#when to use a jerk bait

[elvesofnoldor]

the vampire lestat in audiobook format is 24 hours long and i finished listening to it in a week, meanwhile merrick is only 8 hours long and it took me three weeks to chew through the whole fucking thing. it's not even very badly written, i just really hate it when anne rice turned the dial up to 11 on her Sympathy with the P*dophile bullshit

[kingkatsuki]

— my protector

Tengen needs your help in trying to locate his wives on a mission, and Sanemi is furious.

Get me a man who’s only soft for us, stat😫😭

Pairing: Shinazugawa Sanemi x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, established relationship, reader is a fellow hashira, jealous Sanemi (for literally no reason), possessiveness, rough sex, slight degradation, fingering, multiple orgasms, breeding, creampie.

Word Count: 4.2k.

All Sanemi could see was red, fiery red as he roamed the halls of the Butterfly Mansion, ignoring the pain in his right arm from the wound Aoi had just patched up moments earlier.

“Shinobu will kill you if she finds you drawing your sword in here!” Aoi called after him, but Sanemi could care less as his eyes sought out the Sound Pillar.

He had just returned from a three-week-long mission to find out that Uzui had enlisted you for help on one of his missions. Practically offering you up as bait to try and find his wives who had gone missing, like that was even your problem. And Sanemi knew you were always so eager and willing to help, it was something he loved and loathed about you at the same time.

The rage continued building inside him as he pulled open another sliding door aggressively, the wood gliding back from the force as he skimmed another empty room before continuing further through the mansion.

“Listen to me, Shinazugawa.” Aoi huffed, followed after him as one of the only people inside the mansion who weren’t scared of the white-haired man, “I told you Shinobu won’t be pleased to find out you’re breaking all her doors.”

“Fuck her,” Sanemi rolled his eyes, “Where’s Uzui?”

“If you would’ve actually stopped for five minutes to let me explain, instead of being such a jerk,” Aoi crossed her arms over her chest with a huff, “He left with her a few hours ago. Said it couldn’t wait much longer, that his wives may be in danger—”

“How the fuck is that her problem?” Sanemi growled, “So he isn't here?”

“No, but I would advise you don't follow him. Your wounds—” Sanemi ignored Aoi, already halfway down the hall as he marched towards the entrance, determined to find you on his own. It was when he stepped into the courtyard that he saw Uzui coming in by the front gate with a wide smile on his face.

“Ah, my crow told me you were back!” Uzui made to step towards him to finish the conversation, but Sanemi’s sword was already drawn as he stepped towards the larger man, “Perfect timing, my friend!”

“You fucking left her there?” Sanemi barked, “Why are you back here?”

“I came to get you at the request of your lady love,” Uzui grinned as Sanemi curled his lip in irritation at the pet name, “She made me promise to tell you as soon as you got back from your mission because she wouldn’t be around. And I thought you'd prefer a personal greeting.”

“Why the fuck are you sending her on your missions anyway,” Sanemi continued, ignoring Uzui's grin, “And leaving her there!”

“It hasn’t even been twelve hours,” Uzui shrugged, standing in place even as Sanemi stepped towards him.

“That’s already twelve hours too damn long, you prick.” Sanemi drew his sword as he made to lunge towards his fellow hashira.

“She’s probably safer there than she’d ever be out in the field,” Uzui dodged a blow with the hilt of his sword, the guard barely protecting his hands as he used his body weight to push the Wind Pillar back.

“Probably?” Sanemi roared, “She’s probably got sick fucks like you all over her right now.”

“Oh,” Uzui’s lips curled into a cocky smirk at the admission, standing upright as he pushed some fallen hair away from his eyes, “So that’s it— you’re jealous.”

“I ain’t jealous, you fuckwad.” Sanemi grunted as he attempted another slash towards Uzui, knowing it was serious when the wind user hadn’t even bothered to use his power.

“Sure seems like it,” Uzui scoffed, taking another step back to avoid his attack, “Nothing is stopping you from visiting her, you know. She’s only a few towns across and I'm here to take you right to her.”

“Oh, you’re taking me to her,” Sanemi spat, “Right fucking now.”

“Someone is asking for me?” You raised a brow suspiciously at the implication. Wondering if this meant the demons had realised that you were in fact a slayer intent on taking their head. Your stomach swirled in trepidation as you tried not to show any fear, smiling at the young girl by the door as you bowed your head.

“Yeah, and frankly I’m glad,” She clung to the belt of her kimono, “He looks scary!”

“I definitely don’t want to spend the night with him,” Another girl grimaced, “I don’t think I’d make it out alive.”

You frowned, worried that you wouldn’t have time to access your katana to holster it beneath your kimono. Instead, all you had was the small dagger strapped against your thigh, which you were certain wouldn’t be enough to protect you from the attack of a demon. But at least it was better than nothing, knowing he wouldn’t attack until you were at least secure back inside this room as you bowed your head. Following her down the stairs to the entrance of the establishment, feeling a cool breeze tickle your ankles from the open door and curtain flowing in the wind.

Your heart stilled when you noticed the familiar man standing by the entrance, glaring at anyone who dared look his way as you felt your chest swell with familiarity. You hadn’t expected to see him here this night, and you certainly hadn’t expected him to be asking after you.

“Is this the girl you were asking after, my Lord?”

“Yes,” He grunted as the Madame motioned him to step forward and follow you back to your room.

You had to stop yourself jumping him in the foyer, wanting nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and cling to his broad shoulders.

Feeling the heat practically radiating from his body as you slid open the sliding door to your room, stepping to the side to allow Sanemi to follow before sliding it shut. And in an instant, his rough hands were grabbing hold of the fat at your hips to pull your body against his, your lips meeting in a bruising kiss.

Your hands reached up to thread through his messy hair as the scent of the woods mixed with his natural sweat invaded your senses. He clearly hadn’t bothered to bathe when he returned from his mission, far more concerned with finding you.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He spoke against your lips when you finally pulled away for air, still holding onto you as your nails dragged against his scalp, “I had to come home to find out you’re helping Uzui?”

“Tengen needed my help,” You murmured, and Sanemi’s nose scrunched in irritation at the use of the Sound Pillars' first name.

“Tengen,” He mocked the pitch of your voice, “Has three fucking wives that can help him, I only have one.”

“Technically,” You parroted his tone, giving him a cocky smirk as you felt his fingers press into the skin at your hips, “I’m not even your wife.”

“You’re as good as,” Sanemi scoffed as he stole another kiss, “And Uzui would do well to remember it.”

“His wives are missing,” You mumbled sadly.

“So does that mean he’s looking for a fourth?” Sanemi frowned at you as you couldn’t help but smile and shake your head at his jealousy.

“No,” You lowered your voice to a whisper, “He hasn’t heard from them for a few days, the letters have stopped coming— and he thinks something bad may have happened to them.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sanemi couldn’t lie that it had hurt to find out from someone else that you wouldn’t be there upon his return, whether it was jealousy or the fear of losing you he was unsure. But either way, it left him with that familiar sense of dread that pooled in the pit of his stomach and threatened to boil over.

“I’m sorry, but there wasn’t much time,” You did wish you’d sent your crow to warn him, but Uzui had promised you that he would let Sanemi know. Especially since you were doing this for the sake of his wives, “He needed my help, so I offered.”

“You’re far too nice.” Sanemi shook his head, using his grip on your hips to pull you into another sultry kiss.

“I thought that’s why you loved me.” You teased.

“No,” Sanemi scoffed, “I love you for your perfect ass,” He spanked your cheek for emphasis, “Everything else is either a bonus or a crux on my life.”

“You pig.” You scrunched your nose as Sanemi couldn’t stop himself from stealing another kiss.

“I’m kidding, sweetheart,” Sanemi’s eyes softened as he reached up to cup your face in a calloused palm. His thumb stroking gentle circles against your cheek as you leaned into his touch, “But you really should stop putting yourself in harm's way.”

“I’m a hashira,” You replied simply, “It’s what we do to protect others.”

“Protecting others doesn’t mean becoming a whore.” He spat, although you knew there was no malice there. The harsh tone covered up the fear and dread he felt in your gut at the prospect of something happening to you.

“And yet here you are, at the whorehouse requesting me by name.” You smiled back, relishing in the pink hue that dusted his pale cheeks.

“I just don’t want to lose you,” His tone sobered, resting his forehead against your own as he stared down into your eyes, “What a pitiful existence it would be.”

“You won’t lose me, Sanemi.” You wrapped your arms around his waist to pull his body against you, feeling his semi-hard cock press against your hip. The time without you made even more conspicuous when he's now surrounded by the comforting scent of you again.

“Did anyone touch you?” He immediately pulled back, concern evident in his features as he looked you over.

“No, I’ve been fine,” You shook your head, “They’ve mainly had me sitting down for tea with travellers passing through.”

“Good,” He pressed a kiss against your forehead in relief as he exhaled softly, “You have no idea how much I missed you, sweet girl.”

He peppered kisses along the curve of your jaw as you tilted your head back to give him more room. Your hands smoothed along his collarbones before dipping lower to trace patterns against the marred skin that scarred his chest, pressing your fingers into the ridges as you felt the tacky sweat clinging to his skin.

“I missed you too,” You whimpered gently as his teeth found your pulse point, biting down on the sensitive skin as his tongue lashed against it.

Sanemi bullied his muscular thigh between your parted legs to keep you steady against the wall as he shamelessly fiddled with the belt of your kimono. Letting the fabric fall open as he drank in the sight of your bare skin beneath, his firm hands immediately paw at your bare sides. Noticing the small dagger that you had holstered against one of your thighs as he ran his fingers over the handle of it in satisfaction.

“That’s my girl.” He murmurs, “Not planning to use that on me are you?”

He teased, pushing it back into the holster as he moved his hands back up the curve of your hips towards your chest. Truth be told, he was relieved that you had some form of protection in here. Especially when there was the chance that a demon was responsible for the spate of missing persons in the area.

“It depends if you’re nice to me or not,” You mused.

“I’m always nice.” The words coming from Sanemi’s lips alone were enough to have a melodic laugh rumbling in your chest, as for most, Sanemi and nice were complete contradictions.

“Liar,” Throwing your head back in a pretty laugh that had Sanemi’s heart rattling against his rib cage.

“I mean, I’m always nice to you, aren’t I?” Sanemi’s thumbs stroked the underside of your breasts as he delighted in the way your body responded to him, curving your back towards him as your bare cunt pressed against the flat of his thigh.

“We shouldn’t,” You murmured, “Not here—”

“Let me have this, sweetheart,” He hummed, leaning down to capture one of your pebbled nipples between his lips as he sucked hard, “I am a paying customer, after all.”

In fact, he was going to get that money from Uzui for his pure subordination.

“Why pay for something you can get for free at home?” You teased as he afforded your other breast the same attention, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as you let out another airy moan.

“My girl wasn’t there when I arrived home, and I had heard the girls here were beautiful,” He played along, “Apparently there’s one with the best fuckin’ pussy.”

“Oh yeah?” You gasped as you felt his fingers press against the indents of your thighs, dangerously close to your labia as you bucked against his leg. Giving your clit some slight relief as Sanemi continued forward, his thumb brushing through the wet slick that coated your folds as it drooled out of your neglected hole.

“Yeah,” He repeated, pulling away from your breast with a pop as he found your clit. Pressing sloppy circles against it with the calloused pad of his thumb as he watched you shamelessly grind yourself into his touch, “Apparently she’s already fucked into the shape of another guy though.”

“Must be a lucky guy,” Your eyes rolled back, knocking your head against the wall when you felt two of his thick digits slip inside your tight hole with ease. Scissoring them to loosen you up as he pulled back to watch you inquisitively through half-lidded eyes.

“The fuckin’ luckiest.” Sanemi grinned as he felt your walls throb around his fingers. He deliberately curled them towards the spongy spot inside you that he knew would have you seeing stars as he began to focus each roll of his wrist against it.

His name continued to spill from your lips as he kept his movements poised and focused, his rough thumb kneading circles against your clit as he worked you towards your release. No one knew your body better than he did, and he knew after being pent up for so long how little effort it would take to have you dangling on the edge of your release.

“Fuck, Sanemi.” You moaned, already feeling yourself dangerously close to falling, “I’m gonna cum.”

“Then cum.” He spoke as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, and his blase tone immediately had your cunt clenching around him as you swan dived directly into your bliss. The pleasure surged through your body hard and fast as you came undone, his darkened eyes focused on your movements a he kept his fingers pressed against that same velvety spot. Following the wave of your hips as you rode out your release, unrelenting against the sensitive area as he already had you hurtling towards a second.

It was too much, and not enough at the same time. Your pliant walls throbbed around his slick digits as you wished for something more, something bigger.

“‘Nemi, fuck me please.” You whined pitifully.

“Such a filthy mouth on such a pretty girl,” He teased, but he pulled his fingers away from your sopping heat, lifting them up to the light to spread them as you noticed the silvery webs of your release clinging to them as he pushed them between your lips to taste yourself.

You tried to speak, but the pads of his fingers against your tongue muffled the words as you cleaned them off. His lips curled into a satisfied smile as he pulled them out of your mouth, dragging your glossy bottom lip down in the process as both hands immediately reached for his belt.

“When we get home I am fucking you like you deserve.” Sanemi spoke coolly, “Not some quick fuck in a whorehouse.”

“I deserve everything you give me, 'Nemi.” You smile up at him lazily before watching him tug his pants down, revealing his fat cock to your prying gaze.

You immediately reached for it, and he let you. Hissing when your smaller palm wrapped around the girth of him, giving him a teasing jerk that had his nostrils flaring and his jaw locking. Your thumb swipes over the swollen tip to gather the pearl of pre before smoothing it down his length, delighting in the choked grunt that rumbled at the back of his throat.

“Is that so?” He continued, “So bending you over the moment I get you home will be deserved,” His voice darkened, his own palm joining yours against his length as he tightened your grip on his cock, holding your hand steady as he fucked himself into your fist, “You tease.”

“Fuck,” Your cunt throbbed around nothing at his suggestion, as you instinctively spread your legs further apart, “Please, 'Nemi.”

Sanemi curled a palm beneath your thigh to hoist it up against his hip, spreading you open for him as you guided the leaky tip of his cock between you. Stroking it against your drenched folds as you coated him with your essence, moaning when the swollen tip nudged your puffy clit. Feeling yourself growing more impatient as Sanemi pulled his hips back to tease you, pushing your hand away from his cock as he wrapped himself in a fist. Pressing the head against your tight entrance as he felt your hole tremble against him, trying desperately to coax him in as he indulged himself with your reaction.

“‘Nemi, don’t be an asshole,” You pouted as you tried to can’t your hips forward, feeling the tip breach your entrance before he was quick to move his hips back. More than content with teasing you, despite being in such an open, compromising place.

“If I were an asshole I’d leave you unsatisfied like this to search for the demon myself,” He goaded, pressing his hips forward once more.

“Sanemi,” You whined in irritation, “Don’t tease me, please, it’s been too long.”

He didn’t give you a moment to think before he was bullying his cock inside your tight cunt. Your inner walls stretched to accommodate his girth as he moulded you to the shape of him once more, reminding you of exactly who you belonged to. The sensation stole the air from your lungs as you could do little but cling to his broad shoulders as he afforded you a moment to adjust to his size, dragging himself from your velvety walls before canting his hips forward again. Setting a languid motion as he slowly rolled his hips against you.

“Sanemi,” You sighed in satisfaction as you felt whole once more. Too many lonely nights were spent dreaming of this as you felt him finally bottom out, the coarse hairs at the base tickling your clit as you bit down on your bottom lip.

“We’re in a whorehouse,” He mused, still sluggishly rolling his hips into you, “It only seems right that I treat you like one.”

Your cunt clenched around his cock hard at the notion, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Sanemi who grinned in satisfaction. His fingers tighten their grip around your thigh as he takes this as his answer.

Sanemi is brutal as he fucks into you, not sparing you a moment's peace as he uses you for his own gratification. The sound of skin against skin echos the small room as his balls slap against the curve of your ass with each forward cant of his hips. The ferocity of his thrusts has your breasts bouncing and your thighs crying out for some relief as you struggle to stand upright, thankful that Sanemi’s strong body has you pinned against the wall as he fucks into you.

“Oh my god,” You cry out, nails digging into his skin as he maintains his pace. His other hand squeezes at the fat of your ass as he angles his hips, the curve of his cock drags against the spot inside you that he knows will have you seeing stars as the blunt tip kneads your cervix.

“Look at me.” Sanemi growls, his warm breath fanning your face as he keeps a consistent pace.

Your eyes meet his and you’re certain you’ll cum under the intensity of his gaze alone, your cunt clenches in retaliation as he continues to thrust into your sopping hole. Each sultry moan he pulls from deep in your chest has him rolling his hips with more vigour, eager to have you repeat them as he works you towards your climax.

It’s pitiful really, how easily he has you submitting to him as you already feel the telltale signs of your climax ebbing in your pelvis. The pressure builds up as it nears breaking point as Sanemi pushes into you with more ferocity, using your body for his own means as he works himself to his own release.

“I’m going to leave you pumped full of my seed,” He growls against your cheek, his chest heaving as he feels his balls begin to tighten, “Leave it drooling down your thighs when I’m finished with you. So that everyone knows who you belong to—”

You knew this was a direct attack on Uzui, and the fact that he’d handpicked you for his assistance on this mission. Even though there was nothing in it beyond securing the safety of his wives, it had Sanemi oozing with jealousy and he was intent on reminding the Sound Pillar that you were not his plaything.

“Do you also need a reminder of who you belong to, sweetheart?” Sanemi spoke lowly as he fucked into your pliant walls, slipping a hand between your connected bodies to press sloppy circles to your clit.

“No, ��Nemi—” That familiar sensation throbbed between your thighs as you teetered on the cusp of your climax.

“No? Then who do you belong to?”

“You, ‘Nemi. You—” You choked out, leaving messy red lines against his chest now as he pressed harder against your clit.

“Louder.”

“You, ‘Nemi! It’s always been you!” You cry out, certain that the rest of the floor could hear you as you began to gush around his cock. Your hips bucked wildly as he pinned you in place, keeping his thumb firm against your clit as he watched you ride out your climax. Indulging in the debauched noises that escaped from between your pretty, bruised lips.

“Good girl,” He snarled before moving his hand from your clit to resume a damn near savage pace. Rutting hips against your own messily, working himself towards his own end as he felt the way your walls continued clenching around him in the aftershocks of your climax, “Such a good girl for me.”

He arched his back so he could look down at where your bodies were connected, watching the way his thick cock disappeared inside your velvety walls. And the creamy ring of slick that you’d left around the base of him, the silvery lines matting into his pubes as he felt his balls begin to seize. Certain he wouldn’t be able to last much longer before giving a few more sloppy thrusts and emptying his balls into your warm, wet cunt.

Sanemi stayed buried inside you, feeling the last spurts of his orgasm surge through him as he coated your walls in thick, white spunk. Cherishing the final few flutters of your walls around him as you both came down from your highs, peppering kisses against your face as you placed a palm against his chest to feel his racing heart, the dull thump of it soothing you as you felt your thick lashes begin to flutter.

“Don’t fall asleep, sweetheart.” Sanemi rasped, starting to pull himself out of your spent cunt as you whined in objection. Trying to tighten your thigh around him to keep his hips in position as he grinned down at you; pressing an apologetic kiss to the side of your lips before looking down to see the mess of your combined release stringing against his length as the silvery lines split apart, “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta.”

You knew he had to go, Uzui was probably still waiting for him on a rooftop somewhere. Hopeful that you’d have some news to share with Sanemi about the whereabouts of his wives, but you felt the regret begin to pool in the pit of your stomach as reality settled back in.

“If you want to leave with me, I’ll take you right now,” He said as though it was the most simple thing in the world, “But if you want to stay in I’ll be watching.”

You didn’t have to tell him your answer, he already knew. Placing a final, lingering kiss on your lips as he held you in his arms, “Nothing will ever happen to you as long as I’m around.”

[2tarbell]

BF!RAFE didn’t mean to. you were tired and he’d do anything to make you feel better and happy. but not long after you had dozed off, he became rock hard as you slept with your head in his lap. it was an innocent position at first, but rafe couldn’t stop himself from arching his clothed erection into your sleeping face. hissing every time the tip bumped against your nose. maybe this should feel wrong, but he can’t stop imagining being in your throat again. to work you open and make a home for his dick in that pretty mouth.

it was addictive, you were addictive.

his perfect girl that only wanted to make him happy. that let him teach her everything. he felt like it was the least he could do to let you nap on him, but it was proving increasingly difficult. from the way your ass was peeking out of your slip to the way you nuzzled further into his crotch; rafe was a mess.

soon enough, you wake up to his rutting hips and sigh sleepily, looking up at him with hazy eyes.

“mmm?”

the confused hum you let out almost makes him feel bad, almost. but then he’s exhaling heavily as you nudge his cock with your nose, and he knows you aren’t that dumb.

“heeey, baby. woke you up, huh?” he mutters.

his low, pleasure ridden voice makes a warmth surge down your body, coiling tightly in your lower tummy. you nod and snuggle further into his lap. the hard length of him a solid presence against your cheek.

“was sleepin’…” you mumble and feel the way his hips push against your face slightly, seeking and seeking.

“mhm, i know… jus’... y’looked so pretty laying in m’lap…”

and you really, really did. lounging on his bed, curves soft and inviting. skin warm to the touch and just begging for his hands to squeeze, to mark up. it’s worse now that you’ve woken up; wide eyes glazed with sleep and hands just shy of where he needs.

“yeah?” you whispered, titling your head coyly, finally palming the length of him.

“jesus, yeah — need your help, baby. got me so fuckin’ hard…”

you giggle sleepily as he moves your hand towards the waistband of his sweats. for a moment, you glance up at him for approval, still unsure how to initiate this intimacy. rafe nods and watches with baited breath, lifting his hips to help you slide his pants down just a bit.

he’s so hard it looks painful, you pout in sympathy.

rafe huffs out a chuckle at the doe eyed expression on your face, his heart swelling (as well as his cock). he runs a hand over your hair, smoothing it back then hooking a finger under your chin. the sight of you staring him down makes him arch into nothing.

you grin as the appendage twitches and grab ahold of him lightly. rafe hums and uses his thumb to pull down your bottom lip, watching as it bounces back into place. with a devilish grin, he takes hold of his dick and rubs it all over your cheeks, leaving glistening trails of pre cum.

“bet you were dreaming ‘bout this, yeah? jus’ dreaming about daddy’s cock?” he drawled out lowly.

the action mixed with his words are degrading but so, so good. he’s so mean and you love it; you need it. you nod and drop your jaw, trying to catch and lick at him best you can. he sighs when you take the head in your eager mouth.

“yeahhh, there you go — fuck — remember, relax, kid…”

you’d do anything if he said it like that.

he’s sitting with his back against the headboard, your head resting on his lap as your cheeks hollow around his pulsing cock. his head lolls back as he lazily fucks your mouth. you make sure to keep your jaw slack; it’s a mess of drool, but that’s exactly how he likes it.

when he hits the back of your throat, you gag but his coos are enough to keep you down for just a bit longer, holding him deep in your throat longer than you ever have. craving some sort of validation for your efforts. you’re rewarded with a sound that reminds you of a hiccup mixed with a half hearted growl of ‘fuck’. nose nuzzling his trimmed pubic hair before coming off with a pop.

you gasp for air and jerk him off as you catch your breath, looking up at him excitedly. he’s insane to look at, heaving chest and low lidded eyes holding a twinkle that excites you to no end. sleep long forgotten.

“didja see that?” your breathless exclamation makes him laugh, still slightly rolling his hips into your fist. he hisses when your brush over the tip.

the deep chuckle he lets out makes your core ache. he drags you up to place a hot kiss on your lips, his hand then tangling in your hair and guiding your head back down with a proud smirk on his face. he reaches and squeezes your ass firmly, voice low as he praises you.

“look at you, dick suckin’ pro for dad. that’s my girl…”

[motthe]

more young silco 🙏 still with the high energy reader like the last one but make them smooch 😈 if you don't mind gender neutral terms 🙏

not a lot of chaotic energy in this one but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless!!!

You and your scouts should’ve been back an hour ago. It was a short, simple mission to grab some information and get out without no one knowing any better.

Felicia had wanted to lead, but her belly had begun to swell and with it everyone’s worries. You’d stepped up before anyone could argue.

“Quit pacing. You’re wearing my floors down,” Vander called, no better with his nerves. He’d been drying the same glass for the last ten minutes. That and the bar was closed.

The Last Drop was rarely closed.

“They’re late,” Silco spat, long strands of his hair coming loose from his bun as his hand passed over his head. “Something’s wrong.”

“Give it time.” Vander eyed the door, waiting for someone to walk in with news. “Might just be held up.”

Silco sat with a huff, weighing the tension of his temples into cool-tipped fingers. “I should have gone.”

Before Vander could respond, the bar doors slammed open. Two of your men had your arms slung over their shoulders, carrying you in

“What happened?” Silco called as Vander cleared the bar top. You were dropped there, face twisted in pain.

“Just a leg injury. I’m fine.” Each syllable was ground through your teeth.

“They baited the guards so we could escape,” one of the scouts explained.

“I made it back to the meeting point, didn’t I?” you grumbled before your head jerked up. Vander shredded the pants over your injury, ripping them off to reveal the damage.

“Gonna need stitches,” he said, pulling the rag he’d been using for the clean glasses from his shoulder. You didn’t get a warning as he shoved it into your mouth. “Bite that. You lot, hold them down.”

The scouts were on your legs, which left Silco to grab your arms. Your nostrils flared as your eyes met, looking about as pissed as a cat after a dunk into the toxic lake.

“I’ll lecture you later,” he said as he heard a bottle uncork. His grip tightened over your wrists as he weighed you down, getting close to your face so he encompassed your vision. “Keep your eyes on me, pet.”

The moment the disinfectant hit your leg, your eyes ripped wide. Everyone strained as you thrashed, Silco most of all as you tried to buck up and pull away. Expletives filled the room—all from the ones over you since you were screaming through the gag.

By the time you stopped fighting and Vander finished, all of them were exhausted.

“Too fuckin’ strong,” Vander sighed, tying off the bandage. “That’s why you get into to so much trouble.”

He pulled the gag from your lips and you spat to your right, eyes dull. “I’ll get you back for that shit. That hurt.”

“Then stop gettin’ injured.”

“Leave lecture to Silco, yeah?” you scoffed.

“Still biting,” he chuckled, waving a hand to the scouts. “C’mon, lads. Let’s hear that information over some of the good stuff, aye?”

Their shoulders collapsed in relief. You just sighed, Silco’s hand going to your back to help you sit up and slide off onto your good leg.

“That doesn’t include you,” he said, low. “I’m taking you home.”

“Ever the gentleman, Sil.” You made a sound that had his heart wincing as you fell into his side. “Yeah…home sounds nice.”

Out in the rot-tinged air, you’re quiet and tame. Everything that you aren’t.

“Speak your mind,” he said when the silence began to drowned him. “Talk to me.”

You shook your head. “Just tired.”

“I’ve seen you tired,” he hummed, his arm tightening around your waist. “You become delirious, not thoughtful.”

“Maybe I’m thinking deliriously,” you grumbled. The two of you walked another block, tense despite being so close. He was used to you melting into him when he allowed his space to be encroached upon. The warmth of your body against his felt so distant.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking,” he admitted, “but it’s just me, pet.”

Your face fell, eyes screwing shut. He feared your pain had come back for a vengeance before you sniffed and brought your hand up to wipe at your eyes.

In the years Silco has known you, he rarely ever saw you cry and now it was twice in his one day. All he could think to do was draw you into his arms, cradling your head into his neck as you sobbed quietly. Your home was just around the corner, but he couldn’t find it in himself to drag you there like this.

“Sorry,” you choked out.

“Don’t start that,” he said, shaking his head when you pulled yours back, avoiding his eyes. “You never need apologize. Not over something like this.”

“I am, though, for worrying you,” you whispered, limping along until you two finally made it to your door. “Should’ve been more careful.”

“You made it back alive. That’s all I ask.”

“I almost didn’t.”

He met your gaze, eyes rimmed pink as he led you inside. The two of you sunk into your couch.

“Tell me.”

“I got the guards split up,” you explained, head back on his shoulder, “thought I was in the clear and one clipped me, caught up. Had all of a second when he pointed that gun at me. Thought that was it.”

“You were scared,” he stated. “It’s natural.”

“I was,” you agreed, “but that’s not why I’m upset.”

He didn’t push you. He merely kept to your side, the arm still wrapped around you rubbing your side.

“I waited for that bullet,” you whispered, hoarse, “and the only thing I thought about was you when it went off. Bastard ran out of ammo, and I realized how tired I am of dancing around. I’m not subtle, but I wasn’t about to die before…”

You sighed and sat up, groaning as you grabbed your leg.

“Easy,” he said losing all breath as your hands went to his face, cupping his jaw.

“I love you,” you said. “I didn’t wanna go anywhere before I told you that, at least.”

He knew. He’d doubted it since the moment you begun showing interest, but he was more than aware of his own feelings. Love could be so fickle—he saw the end of it, the mess, the newness. He convinced himself the love of his friends was all he’d ever need. Having you someway in his life was all he wanted.

“It won’t change anything,” you promised, hands falling as you turned in on yourself. “You don’t have to say—“

A puff of a laugh strayed from his lips before his pulled you back by your waist, his free hand locking your head in place as he pressed his lips to yours. You didn’t hesitate to return the sentiment, hands falling over his back—melding as close as you could without moving your leg.

When he withdrew, you chased. He pecked your lips once, chuckling when you mumbled his name, almost a whine.

“I adore you, pet,” he whispered, “never doubt that.”

[hungharrington]

okay what are ur thoughts on challenging steve to edge himself everyday for no nut november 🫣 do you think he would make it through the entire month????

okay this turned into a whole rambling thought fic ??? a whole 3k of it?? this is hella unedited cos i'm running out the door so i'll be back to check for mistakes but enjoy some sub!steve & some sorta mean!reader, definitely a hint of a humiliation & exhibitionism kink so beware if that isn't your thing! enjoy u horny bastards MDNI this entire blog is 18+

the whole thing comes about because of a playful bicker.

it’s starts with talking about how long you’ve gone without sex— with steve insisting his dry spell before you two started fooling around was way longer and more difficult than yours.

and you had laughed and teased, cooing about how he could absolutely not make it through an entire week without cumming like you did for a whole month— while he insists the opposite is true.

and steve is nothing if not a competitive bastard who loves to try prove people wrong. so you challenge him to last the whole month — no cumming, no nothing.

but you don’t say no touching. and steve, poor, oblivious to the consequences he’s going to feel very soon, figures there’s no harm in giving in to his morning wood, rutting against his sheets with these quiet grunts until he gets bored and rolls out of bed. it’s something he’s done before and his hard-on goes down in the shower like usual & he goes to work far too smug, feeling so confident and ready to brag when he sees you.

you come into family video middle of the day and steve delights, ready to demolish the challenge you’ve set, bragging about his easy morning and his killer restraint.

your eyebrows raise and you look pleasantly surprised — not miffed, like steve hoped you would — and you offer to raise the stakes. leaning over one of the shelves as he works idly, you change the rules a bit… and set a prize if he’s to complete your challenge.

“if you go the whole month, no cumming, i’ll let you fuck me,” you hum, a wicked smile on your mouth at the way steve straightens up. you’ve been fooling around, tucking your hands into each others pants like horny teenagers but you haven’t actually slept together yet. “anywhere you want, any way you want,”

and steve is smarter than he looks, even as you can see this lust glazing over his eyes— options, so many options pour into his mind.

you in his car, in his lap, riding him and making those nice pitiful noises you do. you in his bed, beneath him, head thrown back in his sheets as you cry out. you, against the wall behind the family video, hidden away but only just, moaning into his hand as you try to keep quiet while you fall apart on his cock.

his cock begins to thicken in his pants just at the thought & steve shifts his weight.

“what’s the catch?” he asks.

“to make your challenge more difficult, you have to touch yourself every day of the month.”

“touch myself?”

“mhm,” you nod, eyes darting down to his bulge. your wicked grin grows at the sight of it growing in his jeans. “properly. not just a little touch, a proper jerk off. how long’s it take you to get hot and bothered? let’s say 5 minutes of stroking, each and every day.”

you’ve got this look in your face like you don’t think he can do it — so of course, steve takes the bait.

“easy.” he snips back, eyes narrowing. “hope you’ll spend the month getting prepared to take it. after a whole month of nothing? can’t promise i’ll be too gentle.”

your smile turns almost feline.

and so it begins. the first few days sail by, steve easily using his mornings in bed to stroke his cock idly, feeling his desire swell and then letting it swirl down the drain in a shower that gets colder every day. after the fifth day, steve has to admit it’s not nice — he can feel his mounting urge to cum building up but it’s not terrible. it’s certainly ignorable. he’s got this in the bag.

another five days pass— but now, he’s waking up aching hard. it takes longer now in the shower to get his hard-on to flag and worse when steve realises he has to still jerk off to win your challenge. his hand feels so much softer than usual and his keyed up lust springs to the surface to moment he starts to stroke himself— steve groans lowly, pressing his head against the tiles and tries go think of unpleasant things.

he fucks up on day 13.

his alarm goes off late and his dream had been lewd and vulgar, an endless loop of sinking his fat cock into you and envisioning how wet and warm you’d be around him. his cock is throbbing when he drags himself out of sleep and he realises he’s been humping against the mattress in his sleep.

the cold shower helps, barely. shivering beneath the icy spray, steve stares at his thickened cock and groans— knowing if he wraps his hand around it now and fucks his fist, he’ll cum in a minute.

so he leaves it and goes to work, wound up enough to snap at robin and then apologise 20 minutes later. you come into his work again, having been absent for the last couple of days, and it’s like you can smell it on him.

“hard morning?” you smirk at him.

“fuck off,” he growls, shoving a vcr back onto one of the shelves. then he looks back at you. “i’m still winning your stupid challenge by the way.”

“uh huh,” you say, not believing him at all. “how’s it’s been going? fucking your cock but never getting finish?”

even your words have an effect on him. steve feels his body flush, his dick strain in his pants, his gut churning with heat. he stiffens up and scrambles to think of a reply — but you’re already laughing.

“oh man, we’re not even halfway through the month and i think you could blow in your pants right here.” you muse teasingly. steve grips the shelf tighter and shakes over the fluster you have on him.

“i have more self restraint than that,” he snips back. the flush passes and he resumes his task, flashing you a quick glare.

you nod and hum again, like you don’t believe a thing he’s a saying, and then he’s watching you head out the door again.

the moment steve realises he’s fucked up is when he’s getting into bed. his cock is, thankfully, not hard — even if there is this persistent tug from his balls that never seems to leave. but he hasn’t stroked himself at all today.

painstakingly, he begins to — soft, gentle strokes over his cock, hoping, praying he can get five minutes in without working himself up too bad. it’s futile because it only takes about twenty seconds behind his cock is twitching in his hand, growing heavier, the head of it beginning to dribble pre-cum and steve moans in anguish into his pillow.

he stares at his alarm clock and strokes slowly, so slowly, having to stop every couple of seconds until finally five minutes passes. steve sighs and releases his cock which twitches in response, the head giving a sad spurt of pre-cum. he’s so keyed up he can’t possibly sleep. his cock is so hard it’s throbbing.

as he pulls his boxers up and buries himself under the duvet, but every touch is too stimulating, his skin on fire with how the urge to cum itches beneath it. he ends up having a very cold shoulder at 3am and his cock never fully softens.

it’s brutal from there on out. from day 14 onwards, his cock remains in this permanent state of aching, always half thickened and ready to go the moment it gets some stimulation. which turns out, is far easier to get now— jeans on the tighter side, the right seat, even the rumble of his car beneath him are enough to have steve swearing and pushing at his crotch, willing it to go down.

that’s how you find him on day 20, five minutes late for his shift because he’s staring down at his tented jeans and trying to think of anything to make it go away. your tap on his window makes him startle, seizing in his seat before he realises it’s probably the only person who’s expecting to see him with a boner in public.

“hard morning?” you joke again, this time pointing at his obvious bulge.

steve glares at you. “you already made that joke.”

“and you didn’t appreciate it the first time!” you say back cheerily. you round the front of his car and open the door, plopping yourself in the passenger seat like you own it.

“what are you doing?” steve asks, going to cross his arms but feeling terribly exposed. he settles for covering his groin, muscles twitching at the slight stimulation the weight of his hands does. his hips twitch forward.

“i’ve got a proposition for you,” you say.

steve shakes his head instantly. “nope, no way.”

you laugh at his quick insistence. “wait listen! i think you will want to consider it, okay?”

you pause and when steve doesn’t say anything more, just eyes you warily, you continue.

“i will knock off five whole days off your challenge,” you hold up your hand, fingers splayed out to indicate the number. your mischievous eyes make steve worry. even if five days off makes his challenge that much easier.

“if you do your five minutes today right now.”

steve blinks. his chest flushes hot at your proposal as it sinks in— here, in the parking lot in front of his work, you want him to jerk off for five whole minutes?

“what? right here?” the question bursts out of him.

it’s not busy out in the least. even in the store, steve hasn’t even seen keith walking about or any customers milling around. he knows keith won’t come outside to fetch him and he’s the only car in the parking lot, besides one another that parked down the other end.

“five minutes for five days off,” you say, twiddling your fingers with a wicked smile.

steve considers it, even though he can already feel his cock growing harder beneath his hands. he groans and throws his head back against the headrest. was he really about to do this?

he looks at the time and then starts to undo the button of his jeans. fuck, guess he was.

he steals a glance at you as he pulls down his zipper and tugs his jeans down a couple inches to expose his boxers. the mischief from your smile has faded, a hunger taking its place. steve averts his eyes, far too aware of how his cock twitches in his boxer at your attention.

he slips a hand into his boxers and curls it around his hard cock. a keening noise pulls from his throat and steve blushes scarlet— all his little noises as he’s spiraled into this lustful denial haven’t had an audience until right now.

he shifts his hand up, a slow stroke, but you’re quickly reaching out to grab his wrist, halting to movement. steve opens his eyes, not sure when they had closed, and makes a noise of confusion.

you grin deviously. “wait,” you point to the clock on the dash. “you can go when the minute changes, big boy.”

steve’s hips jump forward at your words, both the name and your denial. he groans before he can help it, his eyes trained intently on the dash. in his hand, his cock leaks pitifully, a wet spot beginning to stain through his boxers.

humiliatingly, you notice it too. “aw, you’re making a mess and you haven’t even started.”

“stop,” steve murmurs, aiming for stern but failing pathetically. the word comes out as a whine. his cheeks glow fiery hot.

you laugh and then tap his wrist— the minute having flicked over just a second ago.

steve starts his stroking, slow and easy, his eyes slipping closed. five minutes, he can do five minutes of jerking off. even if he was suddenly keenly aware of your watchful gaze, of the window beside him, of the pure exposure of the situation.

“that’s not jerking,” you huff disapprovingly. steve’s eyes crinkle open, his mouth already hung open as he pants softly. his hand does another pass over his cock and he smothers a moan into the palm of his hand.

“go faster or it won’t count.” you say wickedly and steve whimpers, his hand obeying without thought. with the way he’s leaking all over himself, it only takes a couple long strokes before he’s making lewd, wet noises as he fucks into his hand.

it shouldn’t be as hot as it is — rubbing his own cock while you watch, eyes darting between his moving hand and his flushed face. steve can hear himself making little noises with every exhale, tiny little whines as he burns up. the coil in his tummy tightens unexpectedly.

“f-fuck-!” he stops his hand completely, gripping the steering wheel with the other as he feels his orgasm swell. it grows closer, so near to tipping over that steve can’t control his hips as they keep moving, rutting into the air frantically, into nothing, as they try to get him over the edge.

it takes another thirty seconds for his breath to catch and steve to settle down enough to not cum immediately. he quivers in his seat. his eyes flutter open to look at you.

“that was really cute,” you muse, eyes almost feline, dragging up and down his body, slow as trickling honey. steve feels his cock twitch at your words, flushing hotly when your eyes dart to his boxers and definitely notice.

“not five minutes though,” you say with teasing tilt in your voice. you point to the clock on the dash. “i think that was… 1 whole minute?”

despite how he tries to stop it, steve can’t help the pathetic noise he makes in response. he wants to be able to finish this stupid fucking challenge you’ve set, wants to prove himself, wants to be good.

he starts moving his hand again before he can consider how bad of an idea it is. he should just say no and do the next ten days. but it’s wet and warm in his hand, the tip of his cock so drippy that he can pretend his hand is yours. you seem pleasantly surprised to see him going again so soon, your lids low as you watch him closely.

“are you normally this loud?”

steve knows you mean the slick noises coming from the way he’s fucking into his hand. he tries to huff but it comes out as a quiet moan and his face flushes hotter again.

he shakes his head instead, his hair scraping against the headrest. god, his neck is burning up. he’s pretty sure he’s never been harder in his life — but fuck, he can’t stop now.

“how- how ma- many minutes?” the words strain to get out, wrapped in his arousal. his nipples peak hard in his shirt, the friction only adding to his pleasure.

at some point, his hand stopped moving all together and his hips started doing all the work. steve presses against the drivers seat, hips lifting off and bucking into his hand and— shit, it’s too much, the sticky boxers are gonna make him cum if he rubs against them one more time.

in haste, he shoves them down his thighs, exposing his cock to you and anyone who deigns to take a peek in his window. something churns in his gut and steve screws his eyes up, willing himself not to cum yet. so close, he’s so close.

“just one more,” you say, suddenly sounding more breathy than before. steve’s eyes snap open, darting over to look at your face — but you’re fixated on his crotch, watching with a hungry expression.

your eyes lift to his face. another devious smile. steve whines. so close, he’s so fucking close, so close he can taste it. he can win, he can do it.

“steve,” you say softly, reaching out to nudge his chin in your direction. he wasn’t aware of when his eyes slipped shut again but your staring him in the face all lovingly, all wickedly and steve wills his orgasm down. another minute, another fucking minute, he can wait, he’s so close he’s— “cum,” you command.

steve does. white hot flashes through his body as he tips over the edge, ecstasy washing over every sense, stronger than he's ever felt before. his cock kicks up in his hand and a whorish moan drags out of his throat as he paints the steering wheel with ropes of cum.

for a minute, steve doesn't give a fuck if he's just lost— he just cares about how fucking good it feels to fuck his fist, to feel every pass over his slit all the way through his body. he whines and whimpers as the feeling tapers off, his hips finally settling down into the seat.

the mortification of what he's done begins to set it, like the drizzles of cum drying on his steering wheel. he can't stop panting, can't think of single word to say, his lips opening and closing as he tries to recover from the best orgasm of his life.

he hears the car door open and it shoots him into gear, stuffing himself back into his sticky boxers, a shiver going down his spine at how unpleasant it feels. oh fuck, and he's got a whole shift ahead of him.

you're still hovering, one hand on the open car door, leaned down and watching him frantically try to recover— all with that damned wicked smile on your face.

you rap your knuckles on the roof of the car. "damn. better luck next month, right harrington?"

you don't sound sorry at all. steve watches you close the door and leave, weaving between the stores and out of sight as his cock softens and his boxers grow colder. he screws his eyes up and smacks his head back against the headrest.

he's so fucking screwed.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

first of all, this is all legit, and not bait, though i have a feeling it may come off that way, this did happen to me. please don't publish if tumblr sends it off anon.

i'm a lesbian with gender dysphoria, and while i haven't had much sexual experience, i would consider myself a stone top. in the last year and a half i began reading "terf"/radical feminist writings and reading "terf" tumblr blogs fairly actively, largely out of frustration with misogyny i was experiencing IRL. though i never engaged with the community i did stop identifying as genderfluid and started understanding my dysphoria as stemming from the trauma of being bullied by other girls for having a high-androgen DSD, and using different pronouns/transition thoughts as unhealthy coping mechanisms. i'm happy with this, but i also don't know if i'm attracted to women anymore.

i've always been attracted to women in a way that's stereotypically guy-like; i find feminine women very attractive and not so much fellow(?) butches, want to penetrate with a strap on, don't like bush much, cursory interest in BDSM/daddy kink. i read/watched het erotica and porn sometimes and identified with the man. what i read problematized pretty much every aspect of that- femininity as a cage, penetration as violence/straps as disidentification w the female body, infantilization of women, bdsm as abuse etc. also, desisting making me more conscious of dysphoria/knowledge of how extensive sexual dimorphism is putting me off both women with larger breasts and hips AND smaller breasts and hips/unrealistically masculine body types as well. so a lot of what turned me on before isn't arousing anymore, or i feel guilty about it, and i haven't been able to find butch4butch stuff which is much healthier very interesting.

i consider my sexuality healthier now on a political level but my ability to get aroused/jerk off has plummeted (used to be i could jork it sunrise to sunset) and thinking about being in a relationship w another woman makes me feel uneasy and weird, especially since a lot of what i read emphasized reciprocative cunnilingus/tribbing (which i don't like) as the healthiest sex options. i also think about both my dysphoria and my sexuality issues 100x more than i did before, even though i was promised the opposite (freedom from dysphoria and feeling happier as a lesbian), and it's stressing me out day-to-day. i'm aware based on your general ethos that you probably think i'm a terrible person right now, but i figured it'd be useful to seek the opinion of someone who radically disagrees with what i've read on what i could/should do next, since i admittedly miss being at peace with my sexuality.

thanks for reading.

hi there anon,

it's a bummer that you'd think I would assume you're a terrible person based on everything you've told me here. I generally try not to consider people terrible unless they're actively being shitheads or hurting other people, which doesn't sound at all like you're describing. from what you've told me, you've been up to your eyes in some information that's made you feel deeply uncomfortable in your sexuality and now you're seeking out a new perspective to help you make sense of that hurt. that describes most of the people who send me questions!

it's so striking to me that much of what you're describing is very reminiscent of what's recounted in The Persistent Desire, an anthology of writings on butch/femme identities edited by femme historian and archivist Joan Nestle that was released in 1992. in various essays and interviews countless butches and femmes recount their discomfort with the feminist turn against butch and femme identities that too place in the 70s, when both roles were declared problematic recreations of heterosexuality and summarily decried as politically "incorrect" for lesbians. it's shocking to me how much what you've described echoes these accounts experienced by lesbians half a century ago - the disowning of women who are "excessively" feminine or masculine, the demonizing of penetrative sex, general insistence that there are "correct" sex acts that every lesbian is supposed to enjoy, and the deep discomfort and insecurity that this causes among people who don't fit into the very rigid standards of proper lesbian identity set forth.

here's a link to a PDF, if that's interesting to you at all. it's very long, so feel free not to read it straight through; it's a great project to skim and an incredible way to get in touch with the lesbians who came before us. their accounts of their lives are so wildly different from the boundaries of "good" queer representation that feel so universal today; in discussing their own lives many of these women speak very bluntly about their experiences with abuse, drugs, sex work, and violence. it's a great glimpse into the lives and history of a lot of very ordinary lesbians just living their lives, and I'm very grateful it's been preserved.

now, as for what you're actually gonna do: hey. listen. first of all, if you haven't given up reading this stuff yet, you've gotta. you simply cannot keep internalizing stuff that makes you overanalyze your own sexuality so hard that you feel uncomfortable about being attracted to women. that's not "healthy," that's conversion therapy lite. there are other places to talk about feminism without being made to feel ashamed of yourself.

listen: there's nothing unhealthy about anything that you described about yourself. being a stone butch, being attracted to certain looks and aesthetics, watching porn, wanting to use a strap and roleplay during sex and not being interested in other sexual activities - all of those thing are completely normal and, yes, healthy. certainly healthier than feeling the need to repress your sexuality so hard that thinking about being with a woman doesn't feel right!

should we run through that list?

femininity as cage - sure, okay, femininity isn't for everyone, and there are parts of it that suck. that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with women who like to wear dresses or put on makeup or shave or whatever, or anyone who's attracted to those women. genuinely I cannot think of anything less interesting or important to feminist organizing than getting hung up about what people want to wear. it's clothes, dude. it's fucking clothes. pick a more important hill to die on, I implore you.

penetration is not the same thing as violence. there's just nothing to debate about that one; it's patently absurd to pretend that every act of penetrative sex is rape and you'd have to fundamentally misunderstand how consent works to believe that.

straps are not about "disidentification with the female body," they're about augmenting a sexual experience. a strap-on is not more problematic than a vibrator or a massage oils or a pillow used to prop up a body part. unless those are also bad? are those bad? are pillows disidentifying from the female body also? I'm not up to date on this.

straight up I don't even know which part of your whole deal the infantilization of women is supposed to address, but a thing that I've always found interesting about a lot of radical feminists who are deeply distrustful of sex is the way that many of them seem to assume that women can't be trusted to understand their own sexual desires and need to be taught what's appropriate. seems kind of condescending to me, personally.

BDSM isn't the same thing as abuse. abuse, crucially, is not a situation that people can safe word out of or negotiate the constraints of. it's kind of like how, you know, I purposefully pay people to shove needles in my skin when I want a tattoo, but I wouldn't be stoked about it if somebody just ran up to me in public and started stabbing me without any warning or conversation. context is crucial. there can certainly be abusive people within BDSM spaces, but that's true of people of literally every sexual proclivity on earth, and certainly not an innate feature of BDSM. it's just make believe, dude. it's dress up. it's sex LARPing.

also, psst, hey. that thing about being attracted to women in a "guy-like" way? no such thing. men are humans, dude; they experience attraction in as many different ways as anyone else. for every dude interested in the same stuff as you there are men yearning for hairy women, muscular women, masculine women, women who will dominate them, women who would rather be eaten out then penetrated, and so on. to say nothing of the men who aren't into women at all! and, as is obvious from your own experience, men don't have a monopoly on those kinds of feelings, anyway! there are no men or women feelings, dude; it's all just people having feelings and fighting for their lives trying to figure out what they're into to.

I want to particularly talk about that last bit, where you mentioned not enjoying or wanting to engage in cunnilingus or tribbing. that's totally fine! people like different shit in all kinds of combinations - I'm personally a huge fan of getting eaten out and scratched up or bitten, but I don't do penetration and I've genuinely never met anyone who actually liked tribbing - and there are absolutely people out there who will, to paraphrase the poet Tinashe, perfectly match your freak.

(have you heard about the perpetual, critical shortage of tops that the queer community faces? you'd be a godsend, just saying.)

also, actually, hey I wanted to circle back to another thing as well: it's deeply alarming to me that whatever radfem stuff you've been reading has you feeling "put off" of women with wide hips and large breasts as well as women with small breasts and hips. what is wrong with either of those? both of those are just ways that women naturally look. women just look a wide variety of ways, and it's sad that that's upsetting you now. just thinking about this, conceptually, is giving me hives.

having been up to your eyes in all of this, I can definitely understand why you'd feel the urge to overanalyze you own gender and sexuality to the point of completely talking yourself out of identifying with anything that feels good for you. as I said, that's actually not healthy in any way, and as a sex educator I can't say that I think anyone genuinely invested in your well-being would want that for you.

entirely aside from their feelings on trans people, which I obviously disagree with pretty vehemently, one of the things about radfems that's most endlessly vexing to me is the insistence that such an extremely narrow range of sexual behaviors are appropriate. seems like a miserable way to live, and I sincerely hope you can detangle yourself from the morass of shame it's landed you in. you deserve better.

[inafieldofstarflowers]

My ⋆｡*Jeremy Knox Evidence Board⋆｡°

aka: I scoured TSC for all the crumbs I could find about Jeremy Knox and the mystery of his tragic and/or questionable past and tried to sort the information into sections

1. Whatever happened has something to do with Exy

Jeremy mentions "the fall banquet that broke [the Knox] family in half" in his freshman year

Before this banquet, Jeremy's sister Annalise always went to his games, after it, she not only stopped attending but went "out of her way to forget everything she knew about Exy" and had "never forgiven [Jeremy] for sticking with it"

Annalise suggests that their step-grandpa will have an opinion on Jeremy recruiting Jean and states that this recruitment is "a new scandal" which will make Jeremy "End the way [he] started"

2. Jeremy Goes to Therapy

Cat says that this therapist was "legit life changing" for Jeremy

Jeremy's mom was the one to find him this therapist, and she's both very good & very expensive

The therapist has walked him through how to push back against his family (or, at least, Annalise's anger at him sticking with Exy), suggesting that she believes his decision to continue playing after whatever happened is legitimate

3. SOMETHING is up with the Knoxes

Jeremy acknowledges that his family has their issues, though he specifies that his mother never raised a hand to hurt them physically

Again, whatever happened at the banquet "destroyed the family"

There's specifically tension between Jeremy and his stepdad/step-grandpa

- Jeremy is "permanently on his stepfather's bad side"

- Their step-grandpa is a Congressman, and the Knoxes are a "picture perfect family" who are "duty bound to dress up and smile" to make him look good

- When Annalise brings up their step-grandpa it is apparently "obvious bait" which Jeremy rises to by saying that he "isn't their grandfather"

- Him saying this makes Annalise respond "don't destroy my future"

Jeremy's parents are presumably divorced rather than his dad being dead (Jeremy uses the present perfect tense when he tells Jean "Dad's been stationed [in Europe] a couple times"

There's weird energy between the Knox siblings

- Cat identifies three: two brothers and one sister. We know Annalise is the younger sister and Bryson is the older brother, but the third is an unknown. Also, Cat noticeably pauses before saying that Jeremy has three siblings, but Jean doesn't ask about it

- Annalise has a grudge against Jeremy, and he avoids Bryson, who is apparently a jerk

- Jeremy mentions that "most of his siblings" wanted to get out of LA when stating that he wanted to stay because of his love for USC

Jeremy's family is upset when he bleaches his hair (presumably because of how it affects the family's image)

- He's "uninvited from the family table for the state of his hair"

- When Laila asks what happened to frosted tips, Cat says it was "something about how going beachboy mode was more acceptable than looking like a one-hit wonder dropout" and Jeremy says he might do tips next year "after I've graduated and don't have to deal with the fallout"

Jeremy gets "tense and distant" when his mom texts him

- Also her text tone is an "awful noise" (which could mean nothing but also Jeremy has curated specific text tones for everyone so I do NOT believe this is a coincidence)

4. Jeremy's housing situation is weird

In his own words, Jeremy stays "[with Cat and Laila] from June until the start of the school year" and then once school begins, is "usually only over on the weekends" and lives at his house

- When Jeremy explains this, Jean notices "the way Jeremy's gaze slid past him to peer into the distance" and "the tight tug at the corner of Cat's mouth"

- As @drunkinourtears pointed out, “apparently only [Jeremy] (out of all his siblings) is required to live in their family house the whole year,” referencing the passage "Unlike Bryson, who always came home for the summer, [Annalise] insisted on keeping her own place on the other side of the city year-round." This emphasizes that “Jeremy is the only sibling to be put on a tight leash” regarding his living situation, as both his older brother and YOUNGER sister are allowed their own choices on where to live

Jeremy sneaks in and out of the house "to avoid conflict" and is aided and abetted in this venture by the family's butler

- He says that "the trick to starting Saturdays off on the right foot was to get out of the house as early as possible"

5. A deeply weird financial situation

The Knoxes have money (as evidenced by the butler & mentioned private chef), and Jeremy has access to it to some extent

Jeremy has to deal with his mother's bookkeeper regularly enough that he has the practiced thought that he gets a receipt "so he could file it later" with the thought that it is "always best to have a paper trail"

- He gets receipts three times: when he buys coffee & the gift card for the man in line behind him, when he keeps the receipt from Jean's shirt, and when he gets the receipt for his hair dye job (adding a note with the amount for the cash tip on the top of this one)

Jeremy gives Cat and Laila cash to help with groceries and rent, and Cat "knows how many hoops" he has to jump through to get the money as a result of being on his stepfather's bad side

- As a side note, it's interesting that Jeremy's finances seem to both require his stepfather's approval and are then confirmed by his mother's bookkeeper

- This also ties back into the weird living situation: Jeremy seems to have some financial freedom (he can get his hair done on the book, even though his family does not want him to), but he has to scramble to be able to give Cat and Laila money for the time he lives with them (possibly to disincentivize him from staying there?)

- Annalise, by contrast, has her own place in the city she can stay in year-round, which suggests that she has easier access to the family’s money, or at least more freedom to work with it in regards to her housing situation (shoutout @drunkinourtears for pointing this out!)

6. Jeremy's weird comment about cops

I will just quote this in full because: “There was little to no chance he’d know them, and no reason they’d recognize him, but Jeremy kept his gaze forward and his mouth shut until they were past.”

- This is never expanded on, and it's such an ambiguous passage in terms of what Jeremy means. First, why say there's "little to no chance" he'd know them and not just "no chance"–why would they know him? His politician step-grandpa? Something he did? It just reads less as a general discomfort with cops and more as an avoidance with a specific reason

- Second, "and no reason they'd recognize him" could just mean that they wouldn't know Jeremy Knox, but again, that would be such a weird thing to say. Would they know his name/know about something he did in the past, but just not know his face?

- All in all, this passage reads to me like there's something in Jeremy's past that has made him uncomfortable around cops, and while there's no reason these particular ones would recognize him from that or know about it, the very idea that they might puts him on edge (is there a potential tie between this discomfort and whatever happened in Jeremy's freshman year?)

There’s also Rhemann’s comment after Grayson’s attack: when he wants to bring the police in, he tries to reassure Jean by saying “I’ll send Jeremy away first,” Rhemann said, like that somehow would win Jean over.” It’s easy to read this as Rhemann thinking Jean wants privacy in this moment, but that doesn’t hold up as much considering the specificity of sending JEREMY away, suggesting he assumes Jean is concerned about Jeremy having to be around the cops

- As @drunkinourtears pointed out, his comment suggests that Rhemann knows about whatever Jeremy’s issues with the cops are, and him saying this in front of Lucas and to Jean “implies that Jeremy's situation with cops is common knowledge for the team and [Rhemann] assumes Jean also knows about it” (I 100% didn’t pick up on this until reading the comment about it and it is FASCINATING)

7. Cat and Laila know about whatever happened

Throughout the book, Cat and Laila either trade looks or make faces or almost slip out information about what happened when things come up about Jeremy's past

- They're solidly on his side about it whatever's up with his family, seeming to dislike them quite a bit

- Cat mentioning that therapy helped him out a lot does suggest that they didn't think he was in a good place before

- Cat knows even though she wouldn't have been at the freshman year banquet, only the fifth year seniors would have been (that suggests that the only people who DEFINITELY know would be Laila, Cody, Pat, Derek Thompson, and Shawn Anderson)

Addendum 1: Jeremy is particularly uncomfortable around discussion of suicide

Obviously, this is a very sensitive topic, and there’s every possibility that Jeremy is just uncomfortable because any conversation about suicide is going to be hard. However, as @welcome-to-the-end-of-eras and @catalailas pointed out in the notes, Jeremy’s reactions are generally heightened compared to those around him when suicide comes up

When Jeremy finds out about Wayne, Jean notes that: “In one heartbeat, Jeremy’s entire demeanor changed. Jean watched the blood drain from his face even as Jeremy hopped off his stool and turned away from them. The line of his shoulders was rigid as he listened to whatever Cody had to say.”

Additionally, when Jean suggests Grayson might kill himself like Wayne if he goes to therapy, it’s followed by “That isn’t a joke,” Jeremy said, with unexpected ferocity.”

- Again, these could just be a natural reaction from someone who’s removed from the mafia stuff in a way the other main characters aren’t, but the section about Grayson is also followed by the statement that “Cat winced, but kept her eyes on Jean,” which suggests it might be something more personal to Jeremy, & Cat knows what/why

If there are any other notes you have to add to the evidence board, let me know! Also, if you have any theories about how these things connect and what exactly is going on with our boy Jeremy, I would LOVE to hear them and I WILL add any substantial evidence I missed

[livelaughlovesubs]

NINININININIIIII!!!!! I am begging you to make a fic abt bunny dazai + w a breeding kink!! There is so little fic abt bunzai Im so sad… ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´Д｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡

- 🎀

BUNZAI HELPPPP sounds cute though hehe (also sorry for being late)

Dom!reader x sub!dazai

Warning: bunny hybrid, pegging (I use dick), breeding kink, dirty talk, teasing, dacryphilia, feminisation, kinda perverted

A pair of fluffy ears with a soft tail to match, all in a sweet chocolate brown colour. Not only did it feel smooth to the touch, it was also very lively, twitching and moving around whenever you’d touch it. He especially liked it if you would rub the base, the area where it’s connected to his body. A few light strokes were all it took to make him shiver underneath you, arms hugging the plushies tightly as his eyes rolled back.

“Nghhhh… you are suuuch a tease!” Dazai shuddered, wagging his little fluff ball that was raised high in the air. Then he also shook his ass around, as if he was mimicking his own tail. “Stop getting distracted and f- hnngh, fuck me properly.” The male demanded, turning his head to look at you over his shoulder. His dark brown eyes were watery, the skin below tainted crimson. But he was smiling, a dumb grin as strings of saliva stuck from the plushies to his lips. That wasn’t the only sticky thing, his bangs were like glued to his forehead, all from him sweating so much. There was no helping it, his heart is beating so fast and the blood rush was too exiting.

“Hah” You scoffed, “getting bold, aren’t you? Why don’t you focus on pleasing me first?” Afterwards you replied calmly, signalising you were used to his cheeky behaviour. Instead of letting go of his fluffy features, you tugged on his ears a little. “Mhm~! S-stop that..!” He said even though he didn’t seem like he wanted you to stop, nevertheless you still let go. “Are they really that sensitive?” A sigh slipped from your lips while your hand found its way back to his waist, fingers sinking into his soft flesh, causing some red marks to be left behind. “That tickles, are you that obsessed with my body?” Dazai mocked, holding your gaze with his usual playful attitude. “Aren’t you too impatient, bunny? Where is the fun in that.” You responded with another question, leaning down with your upper body so that you could nibble at the tip of his ears.

His body jerked very suddenly, you noticed because his tail twitched the moment your lips touched his fur. “How cute my bunny is, why don’t we play a little longer?” You suggested, hands slowly moving upwards to try and grope his chest. “Mhnn, hmm.. no, I can’t take it anymore. You are already i-inside me, so why can’t you just move?” Oh dear, the rabbit boy almost sounds angry now. He bawled his fists, his rim clenching around you and loosening up in desperation. You couldn’t help but laugh at such a pathetic display, asking innocently, “And why do you want me to fuck you so badly, little bun’?” Now he was glaring at you. How could you make him say something so embarrassing, he was definitely going to get back at you.

“Maybe because I wanna be breed?” Dazai mumbled into the toys beneath him, acting all sad as a part of his plan. He knew you liked it whenever he’d say something dirty, he knew what words gets you riled up. “Oh? You want what?” And you took the bait, as expected, no one can withstand his charm once he tries. Once again the boy met your eyes, staring right into yours as he whispered teasingly, “I want you to fill my womb with babies♡”

Hah! The audacity! To think he’d be this shameless, to voice out such perverted words! A shiver ran down your spine, you felt your stomach tingle in excitement. He knew you too good, way too good. “Can’t I bear your children, y/n? I’d take care of those small bun’s.” This man in front of you, with his ass up and face down, he didn’t know when to stop, did he? Pushing your buttons like this, egging you on. If you left him like this he’d only spout more nonsense. Though maybe he forgot, two can play this game.

“Aha, that’s what you want? For me to impregnate you?” You repeated his words, growing them into his ear in a low voice, “want me to make you a mama?” His eyes shone and tail wagged around, he could feel electricity being send to his dick, causing some precum to leak from the tip. “Nghh.. shit, do it.” He said, it was almost like an order. Maybe his impatience rubbed off on you, because you were itching to take him. Your fingertips were on his hips again, gripping down harshly as you moved your hips back. As if the previous provocations weren’t enough, you said, “If that’s the case, I can’t wait to see you full and round with my children. I’m sure the bunnies would be adorable.”

So many sensations were coursing through him, they all felt so good he swore his brain was going to melt. Oh you, only you would entertain his filthy fantasies like this. If only he could truly get pregnant by you, he would have baby trapped you ages ago. Though this was fine as well, just the role play and imagination was enough for him. And apparently also enough for you, since you were snapping your hips against his bottom so roughly you might as well have been fucking babies right into his stomach.

It felt so good. The way your cock rubbed against his insides and walls, it got him drooling and crying in pleasure. “Ahh, so mHhHmm, good..!” At this point, he was so joyful and ecstatic he could barely keep fiction and reality apart. His knuckles turned white from clenching his fists so hard, tears rolling down his blushing cheeks and wetting his lashes. He whimpered when you brushed over his prostate, as if he just got taken to heaven. Not to mention how his pre was dirtying the sheets, creating a pool below him. He was so caught up with the pleasure he receives by you stretching him out he forgot about anything else.

Your little bunny sobbed in bliss and whined in a high-pitched voice, “m’wanna be gu-gahhHmm!! impregnated by you- e-everyday..♡♥︎”

Seems like he got too sentimental about the little play. How adorable your pet rabbit was.

[neochan]

≡ 𝐍𝐂𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐕 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒! (𝟏𝟖+)

「 MEMBERS 」 ⋮ mark lee, huang renjun, lee jeno, na jaemin, lee haechan, zhong chenle, park jisung

≣ content warning ⋮ perverted, depraved, & taboo thoughts, nerd!mark, cnc / dubcon, innocence stealer!chenle, somnophilia, mentions of weed usage as a form of coercion, too strong!jeno, manhandling, rough!jeno, degradation, religious sacrilege, corrupt church boy!jaemin, slight humiliation, corruption, ra!renjun, manipulative!renjun, cocaine usage.

≣ a.note ⋮ i'm smoking weed and listening to old hiphop, what else was i supposed to do other than write these cute little perv drabbles :) give me a like, a follow, or a reblog.

⩩ mark lee ⋮ so what if he's a 'nerd'. he doesn't care if you make fun of him in class with all your friends. he shrugs it off like no big deal. it really wasn't a big deal, until you brought up his dick size. see, mark isn't one of those guys whose ego gets shot from small dick jokes. but when the joke leaves your pretty little mouth, well something shifts in the pit of his stomach. he still shrugs it off though, until you're walking home from class, skirt swishing back and forth just barely covering the swell of your ass. good little girls should know better... it was easy, really. clamping a hand over your lips puckered in a silent scream. and then to drag you back to his car. oh, it was so, so easy. in fact, you really wanted it. the way you spread your legs, revealing a patch of arousal on the seat of your lacy panties. how you willingly helped him slip them to the side. the way you moaned his name when he slid into your puffy cunt, tits pressing against his chest and eyes locked on his. you begged for him to keep going. for him to go harder. so he did. again, and again, and again. until you could barely walk when he dumped you outside the front of your dorm. but sure enough, you stayed quiet in class the next day...

⩩ huang renjun ⋮ renjun has an addiction. it's not porn - not technically. it's not cocaine, or nicotine. he's not an alcoholic, yet still, he felt the withdrawal all too much. he was addicted to you. or, your body, rather. he dreamed of it, hands reaching up to cup your tits, cock sunk deep in your pussy, spit dribbling down the side of your mouth as you lost yourself on him. and when he woke up, aching and hard, he had no choice but to pathetically jerk off to the remnants of the memory. he thought about putting cameras in your room, maybe the womens showers, to capture you. something he can have as a keepsake of this obsession. see, he had access. he was your resident advisor. he could do that. but then he found out from a little birdie that his star resident in room two oh twelve used her daddies money to buy coke off her dealer boyfriend. see that...that was the key. all he had to do was used that as bait to convince you. and he did. one night, at a stupid party he was supposed to shut down, he saw you snort a line off the living room table. next thing he knew, you were upstairs, tears welling in your eyes, pleading with him not to tell. you would do anything. anything.

⩩ lee jeno ⋮ really, his strength was his best asset. but he's never had someone put up this much of a fight. seriously, after one good hair pull and a hand around the throat, girls usually let up. but you... you were fun. you were a challenge. you push back, hands slapping against his chest to combat him. all he does is snarl and shove harder, pressing your back against the kitchen counter. his biceps flex with the exertion of grabbing your wrists and pinning them to the marble. you thrash around still, until he twists your body so sharply, you cry out. he chuckles, "god i love you." he presses his stiffening cock against you, circling his hips to gain some sort of friction, "feel that? you're driving me crazy." a few half-hearted attempts at getting free does nothing for you, instead, it spins you around so now your chest was pressed flat against the cold surface. he transfers your wrists into one giant hand, and uses his other to yank down your bottoms. "...and you're soaked. fuck, y/n. gonna give you what you need. gonna fuck this stupid attitude outta you, yeah?" your walls flutter around his uninvited fingers, "ahhh, you like that, you sick fuck. want me to fuck you into submission. make you a real good girl for me. gonna train you to take me, and only me." he doesn't even feel you resist anymore, because you give up. you let him use your body until he's spent, and even then, you let him use your mouth. anything for him. anything for jeno.

⩩ na jaemin ⋮ he wasn't a god. but at this moment, with his entire world peering up through wet lashes, on bruised knees...well, he surely felt like one. it didn't help that he stood overtop your broken figure on the edge of the alter. he caresses your jaw and gives you a smile full of pearly white teeth that gleam in the stained glass shadows, "speak." with tears welling in your eyes at the command, it takes a second, but eventually your hoarse voice echoes out, "forgive me father for i have sinned." you see, jaemin wasn't a priest, but he took your confessions as if he was one. he wanted you to bare your soul to him. your perverted, depraved, sick thoughts. he doesn't speak though, just cocks an eyebrow and crouches down so that he was eye level. you continue, "i-, this is so...embarrassing, gosh, i don't..." he gives your jaw a squeeze, making the words tumble out, "i did it again. i... i touched myself again..it's wrong, i- i know, but he, you...plague my mind." your voice quiets the longer his gaze burns into you. but nothing compares to the image that burns brighter in his mind. your innocent fingers slipping between plush thighs, jaemin being the temptation you couldn't withstand. it made him feel fucking good. "it's okay darling, god forgives you, i forgive you..." he stands up again and reaches a hand down to toy with the buckle of his belt, "but with sin comes punishment." he undoes the latch and slowly slips it from the belt loops of his dress pants. the sound makes you flinch, a whisper escaping your pouted lips, "oh god." heat surges through his veins, almost bringing him to his knees, "no angel, i'm not god. i'll be more forgiving than any god. i'll be gentle, i'll liberate you from all sin. i'll make you good. my darling, i'll make you pure again."

⩩ lee haechan ⋮ yeah, he did it on purpose, so what. technically, he didn't force you to inhale, he simply stuck the blunt between your fingers and called it a day. admittedly, you did exactly what he wanted, but he chalked that up to good luck, and the devil on his side. watching you slowly revert to a rambling, squirmy mess made his cock stir in his jeans. and when you got all cuddly, snuggling up to his chest and dragging him closer, well, what else was he supposed to do other than stick his tongue in your mouth and push you back against the arm of the couch. you came on to him, really. either way, the night led with his tongue down your throat, and his hand up your skirt. and still, when he pushes your panties to the side and slips a finger into your cunt, his suspicions are confirmed. your arousal dripped down his wrists, a testament to how much you truly wanted him. really, he was doing you a service. an act of kindness. "be still baby" he growled, forcing your legs wider apart. you whimpered and whined, body holding still but head rolling on your shoulders. "hyuckie.." you kept mewling, and with each sound of his name, he grew harder and harder. it felt like he might burst if he didn't bury his cock in you right this minute. so he does. sloppily, because he was high too, but he does. and it's slow, and messy, and sick. and he loved every fucking second. god, he can't wait to do this to you, no, with you, again.

⩩ zhong chenle ⋮ stealing innocence, robbing naivety, corrupting purity... whatever people call that, chenle calls a normal everyday thought. he hasn't really fucked you yet, only teased you. he's coerced you into letting him touch your cunt, but only the soft skin on the outside. you've let him touch your breasts, but never the sensitive bud in the center. you also let him toy with your ass one time, but the second he tried to slip a finger inside, you pushed him off and told him to wait. nothing could happen before marriage. but chenle was tired of waiting. he was bored of watching you through the camera in the shower. sick of touching himself beside your sleeping figure - the only time he could shift your legs in your sleep to poke at your clothed cunt. just rubbing you through the satin material of your pajama bottoms got him off, but he needed more. this time, he was able to wriggle your shorts down around your ankles, and what a sight it was. oh he was gonna have so much fun. one finger, two fingers, his tongue, eventually working his way up to the tip of his cock. pushing in, not too much to make you stir... just enough to tease himself. you were so tight, so untouched. it was obvious he was your first, and it took everything in him to hold back. tomorrow night...tomorrow night will be the night he fucks you full, until you're leaking his cum. until you're his. ruined for him only.

⩩ park jisung ⋮ jisung hates how you think of him. not just you, but everyone really. see, he's not just the maknae. he doesn't want the baby voice, or the coddling, or the fucking head pats. if you really knew what he was capable of, maybe you'd think twice before treating him like a kid all the time. if you could see the way he fucks his fist, fingers twisted in the sheets of his bed, or knuckles jammed between his teeth... the things he thought about; you sitting on his cock, forced to take every inch of him, even when the tears well over the brim of your eyelashes. cunt full of his fingers while he sucked and nipped at your breasts. the bruises he'd leave on every inch of your skin. how he fantasizes about pushing you to the floor and stuffing his cock down your throat until you were thrashing for just a small breath of air. he doesn't get off on hurting you, no, he could never do that. but making you see just how much stronger he was.. how he could force you onto your knees, and rough you up a bit until your swollen lips screamed his name. well, maybe then you'd stop treating him like some dumb kid.

≣ taglist ⋮ @hykwrld-main @peachjaem00 @rainyjeno @be-my-sunrise @revehae

[e3rt]

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

[fear-is-truth]

SHE’S MY COLLAR ࣪࿐ྂ

tate langdon being submissive, headcanons // content warning : fem!reader. smut. mdni

TATE LANGDON wasn’t someone who liked to admit what he wanted. maybe it was pride, or maybe it was fear of rejection—he wasn’t even sure anymore. letting people in had never worked out for him. people left. people disappointed…or worse, they stayed long enough to realise what he really was. it was easier to stay closed off, let his mind fill in the blanks where emotions and feelings should be.

but with you, there was something different. you didn’t push. you didn’t pry. you just… leaned in, test his limits in the subtlest ways, like you were teasing the vulnerability out of him.

it’s always the little things, really. a hand grazing his jawline, nails scratching at his scalp and fingers curling in his hair as you let the soft strands slip through—it disarmed him instantly, though he’d never let it show.

his face would stay impassive, mouth set in that smug little line, but his body language always betrayed him—head tilting toward your touch, as if asking for more without ever saying a word.

you had a knack for finding out exactly what would unravel him. something as simple as straddling him, knees bracketing his hips, your palms flat against his chest. the casual act of dominance never fails to send blood rushing straight down his groin.

“you’re quiet,” your fingers playing idly with the hem of his shirt. “cat got your tongue?”

he’d shake his head, adam’s apple bobbing. “no.” but his voice would lack conviction, and you’d grin because you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

then, you’d push him back against the mattress, hands trailing up his arms to pin his wrists above his head. tate didn’t fight it, just looked up at you through half-lidded eyes. there was something devastatingly pretty about him like this. flushed cheeks tinted with a rosy hue, plump lips slightly parted, his breathing uneven.

you’d kiss his jawline, just below his ear, and he’d let out this soft, involuntary groan, biting down on his lip like he could keep it from happening again. he’d try to stay still, to keep that smirk on his face intact, but you’d catch the way his breathing picked up the tiniest bit. that, and the feeling of something hardening underneath you.

his earlobes were your secret weapon, though, the one thing that made him come undone with almost embarrassing ease. you’d discovered it once by accident, the way he’d jolted when your teeth grazed the sensitive skin.

masculine pride would kick in immediately after, head jerking away with a scoff, but you’d seen it. how his eyes darkened with interest. now, you’d use it against him. you’d let your lips linger there, tongue tracing the cartilage of his ear, and his whole body would betray him—a sharp inhale, his fingers twitching against your waist like he doesn’t know whether to push you away or pull you closer.

and then there’s the wrestling. it’d start as playful horsing around, always. he’d like to bait you into it, poking at you until you retaliate. but tate doesn’t account for how good you are at playing dirty.

before he knows it, he’s flat on his back, your hands pressing his wrists into the mattress. he’d freeze for a split second, wide-eyed, and you’d see the conflict warring in his eyes—pride demanding he push you off, and something else begging him to stay exactly like this.

he’d smirk up at you, trying to maintain that air of cocky indifference, but his lips would twitch, betraying how much he liked it. he’d place both hands on your waist in a half-hearted attempt to shove you off, but it was all for show. tate never actually wanted you to stop.

but then his hips would arch up against yours in an instinctive, desperate motion, seeking more friction. his already weak resolve crumbling the moment you ground down in response.

“oh f-fuck, yes.” the word dissolved into a shaky exhale when you ground your hips against him again, deliberately slow, and you’d smirk at the way his lashes fluttered, his head pressing back into the pillow.

he liked to watch you on top of him, taking in the way your body moved with an almost feline grace. your face, the small changes in your expression as you focused, caught his attention the most. a gentle determination in your eyes and the soft plush of your lips, which parted ever so slightly as you lowered yourself onto his cock.

his gaze would continue to linger on your face, tracing the way your eyebrows furrowed, caught between concentration and pleasure. how your lips parted slightly, the soft breaths that seemed to vibrate between you, pushing him further into the silence of his own mind, where all he could think about was you, you, you.

tate likes not having to lift a finger when you’re on top. it’s indulgent, almost lazy, but there’s something about it that soothes him. he’d sink into the feeling of being cared for, his hands finding yours because he needed that connection. interlocking fingers like that—it’s intimate in a way that’s hard to put into words, making him feel involved while still giving up control.

and if he whimpered a little during the process, well. that was just for you to know.

──⟢  fear-is-truth — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Gray Woman 2

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Summary: You meet a man who tests your patience. (grumpy!short!reader)

Note: To those who didn’t help me resist this beast, I blame you.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The bank is at peak hours. The rush used to make you dizzy but these days you barely notice the changes. There's always someone else waiting. There's always someone upset about money and it's usually their own fault.

You tap through a transaction, working from muscle memory as you ask the usual questions, hit the usual keys. You hand over their card and point them to grab their receipt from the machine on the other side of the glass. The take both. You're used to the the lack of a 'thank you'.

You wait for the next customer. When no one shows, you peer up towards the line corralled behind the stanchions and cords. A man in his suit, more interested in his phone than reality. A woman behind him clears her throat, "excuse me."

He jerks away from her as if she spit on him and scoffs. He rolls his eyes and tucks away his phone as his eyes flit up to you. He approaches as he continues to feel around under the chest of his jacket. He reveals his black card as he gets to the counter and slaps it down.

You watch him dulcetly, "hello, sir. How can I help you today?"

He scoffs again, this time louder. "That's Mr. Hansen, remember?"

You look at him, this time with actual consideration. Your customers are usually nothing more than faceless silhouettes. He sports a bristly mustache and shaved sides. Quite the look to go with his patterned suit jacket.

"I get a lot of customers, sir," you reach through to take his card and he catches your fingers. You flinch, just a little, and try to jerk your hand free. "Sir, let go or--"

"Yeah, yeah," he chortles and releases you as he slants his lips defiantly, "you call over those fake cops standing at the door. What do you think they'll do about it, sweet cheeks?"

You feel a crease between your brows but you don't bit the bait. Some people just want to spread their misery. You quickly snatch the card and swipe it through the machine. His account pops up on the screen.

"What do we need today?" You ask.

"Hm, besides a coffee and some afternoon delight," he snickers, "I need you to move some money for me, sweetheart."

You ignore the epithet. It happens often. The 'hons', the 'sweeties', the 'girls'.

"I'll need an ID." You say.

"We've been through this," he snips. "Just do what I tell you."

He steps closer to the window and you turn to blink at him. He stares back at you. He grimaces, "you really that stupid? You forgot me already?"

"Like I said, sir, it's busy--"

"Go get Veronique, right now," he demands, his nose almost touching the glass.

You put your feet on the bar and step down to the floor. You move stiffly, if not deliberately slow, and shuffle in your flats toward Veronique's cubicle. She sits behind the frosted siding and you tap on it before peeking around.

"Customer," you shrug.

She huffs, "ugh, I swear."

She stands up and leaves her cell phone on the desk. You back up and wait for her to pass before you follow her. She struts to your counter and in an instant, her posture changes.

"Mr. Hansen, you're back!" She chirps, "comment ca va?"

"The damn crow you got squawking back there is asking for my ID again."

"Is she?" Veronique hisses, "forgive me please. I promise, we will make sure this doesn't happen again." She turns and points to your chair, "just do what he say and stop bothering me. Mr. Hansen is a VIP customer. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," you answer. You already know you'll get a lecture later so you don't hold back the subtle snipe.

You get up on your seat and face Mr. Hansen, "what do you need? Money where?"

He chuffs out derisively, "I know your fucking with me, doll face. You remember me."

You neither confirm or deny. Truly, you deal with so many demanding managers and executives, that you might have seen him an hour ago and not realise it.

"Are we moving money out of the checking?" You ask.

He sighs and shifts, leaning on the ledge as if trying to see around your screen. He grumbles before he speaks up. He tells you what to do and you acquiesce. He gives you an account number to wire money out then announces the end of your work.

"Good girl," he winks as he stands straight.

"Do you need your receipt?" You ask as you reach for your mug, tasting the cold peppermint tea.

He watches you sip and his cheek ticks. "I need that about as much as you need that stick lodge up your ass."

It's a bit more on the nose than you're used to. Usually they call you a bitch or just huff and puff and stomp out. His effort is a bit too much. Especially if he thinks himself so important.

"Have a good day, sir," you close out of his account with a click. "Mr. Hansen," he snarls.

"Alright," you say and try to see around him, ready for the next in line. He hesitates before he backs off. When he does, a squat woman comes up and hands you a check. She slides through her bank card and ID. You put it through the scanner then ask her what account to deposit or if she needs cash.

As you issue her receipt, you glance up. That man stands by the door, his face furrowed in distaste as he glares across at you, then he spins and strides out. Hm, maybe it wasn't the same man… you can't tell that far away.

You wish the woman a good day and the next customer comes up. You peek at the clock. Still a while left. Sometimes it feels like time slows down, like the bank isn't subject to the typical laws of time a space. A special purgatory just for the forsaken tellers behind their windows.

[revelboo]

reader: *engaging in asshole cat behavior to piss of prowl*

prowl:

Pretty much 🤣

Stand Too Close Pt 7

IDW Prowl x Reader

• Why are you like this? For some reason he can’t understand, you’ve taken it into your little mind to deliberately try to antagonize him or provoke him. It makes him almost miss the days when you just ignored him or sulked in a corner. Freezing when you decide that you absolutely need to sprawl across the back of his hand on your belly so you can draw crude, inappropriate little pictures on his report to Optimus. “Find somewhere else to be,” he growls, tipping his hand to dump you off. Aware of the slide of your little, warm body against him as you straighten and glare up at him.

• Whatever that was between you had been electric, scandalous and exciting. And your personal enemy is now going out of his way to not touch you ever since. Actually trying to avoid you like he hadn’t been the one to get handsy and pin you down. Like your current frustration isn’t entirely his fault. Blowing out a breath from your spot where he’d dumped you, there’s no figuring him out. What you do know? Something has to give. Ever since realizing big and unpleasant can get closer to your size and that he might just have a freaky side? That’s the only place your brain wants to go. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I kidnap you and ruin your life?”

• Door wings lifting stiffly, he glares as you stand up and lean a hip against his knuckles, insisting on touching him again. Arms crossed while you raise your eyebrows at him in challenge. He knows you’re baiting him, but he still grits his denta. “You ran out in front of me, remember?” He growls, struggling with that smug look on your face that makes him itch to do something about it. Remembering shocking you speechless when he pinned you for all of a handful of seconds before you got even angrier. Remembers exactly what that had done to him.

• “You’re a cop car. How was I supposed to know you’re too stupid to understand how crosswalks work?” The data pad in his big servos cracks. And then he’s shoving up from his desk so fast his chair turns over. Glaring down at you like he’s considering squishing you like a bug. Fingers digging into your upper arms to hide the faint, nervous tremble, you smile sweetly. “Oh, did I find a nerve?”

• You’re trying to provoke him. Even knowing that, he’s still lunging. Mass shifting again even though he feels the drain to his reserves from the massive expenditure of energy too soon after the last and knows he’s going to pay for it later. For now there’s your satisfying little yelp as he catches you by the arm and yanks you into him, his other arm cupping the back of your head when you try to rear back. There’s that anger that twists in his spark. “Not nearly so bold now,” he growls, lip curling as you actually bare your little teeth at him and he remembers that startling lick of pain when you’d bit him.

• Big hands on you, pinning you to him as the jerk smirks. But he’s your size again or closer to it anyway. Tugging against his grip just to feel his servos tighten against you, because you like it even if you’ll never be able to admit it out loud. “You think?” You ask him and he leans closer like he’s daring you to try and bite him again. And it’s tempting, but using the brush guard on his chassis to boost yourself, you lunge, mouth crashing against his in anger and frustration and need all twisted together.

Previous

Next

I think Soundwave may be winning for most shelf space taken

[tinfoil-jones]

Jerk Ford AU: Unexpected Ally

Most other versions of Ford who have met Jerk Ford hate him, entirely ignore his existence for peace of mind, or are actively trying to kill him. The Ford Hate Club for him constantly puts bounties up for him.

Jerk Ford doesn't particularly outclass other versions of himself in combat (especially when you look at the ones who have God Level power), armed or unarmed. He isn't even in the top 50% of Fords in term of overall physicality.

However, it's nearly impossible to finish a fight with him, or capture him, because he's such a jerk that he causes his opponent to either get really pissed off, or start crying because hurting peoples feelings is basically his superpower. And he uses that distraction to get away, and run off to continue to be a jerk to everyone.

There is one Stanford Pines who not only manages to get along with Jerk Ford, but you could even call them friends. They drink beer and watch National Geographic together.

The Anti-Ford.

Jerk Ford is still an a**hole to him, don't get it twisted, but Anti-Ford is so chill and unbothered that Jerk Ford can't get under his skin. Anti-Ford actually really likes him because Jerk Ford is excellent rage bait for attention and views on his YouTube channel.

Jerk Ford knows that Anti-Ford even existing makes alternate versions of themselves angry, and that's why he hangs out with him. To make other Fords even more mad. Anti-Ford is the reason why Jerk Ford is so familiar with modern slang and memes.

Also they're both fans of Kendrick

They do s**t like this in Anti-Ford's garage studio

The Ford Hate Club really don't like this friendship, especially after this video was posted:

Me and Bestie 24 Hour Prank Challenge! (Hilarious!!) You Won't BELIEVE How Ford Hate Club Reacts! #STAY MAD

[disgustingtwitches]

A ROSE IN HARLEM

You're stuck in a romcom with your new asshole neighbor, Simon Riley

Masterlist

PART 2

I've got it bad (and that ain't good)

***

You have a ghost in your place. It follows you from room to room. The stench of smoke lingers in the air long after you think it should have dissipated, curling around you like an unseen presence. Shadows play tricks at the corners of your vision—on the fire escape, on the stairs that lead up to your place. There’s a persistent, nagging feeling of being watched, though when you turn to look, there’s never anyone there. And then the dreams. Oh God, the dreams. They leave you breathless, your chest heaving, your skin damp with sweat. You wake up disoriented, heart racing as if you've run miles.

“Astral projection,” 

Ishta declares, as if it’s the most obvious explanation in the world. She’s holding your chin up, dabbing setting powder onto your face. You sigh, exasperated. Why are all the people in your life so unserious?

She shakes her head, undeterred by your skepticism, and rifles through your makeup bag. 

“No, he doesn’t seem like the type to do that.”

You raise a brow, but she’s already leaning in again, biting her lip in concentration as she carefully fills in your eyebrows. 

“I wouldn’t put it past him to use the O method, though.” 

She adds, almost too casually.

“The what?”

“Oh, you know. When you, uh…” 

She pulls back just enough to mimic a jerking motion with her hand, her bracelets clinking together.

“Ishta.”

Her grin widens, unapologetic, her frenulum piercing glinting as she flashes her teeth. 

“I’m serious! It’s like, sex magic or something. It’s doing, uh,”

She makes the jerking motion again.

“But with intention. Picturing what you want.”

You stare at her, deadpan. 

“I think that’s just called masturbating, Ishta.”

She clicks her teeth, as if you're being ridiculous.

“No! I promise it’s different!”

You narrow your eyes, but her conviction doesn’t waver.

“It’s about manifesting your future.” 

She says, voice sweet as she brushes out your brows. 

“That's great. Maybe he should find someone who wants to be in his future.” 

You mutter, your voice more defensive than you intended.

Ishta’s grin widens.

 “He already did.”

You roll your eyes.

“You're being delusional.” 

“You're in denial.” 

She leans back, tilting her head to assess her handiwork. You hate the way her words settle into the space between you, like she’s unearthed something you’ve been working hard to bury. Something you've been trying to hide from yourself.

“Perfect,” 

She says, brushing off her hands. 

“And if you keep avoiding him, you’ll just make him work harder. Men like that don’t back down easily.”

You frown, her words a revelation you knew before but didn’t want to accept. She holds your hands, brushing your knuckles with her thumbs.

“If you don't want him, I'll happily take him off your hands.”

She prods, hoping to get a reaction. 

“Okay. That's fine, I don't care.”

You shrug, not taking the bait. She raises an eyebrow, mischief dances in her dark eyes.

“Oh really?”

“Really.”

She's not buying it though. You sigh,

“I don't care.”

You insist, not sure who you're trying to convince. 

“Well, if you’re sure… I’ll see if he wants to come to kickboxing with me. Bet he’d look great sweating it out in a tank top.”

You try to hold back a smile, but it's too late, she saw it. She raises her eyebrows and bites back a laugh.

“Your hands are sweaty. God, you're so easy to read.”

“I hate you.” 

You pull your hands away, wiping them on your dress. 

“Hate me all you want, you still like him.”

“I don't like him. He's just hot.” 

“Ok, you think he's hot. And he obviously likes you too.”

You point a finger at her, 

“No, he just wants to fuck me.”

You correct her. She sighs and rolls her eyes. 

“Fine, so what? You need a good dicking anyway. You think he's hot, and he wants to fuck, so do it!” 

“I am not fucking my neighbor.” 

“You two have chemistry!”

She says, fiddling with the hemline of your dress.

“Insulting each other is not chemistry, Ishta.”

You push her hands away playfully.

“Wanting to rip his head off is not sexy.”

“Tell that to a praying mantis.”

She simply retorts, picking up a mirror and some eyeliner. You open your mouth to say something but are caught off guard once you process what she said. A laugh escapes you.

“See? Not even denying it. Admit it,”

She simpers while lining her eyes. 

“The tension, the sparring—it's hot.”

“It's vexing,”

You watch as she flicks her wrist to draw a perfect wing. 

“He vexes me.”

She closes her eyes, letting the liner dry.

“You know what rhymes with vex?”

“Come off it, please.”

“I will once you get on it.” 

You groan, swatting her arm while she cackles.

“Be serious.”

She tucks away her eyeliner and swipes some lipgloss on. 

“I'm very serious, this is a dire situation. You need 10cc of his dick stat.” 

You stand, pulling down your too-short dress and grabbing your bag, ignoring her vulgarity. 

“Come on, let's go before we miss happy hour.”

She gives herself a once-over before slipping on her heels. She saunters to the door, keys jingling in her hands. 

“You know, the male praying mantis can finish the mating process without a head.” 

•

You've been ignoring him. 

Every morning when you pass by in the foyer. Practically running past him in the hallway. Rushing to close the elevator door when you see him coming. You don't even blast your music anymore. As unseen as he can make himself be, it's like you have a god-damned sixth sense of when he's near, scurrying away as soon as your hackles raise.

It irks him. 

He thinks about picking up the drill again, making holes at the shared wall where he knows your bedroom is. Seeing your face twisted up in anger, spitting curses at him, the daggers you shoot at him. It stirs something inside him, something dark and primal—thoughts he'd never want you to know, or anyone, really.

He'd be happy to lose sleep if that meant you'd give him that look again, like you could kill him where he stood.The thought of your hands tightening around his neck, fingers digging into his skin, eyes wide with rage, your arms trembling with the effort it takes to hold him there—he's found himself finishing to the idea a concerning amount of times. 

He needs to call in the cavalry.

***

Kyle makes a face while he finishes his beer.

“You asked her ‘if she needed good dick’? Ever the charmer, LT.”

Johnny shrugs, shredding up his paper coaster.

“It's a valid question.”

“Of course you think that,”

Kyle waves down the bartender for a refill. 

“You’re a dog.”

Price ignores the two, fully facing Simon.

“Don't terrorize the poor girl, won't do you any good.”

“Woman. She is a woman.”

Kyle interrupts. That gets an unamused look from the captain. 

“Yes, woman. You can't just keep pushing her buttons, this isn't primary school. You've got to try something else. At least take her out before asking to fuck her again.”

Johnny chimes in. 

“Nah, she likes to get riled up. I vote for hammering the wall again. Worked like a charm last time.”

Kyle sneers.

“Of course you'd say that, you like when women scream at you, you debauched lunatic.”

Simon doesn't linger on the fact that he and Johnny share the same type in that regard. 

“Aye, I like a passionate woman.”

Johnny’s smile remains unfaltering, foolish, his eyes going dreamy, like he’s imagining having a fight with his bird right then and there—probably picturing her throwing something at his head for good measure. He and Kyle start to bicker, both too hard-headed for their own good.

Simon goes quiet, swirling his glass, eyes glazed over that signals he's blocking out the world around him before he loses temper. 

“Enough.”

Price growls, sharp and final. He was always protective of Simon—even when it was his own sergeants getting into it. John addresses Simon, talking to him in that way that brings him back to reality. 

“If she's avoiding you, it's because you pushed too hard. You don't fix that by pushing harder.” 

Simon snorts, thinking of how Captain bullied his way into his girl's life. She is soft though, pliable. No bark or bite. Not like his girl at all. 

“And what do you suggest? Flowers and poetry?”

“If it works, why not?”

Kyle answers, ever the lover boy. It's so easy for him to say. So easy for all of them. It grates on Simon's nerves. Not like Simon tried to pursue someone often, he doesn't have the patience for it, barely has the desire. 

He stands abruptly, chair scraping the floor. 

“Right.”

His voice is flat, face blank. He's halfway out the door when Kyle calls out to him, 

“Good luck, mate.”

He doesn't respond, letting the door swing shut while he steps onto the sidewalk, lighting a cigarette. 

“Fucking useless.”

He mutters, though he's not sure if he means his teammates or himself. 

***

He knows he should feel bad about this. Watching you. He avoids the word stalking, settles on something softer—surveilling. Doesn't sound as sinister. 

He likes watching you. He wealses his way into your Instagram, because a private page isn't stopping him from seeing you.

You post photos from your weekend nights out—bathroom selfies with friends, smiling and carefree in bars he'd never step foot in. You're pretty when you smile, almost as pretty as you pout. You wear a small dress out on the town. Something he could easily slide a hand under while you are distracted. 

He likes your sense of humor. 

He watches as you take pictures of new installments at your exhibition. Today, a small clay figure of a woman on horseback captioned,

“A hot new bombshell enters the villa”

He keeps track of other things too. Your cycle. Not in a creepy way, not exactly, but you make it very obvious when you're ovulating. Stories playfully carnal with captions like,"Raw, next question.” He takes note of it, filing it away, making sure he knows exactly when the window opens.

And during one of the hottest weeks of the summer, he decides it's the perfect time. 

He's been building up to this of course, tugging off his hoodie after his morning runs so you see him sweaty and panting while you walk past in the foyer. He doesn't mind showing a bit of skin, putting on a show for his girl. As long as he gets to see those shameful little peeks you take. Eyes unwillingly darting from the floor to his arms then back to the floor. 

And he waits. 

Waits until you put your guard down a little. Your shoulders don't tense up as much when he walks by. You stop glancing over your shoulder as often. You even start playing your music each weekend again, confident he won't come knocking on your door. 

***

It's hot. Too hot. The heat wave that stretched out to over a week now. It's got him agitated, irritable. Impatient. 

So he heads to the elevator and down to the basement. She doesn't even turn when the elevator dings, bent over in some slutty little shorts while loading up a dryer. He stands by the elevator, watching. Tucks away the anger that bubbles up when he thinks of someone else coming down and seeing her like this. He'd never let that happen. 

She jumps when she turns around.

“Jesus!”

Then, as always, you try to scurry away. But he planned for this, blocking her only way out. 

“Hiding from me?”

“No, why would I do that?”

“Too busy for me, then?” 

That gets her to narrow her eyes at him. 

“Why would I even think of making time for you?”

There she is. His pretty girl. 

“Don't wanna see me anymore? Thought we were getting along.”

“You thought wrong. Thought I made that clear.”

She tries stepping around him, he mirrors her, broad frame unyielding. 

“Not clear enough.”

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. 

“I don't want you bothering me. That clear enough?”

“I don't believe you.” 

He says plainly. 

“You don't believe me?”

Her irritation grows. He sees it in the way her jaw clenches. 

“You're a bad liar.”

“So I've been told.”

She doesn't even look at his face, just straight ahead to his chest. Like looking at his face would push her over the edge. 

“You looked nice last night.”

“When did you-how? Nevermind, don't answer that. I need to go.”

Another attempt to pass him. Another block. She grits her teeth. 

“You're aggravating.” 

“So I've been told.”

He mocks her. She shoves at him—a gentle nudge really for his stature. His mind blanks for a moment. When's the last time a woman has touched him, he thinks, even like this?

He lets her slip by, nearly reaching the elevator. Nearly. 

Then he hooks a finger into her belt loop and tugs. 

“Where's my good girl?”

His hold keeps her in place. She still tries to pull away, reaching for the elevator button. 

“I'm not your girl.” 

Her fingertips graze the button when he tugs again, pulling her off balance, close enough for him to catch the faintest whiff of her perfume. 

“Simon!”

She grabs at his wrist—not even able to fully wrap around him. 

“Name sounds so nice coming out that pretty mouth.”

He mutters, more to herself than to her. His other hand pulls at her waistband. She's all protests and curses that he tunes out, too busy running a finger along the inside of the top of her shorts. 

Everytime she half-heartedly pushes at his chest or scratches his arms, he tugs her closer, polishing the button of her shorts with his thumbs, fingers dipping just under her waistband, firm grip keeping her in place. 

“Tell you what,” 

He finally says, eyes still locked on where his hands are.

She pauses, her defiance flickering for a moment. 

“Say you don't want this, and I'll stop.”

She pauses. 

For a long time, she stares at him, her lips parting slightly like she's about to speak, but no words come out. Simon doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Unnervingly, doesn’t even blink. His stillness makes her unnerved, he can see it in her eyes. 

Eventually, he gets bored of waiting for her answer. He casually tugs at her tank top, looking down her shirt. She snatches the fabric away from him, holding it close to her chest, scandalized as if she wasnt just contemplating on fucking him. 

“They're pretty.” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

This time when she steps back and he tugs at her shorts, she comes to him without much resistance. 

“On paper? Nothing.” 

When she puts her arms down, he still stares at her chest.

“For some reason, I don't believe that.” 

He hums in acknowledgment, casually flicking at a raised nipple poking out her top. She slaps his hand away, hard.

“Would you stop that?”

She sternly admonishes him. He rests a hand on her hip, the pad of his thumb tracing lazy circles on the denim. 

“Why aren't you leaving?”

“You won't let me!”

“Yeah,”

His murmurs, devoid of remorse. 

“Elevator’s broke anyways.”

She snaps her head to her only way out. 

“I just saw you use it.” 

“I broke it.” 

He gently turns her by the shoulders, coaxing her to the lift.

“Try it.” 

She looks at him, unsure. His face is infuriatingly neutral, offering no hint of a joke. Slowly, she steps forward and presses the button.

The doors slide open, smooth and functional. Relief floods her chest, her path clear. She steps inside, pressing the button for her floor.

Before the doors can fully close, his boot wedges between them. The mechanism stutters, the doors bouncing off the leather before sliding open again. 

“See? Broken.”

He steps between the doors, keeping them open, effectively trapping her into an even smaller space. 

“You think you're funny.”

“Hilarious.”

He holds himself back from grabbing her face when her nostrils flare. 

“What the fuck do you want from me?”

“Want you to play nice.”

The words roll off his tongue so smoothly, so audaciously, it takes her a moment to process. His gaze doesn’t waver, steady and unrelenting, locking her in place as effectively as the metal walls around them.

“Play nice?” 

She echoes, her voice sharp, incredulous.

“Yeah,” 

He says, a slight tilt of his head, as though he’s genuinely surprised she’s asking. His thumb brushes over his knuckles, a lazy, practiced motion that only adds to her irritation.

“And what the hell does that mean?”

He steps closer, closing what little space remains between them, the heat of him almost suffocating. “Means stop running, angel.”

The button clicks under his thumb, their floor lighting up. The doors slide shut with a groan, and he doesn’t look at her. Just faces forward like nothing happened. The lift jolts, shuddering upward. She presses herself against the wall, her movements awkward, trying to find a place in the tiny box where his heat doesn’t reach her.

“Thought I told you to stop running.”

He warns, staring straight ahead. His hand reaches out, clamps onto the back of her neck. Not rough, not quite gentle, but enough to stop her breath. She squirms away from him. It's enough to make his blood boil. 

All this planning. All this waiting. If he lets her get away this time, he won't get another chance. 

He waits for the elevator to slide perfectly between floors before hitting the emergency stop button. The jolt is harsh, the sudden silence worse.

“What are you doing?” 

She asks, the words tumbling out. 

“Making sure you listen this time.”

The quiet hum of the stopped lift vibrates between them, but it doesn’t drown out the sound of her breathing. She presses her back harder against the wall, but there’s nowhere to go. His hand grabs her face. It’s not rough, but there’s no softness in the gesture either. His thumb brushes along her jaw. 

“Think you owe me an apology.”

His voice is low, harsh, almost mean.

“What?”

“Ignoring me all this time. And for what? What did I do?”

“You-”

He cuts her off, pushing two fingers into her mouth. 

“Didn't do anything. Suck.”

She bats her lashes at him, wide eyes looking up at him, and wraps her lips around his fingers. 

“Nothing.” 

Slowly, he slides his fingers in and out her mouth. 

“Now look at us. Can't go on like this, only gets us in a mood. Is that what you want?” 

He pulls his fingers out of her mouth and shoves them down her shorts, rolling her clit between his fingers.

“All pent up. No good for either of us.”  

He leans down to murmur in her ear, watching as she melts under his touch.

As she opens her mouth to retort, he uses his other hand to stick another thick finger in her mouth.

“None of that.”

A loud beep from the intercom elevator interrupts their moment. She panics, trying to squirm away from him, pushing at his arms.

“Hello?” 

A voice comes through the speaker.

Simon shuffles closer to her, practically pinning her against the corner of the elevator, slipping slick fingers into her. 

“Yeah, just pressed the button by accident.” 

“Alright. No problem.” 

The voice on the other end replies before there is a click and they are alone again.

He watches as her eyes fill with panic and embarrassment. He feels for her, he didn't want this to happen here. Wanted to take her somewhere proper, like her bed, or bent over his counter.

The elevator suddenly jolts back into motion.

“Relax. There's no cameras here.” 

He tries to calm her, pulling away and slipping his fingers out of her wetness before popping them into his mouth. 

The elevator dings, and he steps out first, unhurried, as though nothing unusual had happened. A neighbor passes by, her gaze shifting from him to his girl trailing behind, her concern clear in the way her brow furrows.

"Everything alright?" 

The neighbor asks, her voice hesitant, probing.

His girl’s breath catches, her answer quick but unsteady. 

“Mhm. All good.”

Her tone betrays her. Too high. Too quick. The neighbor lingers for a second too long, glancing between them, before the doors slide closed, cutting off any chance for further questioning.

He walks ahead, straight to her door. She follows, curling into herself like if she made herself small enough, she could just disappear. 

He stops just short of her door. When he finally turns, his eyes lock onto hers. Her eyes bounce between him and her door.

“What are you doing?” 

“Not done. Think I’m gonna let my girl go home like this?”

Her lips part, like she might argue, but she hesitates, biting down on her lower lip instead. Her fingers curl around the doorknob. She turns it, the latch clicking softly.

The door creaks open, a darkened room greeting them on the other side. She steps over the threshold but stops, half-turning toward him. Her body is halfway in, halfway out, caught in the tension of indecision.

“Go inside.” 

He says, his voice quiet but firm. She steps further inside, her back to him now. When she hesitates again, he walks forward, using his body to herd her into her place. 

“Nice place.” 

He kicks off his shoes and flops on the couch, it squeaks under him. A small flimsy thing. He'll get her something nicer when this one inevitably breaks from bending her over the arm too many times. 

“Sit.”

Back in the comfort of her own home, she regains a little confidence, mumbling something under her breath while moving towards him. 

“Didn't catch that angel, say it again?”

She huffs, and sits on the edge of the couch, still playing hard to get. 

“Nothing.”

He doesn't have to reach too far to snatch her and maneuver her into his lap.

“Say it with your chest, love. You know, communication is important in a relationship.”

The corners of her lips twitch upwards before pouting again. 

“We're not in a relationship.” 

His head tilts, studying her with mock seriousness. 

“Feeling alright? Not the most coherent thing you’ve ever said.”

She narrows her eyes at him.

“Female hysteria, very dire.”

He leans back, taking her with him, pressing her back against his chest. 

“Heard treatment is particularly intense. Being hung upside down, leeches on the abdomen, forced orgasms.” 

She tilts her head back, looking up at him.

“Brutal. Wonder if they still make house calls for that sort of thing.” 

“No need, I'm happy to help. Prone bone.”

She raises a brow. 

“Pro bono, you mean.”

“Yeah, that too.” 

Her snort gets cut off with a gasp when he lifts her hips up with his, tucking his thumbs into the sides of her shorts and shucking them down. 

“I like these.”

He snaps at the thin elastic of her underwear. 

"Careful," 

She warns, her voice breathy. 

"Those are my favorite pair."

“Mine too, might nick ‘em.” 

When she rolls against his hardening length and snickers at him freezing up. 

“Don't think they'd fit you.” 

One swift move and his pants are around his thighs. He ignores her complaining about having his bare ass on her couch and holds her hips, guiding her slick panties against his length. She laughs nervously while he moves her hips to grind her up and down him,

“Jesus, just goes on forever, doesn't it?”

“Based on my experience, seems like you enjoy a challenge.” 

Her hands look for something to anchor herself, his wrists being the closest thing she can reach. 

“Do I?”

Her eyes lock onto his, pupils blown out, hungry. He slowly, so slowly, moves a hand from her hip to stomach and creeps down, fingers moving the dainty fabric out of the way and-

There's a knock.

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[teastainedprose]

Breaking Point (Homelander x reader)

Homelander delights in teasing you until he needles you too much on the wrong day. 1.5k words | Jerk Homelander to guilty Homelander, hurt/comfort if you squint. Homelander x gn!reader, implied chronic pain reader, implied plus-sized reader, [A03]

You are so soft. Your flesh gives under his grasp when he yanks you by the arm, careless with how it makes you stumble. Homelander laughs mockingly at the small, annoyed twitch of your lip as he tugs you close. Too close.

"Hey. Where are those new poll results, sweetheart?" The words are a purr, warm breath a caress against your cheek as he looms too close to be proper. Everything done with calculated intent to pull a reaction from you.

You stare blankly up at him, expression schooled neutral. You're used to this game. You've watched other employees crack and fracture under the pressure Homelander exerts. You refuse. You're made of sterner stuff, a master of hiding how you're honestly feeling.

He knows he gets to you, but you rarely let it show on the outside. You can school your face, but there's no controlling how he makes your heart hammer in your chest. How being so close to him sets your nerves alight in a pleasant sensation. Homelander leers down at you, pleased at how your pulse skitters under his scrutiny. He releases you, stepping back as the persona of a proper gentleman settles into place. Homelander smiles as he waits for your reply, the well-practiced one that the cameras always catch.

You're quick to give Homelander an indulgent smile back. An exchange of fake expressions as the two of you play nice. You look so placid and calm before him, but Homelander knows better. He can hear your heart jumping in your chest.

"I can pull them up for you right now if you want?" You reply, the words even and calm as you look up expectantly. You're too tired to deal with any bullshit. Homelander's included. You're always too tired.

In his eyes you're so amiable, so sweet. So disgusting. Your response isn't what he wants.  It's controlled and that's no fun. He's not satisfied with your performance. Homelander sneers, whirling away with a flutter of his cape. "Never mind."

You stand there, grimacing in his wake as you rub the spot where he grabbed you. You briefly let your honest emotions flicker freely on your face while his back is turned.. No eyes on you at this moment as sheer frustration and pain settles in. You take a breath as your mask of calm is set back into place. You go on with your day.

Why are you so soft? Under his hands and how you interact with others. Why do you always hand out such easy smiles so freely? He hates that about you. You carry that weary calm like a cloak, but you'll shake it off with a vibrant smile and a laugh if the right person engages you in conversation. They distract you from your fatigue and you light right up.

Homelander has yet to earn one of those sunshine smiles. He gets the fake ones. The ones that make him feel like a child clamoring for attention that you only indulge with your patience. He hates it. It makes him feel small. A god should never feel this way around such a weak mortal as yourself.

As any god does, he lets it bruise his fragile ego. The mortal must be punished and punish you he does. Every day Homelander tries to get a rise out of you. He tries to crack that cheerful facade you've welded in place. It must be fake. No animal has such a cheerful disposition naturally. There's no reason for it because you're so often a lethargic thing. He can smell the weariness on you, the stress, and even pain. How the fuck are you still smiling?

-and why the fuck do you never smile at him? 

Homelander decides, in his usual mature fashion, that if you won't smile? He'll bait out your anger instead. He wants, needs a reaction from you beyond those fake smiles.

He continues to goad you day in and day out. He'll slide right up next to you, too close, and lean down to ask directly into your ear for a report or some statistics on what his numbers are doing. Any old excuse to engage with you. He gleefully invades your personal space and is extra handsy because Homelander knows you hate it while he's aware of the effect it has on your body. 

If he grabs your shoulder and squeezes just so, your breath hitches. If he places a palm against the small of your back, your pulse races away without fail. If Homelander berates your fashion choices or comments on how tired you look, you flash that hollow smile while your eyes speak loathing at him. He wants that fire, craves it.

The tired fatigue that you always carry briefly pulls back to hint at a simmering something. One day he'll get you boiling over. In anger, in lust. It doesn't matter which one as long as it happens with him there to witness it.

Homelander finds himself brimming with anticipation for that day until it finally happens.

Everyone has a breaking point, even you.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. It's too much, please just-

He's caught you trying to hide away in a conference room, the scent of adrenaline in the air as your heart races. A glance with his x-ray vision reveals you staring off with shaking fists clenched against your plush sides.

Finally!

Will you lash out?  Will you bite back? The thought sends a thrill through Homelander at seeing little Miss Sunshine finally rattled. There's a storm brewing on your face as your fingers tighten. It's an expression Homelander knows he's worn many a time. The sort of look that has interns scattering and Ashley stammering.

What a delight it'll be to see what you unleash. What can you possibly do, as small and soft as you are? Will it be like watching a kitten hiss and claw? Adorably pathetic.

He strides into the conference room with a smirk, the door clicking shut behind him. "There you are! You missed today's meeting, you know." He chides softly with a waggle of one finger as Homelander strides closer. You stare up at him, eyes blazing.

"Now what are we going to do about that?" Homelander goes on, voice as smooth as honey as he smirks down at you.

Something in your expression shifts. A crack in your mask appears.

Gotcha.

"Well?" He prompts, expectant. Giddiness trickles down his spine as Homelander grins wide, fangs on display. He can't wait to see how this rage of yours plays out.

Except you don't unleash anything on him. You don't even insult Homelander, which would give him reason to taunt you further or retaliate. It would give him a reason to finally lash out at you in earnest, but all you're doing is standing there.

Your expression crumples up like wet tissue. The tears are white hot and silently streaking down your face in an instant. The sound you make is beyond pathetic as you drop back into your seat, huddling into yourself. Homelander watches stock-still as you draw your legs up, arms coiling about your knees as you bury your face away from his gaze.

It's a truly pathetic sight, sobbing like the little mud person you are.

Homelander should feel triumphant. His grin twists to a grimace. He awkwardly shifts, gloves creaking as he balls his fingers into fists at his side.

Why isn't he pleased? He's watching you shatter and it doesn't wash him in the usual delight bringing misery to others does. Your sunshine is gone and it's raining on your parade, which is exactly what Homelander wanted.

Your crying should amuse Homelander. He's not amused. Instead, there's a sinking feeling within the pit of his stomach. A dead weight settles heavy inside as all his amusement flees at the sound of your whimpering sobs. It's a foreign sensation and Homelander doesn't like it one bit.

Homelander works his jaw as guilt chews away at his insides, stuck to the spot hovering over you. You continue to cry, quieter now with your back bowed and face hidden. He can smell the salt of your tears easily. 

Silently, he reaches back to pull up the length of his cape. This Homelander offers to you. He doesn't have a handkerchief like a proper gentleman, so this will have to do.

He knows he's broken something. Carelessly snapped it in two. Homelander has done it countless times before. The snap of a spine. Fizzle pop of a control deck. The crackle and sizzle of flesh. The wet sucking sound as organs spill on the floor. It's natural for a creature such as him. Things breaking is a fact of his life. He's never felt guilty about any of those times. Guilt is a rare emotion for Homelander but now it's clawing up his throat, threatening to choke him. 

Homelander blinks and refocuses his gaze as he feels a tug on his cape. He watches in a detached way as you dab at your face with the fabric, sniffling loudly. Homelander can't make himself apologize. He doesn't know how.

Instead, he asks in a surprisingly tentative voice. "Bad day?"

That takes you by surprise as your gaze snaps to him. You stare a beat up at Homelander and then you smile. It's a quavering sort, but it's an honest smile. The sunshine rushes back into your face as Homelander sucks a breath in. Were you always such a lovely little creature?

"Yeah," You say slowly. "Something like that."