#devilgoat writing

[devilgoat]

Tell Me Your Love Is Still Only Mine

Reddie, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, post-chapter 2, 4k

There was a flutter in his chest and his muscles seized. For a moment, Eddie thought he was having a heart attack. Then the thought settled in his brain as a nagging, then screaming, voice.

You’re having a heart attack. Oh my god, it’s a heart attack. I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to die.

His heart fluttered again and blood rushed up to his cheeks.

What is happening to me?

Richie broke the kiss between them.  

An unbearable moment passed. Then another. And another.

“Eddie?” Richie looked at the wild panic that had glazed over Eddie’s eyes. “Oh shit,” he brought a hand up and ran it through his hair. “I shouldn’t have done that. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

Why did I do that, he thought to himself.

Why did he do that, Eddie thought, Why did it feel right?

––––––––––––––––––

Richie had almost lost Eddie down there. Down where It lived. He had gotten so hurt. Richie thought Eddie was going to die, and he along with him. He couldn’t just leave him there. Not after Eddie risked his life for him.

His little scaredy-cat Eds actually threw that damn fire poker at It. To save him. It had hurt him bad, and he almost bled out. But Richie couldn’t leave him. No matter what he couldn’t leave him. With strength he didn’t know he had, he pulled Eddie up and dragged him out of It’s lair. With a little help from Ben, of course. They had nearly died down there. Eddie nearly died down there.

With a stroke of luck Eddie survived. They stayed at the little hospital of Derry Medical as Eddie recuperated. All the Losers stayed for Eddie, at least for a while.

Richie didn’t want to think about what it was like when they first brought him in. The fear he had felt. The blood. The look on Eddie’s face when they carted him away and all Eddie could do was stare at Richie with tear-addled eyes, his mouth soundlessly crying out Richie, Richie, Richie...

The Losers waited and cried. There was nothing else they could do. Despite all they had done to kill It, there was nothing any of them had in their power to help their Eddie. So they waited and they cried.

Finally Eddie had woken up. The first few times he had only a sliver of consciousness. The blood loss and the damage to his body didn’t allow him to stay awake more than a few minutes at a time. At one point he was able to reach out to Richie, but his hand flopped to the bed as he passed out again.

After he was transferred from the ICU, the doctors had said that he was on his way to recovery. After that, the Losers stayed, but they didn’t cry. Except for Richie. He didn’t cry in front of them anymore. He knew that they would understand how distraught he was, but he didn’t want to face it himself. He cried alone in the bathroom until his head ached.

One by one they had left.

Ben and Beverly were the first leave. They had done it. After all this time they had finally found each other and they were ready for their lives together. Richie understood.

Then it was Bill. He had a life and a career to get back to; there were books to write and movies to make. He understood that too.

Mike was the last to leave. He left Derry, finally, after all these years. He was ready to start his own life that only he could live. Richie understood that most of all.

But Richie couldn’t just leave. Not without Eddie.

There was no sign of Eddie’s wife. Although to be fair, she didn’t make an effort to reach out and neither did Richie.

The hospital chairs were stiff and made Richie’s body ache, but he stayed overnight like so many nights before without complaint. The hospital tried to get him to leave, but he shouted and screamed until they had no choice than to let him stay. He only ever got up from his chair to go to the bathroom or to grab a bit of food from the hospital cafeteria.

This night, he had woken himself up from his own snoring. He cleared his throat and sat up straight. Richie’s eyes immediately drifted towards Eddie’s bed. He heard his name. A chill immediately ran through his spine when his eyes connected with Eddie’s.

Eddie had woken up just a few moments before. At first, he felt like he was underwater. But even before his eyes had struggled open, his mind began to race and juggle a hundred thoughts at once.

Okay I’m awake. I’m alive. I’m still alive. God my stomach hurts. Oh shit, is my stomach fucked it? Is it cancer? Stomach cancer? No, no no. Am I bleeding? It hurts to breathe.

His eyelids were heavy. Things were fuzzy as they always were, but he managed to stay awake for more than a few seconds. He raised his hand to touch his chest and the immediate throb snapped his eyes wide open.

Eddie took in the sight of the room around him. Clean, dull colored walls surrounded him. A single window let the morning light in. A hospital. He didn’t know whether he should be relieved or worried about the diseases crawling through halls that could kill him when It couldn’t.

It.

What happened to It?

All he could remember was being thrown through the air like nothing. He remembered Richie and the fear in his eyes. That was something he would never be able to forget. Never.

Wait. Richie.

Oh god, Richie!

Without meaning to, he had said Richie’s name out in a harsh whisper. And when he turned, there he was.

“Richie!”

“Eddie!”

Richie propelled himself out of his chair with such force that he toppled it over. He ran over to Eddie and wrapped his arms around his friend’s shoulders. Eddie would have done the same if the pain hadn’t shot its way from his chest out to his limbs and his head.

“Ow ow ow ow ow, Rich—“ Eddie groaned in pain. Richie pulled away and his trashmouth stumbled over its words for the first time.

“Oh fuck, oh god, I’m sorry. Ed-Eddie, I’m so sorry. Y-you—you okay?”

Eddie’s head fell backward onto his pillow. “What the fuck do you think?” He smiled before a cough shook it off his face. His cheek ached from his wound.

Richie couldn’t help but to laugh. He genuinely could not. He laughed a laugh of nervousness and panic. Of a mountain of strain and stress suddenly sloughed off of his shoulders. He covered his mouth with his hand and muffled it as best he could.

“What’s so fucking funny,” groaned Eddie. “You flipped a perfectly good chair you inconsiderate asshole.”

Now even Richie’s hand couldn’t stifle his laughter. Richie bent his head down onto Eddie’s bed and rested it there. His laughter started to slow until only his shoulders shook. It became obvious to Eddie that Richie was crying.

With a bit of effort, Eddie raised his hand and placed it on Richie’s head.

Richie’s shoulders stopped shaking. He lifted his head and turned it away from Eddie in order to wipe his tears without them being seen.

“Hey, Rich?”

Richie cleared his throat again and turned back to Eddie, “Yeah?”

Eddie opened his mouth but his words caught in his throat. He wanted to say things were okay, he wanted to say that Richie didn’t need to cry, he wanted to say that it hurt him to see Richie hurt.

But instead he asked what happened and why the fuck was he lying here.

Richie gave him the cliff notes. Pennywise shriveled like the little bitch It was and they had carried Eddie out of there. He left out the part that he couldn’t carry Eddie out on his own.

“I uh...I almost died huh? That happened. That was nice. Totally didn’t see that coming, yeah no.” Eddie looked straight forward and felt vindicated in what he had been saying the whole time. “Just had to be me, right?”

“I mean, but you didn’t, right? That’s gotta count for something?”

There was a moment of silence that filled the air. Richie couldn’t help but feel guilty.

“Hey Rich?”

“Yeah, Eds?”

Richie watched as Eddie’s eyes glazed over with tears. In that moment, Richie saw just how soft Eddie’s features were. Just how gentle and...and sad.

“Thanks,” Eddie swallowed back his tears, “Thank you, Richie. For always looking out for me. I’m sorry...I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t protect you in the house, with that-that thing. I just stood there. And I couldn’t help you down there either. I tried, but I fucked it up. I thought I could save you, Richie, I thought I could do something, I thought—“

Before the first tear could fall, Richie leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Eddie once more, gently this time.

“Just shut the fuck up,” he whispered into Eddie’s ear.

Eddie brought up his arm and wrapped it around the back of Richie’s neck. Fuck the pain.

They stayed in each other’s embrace for what seemed like forever, but even forever ends.

Richie pulled away ever so slowly. Their eyes met, only centimeters apart. He felt it build inside of him until he couldn’t take it anymore. He closed the space between them.

Eddie’s lips felt soft and beautiful against his own.

The two of them connected for the briefest of moments, but there were years behind their kiss.

Eddie felt his heart race and nearly burst out of his chest.

Richie pulled away. Eddie stared up at him.

This doesn’t make sense. Why did he do that. Why does it feel like this. What’s happening?

Richie had turned beet red.

“Eddie?”

Eddie hadn’t realized that he had frozen in place like a statue. He couldn’t say anything. He didn’t even know what he would if he could. He could only stare.  

“Oh shit,” Richie ran his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Richie righted himself and began to walk in a tight circle.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“Richie?”

With one final, “I’m sorry,” Richie left the room.

Eddie was—well he didn’t know what he was.

Without even a moment to process, Richie came back into the room. Their eyes locked. Richie came closer but stopped in his tracks. He bent over and picked up the chair and righted it.

And within a second he was gone again.

Eddie turned to the chair and stared.  

——————

What the fucking fuck, Richie, you goddamn idiot why would you DO that?

Richie scolded himself as he walked down the Derry streets in a pace anyone would describe as aggressive and worrying.

He was heading towards the inn. There was nothing he could do now. He had kissed Eddie...Eddie…he shook his head free of thoughts. He had done that and there was no taking it back. The only thing he could do now was cut his losses and get the hell out of Derry as soon as physically possible.

After a while he had made his way to the inn’s doorstep. The entire way over he had been trying to knock his thoughts away from Eddie.

Eddie.

Eddie.

Eddie.

His lips. His eyes—

No, no stop it. It didn’t happen. It didn’t matter. I don’t know where it came from so it’s fine it doesn’t matter it doesn’t mean anything. I just need to move on and get the fuck out of here.

Once in his room, he sat on his bed and looked up the earliest flight he could take out of Derry or whatever town he needed to go to do so.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

The next flight wouldn’t be until tomorrow morning. He would have to stay in Derry for at least another 24 hours.

Richie couldn’t take it, he just couldn’t. All the memories—27 years worth—pounded into his brain and heart. The guilt, the shame, the loneliness. His friends. His friends were always there for him. But they didn’t know his secret. No one could know. But now Eddie knew. He just gave in to what he tried to convince himself was an impulse, but he knew deep in his heart that it was something that he had wanted to do for so, so long.

Richie only ever needed Eddie. Even as his memories had faded over the years, nothing ever felt truly right. He tried to seek a relationship, but his love was never truly love. He didn’t know why until now.

What the fuck was he supposed to do for another 24 hours? He couldn’t just stay here locked in his room. He would drive himself insane.

Thankfully, his stomach answered his question.

Richie’s stomach grumbled from hunger. Once he felt that first twist, he realized just how hungry he was. He hadn’t had a proper meal in what seemed like forever.

In his little room, Richie sat on the edge of his bed and let out a small sigh.

——————

After Richie had left, Eddie’s head was swarming with thoughts. They were indecipherable even to him. They ran and spun around his mind over and over again. But all of them revolved around Richie.

He kissed me.

He actually kissed me.

Why did he do that why did he do that.

No it was just a fluke. It was one of those situations when people get caught up in the moment. Like when team players win a game and slap each other’s asses or kiss each other. Yeah it was just that. It didn’t mean anything.

Then why does it mean something to me?

Mom would be freaking out if I told her about this.

She always told me about the germs. The diseases. The diseases men carried when they kissed other men. I could never risk it. I never risked it. I always stopped myself before. I didn’t want to die. Mom always told me I would die. That I would rot and fall apart and leave a trail of pieces as I walked around.

That I would turn into a Leper.

At the moment, Eddie mostly felt fear. He feared illness and death and that something terrible would happen.

But Eddie touched his lips and he could still feel Richie’s pressed against them. The fears subsided for a moment, just a moment. Enough for him to realize that it wasn’t as scary as he thought it would be.

It was actually…

Good.

A differently kind of fear settled into his mind. What about Richie? He stormed out. He was so upset. Richie must have hated it. He must have hated him.

Eddie was stuck on the kiss. The kiss the kiss the kiss. But he shouldn’t like it, right? He can’t like it. And yet he did. He really did.

He couldn’t just lie here. No he needed to talk to Richie. He had to ask him why it all happened.

Eddie pulled the sheets off of himself. With quite a bit of difficulty, he stood up. He lifted up his gown and saw the series of stitches and staples going down his torso. He looked fucking terrible.

He called in the nurse who immediately ordered that he lie back down. Any other time he would listen. Any other time he would stay in the hospital and wait. But now he couldn’t.

He had to find Richie.

Eddie could move himself well enough, although the pain definitely was a bitch. Even with the leftover of the pain medication, it was still bad. He refused help from the doctors and nurses. All they could do was give him some pills before he checked himself out and left.

It took him quite a while longer to walk to the inn. The stairs were quite difficult. Eddie knocked on the door.

“Richie?”

After he didn’t hear a response, he let himself into Richie’s room. He wasn’t there.

Eddie checked the bathroom, calling out again. No sign of his friend. He stood still for a few moments. Richie must have left. He left him.

Eddie’s eyes became cloudy. He wiped away his tears and thought about what he could do. But was there anything he could do? Would he ever even see Richie again? He couldn’t bear the thought. Whether he knew it or not, Richie was the missing piece that he needed.

A sudden pang of pain hit Eddie’s stomach. For a moment he was afraid he ripped his stitches, but in the next he realized it was hunger. It was burning need, and no matter how he wanted to stay there in case Richie came back, he had to eat.

Eddie wipes his eyes again as he slowly descended the stairs and left the inn. He tried to remember the closest restaurant from here. He immediately remembered his favorite little place. It was a diner that had been there since the 50s. The Losers has gone there so many times for cheap burgers and milkshakes. Richie and Eddie went there to spend some time alone.

He made his way down the block and crossed the street.

The diner still had its original checkered tile flooring. The booths’ red seats had started to peel along the edges and little strings of the interior hung out. Eddie was immediately annoyed by it. When he opened the door, it hit the small bell above it and signaled his entrance.

Richie stopped mid-bite when he saw Eddie at the door. His mouth snapped shut. Eddie froze in the doorway.

Fuck, should I leave? Should I stay? Should I sit with him or go further in the back? Should—

“Hey, honey, come on in,” said the middle-aged waitress from behind the counter.

Eddie clenched his jaw and let the door close behind him. Light doo-wop played over the speakers. Richie put his burger down and leaned back in his seat, his eyes on the plate in front of him.

Eddie’s eyes shifted from one side to the other. His heart slammed against his chest. He felt pinpricks of sweat as they began to arise.

Okay, okay, okay, here we go.

Each step felt like he was weighed down by a ball and chain. It’s not that he didn’t want to speak to Eddie, but how could he explain what he felt to him. How he felt for him.

Eddie tried to lower himself into the booth. Richie’s sudden movement out of his seat sent a jolt of fear through Eddie’s body. He thought that Richie was bolting again. Instead, Richie wrapped his hand around Eddie’s arm and helped lower him down into the seat.

“Thanks,” said Eddie. Richie still avoided looking him in the eye.

Only now did Richie make his way to the door. Eddie reached out and grabbed his jacket.

“Richie...please...” His eyes looked up and pleaded. He hoped Rich could hear it in his voice.

Richie looked straight ahead for a moment before he turned to sit down once more. He stared down at his burger without a word or a sound.

Eddie watched him. He traced his features with his mind’s eye. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Richie finally picked up his burger and took a bite.

“Come on, Rich, we both know you’re not that stupid.” He leaned forward and began to whisper. “The...you know—the fucking ki—“

The waitress came up and gently placed a menu down in front of Eddie. He leaned back in his seat and blushed. He gave her a forced smile and nodded at her.

“Take your time,” she smiled.

Eddie thanked her and she walked away. He didn’t bother looking at the menu.

“Richie—“

“I said—!” Richie forced his voice down to a harsh whisper. “I said I don’t want to talk about it!”

“Well I do, asshole!”

Richie forced air out of his nose. For the first time since Eddie came in, he looked him in the eye. “Alright, then talk.” He waved his hand.

“So um...um...” Of course now that he had the chance, Eddie couldn’t think of what to say. “How’s uh...how’s the burger?”

Richie gave him a quizzical look. “Uhhhh, well just about the same as when we were kids: cheap and greasy. They seem smaller now though.”

“Yeah, age...age does that huh? Make things seem different, in a way. I’m sure it’d give you a heart attack now since you’re so fucking old.”

“Well, not too different I’d say. You’re still an anxious, hypochondriac fuck.”

“I’m not a hypochondriac! I have good reason to be worried, okay? It’s my job!” Eddie pointed a finger.

“Yeah, it’s your job to be an anxious fuck,” Richie laughed.

Eddie sighed and crossed his arms. “Well at least I’m good at my other job too.”

“You have another job?”

“Yeah, it’s fucking your mom. She doesn’t really pay well.”

They both laughed at each other. Their smiles slowly faded while their eyes lingered on one another.

“Richie,” Eddie sighed. “Back at the hospital...”

Richie looked away and ran his hand through his hair. “Look, that was an accident, it—it didn’t mean anything.” It pained him to say that. He wanted to tell his Eddie Spaghetti that it meant everything. That every fiber of his being pulled him into it. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t let Eddie know what he really felt. Eddie would hate him.

Eddie’s heart dropped. “Oh.” So he was right. It didn’t mean anything. He realized how badly he wanted it to mean everything. If he said what he felt now, he would just look like a fool.

However, neither knew that other just couldn’t let go. They haven’t been able to let go the past 27 years. There was no way they could do it now.

In unison they said each other’s names.

“Eddie—“

“Richie—“

They both stopped themselves.

They sat in silence for a while. They gazed into each other’s eyes.

“Eds,” Richie’s soft voice barely carried over to the other side of the booth. “Can I show you something?”

Eddie nodded. Richie left the money for the burger on the table as well as a nice tip. Richie led the way out of the diner and Eddie followed close behind. The waitress watched them go. They look so cute together, she thought.

——————

The two of them walked through town and out to the outskirts. Richie kept a pace that Eddie could keep in his injured state. Buildings petered out and an increasing amount of trees took their place. Richie knew this area well, and when he saw the bridge, his heart did a backflip. He was slightly ahead of Eddie so he rushed to a side of the bridge and stood in front of a specific portion of it. Surrounding him were carved initials in the wood. Some were new; some had dulled over the years. Hearts encircled some of them in ancient declarations of love. Eddie wondered how many of them lasted.

“What are we doing here, Rich?” Eddie asked. He stuffed his hands in his pockets to stop them from shaking.

Did he want us in private to tell me it was all a mistake? That he regretted it and it was time to part way? But I don’t want to hear it. I can’t hear it. It already hurts so much.

Richie’s voice shook him out of his neuroticism. “Eds? I-I—“ he couldn’t say it. As desperately as he wanted to—as he needed to, he couldn’t. So instead, he took a step to the right.

“What?” Eddie kept his eyes on Rich until they wandered over to the bridge.

R + E.

The gears slowly turned in Eddie’s head. R...Richie. E...Eddie?

Me?

“Eddie,” Richie could already feel his regret, but he couldn’t keep this secret anymore. It had bored into him for years and years. It dug a hole in his heart.

Alright, I just need to say it. Like a band-aid. Just say it Rich, just fucking say it!

The words burst out of him like they had a will of their own.

“Eddie, I–”

Eddie crossed the distance between them. He grabbed either side of Richie’s face and pressed their lips together.

It felt like a bomb exploded between them. Their lips were high-powered magnets clinging to one another with natural force. The buzzing of electricity between them flowed from their mouths to their chest to their fingertips. 27 years passed between them. 27 years of yearning, desire, love, friendship. It was all there between them in a bond that refused to be broken by anything. Not time, or monsters, or fear.

They pulled away from each other, but this time it was not from fear or shame. They needed to see each other. It needed to be finalized in their minds. Eddie’s hands stayed on Richie’s face and held him in a way that he always needed to do. Richie raised his hands up and placed them on Eddie’s shoulders.

“Eds?”

“Yeah, Rich?”

Richie paused.

“I love you.”

Eddie never broke his gaze.

“I love you too, Richie.”

They broke their embrace. Eddie asked if Richie still had his pocket knife on him. Richie nodded and gave it to him.

They carved their initials into the wood once more.

R+E.

[devilgoat]

The Saw is Family

((We’ll see if this stays up? Anyways so I decided to combine both parts together, so here’s the entire fic in its 18k+ word glory because I hate myself but also Love Bubba Sawyer with my entire being. Find other works under my “devilgoat writing” tag! Do you like my work? Then maybe consider following the link in my bio and buying me a Ko-Fi!))

You can find Part 2, “Blue Rare” under “the saw is family”/ “devilgoat writing” tag

Leatherface | Bubba Sawyer x Gender Neutral Reader 

Sweat. That is what hot Texas summers consisted of. Sweat, heat, and rot. Sweat on your face, dripping down your back, and soaking through your shirt. Sweat, heat, barren landscape, rotting road kill. Road-tripping across Texas in summer was unpleasant, to say the least. What made it more unpleasant was the annoying company stuffed inside this tiny little car along with you. 

Summer break had begun for your university and it was time to head home. Unfortunately, home was 8 hours away and the road there led through the most boring, barren landscape you could imagine. Dry, crumpling hills made of rocks and dust littered the scenery on either side of you. And honestly, you would have preferred to be out there in the hot sun than the sweltering, stuffy car that had become a cage for you. You had needed a ride back to your hometown, and with no money, no car, and your family too busy with work and other things to come get you; your only option was Lana. See, Lana didn’t have a car either, but she did have a boyfriend, Sam. And Sam had a car. Turns out, both you and Lana were from the same town, and if it weren’t for that little piece of trivia, you wouldn’t have been caught dead in this car with the two of them.

To say that you weren’t friends with them would be an understatement. Sam was famous around your university, but not for the best reasons. Known to lie, cheat, and steal to get ahead, he was also known for sneaking into the university’s library to fuck his current hot date of the week on the second floor. During finals. In the middle of the day. He wasn’t very likable. Sam had also apparently never grown out of his high school bully persona because he continued his harassment and bullying far into his academic career. He took pleasure in it. His current paramour just happened to be Lana. And you knew if summer break had started just a week earlier or later, you wouldn’t have had this ride to begin with. And Lana? Well, she was something else. Known to acerbic, arrogant, and also just plain unhelpful during group projects, she had once forced her former roommate to move out because she wanted the whole room to herself. She drove the other girl partly insane over the course of weeks by cutting out her hair while she was asleep and then telling her that the stress of school was killing her. So yeah, it was fair to say that she wasn’t well liked. The only reason you knew this was because you were acquaintances with the poor girl she had roomed with, and she was just too tired with dealing with it to report her suspicions to the bureaucratic student affairs board. It was definitely not the place you had preferred to be in. But Lana had a ride and you both knew that you were from the same place. And now you were here. Your sweat had soaked through the entire front of your shirt. To be honest, you weren’t particularly excited to go back home, but you had nowhere else to go. Sam was driving, Lana in the passenger seat, and you in the back, stuffed with all the luggage. It was cramped and uncomfortable, and you weren’t even through the first three hours of driving. “Ahhh shit,” Sam muttered. Oh no. “What is it?” Lana asked. “We’re almost out of gas,” He sighed and lifted one of his hands off the wheel and ran it through his hair. “I thought you said you filled it before we left?” “Yeah I did! I did...say that.” He was silent for a moment but turned to Lana, not caring about the empty road ahead. “Awww come on it’s alright. I’m sure there’s a gas station somewhere close by. There has to be!” Lana pouted in her seat. Sam reached over and grabbed her chin, while making cooing sounds. “Awww are you mad at me?” His voice was thick with patronization and it made you sick. Lana laughed and slapped his hand away. “You better hope there is or you won’t be getting any tonight.” “Hey uhh,” you interjected for the first time. “I’m still here.” “Oh right, you.” Lana laughed and gave you the gift of faux embarrassment. She turned in her seat to face you and gave you a wry smile. “Sorry, I just get carried away sometimes.” You have a polite, curt smile and turned to look out the window. You knew she enjoyed watching you squirm. It was entertainment for her too. She and Sam were perfect for one another. You felt the sneaking sense of dread settle in the depths of your stomach. Now your worries were less about surviving this trip and more about finishing it at all. Without any gas, the three of you would be screwed out in the middle of nowhere.

“You know,” Lana began, “Sam and I were going to stay at his place for the summer. His family owns this great house by the lake. But when I heard you needed some help I thought, why not? I haven’t been to town for a really long time.” You wondered if she hated her family or if her family hated her.

More dry rolling hills and nothingness. And then suddenly, like a mirage, a black dot appeared on the horizon. It wavered and sputtered in the heat, until it slowly grew and solidified on the side of the road. A hitchhiker? Yes, you were closer now and you could clearly see the hitchhiker off in the distance. You straightened up in your seat and stared him down. “Hey look at that guy!” Lana exclaimed. She pointed at the man in the distance and squinted her eyes. “He looks...weird.” A bit closer to him now and you could see what she meant. His movements were erratic, and you could barely see the manic smile across his face. He had his thumb out, asking for a ride, and it felt...wrong somehow. His shoulders were shaking with what appeared to be laughter. A chill ran down your spine as you felt the car begin to slow. “Wait!” You shouted at Sam. “You’re not actually stopping are you?” “Ahhh what’s the harm?” he responded. What’s the harm? Really? The car stopped right alongside the hitchhiker, and you were able to see clear as day how off-putting he was. He had a large red birthmark on his right cheek. It looked like blood. A camera hung around his neck along with a small pouch made out of some unknown animal. Lana rolled down her window slightly in order to hear him. He spoke quickly, as if he were in a rush or high. “Hey, man, mind if I catch a ride?” “A ride where?” Lana asked. “To my house! It’s just up the road there!” “Well why don’t you keep walking?” Lana sneered at him and Sam followed suit. The hitchhiker hesitated to answer the question. His face twisted in confusion and eventually defaulted into the same, off-putting smile. “Come on! Just give me a ride! I’ll make it worth your while!” To your absolute horror, he turned to face you in the back seat. His smiles grew wider as he noticed you for the first time. “Oh yeah,” he muttered. “I’ll make it worth your while.” You shifted in your seat and turned away from him. You could feel his eyes boring into you, prying you open and digging his hands inside. It was silent for too long as the hitchhiker waited for a response. He took in a breath to speak once more when Sam broke through the silence. “Yeah, umm...” he began. “The thing is, friend, we’re in a bit of a rush and running out of gas and we’d just like to get home.” The hitchhiker seemed to perk up at the mention of gas. His back straightened, and he tried to hide the glee on his face, and failed miserably. “Oh I uhh, I know a place! Yeah! Right up there! By my house! I can take you there if you want, just give me a ride!” Lana and Sam exchanged a knowing look, one that you had no part in. Lana turned to the hitchhiker and exaggerated her thinking process, letting out “hmm”s and “uhh”s and pressed a finger to her chin, her eyes rolled upwards in “thought”. “Hmm,” she “pondered”. “Nah! Good luck and don’t die!” Lana burst out laughing as soon as the engine revved. Sam slammed his foot against the pedal and you lurched backwards with the speed the car propelled itself away with. The tires squealed and kicked up dust. Once you regained your balance, you turned around in your seat to watch the hitchhiker fade away behind you, shrouded in dust. ——— “God, he was such a creep, wasn’t he?” Lana had a look of plain disgust and mockery as she asked this. She turned from Sam who nodded and laughed and turned you. She expected an answer. “Yeah I guess,” you said, forcing a fake smile. You agreed sure, the guy was a bit weird, but did he really deserve to be shit on like that? You tried not to dwell on it. You were long gone now, and the car was getting dangerously low on gas. Everyone was searching the shimmering horizon for some sign of civilization. You turned to your right and saw a dead armadillo on the side of the road. Your heart felt a pang of grief over the rotting carcass. It was a cruel world, you knew that, but you still felt like an innocent animal would be exempt from it. Just a few moments after seeing the poor armadillo, you spied a building between two rolling hills and a cluster of sad trees. A thin road stretched and winded towards a large sign that read “GAS” in thick, red letters. “Wait!” You shouted. “Down that road there!” Both Sam and Lana were shocked out of their concentration by the sound of your voice. Your frantic pointing gave the hidden road away and Sam jerked the steering wheel in order to make the curve in time. Both you and Lana held on as best you could, and your chest strained against your seatbelt. “Ow, fuck!” Lana yelled. She righted herself and smacked Sam on the arm. “You asshole!” Sam burst out laughing. He always worked best when he was able to get a rise out of someone. The car rocked over the unpaved, bumpy road. It took all you could not to bang your head against the ceiling. Lana was a bit less lucky. She hit her head quite hard against the window and cried out in pain. Sam ignored her. “Slow down, asshole!” She yelled. “Do you want to get gas or not, huh?” A few more hours. Just a few more hours and you would be home and you wouldn’t need to deal with this anymore. You didn’t want to be around when their relationship exploded. And it would undoubtedly explode any minute now. The car bumped and rocked up to the gas station, and came to a stop by one of the old, rusted pumps. “Last Chance Gas” was up in large red letters above the entrance to the small station. It was dirty and seemingly abandoned. Sam stepped out of the car and called out. “Hello! Anyone in there?” He quickly ducked his head in the car window. “Lana, come with me.” In response, Lana pouted and angrily shook her head, her arms crossed against her chest. Sam sighed and called out once more. You could tell he was getting exasperated. Right as he was about to call out again, undoubtedly louder this time, a man emerged from the station’s front door. You felt like if the gas station were a person, it would look exactly like him. He was older, worn out, his clothes were slightly grimy, and his hair was greasy, or at least what was left of it. You rolled down your window in order to hear what he and Sam were saying. “Hey, man, were almost out of gas here and we’ve got somewhere to be. Fill her up will ya?” Even when asking a stranger for their service, he couldn’t help but sound like an absolute douche. “Well, sorry about that, son,” the man said, “We’re all out of gas.” “You-you’re out? Of gas? You’re a gas station!” “I’m well aware of that, son, but we won’t be getting another shipment until the end of the day.” Sam groaned in response. The man brought up a placating hand. “Now, you’re allowed to wait here until then, if you like.” “No!” Sam almost shouted. He took a breath and calmed himself down. “Listen, is there another gas station around here? We need to be moving.” “Read the sign.” The man pointed up to the red letters behind him. “Alright then fuck this,” Sam said. He made his way back around to the driver’s side. “I’ll take my chances.” Before the man could get another word in, Sam was revving up the car and continued down the road ahead of you. “Wait, Sam,” Lana began, “Let’s just wait! If they say it’s gonna be in at the end of the day then let’s just stop here.” “I am not going to be sitting in this damn hot fucking car for who knows how long. We’ll just keep going. There’s GOT to be someplace ahead. It’s just a marketing tactic with that whole “last chance” bullshit.” Both you and Lana knew you wouldn’t be able to convince him otherwise. Sam got what he wanted when he wanted. And you in particular did not want to find out what happened if he didn’t. And he was probably right. There had to be a place somewhere ahead. You settled into your seat in a puddle of your own sweat. You were just thankful that the window allowed just enough of a breeze in to keep you going. You could feel the car start to sputter and slow as the needle drew closer and closer to the E on the dial. Sam’s knuckles were growing white against the wheel as his nervousness grew. You were wary of his eventual explosion, and there didn’t seem to be any salvation in sight. The sun was an unrelenting presence that was slowing siphoning away your energy, and soon enough you were in a daze. Your eyelids were growing heavy from the sun, the heat, and the road. Before you knew it, your body was asleep and finally able to let go of the tension set in your muscles. It would have been peaceful, if you were not robbed of it just moments later. “Look!” You heard. Your sleep-addled mind couldn’t process what was going on at first, but once your eyelids forced themselves open, you started to wrap your head around it. Lana was pointing towards the side of the road, trying to get Sam’s attention. The sun was in your eyes, so it took a moment to see what she was seeing. Amongst the trees and dusty hills was a very narrow road. And past the tree line and into the depths of the forest, you could see the roof of a very large house. “Maybe they’ll have some gas?” Lana hoped. She looked over at Sam and begged him with her eyes to pull over. He let out a strong and obvious sigh, but did not say a word. The wheel spun and the car turned onto the gravel road. Trees immediately flanked either side of the car and you could barely see past them, even in the sunlight. The rooftop grew larger and larger in front of all of you. It grew and grew like a menacing giant, ready to eat the three of you whole. The eye-like windows glared at you as they came into view. The poor house was incredibly run down. It seemed to slump into itself, sad of its own existence. The white paint was chipping off the exterior, which made the cracks look like veins spreading across its hide. The house was a creature, alone in the forest. What concerned you was that you didn’t know if it was alive or not. The car came to slow stop in front of it as it rolled over overgrown grass. Sam turned the engine off and stuffed the keys into his pocket. “Alright,” he said. “I’m gonna go check and see if they have any gas to spare. They must have some kind of generator or something way out here. I’ll be back.” Sam made no effort to invite you or Lana, so you made yourself comfortable. Or as comfortable as you could possibly be in the sweltering heat. Sam was halfway to the front door when Lana was suddenly spurred into motion. She climbed out of the car and ran after Sam. “Wait!” She called. “I’ll come too.” And like that you were left alone in the car.

Climbing over a small set of stairs, they stood by the door and knocked and called for several minutes. You were resigned to the house’s clear abandonment, but Sam thought he heard something. You could hear it faintly as well. He pulled the screen door open and stepped inside, with Lana glued to his side. You watched them enter the house’s maw. They disappeared into the darkness behind the screen door and you waited. You waited and waited and waited until you felt an unreasonable amount of time pass. They shouldn’t have been gone for this long. If they hadn’t found anyone, they would have come back out by now. If they had, they would have brought them out to the front with gas. Maybe it really was empty and they decided to take some “time together”. You groaned to yourself at their obnoxious behavior. Could they really not wait until they were back home to have their foray? Here you were, in the back of a suffocating hot car, waiting while these two jerks finished pounding one out. As time went on, you were a bit surprised with their stamina and the fact they had been at it for so long. Finally, enough was enough. They had been gone for so long that you didn’t care what you walked in on, as long you got kick them out and get you all going again. You threw the door open and slammed it behind you, hoping it would signal to them that you were on your way. With your feet in the grass, you realized how unkempt it really was. You saw small bugs jump off of the tips of grass and run off further into the vegetation. There was no way this house was inhabited. There was no sign out here that anyone had lived here for years. You climbed up the short, creaky steps onto the porch. You entered a bit of shade and felt an immediate relief. You allowed yourself to rest in the partial darkness for a few moments before you braced yourself. The screen door was in front of you, beckoning to you. You pushed it open and entered an even hotter, note sweltering environment. The house was tight and closed in. Dust had collected on a lot of the surfaces inside. It was dark, with only the natural light that flowed through the cracks in the closed windows allowed you to see inside. “Lana? Sam?” Your voice spread into each nook and cranny of the house. “Hey, you guys, come on!” No response. The floorboards creaked underneath you as you walked down the small hallway in front of you. The stairs before you called to you, but it would be better to check the first floor before anything else. A large steel door was at the end of the tight hallway. It seemed out of place in this home. It looked like it would be more at home in a slaughterhouse than here. You tried to open it, but it only jingled against its lock. You left it alone for now and turned left towards another part of the house. You called out once more to your traveling companions, but still there was no answer. You figured you would be hearing some type of moaning by now, but the house was passive in unsettled quiet. And then you heard it. A small squeal in a back room that was unmistakable for Lana. You followed the sound as best you could. You turned a corner and your feet stepped on something strange. It was soft and fluffy, but a hard piece lay in the middle. Your foot rolled over the object as it clattered away. You looked down. You were stepping on feathers. Piles and piles of loose feathers and…bone. The object that rolled away was a thin, bare bone. And there were more of them. Everywhere. Bones on top of more bones scattered and dumped without a care. Your body froze in place. You felt yourself begin to sweat, but the droplets came out cold and quick down your back. Your muscles tensed, but your eyes desired to explore the room around you. You didn’t want to look, oh no please don’t look, but they moved around anyways. They moved up from the floor of feathers and bones, up to the table full of rusty tools and even more bones, to the pieces of furniture that decelerated the edges and sides of the rooms made of...bones. Human...bones. Human skulls, femurs, and ribs were tied with chicken wire against the frames of shoddily crafted chairs and benches. There was no denying their human origin. The noise. The noise came again from the room to your right. The same small squeal. You knew both Lana and Sam were twisted, but they couldn’t be this twisted, could they? Could they really be here, amongst these rotting horrors and… You shook the thought out and followed the noise. You had to pull them out of there quickly. “Hey guys, quit it, let’s go!” You turned the corner and stopped dead in your tracks. Lana was there. And Sam too. Or at least parts of him. What was left of his body rested on an old, bloodstained table. His limbs were in a bucket in the corner. And his head, well...you couldn’t find it. But it was definitely him. The body had the same clothes, and despite missing its extremities, it still held an energy of callousness and arrogance. A large, bloody chainsaw sat next to his remains. And Lana. She was still alive. At least you thought. She was strung up, facing Sam. You ran to her, jumping over bits of bone and flesh, but when you touched her she screamed. You saw how she was being held up. A long, rusted hook had pierced her back, and every movement on her caused her to cry out in excruciating pain. Your heart began to race. What could you do? What happened? Who did this? It was all happening too fast. You couldn’t think straight. It was all wrong. Every movement you tried to get her off the hook only made her claw out in pain. And then you heard a sound behind you. It sounded like a large hunk of metal sliding up against itself. The screeching metal clawed itself open like a demon out of hell. The door. The door was opening and it was behind you and that meant whatever was opening it was behind you too. The hairs on the back of your neck would have stood on end if not for the layers of sweat pressing them down. Critical thinking was gone now, what was left was simply survival instinct. Your eyes darted from side to side, searching for a space to hide. There were layers of tanned hide — animal? Human? — draped over several chairs next to a table, with piles of animal parts on the seat. You crawled underneath the table and pulled the chairs in front of you to hide yourself as best you could. You were breathing heavily from panic, and after you realized this, you slapped a hand to cover your mouth. You pressed your eyes closed for a moment. You were a coward. A goddamn coward. Sure, Lana wasn’t a friend, but you could hear her desperate cries as she pleaded for you to save her. But you couldn’t. You just couldn’t. Your muscles had seized from fear, and when you tried to move them, they began to shake uncontrollably. Thump, thump, thump. Footsteps came closer. You could hear them clear as day behind Lana’s cries. And behind the steps you could hear a sound like a squealing pig. Whoever had done this was in the room. Your entire body tensed when you saw movement pass in front of the chairs. Dark pant legs approached Lana and the hooks. You could see the end of her legs frantically kicking. You tried not to imagine what that was doing to the hook in her back. She cried out for help. She called for you by name. Part of you hoped she hadn’t given you away, and you immediately felt bad for hoping that. The legs moved away from her and then to the large, bloodstained table in the middle of the room. You heard the sick thunk of Sam’s torso hitting the floor. Whoever was doing this was planning on doing the same to Lana that they had done to Sam. You wanted to stop it, but you couldn’t. Cold blood and sweat flowed through your body, and no matter how much you wanted you could not move yourself. You couldn’t stop it. You listened to the sound of Lana being placed on the table, and then you listened to the disgusting slam of a heavy object against what you figured was her head. Her strained cries turned into a gurgle. The gurgle turned into a choke. The choke turned into silence. Your eyes were wild and bulged out of their sockets. They stared into the coarse hairs of one of the hides in front of you. You heard silence in the room, and you could not see the pair of legs form before. You didn’t know how you would get home or when, but you knew you had to get out of here now now now. You moved your body in this cramped space as slowly as you could. A crunch. A bone snapped beneath you. The snap reverberated through your entire body and then the whole house. Or at least it felt like it. But you were safe. Nothing moved except for you. Then another snap. An even louder snap this time and you knew you had done it. The pair of legs appeared from around the corner. You held still as it came closer to you. You wished it away. You wished so hard that the sting of tears pricked the corners of your eyes. You were going to fucking die. The pair of legs and the figure it was attached to grabbed the chairs in front of you in a sudden fury. The creaky wood was whipped away from your shelter and you let out a scream you could not control. You pushed yourself backwards, squishing bones and feathers underneath you. Thick, pudgy hands gripped the lip of the table in front of you and lifted. The table wasn’t bare. It was stacked and piled with animal parts and skins and that must have weighed it down by a lot. Which meant that the being currently lifting it clear off the floor and tossing it aside had an enormous amount of strength. The pig squealing began again, and you realized it was emanating from the figure in front of you. You were blind with fear, and you couldn’t see much of them before you started to flee. Your legs tensed underneath you as they tried to propel you forward, but you weren’t fast enough. Thick, hairy arms wrapped around your body and lifted you up clear off the ground. The person holding you was big in every since of the word. You panicked and began to squirm in the vice you were in. You kicked at their chubby stomach and strong legs. You pushed against them and you were able to hook your feet against them and push away. Their grip weakened and you fell out of their arms. You landed hard on the floor, and the tough bones that littered it banged against your muscles as you hit them. You twisted yourself around and crawled away as best you could, but the door was nowhere near. You backed yourself into a literal corner and felt yourself press against the wall behind you. The figure was standing above you now. And they were bigger than you had thought. Their body heaved with the previous exertion and each step made a heavy thump as they moved their weight around. You grabbed a bone by your side and held it up. It was old and brittle, useless in a fight but it was all you had. Your need to fight hadn’t left just yet. You held it up between you and the large beast.   “Stay back!” You screamed. Your heart was blasting against your rib cage. You were able to see the full frame of the man in front of you. You stared up towards his face. A face that seemed…wrong, and loose somehow. The apron over his shirt and tie was stained with what was obviously blood and gore. The man took a few steps closer once more. You jabbed out with the bone and he flinched slightly. He was right above you, his body heaving and bursting with strength. The man kneeled in front of you. You jabbed out again, but the man squealed and flung out a big, meaty hand. He smacked the bone out of your hands and it flew clear across the room. Completely defenseless, you pressed yourself as hard as you could into the wall, hoping in some way that you could meld into it and disappear. But you were not that fortunate. You were face to face with the man. He lowered himself to your eye level, and kept coming closer and closer until he was mere inches away. His body and shape seemed to swallow the room around him until all you could see was him and his face. And that’s when it hit you. In another split second, your eyes took in the thick twine that pieced the mask together. The mask made of something slightly translucent. It was poorly stitched together, with flaps covering the ears underneath completely. Greasy black hair erupted from the top of the mask in tangled curls. It took longer to realize that it didn’t belong to the man himself. You could see into his eyes. Holes had been cut away from the mask’s eyes and mouth, allowing you to see the true skin underneath. He noticed you holding your breath, and stopped moving. You looked into his dark eyes. The sun that broke through into the room reflected off of them, and unlocked the honeyed brown kept in their depths. Crooked teeth exposed themselves from behind his chapped lips. The light pierced through the translucent skin he had wrapped around his own. Skin around his own he was wearing skin wearing someone else’s skin on his face. You wanted to scream. You tried to scream as hard as you could, but nothing came out. A tear slipped from the corner of your eye. You could feel your body shutting down. Its natural instinct to flee and fight was beginning to wear off and all that was left was limp flesh. And he kept staring at you. The man wearing a mask of leathery skin tilted his head from side to side. His tongue slipped out and ran over his teeth. He let out a small, pig-like squeal. The strangeness of him knocked some voice into you. “I’m so sorry,” you began, your voice a hoarse whisper. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see anything. Please just let me go. I shouldn’t have come here. Please!” The man tilted his head once more. Your chances were slim, but you would do anything to get out of here. Pride meant nothing to you. “I’m so so sorry. I shouldn’t have been in here. You don’t have to hurt me. Please don’t hurt me.” One of his hands rose before your eyes. You turned your face away in fear of being struck. A hand so large and thick would do terrible damage to you, and your braced yourself from the pain. But instead of a slap or the feeling of the intimidatingly thick fingers wrapped around your throat, you felt a calloused hand brush against your cheek. It was rough, and almost hesitant to touch you. You let out a pained sound as you felt him touch you. To your surprise, he immediately pulled away. Your eyes flashed opened and you heard him let out a small whimper. You saw him immediately grow self conscious of his movements. He held his hands in front of him and shuffled in place. His head ducked slightly and that’s when you realized he was just as scared of you as you were of him. You were an intruder, a stranger who had burst into his home along with Lana and Sam. They had broken in, made loud sounds, and he felt as if his shelter was being invaded. He was defending himself. He was defending himself against you. You had hidden yourself in his house and had even threatened him. Yeah, he had killed two of your “friends”, but maybe in his mind, this was a natural reaction. He kept his head down and started his pig-like squealing once more. “Hey, hey, hey,” oh god you couldn’t believe you were actually trying to comfort him. “It’s okay! It’s okay.” He watched you from the corner of his eye; his head still to the side and tucked low to show his submission. He turned his head to look away from you and stood up. You pulled your feet close to your chest and pressed yourself farther into the wall. The man walked over to the corner of the room and picked something up. He came back to you, knelt, and then presented one of Sam’s arms as an offering. A scraggly sound of fear escaped your throat and you turned away to fully face the corner. Another tear escaped you. The man whimpered and made a sound that almost sounded apologetic. He went to put the arm back where he had first put it. You sensed him return. You felt his heat radiating from his body. You smelled his sweat and his scent filling the room. You heard a soft sound escape his lips. You slowly turned to face him once more. He held his hand out to you. His eyes glowed in amber against the sun. You dared to reach a hand out, palm up, to accept his gift. Very slowly and gently, the man placed a small bird skull into the palm of your hand. You had no idea what kind of bird it was, but it was still greasy after it rotted the rest of its flesh away. “Thank you,” you whimpered. He nodded to you and made an effort to smile behind his mask and crooked teeth. From what you gathered, he could not speak. The best he could manage was small babbling sounds and a pig-like squeal that sounded frighteningly real. You wondered if he was alone here. If you were alone here with him. Your questions were immediately answered. You heard the screen door of the porch swing open and slam against the inside of the house. “Bubba!” You heard someone yell. In that moment, the man’s body seemed to change. His gentle submissiveness was exchanged for manic fear. His back straightened and he sat up. He looked from side to side, as if wondering what to do. Had someone else invaded the home? Would he kill them too? And then his eyes landed on you. Nervous sounds began to spill out of him and he held out a hand as if to say, “Wait there”. He grabbed the toppled-over stacks of animal hide and draped them over you. He covered your entire body until all you could see and smell were the tanned skins around you. You heard the voice get closer. “Bubba! What the hell is that car doing outside?” The voice sounded vaguely familiar. It was scratchy and dug itself under your skin. The voice was inside the room now. “What the fuck is this, huh? What the goddamn hell did you do?” The man with the skin mask began to babble incoherently, like a child. He was panicked and scared. And it scared you. If the man who had just chopped up your acquaintances was scared of this voice, how bad would this one be? This voice, like an old man... The gas station attendant. The old, wispy haired man. He knew the man in the house somehow. Why? Didn’t he see the bodies in the room? Wasn’t he scared? You heard the older man grab something heavy off of a table. “You goddamn bastard! Look at the fucking mess that you made!” You heard clambering and various objects being thrown to the ground. Their voices moved around the room as the older man chased the other, and you heard a hard thump as he hit the masked man with something. The leathered-faced man began to cry, deep painful sobs. The older man had hit him. For some reason, you felt you heart throb in your chest. “You got all of them, didn’t you?” The man made desperate sounds of his agreement. Yes, yes, they were all gone, nothing to see here. “Well, good! Now get this mess cleaned the fuck up!” The voice disappeared, and angry footsteps followed as the older man stamped down the hall and entered another part of the house. Suddenly, there was silence. Except for the man’s crying. He was sobbing, and you could almost hear the thick drops of tears land onto the creaky hardwood floor. You didn’t dare to move. You heard the man begin to move around the room, sniffling the entire time he did so. You heard the dripping of blood as he moved the bodies of Lana and Sam away. He righted the table and chairs close to you, and after a too-long silence, he carefully pried the tanned hides away from your face. The room was still a mess, but nowhere near as bad as before. The man pressed a finger to his lips and croaked out what could have been a shushing sound. He waved his hands, gesturing you to come closer. Tears streaked the cheeks behind his mask and left a trail of wet cleanliness behind his grime. You couldn’t go with him, could you? A man who killed your friends—alright well, tolerated acquaintances—was going to take you who knows where? But you found yourself more scared of the other man than this one. At least this one didn’t kill you right away. You scooted yourself closer to the man, and he picked you up and threw your body over his shoulder. You struggled to right yourself so you weren’t hanging upside down. But he shook your body and loosened your grip until you were hanging again. You allowed this to happen, but you wondered how you were going to get out of this room unnoticed. Then, the man approached Lana’s body. The front of her head was smashed in and you could see bits of brain and bone mixed into a pudding inside her skull. You almost threw up at the sight of it. Flies were already buzzing around her. The man grabbed her, or what was left of her, and threw her over his other shoulder. You realized what he was doing. He was disguising you as another corpse. If this was your only way out, then so be it. You played dead. You let your arms flap and swing down under you. All you could see was the floor and the bits of brain that fell out of Lana’s skull as you left the room. The old man’s voice rang out again, “Don’t get all that fucking shit over my floors!” And as quickly as it had come, it was gone, muffled in another room as he spoke to someone else you could not make out. It had somehow worked. He didn’t notice that he hadn’t seen your body before, possibly because he didn’t care, and left the rest of the dirty work to be handled away from him. The man carrying you turned and headed up the narrow stairs you had seen near the entrance. Fuck, the entrance. It was right there, so close you could almost taste it, but you felt the grip on you to be too strong to even try it. At the top of the steps, the man turned down a small hallway. He opened a door and entered a little room. He made a small grunt as he shook you off his shoulder and you landed on an old, creaky bed in the corner of the room. You righted yourself quickly and pressed yourself against the corner. The man pressed a finger to his lips and signaled that you should not move. You wouldn’t—you couldn’t—as you watched him exit the room with Lana’s body. The last thing you saw of her was the gaping hole in her head. The door gently closed behind him, and you were alone. You looked around frantically, looking for some way to get away. The room was generously decorated with more animal and human bones. Strings of femurs and ribs dangled from their nailed purchase in the ceilings. And like a bolt of lightning you remembered the small bird skull that you held in your hand. You slowly opened the desperate grip and stared down at it. You hadn’t realized that you still had it. You had held onto it out of fear, and its greasy texture coated the inside of your palm. You kept it in your hand as you looked around the unfamiliar environment. There was a large window to your right. You peeled yourself off the bed and took the few steps towards it. Thin, lace-like drapes allowed most of the amber sunset light blaze through the paint-chipped frames. You were on the second floor, that was obvious, and underneath you were scraggly dried branches of juvenile trees and the sharp, thorny brambles of bushes. You tried to dig your fingers underneath the window frame in an effort to pry it open, but the swollen wood couldn’t budge in this heat. You grunted and strained behind your full strength, but you couldn’t get it open. A faint jingling came from outside the bedroom door. You whipped yourself around, your eyes already searching for a new way of escape. The door swung open, and the man came in and closed it right behind him. The jingling came from a strange bracelet on his left wrist, and you wondered who had given it to him. The man was slightly hunched over, and his movements were wary. He shuffled towards you. He could not look you in the eye, rather, he came to you like a meek, punished puppy. Your heart could not help but to ache for him. The man was large, easily a full head and a half taller than you, but in this cowardly state, he only managed to be at eye level. Your body was frozen in place in front of the window. The man got so close that you were practically hugging the wall. His face inched closer to you and sniffed at the air around you. He finally managed to work up the courage to look you in the eye. He wearily brought a finger to his lips, and then pointed out towards the door. You could still hear the muffled voices from downstairs. He whined again, desperate to have you understand. Don’t make a noise, he meant to say, or they’ll hear you. You nodded slowly, and your teeth chattered with fear and dying adrenaline. His hands came up too quickly for you to react to. Their rough, working man’s palms rubbed against your flesh and squeezed. He pulled you over to the bed and had you sit down on the edge of it. He turned from side to side, frantic, as if he were trying to compute something within his mind. As if he were struggling to find the book inside that would translate his own communication to yours. His hands came up, palms forward. Wait here, it said, please wait here. He searched for some kind of understanding in your eyes. You nodded, and to your surprise, he seemed to beam at this. A large, crooked smile stretched from behind his mask. He squealed and reached for you. You flinched and backed yourself farther into the bed. The man stopped dead in his tracks. The smile disappeared, and his head sagged. He realized his excitement had scared you. In apology, he took the jumbled up blanket that hung off the foot of the bed and gently offered it up to you. He whimpered and lowered his gaze. You took the blanket from him and wrapped it around yourself. Despite the harsh heat still present in the stuffy house, you found yourself incredibly cold. Or maybe just in need of a little comfort. The man gave his wait motion once more, and then left the room. You felt as if you could breath again. The hanging bones and rotting flesh didn’t give the most pleasant smell, but you were alive. Lana and Sam weren’t, but you were. The small bird skull hidden in your grip was your trophy; it was the symbol of your survival. But as you thought about it, did you truly deserve to survive? Your mind tried to rationalize things. They were assholes, you thought. They were huge assholes that never have or would have done a good thing in their life. But even if that were true, you were at least partly responsible for their death. They had been giving you a ride. If you weren’t around, they could’ve gone off someplace else and never gotten stuck in road kill county. It was your fault. You couldn’t save Lana, the fear had taken over. You were a coward. You had done nothing. No, but you had tried. You had never seen a dead body before, what could you have done? You tried your best to excuse and reason with yourself. Your mind spiraled and repeated for the next hour. You were immobilized by your thoughts and by the sounds of voices emanating from downstairs. It was a repetitive cycle of guilt and rationalization, and you had no way of getting out of it or this room. The sunlight was slowly fading from the window, and as the last light turned orange and pink and purple, the man entered the room once more. He was hunched over, submissive, and had lowered himself from full height in order not to scare you. He was aware of his intimidating stature. However, his size was probably the least scary thing about him. He was hiding from behind his mask of leathered skin, but not in the way you first thought. He was not trying to hide his identity, no. What is more obvious than a large man in a mask made out of faces? Very few things, you would say. But he was trying to hide himself from the outside world either way. The mask was a part of him, a different face that he could show the world that despite its origin was more of a part of him than its original owner. He held a large plate in one hand, and a cup in another. As he crept closer, you were able to see more of what was on it. It was packed with mac and cheese, greens, and mashed potatoes. Your mouth drooled at just the sight of it. You hadn’t realized how desperately hungry you were. You were running on fumes since this morning, and your stomach twisted and flipped at the possibility of food inside of it. But the man was carrying it. How safe could it really be?   You wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself as he stood at the edge of the bed. With his head bowed, he offered up the food to you. It took a moment of him holding it to realize that he wanted you to take it. “Th-thank you.” You took the plate and cup out of his hand and placed the former on your lap. The man shifted from foot to foot and slipped a fork out from his apron pocket. He continued to shift from foot to foot as he waited for you to take your first bite. You stared at your food and debated. Was it truly safe? Could it be poisoned? Did you really have a choice? You raised your fork and began to pick at your meal. You looked up at the masked man, and his eyes shone bright with anticipation. You brought a forkful of mac and cheese to your mouth and ate it. Your taste buds exploded and your mouth coated itself with saliva. It was the best mac and cheese you had ever tasted in your life. Without pause, you began to take more and more food in your mouth. You didn’t know if you were that hungry or if it was just that good, but you did not hesitate with eating the rest of your plate. The man stared at you the entire time, his shifting growing quicker as he saw your enthusiasm. When you were done, you chugged down the rest of the old, slightly dusty cup and took a deep breath. You looked up at the man and managed a smile. “Thank you. That was–that was really good.” The man let out a cheerful squeal and took the plate and cup from you. As he reached down, you saw the large, purple bruises that plagued his forearms. Your heart dropped. Acting on instinct, you reached out and touched him. Your fingers grazed the dark discoloration on his hairy arms. He let out a high-pitched squeal and tugged himself away. He took a few steps back, as if you were the true danger here in this room. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” You said. You brought up your hands to show that you meant no harm. “You’re hurt! May I see?” The man’s chest rose and fell with quick, nervous breathes. He set the plate and cup down on a small table nearby. Like a meek little puppy, the man reluctantly approached. With each step he took, his height and presence shrunk, until he was quite literally on your knees in front of you. He weakly held up his arm to you. His head had fallen to his chest and you could feel the apprehension wafting out of him in waves. You were careful not to put too much pressure on his arms in order not to hurt him. The bruises were quickly turning into huge welts. His forearms were filled with them, and you had the suspicion that the bruises crawled up onto his shoulders behind the short sleeves of his dress shirt. “Did the other man do this to you?” He nodded weakly. He made no effort to take his arm from you. He had been beaten into outright submission. If you could have afforded the tears, you would’ve cried. “Bubba?” The man’s head whipped up. “That’s your name, right? Bubba? That’s what that other guy called you.” The man, or rather, Bubba, gave a quick nod. His name on your lips and in the air made his heart beat faster. “Bubba—“ He cocked his head. “Does he do this to you a lot?” He gave another curt nod. He stood up in a sudden motion and sat himself on the bed. The sudden drop of his weight on the spring mattress almost sent you flying. Bubba put his head in his hands and his fingers pressed deeply into the skin of his mask. You reached out to touch him. To comfort him. Were you really doing this? Were you really going to comfort the man that you saw kill two human beings. A man that wore human skin on his face? As the thoughts raced around in your mind, you felt your own hand touch his shoulder before you could even think of it. He flinched at the touch, obviously not used to the end of a hand that was not striking him. You pulled away; scared that too much would warrant an angry or violent reaction out of him. “Did you...” your voice came out scraggly and hoarse so you cleared it. “Did you cook the food you gave me?” Bubba was sniveling and sniffling. He expertly hooked his fingers under the stitched skin to wipe away his tears, as if he had done it countless times before. It took a few moments before he nodded, and his sappy, teary eyes refused to make contact with yours. “Bubba–“ his back straightened. “That food was really amazing! You sure do know how to cook!” His hands crept up to his face, and through his fingers and mask, you could see the reddening in his face as he began to blush. “I mean it! You should be proud of yourself!” Bubba finally faced you, and his cracked lips pulled over crooked teeth to give you the biggest smile you had ever seen on a person. His thick, pudgy hands slapped his thighs in excitement. He began to bounce on the bed, his heavy weight sending shockwaves through it, and almost knocking you off. You couldn’t help but to laugh. His pure, unbridled joy was something difficult to come by, and it seeped into your bones and muscles and filled your belly full of laughter. Your happiness only caused him to get more excited, and he found himself further onto the bed, his legs crossed in front of him across from you. You tried to quiet yourself as to not draw attention to the others downstairs, but once you started laughing you couldn’t stop. This man in front of you, this murderer, had all the excitement and joy of a small child and the energies of it wafted through the air and settled on your skin. You didn’t know what had gotten into you. Was it Stockholm Syndrome? You couldn’t have fallen into it this quickly could you? It was so easy to condemn him for what he had done to people you couldn’t even stand—but still, they were people—when he wasn’t around, but now, with him in his pure joy, in his uncharacteristic innocence, he couldn’t help but forgive him. He didn’t kill you for one thing, but it was like he was a different person. The squealing, ferocious man that you had seen downstairs had morphed into this battered, giggling mess. It was wrong for the three of you to have come into the house, you knew that now. He was scared. Bubba was a frightened boy that lashed out and hurt and hurt because he didn’t understand. And maybe he didn’t understand death or killing but he did understand kindness and joy. And he understood fear. It seemed like he lived in fear every day. Bubba began to settle down, but his body continued to bounce, causing the bedsprings to creak. Your heart was thumping, but for the first time today it wasn’t from fear. The two of you were mushed onto this small, creaky bed in a room full of rot and hidden treasures, and in that moment, it became a sanctuary. Finally calm, you stuck out a hand to touch the beaten arm again. Bubba watched, his gaze quickly shifting from your hand to your eyes. He let you touch him and you saw the hairs on his arm stand up. You smiled and let out a small sigh. “Yeah, Bubba,” his name felt like sweet honey on your tongue, “Thank you. For giving me food. What I wouldn’t do for a bit of steak right now, though.” Like a shock running through your fingertips, you felt the presence in his body begin to shift. He sat up straight, his eyes boring into you. Without warning, he began to shake his head furiously from side to side. His sounds started at a whimper and crescendoed into a constant, loud squealing. He launched himself across the bed and grabbed you by the arms. The momentum and force behind his weight and body caused you to fall backwards, and suddenly he was on top of you. His eyes were wild with panic and his voice and squeals trembled with pain. He shook you, hard. His head wouldn’t stop shaking and his voice cried out as if he were trying to say words that he wasn’t capable of forming. You were a stone statue on the bed, unable to move from both fright and the weight that he put on you. You couldn’t look away from his eyes and see how scared they looked. Bubba let go of you and began to beat at his head, his flat palms slapping against either side of him. He was punishing himself for lord knows what, and you knew he wasn’t being gentle with himself. Your hands flew out and tried to grab his wrists and stop him, but he was too strong. He was crying again, and terrible sobs ripped through the room as he continued to hurt himself. You panicked. You didn’t know what you could do. So your next instinct was to slip your hands around his head and block his hands from hitting himself. The thick palms slapped against your hands, and the pain rang out of your fingers. You grimaced but kept your hands to block him. “It’s okay, Bubba! No meat! No meat!” He tried to hit himself once more when it clicked that your hands were around him, and he was hurting you and not himself. He stopped almost immediately. The room went quiet. Bubba’s lip quivered as he slowly removed your hands from the sides of his head. Your skin was growing a dark shade of red, and he brought your hands close in order to observe. His head tilted and he let out a small whimper. His eyes tore themselves away and returned to you. A small rumble that slowly morphed into a whimper escaped his throat. Bubba’s giant hands wrapped around yours, and he whined and whined like a desperate puppy once he realized he hurt you. His head peeled up after a moment, and his hand shot out to your side. You flinched at the sudden movement. He noticed this and went slow as he picked up the small bird skull he had given you earlier. He took one of your hands and placed the skull in your palm. His fingers curled yours and pressed your hand close to your chest. It was yours now. It was his apology. You gave him a slight nod but you couldn’t afford a smile. He knew he had done something wrong and he might have punished himself more if he knew you wouldn’t stop him. The poor boy was distraught. His eyes were red from tears and his entire body shivered despite the heat. The last rays of light traveled through the nearby window. You could feel your exhaustion growing as the day that could have been your last began to end. You heard the stomping of feet outside coming up the stairs. They stopped outside the room and an angry fist slammed against the old, wooden door. “Bubba! Shut your fucking yapping! Your brother and I are trying to have a fucking conversation!” It was the old man again, undoubtedly angry. A brother? Bubba has a brother? Was that the other voice? You couldn’t dwell on the thought for long, because Bubba’s large, shivering frame flinched and cowered at the voice. He pulled himself back onto the bed and pressed his body against you. You could feel every ounce of his weight as he leaned on you, and before you could stop him, he was burying his face against your side in fear. His hands gripped your shirt and you could feel the wetness of his tears drying against it. You felt the rumble in his chest as he whimpered in fright. Your hand fell against his back, and before you knew what you were doing, you were rubbing and comforting him. Almost immediately, the shivering stopped. A low hum in his body, like a purr, flowed through him and his head fell from your side to your lap. You froze at the sudden change in demeanor. Bubba was quick to change from anger to fear, or maybe it was all fear in different flavors. The thick, curly hair that did not belong to him shook with tears on your lap. Your hand continued to rub him. “Shhhh,” you hushed. “It’s okay, Bubba. It’s okay.” His body began to grow still on you. His fingers kept their strong hook on your clothing, but you managed to lean back against the pillow and wall and rest your head. Exhaustion clawed at your heart and eyes as your breathing began to slow, and the heat in the air and from Bubba’s body provided a blanket around you that you could not leave even if you wanted to. Surprisingly, you did not. Darkness fell over the light clinking of bones that hung from the ceiling. Sleep overtook you, and you were gone.

––––––––

You felt your heart before anything else. You felt the quickening thumping in your chest as your body began to wake around you. Your eyes fluttered open as you took in the peach glow of the morning sun. It was that sort of morning light you saw when you were young and woke up early, even before your parents, and watched cartoons with a blanket wrapped around you for protection. You felt warm as another blanket cloaked you now, although it was much heavier than you thought it would be. You turned to the side and were met with the crude, stitched-together mess of translucent skin and matted hair. Your heart began to speed up, but it slowed as your eyes drifted to the peaceful, closed eyes of the man behind the mask. The gentle curve of his long eyelashes twitched in his sleep, and his chapped lips lay partly open as he breathed in and out. His large hairy arm rested on top of you, the weight of it a comfort in the dawn. Your heart slowed on instinct. For some reason, you felt safe in Bubba’s arms. You were shocked, sure, to find yourself in this situation, but it felt… Right? Was it okay to feel right with this man? Was it okay to find yourself sleeping next to someone who had bashed a person’s skull in and sawed off their limbs to a stump? Maybe not, but it was what you felt. You felt some sort protectiveness over him. Despite his large body, he was frail. Like an abandoned puppy, lost in the rain, you wanted to scoop him in and place him in your warm care. You closed your eyes once more and shifted your body towards him. You were going to embrace him both physically and figuratively. He was only defending himself after all, and you enjoyed a man who would defend what was his with all he had. You turned your back to him and settled into the softness of his chest and tummy. You fit into him like the last piece in a thousand-piece puzzle, with just as much relief and satisfaction. A light noise passed his lips from the movement, and you grew still in order not to wake him. You slowly drifted into sleep. Your eyelids grew heavy with the sweet lull of unconsciousness. Your gentle rock into sleep was disturbed once more when you felt Bubba shift a bit behind you. You kept your eyes closed in case he was just readjusting himself, but the slight movement happened again. And again. You realized his hips were moving, bucking into you. In the swirl of your half-asleep mind, you barely noticed the hardened bulge in the center of his mass, pressed up against you. It was as if your body was asleep when your mind was not, and each of your movements was like moving through a slog of honey. Each touch against you left a buzz that flowed through your skin and deep into your bones. The hardened prod against your rear and thighs pressed gently against you, and you could feel the warmth of Bubba’s member against you. The arm around you gripped you harder, and Bubba pulled you in against each rut against you. He was slowly going faster, and his movements caused you to let out a throaty moan. Your mouth slammed shut as soon as you heard it, as the moan came out from pure instinct and stimulation. You were embarrassed by how easily he made you moan, but if it happened and felt this good, then why deny it? Bubba’s morning wood pressed against you once more before his arm removed itself from around your torso. He was much more awake than you were. His hand slipped down between the two of your bodies and to the front of his pants. You heard the light unzipping of his pants and then the warmth of his heat pressed against you. Your arms reached out above you and stretched the sleepiness from your muscles in beautiful satisfaction. Your back pressed up against him, and the softest of sounds escaped your lips once more. And to your surprise, Bubba responded with a sound of his own. The sound alone could have sent you over the brink. It was a huff that ended in a higher pitch, like a soft whine of desperation and need that sent wild thoughts through your mind of how badly he needed you. You felt his member already leaking against you, as it left warm, wet patches on the back of your pants. On instinct and pleasure, you ground your ass against him, just to get more of a feel of him against you. He was large, you could tell that much, but you were worried about turning around in case it would make him stop. Bubba’s arm wrapped itself around you again, and his face neared the back of your neck. You could feel his breath on you, and the slight chill of it made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. He whimpered again, as if pleading for you to take him. It seemed like this was his first time in this sort of situation, as his hips seemed to buck erratically and with slight hesitance. His belly pressed against you. He stopped for a moment and waited for you to show expressive interest. Now fully awake, you reached down to bring down the hem of your pants. The heat in your crotch was as hot or even hotter than the heat the rising sun that was blazing through the room. And then you felt it, you felt Bubba. He was incredibly, unfairly thick, almost like your forearm. He wasn’t the longest, but what he was packing made you tremble. You felt the eager tip of his cock press against the soft mounds of your ass. His entire body began to shake and shiver and you were convinced that he was going to cum right then and there if it weren’t for the loud footsteps and banging on the door that brought the both of you out of it. “Bubba!” The voice yelled, “It’s time to get breakfast ready!” Bubba’s breath was raspy against your neck, and you immediately pulled up your pants. They still didn’t know you were here, and if you weren’t careful, they would soon find out. And who knows what they would do to you. Bubba tucked himself into his pants before you could see him and—and wow, you actually wanted to see him. You felt a chamber in your core unlock as desire began to take over. This large, masked, strange man had torn a hole in your heart and had settled inside. He was so comfortable there that you had almost…almost… Bubba got up out his creaky bed. He whimpered as his legs dragged behind him. Before he opened the door, he looked back and made a motion for you to stay put, not like you had much of an option. He left and closed the door behind himself. And now you were alone. Alone with your thoughts. What were you doing? You were here, in a house where people had been killed, and you had just, you know, done things with the man who did it. It was wrong. It was sickeningly, disgustingly, intoxicatingly wrong. You had to admit to yourself that the fact that you knew what Bubba was capable of, that this soft puppy of a man was capable of such horrifying acts—but not with you—that it was…attractive. He could hurt someone for you. He could maybe even kill for you, and you knew his curiosity and obsession with you was growing. The simple fact that he was willing to hide you here from the man who hit him said enough. You didn’t owe him anything, but you wanted to give him everything. But your curiosity was getting the better of you. You heard the muffled voices and clattering of pots and pans from downstairs. You swung your feet over the bed and carefully distributed your weight as to not make the boards creak. With careful steps along the dresser and table, where the wood had settled the best, you carefully made your way to the door. You listened for a moment, and after you heard nothing, you cracked the door open and peaked outside. This was your first view of the hallway right side up. The walls were adorned with dark-green, peeling wallpaper that must have been set 20 years past. You saw the doors to a few more rooms and then the stairs leading down. Movement caught your eye as a dark shadow moved past the open crack of the door. Your heart froze in your chest as a man walked past you with no knowledge you were actually there. He turned the corner to go down the stairs, and in the brief moment before you hid behind the door, you saw his face. The face with a large, red birthmark the color of blood dripping down the side of his face.  The hitchhiker. It was the man on the road from yesterday who had tried to get you to come to his…house. You recoiled from the opening and brought your hands up to your face. You were always going to end up here, somehow. You were going to end up in this house, in this room, in this heat. But you realized just how lucky you were that you didn’t die like the rest of them. You were lucky that Bubba didn’t hurt you at all. You were here and that mattered for something didn’t it? And you were here with Bubba, which wasn’t so bad either. You heard the voices return and come up the stairs, and your undying curiosity brought you back to the crack in the door. You saw the hitchhiker again, and then Bubba behind him. You gathered that the hitchhiker was a bit nicer than the older man, as when he put his hand on Bubba’s back, the latter didn’t immediately flinch or cringe away from the touch. The older man yelled from the bottom of the stairs. “Now be careful with Grandpa, boys!” Grandpa? Bubba and the hitchhiker went into a room directly across from the top of the stairs. They had disappeared for only a moment when they reappeared once more. Between the two of them, they carried an old wooden chair, and in that chair was a corpse. Your breath caught in your throat and you heart froze in your chest. The corpse was that of an old man. Bald, sheet white, and sunken in, its head lulled from side to side as the two men carried it down the stairs. But it wasn’t a corpse at all. For the briefest moment, the old man regained its control over its head and turned to you. The sunken, hollow eyes made contact with yours before it lost its strength and dropped once more. You heard the thumps and coordination of their feet as they got to the bottom, along with the yelling from the older man. You took a deep breath and exited the room. You needed to see more. You needed to see more of Bubba. You took careful steps along the hallway until you reached the top of the stairs. You took a few steps down and sat. Your hands wrapped around the white bannisters whose paint had chipped and the wooden frame underneath peaked through. You could hear the voices much clearer now. They were below and around a corner. “Nubbins!” The older man cried out. “Go help your brother with the food!” When was this man not yelling? But also, was that the hitchhiker’s name? Strange. You had thought you misheard until you heard him respond. “Yeah, yeah, hold your fucking horses, Drayton.” Nubbins and Drayton. This was Bubba’s family. You heard even more clambering in the kitchen until it began to quiet. The scrape of old chairs against the wood floor signaled that they were sitting to eat. The thought of food made a pang of hunger hit your stomach. A moment of silence to say grace, and then the dining room erupted in noise once more. The all spoke loudly to each other, except for Bubba of course. They asked to be passed the bacon, eggs, ham, and even ribs. They had plenty of food, and you were curious at how they got them. But also, why did Bubba not want you to eat the meat if they were having so much of it now? You wanted to see more of the privacy of their meal, and you slowly slid off the step and lowered yourself down a bit more. You were now able to see farther into the dining room. It was adorned similarly to the rest of the house, with bones tied to and holding the majority of furniture together. You could see part of Bubba, or at least you thought it was him. He wore a mask, but a different one from before. It had short, grey hair, and a hole on the forehead similar to the one you met him in.  The skin sagged and lay wrinkled as it wrapped around Bubba’s face. He served food around the table, and babbled incoherent gibberish in a high-pitched voice. He seemed erratic and nervous as he tried to handle everything around the table. You wished you could run down the stairs and hug him tightly. But you knew that you would be in danger as soon as Nubbins or Drayton knew of your existence. Through a mouth full of food, Drayton muttered, “You did it again, Bubba! Great fucking breakfast. Who knew you could make such great shit out of such little meat, eh? Sometimes God simply provides.” “Hey!” Nubbins yelled, “I’m the one that sent them here!” “You didn’t send shit! You couldn’t even get into their fucking car! You didn’t do anything to provide for this family, you chickenshit! Bubba here, Bubba made something for us. He took care of those fucking kids and used their best bits and gave us this. Do you know how to do that? Do ya?” The voices quickly reduced to a jumble of screaming and yelling. Bubba bumbling and whimpering only added to the chorus. But you weren’t paying attention to that. Their bits? Their best bits? What did he mean? Their luggage? It wouldn’t serve any sort of use. And– No, their bits. Their meat. This grand breakfast the day after you saw them chopped up amongst the bones. They were eating them. And Bubba had cooked them up. That was why he didn’t want you to eat it. If you could, you would have bolted out of here this instant. In fact, what was stopping you?  You stood up, not caring if the stairs underneath emitted any sound. Your legs tensed and you held your breath. Just as you were about to run for your life, you heard a clattering crash and slam. “Bubba!” A whimper. Then a hard smack of a sound. Bubba started to sob. “Bubba you useless, goddamn child! Look what your bumbling ass did with all this! You clean this shit up right now or I swear your ass is gonna red till next Sunday!” Bubba was bumbling and sobbing in his nonsense language, and you could imagine him putting up his hands in his defense. No, you couldn’t leave. Not while Bubba was still like this: alone and afraid, beaten and abused. You were one of the few to show him kindness, and you didn’t want to think about the heartbreak leaving him would do. Every cell in your body was telling you to go, especially now that you knew their eating habits, but you couldn’t leave Bubba. Your feet slowly crept back up the steps, and before you knew it, you were back in Bubba’s room. The bird skull was still waiting for you on the bed. You picked it up and held it close to your chest. You waited for what seemed like forever until you heard the faint jingle of Bubba’s bracelet as he came to the door. He opened it quietly, as if to not disturb you, as if this was no longer his room but yours and he was intruding. You watched him practically crawl to you like a punished dog, not quite knowing what he had done wrong. He carried a plate in his hand piled high with food. The old lady mask was gone and he had returned to his usual one. You felt your heart throb in your chest. The corners of your eyes stung with the beginnings of tears as you watched this (somewhat) innocent man reduced to the small, quivering mess before you. Bubba offered the food to you, bringing it up with his head bowed. The food was quickly in your hands but you did not devour it. You placed it aside and whispered: “Oh, Bubba... are you okay? I heard. I heard everything.” He looked up at you in shock. He knew that you knew and the shame was plain on his face. He whimpered and went on his knees. His hand clasped together in a plea, in forgiveness. “No!” Your voice shook and trembled in its strength. Bubba’s body grew into stone at your feet. “There is nothing to forgive. It’s okay.” Your arms opened and welcomed him into your warmth. The hard stone around his body crumbled away and he embraced you. His head collapsed on your shoulder, and the tears from his eyes soaked your dirty shirt. “I know what you do. And while I don’t quite…understand, I won’t leave alone here. Not with him. You’re safe with me.” Bubba’s body began to rise to his full height, but he never let go of you. He picked you up and his arms grew into a strong vice of a hug that you did not want to leave. Your feet dangled off the ground, and you felt every ounce of strength that Bubba was careful not to use too much against you. He was a specimen of natural strength, and you were well aware of what his arms were capable of. They were capable of crushing, maiming, killing, slaughtering, loving. Bubba set you down onto the bed once more and his gentle hand waivered above you. You could see how desperately he wanted to touch you, how his thick, calloused hands wanted to stroke your face, but could not dare to do. So you solved the problem for him. You grabbed his hand and place it against your cheek. His strong palms pressed against your skin and slowly trailed down to your jaw and then your neck. He watched his face as he did so. You watched the glowing, honeyed brown eyes as they reflected the light of the morning. You watched as he slowly and carefully inspected every inch and detail of your skin. You tried to gather as much information that was buried behind the mask, but all you could see was wonder. Bubba’s hand lowered down to your neck. You had watched that hand smash a girl’s head in, and now it was delicately tracing the tendons and veins of your throat. His fingertips grazed your collarbone and you knew he would keep going lower and lower unless you stopped him. But you didn’t. You wanted to see more of the pure joy and wonder in his eyes. His mouth let out small sounds of satisfaction whenever he hit a certain curve or angle of your skin. A soft whimper as he traced the small indent of your clavicle, and then a squeak as he grazed the flat surface of your sternum. A low growl escaped from his throat, and as suddenly as his touch was on you, it was gone. He slunk away from you, and it was plain just how scared he was to touch you any more. You realized he had never had this before. He never had someone to touch that wanted to be touch. And your heart ached for him. Bubba recoiled from you and picked up the food once more. He tried to offer it once more, but you weren’t interested in that. Bubba did not think he was worthy of you or your touch, but you wanted to show him that he was. You took the plate of food from him, and stood up. He took a few steps back and began to cower, worried that you were going to reject him and his food and get violent in some way. You set the plate down carefully on the table and approached Bubba like he was a scared, stray dog. You were slow and careful with each step, and after a few moments he stopped backing away. Bubba let out a constant stream of whimpers and cries as you closed in on him. You hushed him. “Bubba, shhh shhh, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” His hands came up to protect himself, but they faltered at your hush. Backed against the wall, he seemed so defenseless. And now you knew that he could never hurt you. With your hands raised in front of you, you let him know that you were going to touch him. Your palms pressed against his broad, heaving chest, and he immediately began to calm. He was panting from fear, but with each moment of contact, he began to go at ease. Bubba’s lip quivered and he whimpered as your hands explored his chest. You were a bit scared to touch his face, or “face” rather, but you stomached it to put your hands on either side of it. “I’m here, Bubba. It’s okay.” His dark eyes softened and locked onto yours. His hands came up and held yours to his face, and he applied a comforting pressure to them. After a moment, he let go, and you did as well. Your hands wandered down to chest once more, but this time, your hand wrapped around his patterned tie and tugged lightly. Bubba whimpered once more, but he quickly quieted when he pressed his lips against yours. You felt the surprisingly soft lips quivering against your own before they pressed harder into you. Your eyes widened from surprise, but softened as you felt more of his body around you. Your grip on Bubba’s tie grew stronger and pulled him in deeper. Your mouth parted, and your tongue slipped past his sharp, crooked teeth and slid across his hot, thick tongue. You felt the vibration of his whimpers echoing against your mouth, and you wanted to hear more of it. His sweet, desperate sounds sent chills down your body. His hands had crept up to continue exploring your body as he was before. His hands landed on your hips and squeezed before he continued upwards. Your tongue intertwined with his and you felt burning desire flow through you. You tugged on the tie again and began to lead Bubba back to the bed. You were careful as tried not to hurt the dark bruises throughout his body. “I’ll take care of you, Bubba.” He whined like a lovesick puppy. You turned him around, still with your grip around his tie, and sat him down onto the bed. He whimpered and cried out as you broke away from his lips. “Lie down.” You ordered. He immediately obeyed. As he rested on his back on the old, creaky bed, you saw the bulge in his pants as clear as day. You could tell just from the sight of it just how big he was. Bubba continued to look up at you. His tongue licked his lips. He was already addicted to you. He would do anything you asked of him. He was completely submissive. You slowly crept up onto the bed, and crawled over his body. You planted yourself firmly on his lap, his bulge pressing upwards against you. You leaned down to kiss him once more, before your hand righted around his tie and your hips began to grind. And then Bubba went wild. He began to squeal and babble much louder than he had before as his hips began to buck on their own and you began to bounce on him. His hands began to tug and pull at your clothing, as he tried his best to tear it off. “Bubba,” you said sternly, “Put your hands above your head and keep them there.” He immediately obeyed once more. His hands went above his head and gripped the bed’s headboard. You knew the strength in those arms, arms that could easily lift you up and take you exactly how he wanted to, but he had relinquished control to you, and you would not squander that gift. Bubba quieted and waited for you to move. You could feel his throbbing heat pulsating against your groin and you grew hungrier by the second. You took a moment to take off your shirt, and you saw Bubba reach out to touch you. You wagged your finger and he put his hands away once more. Bubba was panting desperately like an animal in heat. His mouth hung completely open, and his tongue lolled out of the corner of his mouth. You could practically see his hot breath huffing out of him. You were convinced that he would explode any second, as he seemed to grow and grow underneath you. The next thing to go was your pants. You quickly unbuttoned and threw them off onto the floor. Now completely bare, you could feel the throbbing heat in Bubba’s pants that was only separated by a few layers of fabric. Bubba’s ragged breath came out as constant noise, and you loved it. You ground your hips against his for a few moments as you felt his erection grow to its full size. The fabric of his pants could barely contain it. Finally, you scooted down in order to free him. As soon as you unzipped his pants, his thick, veiny cock sprung out from its cage. Your breath caught in your throat as you took the view in. To say he was thick was an understatement. Bubba was easily as thick as your wrist, and strong, pulsing veins added ridges to his member. He wasn’t the longest you had experienced, but it was his girth that shocked you. You knew it was going to ruin you and you were eager for it. His menacing cock jumped and twitched as he could feel your eyes on him. You raised yourself up, and ever so carefully; you grazed your aroused crotch against Bubba’s burning cock. He howled in pleasure and bucked up to reach you, but the momentary friction was gone as you continued to move yourself upwards. You didn’t stop until your groin was right above Bubba’s mouth. You could see his white-knuckled grip on the wooden headboard as he used every ounce of his willpower not to touch you. “You’re a big boy, Bubba. So you’re going to have to get me ready.” A moment later and you placed your entrance to his mouth, and he began to work. His thick, warm tongue slithered out past his lips and traced circles around your entrance. Your voice choked in your throat as you felt the warm tongue lap at you. Your legs trembled around Bubba’s head. You rested yourself fully on his face, and his tongue began to explore your depths.  You felt your entrance part as his tongue ventured inside, leaving a slimy hot trail of saliva across every inch.   Through gasps and moans, you were able to let out a few words. “You can touch me now.” Bubba did not need to hear anything more before his hands removed themselves from the headboard and wrapped their thickness against your thighs and pulled you down completely onto his face. It was like he was trying to devour you from the inside out. His tongue, lips, and even teeth worked in conjunction to prepare you. Your eyes slowly wandered to the headboard, and you saw the faint splintering of the wood around the indents of his grip. His noises never stopped. They vibrated and reverberated against your entrance. His hips bucked in a futile attempt at friction in the air. You were worried that you were suffocating him underneath your meat, but every attempt to pull away only strengthened his grip around you. His thick, slobbery tongue penetrated you as deep as it could, but it was not enough. You called Bubba’s name and he worked himself harder. “Good, Bubba. That’s my boy.” You pulled at the hair of his mask and bucked your hips, gliding up against Bubba’s noise and face with your protrusion. You decided you were ready, or rather, you couldn’t wait any longer. You tapped Bubba on the shoulder to get his attention. “Take me, Bubba. Fill me up.” He let out a hog-like squeal underneath you and pulled you off of his face. Bubba sat up and guided the weight of your body without a problem as he settled your entrance on the head of his cock. Just the head would be difficult enough to put inside, but you calmed yourself and slowly wriggled to ease it in. Bubba had other plans. He grabbed you by the hips, and pushed you down as hard as he could. White-hot burning pain exploded around you as you felt his thick cock travel to the depths of your body. Each vein was large enough to feel against your walls, and the gentle curve upwards guided the fat head to your special spot deep within. You cried out in pain for only a moment before Bubba covered your mouth with his thick palm. He looked up at you in wonder, and you watched a thick strand of drool ran down the corner of his mouth. His dark, hungry eyes were vacant with lust, and he only took a moment to buck into you. You could feel every single inch of him inside you. You felt his thick girth stretch you to your absolute limit. Your head of nerves gently stroked against Bubba’s belly. You needed something to grab onto, and on instinct you reached for his tie once more. You wrapped it around your hand several times before you tightened it against his throat. His squeal died down from the pressure on his airway, and his lips parted in order to breathe. His hips began to buck faster. Despite the pain you were in, you were leading him in your joined pleasure.

“Faster, Bubba. Go faster.” His hips continued to buck up into you, and you let out breathy moans along with his whimpers. Bubba’s arms wrapped around you, and firmly hugged you to his chest. His hips bucked faster, and more and more of his cock tugged the flesh in and out of you. Bubba’s eyes never left your face. He watched as every one of his movements displayed itself on your visage. Each thrust into you hit just the right spot, and forced deep moans out from your mouth. Your sensitive stretch of nerves rubbed against Bubba’s pelvis and stomach, and the unending stimulation caused you to tuck your head in the crook of his shoulder. His head pressed against your own in his own display of kindness and affection. But not too long after, his rut into you began to escalate. His hips became faster and his cock fucked you harder. There was no hiding your noises now, it was all too late. Bubba’s squealing joined your moans as you held on for dear life. You were bouncing on his cock, and his entire length would slip out of you before sliding itself back in once more. Your entrance was aching but that only added to your desire. Bubba lifted you slightly and you wrapped your legs around his waist. Suddenly, you were on your back, and his weight was above you. He slowed down considerable to try not to hurt you, but a quick tightening of his tie, like a leash, hurried him once more. “Faster, Bubba, Faster. Bury yourself inside.” His hips were slamming into you at a manic pace. You could feel the base of his cock slam against your entrance with each quick push upwards. Bubba released a constant stream of needy sounds, and they only stopped once his lips landed on your neck. His sharp teeth bit and rugged at your glowing skin. With each bite he slid his fat tongue across your neck to accent each one. His tongue lapped at you and explored every inch of you. He pumped away below, but above, he kissed and sucked and licked, his mouth a roaming band of sensations. With one last twirl of his tongue, his mouth latched onto you completely. You could feel his teeth scrape and lips suction, and you already knew he was leaving deep hickeys on your skin. His animalistic grunt vibrated against your throat. Your mind had begun to meld into only blind pleasure. Along with his cock, his lips, his teeth, and his tongue, the front of you rubbed against his round belly. He was all around you and every inch provided you with pleasure. Your grip around his tie began to tighten as you felt your orgasm coming to a peak. Unexpectedly, Bubba’s hand moved from your thigh to the front of your groin. His agile hand worked you from what he knew from his own self-pleasure. He rubbed and tugged, and quickly switched from using just his thumb to his the palm of his hand and back again. It was all too much. Too much too much. Your legs quivered and your entire body shook as you came. The tie tightened itself around his throat until he could not breath. Your head rocked back as you let your orgasm take you as far as it could. Bubba continued to pump away at you, and your walls began to close around his cock like a vice. His thrusts began to quicken, and he remained deep within you. He still could not breathe, and it wasn’t until a squeak managed to escape his lips that you loosened the grip around his throat. He fucked away, until he began to squeal and pant wildly.  Bubba’s hip stuttered for just a moment before he let out a harsh grunt, left your neck, and stared into your eyes as he came. He pumped you full of his cum, his hips continuously going until all of his seed was spent. You felt each hot spurt hitting your walls and filling up your guts with each thrust. And then, he jammed the rest of his cock inside, sealing your entrance with all of his hot juices inside. He kept you plugged for as long as he could bear to before the overstimulation caused him discomfort. You felt his warmth in the depths of your belly. Very slowly, Bubba pulled his thick monster of a cock out of you. His giant head made a pop as he exited you, and your gaping hole began to ooze the fruit of his labor. You felt every string and drop as it emptied out of you. You took a moment to take a few breaths and thought it was over. It wasn’t. Bubba’s cock did not waver after its orgasm, and instead stood strong beneath you. He had lived without a kind, living touch for so long, and he was going to get as much as he could out of you. Your grip around his tie was gone, but you were able to peak at the bright red marks along his neck that your control had caused. He immediately began to line up the gorgeous head of his cock against your entrance once more. He had stretched you to your limit, and your muscles did not provide any sort of obstacle to his member. You felt his warmth slip inside of you, slick on his hot cum. Bubba plugged you once more, and his cock filled you to the brim. You were still sensitive from your orgasm just moments before, but the deliciously painful stretch of your muscles distracted you from it. You were completely focused on Bubba above you. You focused on his soft eyes as he traced the features on your face. You focused on the feeling of the hot air around you. You focused on the thump of your heart in your chest. Bubba’s thrusts were slow at first as he tried to create a tempo, but once he did so, he began to thrust into you as quickly as possible. He humped away like a mad dog, his thick, burning cock pressing into your guts and smearing the remnants of his last orgasm against your walls. Your muscles were growing weak. He pumped away at you, his eyes bored into you as they watched his every movement that caused you to moan. His hands squeezed every bit of flesh that they could find. Before long, he let out another squeal and came into you once more. Even more cum came out of him than the first round. Each thrust caused more of his juices to implant themselves inside you, and he buried his cock deeply within. He had a thing for keeping his cum inside you, which was plain to see, and you were into it just as much. He filled your insides quickly, and you swore that you could feel the slight distention caused by both his fluids and his cock. You let out a long, guttural moan as he slowly pulled himself out. You felt his cum slowly drip and ooze out of you, and you were so tempted to use your fingers to spread it around your entrance. Bubba beat you to it. His fingers rubbed along your entrance in long strides, which coated his fingers in his own cum. He whimpered, and ducked his head down between your legs. His hot, wet tongue lapped at your entrance. It twirled and stroked up each drop of his cum that left your body. Occasionally, he dipped his tongue inside to coerce more of himself out of you. The sensation of his wetness sliding across your used up entrance caused your breathing to falter. You listened to him slurp up his cum, and his gentle touch sent gentle waves of pleasure through you body. You hand thrust out and held the back of Bubba’s head to your crotch.

“More, Bubba.” You were addicted to his heat and his tongue and you were not going to let go. He began to slid his flat thickness across your entrance and up over the rest of your groin. His tongue flicked and twirled at the tip, and you heard him gulp down his warm fluids. You looked down and saw his thick, white cum coat his tongue as he pulled it into his mouth, and you felt your body shake once more. You came again and pulled his face back into you, burying him into your scent. He cleaned up the remains of your orgasm and sighed in contentment. Bubba pulled away much too soon, as you could stay there with his head between your legs for hours. But alas, he pulled away, the both of you satisfied. Bubba repositioned himself and rested his head on your chest. The two of you stayed there for what felt like an eternal paradise. His heavy weight on you was a comforting presence, and the slow rhythm of your joined breathing sent your heart into peace. All was still, quiet, and perfect. Until your voice broke through the silence. “Run away with me, Bubba.” Bubba’s head perked up from your chest. He looked at you and tilted his head in confusion. You repeated yourself. “Run away with me. You don’t have to stay here. You don’t have to be with them. Come with me. Please?” Bubba sat up and stared at you with the same quizzical expression. You sat up next to him and place your hands on either side of his face. “You won’t be hurt anymore. You won’t have to be scared. And you’ll be with me! Please? Please, Bubba?” He stared at you for much too long. His eyes flicked from side to side until ultimately, he shook his head no. You felt your heart throb in your chest as it sunk into a pit. A sob got stuck in your throat. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. You went to hold him, but he caught you by the arms. He shook his head. “Why? Why won’t you come with me?” Your voice began to crack from the sobs you were desperately trying to hold at bay. Bubba turned to the side, to the distant sound of voices, and pointed. He jabbed a finger in the air, and then slowly brought the flat of his palm to his chest. Family. “No, no, no! That’s not an excuse for how they treat you! You don’t deserve that!” Your mind became clouded with emotions. Sadness, pain, anger mixed into a volatile cocktail. “Fine! Fine, then. Stay here.” You started to dress yourself. While you picked up your clothes from the floor, Bubba tried to grab you. You shook him away as tears streamed down your face. “I’m out of here, Bubba. I’m going. I’m running and I’ll keep running. Join me or not, I don’t care.” You managed to get your shirt and pants on in a hurry, and you stood up in indignation. “But I’m going to have a little chat with them first.” Bubba began to squeal in a panic. No, the squeals said, they’ll hurt you, they’ll kill you, you must stay hidden. Before he could grab you and hold you back, you were out the door and heading down the stairs. About halfway down, you realized what you were doing. What were you thinking? They were the dangerous ones. They were the ones Bubba was afraid of, especially Drayton. And here you were, with a death wish. But it was too late now. “Hey!” Your voice rang out like a loud bell through the home. It pierced their usual sounds and instilled silence over the house. You turned the corner to find Drayton and Nubbins together talking. Their confusion was probably the only reason you were alive right now. You had the element of surprise. “You goddamn bastard!” You pointed at Drayton and closed the few feet between you to be able to jab at his chest with your finger. Your words spewed our with hatred anger in quick succession. “You fucking asshole how dare you hurt Bubba like that I should fucking gut you–” You didn’t know where you were going with this, but Nubbins stopped you before you could go any further. He grabbed you by the arms and held you back. His thin frame held a surprising strength and in a moment you were immobilized. You continued to shout obscenities at Drayton, and they only got louder once he took a step closer to you. He opened his mouth to order Nubbins to do something to you, hurt you most likely, but he didn’t get a chance to say it. Bubba thundered into the room, came up from behind Nubbins, and grabbed him by the neck. He grunted like a madman. It was with such a fury that you had never heard from him before. Nubbins let go of you out of shock. He was quickly tossed aside, and fell on a chair decorated with bones of previous meals. He landed in a clatter and the room was in an uproar. You were screaming at Drayton who was screaming at Nubbins who was screaming at Bubba who was howling and grunting like a maniac. Bubba took you into his arms and shielded you from his family. His giant frame protected you from all of them, and when they saw this, the two quieted. “What the hell is going on here?” Drayton asked Bubba. “Have you been hiding someone in your room? Part of those college kids?” “It is! It is!” Nubbins shouted. “I remember!” His mouth stretched into a toothy grin. Bubba gave a quick nod, but didn’t look at Drayton or Nubbins. Bubba stood between you and his bully, and his eyes were glued to the ground. “What the fuck were you thinking? Get rid of it now!” Bubba let out a defiant huff and shook his head no. You knew in that moment that neither of them were going to touch you. “Bubba! Do as I say!” Bubba shook his head even harder now. His entire body was trembling. He was afraid. You reached out and touched his arm to let him know you were still there. Even without looking at you, his body strengthened and he straightened himself up to his full height. “I’m thinking maybe Bubba has got a crush!” Nubbins laughed. “Good for him!” He laughed harder and turned to Drayton. “Aww come on, let the boy have something good for once!” “Something good? He’s got one of these fucking little shits as a pet!” “Hey!” You yelled out. “I’m no one’s pet! I could leave if I wanted to! I could...I could! But I’m here for Bubba.” “Come on, Drayton,” Nubbins whined. “It’s someone new to play with. It’s someone I can photograph. For free!” Drayton obviously wasn’t expecting this sort of resistance. You never thought you would feel this way, but you were actually grateful for Nubbins presence. “Bubba—“ Drayton began, but Bubba’s incoherent babbling cut him off. It seemed like Drayton was more used to it, and could decipher a bit here and there, or at least get the notion that you were Bubba’s and here to stay. Here to stay huh? You didn’t know if you wanted to stay. But you couldn’t leave Bubba here alone. Now, you had the chance to protect him. And maybe a chance to convince him to one day leave with you. You could see the invisible hackles begin to soften on Drayton’s back. He watched Bubba and his desperate attempt to save you, to protect you. There was at least one semblance of a conscience in him. “Well, I guess it’s not too much of a bother.” Nubbins managed to get up from his place on the floor and howled with a cheer. He stepped over to Bubba and gave him a playful slap on the back. Bubba looked at him from behind his mask and smiled his little scraggly-toothed grin that you could just die for. Nubbins turned to you, still under Bubba’s watchful eye, and held out a hand. It looked like he was coursing with energy as he shuffled from foot to foot, and gave a nervous laugh. “Welcome to the family, I guess!” You hesitated for a moment. You tuned to Bubba and once you received sign of his approval, you took Nubbin’s hyperactive hand and gave it a good, stern shake. You and Bubba turned to Drayton, who stood with a clear look of disapproval. He sighed. “Bubba’s gonna grow bored of you, and once he does, I’ll end up cleaning the mess.” He shook his head and walked out of the room. You knew he was trying to scare you. A minuscule part of you worried that he might be right. But even though you had only known Bubba for a short time, you knew he would never hurt you. He would protect you. He would fight for you. He would kill for you. He would die for you. Bubba was your loyal pet. And you would protect him just as he would with you. Nubbins slowly crept out of the room, and the two of you were finally alone again. “I’m sorry, Bubba. I know, it was dangerous. I just—I just don’t want them to hurt you anymore. I’m going to protect you from now on, okay? I’ll always be here for you.” Bubba whimpered and tilted his head to one side. He wondered how he could deserve this kindness. But you knew he did. He leaned down and held his hand to the back of your head. Held in place, he kissed you fiercely, his lips soft and strong against you. Bubba pulled away too soon, although every kiss would end too soon with him. He dug something out of his apron pocket and handed it to you. The small bird skull rested in the giant palm of his hand. It looked so delicate and frail. His hand was large, meaty, brutal, and yet, he held this skull with the utmost care. You took it from him and thanked him. The hot sun had fully entered the sky, and sweat began to seep from your pores. Rot grew both inside and outside of the Sawyer house, but within you, love blossomed.

[devilgoat]

The Scorpion

Soo this is my first time actually writing and publishing a fic on here so I hope you all like it and that I did well! I was inspired by some of @xmichaelmyers​‘s headcanons so you should check them out as well! I sorta got carried away with this so its a bit long (about 4.7k or so) but OH WELL. Anyways, hope you all like it!

Michael Myers x Reader, NSFW

There was a chill in the air. The wind rustled the crunchy, dead leaves that had fallen onto the wet sidewalks. Autumn had settled over the small town of Haddonfield. The cold, overcast air had caused the entire neighborhood to fall into silence. Like buried under a thick pile of snow, the world had calmed and quieted itself. No sound could penetrate it. Except for one. His breathing.

It was rhythmic and strong. The deep intake of breaths that slowly let themselves out, currently muffled behind thin, white plastic.

It was somewhere behind you now but you were not sure exactly where. You just knew that it was there, ever-present.

You were on your walk home from visiting a friend’s house. You had stayed longer than you planned to, but your laughter and jokes kept you hooked in his home and time ran laps around you. As soon as you realized how long you had stayed, you excused yourself politely and left. Your pace had quickened as you left his porch and started the short trip back to your home.

The breathing had now turned into panting.

The shift in breathing caused your heart to jump and chills to run through your entire body. You didn’t dare to turn around, but you knew that the breathing was getting closer. You walked a little faster as you turned onto your street. You could see the house in the distance, partially obscured by trees and dying leaves.

There was another slight change in breathing and your upper body tensed up. You had started to breath heavily as well from adrenaline and the amount of control you held towards your legs to make sure you didn’t start sprinting.

Now at the doorstep, you fumbled with your keys as you heard the breathing growing closer, with barely discernible footsteps behind it. Your keys jingled in your hand as you found the correct one and inserted into the front door’s slot. You pushed the door open and stepped past the threshold. The instant sense of security that involved being around familiar surroundings entered your body and your turned your entire body to face the street behind you.

The world fell into silence once more.

The breathing had stopped. As did the footsteps. The hush had fallen once more on your empty street. Whoever, or whatever, was behind you, was nowhere to be seen. You looked up and down the street, but nothing revealed itself to you. You let out the breath you had been holding, and the tension in your shoulders began to relax. You shook your head and closed the door behind you.

With your keys now resting on their appropriate hook, you headed through the living room and into the kitchen.

The back door was open.

Your heart skipped another beat and you hurried to close the door. As it clicked into place, you heard it again.

The goddamn breathing.

You backed up slowly, forcing yourself to take slow breaths. Both your steps and your breathing stopped once you backed into something large. It was warm, but you could’ve sworn nothing was there a minute ago. You carefully turned your head until you were facing the obstacle you had backed into. It was the chest of a person wearing old, slightly tattered dark blue coveralls. The chest was slowly rising and falling to the rhythm of the breathing that was growing louder in your ears. You looked up. Up the strong, sturdy chest. Up towards the small sliver of exposed skin of a neck. Up to a lifeless face. And although it was a face, it was not his own. His face. Him.

Michael.

Underneath the white plastic mask was a man. But inside of that man was nothing at all. Or so people thought. He was a nothingness that killed. An all-consuming void. Senseless and without reason. A void that had killed many and would most likely kill again. The Boogeyman himself. The thing of nightmares that every child of Haddonfield feared and the name they would use to torment one another.

And The Boogeyman was here, in your kitchen. In your tiny little kitchen that you cook breakfast every morning and listen to music when you wash the dishes. He was here, in your sanctum.

But you both knew that he belonged here.

He had been visiting you for quite some time now. You were no longer a child, and thus your belief in the boogeyman had faded away into childish tales and legends. That is, up until a few months ago. You had figured that he followed you home - just like he had on this evening - like some sad, lost puppy. He had been quiet, and you had no idea you had been followed. You went about your regular schedule, cooking, eating, getting ready for bed, and finally drifting off into sleep. And he was watching you the entire time.

You wished you could ask him what he was thinking that one night, but you knew he would never say. You imagined him outside of your house, peering into your window. He would have been cloaked in darkness, or maybe even have become one with it. He watched you in your most vulnerable state. You figured he would’ve been bored, watching you for hours upon hours, but you knew it fascinated him. Michael got to see the most intimate, private part of you. He saw you dance and sing as you washed your dishes. He listened to you laugh at your favorite tv show despite watching it in its entirety several times. He watched you undress.

Michael watched as you tossed and turned in your bed and he waited for you to fall asleep. Once your restlessness had stopped, he made his way around your home to your back door. It didn’t stand a chance against him. He was in your home in seconds. He took his time wandering through your home. He wanted to take in your scent, your essence. There was a strong fascination in the little details of your home that truly made it yours. He traced his fingers over the array of magnets on your fridge. Traveling through your kitchen, he made his way into the living room. You had left your sweater draped over the side of the couch after it had grown too warm for comfort. Michael took it and held it in his hands. He spent his time feeling the fabric underneath his fingertips before he brought it up to the front of his mask and pressed it against the plastic.

After a moment, he placed it back onto the couch and began to make his way toward your room. Leaving the living room, turning left and down the hallway to your sanctum, he stopped at your door. It was slightly ajar, and he was gentle with how he opened it. Despite a few creaks, you didn’t wake up, not until he had positioned himself beside your bed. He watched for who knows how long before you woke up for a moment, just to turn yourself around; when you felt a presence in the room. Your body froze in place, only your eyes darting from side to side as they struggled to get accustomed to the darkness.

The first thing to appear in your vision was the white of his mask. It was facing you, almost floating in the dark above his muted coveralls. Your brain tried to rationalize it all. Sleep paralysis? No, no, that’s not it. A dream? Yeah, that’s it! Just a nightmare from all those stories growing up about The Boogeyman. Michael Myers was a myth! Nothing more. You closed your eyes hard, willing yourself to wake up from this nightmare. But of course you couldn’t. And once you realized this, you allowed the fear to set in.

Michael was here in your home, in your room. It was like something clicked in your head, and you were moving. You scurried up over the other side of your bed and plastered yourself to the wall. Your throat was frozen, refusing to let out a scream even when Michael began to take steps toward you.

Your eyes grew wild with fear, and you began looking for a way out. There were two, in that moment: the door leading to the hallway, and the window. Michael was between you and both of them. He continued his slow pace towards you until he was mere feet away. He loomed over you, and all you could hear besides the pounding in your ears was the sound of his muffled breathing.

Michael was now right in front of you. His head tilted slightly as he watched your entire body shake from terror. His panting grew louder and you knew he was getting some sort of pleasure from this. He reached his hand up, and you were somehow sure there was a knife in it. You flinched and turned away, waiting for the hot burning sensation of the knife bursting through your flesh and into the deep parts of your body.

But it never came. Instead, it was the feeling of large, hesitant fingers stroking the side of your face. You gasped and turned back to Michael. His head was tilting from one side to another in fascination. You heard a small whimper escape from behind his mask so soft that even you could barely hear it. At that moment you knew that if he wanted you dead, you never would have woken up from your sleep that night.

For some reason, Michael was here. For some reason, he chose you. And for some reason, he chose not to kill you. Trained psychiatrists had tried to understand why Michael did the things he did to no avail. So how could a nobody like you even try to understand why he chose you? He would never tell you why or what made you so special. You were sure that you were completely unable to comprehend what was going on in Michael’s mind. Or if there was anything going on in there in the first place. That night, he showed you that he wouldn’t harm you. He pressed himself against you, brought his face close to yours, close enough to see his eyes behind the mask, and he bowed his head. You figured he was afraid of what you saw in those eyes. Michael Myers, afraid? But there was something in his eyes. A strange longing.A pain maybe. The way the dim light bounced off his glaring eyes softened him somewhat.

His breathing had quieted, and after a few moments pressing you against the wall, he stepped back. You didn’t think of running this time. All you could think of was the pain in those hidden eyes. And before you knew it, Michael turned and left the room. You heard the dull slam of the door as he left your room, but you knew he would stay near.

At the moment you were just grateful that you weren’t murdered. But as time went on, Michael began showing up more and more. After you were comfortable enough, you scolded him for always coming into your home without your knowledge and watching you sleep. You demanded that he let you know when he was there or else you would have to tie a bell on him. Michael didn’t say anything, but the next day he knocked on the back door and waited to be invited in. It was obvious that he enjoyed watching you, and while it took some time to grow used to knowing he was always there, you took some strange comfort in it. You were no longer scared of intruders, not after the scariest intruder of them all was usually right outside.

There were times when you had fallen asleep on the couch and woke up in bed, the covers placed over you. There were times you felt nervous being alone at home, but all you had to do was walk out the back door, call for Michael, and wait for him inside.

It always felt strange to see him in your home. At least during the first few minutes. There was an awkwardness to him. His usual fluidity was gone, and what stood in its place was a figure that didn’t know what to do with his hands as he stood in your kitchen. This continued for a while, and you were fine with it. You had a protector now. Someone you knew was willing to do anything for you. And “anything” included a lot for Michael. There were periods of time in which he’d disappear. They always ended with the reported disappearance or murder from someone in town or even a town over. The next night, Michael would visit again. You knew you couldn’t stop him from doing these things, and you were scared to try in the first place. Like the scorpion, it was in his nature to harm.

You were probably the only living being that had spent this much time with Michael since he was institutionalized , but you were no closer than the handful of doctors that tried to understand him. But you accepted it.

As cruel as it was to live with the knowledge of a roaming killer, you had grown accustomed to his presence. It was selfish, you knew that, but you wanted - maybe needed - this protector in your life. You needed Michael, and that grew more apparent as time went on. So you accepted his occasional leaves of absence, knowing that he would come back eventually. Sometimes he would arrive bloodstained and panting, fresh from the kill. You took him into your room and tried to undress him to tend to his wounds, and that was the only time that he didn’t allow your way. He grabbed your wrist and pulled it free from his coverall’s zipper. He grunted harshly, and refused to be seen. With time, his grip softened and he let go of you. He bowed his head: his own way of apologizing, before he pulled himself further onto the bed and laid back.

It was like he was dormant. He didn’t move, he barely breathed, but within a few hours he was sitting up again and moving. You figured he needed to rest in order to heal himself, and that removing his clothing would reveal an undamaged body.

Despite your months knowing each other, you had never seen his body, let alone his face. It was always underneath his mask. That was the one thing you never tried to take from him. You both had an understanding. He was permitted to watch you, and in exchange, he protected you. He made sure that you made it to your every destination safe and sound. You had no idea how he did so, especially in the day, but you could always feel his presence. And you could always hear his breathing.

Michael’s months of tailing and watching slowly brought out a part of him that you did not expect. He had a jealous streak in him. He watched as you talked to others, spent time with them, and had fun that he could not partake in. And while he never interrupted you, he felt the jealousy shake him to his core. He wanted to make sure you were safe, and he had no idea who these people were. He didn’t know their intentions. He didn’t know if you were truly safe. So he would stand and watch, prepared for them to take one wrong move, make one bad touch, and he would be there, choking the life out of them in front of you.

Thankfully, it hadn’t come to that yet.

You knew he would get jealous too, and for the most part you secretly enjoyed it. His jealousy meant more careful attention and a string of days in which he refused to leave your side. However, as time went on, his jealousy was coming to a head.

There were times he would get too close to windows as he watched you at a friend’s house, almost revealing himself to them in order to frighten them away from you. Michael had to be convinced not to kill those that would take you away from him. He would even be tempted to kill the annoying coworkers you occasionally complained about, and although you joked with him that he should make them disappear, you always made it clear to him that it was all fine and no action was necessary.

But he was a creature of jealousy, and you knew that despite telling him that you were only visiting your friend for a short time, he had gotten worried and watched you from afar. And now here in your kitchen, he was panting heavily in anticipation. His whole body seemed to vibrate as his head tilted to one side. You already knew what was coming. In the brief periods of time that Michael did not have you in his sights, he had the fear that you were harmed.

It was still so strange to think that Michael would be afraid of anything, but you knew that he was. Why else would he have these inspections?

These had only started occurring recently, and while slightly annoyed by their occasional bad timing, you enjoyed it all nevertheless. Michael’s hands slowly rose up from his sides and wrapped themselves around your body. With no effort at all, he scooped you up into his arms and carried you into your room. He let you down close to your bed, but you didn’t go to lie on it just yet. Michael could not take his eyes off of you. He took in a large breath, his tense shoulders slowly rising before lowering themselves once more.

A coy smile spread across your lips. While he would never tell you what he was thinking, it was obvious by how his body betrayed him. He took a step closer to you and hooked his thick fingers under the bottom of your shirt before pulling upwards. With your torso bare, Michael began his inspection. He needed to make that you were truly safe at your friends house. And thus he checked for any mark, bruise, or laceration that he did not recognize. He traces his fingers around your body, moving from your neck down to your shoulders, your chest, your stomach, until he dropped down to his knees in front of you.

You shivered at the sight of the figure so large yet vulnerable in front of you, but you didn’t doubt that he still held his domination. His breathing was growing more labored by the moment, and at this angle you couldn’t help but notice the growing shape in the front of his coveralls. You took your quiet pleasure with this, and while you had still never seen Michael naked, your imagination ran wild.

Pleased with the state of the upper half of your body, Michael sought to continue his inspection on the lower half by stripping you of your pants. His fingers fluidly unbuttoned and unzipped the front of them. He tugged them down and left them around your ankles, taking your underwear along with them. Still on his knees in front of you, Michael gently snuck his hands between your thighs and parted your legs a few inches apart.

Michael had done this many times before, and each time you had consented. It was a part of a ritual now, the two of you like this. He was a creature of habit, and observing was what he did best. He looked over every inch of your body with such concentration that you didn���t dare to say a word.

He leaned closer to you and your heat, the evidence of your arousal obviously showing to him. Michael tilted his head slightly as he watched your body shift with his gaze. He stayed and observed for a time before he suddenly brought up his fingers and rubbed them against your crotch, touching every area that he could. His surprisingly cool touch sent shivers through your entire body, and you bit your lip in order to keep your moans stifled. Despite your usually control, your legs trembled underneath you, and Michael had to use his spare hand to keep your legs separated once more.

Not sensing or feeling any unusual fluids or markings, he was somewhat satisfied. But for some reason, his fingers remained where they were. His unyielding gaze had returned, and you could hear his labored breathing begin to hitch in his chest. His fingers continued their exploration, and found their way towards your most sensitive areas. Michael’s fingers grazed just the right spot and despite your restraint, you let out a sharp gasp. Michael jerked his head up and looked at you, stopping all movement of his hands.

You realized he felt like he had done something wrong, so you shook your head and told him it was alright, and that he could continue. Michael’s gaze lingered on your face for only a moment longer before his renewed concentration focused on your arousal. His fingers were probing, rubbing, searching for another magic spot that made you let out your sounds.

You didn’t try to hold back on your moans anymore. You used them as forms of encouragement, hoping that they would clue Michael in on what felt especially good. His meticulous work of exploration came to a head as your sex began to leak. You could have sworn that Michael let out a low growl as his fingers slid across the increasingly wet skin.

Out of nowhere, Michael removes his fingers from your body and stood up to his full, towering height. Now there was no denying it, for the erection under his clothing had grown to its full size, only barely being held back by a thin layer of fabric.

Michael grabbed you by the shoulders and slowly led you backwards onto your bed. Almost tripping over yourself with your pants around your ankles, you managed to land safely on your back on top of your bed, your legs dangling over the side. Michael stood over you, the darkness of his mask hiding any view of his eyes - his lust. When he was sure that you were paying attention to him, your chest rising and falling rapidly from your arousal, he brought up his hand and wagged his index finger.

No peaking. No moving.

This was new. This was different. Michael usually would have finished his inspection there, but it seemed he needed something more. And you were more than happy to give it to him.

Michael went back onto his knees and pulled your pants and underwear past your ankles and tossed them onto the floor. You stared up at the ceiling, knowing precisely what his motions meant.

He delicately pried your legs apart, and you heard the once muffled breathing become exposed to the fresh air. He had partially lifted up his mask. It was just enough to let his mouth and nose come free of the thin, white plastic. You knew that the rest would remain hidden. You didn’t dare look down and break Michael’s trust. So instead you focused on the sound of his breathing. It went ragged when he first pulled the mask upwards, but had now slipped into a rhythmic pattern once more.

A wave of pleasure flowed through your body as his wet tongue sent shockwaves up your groin. Your hands gripped desperately at the sheets underneath you as your moans exploded from your mouth. His tongue twirled and danced on you, sometimes barely touching your skin and other times spreading itself flat and licking upwards. You had to resist the temptation to put your hands on his head, for you were scared of accidentally touching Michael’s face.

Teasing the most sensitive part of you with his fingers, he used his mouth and tongue to draw circles over your entrance. Shaking from the dual stimulation, your moans grew deeper, and longer. Drawn-out cries of desperation were filling the room, and the more that you focused on the fact that prolific serial killer Michael Myers was on his knees pleasuring you, the more intense your pleasure became.

This was the most active his mouth had ever been. His lips were sucking, wrapping themselves around you. They were surprisingly soft and wet, and Michael did not shy away from using them to his advantage. His greedy lips tried to take in as much of you as possible. His tongue was a whole other story. Michael’s tongue was warm and thick. It teased your entrance with quick flicks that turned into long explorations of everything he could touch. His tongue even pressed itself against your entrance, and tried to push itself in as far as it could go.

Your hands were frantically clawing at the sheets now as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to climax. For once, you were the one panting, your tongue practically hanging out of your mouth and moans catapulting out from your throat. Michael’s eager licks grew faster and harder against you as he began to lose control of himself. Another harsh grunt vibrated against you as Michael grabbed you by your hip and pulled you against his face. His hand continued to work you, his thick fingers switching from rubbing to stroking to teasing within seconds.

You could feel yourself coming closer, and before you could, you screamed out Michael’s name. His movements became more frantic. He knew what he was doing. He wanted - needed - to make you cum. He needed to make you his, once and for all. He needed to take you. He needed to soothe the feelings inside of him that drove him to this. Hearing his name screamed aloud in a situation where he was not plunging in his knife but rather his tongue twisted him up inside. Michael did not want to kill you, but instead wanted to give you at least a little death. La petite mort. That would satisfy him.

His hand worked you without any mercy or pleasantries. His sole goal was to make you cum and he was going to make sure that it was all him that did it to you. His tongue and lips continued pressing themselves in and around your entrance to the point that it felt like your entire lower body was vibrating. The hand not working you dug its fingers into your hip, and the short nails cut into your skin and bruised your flesh. His name flowed from your lips like a melody, and you could not stop yourself from saying it over and over again as you came.

Your entire body shuddered and convulsed as you came against Michael’s face, his mouth and hands not daring to stop until it was all out of you. Every extra touch and kiss sent tremors throughout your body until he finally pulled away.

Still staring at the ceiling, you heard the sound of him pulling his mask back over his face, his labored breathing muffled once more.

Michael rose from his knees and stood over your weak, shaking body and cocked his head to one side, observing his handiwork and what he had done to you. After watching for a few moments, he leaned over you and grabbed you by the shoulders, pulling you up to sit in bed. You were finally able to see him and his “face” again. You let out a tired smile and let yourself fall forward against his torso. You could feel the hesitation in his body as you brought himself to wrap an arm around you, keeping you close.

You listened to the slow, strong breaths that he took. You brought your hands up to hold him by his waist, trying your best to keep him in place. Your hands searched his hips, his thighs, and finally to what you were looking for.

His erection was as strong as ever under his clothing, and you wanted to return the favor.

((Find the next part under “the scorpion” tag below because tumblr doesn’t like links anymore. Like my work? Then maybe consider buying me a ko-fi! The link is in my bio!))

[devilgoat]

Blue Rare

Bubba Sawyer | Gender-Neutral Reader Fic, Lemon 

((Part 2 to “The Saw is Family” which can be found through “the saw is family” or “devilgoat writing” tag on my blog because linking stuff deletes stuff from the tag. Like my work? Check out my ko-fi link in my bio to buy me coffee! Find more of my work under the “devilgoat writing” tag.))

You awoke to the smell of food.

The air was filled with rot, stale air, and harsh Texas sunlight that coated everything in a morning glow. And yet somehow the smell of food pierced through it all and your mouth began to fill up with saliva before your eyes had even opened.

Slowly, your eyelids peeled back. They took in the bright sunlight, and the muscles in your arms and legs stretched awake. You turned over in bed, struggling to wake yourself from your contentment. You were just about to fall back asleep when a gentle knock hit the door.

If it were just a fraction softer, you wouldn’t have heard at all. You pushed yourself up in bed and told whoever was behind the door to come in.

The door creaked open, and a large man walked through. Despite having stayed in the house for over a week now, it still shocked you to see the disorganized stitches of leathered skin pulled over Bubba Sawyer’s face. His mask was made from a person - or persons - you would never know, long dead for reasons you were only now struggling to understand.

After stumbling upon the Sawyer residence, you had found yourself face-to-face — or rather face-to-faces — with Bubba. Initial fear and anxiety transformed into pity, which in turn shifted into genuine affection. Bubba was in need of a friend, and maybe even something more. You had various chances to leave, it’s not like you were trapped or being held against your will. But you chose to stay. And it really wasn’t so bad.

Most mornings began with Bubba bringing you downstairs to the dining room to have breakfast with his family: Drayton, Nubbins, and Grandpa. They were each a character in their own right. Drayton was in charge. That was obvious. Bubba and Nubbins lived in fear of his beatings and patronization, but you noticed the slow fade of this the longer you spent in the house. He still told everyone what to do and when to do it, but he was much less likely to bring out a broomstick to get them “motivated”. It’s like if he were on good behavior because of you. However, with Drayton’s more lax behavior, Nubbins began to act out more frequently. Hyperactive, erratic, and full of neurotic energy, Nubbins was always bouncing off the walls. If he were in the room and wasn’t speaking then you knew something was wrong. He was rarely seen without a camera hanging off his neck, and he would occasionally snap photos of you when you least expected it.

Grandpa was a completely different story. At first, you thought he was a corpse, a mummified, shrunken body that they occasionally carried down from one of the rooms upstairs. But then it moved. It was rare, and only around the sight of fresh, bloody meat, of which the Sawyers dined on occasionally, but it was unmistakable. Somehow, it — he, was alive. While you had your own feelings about the others, Grandpa was the one you could barely handle being around.

And then there was Bubba. Sweet, sweet Bubba.

He had entered the room with a rusted over metal tray of food. It seemed like he didn’t want you to be around his family at the moment, and it was probably for a good reason. Bubba always piled the plates as high as he could, as if he worried you would somehow starve if you didn’t have such a full, hearty meal. The kicker was that each meal was the most delicious food you had ever had up until that moment. Bubba was a gifted cook — no, he was a chef, a full-blown chef. And while it wasn’t exactly fancy, its taste always blew you away.

You perked up at the sight of him, partially because it meant food, but mostly because it was him. Your heart fluttered and your body was suddenly surging with energy.

“Good morning, Bubba,” croaked your rusty throat, heavy with sleep.

He came close and set the tray on your lap. With a closer look, you saw that there was a second plate on it, one for each of you. He whined a little bit, unable to formulate words the way you did, but you had your own form of communicating. You had taken a college course in American Sign Language, and you remembered enough to be able to teach him a bit of it. He signed “good morning”, something you had been practicing together for the last few days.

Bubba seemed a bit eager to meet you this morning, and he pointed at the food over and over, signing, “eat”.

“Alright, alright,” you chuckled. “Join me, though.” And he obeyed. He sat next to you and took his own plate. You ate in relative, comforting silence. The only sound came from the birds outside, the generator running in the distance, and the voices and shouts that echoed from downstairs. And once you began to eat, there was no stopping you. Each bite was pure bliss, and you ate up every bit that you could. Bubba was likewise voracious, and you wondered if he truly tasted how wonderful the food was, or if he was just used to it by now.

You set down your knife and fork and sighed in contentment. “Bubba, that was seriously wonderful,” you smiled at him. “As always, of course. You’re such a great cook!” You could see the hint of red underneath his mask as he blushed. But your praise wasn’t done just yet. Despite his hand trying to shoo you and your praises away, you insisted. You put your plate aside and scooted closer. Your hand came up and gripped his shoulder. “You’re so good, Bubba.” Your smile was soft, but he was softer.

Bubba made a low, whining sound, as if he were trying to refuse your compliment, but actually greatly enjoyed it. His hands moved his plate to put on top of yours before quickly returning to his thighs, where they began to slap them lightheartedly in his excitement. He began to bounce, and his entire body was becoming lost in his eagerness. But you knew that your praises could work for other things as well. You glanced down at his pants and noticed the small bulge that pressed up against them.

It took all your strength to hold back both yourself and your smile.

“And you know what a good job means, right, Bubba?”

He clapped his hands on his thighs again and signed eat once more.

“That’s right!” You nodded. And then Bubba settled into his routine. You had learned over the past week that Bubba thrived on routines, as well as rewards. It was his idea at first, and you were more than excited about it.

Bubba quickly got up from the bed and settled down on his knees in front of you. His large, chubby hands pulled down the zipper of your pants with a gentle touch you never would have expected from a man his size.

With eager hands and with some of your help, he pulled down your pants enough to expose your entirety to him. Bubba squealed just at the sight of you. While his eyes stared and his lips ran across his crooked teeth, you noticed how his hand remained in the sign for “eat”, and instinctually approached his mouth to complete the sign. His bulge had begun to strain against the front of his pants, but still wasn’t at its peak.

You parted your legs slightly and kicked off one leg of your pants so that Bubba could press his face against you. He was on you immediately, his tongue trailing it’s wet self along your length, and his plump lips pressed and sucked against your sensitive skin. As a creature of habit, Bubba began the start of his routine. First, his lips did their work.

They started at the head of your length, slowly rubbing their soft skin against the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hands gripped the sheets next to you. His lips puckered around your head and sucked. You let out a quick moan and your hips bucked against his face. Greedy lips continued their movement on your skin. They puckered and kiss and pulled lightly against you. It was enough to make you leak. That was when Bubba knew that it was time for his tongue.

It slipped past his gnarled, sharp teeth and slid from the base of your length to the very tip. You could feel the rounded edges of his taste buds as they rubbed themselves against your flesh as his slobbery tongue left a trail of saliva behind. Long licks of his tongue traveled up and down your heat. His pace changed from agonizingly slow to painfully quick within seconds. It was if he wanted every part of you on his tongue as possible.

One long trail began at the bottom of you, and then slowly traveled up to the bundle of nerves that throbbed and thumped against his mouth. His tongue began to swirl around, reaching every cell of your saliva-coated skin. Bubba licked up every single drop of you that he could. His tongue hungrily lapped at you until he leaned his head forward and pressed his entire face against you. He was deep between your thighs. His tongue continued to circle your nerves until it began to descend once more. You could hear his muffled breathing and felt the hot air stick to the inside of your thighs. His hands snaked themselves between your legs and pushed them farther apart. The very tip of his tongue teased and prodded your heat until he settled on your entrance. His tongue circled it, begging to be let in.

Your hands tore themselves from the sheets of the bed to the back of his head. Your fingers twisted through clumps of dark, wavy hair that once belonged to someone else. The top of you rested against his face. While his tongue prodded at your entrance and slowly pressed itself inside of you, his unbearably soft lips pressed against your sensitive skin. His mouth was some kind of creature that seemed specially made for this sort of thing, and your moans reminded you of your own duties.

“Oh, Bubba,” you moaned. “That’s so good. More. More.” Your words shifted from breathless moans to commands. “More, Bubba. Make me cum. Be a good boy.” The hand on the back of his head squeezed and pushed him closer into you, and he let out a low squeal from your praise. His tongue worked into overdrive as it pushed itself into your depths and explored every single bit of you that it could. He consumed you in body and soul.

Bubba’s tongue occasionally removed itself from you in order to flick itself across your length. But your hand always guided him back to where you wanted him. To where you needed him.

Finally, his entire mouth acted as one, and all you could feel were the waves of pleasure that flowed from your groin and out your fingertips like numb static.

You felt it, deep in your core. It started low, like a hum, but it steadily built itself up, stacked on top of each other, and reached its peak as your hands pulled Bubba in as deep as he could go. Your hips bucked into his face as you came on him. Your juices spread across his lips and surged into his mouth as he licked and swallowed as much as he possible could from you.

“Eat up, good boy.” He didn’t remove himself until he had slid his tongue from top to bottom and only his saliva remained. Spit and cum glistened on his lips. His thick tongue shot out and cleaned up the last remaining drops of your juices. Small whimpers escaped those beautiful lips. Bubba looked up at you as if expecting something, and he was. He waited for you final praise. As you were able to feel more of your senses come back to you, you placed a hand on his cheek.

“That was very good, my sweet boy. You made me so proud.” He squealed in excitement and got up from his knees. As he stood, you could see that his erection was at full attention as it groaned and strained against the fabric of his pants.

Perfect.

Before he could make another move, you stopped him and asked him to sit down on the bed. Of course he obeyed. The tent in his pants was now all the more obvious. You got up from next to him and stood in all your pant-less glory.

“Stay still. No touching.”

Slowly, every so painfully slowly, you crept up to his lap and settled on top of his large bulge. Your entrance and groin were still slightly damp from his tongue, and you sat comfortably with your entirety pressed between his stomach and his crotch. Slowly once more, you began to grind your hips against his obvious erection. You could feel his calming warmth emanating from his pants, and your own quivering and twitching warmth slid across it. You watched his eyes as you did so. They were glued to you, slowly brushing over your frame, and heavy-lidded with lust.

Your tempo was slowly increasing. Bubba’s lips parted, and hot, heavy breaths left his throat in a slow rhythm. On instinct, his hands rose to tug at your flesh and pull you down onto him. When you noticed, you gently pushed his hands away. In a breathy moan you told him to stay still, and this time he obeyed. His fingers flowed through the sheets of the bed and began to claw and rake at the soft fabric.

Meanwhile, the thin layers of fabric that separated both of your throbbing, pulsating heat was just enough friction to cause you to twitch from overstimulation. You could feel the damp wetness from inside Bubba’s pants beginning to soak through and stick against the inside of your thigh.

But just as his breath began to quicken and his fingers tugged at the sheets on the bed, you stopped.

Bubba immediately bucked up against you, easily lifting your full weight with hips alone. He groaned and his brow furrowed behind his mask. His hands shot up once more to grab you, to knead you, but you pushed him away.

“No, no, no, Bubba,” you wagged a finger. “These are the rules for today. And if you can’t follow them, well, then you’ll be punished.”

He whined at first, obviously upset. But after a few moments he signed, why? To which you responded: “Because good boys get rewarded and bad boys don’t. Which are you going to be today?”

His shoulders slumped and his chin fell to his chest. A good boy, he signed. He obviously wasn’t happy, but you wanted to test his limits, and he would be appropriately rewarded. Bubba’s head shot up. How long?

“Well, how about until the end of the day?” As soon as the last word left your mouth, Bubba let out a hard huff and shook his head. The curls of his black hair bounced from side to side. You felt his thick fingers dig into the flesh and muscle of your thighs. But before he could get too strong of a grip on you, you pushed away and stood in front of him. He gazed up at you, his mouth agape and his dark eyes twinkling with wonder.

“First rule for today,” you scolded. “No touching me unless I tell you to. Second rule: no touching yourself either.” You pointed at the large bulge in his pants that refused to disappear. Bubba groaned and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He rolled his eyes so hard you worried that they were going to fall back into his head. If it weren’t for your effort in being serious, you would’ve burst out laughing at his juvenile reaction.

While obviously pouting, Bubba stood up next to you, his erection still pulsing against his pants. At his full height, he was a full head taller than you. He was tall and beefy in just the right ways. The pudge in his arms, thighs, and stomach hid the thick strength in his limbs.

Fine, he signed, now, chickens.

“Chickens? What do you mean?”

Help me. Chickens.

Despite the gaps in his vocabulary, you quickly realized what he meant to say. After making a mental note to have another sign lesson today —you were pretty sure you still had lesson plans in your luggage under the bed — you figured that Bubba meant you were going to help him with the construction of a new chicken coop today.

Bubba had a few chickens. Usually, they were locked up in tiny cages throughout the house, but Bubba had always been meaning to make them a proper coop. Drayton was always against it, his reasoning being that it would be a waste of time for what he only saw as food, but Bubba saw things differently. They were more than food, and even more than pets. They were his friends. They cuddled up to him and fed right out of his hand. The chickens trusted him that much. He had given them names as well, or at least tried to. His names for them came out as garbled moans and groans, but you had hoped the more signs you taught him, that he would eventually be able to tell you their names.

After learning most of the alphabet, Bubba let you know that their names were Peach, Apple, and Banana. The boy really did love his food.

And now the chickens needed a new coop. Now out of their cages, and with your presence adding some courage to Bubba’s large frame, he fought for a place to house them. Drayton tolerated the plea, but he told Bubba that he would have to be the one to do it, and that he would make no effort to help him. Bubba felt defeated, as if there was no hope now without Drayton’s support, but you told him you’d help with it. Bubba struggled to explain that it was hopeless without Drayton’s approval, but you said fuck it, why not? And told him you two would do it anyways. Bubba hopelessly moved his hands and fingers, jumbling them up in strange combinations that made no sense before you calmed him.

Communication was slowly becoming easier. You and Bubba studied your materials, and he was a very quick learner. For some reason, Bubba was unable to speak. He wanted to, and it was obvious that his words were buried right behind his tongue, but they were never able to come out just right. The closest he had gotten was his panicked gibberish whenever Drayton raised his voice at him. But now it was as if a whole new world had opened up for him. He was incredibly eager to learn, and sometimes, when you woke up in the middle of the night and turned over, you could see his hands arranging themselves in the dim light and shadows into different words and phrases.

Your heart ached for him.

“Alright, Bubba,” you smiled. “I’ll help with the chickens.” The sight of your smile made his own spring onto his face. He was excited now, which was obvious by the gentle slapping of his hands against his thighs. He waited for you to get ready before following you out the door. You took the creaky steps down, making sure not to look into the open door where Grandpa sat. Knowing that what sat in the chair was somehow still alive sent repulsed shivers down your spine.

Downstairs, it was oddly quiet. Both Nubbins and Drayton seemed to be out, and an uncharacteristic peacefulness fell over the house. It felt like you could breath again. You stopped at the foot of the stairs. You were wondering where the coop’s construction materials were when you felt Bubba’s thick chest press against your back.

He clearly wanted to touch you, to use you up, and as much as you were tempted to have him right then and there–no matter how uncomfortable to creaky floorboard were–you took a breath and stepped out of his way. Bubba’s shoulders heaved with desire, but he obeyed you as if his life depended on it.

You followed him out the front door and around the side of the house. You nearly tripped over the thick bushels of weeds and tall grass the way.

Around the back of the house was some land that had been flattened a few days before, but weeds had already started to grow through the dirt. You assessed the supplies that had been haphazardly placed against the wall of the house and tried to remember everything you had learned in shop class. College education was actually worth something at the moment, huh?

After a quick assessment, you told Bubba the plan and got to work. While you hammered some boards together for the coop, Bubba was responsible for setting up the wire fence that would encircle the area.

The hot Texan sun was bearing down on you without mercy. Sweat soaked through your clothes and dripped down your forehead as you hit nail after nail of wood together. You messed up a few times and cursed under your breath. And no matter how hard you tried to be quiet, Bubba would hear you. He would quickly drop what he was doing and come over to pat your back in comfort. No matter how upset you were, you could look into those kind eyes and calm yourself. You would give him a smile and both of you would get back to work.

But you would notice the lingering look he would give you as you bent over to nail down the boards for the ramp. The slight hardness in his pants was obvious, as well as the slight groaning sound as he watched you whack your hammer.

But it was almost done now, thankfully. You were exhausted and your mouth was dry. Bubba had finished the wire fence and was helping construct the last bit of the coop.

Finally, you were done.

It wasn’t perfect by any means. The nails were slightly uneven, and the boards weren’t uniform but it was something. It was something you had made with your own two hands and you were proud.

“I think it’s time for the chickens, Bubba.”

He nodded at you and quickly disappeared around the side of the house. You spent a few more minutes admiring your work by yourself when you heard faint clucking and squealing coming closer. Bubba had all three chickens in his arms and was squealing lightly because of their squirming and attempts to get out of his arms. Once inside the fence, he gently placed them down. The chickens immediately began to look around their new environment. Peaches was already pecking at the dirt, while Banana was searching the inside of the coop, and Apple was content with sitting exactly where she was.

Before you could say anything, Bubba got up and left once more. You shrugged to yourself and sat down in the dirt and watched the chickens. They were so cute that you could’ve watched them for hours. Each had their own personality and you admired them. Just as you were about to get up, you saw Bubba turn the corner. With a glass of sweet tea in each hand, he went over the fence and sat down on the dirt next to you.

Beads of sweat ran down the glass he held out to you, and you took it gratefully.

You tried not to chug it down too quickly, but the sweet taste soaked into your taste buds and made you crave more. Before you knew it, it was completely gone, and you let out a satisfied sigh. Bubba watched you in contentment, and when you turned to him he gave you a beautiful snaggle-toothed smile. Not smiling back was impossible.

The both of you sat on the warm ground and watched the chickens do their thing. Bubba took his time with his tea before he set it down. Eventually, the chickens retreated into the shade of their coop. You got up, quickly brushed the dirt from the seat of your pants, and went over to check to see how well they fit. You bent over and peaked in. Perfect. They had some room amongst the straw and grass left over so they could be comfortable. A sense of pride welled up inside of you as a sense of something behind you grew as well.

A soft warmth settled on your ass. You didn’t need to turn around to know that Bubba was settling his hard-on against you. You tried to straighten yourself up, but Bubba’s weight settled on you completely as his arms wrapped around your torso and his hips bucked against you. He had you bent over the coop, and his rhythmic brushes against you excited you faster than you thought it would.

His tight grip on you kept you in place, while his hardened cock strained against his pants. It caused obvious discomfort as one hand removed itself from around you and unzipped his pants. You heard the slight jingling of his belt as his pants fell around his ankles. His hand tore at your own, desperate to feel you against his cock. He was panting hard under the hot sun, and his sticky sweat soaked through the front of his shirt and onto your back.

You felt the length of his dick against you immediately. While not the longest, Bubba made up for it with girth and ferocity. With his hand, he slapped his cock against your soft flesh before he slid it between your cheeks. You felt the head of his cock probe at your entrance and you let out a deep moan.

The sound shook you out of your lust.

It seemed like Bubba believed that he needed his reward as soon as he finished with the coop. Oh how wrong he was.

“Bubba! Hold on!” Your voice was firm enough that Bubba immediately whimpered. He stopped his movements and removed himself right away. You both pulled up your pants, however before he could fasten his belt completely, you turned around and grabbed him by the tie.

“Bubba...” you muttered in a disapproving tone, “What did I tell you? Hmm?”

Bubba didn’t try to say anything. He simply looked down and stared at you holding his tie.

“Bubba!” You caught his attention. “I told you that there were rules. No touching until I tell you. Isn’t that right?”

He nodded.

“And you broke that rule.” Your voice was firm but quickly slipped into a harsh whisper. “You broke a rule which means you must be punished.” He whimpered, but you both noticed that his erection grew stronger than ever at the thought of what might come.

“Follow me. Now.” You tugged on his tie and led him back into the house.

There was still no sign of Drayton or Nubbins inside. With a short tug, you pulled Bubba farther into the house and up the stairs.

Once in your room, you ordered Bubba to stand by the bed. He held his head down and despite his massive size he seemed to shrink. You followed him and reached underneath the old, worn mattress. Amongst the dust bunnies and bits of bones and feathers, your fingers wrapped around the handle of your luggage.

When you had first arrived at the Sawyer house, your luggage was mixed amongst the bags and things of your traveling companions. They didn’t have any use for it anymore, unfortunately, so you had decided to look through their stuff to find some more clothes to wear. That’s when you discovered Lana’s “tool kit”. It was an entire luggage case full of sex toys, blindfolds, gags, whips, chains, you name it. After giving everything a thorough rinse and clean, you decided it was time to break one of the toys out. If Bubba wasn’t going to obey you, then he had to be punished. You had given rules as his dominant, and he had broken them.

He watched you dig through the suitcase’s contents until you found what you wanted. Standing up, you ordered Bubba to undress. He did so quickly and obediently. In a few moments he was naked and bare in front of you. Despite the heat, his body shivered and shook from anticipation.

“Get on your knees.”

The floorboards creaked underneath him as his head was at level with your torso. Using the leash you had grabbed from the suitcase, you circled the leather collar around his thick neck and wrapped the short leash around your hand.

You gave him a slight tug and Bubba let out a low moan as the collar tightened against his windpipe. During the course of several minutes, you tightened and loosened his collar. You watched as his face turned red from lack of air, and just as his tongue began to loll out of his mouth, you released and watched him gasp for air.

Soon, his mouth was open and constantly panting, no matter how tight the collar was. His eyelids were growing heavy, and a dreamlike quality rested on his face. You were content with this for now, but his punishment was not over.

“Stay,” you ordered.

You let go of the leash, and Bubba’s head fell to his chest. His raspy breath was the only sound other than the creak of floorboards as you returned to the suitcase. You rifled through it once more and found the slender black riding crop.

Your hand ran down Bubba’s chest as you picked up his leash once more. You stood over him, reveling in your power. With the leash around your wrist, you held the crop in your hand. You had never used one before, so you tried your first strike against Bubba’s thigh. It made a loud whack that freaked you out a bit, and Bubba’s flinch and moan added to it even more.

“Oh shit, are you okay, Bubba?”

He gave you a quick nod and signed yes. Then, more. You hid your smile from him and continued. You whipped at his thighs, his back, his ass. You hit him over and over until large welts began to form on all of his fleshy parts. You only moved on once an area was red and worn to your satisfaction. Both cheeks of his ass were as red as can be, and raised bumps of the crop sprouted up everywhere. You held on tightly to his leash, occasionally pulling hard at the strongest slap that you could make.

Whack after whack resounded through the air. Bubba was a moaning mess. He was drooling, his mouth hung open, and his cock twitched and jerked at every bit of sensation against him.

Bubba was becoming unraveled before your eyes. It was addicting.

Your returned to your position in front of him, and looked at his twitching, drooling cock stand firm. You leaned over slightly and gently ran the edge of the crop up his shaft. His body began to shake and his drool began to hit the floor underneath him. The flat edge of the crop rested on the exposed head of his dick and smeared his pre-cum. The crop slid down the bottom of his shaft, and with a quick flick of your wrist, you whipped his cock.

Bubba’s entire body shook with the sensation. His shoulders hunched, his cock jumped, and his throat let out a pained, ragged moan. His body fell forward until he was on his hands and knees. His hips bucked once, and a strained moan fell through grated teeth.

You were shocked for a moment. You didn’t realize it would affect him so much, but you were more than pleased. You used the opportunity to smack him on the ass a few more times for good measure. With a hand holding the leash back, pulling his head up, you put the crop down for a second and spanked him. Your palm stung from the force, but the redness of his cheeks was well worth it. Bubba’s moans flowed out freely. A pool of drool settled under him as it rolled down the corner of his mouth and onto the floor. Sweat rolled down his back. After a few strong spanks, you pulled on Bubba’s collar and brought his head up.

“Up,” you demanded, and Bubba resumed his position on his knees.

Now it was time for his...services. With the leash wrapped tightly around your wrist and hand, you pulled Bubba’s face close to you. A gentle hand brushed his cheek. His teary-eyed look sent pangs of sadness into your heart, but a much stronger chill through your spine and crotch. Your gentle hand pulled away and fiddled with the front of your pants. You pushed them down until they fell at your ankles. Your groin was pulsating from need.

Bubba’s eyes immediately locked onto the sight in front of him. His tongue shot out from between his lips and licked them in hunger. A croak escaped his throat. His hands rose to touch you, to feel you.

“No,” you smacked his hands away, “No hands. Only your mouth.” Bubba let out an excited whine. His cock bobbed from the strength of your words. His soft lips were on you without hesitation. Bubba’s lips were plump and full, and his eagerness resonated through their delicate flesh as they spread and rubbed against your thighs, your hips, your stomach, until they feel back down to between your legs. His tongue flicked past crooked teeth as it ran down your entire length. You felt a shiver flow through you, but you refused to let him know how much he was affecting you. At least for now.

Your hand fell behind his head and grasped at the dark, curly hair that bobbed with his movements. His entire mouth explored your length, his thick, heavy tongue gliding up and down before it ended with a circular twirl around you. Bubba let out a small huff before his entire mouth surrounded you. All you could feel was the intense, wet heat of his mouth. All you could think about was fucking his mouth as hard as you could. All you wanted was more and more and more. So much of you went into his mouth and onto his tongue.

It was becoming too much. Way too much. You felt a tension in the pit of your stomach and electricity flowed down through your groin onto each lick and touch of Bubba’s tongue. You grunted as you felt waves of pleasure flow through you.

He lapped eagerly, drinking up every bit of your juices that he could. You twitched and jumped as he milked your orgasm for as long as he could.

In that moment, you were incredibly grateful that you had the house to yourselves, for the long string of moans and screams echoed throughout the rooms and halls as you hit your crescendo. Both of your hands were around Bubba’s head, holding his lips, throat, and tongue in place as he swallowed up your juices as if he were a starving man in the desert.

He reached up to hold onto your legs to hold them in place, and you let him. You let him explore every inch of you until he was completely satisfied. And once he was, he pulled away from you, leaving your groin slick with saliva and the last remnants of your cum.

Bubba panted heavily, and his tongue struggled to settle inside of his mouth after all of its use. Your blank mind was slowly filling up once more. Your legs grew weak underneath you, but you were determined to finish things. Or rather, finish Bubba, in a sense. You took a step back and took in Bubba’s body in front of you.

His chest and shoulders were heaving from the strain. Grunts and puffs escaped from his throat as unintelligible words slurred out from him. His eyes began to roll to the back of his head. His head itself began to loll to the side. Sweat ran down his hairy body.

He was an image of pure submission.

His cock was standing at full attention. The head was turning darker in color from the strain of trying not to cum, while his shaft had a bright red mark where you had hit him with the riding crop.

It seemed like it didn’t register in his mind as you walked around him to pick up the crop once more. He was in a daze of sub-space pleasure. His knees were growing red from being on the hardwood floors for so long. The collar’s leash dangled over his chest.

With the crop placed carefully against his cheek and your voice as gentle as you could make it, you said, “Sit up straight, baby boy.”

Like a flip of a switch, Bubba straightened out his back. His eyelids were still slightly droopy over his eyes, but he was at complete attention. His strained breathing caused a surge of sadism to grow inside of you.

You led the crop slowly down his face to his neck, chest, stomach, and finally down to the base of his cock. With a painful, agonizingly slow movement of your wrist, you raised the crop to Bubba’s tip. His cock jumped and pulsed with desperation. A soft sigh escaped his lips as his chest shuddered with delight. It was pleasant for just a moment, and then you flicked your wrist.

The crop whipped roughly against the side of his cock. The sheer pain of it almost caused him to double over once more.

“Sit up straight,” you demanded. Bubba let out a harsh grunt that faded into a whimper. But he listened. His back straightened and his eyes focused on you. One look into his eyes and you knew he was pleased. Not only pleased, but was desperate for his release. You knew that he had never felt sensations quite like this before, and now he couldn’t live without it.

Light mumblings escaped his lips as he tried to form his words, but his exhaustion was too much for him. His hands raised and her pressed their closed fingertips together.

More.

More more more more.

He signed it over and over again. Bubba was moaning. Desperate. Terrified. Needy.

You reviled in his submission and expressed it through a nefarious smirk.

Whap!

Another slap of your crop against his cock. Bubba nearly screamed through gritted teeth. His cock throbbed from pain and pleasure. You waited for a moment so that he could compose himself. He let out gasping breaths before he signed more again.

Another whack. His cock was bright red from pain and he cried out in terrible agony. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. More.

“Beg.”

Bubba let out a desperate moan.

Please. More. Please please please. More. More. Please more.

Satisfied, you whipped his cock one final time. His cock jerked upwards only once before hot strings of cum erupted from inside. Bubba let out harsh, jagged moans as he fell over and his hands hit the floor with a solid thump. White streaked the wood underneath him. You leaned down and grabbed him by the leash, forcing him to look at you in the eyes as the last few pumps of cum oozed out from him.

Bubba’s eyes had glazed over in contentment. He trembled with pleasure. He was satisfied. As were you.

With honeyed words, you asked him to stand up. He obeyed.

You were by no means a short person, but Bubba towered above you and it felt like he could engulf you at any moment. But he was calm, obedient, and thankful like a lost puppy.

“That’s my boy,” you cooed, and kissed him on the lips.

[devilgoat]

Also trans woman Bubba is absolutely valid and good and I want to write for her!!!

- I don’t give a shit if people talk about traditional southern values and her family being shit!!! The Sawyers all completely accept her and love her for who she is!!!

- nubbins and choptop look for pretty dresses or even new ties if that’s what she prefers!!

- still loves to accessorize and she loves putting on her makeup

- she fucking LOVES using BRIGHT and LOUD colors. She’ll rock bright blue eyeshadow and orange lips

- choptop is slightly envious because she’s psychedelic aesthetic as hell

- she understands that she doesn’t have to be feminine all the time if she doesn’t want to be, and she’s relieved that her family never expects her to constantly perform femininity

[devilgoat]

Trans man Bubba

I made stuff for trans man Michael because I Have to but now time for trans man Bubba!

He loves wearing ties!

I mean, he doesn’t quite care what clothing he wears, and doesn’t view dressing masculine as an absolute must

He just genuinely loves wearing ties for the aesthetic of it

And an easy assumption is that his masks help with dysphoria but nah, he just really likes them and he’s shy

Bubba is very nervous being with a partner and being nude, so he usually has at least one article of clothing on at a time

But if he’s with someone for a long time, he’s a bit braver

He came out through sign language, and because it’s my post I’ll say that his family accepted him 100% no question

If he’s misgendered, he’s usually caught off guard or too shocked to sign anything so others always come in and correct them

However, if they continue incessantly and go with the old “oh I’m so so sorry it’s just so hard to remember” garbage, Bubba will flip out and have them for breakfast

How is he on testerone? Who knows but he is and his beard grows untamed under his mask

It’s assumed that Drayton goes out to the nearest town after he’s prescribed for “lowered hormones” because of his age but gives everything to Bubba

Bubba was horribly afraid of needles at first and Nubbins had to do it for him while Chop Top distracted him any way he could, but after some time he got the hang of it

He loves his body hair so much. His arms, legs, chest, face are all absolutely covered and it gives him so much comfort that he rarely even trims his beard

[devilgoat]

-Bubba loves fashion and accessorizing

- LOVES makeup of course and whenever there’s a new piece found, Bubba is all over it

-Pretty lady indeed

- Bubba HATES getting dirty and unfortunately he has the dirtiest job out of the family

- He picks under his nails to clean them just for them to get dirty again 5 minutes later

- the only time he doesn’t mind it is when he’s outside with his chickens and will lay down in the grass and dirt and watch them for hours

[devilgoat]

Trans Jason!

Just going down the line now of my favorite trans lads!

He’s big!!!

Even pre-T he was tall and muscley after puberty

And SECOND puberty just helped him be the man he is today

He’s always been a mama’s boy, and mama voorhees has always been completely devoted to him

So when Jason told her, she took him out right away to change his wardrobe into something he found more comfortable

He has occasional dysphoria, but his masks helps

It’s not to hide his deformity, no, it’s because when someone sees him with his mask on, they would never mistake him as anything other than a man

He met a boy named Jason, and since then the name got stuck in his mind. At some point it was all he could think about and then it all clicked

Bullying had always been a problem due to his deformities, and being trans didn’t help much. But he solved that eventually

He hunted Every. Last. Person. Down.

[devilgoat]

Michael Myers Christmas Headcanons

- Michael only has faint memories of Christmas when he was surrounded by his family

- Smith’s Grove had their own little celebrations, but they were heavily monitored and diluted. There were no gifts and hardly any decorations, just holiday music playing over the speakers

- they weren’t allowed to go out in the snow either

- not that it really interested Michael much anyways, but he still held those memories of his early childhood. There weren’t any specifics, just general sensations like the cold biting his nose or the taste of sugar cookies

- but after he gets out, christmas sort of falls over him. He doesn’t go to greet it, he isn’t looking for it’s return, it just comes

- and he just continues his hiding, sometimes inside his old house, sometimes just wandering the dark

- but one day it starts snowing

- he’s outside when the first flakes start to fall and he tilts his head up in curiosity

- he lets it all cling to his clothes and pile up at his feet as he stands there in the snow for hours and hours. He doesn’t care about the cold

- sometimes he looks into people’s windows to see the bright lights of their christmas trees and watch them together, celebrating

- and he wonders if this was how his christmases were like so long ago

[devilgoat]

Random Bubba Headcanons

“Birds”

- He loves watching birds. He just loves birds in general!! He has his own chickens but they’re mostly for food, but he loves and cares for them as best he can. He loves watching wild birds though. How they can just fly away and go wherever they want

- Bubba flaps his arms like a bird and “flies” around outside because the last time he did it inside he knocked over a ton of bone decorations, so he’s only allowed to do that outside now

- sometimes he sits outside as still as he can so he can get birds to come close to him, but whenever they do, he just gets so excited that ends up chasing them away

- there was one time though, when he was just calm enough because he wasn’t aware at first, and a little finch landed on his arm. He loved the ticklish feeling of the little bird feet on his skin

- very, very slowly, he took his pudgy fingers and gently stroked the top of the finches head. He’s never been that gentle before or since

- the little bird flew away and now Bubba is convinced that every finch he sees is his friend coming to visit, and not even Drayton is mean enough to take that away from him

[devilgoat]

Various Michael Myers headcanons

- his coveralls are like a safety blanket. It’s the only clothing that he feels like himself in. It hides everything he needs to hide, and also, it just plain feels good on his skin. Other things can just feel wrong or be too rough and he would be in constant discomfort

- he LOVES watching tv. Yeah, it might be muffled and slightly obscured when he watches it through people’s windows, but he can find himself watching along for hours and hours

- Speaking of watching through windows, he really does love watching people. It’s the main aspect of his hunt, but even outside of a hunt, he still watches people just for the hell of it

- it’s kinda like a person watching fish in an aquarium. It’s fascinating and sometimes beautiful, but there’s a detachment even greater than just the glass because the beings in there are just different

- and obviously he gets off on it I mean, come on

[devilgoat]

This this THIS!!! This is why I write the way I write!! I thoroughly enjoy writing from the gender-neutral perspective so that anyone can feel comfortable reading my series. Just knowing that at least one person enjoys my writing and that it makes them feel comfortable brings me so much happiness!

[devilgoat]

But yeah I love writing Michael bi and trans because I’m a self indulgent piece of shit so if you want blatantly trans Michael you should check my stuff out

[devilgoat]

I know it’s Not Cool but read my stuff

[devilgoat]

OH SHIT since the Scorpion is in the point of view following the reader, I might make the next series called the Frog and it’ll be primarily following Michael??? Because you know, the story of the scorpion and the frog

[devilgoat]

YO I LOVE you're Scorpion series, A+ work(s) there my dude 👌👌👌👌

Ahh thank you so much!! That means a lot to me! I’m currently waiting for the right inspiration to hit me so I can write another part. Thank you again ❤️