Archive of Our Own ^beta

"I shut my eyes, and all the world drops dead

I lift my lids and all is born again.”

-Sylvia Plath

Contrary to popular opinion, Ashley Graves is not a fucking idiot.

Her brother calls her one all of the time—says that she’s dumber than a box of bricks in that way of his that is laced with both affection and malice, though she likes to think it’s more fond because she’s fucking loveable, god dammit!  She knows their birth giver (she refuses to call that hag a mother) thinks she is as well, but she isn’t. School bullshit had never come easily, sure, but she’s always been pretty observant. 

There’s not much else to do, but people watch when nobody likes you. 

Ashley had picked up on that early on. She’s not sure when she realized—probably when she was about five years old. It’s a strange sort of awareness, like the first time she’s really had a conscious thought, but it sticks out in her mind like a carving knife buried into flesh. She’d been throwing a tantrum about something. She thinks that she wanted her mother to carry her and was upset that she had been set down when she was feeling so badly, as emotions that she had always struggled to control raged through her. She was also angry that the drawing she’d done of her and her brother on the wall had turned out poorly, and his face had fallen after she’d excitedly shown it to him. 

He didn’t like it, and it had made her sad, and Ashley hated being sad, so she’d screamed and stomped, banged her tiny hands against the walls until they hurt. She just felt so awful , with her insides all twisted up, like something was squeezing them too hard, and she didn’t understand why .  Her mother had been trying to placate her with gentle kisses on her forehead, whispering “Sweetheart, please calm down. Please ,” but she couldn’t because she’s fucking five.

Then, there’s a shift. She sees the change on her mother’s face when the concern and frustration morph into apathy and resignation. The moment when she just gives up. “Fine, then,” the woman says, effectively wiping her hands of the child that she had decided to have. “Andrew, can you calm her the fuck down? She won’t stop!” She said before, quite literally giving her to her brother. 

Ashley understood it deeply, then—the understanding etched itself into her bones: her mother didn’t like her. 

Mom never tried again, after all. 

It was the same way with her friends, or the big brother stealing bitches who she’d tried to befriend when she was still young. She would try to talk to them, take part in the conversations that she didn’t care about, and participate in the pointless rituals of girlhood that they all participated in like playing with each other’s hair, playing with dolls, or learning those stupid hand-clapping games that they would sit and participate in for hours. It’s like they all had the script to a play that she had no idea that she was even supposed to be a part of. They never even questioned it.

Ashley was too blunt, perhaps. In between braiding Nina’s hair and growing increasingly frustrated by how difficult she was finding this (Andrew did most of her hair styling, and he wasn’t good at it either), she straight-up asked why they even liked this boring shit. Rebecca, Julia, and Nina had stared at her as if she were some kind of alien, exchanging nervous looks before subtly changing the subject. 

They stopped trying after that as well. 

If they hung out with her at all, it was to keep up appearances, or because her brother had asked them to  (and that dumbass thought she didn’t know about that—he thinks he’s so fucking smart). From that point on, Ashley is something of an outcast. That’s fine with her because she didn’t like any of those fake people, anyway. Everyone put on some act, behaving in line with an unspoken set of rules that Ashley just couldn’t parse for some reason. She didn’t get it, didn’t understand why she was supposed to be following those rules, and no one even seemed inclined to teach her. 

They just expected her to know, and were disappointed when she didn’t. 

Well, fuck them. She’s disappointed in all of them, too. 

And she didn’t need them, anyway. She had Andy, the best big brother in the world. He didn’t like her either, but he was still always there. He put up with her—all of her, even the bad parts that made most people try to avoid her once they caught a glimpse. She knew it was partly because their mother had pawned her off on him. After all, she didn’t want to be a mother, but he still tried, he hadn’t stopped trying, and that was enough. Andy would play with her whenever she liked; he’d remember her birthday and buy her cake when Mom claimed that there just wasn’t enough money to do anything. He read her stories and claimed to like her the most, which was really saying a lot because he didn’t like anyone. 

He washers. The one person who was made just for her, the one person who didn’t go away even when she’s awful, and she knows she can be terrible. She’s all impulse, doing whatever she feels like whenever she feels like doing it because she has no idea how else to be. Sometimes that meant she’d scream at Andy until her throat was hoarse because he told her that he couldn’t play when she wanted to, or berate him for not waiting for her at school when she was sure that he said he would, and sometimes that meant she’d convince him to lock that brother stealing cunt in a box. After all, the bitch dared to think she could take what belonged to her until she choked. 

It was enough until it wasn’t.

The problem is that Andy is just like her. He just didn’t want to admit it. He’s just as disengaged from the world, just as lonely and out of place, just as much of an outsider as she was. He just understood the rules and the script that everyone else seemed to have and was determined to abide by them. He’d force himself into that box, even though he’s far too misshapen and large to fit. He jams himself in, cuts off the pieces that he can’t squeeze in, and masquerades as a square when he is anything but. 

And in his effort to fit into that box that was too small for him, he tried to pull away from her, too. She tried not to blame him too much because Andy was trying to follow society’s script down to the letter.

It’s just that it's fucking insane to her. 

He still thought that he could achieve a normal life, but Leyley had always known better. The two of them weren’t meant for any of that. Or maybe, Andrew was. He knew how to play the game well enough that he might just be able to fake it until he made it, but where did that leave poor, disliked Leyley? Leyley, who had no mother, no father (hah!), no friends, and no brother, once he fucked off to God’s nowhere to play pretend with people whom he didn’t even give a fuck about?

It left her all alone. 

And she’d fucking die before she let that happen. She knows Andy. She’s been watching him her entire life, after all—so she knows exactly how to push his buttons. He’s more suited for this shitty world, and he had the potential to be good, unlike her, who belonged nowhere and to no one. So, she had to drag him down to her level. She had to make him bad, too. If he’s bad, then he can’t leave her.

If he’s bad, then he’s just as stuck as she is. And then they could be stuck together, and Leyley would never be alone. It would be Andy and Leyley forever and ever. The way it was supposed to be. The way that it had to be. 

They were just meant for each other. She knew it. She’d practically come into the world knowing it. She had a feeling that even if she wasn’t such a fuck up, it’d be the same. She’d probably just be able to hide it better, like he did, but she’d still love her brother.

She would still want to possess him, because he was hers and she was his. 

He just needed to stop fighting her about it.

Because she isn't stupid. 

She knows how he looked at her. She can practically feel the weight of his gaze on her at all times, watching her with the awareness of a cornered beast. Not a helpless one, mind you, but one that is but a moment away from lashing out and baring its teeth. She likes it because she watches him just as closely. She remembered the exact moment when it changed — when Andy stopped looking at her like Leyley and more like Ashley. 

They were teenagers at that point. That was when everything started to change, when Andy began to grow into someone she had a harder time understanding. Andrew was an enigma who was difficult to grasp, a liar who bunched all of his feelings into a tight ball and stuffed them down, down, down—deep into himself to where even Leyley couldn’t reach them. 

She was changing, too.

Ashley didn’t like to admit it, but she was becoming someone she didn’t recognize, either. It was easier to be Leyley. Leyley only worried about herself and her Andy, and how to have fun, but Ashley thought about all kinds of things. She thought about how she didn’t fit in at school or how Andrew tried to avoid her more now, claiming their closeness was weird, even though it was the most natural thing in the world. It was the only thing that didn’t feel confusing to her. Ashley fretted about how she didn’t want the same things that the other girls wanted, how those girlhood routines were changing and becoming even more confounding. 

Braiding hair and playing hand games had evolved into elaborate makeup, nail polish, and extensive grooming routines. They still talked about boys (when did they not, Jesus Christ), but now it was about kissing them. Or fucking them.

"John tried to put his hand down my pants at the movie theater,” Rebecca whispered to the circle of hussies. Julia, the worst of them, gasped, eyes wide like she was some sort of fucking holy saint just because she couldn’t say a word without tripping over herself. “Just like that?” 

“Just like that,” the slut even sounded proud, like that was some kind of accomplishment, which was fucking stupid. Ashley didn’t see the big deal about getting fingered by some boy who probably didn’t even have clean fingernails in the back of a dirty theater, but that was her. All Rebecca did was prove that she had no standards. Whoop-dee-fucking-doo. “I decided to let him do it. Touch me, I mean.” Well, of course she did. She was a stupid whore.

Then, the girl spoke even lower, “It felt really good.” 

That’s the only part that stood out to Ashley. 

She had to be lying. No way some gross boy with gross fingers pushing inside you felt all that great. She was probably lying, exaggerating in some stupid attempt to make the other girls jealous. Sluts did that a lot—another of their weird ass female rituals. Everything was always a competition, whether it was about looks, grades, or who the boys wanted to fuck the most. 

“What about you, Ashley?” Rebecca asked, grinning widely, eyes sharp like a hunter who had spotted easy game. She’d never liked that stupid bitch. “No boyfriend yet?”

“Nope,” Ashley responded, disinterested. 

Rebecca giggled, syrupy sweet, “Oh? No one’s asked you out yet?” She sounded way too happy about that. 

“I mean,” Ashley clicked her tongue to the roof of her mouth as something vicious snarled inside her, “Lots of boys have asked,” Which wasn’t a lie, actually. Well, it was a bit of an exaggeration, but a few had! “I just turned them down. We can’t all strive for getting fingerbanged in the back of a filthy movie theater,” she says, all sugary and fake nice, too.  Rebecca scoffed at her, cheeks flushing red with fury while Ashley’s smile widened. 

They didn't ask her about boyfriends again after that, but the conversation stuck with her, nonetheless.

All the gossip, coy giggles, and talk about boys are all just elaborate performances. They wanted to talk about sex and boys, but they didn’t want to look like sluts. 

Though, too bad! They already did. 

Ashley doesn’t see the big deal. 

Most boys just seemed boring to her back then, to be honest. Sure, they looked at her once her tits grew in, leering like animals presented with some prime red meat. Some even approached her, but quickly lost their nerve the moment that she opened her mouth and started talking. She didn’t blame them, really. It’s not like she’d ever been shy about letting any of them have it whenever she deemed it appropriate—which was most of the time. 

(She would also sometimes catch Andrew lingering around the boys who still persisted even after experiencing her winning personality, always in her periphery. Glaring hard. Looking like he’s about to start snapping his jaws and tearing at flesh, but he’s all smiles the moment her eyes meet his. Then, he goes off to match the stride of those boys, talking to them about God knows what. He’d sling an arm around their shoulders, all friendly like a good little actor, talking to them in a quiet voice. He’s still smiling, but those boys never approached her again. Hell, they even made it a point to avoid her altogether whenever she saw them.) 

Still, she looked sometimes—just out of curiosity. 

Ashley looks at the boys in her class, and nothing stands out to her. Not their looks, not their personalities, not whatever they had to talk about. Nothing. They’re just all shapeless blobs, even the boys who were supposedly “handsome.” Tall boys. Short boys. Boys with brown eyes or blue eyes. Boys who laughed loudly or boys who were serious and withdrawn. Boys who were in a grade lower than her or older boys. Hell, she even looked at some girls, just to see if that sparked anything—absolutely nothing. None of them sparked the flurry of feelings or rush of chemistry that she saw in the movies that aired on TV within her. 

None, except Andrew.

The girls in her school always creamed themselves over him, even back when they were still kids. It had always driven her crazy, especially when she noticed that they only tolerated her because they thought it would get them closer to him. She’d die before she let that happen, of course. Or she’d give them the bitch in the box treatment. They didn’t know him, anyway—the real him. Not like she did, not like she’d always known.

Andy, no, Andrew could be scary. 

She’d seen it herself, had sensed what lay beneath the mask he wore and the carefully rehearsed lines that repeated for others. She’d known when he slammed and pinned her against the wall during one of their fights, when she saw something wild and dark flash in his eyes as he stared down at her. 

He wanted to hurt her. 

Every fiber of his being had wanted it, she could tell. He could tear her throat out, beat her until she was nothing but an unrecognizable pile of gore, or maybe he would simply strangle her. She had seen him staring at her throat, felt the bloodlust and the restraint that only barely muzzled it. 

It was terrifying, and it was probably the first time he’d ever scared her. She’d always felt safe and at ease with her brother until that point, but she knew what he was capable of now with the certainty that a rabbit knew that it would only find death in the open, but the inviting jaws of a fox. 

The fear mixed with another feeling, though — a strange sort of excitement that centered in the pit of her stomach, and settled heavily like rocks thrown into an ocean. It made her breath catch, as a deep ache began to build between her legs. 

Ashley thought it must have been the way his eyes looked — the way they burned, glinting brilliantly like viridian gemstones or the scales of a serpent bathing in harsh sunlight. 

Her thighs clench, but it does little to dull that persistent throb or stop the wetness they gathered there for the first time. She wanted him to keep his hands on her, hold her close, or do whatever awful things that were running through his mind to her. Hurt her, press a hand to her throat until her vision blurred, shove his fingers down her throat until she begged like the girls in the porn VHS that he thought he had hidden well. Push his hands in her panties and finger her until she cried — really made her take it. 

She’d even let him do it in the back of a theater, like that whore Rebecca.

She’d do it for him. She’d do anything for him if only he let her. She could be his everything, just like he was everything for her. 

Still, the moment was over far too soon. 

He released her, apologized, and smiled down at her like the caricature of the good big brother that he was, even when she could see what he really wanted in his eyes. It pissed her off, but she played along. What else was there to do? What she felt was too confusing and difficult to even make sense of. It was somewhat of a relief, anyway, when he allowed Andy to come back. Andy wasn’t some kind of unpredictable monster that was capable of hurting her.

She was still scared of him—but she lied and said that she wasn’t because that was the game that Andy and Leyley played. But Ashley knew. Ashley knew it well, even when Andy kissed her forehead to stop her barrage of accusations and offered to make her dinner as a peace offering. He even made a lemon muffin from the leftover cake mix from her last birthday. 

She also knew it when she crawled into bed later that night, still throbbing between her legs as she thought of her brother. She waited until she was sure that he was asleep (he always would snore softly when he was) and slid a curious hand in between her thighs. 

Ashley bit her lip as the pad of her index finger brushed over her clit. It was like a chill was in the air, one that sank deep into her flesh and made her shiver. It usually didn’t feel like much when she tried to touch herself, but it was different this time. The pleasure is piercing —as though she’d been stabbed with it, and the blade had been coated in a venom that spread through her bloodstream like liquid fire. It wasn’t Andy that she wanted, though. She imagined Andrew’s eyes as they had been earlier, the green so vibrant in the dark of their room as he held her down. In her mind’s eye, her fingers became his as they drew small circles around her clitoral hood. His fingertips were probably rougher than hers, the digits long and thicker than her own.

He would fill her  up so well.   

She knew it, just like she knew that they were meant to be. He was meant to pour into the emptiness that she was suddenly so aware of between her legs. She could feel her vaginal muscles clenching eagerly around nothing, and god—it almost hurt. How bad she wanted it— wanted  him   . Ashley wondered if this was how those sluts felt when they thought about the boring, faceless boys at their school.

She wondered how they could even stand it. 

Ashley could barely breathe as she swallowed a moan. It was like her body had awakened, like some switch had been flicked, and she suddenly understood. The fear that made her chest constrict and her pulse race only made the desire thrum that much harder. Andrew was strong. Andrew could do whatever he wanted with her. She pushed a finger inside of herself, gasping at how easy it was, even when she added another. She was dripping wet, to the point that she could feel the harsh, wet slapping noises coming from her body. It sounded so loud — she almost worried that Andrew would wake up from the sound.

Her vaginal walls spasmed, and she bit back a sob. Would he come over if he realized what she was doing? No, he’d probably berate her for doing this while he was still in the room. But, what if he didn’t? What if he slid into bed beside her? Kissed the back of her throat as he whispered soft encouragement into her ear. “That’s it, Leyley,” he’d say, “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Oh, fuck yeah, it does. 

She could feel something building, something absolutely fucking incredible. Stars are shooting behind her eyelids, exploding into colors like fireworks bursting in the sky. It was almost enough — but it wasn’t quite what she needed. Her fingers move rapidly, sinking into herself needily, like she was ready to get fucked, but, but —

Ashley imagined Andrew grabbing her by the throat, teeth sinking into the back of her neck with enough force to draw blood. He could hold her in place so that she couldn’t move or do anything but accept what he was doing to her. His violence—his love. Everything. She nearly blacked out as something seemed to break inside of her, like shattering glass. Her body convulsed, hips moving wildly. It was white hot inside of her, every nerve set alight and burned raw. She had to bite down on her pillow to keep from screaming. Or rather, she did scream into it.

She was completely and utterly exhausted, lying on her bed with her face pressed down into her pillow. 

Fuck. That was fucking incredible. 

Maybe the sluts were onto something. 

Maybe it was because she’d thought of Andrew? If it was with Andrew, then it was okay. If it was with Andrew, then she could see the appeal—even if he was scary. If it was Andrew, it was fine even if he wanted to hurt her. She loved him, so of course, she’d love whatever he did with her. If it were Andrew and Ashley, then it could work. 

Yeah.

Maybe. 

Ashley’s heart broke when she was sixteen. 

Actually, it’s more like it was smashed to pieces with a hammer wielded by none other than her older brother. Then again, Andrew had always known how to wreck her heart. He was good at it, too, and had only gotten better the older that they became. It wasn’t enough that he had to go and start dating that whiny bitch who he didn’t even like (it was so fucking obvious—he was just putting on a show like usual, like a good little cog in society’s ever-spinning wheel), but he—he…

He’d pushed her away. 

She didn’t understand it, either. She had heard him talking in his sleep. She heard him moaning her name—felt him grinding his hips against her as he held her tightly, and her heart soared. Andrew wanted her, too, and while she had picked up on that years ago, he was finally acting on it. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so happy—and so she reached into her chest and handed her bruised and bleeding heart to him on a silver platter, an offering that she would have made eagerly to know that he was hers and she was his. 

But then he’d pushed her away. 

And she wondered if she had perhaps been wrong all along. 

Maybe they weren’t meant to be. 

Had he lied to her when he told her that she would always be his priority? Had it been another fucking act when he said that he would be anything she wanted him to be? She knew he hadn’t liked her before, but she thought that had changed. She had done everything in her power to make it change so that she was the only person that he liked—the only person to make him happy, just like he was for her. 

Was she really, truly alone?

Had she disgusted him? It couldn’t be that—she knew what she heard. He was asking for her. Not that fucking suicidal slut. Her. 

So, why, why, why wasn’t she enough for him?

Ashley didn’t get her answer that night, or the night after that. Andrew came to her, trying to talk and spin some bullshit narrative, but she didn’t want to hear it. She ignored him, shoved him away, but he didn’t even try to smooth things over, and that only pissed her off even more. He didn’t push. He didn’t beg for her forgiveness and declare his true love. He didn’t grovel at her feet and promise to break up with his fucking whore not-girlfriend. No, he just let her ignore him. 

He let her push him away. 

It’s disappointing.

But that’s all he ever did, so why was she even surprised?

Days pass, then weeks, and then months. And then an entire year goes by with her barely speaking a word to her brother. She drops out of high school because she has always hated it, and there’s no reason to continue now that Andrew is in college. She hates putting up with the teachers who look at her like she’s a lost cause and the bitches who whisper about her like she’s the strange one because she doesn’t want to play by the hussy rule book and simper and preen for the attention of gross boys who only want to slobber over them. 

She doesn’t like anything or—anyone. 

And no one likes her, either. 

She doesn’t want to pretend and put on a person suit like her brother does every day. The very thought of doing so makes her want to scream. Andrew did it and always looked fucking miserable, anyway. So did their hag of a mother, so why even bother? She didn’t know how they managed to fool anyone with their bullshit, but it was probably because everyone was bullshitting to some capacity. No one wanted to see the truth because they all hid behind masks, too.

Ashley hates it. 

Why should she have to make herself smaller to make some random assholes more comfortable? Why should she even care?

Why did no one want anything to do with her?

Why did Andrew let her push him away? Was he okay with it? He probably was. He had once told her that he didn’t like her, after all. She’d thought that had changed, but maybe it hadn’t. Maybe the only reason he had anything to do with her at all was because of Nina and that stupid fucking blood oath. That thought eats away at her insides, festering like a sinking rot. Bet he loved that she wasn’t speaking with him. Now he had all the time in the world to spend with that fucking slut. 

“When are you getting a job?” Her hag of a birth mother pesters her daily, the moment she drops out of school. Never mind that she didn’t try to stop her at all. She’d only shrugged once Ashley had told her, saying she was “surprised she even lasted as long as she had.”

Mother dearest sits at their tiny dining table, sorting through bills that apparently were far more interesting than her only daughter. Renee doesn’t need to be looking at Ashley for her to see her judgment. No, Ashley has felt the weight of it for her entire life. Her mother’s concern about her dropping out of high school only went as far as it affected her. And what people thought about her. Luckily, Ashley had fucked up so much over the course of her life that Renee had given up using her to try to look good and had instead opted for playing the “martyr mother cursed with a hellspawn of a daughter” role. It was far more effective at eliciting sympathy. 

Really, the support was overflowing in this fucking house! 

Andrew tries to speak to her about it, but she tells him to mind his fucking business. It’s not like he cares, and he proves it when he proceeds to do just as she demanded. Again. 

“I’ve been applying to a receptionist gig—,” it was at an art gallery that she often walked past with Andrew on the way home from school since they were kids. They’d never gone inside, never had the money to, but she’d always thought that it looked beautiful inside. It was a bright place, filled with all sorts of colors, works that people had created with their own two hands that hung on the walls or were on display in some inventive way that would make her mind whirl. 

She would press her face against the glass windows that looked into the studio, utterly fascinated until Andrew eventually led her away. Her favorite piece was a painting of a girl around her at that time, swinging on a swing tied to a tree. Her head was thrown back as she laughed heartily. Ashley remembers feeling astonished at seeing such happiness. She didn’t think she’d ever felt anything close to that in her life, even at the age of seven. Her mother had never laughed like that, nor had her father. She’d never even laughed like that when she was with Andrew, even when he made her laugh so hard she cried.

It looked so…genuine. 

So real. Like that little girl had all of the friends in the world—like her parents adored her and doted on her. She probably got everything she wanted, and no one called her annoying or a pest at all. Someone had created that. She had wanted to do that, too—wanted to create like the artists whose works lined those colorful walls. And she wanted to show Andy all of her creations, maybe he would even hang some of them up in their room, keeping them as close to his heart as she kept him. 

She never could, though. 

She’s not good enough. Not even for the thing she liked the most outside of Andy, but Andy didn’t want her either, so what else was new? Even now, her attempts at art were laughable—juvenile and pathetic, even if she loved those drawings dearly. 

Her mother laughs, a shrill sound that pierces her ears, “Like you know anything about that.”

“H-how hard could it be? It’s just giving people information, isn’t it?”

“And you’re quite the people person, aren’t you?” Renee asks sarcastically. She sits at the kitchen table, rolling her eyes and snorting, like that’s the funniest shit she’s heard all day. “Let’s try to be realistic, sweetheart. You’d have better luck looking for work elsewhere. Why not try cleaning or something? You’re good at that. I could even find you something where I work—”

God, working in the same place her mother did? Absolutely fucking not. The very idea made her skin crawl. She’d probably make the experience a living hell, anyway. She’d set some impossible standard that Ashley would inevitably fall short of. Then, she’d berate her about that failure, probably threaten to kick her out some more, even though she hadn’t done a fucking thing to prepare Ashley for the world at all. Apparently, Ashley was supposed just to know! Or raise herself. Or Andrew was supposed to. 

Never that fucking hag.

“I’ll figure something out,” she hisses back, even though she has no plan and no direction at all. She didn’t have anyone to point her in the general vicinity of where she wanted to go, but her pride wouldn’t let her hag of a mother know that. So, she’s got to figure something out. 

And she does try. 

She really does. It just never works out. The callbacks she does get only inform her, ‘with great regret,’ that they had gone with a better fit, but still thanked her emphatically for wasting her fucking time. Andrew doesn’t seem to have this problem. He gets into university easily and somehow blinks his way into part-time employment. She didn’t get it. Their mother also hadn’t bothered teaching him shit, and yet he seemed to glide through life. He could make friends wherever he went, and people liked him despite the fact that he's faker than the wedding ring their mother insisted was really diamond and not clearly cubic zirconia because they couldn’t afford shit. He’s just as empty as her, just as misanthropic and bitter, but he still possesses something that she lacks. 

It’s easy to blend in when you see the world as a stage, and all the people within it—the players. 

And then, there was her. 

To her, the world is more like a TV show—a soap opera where each event is unpredictable and more nonsensical than the last. She can’t follow it. She can’t even guess the events, and so she is constantly and hopelessly lost.

And alone. 

Always, always alone. 

Ashley Graves has no one. 

At least, until the day her brother decides to stop being such a fucking idiot and fix things. Then, she has him.

—and him, alone. 

“You know,” Ashley drawls as she drew small circles into her brother’s chest with her finger, “You totally fucked up my clothes, jackass.” She laid her ear on his sternum, listening to the steady pulse of his heartbeat. “Are you going to take responsibility?”

She heard Andrew chuckle, in between inhaling the poisonous smoke from his cigarette. The car smelled like smoke and sex, and while she was tempted to reprimand him, she was far too fucked out to care. She could barely even feel her legs right now. “You fucked up mine, too. These jeans are ruined. The fucking car seat, too, but at least it’s leather.”

She wonders if she should be more mortified by that —that her body was capable of such things, but she’s not, only amused. They’d shared much grosser things together over the years, anyway. And it’s his fault to begin with. “Did you make me piss myself?”

“That’s not what that was.”

“Oh yeah, then what was it, nerd?”

“You squirted. Sure, it’s made of some of the same stuff, but—“

She rolls her eyes. Leave it to her brother to launch off into a rant about the nuances between weird fluids ejected during sex. She’s already tuning him out. “So, I didn’t piss myself. Cool. That would suck, but I guess it doesn’t smell like it, anyway.” She sits up and stretches her arms over her head. Her brother’s eyes linger on her tits appreciatively, and Ashley grins. 

His attention is all on her.

He wants to touch her again. She can see it in his eyes, but he continues smoking his nasty cancer stick to her disappointment. 

She’s sore all over — her throat, her cheeks, her cunt, and almost every muscle in her body screams as though she had been through the most intense workout of her life. Her rapey brother had really put her through the ringer between all that slapping, choking, face fucking, and everything uh… else (she’s not fucking embarrassed about him eating her out. Nope!) yet she feels more at ease than she’s felt in years. 

Andrew does, too. All of the anger that he had been radiating earlier had evaporated like steam. He’s boneless beneath her, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he tracks each of her movements. “Don’t cut me off, you little shit,” he says, eyes heavily lidded as a palm finds the swell of her hip. His touch is familiar, natural, and even. Then again, they’d always been this close, hadn’t they? They’d just given up the pretenses now.

Fucking finally. 

“Or else what? Gonna do something about it?”

She sees something dangerous flash in his eyes, but she can only feel a rush of excitement, even though Andrew has more than proven himself able to make good on his threats after the earlier display of violence. She shouldn’t be taunting him, but she also can’t say that she doesn’t want to be manhandled and fucked stupid so…

“Sure,” he says easily, “I can always backhand you again. Teach your ass a lesson.”

Threatening to hit her again? Lame. “Boo! Wife-beater!” She sticks her tongue out at him. His eyes flicker to her lips, the darkness within them only growing. “Like you don’t like it,” he takes a deep drag from his cigarette. “You’re always trying to get me worked up. Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?”

Was she? Probably. She’d learned early on that any attention, whether it be bad, good, or anything in between, was still attention. “Maybe?” Ashley considers, her smile growing slyer, “Is it working?”

He laughs, sounding genuine and less cruel than the way he’d laughed while fucking her. He hasn’t laughed like that since she bit him on their mom’s couch. She likes it when he laughs like this—this smile, this laugh. She’s only ever seen it with her, like it belongs to her. “So, you want me to fuck you up? Tease.” His chest rumbles, emanating a deep baritone that makes her flesh burn. 

“That’s teasing to you? God, you’re such a freak.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“What are you, a child?” Ashley snorts before noticing that her bra and shirt were still very much pushed up and were also very much covered in saliva thanks to her dear big brother. Gross. She needs to change. 

She’s tired enough to pass out, but she finds herself wanting to put on a show for Andrew. Her breasts bounce as she tugs her bra and shirt off her shoulders, leaving herself bare. A shame. This was her good bra, but it’d need to be laundered before she could wear it again. 

“...What are you doing?” 

Ashley smirks, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She leans against him, breasts pressing against her chest as she reaches for a bag sitting on the backseat of the car. There were some clean clothes in there, and she’s quick to pull out a clean shirt and bra. shorts, and underwear. Hm. This was her last clean change of clothes until they found a washing machine, so she’d need to be careful. 

“You should change, too,” she notes with a snort as she sits back onto his lap. “You smell like pussy.”

Her brother sits up on his elbows, eyelids heavy as one hand slides along her inner thigh. His thumb brushes over a bruise that he’s left there, the sting of it making her gasp. She wants to bite her lip but thinks better of it—he’d told her not to, after all. “You do, too. And I think it’s more than we smell like sex in general.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“You were the one provoking me,” her brother says, making excuses like usual, even as she can feel his cock throbbing in interest beneath her. Hard again — so the cigarettes weren’t making him impotent at all. Lucky her.  She giggles, intentionally sliding her slit along the length of his cock before slowly putting on the new bra. It was a plain pink one, not one of her better ones, but it did its job. His fingers flex, squeezing her tender flesh in response as his lashes flutter.  “Blame yourself for that one, nightmare.”

“Was I?” She hums, also throwing on a black shirt. “I don’t know about that. Weren’t you reading too much into that?”

“I was reading too much into all of the ‘jokes’ of you offering me your virginity as thanks for a fucking soda?” There’s a dark undercurrent to his voice—one that thrills her and makes her want to push some more, just to see what he’d do. “Yeah. What’s so weird about that? Are you a fucking pervert or something?” She pops her lips and laughs, trying to maneuver off of him, but he grabs her hips, pulling her back against him. “Hey!” She protests, giggling when he tugs her down, lips pressing against hers in that perfect way that makes her toes curl and her head feel like cotton candy had been stuffed in between her ears. 

This feels right. 

She has always known that it would—kissing Andrew feels natural, too. Ashley groans as they find a rhythm, hips moving in tandem as his cock slides in between the slick folds of her labia. “Y-You’re going to ruin my clothes again.”

“Not if we have a quickie,” he grips his cock, stroking it lazily. “C’mere.”

“You’re going to make me be on top again???”

“God, it’s so hot when you complain. Please keep doing it forever,” he snarks, but he doesn’t sound all that mad, grinning when she lifts herself up, allowing him to guide himself inside again. 

They don’t leave the car for a while, but she doesn’t mind. 

They managed to both get dressed. Eventually. 

They might have fucked again after the ‘quickie’, as Andrew called it, but after round three, Ashley now fully understands why people wanted to fuck all of the time. It’s fucking incredible. Fucking him felt even better than anything she’d ever accomplished by masturbating on her own. She might even be addicted if she’s being honest. Hell. She even understands why Andrew has always been so fixated on it. 

Andrew insisted that they should try to get some sleep before planning out their next move. Ashley agrees with his logic but finds it difficult to quiet her mind enough even to begin to drift off. It’s a fitful rest, and she turns and twists, waking up every hour, or at least it feels that way. 

It’s strange.

She’s gotten everything that she’s ever wanted—and she’s happy. She’s so happy she could drop dead and be content, but there’s an undercurrent of doubt that chokes her heart like her brother’s strong hands. Trust is difficult, she supposes. She believed that he loved her now, especially after all of this, but the fears and insecurities that had chased her for nearly her entire life died hard. The shadow of them still lingered, ready to resurrect those buried insecurities like raising the dead. 

She’s still tucked on his lap, listening to the steady pulse of his heart, when she feels his lips press against her hair. She smiles, cracking an eye open to find those piercing green eyes watching her with a dissecting precision. She loves it. “I thought I told you to sleep,” he murmurs, tugging lightly at her ear.

“You did,” Ashley acknowledges with a hum, “and I’m trying. It’s just hard to get comfortable,” which was partly true. She is still sore, and she didn’t want to fuck up the good mood by giving her annoying insecurities a voice and pissing him off again. 

“…Are you sore?”

“Yeah,” she admits, pouting. “You didn’t let me rest—you animal.” Andrew couldn’t seem to keep his hands off of her now. Well. He’d always been fairly handsy, but his excitement was palpable now that each touch held the possibility of sex. She doesn’t mind it—she loves that validation, knowing that he wanted her so badly, that he craved her body to that extent. Her fingertips drag lazily beneath his sweater. She feels his cock jump under her in his jeans, so reactive to her. 

She can get used to this. “Go to sleep, he says! How?” 

Ashley sits up, smirking at the way he guiltily frowns.

“If you told me you were too tired to go again, I wouldn’t have—”

“Oh, shut up,” she snorts, “I wanted to do it, too. Besides, would you have really stopped if I said something?” 

Andrew looks hurt, brows knitting together and lips turned downward, like she’d just deflated him. Oh shit. She hadn’t meant to actually upset him, but she’s also not really sure what she had said wrong. He’d been the one to start all of this, right? He’d been so rough, too, and while she’d liked it, that didn’t take away from the fact that there were more than a few times when she’d been frightened of him. 

“Ashley, I wouldn’t have really—,” his eyes shift, and if his hands weren’t wrapped around her, she’s sure he would have started biting at his knuckles and nails like he did when he was anxious about something. “I wouldn’t have forced you. You know. Not really.”

Her head tilts as she observes him. He’s ashamed, she can tell that much from the way he looks like a kicked puppy, all wilted like she’s sucked the life from him. She’s not sure if she fully believes him. When they’d started, it sure didn’t feel like he would’ve stopped. He’d looked wild-eyed enough to kill her, just like he’d looked in her vision.

Right.

Her vision. She’d almost forgotten all about it with everything that had happened. She shakes her head, attempting to brush off the residual pangs of fear that grip her heart from that reminder. No. It’s fine. They’re fine. Things are different now. She can feel it.  “It doesn’t matter whether you would or wouldn’t have,” she says, raising her fingers to trace his lips. “You can do whatever you want to me as long as you’re mine.” 

He’s about to open his mouth, no doubt to apologize, or to make some bullshit denial, when there is a knock on the car’s window. 

Both of their heads whip around to see a rather unremarkable man, woman, and child. The man was of average height, stout, and with mousy brown hair and beady eyes that made him look like he’d get easily lost in a crowd. His woman, who Ashley assumed was his wife, was no different, and the child might as well have been a shapeless blob for as much as he stood out. They all smiled like they were straight out of some fucking Hallmark card. Or like rats. A family of humans who had been spliced with rat DNA.

The fuck did they want?

Andrew glances at her, an irritated look in his eye, before he carefully rolls the window down. “Hi there, friends!” The man says. 

Great, and they talked like they were the Brady bunch. Ashley is tempted to let these people talk to themselves, but Andrew can never bring himself to ignore the nobodies. “…Can I help you?”

“You sure can! Where do we pay the parking fee?”

Why the fuck was he asking them? And there was a fee? That was news to her—Andrew had just parked wherever, and they never had to pay any fee. Nor had they encountered any rangers, and they’d already been there for a couple of days. Then again, maybe Andrew was intentionally avoiding them. He usually was the one who worried about that kind of shit, anyway. If it were up to Ashley, she’d just shoot anyone stupid enough to try to hassle them. “We’ll be staying for a few days, but the booth is closed,” the rat man continues, like they cared about whatever stupid shit he was saying. 

Andrew has that fake smile plastered on his face. The one that tells her that he’s only barely listening. 

He seems more interested in playing around with the hemline of her shorts, fingertips brushing underneath the fabric. It’s ticklish, but she allows him to continue. It’s not like she cared if these nobodies noticed what he’s up to. Unable to resist, she returns the gesture, nails scraping along the defined muscles of his abdomen as she lightly pushes up beneath the black shirt he’d changed into.“Right,” Andrew hums in a low drawl, perhaps to bite back a shudder. “I guess you missed the workers.”

“Oh no… Do you think it’s fine if we pay in the morning?”

How the fuck would they know?!

“Yeah, that’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Phew,” the human rat sighs in relief, like that bullshit advice had actually helped him immensely. “What a relief! Thank you so much!”

“Uh-huh. Take care. It’s pretty dark out there!” Andrew chirps, like the fake son of a bitch that he is. His hand spreads over her thigh, squeezing hard, a warning or a promise of what would come if she continues her teasing. “Will do! Thanks again! Come on, let’s go find ourselves a camping spot!” Rat man says, giving them away before he and his family of rodents began to make their way towards the campgrounds. As they walk away, Ashley can faintly hear the kid ask, “Mom, why was she sitting on him?”

The woman tries to cover a nervous cough, “I-I’ll tell you when you’re older,” she says as they disappear into the forest. Ashley snorts, amused but pleased. Good. Even strangers could tell that they belonged together. Then again, it wasn’t like they were doing much to hide that fact. They were still practically feeling each other up right in front of those people. Not that she cared. 

Though. The arrival of the rat family presented a good opportunity.

Ashley grins, sitting up and brushing her lips against the corner of Andrew’s mouth. She feels him smirk, one of his large hands going to grope at her ass again. “…Time to charge the trinket?” She asks, giggling as Andrew kisses her cheek. To be honest, they would be doing the world a favor. Freaky rat spliced people shouldn’t exist to begin with—at least this way, they’d have some purpose as fuel for the demon. 

Andrew pauses, before giving her that crooked smile that she loved—the one that isn’t faked, the one that he only ever gives to her, “Aww, you know I can’t say no to a family value pack,” he purrs before kissing her in earnest. Her toes curl, and her heart sings. She nips at his bottom lip and gasps as his hips buck upward. At this rate, they wouldn’t ever leave this fucking car. She can’t tell whether she minds that or not. 

Her brother groans. “No. Wait. Don’t get me worked up.”

“I can’t make you do anything, Andrew,” she teases, reaching between them to brush her hand over the outline of his cock over his jeans. She has to admit, she likes this — she likes the way he squirms beneath her, how she can feel his cock throb, and how his body reacts to her touch as though he might snap at any moment. Even with her lack of interest in sex, Andrew’s enjoyment causes a stirring of arousal within her. He grabs her wrist, bringing her hand up to his mouth to kiss her pulse point. “You know damn well how much you drive me crazy,” he growls. Did she know that? He’d made it pretty fucking hard to believe with how often he would push her away, but she’s starting to get it more now. “Now, stop. Behave yourself.”

The order sends a shiver down her spine. “Alright, you win,” she says, feeling oddly pinned in place from the heat of his gaze, the weight of his words. “In my defense, you started it, though.”

“Touché,” he shrugs, pausing for a moment as he looks at her, considering something. “I just want to make something clear before we get to it.” Get to what? Oh, right—sacrificing the rat people.

“And what’s that?”

"You can say no to me,” Andrew says, giving her a pointed look. Ashley frowns. Okay, he’s still going on about this. “I’m serious, Ashley,” he presses, bringing his thumb underneath her chin to keep her from looking away. “If this is gonna work with us. I need to make sure that you’re not just going along with shit because I want it.”

Ugh. He isn’t going to drop this, is he? 

“That didn’t seem to matter when you were slapping me around and humping me like a horny dog.”

His lips pinch together. “Well, that’s true,” he acknowledges, “But I wouldn’t have really gone all the way if you weren’t into it at all. That’s what I’m saying. Do you understand?”

She’s not sure if she believes him. “Even when you’re pissed off?”

“…Even when I’m pissed off,” he affirms with a heavy huff. He rubs at his temples, “Look. I—I can’t deny that you make me see fucking red sometimes, but if you really don’t want me to do something, I need you to promise me that you’ll let me know. And be fucking serious about it. When it comes to…sex, what you want matters,” he speaks with a firmness that leaves her feeling somewhat awkward. Talking shit out in a way that didn't end in a screaming match was new for them—but it seems like this was important to him. Important enough for him to keep bringing it up, at least. “Please?”

“…Fine,” Ashley agrees, unsure why this particular conversation makes her feel so at odds with herself. She had always been willing to be anything for Andrew. She’d let him do whatever he wanted to her so long as he wasn’t doing it with some fucking hussy. What she wanted didn’t factor into any of that. Still, she liked what they had done, violence in all. “I…am I weird if I liked those things, though?” She asks, curious but also hesitant. This feels far too vulnerable, like she’s peeling back the layers of her flesh, flaying the skin right off of her bones to bare herself to him. She rests her head against his chest. “…like the slapping and the choking…?

“…No more weird than I am, I guess,” Andrew murmurs, nose pressed against the top of her head. “This entire situation is a fucking mess, Ashley, but I think us being kind of kinky is the least of our concerns.” His expression turns somewhat grim, and he hesitates. “The, uh…” His eyes shift, as if something has suddenly caught in his throat. “The…incest is probably the biggest one,” her brother says so quietly, she almost doesn’t hear him. 

That actually drags a giggle out of her. They’d killed for each other, but this was what he had the biggest problem with. He’s so stupid! “I heard if you say no chromo after, it’s not really incest.”

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

“And kinky? Is that what we’re calling you, smacking me around and choking me out now?”

“Something like that—and don’t give me that. You were into it. Super into it,” he smirks, eyes crinkling in amusement, but he also seems pleased by that fact, liking that she’d gotten off on her own torment. The darkness within him that called to her own—familiar and grasping like claws shredding skin. His hand flattens against the small of her back as phantom pleasure blooms in the pit of her belly, echoing how he made her feel earlier.

She wonders if he’ll fuck her again.

She would let him if he wanted to. 

Disappointingly, the sharp desire in his eyes softens to something more affectionate. He threads his fingers through her hair. “You’re weird as fuck. We both are, but it’s not…wrong for you to enjoy yourself…or feel good. That’s kind of the point of sex.”

She hums, letting his words sink in, turning them over in her mind. They are difficult to reconcile with years of shame, but she tries. “If that’s what you want.”

He frowns, “Ashley—“

“Look, it’s just—it’s just easier for me to enjoy it if I know you want me to, okay?” 

He stares at her, and she stares back just as hard before he turns away, sighing and pulling the key from the ignition. “It’s a start, I guess,” he mutters before thankfully letting the issue go, at least for now. She can tell that this will not be the last time they discuss this. Oh well, they had bigger fish to fry. Or bigger rats, at least. That could be tomorrow’s problem. 

“Anyway,” Andrew sighs, and lightly pinches her hips.“Get off of me. Even strangers think we screw.”

Ashley snorts, arching a brow, “Don’t we?”

“It’s a recent development. Now, up,” she does as he asks, regretfully. She would rather just stay in the car with him, letting time pass them by as she discovered all kinds of new feelings and sensations with him—but they needed to recharge the trinket. That had to take precedence for the time being. After, maybe they could find a motel— somewhere nicer than the one they had stayed at before and lock themselves in the room for a few days. They could order takeout and carve out their own little slice of heaven within the landfill that was their world. 

That sounded nice. 

“He’s no fun these days,” she comments, watching as Andrew closes the car door behind him. He takes her hand in his, pleasantly surprising her as he tugs her forward to the entrance of the campgrounds. “Oho! Is this PDA? Mayhaps he is still fun!”

Her brother rolls his eyes, but she doesn’t miss the way he smiles. He’s having fun. She can tell. 

The entrance to the campgrounds is rather unremarkable. There are a few parked cars, all empty, their owners no doubt further in the forest. There was a map that she had made a note to study before they ventured deeper into the grounds. Ashley sees the empty booth that the rat man had referenced earlier, too. They must not pay the workers to stay overnight. It seemed like a bit of an oversight, but one that they would benefit from. No workers meant it’d be easier to take the souls they needed before disappearing into the night. Nice and easy. 

Andrew eyes a pay phone that looked like it didn’t get much use in the front, eyes contemplative as though he’s considering something. She gives his hand a squeeze. “Want to make a call?” She teases, “There’s always mom and dad—oh wait, they’re dead!” Though, it wasn’t like they ever answered the phone even when they were alive, either.  So, not much difference there. 

“Not them,” he actually responds seriously to her dumb quip. He leads her over to the pay phone, taking a moment to rifle through his pockets to find the necessary change. Huh? “You’re seriously going to call someone?” She questions, puzzled. “Whatever happened to not contacting anyone we know ever again?” Then, her eyes narrow. There was only one person whom Andrew could think to call out here, and it sure as hell wasn’t the friends whom he stopped bothering with the moment he graduated high school, and she had already established that their parents were fucking dead, so—

“At this point, we’re screwed, anyway,” Andrew shrugs, but she sees something sharp in his eyes, something devious and wicked that he rarely displayed even if she had always known it was there. That thirst for chaos that she also recognized within herself, though Andrew normally liked to act as though he were above it.  Her forehead wrinkles in confusion, “You don’t know that,” she says, wondering what the fuck his deal is. He was the one who had made such a big deal about not meeting up with anyone she’d ever known! He’d even threatened her, and now he just wanted to? For kicks?! “If we’re careful, then maybe—”

“Ashley,” he cuts her off, lightly pressing his finger to her lips to silence her. His eyes are difficult to read. “Will you trust me?” 

Trust.

There’s that word again.

She didn’t know if she did, if she’s being honest. She’d stopped trusting him ever since he went and started dating that fucking whore who’d pretended to be her friend to get to her brother. Andrew was a fucking liar, after all. He’d been a liar for as long as she could remember, and almost every time, he found a way to tear her heart out and stomp all over it. Still, they were trying to be different now. He’d finally fucked her—he’d said he loved her and she’d believed him, perhaps for the first time ever. Her lips twist, fear settling in her stomach like old, stale oil. 

Fuck.

She has to try, doesn’t she?

Fuck, fuckity fucking fuck — “Okay,” she mutters, “Just don’t make me regret this.”

His lips quirk upward, pleased by her answer like a fucking weirdo. His lips brush her forehead. “Good girl. And you’ll keep being good for me, won’t you?”

Damn. Her insides shudder—she really liked it when he praised her like that. “You’re such a freak.” 

He doesn’t seem to buy her attempt at deflection as he cages her against the payphone. There's a reptilian glint within his green eyes, knowing and sly.“Something tells me I’m not the only one,” he purrs, one of his hands reaching to pick up the phone’s receiver as he dials a number that she can’t see. 

She wants to bite her lips again. 

“...So, who are you calling?” 

“You’ll see. Come closer,” he beckons, as though he’s not all pressed up against her, the phone digging into her back. “I know you want to listen in.” His eyes don’t leave her as the phone begins to ring. It only rings a few times before whoever Andrew calls answers the phone. 

“Hi, this is Julia speaking!” 

OKAY, WHAT THE FUCK?!

She had kind of figured this was what he had in mind, but she hadn’t expected him to have the balls to actually call his ex whore in front of her.  He’d been so adamant that it would be her to screw up and contact someone who knew them, and he was deliberately calling that fucking bitch?! “ARE YOU KIDDING ME—,” Andrew is quick to slap his hand against her mouth, silencing her immediately. She feels heat beneath her skin, pulse rushing hotly from a flash of rage. Andrew only smirks down at her, looking so fucking pleased with himself that she wants to claw at his stupid face. 

His hand moves from her mouth to grip the underside of her chin in a bruising grip. “You said you’d trust me.”

She’s already wishing that she hadn’t. “...Do whatever you want,” she mutters, hands balling into fists so tightly that she’s sure she’s making her palms bleed. She feels him kiss her forehead, a reward for her obedience. She wants to ask if he thinks she’s a dog, at least until he kisses her. It’s quick, but it leaves her mind reeling as she feels one of his hands grasping at her hips. He pulls back, perhaps to turn his attention back to that fucking cunt. “H—Hello? Anybody there?” Julia stutters, and Ashley wonders how someone could trip over themselves speaking while even on the phone. It’s pathetic. 

Andrew rubs a thumb along her lips, grinning wildly, “Hello, love of my life!” He says, gently pushing his thumb into her mouth. She blinks rapidly as she looks up at him, but his eyes only offer a challenge. The nerve of this asshole—what kind of fucking game was he playing? She bites the tip of it in retaliation, making him hiss and push himself harder against her body. His legs are right between her, thigh pushed right against her crotch. 

He presses it further, deliberately in a way that brushes along her clit even through the layers of clothing.

Didn’t he realize he was on the phone? If he wasn’t careful,h is ex would hear them and—

Her eyes widen as realization hits her. 

He—he was doing this on purpose. 

Was he—trying to mess around while on the phone with his ex? 

Well, fuck. She didn’t think he had it in him —but Andrew had been full of surprises. She still misses Andy, but she’s starting to appreciate the different aspects of Andrew. Even if he’s frightening and unpredictable, she can’t call him boring. 

“Andrew!” That waif shrieks shrill, “Is that—…Is it really you?” She asks as Andrew’s hips roll slowly, sensually against her. It’s a bit difficult to do this standing with their height difference, but his thigh feels fucking perfect right where it is—and god, knowing that he’s trying this while on the phone with Julia fills Ashley with a wicked hot heat unlike anything she’s ever felt before. She’s already wet, already panting as she carefully pokes her tongue out to wrap against his finger. His lips part, eyes growing dark and hooded. She likes this look on him—like he’s one second away from sinking his teeth into her. 

He probably is. 

“Uh-huh,” he purrs, cock already hardening against Ashley’s thigh, “Sorry for not calling you before. I figured you didn’t want to hear from me.” Her fingers wrap around his wrist as though to mimic how she would grab his cock, beginning to suck on his thumb as he slowly pushes it in and out of her mouth. 

Kinky, indeed. 

The cunt is crying, to Ashley’s delight. Julia sniffles, “I—I thought you’d died!” Died? Oh, right—the incredibly convenient fire the water company had been so kind to give them had effectively left them dead, at least to anyone who had known them. “There was the fire and I couldn’t—! They wouldn’t tell me anything!”

“ God, does she always whine like this ?” Ashley whispers around Andrew’s finger, tugging it out of her mouth to bite at his wrist, right where she feels his pulse throb. It picks up, and she watches as his Adam’s Apple bobs. His smile widens—so unlike the normal, collected smile that he put on for the world. This was something else entirely as he nodded, as though to agree with her. The slut on the phone continues to cry, but Ashley is no longer annoyed. 

No. Her joy is immeasurable.

“No one had heard anything about you!”

Andrew’s words sound like they're coated in honey—thick and sweet, “Aww, don’t cry.”His fingers move from her mouth to her hair, grabbing her ponytail and winding the locks around his hand as though tugging on the leash of an unruly dog. The sting of it makes her clit throb, feeling swollen against her panties. She groans softly, hips flexing before she experimentally grinds herself down. 

It feels so fucking good. 

Andrew’s thigh is firm beneath her—warm, too, even through the rough material of his jeans. “What happened?” The spineless bitch demands, as though she has any right to that information or any right to her brother.

“I don’t want to talk about that right now. I called to talk about us,” he says, though he’s barely paying any attention to his old whore as they find a rhythm that makes it difficult to keep quiet. She covers her mouth with her hand, biting the inside of her cheek. God. She’s ruining another fucking set of panties, and she doesn’t care. “God, Andrew,” she gasps, louder than she intends, as he reaches down to brush her lips against hers. “ You’re being so good, but you gotta keep quiet, yeah? ” He whispers, and she nods. 

He turns his attention back to the phone, “… Hello? Are you still there?” He grins as her back arches, head falling back against the phone. She unintentionally hits one of the buttons. “Sorry about that,” Andrew says quickly. “The phone slipped.”

“I—I am. I just…There’s not really an ‘us’ anymore.”

Could this bitch not get out a single sentence without stuttering? Damn! This was who had been her competition for the last four years? Un-fucking-believable. 

“Sure there is,” Andrew’s voice is all sugar, the way it always sounds when he lies. He often spoke like that when he spoke to that whiny bitch over the phone, now that she thinks about it. Why hadn’t she ever noticed that before? It appears that Andrew also enjoyed playing games. “Ah, unless you found someone else?”

“T—There isn’t anyone!” Julia’s distress is like music to her fucking ears. She can feel herself getting close. She wants to bite her lips so badly, but Andrew seems to sense her desire and does it for her, teeth sinking into her bottom lip in a way that goes straight to her clit. She feels so fucking empty that she wouldn’t mind if he fucked her right there —right in the open where anyone can drive in and see them. “Or…I don’t know if he’s interested…” 

There’s already someone else involved who is potentially interested? Hah! She knew she was a fucking whore—oh, oh god, Andrew repositions himself, his free hand wrapping around her waist, tugging her upward so that she’s practically straddling his fucking thigh. It’s like she’s riding it, bucking up and down like a bitch in heat. That’s how she feels at least—like a needy little slut, but for once, that fact doesn’t bother her at all. 

He said it was okay. He wants her like this —

“I see,” he chuckles, watching Ashley get herself off through hooded eyes. “Does he fuck you better than me?” After experiencing the way that Andrew fucks, Ashley doesn’t think that it's possible. Still, she doesn’t like that he’s reminding her of his past sex life with that bitch. It should have been her. She should have been the one taking care of all of his needs from the beginning, not some suicidal cunt who couldn’t even look anyone in the eye. No way is she a better fuck than Ashley is. She digs her nails into his wrist to show her displeasure, making him hiss. He covers the sound quickly enough, but then his hand is going to her throat. The sudden restriction of oxygen makes her dizzy, makes her cunt squeeze around emptiness as she bares her teeth at him in the semblance of a grin. 

Julia sounds absolutely scandalized, “I’m — I’m going to hang up, Andrew!” Had she even managed to keep her brother satisfied? Probably not. She can tell in the hungry way he watches her, cock hard as a rock. He shifts against her, thrusting harder into her hip. It doesn’t seem like it’s enough for him, she can tell—fuck, she can even feel her wetness from where he's leaking pre-cum through his boxers and jeans.

She should help…shouldn’t she? At least to prove that she’s better than this hussy once and for all. Her hands tremble from excitement as she tugs at the button of his jeans, then slides the zipper down. This catches Andrew off guard. Perhaps he hadn’t expected her boldness. Stupid of him. She’d been bold since birth. There was nothing about him that she couldn’t handle. Nothing.

Ashley had been born for this—for him. 

“Haha,” he laughs, incredulous as she reaches into his boxers to tug his cock out. “Sorry. No, no! None of my business. I get it,” his voice trembles with manic glee. He watches her intensely, eyes locked onto her hand as she strokes him carefully from the base of his shaft to his tip. The fingers around her throat loosen, just a bit. 

She brushes her thumb along the indented opening at the tip of his cock, gathering the leaking pre-cum on her fingers before smoothing it down along his shaft. It’s slick, but not quite enough as she brings her hand up to her mouth, eyes locked with his as her lips part, allowing spit to dribble lewdly onto her palm until it’s wet with it before returning it to his cock. 

Andrew actually whines. He has to pull the phone away, turning redder than she’s ever seen. She can feel him grow even stiffer in her hand, feel the way it pulses with each pump of her hand. Wow. She doesn’t think she’s ever heard him sound or look like that before. Her heartbeat picks up, the heat growing even more unbearable between her legs. “It just sucks that you moved on so fast, considering you thought I’d died,” he continues, though Ashley is only barely paying attention to the conversation now. 

Julia sobs, “I really haven’t done anything with him! He’s just been supporting me through—” Ashley is dying to end whatever game Andrew is playing so that she can focus on what really matters—like the way that Andrew is thrusting into her hand, unable to help himself. He’s resorted to holding the phone between his shoulder and cheek, using the hand that had been holding it to cover his mouth. 

Even his ears are red. It’s adorable— “Oh—huh? O—oh yes…Right! You and I are broken up.” Julia actually sounded like she was trying to stand her ground there. She’s about as intimidating as a brain-dead bunny, but it’s somewhat of a surprise. Ashley giggles, running her thumb along the underside of Andrew’s glans. This time, he can’t cover the moan that she draws out of him, eyes all dazed, like he’s drunk. “A-Andrew?” The bitch says, confused. Ah, she must have heard that. Too bad. 

“Sorry,” her brother is quick to recover himself, “dropped something on my foot,” he says, which isn’t even close to one of his best lies. It doesn’t even sound the least bit believable. The bullshit master is slipping up over a handjob. “Alright…” Julia accepts that nonsense somehow, “A-Anyway, I-I’m not going to take you back just because you gave me a death scare!”

Hah! Like he even wanted her back! Andrew is practically putty in Ashley’s hands right now, panting and drooling like a dog as she strokes his cock. She picks up the pace, gripping tighter, just like he has shown her how to do in the car during one of the rounds of sex. “ See ?” Ashley purrs her whisper, “ She would never do this for you—make you feel like this. Only I can. ” 

Andrew nods feverishly in agreement, mouthing all kinds of foul language that he couldn’t say out loud. She can make out a fuck, a holy fucking shit, and him swearing to every god and saint he can name. Her grin widens. He’d told her to be good, but fuck if she doesn’t want to make him lose all composure in front of his ex. She wants him moaning and panting—so lost in lust that even that sobbing mess of a girl can figure out what he’s doing. Oh, she’d be so fucking angry! The thought only makes Ashley’s cunt hotter, and she’s sure she’s soaking through her panties and her shorts as she grinds herself harder against Andrew’s thigh.

“Is there someone with you?” Andrew asks—like someone isn’t with him right now, too. Ashley wonders how he even managed to notice that his ex might not have been alone, but it does make sense. The sudden backbone? She had to be getting coached by someone. Maybe if Ashley’s really lucky, it’ll be the new guy she’s probably fucking. That would be fun! “No…I need to go.”

Yes! Take a short trip off a long fucking cliff!

“Will you at least let me apologize, then?” Andrew asks to Ashley’s great disbelief. Okay. This was fun and all, but she really would like to just fuck him stupid right now. He must be able to see her irritation in her eyes, and his smile only grows larger. Like, he’s loving every second of this. “Behave,” he mouths to her, making her pout.

“I’m trying,” she whispers urgently, “but I want you.”

“ Want you too—and you’re being so good for me,” he brushes his mouth against her forehead, reassuringly. “ But be patient, yeah? Just a little more. Just keep using my thigh like that, ” she gives her hips another roll and feels him shudder, “ That’s a good girl…so fucking good…”

“Andrew?” Julia sounds more suspicious now, but Ashley honestly hadn’t even remembered she was still there. Andrew at least had the presence of mind to place his hand on the transmitter so that their fervent whispers couldn’t be heard—but the long silences were probably tipping the bitch off that something was up. Ashley giggles. God. She’d be so fucking horrified if she knew what they were doing! Ashley wants to tell her—wants to make Andrew blow his entire cover (and his entire load), but she had promised to be good. She had to be good—

“Still here,” he breathes, “You were right about Ashley. I handled the situation with her really badly.” Damn fucking right he had. He should have dumped that bitch the moment they made up and been home with her. She wouldn’t have had to do any of that if he had just been with her like he was fucking supposed to. Like he’d promised, he’d be. She could’ve been doing this for him the entire time, and he wouldn’t have needed anyone else. Ashley reaches for the phone’s hook, intent on ending the call, but he grabs her hand, instead lifting it before pulling her fingers into his mouth. 

Her breath catches in her throat. Fucking Christ, his lips are so warm…

Andrew nibbles at her fingertips, causing her to squirm incessantly. Fuck, she’s going to come if this keeps up—totally defeating the point in them even changing clothing, but fuck if she doesn’t care right now. “I should have put my foot down when it came to her. But, she promised me she won’t be a problem anymore,” Ashley raises an eyebrow at that statement. She had promised no such thing! In fact, she wants to be even worse. She wants to make that bitch sob her poor little eyes out, make her even start cutting herself again for having the nerve to think about stealing her brother from her. Still, the amusement dancing in Andrew’s jade colored eyes makes her stand on the tips of her toes to kiss him. It’s a messy kiss—she bites and sucks at his mouth with the intent to claim him, stroking his cock faster as she does. 

“Did…did she get hurt in the fire?” Haha, the bitch almost sounds giddy about that. Andrew pulls away from her mouth, and a lewd thread of spit still connects their lips. He gives a deeply sardonic laugh, “Wouldn’t you like that?”

“Of course not!” What a fucking liar. 

“Hah!” Her brother finds it funny, too, as he laughs incredulously. “Anyway, I’m sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t seem all that contrite. In fact, he’s moved down to kissing along the side of her jaw, littering the skin with bite marks that wouldn’t soon fade, making a claim of his own. 

“Not having heard from you really opened my eyes to a lot of things,” he continues, as she begins to tune him out. She’s already getting close, the ache between her legs building along with bright pleasure that makes her vision grow hazy like she’s seeing through frosted glass. She wants to come—wants to get down onto her knees and suck him off while she does. She wants Andrew unable to hold back, wants him to moan her name so loudly that Julia would never forget the sound. She’d replay that sound over and over again in her nightmares. 

“Like how I took my sister for granted.” 

Ashley freezes.

She also hears Julia make a choked sound of surprise over the phone, like she also can’t believe her ears. In this instance, she can’t blame the spineless girl. Ashley herself gapes up at her older brother, halting her movements. She blinks rapidly, heartbeat pounding so loud that she can hear it, feel it in her throat like it’s about to leap right out of her fucking chest. Or explode from her ribcage like those aliens from that movie she had convinced Andrew to sneak her into when they were still kids. His eyes shimmer like crushed gemstones in the moonlight in a way that illuminates the desire that burns wildly within him—she can feel it within herself, too. 

“I—you— what —?” 

“You were right,” he says softly, not taking his eyes off of Ashley. “About everything.”

“W-What are you talking a-about?” 

“Ashley was the one threatening you,” he continues, his hand coming up to cradle her cheek. His thumb petted over the skin as though he were handling something precious and fragile. “You were right. I knew you were the entire time,” he pauses as his hands slide from her cheek to her hair, fingers getting all tangled up within the unruly locks, practically knotted in it, just like how she was with him. He allows Julia a moment to process what he had just said, hell—she needs a moment herself, too—

The timid girl regains her wits more quickly than Ashley does; however, her voice quivers with disbelief, and maybe even an undercurrent of genuine anger. “I-If you knew all that time, then why would you—”

Why would you just let me do it? Ashley wonders, searching for an answer within her brother’s heated gaze. Why didn’t you stop me? You never did. You never even tried to. You didn’t say a damn thing to me about it until after she’d already broken up with you. 

“I didn’t say anything because it was just easier not to.” Ashley’s throat tightens. “Had I addressed it, I would’ve had to pick a side…and I knew what I would have chosen,” his voice grows quieter, “I knew from the beginning, but I was just a fucking coward,” he says imploringly, leaning down, back hunching so that he can press his forehead to hers. They’re sharing the same breath now—so close that she can see the slight golden flecks within his irises. 

“Are you saying you would have chosen her ?” Julia sounds stronger now—there isn’t even that slight characteristic stutter. Ashley guesses absolute fury could do that, even to bitches with marshmallows for spine. “Even a-after…what she did to me? You would have—”

“I would’ve. Sorry,” she’d never heard Andrew sound so unapologetic. He smiles again, expression growing clear and light—like he’s letting something go, snapping shackles that Ashley hadn’t even known had been chaining him down this entire time. Her hands are trembling now, eyes growing blurry as her nose brushes against his. 

“So…you didn’t care? All that time, and you didn’t care that she was saying those awful things to me…that she was telling me to f-fucking die…and hurt myself? You knew and you still…would’ve chosen her?” It sounds like she’s reeling—teeth chattering with rage and hurt that cut down to the bone, but Ashley doesn’t care. God, she doesn’t care about anything but Andrew’s words, and the way she can feel the quick but hard beat of his heart, see the love and adoration shining in his eyes, and really feel it for the first time. 

“Yes,” Andrew affirms, and wow, she might actually get down and let him fuck her face—do whatever he fucking wanted with her. The world is spinning, so fucking bright as though her vision had been replaced with a kaleidoscope. Love. This had to be love. “If it makes you feel any better, it wasn’t you who was the problem. It’s me—and her. It’s us. You’re a wonderful person. You’re normal and didn’t deserve any of our shit,” he says those compliments like they’re insults, speaking in that patronizingly saccharine tone that he only used when he was talking to someone he thought was an idiot. Ashley had certainly heard it enough to recognize it. “But, Ashley is a part of me. I’m always going to choose her.”

This time, she can’t help but kiss him. She grabs his face, smashing her lips to his as she stands on the very tips of her toes, desperate—hungry. She wants to devour him, wants to crawl into his skin and settle down into his bones so that no one could ever come between them again. Not their parents, whatever fake friends he tried to keep, and certainly no fucking whiny brother stealing whores. 

She bites down on his lips, tongue pushing into his mouth with bruising intensity that would surely leave his lips chapped and raw later, but she doesn’t care. She needs him inside of her—needs to feel all of him, the stinging stretch of his cock fucking into her, molding her insides to the shape of him, pushing inside of her like he had always belonged. Ashley wants to wrap herself so tightly around him that she melts into his skin. She loves him—she loves him, she loves him so fucking much.  

“Hang up,” Ashley urges against his mouth. “ Right the fuck now, Andrew, I need —“

“Fuck, fuck, okay—just one more thing, Ley. Just a little more. ”

“She’s your sister,” Julia says accusingly, voice absolutely dripping with disgust. “Y—You’re making it sound like all of those rumors… like they were…”

“True?” Andrew asks when he pulls away, breathless. He licks his lips, gripping her chin in between his thumb and forefinger as his eyes bore into hers. “Well.” 

“Not at the time.”

He’d just told her.

Ashley can’t believe her ears—it isn’t often that she’s left speechless, but Andrew had managed to accomplish that feat twice in a row. 

Maybe Andrew wasn’t so bad. She couldn’t imagine Andy doing this—saying these things to the people he’d used to put on a pony show for, who he bent over backwards for them as though his life were a stage, and he was the star of that stage, but here he was. He’s throwing it all away for her. 

Stunned silence. 

And then, another voice shouts over the phone—this was definitely not Julia. “I always knew you were a sick fuck,” it was another woman, but with a huskier, more confident voice. This girl didn’t sound like she cried at the prospect of having to make a phone call to order takeout. Andrew’s voice grew flat, even with all of Ashley’s writhing. “Hi, Jane.”

“This is kind of a two-person conversation—“ Ashley giggles, head thrown back as his hand squeezes at her hip, urging her to drag her cunt along his thigh once more. Two-person conversation? He sure had some nerve! His teeth sink into her collarbone, making her gasp as she trembles with need. “—if you get me.”

“Don’t even fucking start with me, you disgusting piece of shit! Stay away from my sister!!”

“Oh, don’t you worry, I won’t ever bother her again,” he says cheerfully, in that fake sugary voice of his. 

“You’ve got some nerve when you’re nothing but a fucking degenerate!”

“Perhaps, I am,” Andrew’s grin turned savage, the shared carnage in their blood rising to the surface like steam, “but your sister certainly loved every bit of that degeneracy for years —“

The woman hangs up the phone, and Andrew throws his head back, laughing. Ashley loves this laugh; it’s so raw, unrestrained, almost manic in its fervor. There’s the cruelty that has always simmered beneath the veneer of agreeability he always wore, but also true joy—it’s just so him. The real him. 

“Aww, I got dumped so hard,” he guffaws loudly. “Oh well,” he meets her gaze again, his eyes darkening to a deep emerald green, like the lush leaves of a sprawling forest that one could lose oneself in. There is no hope for escape as he beckons her, tempting her to venture even further inside. Not that she’d ever turn back—she’d always been meant to get lost within him, all tangled up within his roots and foliage until she could never be extricated. “So, she can behave. Somewhat.”

She pinches his nose half playfully and half in genuine irritation. “Hmph! You dared to doubt me? Shame on you!” Still, she’s far too delighted to be too upset with him, especially after such a display. She hadn’t expected him to throw away any chance he ever had of getting back with his ex in such a garish and dramatic way. Andrew had always lived and died by his reputation, just as their hag of a mother had, so this was incredibly unexpected. “Despite your underhanded bullshit, I emerge victorious!” Butterflies swarm in her belly, making her feel like she might float right away with Andrew there to ground her. 

He’d chosen her—for real this time.

She’s so happy she can fucking sing.  

Ashley laughs brightly when both of his arms wrap around her, scooping her up into his arms as though she were a weightless thing. He kisses her cheek, and then her forehead, nose, and chin. “Yes, yes,” he purrs, “I was wrong. What a somewhat good girl you are,” he sounds so pleased that it makes her insides shiver like her guts had been replaced with slithering snakes. He turns her head, kissing her mouth, too. It’s a soft but possessing kiss—leisurely in the way that he consumes her, as his fingers play idly with one of her belt loops. He will have her again, she can tell—but he’ll take his time with dismantling her. She sways on her feet, even with the support of his arms. 

“While that unexpected display of devotion was much appreciated, I don’t like you talking about how you used to fuck that whore in front of me,” she says, words lacking the bite that they usually would have held. Her hand returns to his cock, still red and leaking with pre-cum. It pulses in excitement beneath her palm, and she smiles. Even his cock knew who it belonged to. 

“Aww,” Andrew coos in an apologetic manner, so gentle despite the way his cock throbs insistently against her hip. He hasn’t softened in the least bit to her delight. “My deepest apologies. How can I ever atone for committing such a grievous sin against my dearest sister?” 

He’s talking like he’d just walked out of a Shakespeare play, so he must be in a really good mood. “You’ll have to make it up to me!”

“Didn’t I just do that?” Andrew grins, fingers wrapping around her wrist and moving it from his cock. She makes a sound of protest, then he’s kissing the back of her hand like he’s some fucked up prince from the story books he used to read to her—and she, a maiden not so fair. “But, if m’lady requires even more tokens of my favor, then perhaps this shall suffice,” she gasps as he spins her around, pinning her hands to the bottom of the booth surrounding the phone. He comes up behind her, one hand gripping her hip, the other pushing on her back, urging her to bend over. She complies, curious and also far too horny to complain. 

Andrew kisses the back of her neck, tongue flicking out to taste the skin there. “Do you have an idea how wretched I am without you?” he whispers in a low drawl that makes her shiver. He flattens it against her ass, his other hand going around to undo the button of her shorts, dragging the zipper down in a manner that is entirely too slow. She squirms impatiently, “Life without you is just one disappointment after another.”

Ashley’s thighs clench together—god, yeah—that was another pair of underwear ruined. Her last fucking pair—she can’t hold back a gasp when Andrew’s hand pushes into the front of her shorts and panties, index finger dragging around her clit. 

“More,” she begs, unsure if she’s asking for more sweet talk or for him to just fuck her. Perhaps, it’s both. 

“More? What a greedy thing you are. Then, how about this?” He chuckles, clicking his tongue as he continues.“You’re the most alluring thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” his fingers push inside of her easily. She’s embarrassingly wet—so ready for him that he could probably shove his cock inside of her with no preparation. She feels like a whore—cock hungry and desperate to be filled, but the familiar accompanying shame is oddly absent. Maybe it’s because she knows he wants her to want this, to indulge in the feeling that would have typically made her scoff and recoil with disgust. She feels his cock press against her rump, grinding in a way that makes her whine. She wants him inside of him so badly it hurts. “It’s always been you that I wanted.”

Could someone come just from listening to sappy bullshit? Ashley doesn’t know, but feels like it might be possible. She’d always thought most of the romantic shit Andrew often spouted off about was overly dramatic nonsense, but that same crap is beginning to make her knees buckle. “Really?” She asks, and she hates the way her voice trembles, how it feels like she’s offering up her still-beating heart to him. It feels too vulnerable—and she knows that if he shatters her now, she might never be able to put herself back together again. 

“Always,” Andrew affirms, he nips at her shoulder, mouthing at the skin there, fingers setting a slow but delicious pace. His fingers are so long and thick, and he seems to know exactly where to push and prod at, quickly finding that spot that makes her see fireworks behind her shut eyelids. “I only dated Julia so that I didn’t fuck you. I only fucked her because I wanted you.”

Fuck, was her vision beginning to spot? 

She’s so close, but an old wound throbs, and she picks at that scab because it is in her nature to do so. 

“It should’ve never been her, then,” she finds it in herself to mumble. Old habits died harder than the bitch in the box that had tarnished their souls and began their mad spiral into depravity. “You should have come to me from the beginning,” her back arches, thighs trembling so hard that she wonders if her legs are going to give out. “You shouldn’t have r-run from me.”

“…You’re right,” she blinks, head whipping around to look at him. “I can’t do anything about the choice I made before…But I just threw away all of me.  Everything—for you. Is that not enough?”

Was it?

She thinks so—there would be no going back to normalcy after this. He’d more or less confirmed to his ex that he was fucking her. He couldn’t escape her now, even if he wanted to. There’s a part of her that makes him want to work harder for it, though. She’d had to wait years for him, so wasn’t it fair to expect him to grovel a bit more?

Leyley might have demanded he do it. Hell, she can feel that desire clawing at the inside of her chest—Andy might’ve even done so, but what Andrew had just done was the equivalent of knocking the moon from the sky for her. 

And—Ashley had promised herself that she would try. She had to. He was trying for her, too.

“It is,” she mumbles, “it’s just…hard.” The poison of those old fears runs deep. “You love me, right?”

“So fucking much,” he laughs humorously. “ Too fucking much. You’re a nightmare that I can’t ever escape.”

“Do you want to?”

“…I should. You should want to get the fuck away from me, too, after the shit I’ve pulled.” And your vision remains unspoken between them. 

“Never,” the very idea is insane to her. What was she without him? Nothing—and no one. There was no Ashley without Andrew.

“Then, I guess we’re stuck together,” he smiles, lopsided and crooked—and she loves the imperfection of it. She grins back, “Forever and ever,” it’s something that Leyley would say, but Ashley means it just as much, too. There was no one else for her—nowhere else she would rather be, no matter how terrifying and unpredictable Andrew can be. 

His grin widens, leaning down as his face nuzzles into the crook of her neck. His lips brush hers as she turns her head. She wonders how they went so long without kissing like this. It feels like a grievous mistake—she should have been kissing him since childhood, the perfect way that their lips fit together. “Till death do us part,” her brother adds, his words less confident than before. Almost nervous as he opens his chest and bears his heart to her, too.

And that does it for some reason—her thighs clench together tightly around his hand, as pure bliss melts her mind like acid eating away at flesh. Her skin feels like it’s on fire, cunt squeezing and fluttering around his fingers. She can feel each spasm. It’s so good, like euphoria injected directly into her veins. Yes, she definitely understood why people did this now.  Ashley chokes on a sob, knees buckling as she nearly topples over. Andrew holds her firmly, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her balanced. He’d never let her fall—ever. 

“Easy,” he murmurs, his mouth pressed against her ear, still fucking into her with his fingers, “I’ve got you. I’m here.”

“Swear it,” She rasps, the world was spinning but so bright even as late as it still is, as though the constellations were bathing everything in a warm glow.  “Till death do us part. Promise me that you mean it. Swear it on your life.” 

For once, he doesn’t seem to mind her prodding or her insatiable need for reassurance as he kisses along the side of her jaw. “Ashley,” he says her name reverently, like he’s uttering a sacred prayer, “Despite everything—it’s always been you. You have always been my everything. From the moment you were born, you’ve sunk your teeth into my heart.”

That had to be the sappiest shit she had ever heard come out of his mouth, but fuck if it didn’t make her heart skip a beat. “Even if you tried to leave me, I’d drag you back kicking and screaming,” he says, grabbing her hair and wrapping the locks of her ponytail around his hand as though he is tugging hard on a leash, as though the ridiculous idea of her running from him infuriated him. “I’d fuck you up for even trying.” Her neck strains from how hard he tugs her back, as he raises to look down at her. “I’d kill you before I let you go,” and Ashley knows he means it—she can see it in his eyes, that wild desire—possessiveness that perhaps dwarfs even her own. “I’d join you after, of course,” his fingers slide out of her underwear, gripping her throat—they’re still all wet with her, she can feel it against her skin. 

“How’s that for death do us, beloved?”

She thinks she wants to fuck him stupid. The fucking campers could wait. “And you call me fucked up,” she rasps, pushing her ass back against his cock. She giggles, obscenely happy. “Do you think anyone else would still love you after hearing all that, you freak!?”

“Not a chance,” Andrew leers down at her salaciously, “but there’s only one Ashley,” he squeezes her throat, always eager to hurt her. Still, this is fine. It wouldn’t be Andrew if he didn’t hurt her, at least a little—she wants the pain he gives her just as much as she wants his love. She wants it all. “Let’s go back to the car,” he wants to fuck her again, too. She returns his grin, giddy at seeing the reflection of her own obscene mania within him. They really are meant to be—two complementary pieces of the same fucked up puzzle. 

“No,” Ashley purrs, “Just do it here.”

His breath hitches, cock growing even stiffer. She can feel his excitement, the fingers in her hair and around her throat tremble. “Here?” 

“Yeah, why not?” She asks, amused. “We’ve already done this much. I don’t think anyone’s coming.” And if they were, they’d leave if they saw what she and her brother were up to anyway if they weren’t fucking perverts. Or they’d get a show. Who the fuck even cared? She sure doesn’t—not when she’s this wet—not when she’s this deliriously in love. 

“You’re serious?” He asks, but he’s already grinning at her. Yeah. He’s a sick fuck—but he’s her sick fuck, so it’s fine. She wiggles her ass in response and is rewarded with a soft groan. “Super serious. I don’t think I can even make it back to the car, Andrew,” she says, which is partly true. Her legs are still unsteady from her earlier orgasm. “And it’s all your fault.”

He chuckles, fingers hooking into the sides of her shorts as he tugs them down along with her panties. She’s dripping wet; she can feel the slick sliding down her thighs with her underwear no longer in the way. Andrew sees it, too. “Fuck, Ashley,” he breathes shakily. “You’re so…” he’s at a loss for words, “I can’t believe you’re this wet for me,” she whines when he pushes a finger inside of her, as though to confirm what he can clearly see. Her walls flutter, gripping him—needing to be filled. 

“Yeah,” she pants, “Are you gonna do something about it or what?”

She doesn’t expect his hand to come down on her ass, making her squeal in indignation and disbelief. Did he just fucking spank her?! “Ow! What the fuck?!” But, he only does it again—laughing quietly, but so hard his shoulders shake. “Cut that out!”

“Don’t be a brat if you don’t want to get treated like one,” he says, grabbing the base of his cock. She can feel the blunt head of it push against her opening as his hips flex forward. “Don’t give me a reason. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to take you over my knee and—”

“And what?” She laughs, even as her heart rushes with giddy anticipation. “You want to punish me or something, Daddy?—“ The breath is knocked out when he thrusts inside of her. He’s not gentle—he wasn’t even during her first time, so it’s not like she expects or wants that from him, but the force of it stings, even after all the times he’s already taken her that night. She can feel his cock throb within her—can feel it so deep that she’s sure that the tip of him is practically kissing her womb. 

“Are you sure you want to play around with that right now?” Andrew’s voice is like gravel. He yanks on her ponytail harder, his other hand going to her hip, and he’s flush against her ass. “I might just take you seriously.” It’s hard to think when he’s like this, and when he grinds his hips into her, making his cock brush against her cervix, she practically convulses. She’s sure that she would have fallen had he not been holding her in place. Her brother is incredibly strong—and very large. How had she even managed to get him inside her in the car? It feels impossible even now, the pressure of him making her lightheaded. It’s like being torn apart, but in a way that makes her want him to ruin her much, much more.

He pulls out of her, leaving just the tip of him inside before ramming inside once more, and Ashley forgets how to breathe. Somehow, he’s deeper in this position than even when she’d ridden him in the car. She holds onto the booth for dear life. “A- Andrew! Mhm, w-wait—,” 

“Aww,” Andrew purrs, “But, don’t you wanna be a good girl for me?”

Oh, she did. 

It’s just that she’s fucking losing feeling in her legs, so she’s not sure how much longer she’s going to be standing. “I-I’m g-gonna fall—“

“No, you won’t. You didn’t fall earlier, and you won’t fall now.” Andrew laughs as his grip on her hips tightens. “I won’t let you.” He sounds very sure of himself, but she isn’t nearly as confident in her own ability to keep herself upright—bent over like he has her, but she believes him. There’s not much room for doubt when she’s seeing fucking stars exploding, obliterating entire galaxies before her eyes from how hard he’s fucking her. “You won’t fall. You’re just going to take everything that I’m giving you like a good little slut.”

Her eyes blur with tears—and god, she can feel the way her cunt trembles in response to that vulgar term, gripping him even more tightly. It’s such an intense reaction that it catches her off guard. She’d never wanted to be anything like the whores and floozies that she saw on television—or the slutty bitches in Andrew’s porn magazines. The girls who practically threw themselves at him at school. She isn’t like that, she’s not—but she’s getting wetter, the knot in her stomach growing even more taut. “I’m—I’m not—a—“ she can’t even say it. 

“A slut?” Andrew questions, using her hair as a makeshift leash to tug her body back against his. “Sure you are. What kind of woman wants to get fucked out in public like this?”

She can’t speak, “I—“

“But, it’s alright, nightmare,” he reassures, tugging her up again, making her neck flex from the effort to bend back as he kisses her. “You’re my slut. You’d only do all of this for me, wouldn’t you?”

Ashley nods feverishly. Did he even have to ask? There had only ever been him. “O-only you, A-Andrew.”

“Good,” he hums, tongue dragging along the seams of her lips. It’s like being licked by burning embers, “I think I’d have to kill you if you ever showed another man this,” he bottoms out inside of her with each brutal thrust. “And him.”

He had some nerve saying that after parading Julia in front of her for years. Her eyes narrow to slits, pushing back against him, meeting his hips and squeezing around his cock so tightly that he hisses. She digs her nails into the back of his palms, dragging them down in a way that is sure to leave him with scratches. “S-Should I kill you too, then? You—You were doing this with that hussy.” The very thought still makes her pulse rush with barely restrained fury. She wishes she could rip the skin on his wrist apart. Did he make her feel this way, too? The very thought makes her want to fucking scream in his face. 

Andrew chuckles in that low and cruel way that she has become familiar with. The way that lets her know that he’s enjoying her torment, drinking in her anger as though it were wine. “Never like this,” he tells her. He yanks harder at her hair, wrapping the locks around his hand as one would rope. It makes her scalp sting, but somehow the pain only makes her cunt throb harder. “She’d never let me fuck her like this. She’d always cry and want to stop if I was too rough. She could barely even take my cock most days.”

“But, just look at you,” he sounds delirious, “you take me like you were fucking made for it. See?” He punctuated his assertion by sinking into her balls deep—all of the way, each thrust deep and offering no resistance. Her body is so fucking greedy—swallowing the full length of him because she needs it, needs him. 

He grabs hold of one of the hands that she uses to brace herself on the booth at the wrist, curling his arm around her waist as he guides her hand down to her lower belly, right below her navel. She has no idea what the fuck he’s doing, can barely even keep the vision from spinning as he makes her press her hand down firmly against it. Her eyes widen—she can feel— “You see?” Andrew asks, thrusting deep again—oh. Oh fuck. It was his cock. She can feel it through her fucking skin—that—that’s possible? He makes her push down harder, and the sensation sends her mind careening into a black hole. Like he’s pulling her apart; fucking her to absolute pieces. “Look at how deep you can take me. You’re fucking perfect, Ashley. My perfect cock hungry little slut.”

The orgasm rips through her like a cleaver cutting through her flesh. She doesn’t even realize she’s screaming until Andrew covers her mouth with his hand. And then she’s biting into his palm until she tastes blood, ass pushing against him and taking him as deep as she can as her cunt spasms and constricts around him. She feels it intensely, the pleasure is raw and almost painful, and it goes on and on and on until her legs are shaking from the effort to keep standing. “There you go,” Andrew whispers, “Your cunt feels perfect like that, Ashley.”

“Andrew,” she sobs, gasping when she feels him release her hair, he pulls out of her, and she feels the emptiness immediately. It makes her whine in protest, “Ssssh,” he calms, “it’s alright. We aren’t stopping. Just let me get these off of you,” he says, making her blink. Get what off of her? She gets her answer when he pulls down her shorts and underwear the rest of the way, tapping on her hips as a signal to step out of them. She does, leaving the clothing forgotten on the floor as her brother grabs her shoulders, pulling her up to stand and then turning her around to face him. “Come here, nightmare,” he beckons her. 

Ashley can only stare dumbly, and he smiles down at her. She doesn’t expect him to lift her by the waist so suddenly. She gasps, clinging to him as she wraps her arms around his neck. “W-What the h-hell are you d-doing?” She demands, and it’s fucking difficult to string a sentence together when her brain is still mush.  She’s stuttering just like that spineless whore, but the feeling of Andrew’s slick cock chases away such thoughts. Her legs wrap around his hips so as not to fall. His hands slide down beneath her ass and under her thighs to stabilize his grip. He pushes her back against the booth, perhaps to distribute some of her weight. “Got you,” he says—and he really did, but she has some doubts about this position. For one—

“The phone is digging into my back, asshole.”

“You’ll survive,” he says dismissively as he cants his hips forward, allowing his cock to slide in between her folds, brushing over her clit, and the phone pressing in between her shoulder blades becomes the farthest thing from her mind. Ashley shudders at the spark of pleasure that fries her nerve endings. For as lean as he is, Andrew is surprisingly strong, or maybe she still weighs close to nothing after starving for so long. Then, he kisses her, and all of her thoughts seem to die. 

There is nothing, nothing, nothing —but him. 

His cracked lips, that hot tongue that slides into her mouth, tasting her, the roughness of his hands, and the possessive and mad glint that she sees in his jade colored eyes. It’s a madness that calls to her own, something that can’t be suppressed or denied. No, she’d been born with it—born to have him. 

“I love you, Andrew,” she whispers, “Tell me you love me, too.”

“Haven’t I been doing that all night?” He mouths at the exposed skin of her shoulders. "Do it more,” she encourages, even though he’s right. He has been affirming his love for her, but she can’t get enough of it. Those are the exact saccharine words that she’s craved her entire life, and she wants to drown in them. She wants them to swaddle her until she fucking chokes. “Please, Andrew. Please, please, please—”

She feels him grinning, cock throbbing against her, pulsing like the rapid beat of his heart. He likes it when she begs, and she’d beg as much as he wants, so long as he doesn’t ever stop. “So needy,” he says teasingly, “What am I going to do with you? Nothing’s ever good enough.” She thinks that normally those words would have meant that he’s pissed off, but she can feel the affection in his tone. The adoration that makes her heart flutter in her chest, like he’s slowly crushing the organ within his hand. She supposes that he is. “I love you, too. Stupid.” 

Ashley giggles breathlessly, “Again! And don’t call me stupid, stupid!”

“Put it in first,” he orders, and there’s no hesitation to do as he asks, reaching down between them to grasp his cock. She lines up the tip of him, right at her entrance, and it only takes one thrust for him to sink inside of her. It’s easy with how soaking wet she is—how desperate she is to have him inside of her. She hears him moan, his head falling down, shoulders hunching as he slams her body harder against the phone. She can feel herself clenching, vaginal walls squeezing so hard. She feels so full. “ Good girl,” her brother pants. “I love how tight you are for me.”

The praise has her back arching, hips moving to meet him. “T-That’s n-not—”

“I love how fucking wet you are—how your little pussy is squeezing around me each time I fuck into you. You need it bad, huh? Can’t believe I used to think you didn’t want this.”

He thought that? Was he fucking crazy?  “I could have been fucking you all this time. You would’ve let me do whatever I wanted with you, wouldn’t you have?” His breath is hot on her lips, eyes so impossibly dark, pupils blown so wide like he’s drugged out of his mind. Maybe he is—completely strung out on her. Ashley likes that thought. “Y-Yes! H-How could you think I didn’t want this?” She whines as he sucks on the tip of her tongue. “You—you could have always done anything you wanted—” her nails scratch deep into his shoulders when his cock drags along her sweet spot. The curve of it finds it easily, like he doesn’t even have to try to find it. He fills her up perfectly—chasing away the emptiness, stuffing her with each thrust to the point that it feels like he’s in her fucking guts. 

With as deep as he is, he might as well be. Ashley feels like she's been speared. Or stabbed, repeatedly torn apart each time his hips rammed into hers. She’s going to be so bruised and swollen from how hard he’s fucking her, she already is, but she can’t stop the wild rut of her hips—how badly she wants to take him deeper. She wants him so deep inside of her that he can never leave. 

She feels the head of him at her cervix, slamming into it, fucking bruising it, and it leads to a full body shudder each time. She can’t help it, can’t help the way she drools as she feels saliva gather in her mouth, or how her vision flickers and spots like she’s being choked out again. “Anything?” He asks, forehead pressed against hers, hands grabbing a fistful of her ass as he pushes even closer. “You would have let me fuck you stupid back at the old apartment anytime I wanted?”

Ashley nods, the heat in her belly growing like a wildfire. She can feel herself gushing all over his cock. It’s loud and mortifying, but she doesn’t care. It feels too good to care. “Y-Yes…wanted…wanted you to be mine. Wanted to have you in every way—” She’d always wanted his heart, his mind, his body, his fucking soul. All of it. All of him. Even the ugly, awful, and violent side of him that he struggled to hide, even if she always knew it was there. Every single piece of him needed to belong to her. 

Andrew laughs, and it is a deep and dark thing that rumbles in his chest. His shoulders tremble, eyes glistening with a wetness that resembles tears, but they don’t fall. They never do. “Yeah? You mean it?” He asks, he grinds their hips together, making his cock drag along that swollen, sweet spot within her that makes her cry. He seems to know exactly where it is, knows how to fuck her at the perfect angle to stimulate it each time he bottoms out. It’s a kind of torture, one to be savored and indulged in. And it’s hers. Her cheeks feel wet, eyesight growing blurry—but even with that, he is all that she can see. His tongue flicks out, tasting her tears as she feels him shiver like he loves the flavor of her pain. He probably does. 

Fucking sadist. 

Though she wonders what that made her?

“I do,” she sobs into his shoulder. “I love you, I love you, I love you so, so, so much—” Ashley’s babbling, her hips bucking wildly against him. She tries to meet his every thrust, even if her movements are sloppy and uncoordinated. It makes him laugh, and the sound only makes her cunt throb that much harder. It’s so good, so, so good, but still not enough, because Andrew is right. Nothing is ever good enough for her when it comes to him. She wants all of him, probably more than he can ever give her. Ashley wants him even deeper than this, wants to feel him in her womb, in her fucking stomach. She wants him to pierce past the barrier and fill her with his cum. It’s impossible, she knows that, but fuck if it doesn’t stop that consuming desire—the sprawling madness in her heart.  

She wants to brand him—his skin.

His soul. 

“You’re mine. Say it,” he gasps out, and she can feel him losing his rhythm. His cock pulses, and he pushes her so hard against the phone booth that she knows that there will be a myriad of colorful bruises all over her back later. She doesn’t care, though. “I’m all yours,” Ashley grabs his face, kissing him deeply. She kisses him like she wants to eat him, and takes him in just like the people that she’s devoured, take all that he is and drown him in the deepest pit of tar that exists at the center of her being so that he can never, ever escape her. “Fuck,” Andrew swears, gritting his teeth as his eyes squeeze closed. He looks like he’s in pain, like he’s dying from how good she feels.

Good.

“I fucking love you.” The words sound like they’ve been torn from his throat, guttural, like the growl of a beast. And just like a beast, they tear her apart. Break her like a little toy as she cries and sobs. The back of her head hits the phone booth, back arching and body convulsing like she’s suffered a debilitating blow to the head, like she’s experiencing her death throes. It’s the hardest she’s ever come before, and she faintly wonders if the demon has plucked her soul from her body. Or perhaps, Andrew has. Perhaps, he’s killed her, just like he has in the vision. Maybe he’s slit her throat, cut her so deep that he exposes bone and viscera, and this is all a dying dream. 

She doesn’t want to die. No, that’s the last thing she’d ever want. There’s too much life to live—but she doesn’t mind if he did it like this, she thinks. If he killed her like this, then he’d never be rid of her, either—how fucking romantic. She’s sure he’d see it like that, at least. 

“Again,” she whispers, barely holding on to consciousness. 

“I love you,” he repeats, hands moving up to her hips, grabbing a fistful as he fucks into her. “I love you more than anything. You’re the only fucking thing I love,” he hisses feverishly, and she can tell that he’s beginning to lose himself. He’s using her like she’s nothing but a fuck toy for him, forcing her to take him as deep as he needs her to with each thrust until she feels him break, too. Andrew comes violently, crushing her body against her and groaning loudly. Yes. She’s going to have this phone fucking imprinted on her back later. 

Ashley doesn’t really care, though.

How can she when Andrew looks so pretty like this? Covered in a thin sheen of sweat—hair damp and wild with it and lips parted. His cock pulses as he spills inside of her. It’s so much that she can feel it filling her up, can feel it dripping out of her when there’s no more space within her, but still, she wants more. She locks her trembling legs at the ankles around his hips to hold him in place, and clenches hard around him so that he can’t leave her even if he wanted to.

“Fucking hell, Ashley,” he moans, “C—Cut that shit out—let me go—”

“What’s the problem?” She asks, her voice still shaking, but she grins. “You’ve been coming inside of me all night. Don’t tell me you want to stop now?”

“Yeah, and it’s been fucking stupid decision all night,” Andrew struggles to catch his breath. His legs are shaking now, too. Maybe his strength is finally beginning to give out. “Your period might have just ended, but what if you start ovulating soon and—”

“Okay, first of all, creepy,” Ashley snorts, but does not let him extricate himself even as he slowly grows softer within her. If anything, she clings to him even more tightly because he’s hers. All hers. “And second of all, stop keeping track of my days. Damage is already done, anyway. You can’t un-cum in me, dumbass.” 

“Do you want to get slapped again?”

“I know that’s your kink and all, but you don’t have to threaten me with it all of the time,” she laughs when he kisses the corner of her mouth. “Pervert.”

“You just clenched,” he murmurs in response, and she can feel him smirk. “So, if anything, I think I’m just threatening you with a good time.”

She laughs harder. There is no one like her brother. “Wow. Kill yourself.”

“Right after you.” 

“Then, it’s never happening," she pokes his cheek, right onto the faint indent of a dimple, "Your soul is all mine, so you’re not allowed to die,” he gives her an odd look, then, one she can’t quite read. Andrew’s brows draw together, lips pressed thin as something pained flashes within his eyes. It passes quickly, however, and he smiles to her surprise. It’s her favorite one—all crooked. “No? Damn. And I had the perfect suicide poem all thought up.”

“Eh? No way! Don’t even joke about that, you dick!” 

He shrugs, “Relax,” he says, kissing her forehead, then, too. “I’m lamenting the fact that I can no longer use it. M’lady has forbidden it, so I guess I have to live out of spite now.” His words make Ashley frown, at least until his lips brush over hers sweetly. It’s the softest that he’s ever kissed her, gentle in a way that reminds her of Andy, even if Andy is dead. There’s only Andrew now, but Andrew isn't the worst. Well. He is, but she likes him now, anyway. “My soul doesn’t belong to me anymore, anyway.”

“Hmph!” She huffs, “Damn right!” 

“Alright,” Andrew taps her hips, “Let me go for real, now. I’m starting to lose feeling in my legs.”

“I thought I wasn’t heavy?”

“You’re not, but anyone would be having a hard time after all that fucking,” he rolls his eyes, and she grumbles, reluctantly uncrossing her ankles as he sets her feet down onto the ground, where her knees promptly buckle. Andrew laughs as she stumbles against him. It feels like the first time she’s ever used her damn legs. “Easy, there! Having some trouble?” Even worse, she can feel his cum sliding out of her, dripping onto the ground. 

They were an absolute mess. 

“Obviously, you jerk! Look at me!”

He doesn’t look the least bit guilty. “You’re the one who wanted to do it here.”

“And you’re the one who called your ex and started all of this!” She shoots back, “How are we supposed to sacrifice the campers like this? They’re going to take one look at us and think we’re weird perverts!”

He only rolls his eyes, “Then, let’s clean up. There’s a public bathroom nearby,” he points towards it. It’s not all that far from the ranger station behind them, luckily.  “Then,  we can sacrifice the campers,” he smirks, pressing his thumb beneath her chin as he tilts her head to look at him. “How’s that sound, nightmare?” He asks, and her eye catches sight of a small, red dot at the center of his palm. It seems oddly out of place against his skin, but she doesn’t think much more about it when he kisses her again, hungrily. She doesn’t think of anything at all, in fact. She’s far too deliriously happy. 

“That sounds fucking fantastic.”