

“Sorry man,” The girl spoke while wiping down the counter, “gotta close up.”

With slurred speech Randy retorted, “Wanna walk me home?”

The girl threw him a disgusted look and pointed to the door, “Get out, Randy.”

She spat, and he grumbled, defeated, putting his jacket on. The dark of night was suffocating, a fully sober man would struggle to navigate it, let alone inebriated as Randy was.

For a moment, he thought he heard footsteps tailing him, but when he turned around, all he could see was an empty road.

Paranoid anew, Randy picked up his step. He pulled out his phone and began calling, watching his surroundings. The call went straight to voicemail.

“This is Troy, can’t answer ya’ right now. Leave a message, or don’t!” Randy shook his head and redialed, feet stumbling as he picked up the pace. Once more, it went straight to voicemail, and once more, Randy redialed.

After the fifth turn to voicemail, he left a message, “If this is a joke, you’re still a weak cunt. Pick up! Seriously!”

He feigned confidence, not wanting to reveal his fear into the dark, as if the façade would fool anything trailing after him.

He was at his front door, struggling with his keys to unlock the door. He panicked when he couldn’t muster up the motor skills to undo the lock. The door opened anyway, Randy’s mom hearing the panic from inside and letting her son inside.

Once inside, he ran to the bathroom, his mom yelling after him. Randy vomited into the toilet, a combination of alcohol and fear spurring him on.

Images of Kieth flashing through his mind, his mom stood at the door with her arms crossed. In her nightgown, she dragged her son to bed, where he promptly passed out.

Troy never called back or answered his phone in the morning. Despite asking around, no one could answer, or cared to answer, about his whereabouts.

As Randy came to realise, most of the town sought to forget about those three. They had crossed some unspoken line in the cruelty, leading to complete societal excommunication.

Wherever Troy was, that was no concern of the townsfolk.

Randy reconciled all this to the bartender for multiple nights, and despite his previous transgressions, she let him ramble. As each day passed, he spent more time at the bar.

One particular night, he had drowned himself to the point of immobility, unable to walk more than a couple feet to and from the bathroom. The bartender staunchly cut him off and all but threw him out the door. On the front steps he sat, occasionally leaning over to expel the contents of his stomach onto the ground.

His head was thumping, and he clutched at it in pain. Randy’s vision was doubled, and he watched as two sets of feet came into his vision. The figure stood for a moment, silent. Randy struggled to focus.

“C’mon Randy,” He heard a raspy, strained voice say above him, “Let's get you to bed.”

The mystery figure hooked an arm under Randy, hoisting him to his feet. Alarm bells sounded in his mind but try as he might, he was subdued by the figure. The two walked off into the forest.

Randy’s slurred protests failed as the two walked further away from civilization. It felt like an unbearable amount of time before they came to a halt. Randy, unable to see clearly, struggled to make sense of what was in front of him.

Until he heard snorting.

Eyes squinting, he stared into the dark pit below and muttered, “Pi-pigs?”

With a rough push, Randy tumbled headfirst into the hole. His face planted into slurry and pig excrement, violating his senses, smothering him.

He lifted his head, holding back what little was left in his stomach, and came face to face with a pig. It was chewing lazily, snorting curiously at the boy. Confused and disgusted, Randy focused on its pink snout, dizzy.

Suddenly, it stopped chewing and spit something out into the mud.

Randy eyed it, squinting. A tooth.

Sobriety rushed like a cold tide through his body when someone dropped down into the hole behind him.

He rolled over onto his back, gazing up. It hovered above him, tall and pale. Despite its disfigured, threatening face and white blood-stained hoodie casting dark shadows, the red head instantly knew who it was. Those eyes, icy and partially clouded now, were unmistakable.

“Jeff?” Randy questioned, voice watery.

Jeff looked at him, mouth cut into a wide smile that bared his teeth. He stepped forward and reflexively, Randy backed up, his back hitting the dirt wall of the pit. Randy whimpered as Jeff got closer, hopelessness settling in his soul.

“Shhh,” He hushed Randy, slowly revealing the bloody knife from the pocket of his hoodie, “Just go to sleep.”

END.

if you're still here- thanks for reading <3

#jeff the killer #creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #jeff the killer rewrite #nina the killer #jeff woods #jeff the killer creepypasta #liu creepypasta #liu woods #homicidal liu #creepypasta headcanon #creepy pasta #creepypasta rewrite #creepypasta jtk #jeffrey woods #jeffrey alan woods #jane the killer #horror writing

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msfantasy-anime · 2 months ago

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My Captains a Tsundere

Eustass Kidd x Pirate!Reader

Summary: Y/n is part of the Kidd pirates and loved playing cat and mouse with her captain.

No one ever warns you that being a pirate can be boring.

They talk about the action packed adventures. The amazing scenic views. The rich culture and food you experience.

But no one warns how bloody boring it can be to be sailing on a ship for DAYS and have crew as secluded and anti-social as Victoria Punks.

So what do you do for fun you might ask?

You would call it flirting with your favourite captain for entertainment.

Kidd might call it torturing him…

Who’s to say?

After a long and arduous day Captain Kidd needed nothing less than absolute quietness which is typically maintained in the sanctuary of the Captains quarters. However, much like every other day. The world’s most irritating crewmember comes in to ruin any semblance of peace.“Hey Captain!” You holler, kicking in the door with a loud slam.

“Piss off!” The Captain hiss through clenched teeth but you ignore his demands and throw your self to take a seat on the Captains work bench where he’s currently tinkering away.

“Aw common Captain I thought we were passed this! Admit it. You’d miss me if I wasn’t around.” You jab a finger into his chest trying to hoax any form of admission.

“Hah, as if! I’d finally have some peace and quiet.” But your frown turns to a pout as your cross your arms with a huff.

“Then why did you invite me to join your crew and keep me around?”

“Because I didn’t know you were this annoying and someone has to—since you’re hopeless. I just did the world a favour by taking you with me.” He declares whilst you played along with his teasing by sliding off his work station, taking strides behind the stool he’s sitting on before slinging your arms around Kidds neck, leaning into his back and swaying side to side.

“Aw Captain~ you know I think you secretly do care about me under all those faux layers of resentment.” You tease.

“Think whatever you want. It’s not like I care...You’re wrong, though.” He huffs trying ignoring your antics, but your distracting him by pressing the side of your face into his, observing him working as he continues to try and focus on his work.

“Are you blushing? I swear I just saw it.”

“No it’s just hot in here and you pressing your face into me is not helping- what do you want anyway?! Hurry up and get to the point.”

“Wanna take me on a hot date at the next port stop tonight?”

“I could but that would imply I was interested to begin with.” Kidd stabs back making you deflate and letting your embrace slide off.

“Aw bummer! I’ll just ask Killer then…” You mutter ready to turn and leave.

“Fine! I’ll take you on the stupid outing. Quit bothering Killer.”

You tap your finger against your chin in thought before waving Kidd off. “No need to force yourself Captain. Killer to offered take me if you weren’t interested.”

“Shut up - I already said I would take you.” He says, slamming his fist into the table.

“Wow, you’ll actually take me?” You cupped your face in excitement, the urge to squeal being squelched down.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t have plans and didn’t want you getting introuble and making me look bad.”Kidd huffs waving you off. Kidd stops tinkering at his work and looks at you for the first time since you invited yourself on his working desk. “Are you wearing that tonight? You don’t look terrible.”

“You could just say I looked good in this dress.” You say doing a little spin to show off your whole outfit.

“It’s... you look okay.” A huge grin begins to sweep across your face. “Don’t get carried away.”

#one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece imagine #one piece x s/o #one piece x you #Captain Kidd x reader #Kidd x reader #eustass kid x reader #eustass Kidd x pirate!resder #tsundere x reader #Kidd pirates x reader

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merakiui · 12 days ago

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IT’S 2025,, I NEED ME SOME SK FLOYD

like the last anon, I’m lowk really needy and clingy and I need someone to give back the same energy. yeah, Floyd’s a serial killer and he’s scary as fuck but… but he looks like he gives really good cuddles ok?☹️

Stockholm syndrome would hit me fast and hard with sk!Floyd,,, it’s actually kinda pathetic how fast I’d fold

Omg if you asked him for cuddles he’d be so happy. It means Shrimpy is getting used to this new house and him! It means you’re slowly getting comfortable here, and maybe soon you’ll be able to look past all of the difficulties and live as a couple going forward. >w< he’s very excited. He has to make sure he isn’t smothering you in too much affection and snuggles when you first broach the subject of cuddling. He doesn’t want to scare you. :< he just wants you to be happy and comfy here with him!!

Stockholm syndrome hits fast and hard when you’re wrapped up in your kidnapper’s arms every night, his weight and warmth so very comforting. Floyd is willing to take the shackle off because even he isn’t a fan of it or these measures, but he does warn that it’ll go right back on if Shrimpy tries anything. Not that you would. You cling to him late into the night, always wrapped up in him when morning dawns. It makes Floyd so happy. You fall into some semblance of normal after that. You sleep together in his room, and he becomes your pillow and blanket with how much he clings. You cling right back. <3

Floyd knows you’ve accepted this new life when he returns home after a rough night, his clothes spattered in blood, and you’re pouting at him. Licking your thumbs to rub the drying blood off his cheek, scolding him for being late. You were waiting for him; he promised he’d be back and he was late!!! It worried you. :( and ohhh his Shrimpy is just too cute, fretting over him like this. He wraps you up in his arms, sweeps you off your feet, and is keen to drop you on his bed…until you make it clear you want him to wash up first. Looks like it’s bath time with Shrimpy!! :D

#twisted chit chat #serial killer floyd

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adrinktostopyourthirst · 2 years ago

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Bucky Barnes | One Shot | Finally

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Spy!Reader

Plot: Bucky and you have a hard time staying away from each other. And though you try to push him away, every time he finds you again, the universe finds a new way to pull you apart.

Warnings: 18+. Smut, fluff and angst.

Words: 9,1OO

A/N: Recently I’ve been trying to understand what it is people want to read of my works and I have no idea, so here is my brain in scrambled pieces. I'm so sorry it’s so long, I swear it's worth it!

Romania.

It isn’t often you agree to such an extensive trip to meet up with one of your clients, but apparently this particular one can’t be seen in the more supervised countries. Besides, you’ve never been to Bucharest before, so you’re quite enjoying your drink at the small picturesque café.

You’ve done your research and know damn well who you’re meeting up with. A small part of you is screaming at you not to agree to do business with him or back out now, but your curiosity overrules any common sense. Last you heard, Hydra had lost their favourite asset and you can confidently say you were relieved to hear it. It had been a few too many times that specific organisation had made your job more difficult than it had to be.

A many number of things could have happened to the Winter Soldier. He could’ve been killed, corrupted by another organisation, fled to live as a hermit– You really want to know. It’s the spy in you that enjoys knowing the ins and outs of the criminal world. He’d tried not to mention who he is, but you had a few offers on the table, he needed some leverage to get you to agree to meet him. Safe to say, you were surprised he’d told you he was the Winter Soldier. Big chance you will now be the only person to know about the asset’s current whereabouts. That is, if you live to tell it of course…

Every hair in your neck stands up straight, despite the comfortable weather and the easy going crowd roaming the street. The sudden change in atmosphere has your spy senses stand on alert. Your spine stiffens and you casually look around, slightly discouraged at the way your body has never responded to anything in this particular manner.

You cross your legs and turn to look behind you, scanning every face in the crowd. When you turn back, the seat next to yours is taken, only a rickety metal table separating you from the large man sat in the other chair. Your breath halts in your throat and you look him up and down, instantly recognising the buff man as the Winter Soldier. How? You’re not sure, you’d never really seen a picture.

You check his hands. Gloves. With this weather? To cover up. You check his build and take a particularly long time to do so, because God, this man is broad. He’s all sturdy flesh and muscle, firm and casual. His thighs look like tree trunks and you know the man is fast, despite his build. You force the deliberate sweep of your eyes over his body to appear more nonchalant and confident than you feel.

Then your eyes reach his face and the breath gets knocked out of you. There is nothing in that face that hints towards a stone cold killer. Dark blue, deep set eyes, freckles pattered over his nose and cheeks, lips bitten raw from contemplation and an expression on his face that almost looks like… Nerves?

“Hello,” you start carefully, unable to keep your surprise from your tone, but sounding relatively cool to your own relief.

“Hi,” he says and the tone of his voice is deep, but rough, like he hasn’t spoken in ages. You think that maybe he hasn’t.

“Should I refer to you as the Winter Soldier?” you ask, composing your cool nature entirely now. “Or would you say that is a bit on the nose?”

He huffs a laugh and you smile, feeling the overwhelming urge to make him do that again. “James will do, thanks.”

“Alright James,” you say, taking your time to let your mouth get acquainted with his name, “what is it you need my services for?”

“I hear you’re a spy,” he starts and searches your face. “A good one– the best one.”

“Well now, I’d hate to disappoint,” you purr. “What do you need?”

“It’s not so much a document or one piece of information,” he mumbles and his face hardens as he collects himself. You sit upright and frown as you study him. “I need you as a partner for an assignment.”

You instantly shake your head, “Absolutely not. I’m not working for Hydra, that organisation is–”

“Not Hydra,” he quickly cuts in. “Just me. It’s a personal assignment.”

You wait for him to continue, not appreciating his vague communication if he wants to become partners on whatever this is.

He sighs, “I– I have a lot of… gaps. Things I don’t remember, things I can’t quite place. Years of information. The things I did for Hydra– I wasn’t there for most of it. Neither were a lot of people. So I need someone with access to some dark shit to help me figure it out.”

Chewing your lip, you process the information he gives you and empathy clenches your heart together. James gives you the time you need to put the pieces together. You’d heard of Hydra’s experiments with brainwashing and had already sort of assumed some of their soldiers had only worked for them because of that reason, had stayed far away from the organisation’s shit to steer clear from that danger.

But it’s so different to see it in real life, or what is left of it, you suppose. Many things aren’t quite clear to you just yet. However, you slowly start nodding your head. Your brain starts running a million miles an hour, all the gears turning to form a plan, the way you always do before you agree to a job.

“Can you pay me for the service?” you ask, already wondering to yourself if you’d help the clearly hopeless and damaged man for free, and to be honest, just for kicks. The things you’d dig up from everything he’ll give you– Selfishly, you’d kill for it. Anyone would kill for it.

He gives you a tight-lipped, apologetic smile, “Not that much. But I can save up more.”

You think. Your gut tells you he won’t kill you after he gets what he wants, even though he could. And though you will always keep a close eye on him and everything he’s capable of, your gut feeling has never disappointed you.

So you sigh and shake your head. “That’s okay. I’ll do all of it for free, and you can pay me what little you have to insure that I stay quiet. Sound fair?”

His eyes narrow with a twinkle that you hadn’t expected from a man like him and he says, “Deal.”

“Alright,” you say and finish your coffee before clearing your throat. “First order of business: tell me your full name.”

He shakes his head with a faint smile, “James Buchanan Barnes.”

Oh shit.

You do know him.

Germany.

Relief seeps into your bones as you cross the threshold of your building and you slip into your routine of coming home. Tired feet drag you through your building and to your apartment, and muscle memory unlocks your door. After the week you’ve had, you are ready to turn off your brain and settle down.

You enjoy being this tired though, revel in it. Exhausting yourself with a normal person job and the way it puts your usually restless body to sleep at night is exactly what you wanted for your life.

One step into your own hallway, however, makes your daydream of a quiet night in crumble to your feet. Something is off. You can blame your trained senses for being so instantly on edge, but the apartment you just stepped into isn’t a place that has been vacated for the past nine hours. This apartment isn’t empty.

An even older routine settles into your bones this time and you creep into your home on light feet. The air is warm and the space is completely quiet. You’ve been alive long enough, seen enough, to know quiet is never good.

You don’t turn on any lights and let your eyes adjust to the dark. Ears perked and muscles at the ready to spring into action, you slowly make your way further into your home. And when you slip around the corner and look into your darkened living room, you let out a frustrated sigh at the dark figure lounging on your couch.

“How did you find me here,” you grumble and it is hardly a question.

You can feel him sit up and tune in to your presence. You couldn’t explain it if your life depended on it, but you instantly knew who it was. The dark figure in the dark apartment, waiting patiently for someone to catch him. After all, he will deny it until his dying day, but he does have an awful lot of dramatic flair for someone so stoic.

“Better question is: why are you here?” he counters and you drop your bag onto one of your dining chairs, shooting him an unimpressed glare. “Trying to stay off the radar, are you?”

“And failing, clearly,” you say before he can say it for you. “How did you find me here, James?”

Your eyes are finally fully adjusted and you see the smirk forming on his face. You haven’t seen that smirk in five years. “I have my ways,” he says and pushes off the couch, adjusting his leather jacket. “Now, what are you doing in this abandoned town?”

“It’s not abandoned,” you counter and slip off your coat, deciding to just go about your old routine and ignore his presence as much as you can. Maybe then he’ll go away.

“It’s a shit town and you know it.” He cocks his head at you, eyes tracking all of your movements.

You notice his puzzled look. He’s genuinely wondering what is left of his old ally and you can’t quite blame him. Perhaps he can easily see your lame attempt at finding a normal life for yourself. He has probably tried a thousand times himself to escape the roaring life of saving the world, has probably failed every time, too. But you’re determined to make it work – make yourself normal and live a full life.

And that is all you were to him anyway, just an ally. The entire time, you’d felt that he paid a little too much attention to you, but you supplied critical information and occasionally wiped someone off the map. A spy. Nothing more, nothing less. However, for the infamous Winter Soldier to need your alliance again, you cannot help but feel wary.

After the first time he approached you, you’d spent months together. It was an effort not to grow too close – too much effort. Because you had. It was impossible not to, helping someone literally piece their life together through intimate and awful memories. Digging through protective walls and coping mechanisms to help him rebuild some of his life again. With a lot of reluctance from both of you.

Yes, you’d grown close then. Grown close enough that you fell asleep slumped over the kitchen counter in his awful Romanian apartment, your face sticking to the countless research papers. You’d woken up hours later on his poorly constructed bed on the floor with a blanket thrown over your frame. Close enough that you’d eventually asked him to assist you on your missions. Ones that required a different skillset than your own. Close enough that you cooked for each other, sometimes shared clothes, roasted one another for the mental health issues that lead you both to your current occupations.

After a while, you couldn’t describe your relation to Barnes in any other way than a partnership. Partners. Who had kissed once. Maybe twice. After some bad Vodka.

You sigh and turn to him, “Why are you here, James?”

“I need to lay low for a while.” A wider smirk, his eyes narrowing at you. “I remembered I know someone who is very good at that.”

“Careful,” you warn and roll your eyes. “You just gave me a compliment.”

His smirk turns to a smile and he shrugs off his own jacket, instantly making himself at home in your apartment. A strange thing when it comes to Bucky, since you don’t recall that man feeling at home anywhere. Then, he did always have this incessant cocky streak around you and he is awfully good at getting on your nerves, so he probably sees the perfect opportunity to be a pain in the ass.

“If you so much as sneeze on anything, I swear–”

“Yeah, yeah,” he cuts in, his tone unimpressed. “You’ll skin me alive. You’re always so weird about your stuff.”

You give him a tiny proud smile and decide to make yourself something quick to eat, only to feel him peer at you from the edge of your kitchen. He’s met with a confused frown before you raise your brows at him to make him spit it out.

“What’s the catch?” he asks warily.

You smile and look down at the sandwich you’re making. “Nothing. Just fix your shit and get out of my hair as quickly as possible.”

He winces slightly and you turn to him fully now, slowly taking a bite.

“What.”

Bucky sucks in a short breath and gives you an apologetic look before he speaks, “It might be a while…”

Your brows drop, “What did you do?”

“Nothing, I–”

“Bucky.” You cut him another look, one shaped by many, many instances of working together. “What. Did. You. Do.”

“It’s not important. I’ll make it quick, I promise.”

You open your mouth to continue arguing with him, but decide against it, already done with his shit. Yes, he is doing better and supposedly now qualifies as a good person. But you know the man before you and the soldier cannot stop himself from lying about pretty much everything. He has damaged tendencies. Give him an inch and he will take a mile, show him a weakness and he will exploit it. You genuinely think he doesn’t know how to be different, how to not abuse those effortless skills he trained all those years working for Hydra and surviving it.

“It’s my weekend off,” you tell him instead. “If you get between me and my plans, I will change the locks.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “You think I can’t get through a simple lock?”

Another glare is his answer and he raises his hands in surrender. You walk around him and toe off your own shoes, grabbing everything to take a shower as you shove the rest of your sandwich in your mouth. Bucky slowly strolls through your place and examines everything that belongs to you.

“Can you not pretend like you haven’t completely scanned the place already before I got home?” you ask him as you make way for the bathroom.

“It can’t hurt to have a second look,” he mumbles, but you have already closed the door and move take the shower you’ve been looking forward to the entire day.

You should probably work harder to get him out, should probably make an escape plan and move somewhere else. But you know arguing with him is futile and the best approach with him is to patiently wait for him to move on. Bucky doesn’t get attached and doesn’t nest, so he’ll be gone soon enough.

As the scalding water trickles down your scalp and spine, you realise how much more alert you should have been when you noticed someone was in your home. Especially with all of those loose ends and enemies you have scattered across this planet (and others). Yet, somehow you think your body knew it was Bucky waiting for you. After all, it isn’t the first time he’s pulled this shit, waiting up for you. Usually because you kept something from him, he found out and would start ambushing you to fess up.

And even though technically, you haven’t exactly kept anything from him this time, you can’t ignore the dreadful feeling that explaining your current situation will be the hardest thing to ever speak up about. How pathetic, to try and live a normal life when you’re ‘extraordinary’. Ugh, you hate that word. You’re trained well and you refuse to be anything but good at what you put your mind at.

Now, Bucky. He is extraordinary. He has potential to make a difference. You have always felt that. Hated working with him because of that. Not because of him – he never made you feel less than him at all. But–

The water turns cold and you groan audibly, time having slipped away from you as you got lost in thought. Stepping out and drying yourself off, you get ready to walk out of the bathroom. You’re met with Bucky sitting on your couch, reading one of your books.

“Let me guess, warm water’s gone?” he asks, not looking up from the book.

You walk to your bedroom and shrug, “Cold showers are good for you, I heard.”

“I suppose I’ll take the couch then?” he asks, finally looking up from the book.

You turn back and peek through your doorway at him. “You can take the floor if that’s more comfortable for you.”

“We’ve shared a bed before.”

“Not by choice.”

He smirks, “You liked it.”

“You snore.”

“Sleep tight, sweetheart.” He grins at you.

You make to get to bed when you pause and turn back to him once more with a slight frown. “Why are you so cheerful? Aren’t there people after you?”

“Well,” he says, casual as always, “these may very well be my last days, so I might as well be in a good mood.”

You find yourself swallowing hard and desperately search his face for any intel on how true his statement is, without giving away that you might just care a little bit about his well-being. But his grin stays firm in place and he raises his brows in wait for you to call it a night.

Without another word, you close the door between you and crawl into your comfortable bed. And you wonder why it is that you can’t quite get comfortable this time.

…

A powerful jolt rips through your body as you lift out of layers of sleep. You’re too tired for whatever made you wake up so suddenly. It’s too goddamn late for this shit.

But as you gain more and more of your consciousness, your senses start perking up and you realise you might very well be in danger. The gentle and calm voice calling your name with a warm stroke of a hand down your arm, confirms that for you. That specific type of calm in Bucky’s voice sends your body into overdrive.

“We’ve got to go, sweetheart,” he murmurs and is already throwing clothes onto your bed. “Now.”

You sit up and rub your eyes and it dawns on you after a week of Bucky staying at your place. This man wasn’t going to leave you until he got chased out of your apartment. And that day has come.

“Bucky,” you start with a hoarse voice as you climb out of your warm bed and quickly throw on the clothes he picked for you, “who the fuck is after you?”

He takes his time to answer, pulling two fully packed backpacks from the corner of your room that you surprisingly didn’t know he hid there. Oh, this man is going to get an ear full about this bullshit.

“Some weird underground cartel that deals in tech or something,” he grumbles and throws you a pack. You are nearly too slow to catch it before you sling it onto your back. You gape at him after his answer and his face stays solemn as he pushes a hand gun into your hands. “Let’s go.”

“Bucky.”

He stops and turns to you fully. “It’s bad, okay? I’ll tell you later.”

“No. Tell me now.”

He groans out your name, peeking outside while he impatiently chews on his lip. “Don’t do this right now. You can be pissed at me later!”

“I will be pissed at you now,” you seethe, “and later. How about that?!”

He sighs and then grabs your arm, giving you a boyish grin before shooting two bullets through your window, breaking the glass, slinging an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him and jumping out of the fucking window with you clinging to him. It’s only when you fly about five stories down, that you realise the two of you are attached to a bungee rope that eases your descent. His feet touch the ground first, yours following. He cuts the rope and grabs your hand before he starts running towards the parking lot beneath your building.

“Bucky, you piece of shit!” you yell at him as you run, hearing the faint sound of gun fire behind you over the sound of your ragged breathing.

“I’ll make it up to you!” he simply yells back.

You can hear the smile in his voice. And the worst thing? You feel yourself smiling as well when you realise how easily you’ve slipped back into being his partner in crime.

…

Bucky checks one more time, his gleaming metal hand pulling the sheer curtain aside to peer out onto the dark streets. You hear some shouting coming from outside and still feel your heart pounding, even when you know you have definitely outrun those people coming after you. You hate how out of practice you are. And how much you missed the adrenaline of being on the run with Bucky.

He turns back to you and finds you with your arms crossed, glaring at him. Oh, you know the perfect way to let out this adrenaline. There might be actual steam coming out of your ears.

Bucky cringes and slowly strolls over, already reaching out his hands to use his irresistible charm on you. Like the time he dropped the cake you made one afternoon and tried to make it up to you. Or that time he left some very important documents in one of the buildings he set on fire. Or the time he accidentally deleted your recordings off the TV when you had been looking forward to watching the next episode for two weeks.

However, your burning eyes stop him dead in his tracks and he opens his mouth to say something, then decides against it and closes his mouth again. A second later, he tries again, “Okay. Give it to me.”

You give him a satisfied, albeit sadistic smile, at his willingness to take your scolding and then, you start yelling. You have no idea what words specifically are rolling off your tongue, but your speech starts somewhere during that first meeting in Bucharest, drifts to your entire time together as partners, how you drifted apart, only for him to show up whenever he pleased, and you continue to how he stood at your door a little over a week ago, to him terrorising your happy little life in Germany… To now.

Your voice rises with every instance you tell him about, fire burning in your core and hands flailing to give your story that much more power (even though you couldn’t stop your conviction if you tried). As the grin on his face grows through your rambling, a metal hand pressing to his lips to stop it from showing too much, you burn even brighter with fury.

Then you stop, breathing heavily. You give him a withering look to get him to start speaking up, because let’s be honest, all the two of you really needed was only just a look.

His shoulders slowly stop shaking and he drops his hand, eyes sparkling like a glass of Prosecco in the light. Devious asshole. “I just– I haven’t seen you this alive in a while. It looks fantastic on you.”

You gape at him like a fish and you wonder if the warmth in your face still belongs to your anger. Though you fear it belongs to quite the opposite. Either way, this man certainly knows how to make you passionate. And you realise he knows what you have been trying to do with your fake little life here in Germany.

“I don’t think you–”

“I’m sorry,” he says and steps forward, his large hands cupping your face as he looks down at you with earnest eyes. “I’m sorry for making your life so goddamn miserable. So tell me how to make it up to you.”

And for all the world, you can tell he means it. Can tell that he will do anything to make it up to you. You can almost feel the squeeze of pain in your own heart when you see the disappointment in his eyes after he realises you didn’t enjoy this as much as he had.

But the worst part is, is that you did. You’ve never felt more alive than with him. Never felt more like you. You wouldn’t necessarily call him an adventurer, maybe he is just a magnet for trouble. But whenever you’re with Bucky, you’ll drop anything for him and you’ll burn like an inferno doing so. He makes you into the best version of yourself and he makes you love the parts about yourself that you have been conditioned to feel guilty about.

You sigh, “I don’t know. Never mind.”

He doesn’t let go though and searches your eyes, his own narrowing in suspicion. “I’m going to make it up to you, you know.”

You cross your arms and give him an unimpressed look. “Yeah? How?”

He smirks and your knees weaken. “I could kiss it better.”

“Shameless flirt,” you huff and roll your eyes as an excuse to break his intense stare on you.

“You’re just too proud to admit that my kisses would make you forgive me,” he prods and your eyes snap back to his. He’s right, that is pride surging in your chest to lunge at him.

“You’ve grown too cocky for your own good,” you sneer at him.

“You like it.”

“I assure you, I don’t.”

“Liar.”

“Manipulator.”

He feigns hurt, “Ouch.”

You huff a laugh with a roll of your eyes, “Such a fragile ego.”

He smirks again and you swallow as you fight to look at his lips. So close to your own. “Now you have to kiss me for forgiveness.”

You can’t help but truly laugh this time, your face still safely tucked in his palms and his brows raise with intrigue at the sound of your laughter.

You tell him, “You are so full of shit.”

His smile fades, his eyes large with earnest and all of a sudden, it’s the man standing before you that sat next to you in that Romanian café. Stripped down, bare, rough, and perhaps a bit vulnerable.

“Let me kiss you,” he says in merely a whisper now.

You fight for your life not to falter to that genuine request and the way he said it. “It won’t make me forgive you,” you say softly, but barely hear your own voice over the increased pounding of your heart in your throat.

“I don’t care,” he murmurs. “Just want to kiss you.”

He doesn’t wait for your permission either, because quite frankly, you most likely gave him a look of permission instantly at that request. His soft lips slot over yours and you could’ve never predicted the depraved moan that resounded in the back of your throat as your mouths meet. Your hands instantly slip into his hair as Bucky’s hands slide around your waist to pull you closer, fingers digging into your flesh possessively.

The kiss deepens when his tongue meets yours and he lets out a groan of his own, a sound so addicting that you instinctively tug on his hair to hear it again. The laugh against your lips is rough as he hauls you closer and changes the kiss. Something more desperate and impatient. Something hot and sweaty and slightly messy. You might be walking as Bucky finds something to press you up against or lay you down on, and you almost squawk in surprise as you fall back onto the double, motel bed.

Though before you can say anything else, Bucky is on you again, his mouth demanding and greedy against yours. His hands feel and grab and squeeze every inch of you and you grind your hips upward for his weight. You want his heaviness between your hips and on your stomach and against your chest.

Growing impatient, convinced that Bucky’s brain might no longer be working, you lock your ankles around his hips and pull him down between your legs, sighing a groan of relief at the feeling of him tucked against you so warmly.

“God dammit,” he grunts and gives one luxurious roll of his hips against yours, making you whine as your pulse hammers down in your core.

His mouth grazes against your neck now and you can hardly breathe, panting as if you’ve run a marathon. The pressure between your hips leaves as he moves further down and you buck your hips at the ache he leaves.

“Bucky,” you whimper and look down, heart slamming in your throat at the sight of him. He messily yet gently makes his way down your body. Hands roughly pushing up your shirt as his lips find the plane of your stomach, kissing from your bra, down to your hips that you can’t seem to keep still.

Your body feels so heavy, yet so light without him on top of you and you can’t remember any moment before this kiss. Before five minutes ago. Everything is solidified. Your entire history with him. And Bucky presses a kiss just below your navel that confirms that feeling, his hands peeling off your jeans. That is until he speaks.

“Listen to me,” he orders and you freeze at the sound of him. He’s only sounded like that during missions where either of you might die. So serious and detrimental. “Don’t ever try to build a life without me again.”

“Bucky–”

“No,” he snaps and you close your mouth. “Don’t ever pretend like we don’t exist. Like you and I aren’t supposed to do this shit together, like you are better off without me, like I am better off without you. That’s bullshit.” You give him a questioning look. Where is this coming from? “I’m going to kiss you and you are going to forgive me. And then I am going to kiss you some more.”

He waits then. For you to answer, to process what it is he is saying exactly. It’s a lot of words with a lot of meaning, yet you’re not sure if this is the declaration you didn’t know you were waiting for.

So you speak from your gut and let out a breath, “Finally.”

Bucky smiles at that and surges upward, clearly happy with that intuitive answer. His lips claim yours once again and then you feel his fingers inching up your thigh.

You whine softly against his lips and you feel him smile as his fingers reach your drenched core. Two fingers slip through your folds to explore your wetness and Bucky drops his head into the crook of you neck.

“Finally indeed,” he breathes and slips his middle finger into you, making you whimper and buck your hips.

The stretch against your swollen walls sends an ache through your abdomen that cries out for more. You cannot explain the desperation to have him, to have every empty pit of you filled with his essence. His finger curls up and you throw your head back, making Bucky raise his own head to look at you.

“There?”

You nod frantically and Bucky pushes in another finger, making you tense up around him. He curls that one too and you don’t recognise the sound spilling from your lips. You’re already so fucking full.

As Bucky teasingly darts his thumb over your swollen clit, he traces his tongue over your mouth and you gasp for air at the sensation.

“Bucky, fuck!” you cry and he pushes his mouth to yours in a claiming kiss, his fingers moving faster as his thumb rotates over your clit. You can barely kiss him back, overtaken by pleasure as he pumps his fingers over and over until you can hear your wetness surround his sinful digits.

It is by far the hottest thing you have ever experienced. So much time has passed and now this beast of a man who tries everything to make you blush with his flirty persona, is bent over you with his fingers peeling your pleasure to the surface like his own fucking release depends on it.

His chest is heaving from watching you, brows pulled together, eyes dark as they rake over you hungrily, muscles flexing as his hand disappears between your legs.

His leg slips beneath your knee and pulls your leg up to finger you in a different angle and your nails bury themselves in the muscles of Bucky’s neck, abdomen flexing at the wave of pleasure that courses through you. “More. Oh my God, more!”

“I know, I can feel it,” he grunts and slows his fingers. “But I’ve waited ages for this. I refuse to let it be over so soon.”

Your brain is nothing but cinders and you shake your head violently, “No! No, please. You can have everything, just let me come. Please.”

Bucky pecks your lips. Once. Twice.

“You want to come all over my hand, pretty girl?” he murmurs in your ear and you can only gasp at the press of his fingers against your spot. “Can I lick you up after?”

You clench around him like a vice, his low voice making you drip onto his palm, his words incinerating what is left of your pride. You can only nod, so you do. And his hand starts moving again. Faster, deeper, more thorough. You keep nodding, your moans raising, your pleasure retreating like a snake ready to strike. Oh God, oh God, oh God–

“Come.”

Your hips fly to the ceiling when you come, thighs trembling and closing around his hand. Bucky keeps moving and thrusting and curling until he has wrung all of your pleasure from your body and you feel like you’re made of jelly. Your voice is hoarse from yelling your release and the sheets below are drenched with your desire.

Soft kisses are pressed to your face and that is how you return from whatever plane of existence you went to. His gentle laugh makes you shiver and you open your eyes to find him licking his fingers like there is caramel dripping from them. You swallow hard and zero in on that action, making his eyes sparkle.

But something changes when you reach up to stroke his hair and his eyes flutter. Your eyes rove over his face in admiration and your entire soul sighs at the sight of him. Bucky looks down at you curiously and cocks his head.

“What is it?” he asks and you chew your lip, trying to find the words.

“You and me, huh?” you murmur with something like wonder in your voice. Bucky can only nod. You continue, “Who would’ve thought…”

Bucky leans down and kisses you. Soft, slow, deep. It makes your body sing. And he shuffles back to make himself at home between your legs. Though as he does that, he remains his focus on kissing you. Deeper, more, desperate. Depraved. He moans and breathes and you swear you hear him whimper, his hips grinding over your oversensitive cunt as he gets lost in kissing you.

Raking your nails over his scalp, you once again wrap your legs around his hips and pull him down. And if Bucky hadn’t snapped his leash just yet, this does it. He turns wild and passionate and heavy. One hand of his and one hand of your own both reach down, messily working together to get rid of his jeans. He shimmies out of them, not bothering to get rid of them entirely, but bothering to at least take off his shirt.

Your fingers drag down his pecs and abdomen, trying to memorise every curve and edge with what little brain capacity you have left. You feel like no more than a flame, no more than passion and want and need. And when Bucky slides his bare cock through your folds to slicken himself, you shudder so violently, your breath shudders with it.

“Woman, you are going to kill me,” he breathes and nips at your lips.

You almost growl with impatience, “Then fuck me and die already.”

He laughs, bold and happy, before thrusting into you in a long stroke. Home. Oh fuck, he’s home. Both of you freeze, taking in the moment of being fused together before he slowly pulls out and out and out. And sliding back in with an agonizing thrust.

Something in you clicks. Something so vital, so necessary. And Bucky feels it too.

“Yes,” he groans and presses another kiss to your lips, like he can’t get enough. “This is it.”

You nod and close your eyes in pleasure. In relief. You shudder with emotion and clamp onto him. Bucky keeps pressing kisses to your skin. Your neck, your lips, your cheek, temple, forehead.

“This is it,” you choke out and Bucky smiles. “You’re it.”

Bucky breathes a sigh, as if he’s been waiting ages for you to admit it. “Finally.”

Infinity War.

Biting your lip and bouncing your leg, you try to let the rumble of the swift jet calm your nerves. Your eyes search the cabin and go over the confusing screens for the thousandth time.

“Nervous?” Natasha’s sensual voice sounds next to you and you force a smile.

“Why would I be nervous?” you ask and smirk at her. “We’re only stepping into a war with the probability of us winning being like…” Zero? Less than zero? You sigh, “I don’t want to think about that.”

She bites back her own smirk and raises her eyebrows. “Wasn’t talking about the war. Are you nervous about seeing him?”

Bucky.

You glare at her after quickly glancing around to see if anyone heard her, making Natasha try even harder to hold back a smile.

Yes, you were nervous to see him. So much had happened. So many aspects of your spy work had suddenly intermingled and now you are fighting along with the Avengers. Even after you were sure they had torn themselves apart over Bucky. Being caught in the middle of that had put you and Bucky’s relationship –if you could even call it that– so far to the back of both your minds, you barely had time to mention it to anyone until Steve shipped him off to Wakanda to get some real help.

You and Bucky were over before it even started and you think that maybe it’s for the better. Neither you nor Bucky are any good at that relationship shit anyway. It showed over and over.

Luckily enough, you’d found plenty of distraction being on the run with Sam, Natasha and Steve. No Bucky in sight, but knowing he was safe and taken care of. Private mission after mission with other people you cared about, people who didn’t know about you and Bucky, one of them eager to forget about Bucky himself.

You barely gave it any thought.

Except you thought of Bucky every day.

And now you get to see him again. However, if any time would make you reconsider any commitment at all, it would be now.

“No,” you answer and then turn serious. “I mean, I was. But now I’m just preparing myself for either grief, or death.”

“Are those our only options?” she asks with a displeased frown. “Why not prepare for victory or somethin’?”

Giving her a long and hard stare, you sigh deeply. “Yeah. You’re right. If I die, I might as well die hopeful.”

“That’s my girl,” she grins and you bump her shoulder with yours, finding your own smile breaking through.

That’s when Steve gives Sam the coordinates to fly through a barrier and show you the hidden – and beautiful – kingdom of Wakanda. So you ignore every jittery feeling you have in your stomach at possibly seeing Barnes again, and you channel it all into hope.

…

Natasha strokes her hand over your shoulder as you walk up to king T’Challa, who’s flanked by his closest guard and a palace that screams to get you on your knees to worship. You barely hear the conversation the king has with Steve, partly because you’re still in awe of the beautiful place around you.

Now this, this is a refuge.

“How are we lookin’?” Natasha asks from next to you and that’s when you start to pay attention. You’d need a hell of a lot of man-power to win this.

“You will have my Kings Guard,” T’Challa starts, “the Border Tribe, the Dora Milaje, and…”

“A semi-stable hundred-year-old man,” finishes a voice that makes your entire system dysregulate. Oh God, it’s been so long since you’ve heard the warm timber of that voice.

You notice your hands have started shaking and clutch them behind your back, squeezing courage out of them to face your past, as Bucky Barnes walks up to hug Captain America.

“How’ve you been, Buck?” Steve asks and Bucky answers with a heart-stopping smile.

“Uh, not bad,” he answers, “for the end of the world.”

They share another warm look before Steve turns to everyone behind him and then to the king, “Should we prepare?”

A few minutes later, you’re following the king inside with all of his closest guards and your own team, which now includes Bucky. Focusing your eyes on everything around you, you barely notice the large hand slipping around your elbow and pulling you into another hallway.

You know better than to scream for help and you use the momentum to swing the person around and pin them to the nearest wall with a knife to their throat. But the air rushes from you when you stand face to face with Bucky.

“There she is,” he grins and slowly raises his hands in surrender.

You back away slowly and look at him like a gaping fish, your insides pounding and swirling and thrashing as your body heats with adrenaline. It’s him, it’s him, it’s him.

“New arm?” you ask him, your voice coming out surprisingly steady, and he glances at the appendage, flexing his hand between your faces.

“Yeah, you like it?” he asks and he almost sounds like a young boy, genuinely interested in what you think of it, of him.

And you calm. Everything inside of you settles and the heat turns to warmth. Your insides seem to melt with relief and you throw your arms around his neck, almost tipping over until Bucky’s arms automatically slide around your waist to pull your pliant body tightly against his. He’s so big and strong and warm.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” he laughs softly and one hand starts to stroke your hair gently as you huff out a sob into his neck. “Oh, sweet girl. You’ve never been sad to see me before.”

You finally pull back and cup his face as he lets you survey him closely, him grinning widely at the worry in your every feature. You breathe, “You’re good. You’re safe.”

He nods and takes your hands, pressing a kiss to your palm. “So are you,” he whispers and you nod.

“Not for long,” you add, deflated.

He gives you a sad smile. “Now, who would we be if we didn’t go down fighting, hm?”

You smile slightly at that. “Back on the same team.”

He presses a gentle kiss to your lips and the planet stops turning.

“Finally.”

The Blip.

Another knock sounds and you roll your eyes, throwing on a quick cardigan as you hop over to your door. Unusual, for your quiet, lonely evenings to get interrupted like this. You’re ready to cash in what you can only assume is some complaining neighbour or your awful land lord when you open the door and are met with a familiar face that makes your heart squeeze together.

“Steve,” you breathe.

“Hey.”

You step aside to let him in and take a deep breath.

“Want something to drink?” you ask as you close the door behind him and let him venture into your home. Or, whatever you have tried to turn into your home. It had never been more than the latest home trends and some empty picture frames.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how I found you?” he asks and you get a feeling of déjà vu.

But you shake your head with a forced smile, “I left a trace for Natasha to track for emergencies. I know how you found me.” You give him a pointed look and Steve actually has the decency to look slightly apologetic.

That look tells you enough about how much of an emergency this is and you wonder what prompted Natasha to decipher your code and hand your location to the Captain. Maybe he was the one breaking and could use a familiar face. Maybe something turned him awfully worried about you. Maybe-

No.

“Aren’t you mad that Natasha told me?” he asks unsurely and you give him a tight-lipped smile, taking a seat in one of your dining table chairs and ushering for him to do so as well.

“Would you believe me if I said that it’s actually quite nice to see a familiar face after five pretty lonely years?” you refute and he gives you a warm smile.

“It’s good to see you, too, Kid.”

A comfortable silence settles between you two and you fidget with your hands, staring at them intently before raising your face back to Steve. “Why are you here, Cap?”

He lets out a long sigh. “Ever since the Blip,” he starts and you can feel him debating whether to continue, “I never– I didn’t get to tell you how sorry I am about Bucky.”

You freeze and slowly turn your gaze to him. “Okay. Now I am pissed at her.”

“Natasha didn’t tell me,” he quickly assures and you raise a brow at him. “He did.”

You fall quiet at that. “Bucky told you about…”

“What,” he laughs. “Didn’t think you two were serious enough for him to tell his best friend about it?”

You reply with a humourless laugh of your own. “He um– He wasn’t a very committing guy. And I don’t blame him. Why commit to something if you might lose everything all over again?”

The pity in Steve’s gaze feels burning to your skin. “Well, if you’re that scared of losing something, it might be worth committing to,” he says and you find yourself agreeing with the wise bastard.

“Well, I committed and look where I am now,” you huff. “Turns out, he was right all along.”

“Kid–”

“Why are you here, Cap?” you try again, all of a sudden too eager to get rid of him.

It takes a while for him to answer and dread settles low in your belly. When he starts talking, you’ve already started shaking your head. “We have found a way to bring them all back.”

You still. And you stay like that. Seconds. Minutes. Maybe another five years have passed.

“Did you hear what I said?” he tries.

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true. We figured out a way. Time travel.”

You bark a laugh and give him a pointed glare. However, your vision is already slightly impaired by the tears pooling at your waterline. “Don’t,” you stop him before he continues elaborating. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought about this in the past five years? That you, or Nat, or even Tony fucking Stark himself would stand at my door and tell me we figured it out? About a million times, Cap. And the more normal this delusional scenario became in my head, the more absurd it seemed to be. And now, you expect me to just believe that nearly five years on the dot, you have figured out a way to return everything to normal?!”

Steve can take it, the sudden outburst of your disbelief. He has definitely encountered a whole lot more scepticism in his life. But his heart breaks a little for you. Bucky had tried to be so casual when he finally told Steve about you, but Steve had caught the sparkle in those hundred-year-old eyes and he couldn’t describe the relief of Bucky having found someone, let alone you.

But now, to see you so far removed from Bucky – from hope. He hates it.

“I waited,” he almost whispers. “Until I was completely sure. We need you for this.”

You blink away your tears and one rolls down your cheek. Steve quickly reaches to catch it and cups your face. A touch normally so very unwelcome, but now you cannot help but bury your face in his palm.

“You’re sure?” you ask, voice breaking.

Steve pulls you in and up to his chest, engulfing you in a tight hug. “Time to bring our best friend back, Kid.”

Time Travel.

You cannot help but smile when you see the handsome brainiac hunched over a laptop near some high-tech stage that you can’t seem to look at too long without talking yourself out of this.

“Hey, Tony,” you say quietly as you walk up and his brown eyes light up when he hears your voice. Stepping away from the screen, he opens his arms wide and pulls you into a tight hug. Another comfortable embrace that you can only breathe in and cherish.

“My favourite spy,” he murmurs and pulls back.

“How are you doing?” you ask him.

He gives you a knowing look. “Oh, you know. Good. Until he showed up,” he sneers with a pointed look at Steve, who simply rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “he has a way of interrupting peace.”

Tony snorts. “Now that, is what I call a paradox.”

You laugh and pat his shoulder, “Pepper and Morgan?”

“They’re wonderful.” He grins, but you can see the fear shining in his eyes and you give his shoulder a firm squeeze.

“Thank you for doing this, Tony.”

He smirks in answer. “I swear, if you and Barnes don’t openly kiss after all I am about to sacrifice, I will find the stones and undo both of your existences.”

You shoot a thunderous glare to Steve, and to Natasha who is walking up behind the Captain. But Tony stops you before you can scold them on their horrible secret-keeping skills, “Pepper told me.”

You grit your teeth.

The Avengers are a bunch of gossips.

The Endgame.

You stumble backward, your sprained ankle and broken ribs somehow only a faint ache over the sight before you. You almost trip over debris, or a body, or just air and you keep blinking to see better or to make it all go away, you don’t know.

He did it. Tony did it. You’re sure you can still feel the snap of his fingers vibrate through your spine. And there he is. Slumped against more debris, half of his face cracked like burnt coal, his suit barely reflecting its original colours. The blue light at the centre of his chest is fading, shuttering and then… it goes dark. With Pepper’s hand over it.

Your own hand barely muffles the sob trying to break through and you stumble over and over again as you back away from that horrible, awful reality. He did it. But at what cost?

You turn around and start jogging. How? You’re not sure. Your body is in no state to hurry. But it’s incomplete. You were barely strong or extraordinary enough to be of any help during the fight, but you tried your best. Helping people in the field, some war medic patching up gushing wounds. You’d cashed some punches and kicks yourself. Dealt them, too.

It was all because you needed to be there. Because you needed to stay alive. Needed to stick around to see him again. And now… Now… You barely survived this, barely made it through. And Tony died. Tony Stark. The chance of him still being out there-

You start running faster. Hobbling and grunting from the pain.

“Bucky,” you voice is raw and frantic, it’s barely a sound as you cry out for him. “Bucky! Bucky!”

Head swinging from side to side, you hope the soldier reveals himself from behind one of the plumes of smoke. Further and further away, you flee from the horrifying scene of whatever is left after Thanos. You need to find him, but you can’t identify anything on this war ground.

If he’s dead. If Bucky is dead–

Your head whips around so fast, your neck might crack, when you’re sure you hear your name. Everything about you goes quiet and you hold your breath like it will make any difference. Slowly, you walk in the direction where you assume the sound came from, but you almost cringe at the idea that you might just be going insane. After all those explosions, your hearing can’t possibly be this sharp.

Though perhaps intuition is at play here, because you’ve always been able to feel him. Always knew it when it was him waiting up for you, or looking for you, or needing you.

“Bucky,” you croak again.

“Here…” It’s so quiet. But you hear it over everything else and follow the echo of the sound.

“Bucky,” you rasp out. “I’m coming!”

And there he is. On hands and knees, struggling to get up. You can only describe your approach as a dive, as you crash onto your wobbly knees and wrap your arms around him. His body instantly stops struggling and falls into your rib cage.

He’s here. He’s here. He’s here.

“Yeah,” he groans. “’M right here.”

You had no idea you were sobbing it to him, but you don’t care as your hands grapple for a better hold of him. He does the same until both of you are kneeling in front of each other, cupping each others’ faces to check for injuries.

“You look pretty all roughed up,” he mutters and you smile through your tears.

“You look awful,” you reply and he chuckles before pulling you into his chest. “But you’re home.”

He shudders and you might actually hear him let out a sob of his own as he tightens his grip on you.

“Finally.”

#SLOW BURNNNN #I looove their dynamic okay #lots of dialogue which we all love #some action and fluff and passion adn efgedksbf i love them ok?!#PLease tell me what you think and if this is maybe too long...#it's a bit intimidating i get that but it's an easy read i promise #ok i love you guys #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes oneshot #writing #bucky barnes fluff

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r0tting-rat · 4 months ago

Text

DCA PROMPTOBER 2024

Attention! This slasher!au belong to the lovely @wyervan, who gave me the okay to write a little drabble about their murderous guys bc I'm simply obsessed with them. I hope I did them justice :>

Day 27 - Stalker

Pairing: Slasher!Sun and Moon x/& GN reader Warning: Blood, violence and gore, choking, drug mention Words: 3800+ Summary: It's Halloween and someone stops by to pay you a visit <3

Whoever said that serial killers are the real monsters of this world has probably never worked a minimum wage job at a diner during Halloween. Teenagers were a fucking pain, there was nothing to say about it. Between stupid pranks and annoying messes, they seemed to try and find every possible way to make your living life hell, like you were some kind of lifeless mannequin and not a waiter.

You often had the closing shift during the weekends, along with a coworker of yours, who was as insufferable and as bothersome as some of the teenagers who’d come in during the day. Jake was a douche, there wasn’t much to say; he was immature and lazy, multiple times he had found ways to shove his workload on you and other people, his cigarette breaks lasted longer than your lunch and he would flirt with every woman under 20 that would cross the threshold of the diner. You and he often worked the closing shift together, which meant you cleaned the kitchen and the tables as Jake called his girlfriend on his flip phone while mindlessly sweeping the floor, only managing to move dust bunnies and used napkins from one place to the other.

You heard his voice loud and clear from the kitchen, complaining about some guy who owed him money, when your ears suddenly picked up something you regretted hearing.

-Stop worrying about it, there’s no risk of him telling the cops, he’d get into a lot more trouble than me,- he laughed, -He’s addicted to that shit, he wouldn’t survive a week without me.-

You had heard from a coworker that Jake sold drugs to highschoolers, but you weren’t the type to believe rumors without any proof, so you had never cared much about it. Your eyes glanced up from the grill you were cleaning to see if Jake had noticed you listening in on his private conversation, but the man was too engrossed into pretending to do his job to notice you. You didn’t want to have anything to do with Jake’s deals, you wanted to keep out of his life as much as you didn’t want him to become a part of yours.

Suddenly, someone began knocking on the glass door of the bar, making it rattle loudly and echo through the small diner. You stopped and waited, until a second, louder knock startled you. Jake wasn’t going to open, was he?

You peeked out of the kitchen, looking for your coworker, but he must have disappeared somewhere in the back because you couldn’t see him anywhere in the dining area. He had left the broom behind, of course.

Looking outside the diner and into the dark parking lot, you saw a tall man standing right in front of the door with a weird jester costume, waiting for someone to open the door for him. He was wearing red and yellow puffy striped pants, a yellow top with red ruffles, and a weird Halloween mask over his face—a white and golden smiling sun, with a crown of golden rays all around.

As soon as the man saw you he stopped slowly swaying on the spot, freezing, and his head tilted to the side in confusion. You had expected teenagers to come and bother you so late, considering it was the 31st, but a grown ass man wearing such a stupid costume? That was simply ridiculous. You tapped the sign on your side of the glass which read “CLOSED” in bold and red letters, but that seemed to not be enough for the clown.

-We don’t do trick or treating here,- you said, speaking loud enough so he could hear you from outside, -If you want candies how about knocking at the door of a house or something?-

The man’s shoulders shook with laughter, but you didn’t hear any sound coming from him, so you simply sighed and turned back towards the kitchen. You wanted to go home, drink something warm, and do a rewatch of the Scream trilogy, nothing else. Why couldn’t that asshole do the same?

The masked man slammed his hand on the glass, making you jump and turn back around, then he pointed towards the broom laying on the floor a few feet away from you. Something clicked in your head, and you stared at him with your mouth agape.

-Wait, are you here for Jake? Are you one of his friends or something?- you asked, and after a moment of hesitation, the man nodded eagerly. You gave him a better look, noticing exactly how much taller than you he was and his lean build—he didn’t fit the depiction of Jake’s clients. Most of them were highschoolers, as far as you were aware.

-Listen, I can’t let you in, but we’re almost closed, so you just wait a couple of minutes and he’s all yours,- you told the man, who gave you a grateful nod followed by a step back into the parking lot. Despite that, that guy unnerved you deeply, he was weird and creepy, and you didn’t want to have anything to do with him.

You decided you could tell Jake to go home and leave you the rest of the work—which you would have ended up doing even if he stayed there—just so you could get rid of the masked loser outside, but when you called his name, you didn’t hear any answer. You walked in the back of the diner, checking even the kitchen to make sure he wasn’t eating any of the leftover fries, but your coworker had disappeared into thin air.

During your search you found the staff door wide open, letting in the cold night breeze, and when you tried to close it you found that the handle wasn’t working properly anymore. Every time you pushed it closed, the door would creak open once more.

-What the fuck…?-

A sudden sound made you jump out of your skin and turn around in search of the cause, finding only the silence of the dark diner answering back. You were getting uneasy, on edge, and you couldn’t stop thinking about the weirdo right outside the door. Right as you had begun to wonder if he had found a way to get in, a hand grabbed your shoulder and you screamed.

-Jesus, fuck!- yelled Jake as you flinched away from him, -What the hell is wrong with you?!-

Your heart was beating so loud you could hear it in your chest, hammering against your sternum like a drum, but when you saw your coworker standing right behind you, you sighed and relaxed.

-You scared me!- You shoved the man away, annoyed, and he reacted by looking at you like you had gotten crazy. -Go tell your stupid friend to leave, he’s creeping me out.-

-Who are you talking about?- he asked, and you rolled your eyes.

-Sun dude, with the mask and clown outfit? Doesn’t that ring a bell? He’s waiting for you outside.-

Jake’s brown furrowed in confusion, then he pushed you away to enter back into the dining area, where you had seen the masked guy. He looked outside, walking towards the glass windows that gave a clear view of the parking lot, which revealed to be completely empty. Jake turned around to glare at you like you had set your pants on fire.

-Did you take something? Some shrooms?- he asked, and you sighed.

-No, he probably just left. That’s his van, I’m sure, it wasn’t there an hour ago.- You pointed at a white van parked not too far from the door in the parking lot. -Do you recognize it?-

Jake shook his head, still visibly confused by your behavior, and from his stance you could tell that he was also growing tense. His hands were fidgeting and his eyes were scanning the parking lot like a police car was about to pull up and arrest him any minute, but in the end he scoffed.

-Nah. Whatever, I’m going home,- he said, walking away from the window, -I’m not in the mood for this stuff.-

-I’m serious, there was a guy there!- you replied, but the man didn’t listen, -Also, next time close the door behind you after you go out for a smoke.-

-I haven’t smoked in 3 hours,- Jake retorted, -What are you talking about now?-

-So you didn’t open the back door?- you asked after a pause, feeling a sense of chill spread in your guts, creeping up into your lungs and blocking your airway, -But it’s…?-

The door had been broken. From the outside. Someone had gotten in, and you didn’t even hear it, neither of you did. You and Jake seemed to realize the same thing at the same time, but just as you bolted towards your bag and grabbed your phone, which you had left behind the counter, Jake ran for the main door, slamming it open in a rush.

-Wait, don’t!- you screamed, but the man didn’t listen to you and headed to his car, which was parked in a far corner of the parking lot. Before he could take more than two steps, the white van rumbled to life, pointing its headlights at him and blinding him in the process.

-Come back inside!- you screamed, and luckily this time Jake seemed to be willing to listen to you, because as soon as he realized he was about to get run over, he threw himself back into the diner. You grabbed him by one of his wrists and dragged him with you in the kitchen, your only safe space for now.

The kitchen wasn’t that big; the diner you worked at was just a small local business that had just enough seats for the small population of your town, therefore, there weren’t many places to hide.

-What the fuck is happening?!- screamed Jake in a panic, but you shushed him, beginning to type the police’s number until a humming sound made you freeze on the spot, -Why did you stop?! We need to…-

-Down!- you hissed, ducking behind one of the grills and bringing Jake down with you, right as light steps echoed in the dining area which you had just left. You listened carefully, kneeling on the cold floor of the kitchen with Jake shaking beside you, one of your hands coming up to cover his mouth.

Your ears picked on a masculine voice singing something reminding you of a lullaby, slow and gentle, melodic and raspy at the same time. The intruder was singing without a care in the world, entering the kitchen just to stop right on the threshold, lingering on the spot. You peeked your head out from the side of the fryer, trying to get a look at the man but only managing to see a pair of black boots and blue puffy pants covered in stars before your eye was caught by the hatchet he was holding in his gloved hand. Old, rusty, and clipped in many places around the edge, the weapon looked decades old, if not more. You saw the man swinging it mindlessly around, like he was playing with it, still humming that low tune with his deep voice.

-Someone’s hiding,- he sang, mocking, -Someone’s scared!-

Struggling to keep yourself from making a sound, you hid back behind the fryer, hoping to the heavens that Jake wasn’t about to panic and rat you both out. You sent him a warning glare, but the man was too worried about stopping his hands from trembling to even look in your direction.

-Which little mouse will have its tail chopped off today, mh?- asked the intruder, beginning to walk slowly around the kitchen, -I heard someone has been behaving badly recently. The Sun told me someone was being naughty…-

Pots and pans were knocked down from the counters, making you flinch and cover your own mouth in fear of letting a sound slip out, and with the corner of your eye, you saw Jake begin crying.

-Isn’t that right, Jake?- the psycho laughed, beginning to move once more, -Did the Sun lie, or are you actually misbehaving?-

You grabbed one of your coworker’s hands and began to crawl away, forcing him to come along, attempting to get on the other side before you could be seen.

-Come out, come out, Jake, we just wanna play a game with you.- The man faked disappointment, opening any cabinet big enough to contain a human and making a mess of the kitchen around him as an attempt to drive you out of hiding. A metal lid rolled all the way in front of you, stopping right in your tracks, but being too focused on trying to understand how far the intruder was, you didn’t see it, and you hit it with one of your hands, sending it against the wall with a clang.

-Shit!- you said, standing back up, -Run!-

-There you are!- screamed the intruder, immediately running after you and Jake as you scrambled up on your feet and did everything you could to get away.

You went back into the dining area, attempting an escape through the broken back door, but just as you turned the corner you found the sun-masked man standing in your way with a metal bat in his hands. While trying to step away from him and avoid his first swing directly aimed at your head, you tripped onto Jake, falling on him and causing both of you to ruin on the ground, hitting your head against the wall in the process. Breathing heavily, you managed to back yourself into a corner, unable to see through the heavy cloud of pain blossoming in your skull as warm liquid dripped down your neck, soaking your work uniform and making you dizzy. Your every breath was painful, your throat and mouth burned dry and your heart was beating out of your chest, deafening you entirely to the screams of your coworker being slammed against the wall beside you by the man with the hatchet. You were barely conscious, enough to distinguish the sun mask kneeling in front of you to observe you better as a crunch echoed through the diner, final in the way it made Jake’s protests and cries come to an abrupt stop.

Blood began to pool on the floor next to you, dripping down the wall where the killer’s hatchet had split open his skull, and the metallic scent hit your senses like a punch in the guts. You suddenly awakened, gasping for air like a starving man, and immediately you flinched when the sun mask leaned closer to your face. You couldn’t suppress the tears pushing out of your ducts, streaming down your face in rivers, and you hiccupped when, during your struggle to push yourself back up, you slipped on the blood with your palms and found yourself face-first in it.

The murderer with the hatchet, who was wearing a moon-themed mask and a costume matching the other maniac, let go of Jake’s body and let it slide down the wall into a sitting position right beside you, making you scream and stumble back into your corner.

-Please don’t kill me!- you begged, out of your mind with fear, -P-Please, please, I beg you, please d-don’t kill me, I didn’t do anything w-wrong, I didn’t…-

-Oh, we know, sweetie,- cooed the sun mask, his amused voice so sickly sweet it made you want to gag, -We believe you!-

You couldn’t understand what was happening anymore. Were you in danger? Were they going to kill you as well? Why did they kill Jake in the first place? You were going mad and couldn’t even bring yourself to think, all you wanted to do was go home and huddle yourself into a warm nest of blankets. You wanted to wake up and find that the horrifying reality you were living in was actually nothing more than a horror film-induced nightmare.

-We believe you, really,- the sun’s voice came down to a docile whisper as one of his gloved hands brushed against your cheek, making you whine and attempt to curl away from his touch. The gloved fingers were cold—so cold. You wanted to puke. -But I’m afraid we can’t let you go away so easily after seeing what happened here.-

His thumb brushed over your parted lips, spreading a drop of blood like it was a gloss, tinting your lips of a deep crimson color, until his finger pressed on the other side of your jaw. You looked up at the man, wide-eyed, as his other huge hand also wrapped around your throat and slowly began to crush your windpipe with his strength.

-Too bad,- commented the moon-masked man as he began to lean closer. His entire “face”, chest and arms were covered by blood and brain matter, dark and gooey, drenching his white and black top with it, -Would have loved to play a little game with you, just to pass the time, you know? Unfortunately, we still have morals.-

-Yeah,- laughed the sun, -We don’t go for innocent people usually—not unless they give us a reason to dispose of them, of course. Nothing personal, ‘kay? No hard feelings between us?-

You were choking, flailing your hands around while trying to pry his fingers off and scratching yourself in the process, and as your face began to turn red and your vision began to get spotty, your eyes ran from a masked man to the other, hoping at least one of them would have mercy on you.

-Unless,- whispered the moon to his companion, admiring the beautiful way your unconscious body lost all its strength and fell unresponsive on the ground—still far from death, as shown by the slow rise of your chest, -Unless we let this one leave to tell the tale.-

-There’s no tale, Moon,- replied Sun, sending his friend a glare while also parting his hands from your throat. In a few seconds you were probably going to regain consciousness, so he stood up and aimed his bat at your head, -We already talked about this, leaving witnesses is out of the picture. Also, do you mind doing this for me? I already got blood on my gloves, and you know how much I hate finishing them off.-

-But think better about it!- spoke Moon, leaning against the wall, knowing that Sun was not going to give you the final blow himself, -Everyone is town is already aware there’s a pair of fuckers going around killing people, but don’t you think it would make our job much easier if people really started to fear us?-

Sun let go of the bat just to stare at his companion, speechless, like he couldn’t believe the words the other man had said.

-No, I actually think that would make our job much more difficult,- he said, and Moon scoffed, -People will begin to think we are merciful, which could not be more far from the truth.-

-I think it would actually show everyone in this city how things work.- Moon put down his hatchet and crossed his arms over his chest, showing Sun that he was actually completely serious. -Innocents will be allowed mercy, while rulebreakers will receive the chop-chop treatment.-

Sun sighed, running one of his gloved hands through his blonde hair in exasperation.

-First of all, don’t call murdering people “the chop-chop treatment”, that’s weird. Second, you already killed innocents before, so what’s so different now? Third, do you actually believe people will understand?- It was clear, he still didn’t trust Moon’s plan, but Sun never listened to any plan that wasn’t his own, so that didn’t count.

-They will, if you allow them to live and warn them,- Moon nodded towards your limp body, -Also, the other times it was an accident, okay? Not everything can always go according to plan!-

You were beginning to regain consciousness, groaning on the floor and gasping for air.

-Shit, they’re awake!- Sun said, -Kill them!-

-No, we’re leaving them behind,- insisted Moon, grabbing his friend’s wrist and pulling him away from you, -Trust me just this once, it’ll work out in our favor.-

Sun was hesitating, looking at you, slowly waking up, then at his companion. He couldn’t figure out the best course of action, so he just groaned and let himself be dragged away.

-Alright, just this once!- he allowed, -Consider this a treat, Moon, because it won’t happen ever again!-

The duo left through the broken back door, walking into the dark parking lot and looking around for any car or passerby in sight, while you blinked your eyes open on the bloodied floor of the diner where you were mindlessly taking orders and serving customers just a few hours prior. Your whole body was in pain, your arms felt heavy and sore, while your throat felt like it had been rubbed with sandpaper both on the inside and on the outside. You finally managed to completely open your eyes and stare at the ceiling, still not believing that you were still alive. What had convinced the two killers to spare you? Which one had mellowed the other into showing mercy? You couldn’t say, there were too many things you couldn’t explain to yourself, but as you turned your head around to look at Jake’s lifeless body next to you, your eyes came to an halt on his chest, where the moon—his killer—had left a plastic bag containing a bunch of colorful pills. For a second you felt dazed, until you understood that the two clowns were leaving a clear message. They didn’t like the idea of people selling drugs to highschoolers, and that was probably the same reason why you were left alive, unscathed except for the blossoming bruises the sun’s hands had left on your neck, red and angry against your skin. They had spared you because you hadn’t hurt anyone; that explained the words the moon guy had told Jake in the kitchen and why you were still allowed to breathe, but it didn’t excuse the viciousness behind the duo’s actions.

The blood around you was expanding, soaking your hair and work shirt as well, and for some reason your first thought was that it felt incredibly warm, like there was some possibility that Jake was still breathing beside you, like his heart could still be pumping blood in his veins, like you could turn around and see him alive and well. Of course, that wasn’t the case.

You had been graced with life, and that night, on the unswept and bloody floor of a diner, you decided you were going to do everything in your power to keep things that way, in case the astral duo ever changed their minds and came back for you. They had spared you once, and you weren’t going to give them a reason to take that gift back.

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