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Gale tells himself he has to hold on, but when he finds himself on his knees before the wolf, he wonders if he ever had control to begin with.\n---\nFaves and comments help me stay motivated and are much appreciated. \n\nAs an added note, some of the keywords/tags for this series are on a slow burn so you may not see them prominently featured in each chapter. ", "description_bbcode_parsed": "After only a week, Case’s influence is causing Gale’s life to unravel. Gale tells himself he has to hold on, but when he finds himself on his knees before the wolf, he wonders if he ever had control to begin with.
---
Faves and comments help me stay motivated and are much appreciated.

As an added note, some of the keywords/tags for this series are on a slow burn so you may not see them prominently featured in each chapter. ", "writing": "[b]Chapter 3: Weeds[/b]\nLRR \n\nThe days blurred together, a cycle of routine so entrenched that Gale barely felt present for any of it. With school out for the summer, Blake spent his days at his grandmother's. Gale dropped him off at seven, caught the train by eight, and was at his desk by eight-thirty, staring at the same screen and completing the same mindless tasks until five-thirty. His only interruptions were the bathroom and his usual lunch - a dry salad and a diet coke that tasted more like habit than food. By six-thirty, he picked up Blake, and then the evening dissolved into housework: cooking, cleaning, laundry, bills. He moved through it all without thought, without feeling, without pause. At ten, he tucked Blake in, took a sleeping pill, and shut himself down for the night.\n\nHe didn't let himself think about Case. About what had happened. About what was still happening. Thinking meant admitting that he had lost control, that none of this was normal. So he buried it beneath routine, convincing himself that if he just kept moving, it couldn't catch up to him. All that mattered was being a good father. Keeping things stable. Pretending that normal still existed.\n\nBy Thursday, it almost felt like the wreckage of his life had settled into something stable. Still broken, still beyond repair, but at least something he could navigate. The incident with Case in Blake's room seemed distant - like something that had happened to someone else.\n\nAnd then it was Friday again. Spaghetti night.\n\nBlake had only asked once if Case was coming over. Gale shut it down quickly - too busy, he'd said. A simple excuse, spoken with enough finality that Blake didn't argue. But his ears flicked back for a second before he nodded, the only sign of disappointment before he moved on.\n\nSo tonight, he would reclaim the ritual. He had to.\n\nBut first, he had to make spaghetti.\n\nHe stood over the saucepan, watching it bubble. The smell of garlic, tomato, and simmering spices filled the air. It should have been comforting. This was routine. A tradition. Something solid and predictable.\n\nBut instead, it hit him like a fist to the gut.\n\nHis throat tightened. The steam rising from the pot was too thick, too heavy, pressing against his fur. He could taste the wolf's cock in the back of his throat. Feel where his muzzle was still tender from the battering the knot had given it. The weight of the wolf over him. The heat of breath against his ear. Laughter, low and cruel.\n\nThe room felt small, the walls too close. The garlic fumes burned his nose. The heat was suffocating.\n\nHis stomach lurched, bile burning up his throat. His grip on the counter tightened, fingertips scraping for purchase along the sleek surface. Steady. Breathe. Control.\n\nThe rage came like a tsunami. A force beyond control that was consuming him before he could so much as brace himself. One second, everything was fine. He was in control. He was making spaghetti. They would watch a movie. Everything was normal.\n\nThe next, he was screaming and flinging the boiling pot across the kitchen.\n\nIt crashed into the wall, the impact sending a spray of red sauce and steaming vegetables across the floor, cabinets, and counter. The pan hit the tile with a hollow, metallic clang that rang like a bell.\n\nHe stood there, panting, staring at the mess, his chest heaving. He wanted to hurt something. To smash, rip, destroy. To burn it all down and let it collapse around him, consequences be damned.\n\n\"Daddy?\"\n\nBlake's voice was small, uncertain. \n\nGale turned to see his son standing in the doorway, drawn by the outburst. So small. His amber eyes were wide, ears up, his breath shallow as he took in the scene. \n\nThe shame hit like a hammer. Sudden, crushing, as all-consuming as the rage had been. It stole the breath from his lungs. Another failure. More wreckage to add to the growing pile of broken dreams and lost potential.\n\nHe squeezed his eyes shut. Tears burned, but he swallowed them down. Blake couldn't see. Couldn't know how broken he was. How pathetic.\n\n``I'm sorry,'' Gale said automatically, his voice uneven. ``I didn't mean to scare you.''\n\nBlake hesitated. ``Are... are you okay?''\n\n``Yes,'' Gale lied, forcing a thin smile. ``I'm fine. I'm so sorry, honey. It was an accident.''\n\nBlake's gaze flickered from the mess on the wall to Gale's shaking hands. His ears twitched, uncertain. ``Did you burn yourself?''\n\nGale opened his mouth to say no - then hesitated. A lie, but an easy one. Something Blake could accept. ``A little, but I'll be fine. It just startled me.''\n\n``Does it hurt?''\n\n``Not a lot.'' Gale forced another smile, though his jaw felt tight. ``I'm sorry, kiddo. Let me clean this up, and we'll order some pizza. How about mushrooms?''\n\nBlake's ears perked, his concern melting away as fast as it had come. ``Yeah! And breadsticks too?''\n\nGale exhaled, the tension easing just enough to breathe. ``Of course.''\n\nAs he cleaned, he tried to push everything out of his head, but his hands still trembled. He nearly slipped back into the numb autopilot that had carried him through the week - would have welcomed it - but he forced himself to focus.\n\nMindfulness. The therapist's word.\n\nFocus on what's in front of you. The things you can control.\n\nSo he called the pizza place. He scrubbed the sauce from the walls and floor. He set up a movie for Blake.\n\nAnd when he sat on the couch beside him, he forced himself to take in every scene, every word, every moment. He held onto them as if they were all that kept him afloat. Because it was better than being alone with his own thoughts.\n\nAnd for the first time in a week, Gale was able to sleep soundly without thinking about what he'd done with Case, or how close they'd been to Blake while they did it.\n\n***\n\nThe weekend was a welcome break from the monotony, but not the weight of everything Gale carried. He visited his mother's home the next street over, spending most of the day outside with Blake, gardening in the thick, humid air.\n\nThe sun wasn't harsh, but the humidity clung to him, dampening his fur as he crouched in the flowerbed, yanking up stubborn weeds with more force than necessary. The soil was soft from the rain the night before, but the roots were deep, tangled beneath the earth like knots that refused to come loose. It should have been a simple task, but the frustration in his grip turned each pull into a fight.\n\nCatherine's voice carried from the porch, crisp and light, untouched by the labor she was only supervising.\n\n``Blake, honey, be careful not to pull up the marigolds. They keep the bugs away.''\n\n``I know, Grandma,'' Blake chirped from where he knelt, carefully patting soil around the base of a tomato plant. His little hands were caked in dirt, but he didn't seem to mind.\n\nGale wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The work had provided something to focus on, but his mother's needling was causing his patience was wearing thin. ``You could help, you know.''\n\nCatherine let out a soft, almost pitying laugh. ``Oh, Gale, you know I'm terrible at this sort of thing. Besides, you always had such a knack for hard work. Just like your father.''\n\nGale's grip on the next weed tightened. He tore it free with enough force that dirt scattered across his pants. His father, Martin Acre, had been gone for three years now, but even in life, he had been more ghost than parent. A cabinetmaker who worked long hours shaping wood into something precise and useful, yet never seemed to notice Gale existed. He had been the youngest, the quiet one, the extra. The failure.\n\n``You know,'' Catherine mused, shifting in her chair with an exaggerated wince, ``you should think about letting Blake do little league. He's got so much energy. A boy his age needs an outlet.''\n\nAs usual, Blake pretended not to hear when Catherine and Gale talked about him like he wasn't there.\n\nGale forced himself to breathe evenly. ``He's doing fine.''\n\nCatherine sighed, the kind of sigh that carried weight without real concern. ``I'm just saying, he's at that age where he needs strong role models. You don't want him to miss out on the right opportunities.''\n\nGale's teeth clenched. ``He has me.''\n\nCatherine smiled, but it wasn't warm. It was the kind that made his skin crawl. ``Of course, dear. I just meant it never hurts for a boy to have examples to look up to.''\n\nGale didn't take the bait. He focused on the weeds, pulling another from the dirt.\n\nBlake, oblivious to the rising tension, wiped his forehead and glanced up at his grandmother. ``Grandma, did you know Case used to play football for Rockfall?''\n\nGale froze. His fingers curled into the dirt, breath hitching as Catherine's smile widened.\n\n``Oh? How interesting.'' Her gaze flicked to Gale, expression unreadable. ``You never did say how his visit went. You've been in such a hurry all week. Blake seemed to enjoy himself.''\n\nGale forced himself to keep his voice steady. ``It was fine.''\n\n``Just fine?'' Catherine pressed, voice light, but her gaze sharp. ``Blake talked about him all week.''\n\nBlake seemed to grow excited, unaware of the thickening air between his two guardians. ``He said he'd teach me how to throw a spiral next time! Maybe even help me practice if Dad says it's okay.''\n\nGale swallowed back the immediate impulse to snap. Instead, he sat back on his heels and exhaled through his nose. ``Blake, why don't you go inside and wash up? We'll be heading home soon.''\n\nBlake was about to protest, but something in Gale's eyes made him hesitate. He brushed dirt from his knees and disappeared inside. The screen door creaked as it shut behind him, leaving Gale and Catherine alone in the thick, humid air.\n\nCatherine took her time before speaking, watching him like a vulture circling a wounded animal. ``You've been awfully quiet.''\n\n``I don't have anything to say,'' Gale muttered, reaching for another weed.\n\nShe hummed thoughtfully. ``You never were very good at hiding when something's bothering you.''\n\nGale yanked another weed free with unnecessary force.\n\n``You always act like I'm against you,'' Catherine continued, her voice soft but needling. ``All I want what's best for you and Blake.''\n\nGale let out a short, humorless laugh. ``Right.''\n\nCatherine sighed, like she was dealing with a petulant child. ``Oh, Gale. You take everything so personally. You need to grow up.''\n\nGale stood abruptly, dusting the dirt from his hands. His pulse pounded in his ears. There were still a few patches of weeds in the corner, but he was done. ``I did, Mom. In case you didn't notice, I'm not a child anymore. I'm thirty-fucking-eight years old. And I'm tired. I'm tired of pretending everything's fine when it isn't. I'm tired of feeling like nothing I do is ever good enough. I'm tired of listening to you criticize my every move. Guess what? You're not perfect either, Mom. Maybe that's why Tommy and Carolyn never visit.''\n\nCatherine's expression remained carefully neutral, but there was something colder in her eyes now. ``Gale Lee Acre! How dare you speak to me like that. What's gotten into you!?''\n\nHis breath was ragged, his hands balled into fists. The anger inside him threatened to boil over, to consume, but then - \n\nThe spaghetti. The wine stain. The taste of Case's cum. The humiliation.\n\nThe fire inside him died out in an instant, leaving only exhaustion. His body ached, like he had just run a marathon. His limbs felt heavy, his chest hollow. He wanted to yell, to keep fighting, to make her understand. But what was the point?\n\n``I... I'm sorry, Mom,'' he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. ``It's... God, it's just been a hard week. I didn't mean what I said. I'm sorry.''\n\nCatherine's expression softened, but her eyes remained hard. ``I'm sorry too, sweetie.'' She hesitated, then reached out and lightly patted his arm. ``If you need me to take Blake for a few days so you can relax, I'm happy to do it.''\n\nHis throat tightened. The last thing he wanted was to be alone. Blake was the only thing keeping him from drowning. The only thing that made him feel alive.\n\n``No. No, it's okay. We're okay.''\n\nCatherine didn't look convinced, but she let her hand drop back to her side. ``Okay, dear. If you change your mind, you know I'm here.''\n\nGale only nodded, gripping his wrist to keep his hands from shaking. He turned toward the house, eager to be anywhere but here. Anywhere but under her gaze.\n\n***\n\nThat night, Gale lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. His body was exhausted, but his mind refused to follow. The dim glow of a streetlamp bled through the blinds, creating pale, uneven lines across the wall. His ears twitched at the faint sound of Blake's soft breathing in the next room - a steady, rhythmic reassurance that his son was there. That he was safe despite everything else unraveling.\n\nGale's phone sat on the nearby nightstand. Its screen was dark, but its presence itched at the edges of his awareness, impossible to ignore. The thought of reaching for it had come and gone a dozen times, each time dismissed as foolish. And yet, the idea lingered. The tension in his shoulders refused to ease.\n\nWhen he gave in, it felt like a release. He exhaled as he unlocked the screen. No new messages. Of course not. That didn't matter.\n\nHis fingers hovered over the last exchange with Case - the one from last week, before it all started. Before he walked into Gale's home like he already owned it. Before Blake had looked at him like he was a god. Before Gale had begged to be used and was then left behind like a broken toy.\n\nHe stared at the last messages. His invitation. The wolf's short exchange still dripping with effortless confidence. The promise not to disappoint Blake. Gale's stomach twisted, but he ignored it.\n\nThe cursor blinked as the keyboard appeared. Don't. He should just put the phone down. Take a pill. Roll over. Go to sleep. Tomorrow would be a full day. He had responsibilities. He had to be there for Blake.\n\nBut the thought gnawed at him, restless and unrelenting, like a splinter buried too deep to dig out.\n\nHis fingers moved before he could stop them.\n\n[i]You up?[/i]\n\nHe stared at the message, his thumb hovering over the screen. He could still delete it. But the moment stretched too long, and then it was gone. Sent.\n\nHis stomach turned. He set the phone down, heart racing as he leaned back against the headboard, his antlers scraping at the protective padding. \n\nCase wouldn't respond. It was late. He had better things to do. That was for the best.\n\nBut still, Gale waited. Hoping. For what, he didn't know.\n\nA vibration rattled against the wooden nightstand. The phone was back in his hand in seconds. \n\n[i]Yeah. What's up?[/i]\n\nHis throat was dry. He should leave it there. His rational mind was screaming at him to say nothing. To turn the phone off.\n\nInstead, he typed back.\n\n[i]Can't sleep.\n[/i]\nThree dots appeared. Stopped. Started again. Stopped. A pause. Just when Gale thought that would be it, the response came.\n\nIt was an address.\n\n***\n\nThe house sat on the outskirts of town, past the last gas stations and strip malls, where the roads turned narrow and dark. It was larger than Gale expected - a single-story home with white siding, a wrap-around porch, and a yard that stretched wide under the moonlight. Not flashy, but clean and well-kept, the kind of place built to last.\n\nEven in the dim glow of the porch light, it was obviously nicer than the house he and Blake shared. The lawn was trimmed. The driveway was clear. The workshop, just visible behind the house, was large enough that Gale could already picture the expensive tools inside.\n\nOut here, there was no streetlight. No hum of traffic, no passing headlights, no neighbors close enough to hear anything that might happen. The stillness pressed in around him, thick and expectant, as if the night itself was holding its breath.\n\nThen his eyes found Case.\n\nThe wolf leaned against the porch railing, a cigarette balanced between his fingers, his silhouette sharp against the soft yellow glow of the light. He looked completely relaxed, and that didn't change as Gale's old Honda pulled up to the curb.\n\nCase wore only a pair of jeans, the fabric low on his hips, fur bare beneath the porch light. Gale's eyes caught on the shape of him - the broad chest, the easy confidence in his posture. Something twisted, low and sharp, curling in his stomach before he could stop it. He looked away.\n\nHe cut the engine and stepped out, shutting the door quietly. The air was still thick and heavy, laden with warm moisture even though the sun had long set. A voice in the back of his mind screamed at him to turn around. To leave. To pretend this had never happened. That none of it had ever happened.\n\nHe shoved that voice down.\n\nHe moved forward, each step slow, uncertain. Case watched without moving, though the tip of his cigarette glowed. His gaze settled over Gale and seemed to pin him into place.\n\nFinally, the wolf exhaled smoke through his nose, slow and steady. A small smile touched the side of his muzzle. It wasn't forced or calculated. It was something Case wouldn't give just anyone. But he was giving it to him.\n\nFor a moment, he felt a flutter in his chest. He'd done that. It was such a small victory, but it felt like his. \n\n``You look like shit.''\n\nGale frowned, suddenly aware of himself - his fur unkempt, dark circles hollowing his eyes, the old workout clothes he'd thrown on during his rush to get out of the house. \n\n\"You leave Blake home by himself?\"\n\nGale exhaled, shifting his stance but refusing to look away. \"What else was I supposed to do?\"\n\nCase smirked. \"Father of the year over here.\"\n\n\"Fuck you.\"\n\nCase snorted, crushing his cigarette against the railing. His gaze dragged over Gale, slow and deliberate this time, stripping him bare without laying a finger on him.\n\n\"Ain't quite what I had in mind,\" the wolf murmured, voice dipping - rough, edged with amusement, like this was all some enormous joke.\n\nThen, his expression sharpened.\n\n\"Come here, then. Now.\"\n\nGale hesitated, his ears twitching, his feet rooted to Case's perfectly manicured lawn. The scent of cut grass and cigarette smoke lingered in the thick night air.\n\nWhy was he here? Why was he doing this?\n\nCase's smirk faded. His muzzle wrinkled slightly, a flicker of something less patient in the depths of his pale eyes.\n\n\"Come. Here.\"\n\nAnd he did.\n\nHe moved without thought, his body reacting before he even realized what he was doing - like the choice had never belonged to him at all. Like this moment was always going to happen. As if he'd been walking toward it since the first time he laid eyes on the white wolf decades earlier.\n\nCase reached for him the moment he was close enough. Not rough, not kind. Just certain. Rough pads caught under Gale's chin, a steady grip tilting his head up, inspecting him like livestock. Or like an interesting piece of art. \n\nThose ice-blue eyes locked onto his.\n\n\"Why are you here, Acorn?\"\n\n\"I... I don't know.\"\n\nThe slap came fast and sharp. It was more insult than injury-- not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to sting. Gale flinched, breath hitching, and for a second, he was nothing again. Small. Insignificant. His vision blurred with tears. \n\nCase's claws grazed his cheek, slow and deliberate, voice dipping into something almost fond.\n\n\"If you lie to me again, I'll go inside, and you'll be on your own.\"\n\nGale's ears twitched. His throat tightened. He licked his lips, trying to swallow the dryness.\n\n\"Because... I... I can't stop thinking about you.\"\n\nCase sneered, fingers pressing just a fraction tighter.\n\n\"Thinking what?\"\n\n\"About what you did to me.\" Gale's voice was barely above a whisper. \"When you... when you fucked my mouth.\"\n\nA slow, satisfied growl rumbled from Case's chest. \"Good.\" He pressed in close, his nose nearly brushing Gale's. \"Now, get on your fucking knees.\"\n\nAnd he did. Right there on the porch, the rough concrete, still warm from the heat of the day, dug into his knees. He swallowed. \"You want me to... again? Here?\"\n\nCase didn't respond. Instead, he unbuttoned his jeans, letting his fat, lupine sheath out into the open. His cock was already sliding free. \n\n\"You know what to do,\" Case murmured. \"Do it.\"\n\nAnd he did.\n\nGale had spent most of his adult life trying not to think. Not when his mother sighed with disappointment, looking through him instead of at him. Not when his father died, distant and unreachable, the same way he had lived. Not when Lyra started using, when the lies began, when she stopped coming home for longer and longer stretches. Not even when she divorced him.\n\nAnd not when she finally called. After six months of silence. Not to ask about Blake. Not to apologize. Only to tell him she was in jail. Like he could fix it. Like it was his problem now. \n\nAnd then it was just him. Alone with Blake, alone with a mortgage, alone with bills stacking higher than he could pay them. Alone with an aging mother who never once told him she was proud of him, who only ever seemed to remind him of all the ways he had come up short. Alone, trying to hold everything together with hands that wouldn't stop shaking. Alone, looking into his son's eyes, trying to find the right words when Blake had asked - voice small and uncertain, but desperate for understanding-- [i]Why doesn't she love me? What did I do wrong?[/i]\n\nThinking meant accepting the truth. The ugly, painful, unbearable truth that this - this - was all his life would ever be. Struggling. Working. Surviving. No future. No escape. Just a slow, grinding descent into oblivion. A dead-end career. A marriage so disastrous that his ex-wife was in prison. A lifetime of never being enough. Never doing enough. Of watching people leave - watching them stop caring - watching them turn their backs because there was nothing in him worth staying for.\n\nBlake was the only one left. The only person in the world who still believed in him. The only one who hadn't figured it out yet. The only bright thing in his life.\n\nAnd even that, he was fucking up.\n\nMore tears stung Gale's eyes as he opened his mouth and began to nurse on Case's cock. Tears of shame. Of fear. Of guilt. They burned hot tracks through his fur.\n\n``Good,'' the wolf cooed, voice thick with satisfaction as his fingers slid down to the base of Gale's antlers. His grip was firm and possessive, and then he jerked his head forward. \n\nGale gagged. His breath hitched, body tensing, but Case didn't stop. He never did.\n\n``Still need some training,'' the wolf murmured, tilting Gale's head just the way he wanted. ``But yer gettin' it.''\n\nAnother sharp jerk. Gale choked, his hands clenching into fists against his thighs.\n\nThe only sounds were the rhythmic chirping of crickets, the slow hum of distant cicadas. The world beyond the porch carried on, oblivious. Even Case was quiet, save for the occasional, pleased grunt.\n\nThe deer focused everything he had on the act. On the sensations. The taste. The smell. The sound. Anything but the truth of what he was doing. \n\nA week ago, he would have never considered this - never imagined himself having sex with another man, let alone kneeling on Casey-fucking-Parker's front porch in the middle of the night, his mouth wrapped around his throbbing cock. \n\nHis jaw ached, but the ache was good. Grounding. Real in a way nothing else was. The sharp press of concrete against his knees. The strain in his throat. The scent of the wolf's arousal in his nose, the taste of his precum as it flowed over his tongue.\n\nHe wanted all of it. Craved it. Because he deserved it. \n\n\"Fuck, you learn quick, Acorn.\"\n\nCase's voice yanked him out of his thoughts like a hook.\n\nGale blinked, dazed, realizing the wolf had stopped guiding him. The last few minutes had been entirely his own. His own movements. His own choices.\n\n\"Stop for a second,\" Case ordered. \"Look at me.\"\n\nHe did, dark, teary eyes meeting Case's steely blue. \n\n\"Everything you're thinking? It's true. You're worthless. A pathetic excuse for a father. A disappointment of a son. Less than a man. Less than a person. And the only thing you're good for - \" Case's voice dipped, dragging out the words, savoring them, \" - is this. And even then, only when I don't have something better. When I don't have someone better. You're less than a whore. Just a thing. A warm, obedient, pathetic little thing to be used and discarded when I'm done.\"\n\nCase leaned in, his breath hot against Gale's ear, voice dropping lower, silkier.\n\n\"And you will do exactly what I tell you, when I tell you, or I will walk away. I'll delete your number. I'll erase you. And you'll never see me again.\"\n\nGale moaned. A weak, broken sound that barely felt like his own.\n\nThe wolf huffed a low, derisive laugh. ``Jesus. You really are pathetic.''\n\nAnd he was. God, he was. He could feel the word settling inside him, sinking deep into his bones like a sickness he was too exhausted to fight anymore. Because what was the point? Case was right. About all of it.\n\nHe wanted the pain. He needed it. At least this way, he could be useful. At least this way, someone wanted him - if only for this. And that was better than nothing.\n\nCase exhaled slow, savoring the moment. His fingers trailed over Gale's cheek, almost gentle, tracing the damp lines his tears had left behind. The wolf's smirk deepened, eyes glinting with something dark, indulgent, utterly satisfied.\n\n``Good boy,'' he murmured. ``Now finish what you started.''\n\nGale tried to draw it out, but Case took the choice away from him after a few more minutes. His grip tightened around Gale's antlers, guiding him, forcing him. The knot threatened to dislocate his jaw, but Gale accepted it all the same. \n\nThe wolf's heavy sac throbbed against the deer's chin and Case let out a deeply satisfied sigh as he leisurely dumped what felt like a gallon of thick seed down Gale's throat.\n\nGale swallowed hungrily. Distantly, he was disappointed that hadn't been enough to make him cum in his shorts. Not this time. He was tantalizingly close, but he didn't dare touch himself. He knew Case never would. But it didn't matter. He was there to be used. \n\nWhen Case finally pulled back, Gale gasped for breath, but managed to keep upright. If he collapsed now, he might never get back up. The wolf wiped himself on Gale's shirt, then patted the deer on the cheek. \"That's all. Go home.\" The wolf was already tucking his cock back into his jeans.\n\nGale blinked, his breath unsteady. \"But... I thought...\" He didn't even know how to finish the sentence.\n\nCase smirked, something cold flashing behind his eyes. ``Oh. Did you think we were gonna cuddle?'' He let out a quiet laugh, already losing interest. ``Go back to your son.''\n\nThe deer looked away immediately, his face burning, ears flattening under the weight of it.\n\nThe shame curled inside him, thick and suffocating, wrapping around his ribs like a vice.\n\nThere was nothing else to say after that. The wolf walked inside and shut the door.\n\nA deadbolt slid into place. \n\nThe porch light went out.\n\nGale was left there, kneeling in the dark.\n\nAlone.\n\nHe swallowed, some of Case's taste was still on his tongue. His legs felt weak, unsteady, but he eventually forced himself to his feet. He wiped at his face, but the tears kept coming, fresh and hot and endless.\n\nHe walked to his car, his limbs trembling as he slid into the driver's seat. He gripped the wheel as if it were a railing. Something that would keep the ground from falling out beneath him. But it was too late.\n\nA deep, shuddering breath left him. He squeezed his eyes shut, biting back the way his chest ached, the way his stomach twisted.\n\nThen, finally, he sobbed.\n\n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "Chapter 3: Weeds
LRR

The days blurred together, a cycle of routine so entrenched that Gale barely felt present for any of it. With school out for the summer, Blake spent his days at his grandmother's. Gale dropped him off at seven, caught the train by eight, and was at his desk by eight-thirty, staring at the same screen and completing the same mindless tasks until five-thirty. His only interruptions were the bathroom and his usual lunch - a dry salad and a diet coke that tasted more like habit than food. By six-thirty, he picked up Blake, and then the evening dissolved into housework: cooking, cleaning, laundry, bills. He moved through it all without thought, without feeling, without pause. At ten, he tucked Blake in, took a sleeping pill, and shut himself down for the night.

He didn't let himself think about Case. About what had happened. About what was still happening. Thinking meant admitting that he had lost control, that none of this was normal. So he buried it beneath routine, convincing himself that if he just kept moving, it couldn't catch up to him. All that mattered was being a good father. Keeping things stable. Pretending that normal still existed.

By Thursday, it almost felt like the wreckage of his life had settled into something stable. Still broken, still beyond repair, but at least something he could navigate. The incident with Case in Blake's room seemed distant - like something that had happened to someone else.

And then it was Friday again. Spaghetti night.

Blake had only asked once if Case was coming over. Gale shut it down quickly - too busy, he'd said. A simple excuse, spoken with enough finality that Blake didn't argue. But his ears flicked back for a second before he nodded, the only sign of disappointment before he moved on.

So tonight, he would reclaim the ritual. He had to.

But first, he had to make spaghetti.

He stood over the saucepan, watching it bubble. The smell of garlic, tomato, and simmering spices filled the air. It should have been comforting. This was routine. A tradition. Something solid and predictable.

But instead, it hit him like a fist to the gut.

His throat tightened. The steam rising from the pot was too thick, too heavy, pressing against his fur. He could taste the wolf's cock in the back of his throat. Feel where his muzzle was still tender from the battering the knot had given it.  The weight of the wolf over him. The heat of breath against his ear. Laughter, low and cruel.

The room felt small, the walls too close. The garlic fumes burned his nose. The heat was suffocating.

His stomach lurched, bile burning up his throat. His grip on the counter tightened, fingertips scraping for purchase along the sleek surface. Steady. Breathe. Control.

The rage came like a tsunami. A force beyond control that was consuming him before he could so much as brace himself. One second, everything was fine. He was in control. He was making spaghetti. They would watch a movie. Everything was normal.

The next, he was screaming and flinging the boiling pot across the kitchen.

It crashed into the wall, the impact sending a spray of red sauce and steaming vegetables across the floor, cabinets, and counter. The pan hit the tile with a hollow, metallic clang that rang like a bell.

He stood there, panting, staring at the mess, his chest heaving. He wanted to hurt something. To smash, rip, destroy. To burn it all down and let it collapse around him, consequences be damned.

"Daddy?"

Blake's voice was small, uncertain.

Gale turned to see his son standing in the doorway, drawn by the outburst. So small. His amber eyes were wide, ears up, his breath shallow as he took in the scene.

The shame hit like a hammer. Sudden, crushing, as all-consuming as the rage had been. It stole the breath from his lungs. Another failure. More wreckage to add to the growing pile of broken dreams and lost potential.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Tears burned, but he swallowed them down. Blake couldn't see. Couldn't know how broken he was. How pathetic.

``I'm sorry,'' Gale said automatically, his voice uneven. ``I didn't mean to scare you.''

Blake hesitated. ``Are... are you okay?''

``Yes,'' Gale lied, forcing a thin smile. ``I'm fine. I'm so sorry, honey. It was an accident.''

Blake's gaze flickered from the mess on the wall to Gale's shaking hands. His ears twitched, uncertain. ``Did you burn yourself?''

Gale opened his mouth to say no - then hesitated. A lie, but an easy one. Something Blake could accept. ``A little, but I'll be fine. It just startled me.''

``Does it hurt?''

``Not a lot.'' Gale forced another smile, though his jaw felt tight. ``I'm sorry, kiddo. Let me clean this up, and we'll order some pizza. How about mushrooms?''

Blake's ears perked, his concern melting away as fast as it had come. ``Yeah! And breadsticks too?''

Gale exhaled, the tension easing just enough to breathe. ``Of course.''

As he cleaned, he tried to push everything out of his head, but his hands still trembled. He nearly slipped back into the numb autopilot that had carried him through the week - would have welcomed it - but he forced himself to focus.

Mindfulness. The therapist's word.

Focus on what's in front of you. The things you can control.

So he called the pizza place. He scrubbed the sauce from the walls and floor. He set up a movie for Blake.

And when he sat on the couch beside him, he forced himself to take in every scene, every word, every moment. He held onto them as if they were all that kept him afloat. Because it was better than being alone with his own thoughts.

And for the first time in a week, Gale was able to sleep soundly without thinking about what he'd done with Case, or how close they'd been to Blake while they did it.

***

The weekend was a welcome break from the monotony, but not the weight of everything Gale carried. He visited his mother's home the next street over, spending most of the day outside with Blake, gardening in the thick, humid air.

The sun wasn't harsh, but the humidity clung to him, dampening his fur as he crouched in the flowerbed, yanking up stubborn weeds with more force than necessary. The soil was soft from the rain the night before, but the roots were deep, tangled beneath the earth like knots that refused to come loose. It should have been a simple task, but the frustration in his grip turned each pull into a fight.

Catherine's voice carried from the porch, crisp and light, untouched by the labor she was only supervising.

``Blake, honey, be careful not to pull up the marigolds. They keep the bugs away.''

``I know, Grandma,'' Blake chirped from where he knelt, carefully patting soil around the base of a tomato plant. His little hands were caked in dirt, but he didn't seem to mind.

Gale wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The work had provided something to focus on, but his mother's needling was causing his patience was wearing thin. ``You could help, you know.''

Catherine let out a soft, almost pitying laugh. ``Oh, Gale, you know I'm terrible at this sort of thing. Besides, you always had such a knack for hard work. Just like your father.''

Gale's grip on the next weed tightened. He tore it free with enough force that dirt scattered across his pants. His father, Martin Acre, had been gone for three years now, but even in life, he had been more ghost than parent. A cabinetmaker who worked long hours shaping wood into something precise and useful, yet never seemed to notice Gale existed. He had been the youngest, the quiet one, the extra. The failure.

``You know,'' Catherine mused, shifting in her chair with an exaggerated wince, ``you should think about letting Blake do little league. He's got so much energy. A boy his age needs an outlet.''

As usual, Blake pretended not to hear when Catherine and Gale talked about him like he wasn't there.

Gale forced himself to breathe evenly. ``He's doing fine.''

Catherine sighed, the kind of sigh that carried weight without real concern. ``I'm just saying, he's at that age where he needs strong role models. You don't want him to miss out on the right opportunities.''

Gale's teeth clenched. ``He has me.''

Catherine smiled, but it wasn't warm. It was the kind that made his skin crawl. ``Of course, dear. I just meant it never hurts for a boy to have examples to look up to.''

Gale didn't take the bait. He focused on the weeds, pulling another from the dirt.

Blake, oblivious to the rising tension, wiped his forehead and glanced up at his grandmother. ``Grandma, did you know Case used to play football for Rockfall?''

Gale froze. His fingers curled into the dirt, breath hitching as Catherine's smile widened.

``Oh? How interesting.'' Her gaze flicked to Gale, expression unreadable. ``You never did say how his visit went. You've been in such a hurry all week. Blake seemed to enjoy himself.''

Gale forced himself to keep his voice steady. ``It was fine.''

``Just fine?'' Catherine pressed, voice light, but her gaze sharp. ``Blake talked about him all week.''

Blake seemed to grow excited, unaware of the thickening air between his two guardians. ``He said he'd teach me how to throw a spiral next time! Maybe even help me practice if Dad says it's okay.''

Gale swallowed back the immediate impulse to snap. Instead, he sat back on his heels and exhaled through his nose. ``Blake, why don't you go inside and wash up? We'll be heading home soon.''

Blake was about to protest, but something in Gale's eyes made him hesitate. He brushed dirt from his knees and disappeared inside. The screen door creaked as it shut behind him, leaving Gale and Catherine alone in the thick, humid air.

Catherine took her time before speaking, watching him like a vulture circling a wounded animal. ``You've been awfully quiet.''

``I don't have anything to say,'' Gale muttered, reaching for another weed.

She hummed thoughtfully. ``You never were very good at hiding when something's bothering you.''

Gale yanked another weed free with unnecessary force.

``You always act like I'm against you,'' Catherine continued, her voice soft but needling. ``All I want what's best for you and Blake.''

Gale let out a short, humorless laugh. ``Right.''

Catherine sighed, like she was dealing with a petulant child. ``Oh, Gale. You take everything so personally. You need to grow up.''

Gale stood abruptly, dusting the dirt from his hands. His pulse pounded in his ears. There were still a few patches of weeds in the corner, but he was done. ``I did, Mom. In case you didn't notice, I'm not a child anymore. I'm thirty-fucking-eight years old. And I'm tired. I'm tired of pretending everything's fine when it isn't. I'm tired of feeling like nothing I do is ever good enough. I'm tired of listening to you criticize my every move. Guess what? You're not perfect either, Mom. Maybe that's why Tommy and Carolyn never visit.''

Catherine's expression remained carefully neutral, but there was something colder in her eyes now. ``Gale Lee Acre! How dare you speak to me like that. What's gotten into you!?''

His breath was ragged, his hands balled into fists. The anger inside him threatened to boil over, to consume, but then -

The spaghetti. The wine stain. The taste of Case's cum. The humiliation.

The fire inside him died out in an instant, leaving only exhaustion. His body ached, like he had just run a marathon. His limbs felt heavy, his chest hollow. He wanted to yell, to keep fighting, to make her understand. But what was the point?

``I... I'm sorry, Mom,'' he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. ``It's... God, it's just been a hard week. I didn't mean what I said. I'm sorry.''

Catherine's expression softened, but her eyes remained hard. ``I'm sorry too, sweetie.'' She hesitated, then reached out and lightly patted his arm. ``If you need me to take Blake for a few days so you can relax, I'm happy to do it.''

His throat tightened. The last thing he wanted was to be alone. Blake was the only thing keeping him from drowning. The only thing that made him feel alive.

``No. No, it's okay. We're okay.''

Catherine didn't look convinced, but she let her hand drop back to her side. ``Okay, dear. If you change your mind, you know I'm here.''

Gale only nodded, gripping his wrist to keep his hands from shaking. He turned toward the house, eager to be anywhere but here. Anywhere but under her gaze.

***

That night, Gale lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. His body was exhausted, but his mind refused to follow. The dim glow of a streetlamp bled through the blinds, creating pale, uneven lines across the wall. His ears twitched at the faint sound of Blake's soft breathing in the next room - a steady, rhythmic reassurance that his son was there. That he was safe despite everything else unraveling.

Gale's phone sat on the nearby nightstand. Its screen was dark, but its presence itched at the edges of his awareness, impossible to ignore. The thought of reaching for it had come and gone a dozen times, each time dismissed as foolish. And yet, the idea lingered. The tension in his shoulders refused to ease.

When he gave in, it felt like a release. He exhaled as he unlocked the screen. No new messages. Of course not. That didn't matter.

His fingers hovered over the last exchange with Case - the one from last week, before it all started. Before he walked into Gale's home like he already owned it. Before Blake had looked at him like he was a god. Before Gale had begged to be used and was then left behind like a broken toy.

He stared at the last messages. His invitation. The wolf's short exchange still dripping with effortless confidence. The promise not to disappoint Blake. Gale's stomach twisted, but he ignored it.

The cursor blinked as the keyboard appeared. Don't. He should just put the phone down. Take a pill. Roll over. Go to sleep. Tomorrow would be a full day. He had responsibilities. He had to be there for Blake.

But the thought gnawed at him, restless and unrelenting, like a splinter buried too deep to dig out.

His fingers moved before he could stop them.

You up?

He stared at the message, his thumb hovering over the screen. He could still delete it. But the moment stretched too long, and then it was gone. Sent.

His stomach turned. He set the phone down, heart racing as he leaned back against the headboard, his antlers scraping at the protective padding.

Case wouldn't respond. It was late. He had better things to do. That was for the best.

But still, Gale waited. Hoping. For what, he didn't know.

A vibration rattled against the wooden nightstand. The phone was back in his hand in seconds.

Yeah. What's up?

His throat was dry. He should leave it there. His rational mind was screaming at him to say nothing. To turn the phone off.

Instead, he typed back.

Can't sleep.

Three dots appeared. Stopped. Started again. Stopped. A pause. Just when Gale thought that would be it, the response came.

It was an address.

***

The house sat on the outskirts of town, past the last gas stations and strip malls, where the roads turned narrow and dark. It was larger than Gale expected - a single-story home with white siding, a wrap-around porch, and a yard that stretched wide under the moonlight. Not flashy, but clean and well-kept, the kind of place built to last.

Even in the dim glow of the porch light, it was obviously nicer than the house he and Blake shared. The lawn was trimmed. The driveway was clear. The workshop, just visible behind the house, was large enough that Gale could already picture the expensive tools inside.

Out here, there was no streetlight. No hum of traffic, no passing headlights, no neighbors close enough to hear anything that might happen. The stillness pressed in around him, thick and expectant, as if the night itself was holding its breath.

Then his eyes found Case.

The wolf leaned against the porch railing, a cigarette balanced between his fingers, his silhouette sharp against the soft yellow glow of the light. He looked completely relaxed, and that didn't change as Gale's old Honda pulled up to the curb.

Case wore only a pair of jeans, the fabric low on his hips, fur bare beneath the porch light. Gale's eyes caught on the shape of him - the broad chest, the easy confidence in his posture. Something twisted, low and sharp, curling in his stomach before he could stop it. He looked away.

He cut the engine and stepped out, shutting the door quietly. The air was still thick and heavy, laden with warm moisture even though the sun had long set. A voice in the back of his mind screamed at him to turn around. To leave. To pretend this had never happened. That none of it had ever happened.

He shoved that voice down.

He moved forward, each step slow, uncertain. Case watched without moving, though the tip of his cigarette glowed. His gaze settled over Gale and seemed to pin him into place.

Finally, the wolf exhaled smoke through his nose, slow and steady. A small smile touched the side of his muzzle. It wasn't forced or calculated. It was something Case wouldn't give just anyone. But he was giving it to him.

For a moment, he felt a flutter in his chest. He'd done that. It was such a small victory, but it felt like his.

``You look like shit.''

Gale frowned, suddenly aware of himself - his fur unkempt, dark circles hollowing his eyes, the old workout clothes he'd thrown on during his rush to get out of the house.

"You leave Blake home by himself?"

Gale exhaled, shifting his stance but refusing to look away. "What else was I supposed to do?"

Case smirked. "Father of the year over here."

"Fuck you."

Case snorted, crushing his cigarette against the railing. His gaze dragged over Gale, slow and deliberate this time, stripping him bare without laying a finger on him.

"Ain't quite what I had in mind," the wolf murmured, voice dipping - rough, edged with amusement, like this was all some enormous joke.

Then, his expression sharpened.

"Come here, then. Now."

Gale hesitated, his ears twitching, his feet rooted to Case's perfectly manicured lawn. The scent of cut grass and cigarette smoke lingered in the thick night air.

Why was he here? Why was he doing this?

Case's smirk faded. His muzzle wrinkled slightly, a flicker of something less patient in the depths of his pale eyes.

"Come. Here."

And he did.

He moved without thought, his body reacting before he even realized what he was doing - like the choice had never belonged to him at all. Like this moment was always going to happen. As if he'd been walking toward it since the first time he laid eyes on the white wolf decades earlier.

Case reached for him the moment he was close enough. Not rough, not kind. Just certain. Rough pads caught under Gale's chin, a steady grip tilting his head up, inspecting him like livestock. Or like an interesting piece of art.

Those ice-blue eyes locked onto his.

"Why are you here, Acorn?"

"I... I don't know."

The slap came fast and sharp. It was more insult than injury-- not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to sting. Gale flinched, breath hitching, and for a second, he was nothing again. Small. Insignificant. His vision blurred with tears.

Case's claws grazed his cheek, slow and deliberate, voice dipping into something almost fond.

"If you lie to me again, I'll go inside, and you'll be on your own."

Gale's ears twitched. His throat tightened. He licked his lips, trying to swallow the dryness.

"Because... I... I can't stop thinking about you."

Case sneered, fingers pressing just a fraction tighter.

"Thinking what?"

"About what you did to me." Gale's voice was barely above a whisper. "When you... when you fucked my mouth."

A slow, satisfied growl rumbled from Case's chest. "Good." He pressed in close, his nose nearly brushing Gale's. "Now, get on your fucking knees."

And he did. Right there on the porch, the rough concrete, still warm from the heat of the day, dug into his knees. He swallowed. "You want me to... again? Here?"

Case didn't respond. Instead, he unbuttoned his jeans, letting his fat, lupine sheath out into the open. His cock was already sliding free.

"You know what to do," Case murmured. "Do it."

And he did.

Gale had spent most of his adult life trying not to think. Not when his mother sighed with disappointment, looking through him instead of at him. Not when his father died, distant and unreachable, the same way he had lived. Not when Lyra started using, when the lies began, when she stopped coming home for longer and longer stretches. Not even when she divorced him.

And not when she finally called. After six months of silence. Not to ask about Blake. Not to apologize. Only to tell him she was in jail. Like he could fix it. Like it was his problem now.

And then it was just him. Alone with Blake, alone with a mortgage, alone with bills stacking higher than he could pay them. Alone with an aging mother who never once told him she was proud of him, who only ever seemed to remind him of all the ways he had come up short. Alone, trying to hold everything together with hands that wouldn't stop shaking. Alone, looking into his son's eyes, trying to find the right words when Blake had asked - voice small and uncertain, but desperate for understanding-- Why doesn't she love me? What did I do wrong?

Thinking meant accepting the truth. The ugly, painful, unbearable truth that this - this - was all his life would ever be. Struggling. Working. Surviving. No future. No escape. Just a slow, grinding descent into oblivion. A dead-end career. A marriage so disastrous that his ex-wife was in prison. A lifetime of never being enough. Never doing enough. Of watching people leave - watching them stop caring - watching them turn their backs because there was nothing in him worth staying for.

Blake was the only one left. The only person in the world who still believed in him. The only one who hadn't figured it out yet. The only bright thing in his life.

And even that, he was fucking up.

More tears stung Gale's eyes as he opened his mouth and began to nurse on Case's cock. Tears of shame. Of fear. Of guilt. They burned hot tracks through his fur.

``Good,'' the wolf cooed, voice thick with satisfaction as his fingers slid down to the base of Gale's antlers. His grip was firm and  possessive, and then he jerked his head forward.

Gale gagged. His breath hitched, body tensing, but Case didn't stop. He never did.

``Still need some training,'' the wolf murmured, tilting Gale's head just the way he wanted. ``But yer gettin' it.''

Another sharp jerk. Gale choked, his hands clenching into fists against his thighs.

The only sounds were the rhythmic chirping of crickets, the slow hum of distant cicadas. The world beyond the porch carried on, oblivious. Even Case was quiet, save for the occasional, pleased grunt.

The deer focused everything he had on the act. On the sensations. The taste. The smell. The sound. Anything but the truth of what he was doing.

A week ago, he would have never considered this - never imagined himself having sex with another man, let alone kneeling on Casey-fucking-Parker's front porch in the middle of the night, his mouth wrapped around his throbbing cock.

His jaw ached, but the ache was good. Grounding. Real in a way nothing else was. The sharp press of concrete against his knees. The strain in his throat. The scent of the wolf's arousal in his nose, the taste of his precum as it flowed over his tongue.

He wanted all of it. Craved it. Because he deserved it.

"Fuck, you learn quick, Acorn."

Case's voice yanked him out of his thoughts like a hook.

Gale blinked, dazed, realizing the wolf had stopped guiding him. The last few minutes had been entirely his own. His own movements. His own choices.

"Stop for a second," Case ordered. "Look at me."

He did, dark, teary eyes meeting Case's steely blue.

"Everything you're thinking? It's true. You're worthless. A pathetic excuse for a father. A disappointment of a son. Less than a man. Less than a person. And the only thing you're good for - " Case's voice dipped, dragging out the words, savoring them, " - is this. And even then, only when I don't have something better. When I don't have someone better. You're less than a whore. Just a thing. A warm, obedient, pathetic little thing to be used and discarded when I'm done."

Case leaned in, his breath hot against Gale's ear, voice dropping lower, silkier.

"And you will do exactly what I tell you, when I tell you, or I will walk away. I'll delete your number. I'll erase you. And you'll never see me again."

Gale moaned. A weak, broken sound that barely felt like his own.

The wolf huffed a low, derisive laugh. ``Jesus. You really are pathetic.''

And he was. God, he was. He could feel the word settling inside him, sinking deep into his bones like a sickness he was too exhausted to fight anymore. Because what was the point? Case was right. About all of it.

He wanted the pain. He needed it. At least this way, he could be useful. At least this way, someone wanted him - if only for this. And that was better than nothing.

Case exhaled slow, savoring the moment. His fingers trailed over Gale's cheek, almost gentle, tracing the damp lines his tears had left behind. The wolf's smirk deepened, eyes glinting with something dark, indulgent, utterly satisfied.

``Good boy,'' he murmured. ``Now finish what you started.''

Gale tried to draw it out, but Case took the choice away from him after a few more minutes. His grip tightened around Gale's antlers, guiding him, forcing him. The knot threatened to dislocate his jaw, but Gale accepted it all the same.

The wolf's heavy sac throbbed against the deer's chin and Case let out a deeply satisfied sigh as he leisurely dumped what felt like a gallon of thick seed down Gale's throat.

Gale swallowed hungrily. Distantly, he was disappointed that hadn't been enough to make him cum in his shorts. Not this time. He was tantalizingly close, but he didn't dare touch himself. He knew Case never would. But it didn't matter. He was there to be used.

When Case finally pulled back, Gale gasped for breath, but managed to keep upright. If he collapsed now, he might never get back up. The wolf wiped himself on Gale's shirt, then patted the deer on the cheek. "That's all. Go home." The wolf was already tucking his cock back into his jeans.

Gale blinked, his breath unsteady. "But... I thought..." He didn't even know how to finish the sentence.

Case smirked, something cold flashing behind his eyes. ``Oh. Did you think we were gonna cuddle?'' He let out a quiet laugh, already losing interest. ``Go back to your son.''

The deer looked away immediately, his face burning, ears flattening under the weight of it.

The shame curled inside him, thick and suffocating, wrapping around his ribs like a vice.

There was nothing else to say after that. The wolf walked inside and shut the door.

A deadbolt slid into place.

The porch light went out.

Gale was left there, kneeling in the dark.

Alone.

He swallowed, some of Case's taste was still on his tongue. His legs felt weak, unsteady, but he eventually forced himself to his feet. He wiped at his face, but the tears kept coming, fresh and hot and endless.

He walked to his car, his limbs trembling as he slid into the driver's seat. He gripped the wheel as if it were a railing. Something that would keep the ground from falling out beneath him. But it was too late.

A deep, shuddering breath left him. He squeezed his eyes shut, biting back the way his chest ached, the way his stomach twisted.

Then, finally, he sobbed.

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