Archive of Our Own

One thing.

Andrew had asked for one fucking thing.

Though, he shouldn’t be surprised that this dumb bitch couldn’t follow one simple direction. She couldn’t even call him by the correct name, so why the fuck would he think she’d listen to him when it came to a life-or-death situation? It’s stupid of him—so fucking stupid, but that’s always how it’s been when it comes to her. 

Andrew runs in circles, chasing the ghost of the sister who understood him as a child—who saw him, but that girl had been dead for a long time now, replaced by the selfish, awful, insufferable, brain dead cunt who currently inhabited her body. He runs and runs, only to end up in the same fucking spot. 

He’s tired of it. 

So, fucking tired.

And so Andrew decides to give chase one last time. His sister is a nimble thing—she knows the demon realm well, despite the place being absolute nonsense. It’s like he’s caught in a fucked up Wonderland, chasing his own little rabbit through random tableaus where up is down, right is left, and the stars hang like woven tapestries in a smoky sky. 

She’s late—she’s late—for a very important date. 

Indeed, she was. 

But there will be no do-overs once he catches his sister. No. It’d be a game over. Fade to black, roll credits. 

The way it always should have been. 

The only problem is that Leyley is too fucking stubborn. 

She’s too selfish to even die with him properly. She runs, leaps, and puts him through more bullshit because that’s all she’s good for. He would pluck every star from the sky for her if she desired it—if that would make this dumb bitch smile for even a moment, but she’d never return the favor. It was never really about him. She wouldn’t do what he wanted unless she was forced. 

So, he had to fucking kill her. Then, he could die in peace. There’s a part of him that laughs mockingly. If he died with her, then wasn’t he giving her exactly what she wanted in the end? Andy and Leyley, together forever—even in death.

But, he’s just too tired to care.

And maybe he’s too tired to admit that he wants that, too. 

“Enough!” she says pleadingly as she tramples through the field of flowers. “You’re not seeing the bigger picture! We’re never getting caught now! Isn’t this the ideal outcome?” She says the same stupid shit that she always does—no logic or thought. No care for anyone but herself. 

“How is this ideal?” Andrew bites out. “Your demon dumped us to die here in this godforsaken limbo! So let’s hurry up and get it over with.” 

Ashley doesn’t dare waste time by turning around and checking how close he is, but the sound of his footfalls and rustling foliage is getting louder by the second. She sucks in deep, desperate breaths, mustering all the energy she has left to speed up. The flowers fill her nostrils with their cloying perfume. Plumes of pollen hang heavy in the air, making her sneeze as she runs. 

“You’re wrong! The demon helped us out!” Ashley pants out. She feels strangely off-kilter, skin warm and prickly. “Who knows what kind of possibilities this place has? Let’s explore a bit! Nothing can get to us now; we can start everything over with just the two of us!

“You still don’t get it…” Andrew sighs. He sounds far too close for her liking. She desperately urges her legs to run faster, but it feels like she’s walking through water.  

“Uhh…I…I guess not?” she says weakly. “What’s the matter?”

Andrew catches up with her in a few strides and grabs her by the hair. Her scalp burns from the rough yank, and tears instinctively well in her eyes. A current of panic rushes through her limbic system, screaming that she’s about to die, but it’s buried beneath a much louder, more inane thought. That hair pull felt good. Why in the hell did it feel good? 

“It’s not getting caught, it’s not this place, it’s you,” he snarls into her ear, hooking an arm around her waist. “The problem is, and has always been you!”

“H-how so?” she says dazedly, eyes growing half-lidded. God, what had gotten into her?

“It doesn’t matter where we are, or what we do—you’ll fuck me over no matter what!” he rants, tightening his grip on her midriff. The firm pressure of his arm around her waist awakens something in her lower belly. “I’m tired of all this! Why did I let it get so bad?”

“I’m telling you, we can make things better….” she says, trying hard not to slur her words. It’s hard to focus on pleading her case when it feels like someone’s pouring warm syrup into her body. There’s an aching need radiating from her core. If only she could get some friction, anything at all—

“Wha—are you seriously grinding on me right now?” Andrew says. For a brief moment, incredulity replaces the anger in his voice.

She is, much to her surprise. Her hips are rocking, clumsily seeking friction from the nearest surface, which just happens to be the front of Andrew’s jeans. 

“Ohh, I see. Is this your last-ditch effort to get me to spare you?” he coos, holding the cleaver up to her neck. The cool steel of the blade presses against her feverish skin, making her shiver. 

“Andrew. Please,” Ashley manages. She hardly even knows what she’s begging for, just that she needs the aching inside her to stop. She tilts her chin up, pliant against the blade’s edge. 

“You’re willing to do anything to avoid dying with me, huh?” His breath catches as she presses her ass deliberately against the crotch of his jeans. His knee comes between her legs automatically, as if he’s heard her silent prayers, and she grinds gratefully against the solid surface of his thigh. Her panties are so soaked she can practically hear the slick sound of them shifting as she rocks against him. The rough denim feels like heaven. 

“I didn’t know you were this big of a whore, Leyley.” The taunt goes straight to her lower belly, stoking the fire.

“I fff…I feel weird,” she gasps.

The blade presses deeper, breaking skin. The adrenaline thrumming through her numbs the pain from the cut, but every other sensation is magnified tenfold. The warmth of the blood trickling down her neck, combined with the pleasant pressure against her swollen clit, is enough to send her over the edge. A raw cry rips from her throat as she throws her head back, thighs trembling.

“Did you just…?” For a moment, Andrew sounds genuinely taken aback. The cleaver makes a dull clattering sound as it falls to the ground. He takes her by the shoulder roughly and spins her to face him. “What exactly are you playing at, Leyley?” He hisses through gritted teeth. The tips of his ears are bright red. 

“Um. Well. I did say I didn’t want to die a virgin,” Ashley offers, giving him a lopsided grin. Truth be told, she had no idea what she was playing at. Part of her had always known he wanted this: from the way he ogled at her, from the way his touch lingered, from the way his grip on her tightened when other men leered. She wasn’t above offering herself for the sake of self-preservation, and Andrew deciding not to kill her would certainly be a convenient outcome, but this particular scenario was not at all going how she’d imagined. She wasn’t supposed to be this enthusiastic about it, for one. 

Still, she feels puppeted by invisible strings, helpless as she wraps her arms around his neck and presses her hips flush against his. The lack of control should alarm her, but she can’t fully bring herself to care. The flower-scented fog filling her mind was making rational thoughts seem hazy and faraway.

Whatever curse had befallen her, it seemed Andrew wasn’t immune. His hard cock is jutting against her, and she can feel it twitch through the fabric. His eyes are wide, pupils blown, and she can almost see the gears in his head turning. He brings a knuckle to his mouth in a familiar gesture, and it shifts her attention to his chapped pink lips.

Before she can decide against it, she leans forward to meet his lips with hers. The startled noise he makes is boyishly cute, which feels like a strange descriptor for the man who’s trying to kill her. His body jolts like he’s just touched a severed electrical wire, frying his insides to a crisp. He’s still far too thin from their trials back at their old apartment, but he’s solid against her and so tantalizingly warm that she can’t help but push her body against him harder. Closer. She has to get closer. 

Her teeth clack against his, drool running down her chin as she pushes insistently against his mouth. Ashley had always wanted to be close to Andrew. She’d cut open his ribcage with a saw just to crawl inside, just to make a home for herself there. She’d wear his skin if she could, but that desire had never felt quite like this. She needs to touch him—needs to be touched in return. 

She’s practically trying to climb him, hips grinding desperately to find any relief. “Leyley,” she’s never heard her brother’s voice sound like that—husky and so low that it makes her rub her thighs together. She’s so fucking wet. Why is she so fucking wet? 

“What the fuck, Leyley?” He speaks like his vocal cords are inflamed. “What are you doing?” He finally seems to realize what to do with his hands as he grabs her—hard. He gropes at her back with a bruising grip. She’d have marks in the shape of his handprints later, and she likes the thought of that. Yes, she should be marked up by him; she wants him all over, but most of all inside—

“Stop,” he says desperately, “Stop this,” he says against her mouth like he’s not rutting his cock right back against her. Oh, he’s so hard. How can he be so hard? She’d felt it get like this sometimes when they cuddled. He’d say that he couldn’t help his morning wood and awkwardly waddle off to take care of it, but she doesn’t think it’s ever felt this firm, this stiff. “We have to—”

She kisses him harder, tongue pushing into his mouth. 

His thigh soothes some of the ache, but even that feels short-lived. She shudders hard. Fuck. She’s soaking through her shorts now. What the fuck is going on with her? 

“Too many clothes,” she’s able to say, though it’s difficult to form words right now. Ashley sheds her shirt and shorts in record time, clawing at the clasp of her bra until she gets it off. Somehow, it feels like she’s only getting hotter. 

Andrew first looks stunned, then transfixed, then conflicted, like he can’t decide whether to fuck or kill her after all. It hardly matters what he wants—in fact, she feels like she might die anyway if he didn’t fuck her this instant. She shoves him to the ground, and he stumbles back without offering much resistance. She lands in his lap, knees on either side of him, bucking frantically in a way that does little to alleviate the empty ache in her core. His hands land on her, thumbing into the grooves of her hips, and even that slight contact floods her trigger-happy synapses with ecstasy. 

She bucks forward, shoving her tits into his face. They may be smaller than advertised, but she’s too desperate to think about being self-conscious right now. He doesn’t seem to mind, anyway—he’s busy pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to her breast as he palms the other one roughly. Every touch feels like it’s leaving blooms of heat. Her back arches involuntarily when he takes her nipple into his mouth, and she moans as his tongue swirls against her skin. He leaves a trail of bruises on her, vicious and territorial as he works his way up to the column of her throat.

He nuzzles into her neck, inhaling like he’s trying to steal the last few scraps of her oxygen before his own runs out. The scent of her vanilla shampoo mixes with the metallic tang of blood. There’s another scent in her sweat, musky and cloying, something that makes his mouth water. His finger loops into the back of her choker, and he uses it to tug her away. 

“God. No. We—we can’t be doing this,” he says, breathless. It was getting increasingly hard to think.

Ashley raises an eyebrow. “So we can dry hump on Mom’s couch as much as we want, but going all the way is suddenly going too far?”

Andrew pauses. She did have a point. What was the point of maintaining this facade, keeping an arbitrary arm’s length? They both knew the line meant to divide them had long since tangled and burned. Still, so much of his life had been spent trying to hold himself back from what he wanted most. Restraint was the last tether he had to his sense of self. 

He’d been breaking a lot of rules lately, but this one felt sacred. He could justify killing people; hell, he could even justify eating them—all for Ashley. As long as it was for Ashley. But there was no way he could convince himself that the ugly desires he had kept caged were for her benefit. Sure, she’d made passes at him, but those were only transparent attempts to keep him ensnared. She’d said it herself once: sex was something she was willing to put up with for his sake, not something she wanted. 

Though it didn’t seem that way anymore, from the way she was soaked through her panties. She wiggles her hips as she pulls them down, and a string of her fluid stretches between her and her underwear before it snaps. She spreads her legs for him, and suddenly it’s hard to breathe. Her perfect pink pussy, glistening wet, clit swollen as it peeks out beneath the hood. It’s the view he’s had countless dreams about. It makes him fucking feral.

A low, guttural noise comes from his throat. Without thinking, he stoops down and licks a long, hungry stripe up her slit. She tastes sweet, musky, just like what he had smelled on her earlier. He can’t get enough of the smell of her arousal. It’s a potent opioid that makes him feel heady. His tongue flicks against her clit, rough and insistent. She throws her head back and keens for him, a desperate, needy noise. Her fingers curl in his hair and pull hard. 

It stings, but in a way that only stokes the flame that roared in his lower belly and spurs him forward. Andrew is ravenous, burying his face there, mouthing at the sopping wet flesh as though he were kissing her lips. He supposes that in a way he is, and the thought makes dark laughter build in his throat like pressure building that threatens to erupt. His cock pushes hard against the fly of his jeans, throbbing and insistent. He wonders if he can come just from the taste of her.

Oh, he definitely could.

Tread lightly, he thinks as he uses his fingers to spread her open. She’s so pretty inside—the pink flesh looking like a succulent fruit—ripe and dripping, just begging to be savored and devoured. Her hole twitches, clenching wildly like it needs to be filled. She wants this. She wants it badly, and he can hardly believe it despite the evidence quite literally being shoved in his face. 

His lips close around her clit, suckling at the sensitive bundle of nerves as his sister wriggles and writhes beneath him. She’s a mess—hips grinding up as her juices smear all over his face. Not that he minds. No, he’d die here if he could. Smothered to death by his sister’s warm thighs, cradled in an embrace more loving than her arms could ever provide. He wonders if she’d kill herself after she was done with him. He hopes she will. It would be a fitting end to the pieces of trash that hadn’t stayed in the landfill like they should have. Together at least. Forever and ever.

The way it was always supposed to be. The only way it could be. 

“What are you doing?” Ashley bites into the back of her hand as Andrew kisses and licks at a place where he shouldn’t be anywhere near. It’s dirty, after all, but she’s having a difficult time remembering why that is when the sensation of his tongue against the filthiest part of her feels like being bathed in warm honey—sticky and sweet in a way that coats her skin and the roof of her mouth, but she can’t get enough. She wants to hate it. She should hate it, but her hips seek him out. Her body knows what it wants, even if her mind recoils. 

And right now she wants more. 

More of Andrew’s hot tongue swirling around her clit—of the way he suckled at the sensitive bud and the downright sinful sounds that he made as he tasted her. It’s so wet—loud slurping and sucking as he devours her as though she might be his last meal. “Just do it already—this is—aah!” she tries to get out, but her words are jumbled in her mouth. 

“This is—pointless!” As good as this feels, it isn’t what she actually wants. No. She needs the aching emptiness that she needs to be filled. She’s acutely aware of how deeply her inner walls throb, dripping wet to the point that she can feel it sliding down her thighs. It’s so fucking hot. Ashley feels herself clenching desperately—like she’s some kind of slut—

“What’s the rush?” Andrew asks huskily. His eyes promise nothing but ruin, and she watches his hips thrust against the ground—like he’s searching for some kind of relief, desperate enough to rut against the crushed flowers beneath them. “Are you that eager to die?”

“Die?” Was that still on the table? 

Andrews’ tongue prods at her trembling opening, the tip of his tongue circling around the tightening hole until she can’t hold back her wailing. She wonders if the entity can hear her—if it’s coming to rescue her. 

She hopes it’s not. 

Her brother hums, shivering as he pushes his tongue inside. His hands find her ass, squeezing the curve of it. That feels so good that it’s difficult to remember why she should be flustered about this to begin with. He pulls back for a moment, eyes bright. “Maybe I should fucking wring your throat when I’m done with you. What do you think about that?”

Something about his tone, the way he looks as he peers up from between her legs as he sinks a finger into her cunt, only makes the pain inside that much worse. Ashley wants to tell him that sounds fucking crazy, but she can’t bear the thought of him taking his mouth off her for another second to respond.  The virginal ring of muscles that his finger sinks into tightens so hard that even she can feel. Oh, she needs it. She needs him so badly. Even her pussy doesn’t want to let him go. She cries out brokenly as his finger crooks inside her. It feels like there’s electricity on his fingertips, sending shocks throughout her whole body. She cants her hips up towards his mouth, tensing as she hurtles toward release—

“Nnh—!” Ashley chokes, unable to form coherent words as she comes. Every muscle goes rigid as her vision narrows to a point. Her thighs tighten around Andrew’s head, locking him firmly into place, but he continues licking at her clit, steady and relentless through her orgasm. Clear fluid squirts from her, splattering the lower half of his face, and she’s horrified—that’s never happened before, not all the times she’s experimented down there alone—but Andrew doesn’t look disgusted.

 No, instead, he looks pleased as he laps that up, too. He cradles her thighs as they shudder around him from the aftershocks of the orgasm. 

“Fuck,” Andrew pants. “You’re perfect, Ashley.” He sits up and wipes his chin with the sleeve of his sweater, looking dazed. 

Once she catches her breath, she pitches forward and claws at the button of his jeans, clumsy and come-drunk. He bats her hand away. “No,” he says.

“What?” she says, indignant. “You clearly want it.” Her hand lands on the tent in his pants. She can feel him throbbing, hard as a diamond, but he grabs her wrist before she can move any further. He looks conflicted again. Classic Andrew, overthinking it as always. This instance of hemming and hawing was twice as infuriating than usual. She’s completely exposed, while he refuses to shed a few layers for her sake. Maybe he got off on being withholding?

“I need to know that you want this, too,” he says reluctantly. 

Ashley scoffs. “What? God, isn't it obvious? Why do you suddenly need my permission? Just get it over with already.” 

He looms over her, arms caging her in. “I don’t need your permission. I could’ve had you anytime I wanted,” he says. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about fucking you senseless to shut you up. With the way you throw yourself at me, it would’ve been easy. But you know why I haven’t?”

He cups her chin, and suddenly it’s hard to make eye contact. Something like charcoal smolders in his gaze. “Because it wouldn’t mean anything if you didn’t really want it. If you were, say, only offering me your virginity so I wouldn’t kill you.”

“Oh, so you were going to slit my throat, but god forbid you fuck me without my full consent! What a gentleman,” Ashley says. She tries to level her voice, but it comes out shrill and manic. Her mouth is dry, and her heart thumps like a rabbit’s foot in her chest. 

“Call me a romantic,” he says. His grin is wide and predatory. “If you want something from me, I’ll have to hear you ask for it.”

“Andrew,” she whines unhappily, rubbing her thighs together. The orgasm he’d wrenched from her earlier satisfied her temporarily, but now the emptiness has doubled down into a tangible ache in the pit of her belly. Couldn’t he see how much she needed it? The evidence was dripping down her thighs, soaking his face. 

“C’mon, Leyley,” he coos, tightening his grip on her face. “Let me hear you beg.”

He had to be feeling this, too. This heat, the need that feels so consuming that she feels like she might spontaneously combust. It’s the reason that he gave up on trying to kill her, because it sure hadn’t been her pleas or attempts at extending the olive branch. He’s just as gone as she is, but somehow he’s still managing to hold onto a modicum of rationality.

Or maybe he’s just that much of a stubborn ass—so fixated on his romanticism and ass-backwards morals that he managed to cling to them even while under the thrall of bizarre demon horniness (because that had to be what this is, right?), which is just her luck. Her clit is throbbing so hard that it fucking hurts, and he’s still determined to make this as difficult as possible. Tears of frustration burn at the corner of her eyes. Oh, she can’t stand him right now. She hates him, she hates him, she fucking hates him!

Andrew lightly brushes away the tears that she hadn’t even realized had started to fall. That borderline sadistic grin only grows. “Holy shit,” he snorts cruelly, bringing his hand back to rub the wetness in between his thumb and forefinger. “Are you crying because I won’t fuck you?”

The rabbit’s foot in her chest had leaped right into her throat now, sitting lodged there like spoiled food. 

“Andrew, please.” 

Shame lurks in the corners of her mind, spitefully whispering insults that she is all too familiar with. She’s acting like a fucking whore—exactly the kind of woman she loathed more than anything. The kind of woman who spreads her legs not out of love, but lust. Awful, terrible lust that only brain-dead hussies succumbed to. And yet, here Ashley is, completely lost to desire that made her writhe and keen like a whore. And he’s making her beg? 

She hates this! 

“Please, what?”

Ashley chews hard on her bottom lip. “Can’t you just—,”

His hand moves from her chin down to her throat. She can feel the hard throb of his cock between her open thighs. This is difficult for him, too—but he’s not giving in. “Wrong answer, Leyley.” He doesn’t squeeze, but the pressure of his palm alone is enough to make her sex pulse hotly again, a piercing ache that makes the inner muscles of her cunt clench and spasm. 

She needs him so bad—so fucking bad—

“I don’t—wanna be a—slut!” Ashley hates the grating sound of her voice. She’s whining like a sniveling child, but her suffering seems to only make Andrew grow even harder where he is nestled between her legs. 

“Hmm,” he purrs, hands running down along her sides before palming her breasts in his hands. She allows him to touch her, squeeze and knead the soft mounds, even lifting her arms to give him greater access. Petals cling to their skin, breaking apart from all the movement. They release a potent scent as they’re crushed, one that clogs her nostrils and fills her head with static. “And yet you fucking came when I cut your throat—grinded against me like you were dying to get my cock in you. What would you call that?”

She cries harder, “I hate you—”

“Clearly not,” he says, hand tightening around her throat. The pressure sends a hot pulse straight to her clit. “Be honest.”

Honest? She doesn’t know what she wants if she’s being honest. She can’t even make sense of these feelings, and from the way she feels Andrew beginning to rut back against her, she gets the feeling that he’s not as in control as he’d like her to believe.

Still. 

She can’t stand this. 

“Fuck me,” she whines, grinding her hips desperately, chasing even a fraction of the bliss he’d awakened earlier. “Please fuck me, A-Andrew! Please!”

“Good girl,” he lilts, releasing her throat. His palm is wet with her blood. “I knew you had it in you.” He’s mesmerized by the look of her pleading, chest flushed and heaving as she says his name. Part of him wants to make her beg for it a little longer, but he’s so hard it’s starting to hurt. The inside of his boxers feels uncomfortably sticky. He’d already come once while eating her out, but it had taken no time at all to get hard again. 

Something’s making him feel manic and off-kilter, incinerating his inhibitions and heating his blood. The closest thing he can compare it to is being drunk, though alcohol’s never felt quite as provocative as this. Maybe it’s because he’s been struck by the same affliction that had befallen Ashley. Maybe it’s because he’s finally as close to her as he’s always dreamed. 

She had given him permission—enthusiastic, explicit permission, and suddenly he couldn’t think of any reasons to hold himself back anymore. What was the use? It was inevitable, a branching path the two of them had set down from the start: he was always going to fuck her or kill her. Separation was never an option, not for the miserable leech anchored to his side. 

He fixates on the pretty red gash across her neck as he undresses from the waist down, pictures it widening to expose tendon and bone. He pictures her dull, lifeless eyes staring up at him. It was a pity; he had gotten so close to ending them both. But since they were both utterly fucked anyway, there was no reason he shouldn’t have a little fun with her first. 

His cock stands at full attention, bobbing slightly as it’s freed from his pants. He drags it slowly up her slit, teasing her clit as he gets to the top. She’s soaking wet, eliminating any friction as his tip glides against her. He’s so, so close to where he needs to be, but it’s almost more fun to watch Ashley squirm helplessly underneath him than it is to give her what she wants. 

“Andrew,” she wails, desperate. Tears are flowing freely down her cheeks now, all pretense of indifference abandoned. Her legs wrap around him, pulling him closer, and both of them gasp as he sinks inside her. She feels like the core of the earth, molten-hot and divine, and Andrew has to steady himself for a moment so he doesn’t come again on the spot. Her walls squeeze around him impatiently, spurring him to move. His hips draw back slowly, leaving only the tip inside, before snapping forward and burying him deep inside her. His name leaves her mouth again in a broken cry. Ashley’s back arches off the ground, eyes glassy and mouth agape. She looks beautiful like this, petal-sprinkled hair spread around her head like a dark halo. 

It’s the closest he’s ever come to believing in God. It feels like a culmination of everything that had brought them there, a merciful payoff for all the years of suffering he’s endured as her caretaker. He looks down to where they’re joined, the physical evidence of their enmeshment. 

The flowing blood that gathers around the base of his cock is further proof—binding them even closer together. It’s another blood oath shared between them, and he’s beginning to lose count of the many that they shared. There was the shared blood that flowed through their veins, the blood that stained their hands from the many murders they’d committed, and now the blood that he’d drawn from her cunt—the blood that had always belonged to him.

Unable to resist, he reaches between them, his hand grasping along his cock as he pulls out, getting blood all over his fingers. He smiles down at her, cock stiffening even more at the bewildered look in her eyes as she watches him stick the bloody fingers in his mouth, licking them until no trace of it remains. 

“W-What are you d-doing?” She stutters out with great difficulty. It’s hard to speak when stuffed full of cock, he imagines, so he helps her out by slamming his mouth against hers. Ashley sputters, hitting his chest as she tastes her own blood, but she doesn’t fight for long. No, she melts against him in a matter of moments, hands clutching at his hair as his tongue pushes into her mouth. 

His heart rattles in his ribcage, pounding with whirling intensity. 

His.

She was finally his. At least, in a way that actually mattered. 

The intrusion feels like she’s being split in half, arresting the breath in her lungs as he plunges inside of her, inch by merciless inch. She can feel the piercing, acute scream of it within every nerve—every fucking molecule of her body as his cock forces her insides to accommodate him.  

He’s so deep. 

—but it’s not enough. 

It never will be, even though this is a close start. Ashley trembles, legs locking around Andrew’s hips to draw him even deeper inside of her. This searing sting only urges her on. She needs him—she’s always needed him, but this is the closest that she’s ever felt to truly possessing him. 

He’s inside of her, buried deep, right where he’s always belonged. “God,” he rasps huskily, fucking into her in slow and measured thrusts that seem to scrape at her walls in an agonizingly sweet way. “You’re so fucking tight.”

He sounds pleased by this. Good. Her body had been made to suit his—made to take him. She just knows it, just as she knows that he is surely shaping her inner walls to the sheer size of him as his hips slam against hers. She’s winded—but thrilled. Oh, she’s never been happier!

Finally, finally, finally!

Andrew is hers.

Ashley can tell—from the way her pussy seems to swallow him up despite the pain, from the way each push of his hips calls to something else from within her—something achingly tantalizing and hot that only grew brighter and more intense with each movement. “Andrew!” She whines his name, ankles locking together because, as close as this was, it still isn’t nearly enough. 

The blood from her cunt stains his mouth like the grizzled muzzle of a rabid dog that’s just tasted flesh. Ashley supposes that he had—the metallic taste lingers on her tongue, and while it had initially disgusted her, she wishes that he’d take more. She wants him to tear into her throat and drink from her body so that there is no doubt that he is hers. She’d even let him fuck it out of her if he wanted to. She touches his mouth, smearing it against his lips as though it were a macabre gloss, before smiling. Further proof of her claim. Her blood should be all mixed up with his. And it would be—always. 

The world revolves before her eyes—up and down, round and round in a dizzying force as she gazes up at the twinkling dark sky of the realm between. Stars and moons littered the sky as though they had been hung there with strings—so much so that they looked close enough to touch. Their lights bathe Andrew in hues of blue, pink, and yellow, making his eyes shine like crushed glass scattered across a surface. 

“You feel—,” she can barely string a sentence together, but still feels compelled to speak, “So, so good, Andrew!” She can’t believe it feels this good. It’s like she’s floating, like the stars that hang from the sky are bursting inside of her. Coming to life and dying in succession and then repeating again and again, each time his cock bottoms out inside of her. They’re hip to hip, moving in tandem with a frenzied intensity. “More!”

She hears her brother chuckle, “More?” he asks. His hips snap towards her, hitting somewhere so deep that she screams so loud that she’s sure that if the demon didn’t know where she was before, it surely did now. Still, it doesn’t make its presence known, and she’s never been more grateful not to see it. The last thing she wants is to be saved from her brother. “How greedy of you.”

His cock leaves her for a moment, causing an involuntary whine to leave her throat. He roughly flips her onto her belly, and she just barely has enough presence of mind to lift her ass in the air before he bottoms out inside her again. The new angle makes her breath catch in her throat. 

Andrew drags back agonizingly slowly before thrusting in deep. Then he does it again. And again. Desperate, she rocks her hips against him, earning a punched-out groan and a slap to her ass. His other hand tangles in her hair and shoves her head down, muffling her half-sob, half-moan against the ground. 

“Ashley,” he snarls through gritted teeth. “I don’t remember giving you permission to move.” 

“You weren’t going fast enough, so—FUCK!” she wails as he slaps her again, harder this time. Heat rushes to her skin at the site of the impact. He continues pistoning into her at the same leisurely pace. 

“First, you throw yourself at me like a desperate slut, then you complain when you don’t get exactly what you want right away? 

Another slap. She can feel her blood vessels thrumming and swelling beneath the surface, and she can’t tell if she’s squirming from pain or anticipation. 

“Is anything I do going to be enough for you?” 

There’s a cold rage rising in his voice, and Ashley gets the feeling that he might be talking about more than just this specific incident. Fuck—wasn’t this her only chance at convincing him not to kill her? She needed to switch gears, fast. 

“S-sorry, Andrew,” she simpers, peering at him through her eyelashes. “I couldn’t help myself, I just needed you so badly…” She bites her lip and casts her eyes away. She doesn’t have to fake the blush that heats her cheeks—it’s mortifying to say this bimbo shit out loud, but she’s already begged for his dick, so it’s not like she has any dignity left to preserve anyway. 

She wonders if the shy, submissive act turns him on. She wonders if this is what made him go for Julia. Then she tells herself to stop wondering about it, because being furious really isn’t helping her sell the sexy ingénue act. It seems as though it’s worked its magic anyhow; his thrusts are getting sloppier, hips stuttering against her in an unsteady rhythm. 

“Going to cum,” he pants. “Where…?”

“Inside,” she says, automatically. It takes everything in her not to start moving her hips against him again. “Inside me!” She tears into her own lips with her teeth, groaning from the effort that she has to exert to keep her hips still. It’s cruel of him to demand this of her. Though he hadn’t said that she couldn’t move, had he? He’d just said that she’d needed permission.

She can do that.

“Andrew,” she whines pathetically, back arched as she turns her head to look into those bright green eyes, sharpened by mania. “You—You feel so good, Andrew. Can I move, please? I wanna feel all of you when you cum!” Her thighs tremble, inner walls clenching hard around his cock. Her throat constricts, and she feels her eyes start to grow blurry with tears. Crying over cock. How much lower can she sink? 

“I need you—I need you—I need you—”

Apparently, a lot lower!

Her brother’s hand buries itself in her hair, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her head back. The effort makes her grit her teeth from the hot, stinging sensation. If she weren’t so aroused, she might’ve worried that he’d tear her hair out. “That’s more like it,” he exhales, mouth pressed against her earlobe. “Move, Leyley.” 

She doesn’t need to be told twice.

Ashley chokes on a sob, pushing her ass back against his hips. It’s like pure lightning strikes her each time the head of his cock slams against her cervix. Breathing is difficult. How did she do that again? It feels like she can’t quite get enough oxygen into her lungs before Andrew bottoms out in rough, powerful thrusts that make the world around her fade into the background of her mind. There is nothing but him—and her.

—Nothing but them.

“Good girl,” Andrew encourages, guiding her hips back into a hard but sensual grind that leaves her sobbing. “You’re such a good girl like this.”

Good?

Oh, she wants to be so much better for him! She wants to be everything for him—everything that he needs and desires so that he’ll never, ever leave her again—

“You’re going to come for me, aren’t you?” He goads, and oh—Ashley doesn’t think she’s ever taken to instruction so easily. 

Her vision shatters, and she screams, clawing at the ground as she breaks around him. She can feel the way her pussy spasms, clamping down onto his cock so hard that Andrew lets out a rough groan. 

“Fuck, Ashley!” Andrew’s hips snap against her with a punishing force that makes her lose balance as she topples over into the flowers. He follows behind her, chest falling against her back as something hot and wet begins to flood her body. His thrusts are erratic but deep as he comes. He’s as deep as he can possibly go, and it feels like it might be enough.

Nearly. 

Though she thinks she needs a little more from him. “I love you, Andrew,” she tells him, heart lurching as she waits for a response. Please, she thinks. Please, say it back. Please, please, please. 

Andrew plants a kiss on the nape of her neck. “I love you too, nightmare,” he says, and the words cause her to visibly relax. He’s starting to soften inside her, but can’t stand the thought of leaving her wet heat just yet. Her inner walls are still pulsing erratically from the aftershocks of her orgasm, limp body splayed across the flowerbed like a surreal painting. 

“So…does this mean you’re not going to kill me?” she pipes hopefully. 

“I don’t know,” he muses. 

“Wh-what?! Was I not good enough or something?” Ashley cranes her neck to look at him, wide-eyed as he reaches to pick up the cleaver.  

He laughs at the sheer ridiculousness of the thought. “You’re everything I ever wanted.” 

“If I were good, then why—”

“You’ve only proved you can behave long enough to fuck,” he interrupts. He traces the cleaver’s edge lightly down her spine, making her shiver. “Nothing’s really changed. What’s stopping us from going right back to where we started?”

“Oh, that is such a bullshit argument,” she says, starting to struggle.  

“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” he croons. He adds pressure to the spot he had just kissed, causing drops of blood to well up beneath the blade. She yelps and shoots him a baleful look over her shoulder, but stays in place. 

Ah. He’s hard again. 

“When your life’s not on the line, it’s only a matter of time before you call me ‘Andy’ again.”

Ashley flinches. 

“I’m right, aren’t I?” his free hand tugs at her hip, prompting. She obeys his unspoken instructions automatically, arching her back and lifting her ass. 

“No,” she protests weakly. “I’ll behave, Andrew, I promise.”

“Your promises don’t mean shit,” Andrew says, starting to fuck into her again with lazy, languid strokes. The cleaver drags across her back, leaving a shallow cut from her neck to the edge of her scapula. He wishes he could split her open and devour her. 

“What am I supposed to do, then?” she asks. Desperation bleeds into her voice. “How can I prove it?” 

Andrew pauses, humming as he considers her words. He smears some of the blood across the pale skin of her shoulder. The color decorates her skin nicely. How sweet it was to split her flesh in smooth, precise cuts. To watch the blood pour from the wounds as she whimpers. He drags the sharp edge of the blade down the ridges of her spine now, creating superficial cuts. It’s not deep enough to do any real damage, but the sight does make something dark and heavy smolder in the pit of his stomach. “How?” He murmurs, watching as his sister pushes herself back onto his cock. Hah. She learns so well with her life on the line. 

Maybe he should’ve threatened her years ago. Or fucked her. Maybe she only became less of a selfish cunt when stuffed with cock. 

Ah.

She feels so fucking good.

“Just keep doing that, and we’ll see,” he leans down, dragging his tongue along the slices on her skin. The metallic taste of her blood might as well have been honey for how it coats his tongue and makes his taste buds sing. “How badly do you want to live, Beloved?”

Ashley’s fingers fist within the red flowers beneath them, tearing them at the stems. “It’s not j-just that I want to live,” she whines, grinding back against him in a slow, sensual rhythm that makes him want to drop his cleaver and pound into her. “I want you, Andrew.”

Her voice sounds weak. 

“You don’t sound very sure.” 

“Th-that’s because you’re slicing me up, you freak!”

Ashley’s starting to feel dizzy from the mix of adrenaline, arousal, and pain. It hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts. There’s a voice in her head screaming at her to freeze, that every jerk of her hips is causing another cut, but her hips are moving on their own, and her whole body tingles every time he scrapes her with the cleaver. 

“I’ve dreamed about this, you know,” he says, words dripping like honey. “Fucking you up. Making you cum. Making you bleed.”

She makes a high, sharp noise in lieu of a response. She drops her head to her cradled arms, no longer able to keep it upright. 

“But you like it,” he presses. “You’re soaking wet for me. God, Ashley, what’s wrong with you?” 

“What’s wrong with me?” she gasps. “Isn’t this proof that I want this? That I want you? I love you! Just believe me already!”

He chuckles. “You’ll take whatever I give you, won’t you, beloved?” he says, punctuating it with a hard thrust of his hips. 

“A-anything,” she babbles. Her cunt clenches around him, as if to prove him right. 

He plants a kiss between her shoulder blades. “If I had known this is all it takes to get you to behave, I would’ve killed you years ago,” he murmurs, and he sounds affectionate enough that her sex-addled brain processes it as a compliment. 

Ashley shivers like she’s been dipped into frigid water, but there is nothing cold about the way that Andrew feels inside of her, or the heat that builds between her thighs. He might be right. Something is wrong with her—but that isn’t exactly new information. Though she supposes that’s true for both of them. They were fucked up. Two pieces of trash floating in a landfill that could only truly understand one another. 

It was like a fairy tale—a macabre take on the books he used to read to her. Perhaps, they were like Hansel and Gretel, lost in an enchanted forest before stumbling upon a witch’s candy home. Maybe the demon was the witch. 

Ashley feels the inner muscles of her pussy flutter and clench as Andrew growls like he’s some sort of animal. “Should I have slammed you down and choked you whenever you behaved like a selfish cunt? Would you have liked that?”

She can’t answer, her throat tightening. “A—Andrew—!”

“You liked that, too,” he says, breathlessly, completely in awe of the wreck of a woman that he’d raised. “I can feel it, Ashley. Fuck,” his voice is thick with arousal as he pounds into her faster, each thrust so deep that the head of his cock rams against her cervix. “All that bitching and moaning. Years of it. Maybe you just wanted a little correction?”

She has no idea, though she can’t deny that this is really working for her right now. She’s close again. 

He yanks on her hair like it’s a leash, pulling her head back. “Well?”

“Andrew—,”

His hand cracks down against her ass. Oh, that hurts—it stings, but the action only makes her clit throb harder. “Use your words, Beloved.” 

“Yes!” Ashley gasps, shuddering as sharp waves roll through her body, making her knees grow weak and wobbly. She can barely hold herself up, and she probably would’ve fallen over if not for Andrew’s rough but steadying grip. He still hadn’t managed to regain most of the muscle he’d lost from their months-long starvation stint, but he’s still much stronger than her. It didn’t frighten her, though, even with all of his threats and barely-restrained lust that was tinged with outright bloodlust. If anything, she’s getting wetter, her inner walls clenching hotly around his cock as though to lock him inside of her—suck him in even deeper so that he might never leave. “I wanted this! I always wanted this!” 

“Really?” His teeth sink down into the space between her nape and the back of her shoulders, and she only realizes that she’s screaming when her throat begins to grow sore from the effort. The pleasure makes her feel like a brainless whore who can only come and buck backward against her brother, though she barely has the strength left for that. He could kill her now, and she’d be unable to do anything about it.

She wishes that thought didn’t make the unbearable ache between her legs worse. 

“Yes! You could’ve… You could’ve done anything you wanted with me!” The words seem punched out of her with the force of his hips slamming into hers. Or cut out of her, perhaps. With a cleaver. 

“Even kill you?” Andrew speaks like his words have been soaked in honeyed poison. 

She doesn’t answer right away—she can’t quite make her tongue work, especially when she’s on the very cusp of another shattering orgasm. 

Andrew bottoms out, hitting a spot inside of her that makes whatever rationale she might’ve had go right out the window. She’d say whatever the fuck he wanted so long as he didn’t stop. “Yes!” She wails. His cock might as well have been a knife. “I’d let you! I’d let you kill me!” 

Ashley didn’t want to die. She never had. What was the point in doing that when it was probably what everyone was rooting for, anyway? She didn’t understand the drive to die that Andrew’s romanticism is fixated on. Tragedies had always bored her—after all, they were simply a dramatization of the same shit that everyone already went through. The bitch in the box had been a tragedy, and life had gone on. Eventually, people stopped talking about them. People stopped caring.

That’s all that tragedies were. 

Bad, tired old stories. Not even worth the television reruns. 

And yet, she thinks she loves Andrew enough to endure that bland, stale rerun. If he wanted her to. 

Ashley’s admission makes Andrew feel like he’s unraveling, a string pulled taut and plucked at by cruel fingers. She’d wanted this. Even during their year of separation, when she had felt miles away, she had wanted him. All the times he had held himself back, convinced that Ashley was only playing childish games to keep him under her thumb, she had wanted him. The proof was in the slick, blood-tinged mess smearing down her thighs, the needy whimpers she made as his bite melted into a hard suck. 

“I don’t want to die. N-not while we’re fighting, not like this. But if you really wanted…” she bites her lower lip, peering at him through half-lidded eyes. “I’d die for you, Andrew.”

Ashley is a bad liar. Her manipulations are clumsy and heavy-handed. She’s too impulsive and impatient to fine-tune them—not that she’s ever needed to, since Andrew was prone to going along with her whims anyway. But there’s something raw in her voice now that makes her believe him, and it replaces the hard, bitter resentment in his chest with warmth. He tosses the cleaver aside and grips her hips with both hands. 

If he hadn’t lost his mind before this, he’s most certainly lost it now. A throaty noise escapes him as his hips buck uncontrollably against hers. Her pussy clenches around him every time he draws back and makes an obscene wet sound every time he fucks into her. His breath comes harsh and heavy, every cell in his body oversaturated with white-hot pleasure. The friction between them is dizzying. Ashley’s hand scrabbles to brush against his, greedy for more contact despite the plentitude of contact between them already. He interlaces their fingers, body heat exchanging through their palms. He’s lightheaded. 

“Such a good girl,” he breathes. “Come for me, Ashley. Please.” His voice quavers, but luckily, Ashley doesn’t seem to mind. She takes in one final, desperate, hitching breath before arching violently and burying her wail in the flowers below. Her slick walls spasm around him as he snaps his hips one last time, burying himself as deeply inside her as he can. It feels like lightning cracks down his spine as he gives in to his own orgasm. He squeezes her hand as he comes, like she’s his lifeline. She might as well be. He pulls out after a few moments, admiring the way his cum leaks out of her gaping hole. 

“Let me look at you,” he says. It takes a moment for her to comply, groaning softly as she rolls over and sits up to face him. She flickers her tongue over her bleeding lower lip, as she’d just noticed it was bitten open. Crushed petals are plastered to her face. She looks utterly wrecked. He runs an affectionate thumb over her cheek, brushing off the petals, and revels in the way she leans instinctively into his touch. He kisses her, tasting the iron on her lips. His hand slopes down her neck and roves over her back. It’s sticky with dried blood, and Ashley winces. 

“Sorry for cutting you up,” he says instinctively. 

She scoffs. “As if I can’t handle a few little cuts. Didn’t I just say I’d die for you?”

“Fine. Then I’m not sorry,” he says, smiling despite himself. 

She looks away. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. You’re going to kill me now, aren’t you?” 

He wraps his arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug. “I love you,” he says softly, “more than anything.”

“Um…is that a yes or a no?” Ashley asks, tentatively returning his embrace. 

He hums noncommittally, trailing kisses down the side of her neck as he twirls a strand of her ponytail around his finger. 

“Motherfucker—will you answer me?!” she jerks away to glare at him. He grumbles at the sudden loss of contact and sits back on his haunches. Goddamn his sister and her stubbornness. 

“If you’re willing to die for me, I’m willing to live for you,” he says. 

Andrew watches the expressions shift on his sister’s face—she’s stunned, lips parted, before her cheeks stretch into a grin so wide and exuberant that he thinks that he understands why the poets of old dedicated entire sonnets to their paramours’ smiles. He could spin a few lines right now, he thinks.

He doesn’t, though.

Poetry could come later.

“Well,” Ashley purrs, lazily winding her arms around his shoulders as she pulls him closer. Her lips brush over his, cherry pink eyes still locked with his green ones. “Since you’re willing to do what I want to do for once—”

Ah, and there it was. Leyley had gone and reared her ugly head again. “For once? Ashley, we always do what you want—”

“Don’t work yourself up!” She laughs, and to his surprise, her legs wrap around his hips again. “I was just going to say. If we’re going to live… then, let’s live! Right?” Ashley gives her hips a hard rut, swollen vulva sliding along his still sensitive flesh. His sister had always known how to pull his strings, and this was no different. “Shall I show you some reasons to stay alive?”

Oh.

He grins, shoulders shaking as he laughs. Andrew pushes his sister back down onto the bed of flowers. 

“You’re going to teach me?” Andrew’s eyes crinkle, feeling warm affection gather in his chest that only Ashley could ever evoke within him. Even at her worst, and his. “This is new. Well, I’ll try to be a diligent student.”

Her laughter is like melodious bells. “You’d better! And I’m a harsh grader.”