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Home. People say home is where the heart is. Home is the beacon in the dark, where the sight of it draws you towards familiarity. It’s where the scent of the most familiar scents spread through your lungs in a comfortable fill and its warmth engulfs you in its protection.

But a home like this, where the days are humid and dull during the warm weather, dry and dull in the cold—home doesn’t feel like home. It feels like the house in the corner of your mind, the little shack in your dreams that you’ll forget by the time you open your eyes.

Not to say you hated your house. Sitting worn but a pretty little thing at the top of the town’s hill, with its broken picket fences and little dainty garden.

Its walls have seen better days, worn down by time and sunlight—what might’ve been a pretty butter yellow was now something more pale and sickly. The windowsills have been cracking and peeling, and your door has that creak that always alerts someone entering and exiting. 

If that wasn’t enough, the doorknob sometimes jammed and you’d have to spend the next few minutes wrestling with it like a fool.

Was it extravagant? No, nothing like those sky tall apartment complexes where city girls go back to after their busy days of cafe shops and boutiques. Oh, how’d you love to experience that. A sleeker hairstyle with a sleeker outfit, a nice purse on your shoulder and a coffee in hand you had acquired from some overpriced cafe.

But it was yours. Your tiny little house, the one that creaks and wails, the one that needs proper TLC. The one you go back to after a day of hauling books and groceries—making small pocket change by helping your neighbors around. Instead of a sleek maxi dress, you’d dress in those cute sundresses with your old brown boots, a cloth bag to carry the necessities and more. 

You always tried to pretty yourself up though. While you didn’t have designer stores or cute thrifts, you had a sweet little boutique owned by that little old lady and her husband you’ve known since you were a child. And accessories weren’t glamorous, but you couldn’t go wrong with a headband and your favorite pair of little earrings with that heart locket your papa gave you on your tenth birthday.

You and your pa lived in that house, and when you were away—he was holding fort on your rickety porch. When he was gone doing work, you were around the house keeping it tidy.

Chores around the town, chores around the home—this whole town had become a routine. A constant chore. All the whimsy and excitement that you had growing up had mellowed out, and while you loved the town, you knew you were a bird that’s stayed in the nest too long.

But your pa needs you, with his bad leg and all—and you cared too much with your big heart to leave him. And if not him, what about the others?

Mrs Johnson with her flowers, Mr Nolan with his books, Mason with his deliveries. If you left, who would help them?

So the only thing you could rely on for excitement was the gossip around town. The people too were bored, and when people get bored, they tend to talk.

And talk they did.

“Did ya hear? Someone moved into Marlon’s old lil’ home.” 

Your ears perk from the aisle over, recognizing Mrs Smith’s whispering instantly. You were on an errand run for your pa and you—a pack of cigarettes for him, something sweet for you.

“You’re kiddin’! What chump wants to move into this desolate town?” A shrill voice of Nancy, the gas station owner’s wife, questions. 

Yeah, you thought while leaning against the shelves a bit. Who would want to move here? How’d anyone know about here anyways?

Your small town was out of the way from usual roads, and on rare occasions there would be stranded drivers in need of directions or a fixed tire, but you never had experienced anyone moving in this time around.

“He’s rather fine, Nancy. A reaaaal hunk, tall and toned like that,” Mrs Smith coos and your nose crinkles a bit. She always had a loose mouth for a married woman. “But you know what they say. Them pretty men always got something shady going on.” Do they?

You wouldn’t know, never really dated, let alone been on flirty terms with the opposite sex. Most of the boys you grew up with were like brothers to you. Maybe there was Mason, a little crush here and there when growing up, but nothing you really had that was budding.

And your pa was always against boys trying for your hand, a man was even farther out of the question.

Mrs. Smith’s assumption boggles your mind, trying to imagine a delinquent or a con man from how she vaguely describes him.

“Honey, you gon’ buy anythin’?” Nancy questions from the counter, unaware of your eavesdropping. Straightening up, you grab a pack of malboros and some powdered donuts before making your way towards the counter.

Setting your things down, you slide your hand into your bag, fishing out the couple of bucks you had. You brought enough for the two items, having memorized the price the fifth time you were sent to get something. That was nearly a decade ago, maybe more—being in your twenties now.

Nancy doesn’t ask if that’s all, she knows by now the same dance and song. Ringing you up, she passes you an extra pack of cigs for your pa and you pocket it without a word, ready to take your leave.

“Hey, hun.” Nancy calls out before you can leave, making you turn around with big bunny eyes. “Yeah?” You respond automatically, the older woman lighting her own cigarette, the butt of it burning an amber orange.

She takes a slow drag. Takes a moment to let the smoke curl around her tongue before she blows it out. “If you see the new guy, best be careful, ok hun?”

You shift, one foot to another. “Yes ma’am.” She nods then, sending you off back to your little house. 

The hill is no feat to you anymore unless you’re carrying something heavy. The path is familiar, as it always is. 

The new guy.

That was unfamiliar. Like a new species in the ecosystem, but you’re unsure what type. All you know that it’s caused the town to shift, to talk.

And you? With all things unfamiliar, know you should be wary. And it wasn’t like Nancy was saying things to start something, at least not with you. Not with the younger folk, especially young women like you—naive and stupid.

Curious.

You were curious.

That little inkling that had planted itself like a seed the moment you listened in on the older women's conversations had sprouted as you continued up the hill.

The old Marlon’s house was just a right turn, off your usual straight road. It was rather isolated, nothing far from the others, but Marlon always liked to have his own big plot of land. An old veteran that enjoyed the peace of things before his passing.

You still recall the times your pa and him would share stories, not that your pa was a soldier. But he had a respect for men that could lay their lives down for a cause—like a good American man should. In his words, at least.

And Marlon’s house, once lived in, then untouched—was now being lived in once more. The overgrown weeds and moss have been pruned out, not the entirety of them, but a good portion.

Besides’ Marlon’s old broken down truck was another one, just as rugged but more maintained, cleaner.

The stones under your boots brunch, coming to a slow stop at the pebbled walkway towards his porch.

It… feels uncanny. Seeing the home of another you remembered so clearly… no longer his.

But you don’t linger long, especially since you couldn’t see any sign of new life outside, and there was no possible way you’d stick around waiting like a nosy creep.

So you continue home from that way.

You went the same way again. This time not for Malboros and sweets, heavy flour bags pressed against your chest, sweat trickling down your bare skin. Ms. Madison had given you the couple extras she didn’t need after you helped with her cats. And you eagerly accepted them, deciding you could use it for baking some time later.

Today, you wore a thin white blouse, the kind with short sleeves and small lace lining, with denim shorts. Your typical boots donned, with your hair pinned back–but it couldn’t stop the wind from pushing at it, making strands cling to your cheeks and forehead.

It was hot today, like it had been the past few days–and the heat was unbearable, like usual. Clothes sticking to your body and the sweltering heat adding invisible weight to the heavy bags you were carrying. 

You don’t know why you had taken the right towards old Marlon’s house (if you can even keep calling it that), but curiosity had got you again.

Before you had left Ms. Madison’s place, her husband was there too. A lovely couple, but they often liked to butt their noses into things like the rest of the town. The both of them talking about the mysterious neighbor, when Mr. Madison came up with the most peculiar theories as to why he had come into this small town.

”I reckon’ he’s a veteran with muscles like that, and a gaze that holds many stories… or secrets, if y’know what I mean.” You’re not superficial, but the sound of muscles was intriguing. And secrets? That wasn’t anyone’s business but the stranger’s. But in a town this small, might as well be everyone’s.

”Or… get this,” “Oh, Stan, you best not be saying a bunch of nonsense now.” “No, listen! He could be a crook. Some criminal tryna start fresh! Would explain why he’s so… eerie, on the run and such.”

You had listened in for a bit before making your leave. And now you’re here.

Passing by old Marlon’s house. At least, you should be passing. But you stop at the dirt path once more, leading to the steps of the porch. 

You should go. You definitely should. No one wants some weird girl standing at the front of their house, especially someone who supposedly kept to himself. But before you turn, you watch the door open, and you freeze immediately. Squeezing the bags against your chest tighter, you watch as a man steps out.

He’s much older than you, probably double your age–if the faint wrinkles and strands of grey hair were a telltale. Dressed in a simple black tee that hugged his toned biceps, dark jeans that shaped his thick thighs. A simple outfit, yet… why was it doing something to you? You’ve seen plenty of older men, this whole town had them around and about. And maybe like the boys, there were a few childhood crushes–but those were silly. Those weren’t meant to stick, nor was it actual feelings–just childish admiration. 

But the man in front of you, was one you hadn’t grown up seeing around often. A new face, one with a nice jaw–a stubble across it, with a droopy set of dark eyes. He looked… every bit of handsome, in a simple way. Not the kind of man you’d see in a magazine, but the kind you would give a double take walking past.

And you can’t help but stare, knowing you shouldn’t. He doesn’t seem to mind though. “Morning.” He greets, a small smile tugging on his lips. His voice is nice. It’s not too deep and rumbly, but not too high– it sits nicely. It suits him. Almost like honey with a slight rasp. “You’re that girl from yesterday, caught you staring from the window.

That made your cheeks flush in embarrassment, his casual tone to call you out. It’s not supposed to make you feel like you’ve done something wrong, but you still feel like you had.

“Sorry,” You start with a strained voice, clearing your throat to continue. “I was– um…” He seems to get it instantly. “Curious?” He finishes the sentence for you and you nod. He lets out a small snort of a laugh, and it’s nice too. “Figures, the rest of the folks are the same way. Not exactly too quiet about it like you are.” You don’t say anything else. You didn’t feel the need to defend yourself, because he was right–you thought it too. This town was full of nosy people, you included. The man leans against his railing, his arms crossed on top. It makes his biceps flex a bit, and you can’t help but appreciate how it stretches the cotton around it. “Cat got your tongue, missy?” He questions. You don’t respond again, but your lips part this time.

Only then, when you realize you probably look a little foolish, standing and staring when he’s addressing you, do you speak again. 

“No sir,” You manage. “I was just… I wanted to say hi.” 

He seems to like that, but you couldn’t tell–he seems to keep that easy smile on like it was natural. “Hi yourself.” You like that he’s sort of playful, if that was his intention. “I’m Brian.” Brian. 

You like that name. Easy to remember to go with a face that was a bit hard to forget. Brian. You give him your own, though it comes out a bit shaky, like you’re not used to introducing yourself. And now that you think about it, you weren’t.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Brian.” You greet politely, shifting on your boots. They’re starting to pinch at your heels and toes after being in them almost all morning. 

Brian continues leaning against the railing, but his hand comes to his pocket to fish something out. It’s an open pack of cigarettes, the Winston brand. He doesn’t light it yet, just rolling it against the pads of his fingers, like he’s being mindful that you’re around. You don’t mind though. You’ve gotten used to that kind of smell, the nicotine that wraps around your lungs even if you’re not the one smoking it. Your dad tries to be mindful too, always smoking in the backyard, but cigarette smoke has a way of lingering even over time once there’s been one too many lit.

You start to talk again, your eyes lifting from his fingers to glance at his face. “I was surprised,” You clear your throat, trying to clear out the nerves in your throat. “Surprised to hear someone had moved in. Pretty isolated town, not many notice it–not even on modern maps, last I heard.” “Is it now?” Brian doesn’t seem too worried about it. In fact, the hum that follows makes it seem like he’s quite content with the notion of it. Living off the grid and the only people knowing of his existence are the very people residing in the town. 

You wondered if anyone knew he moved here. Wondered if there was anyone else out there that knew of him at all. Would they come visit? Or did he really cut off all ties with whomever to start anew, like Mr. Madison had suggested? “It is,” You respond, licking your dry lips. “How’d you find out about this place?” You can’t help the curiosity eat at you, like you were the cat that needed to pry its nose into businesses it doesn’t belong in. And you were asking what everyone else was thinking, even if you didn’t word it verbatim. Why did he move here? Brian’s eyes are on you. A gaze so slow, you wondered if he was eyeing you in interest or calculation. Like he was deciding if you were worth entertaining or not. “Curious?” “Very.” You sounded a bit eager, your cheeks becoming flushed. “Um…everyone is, really.” He chuckles, and you like how it sounds. You like a lot of things about him so far, albeit a bit superficial. The older ladies were right, he is fine. “So I noticed.” He’s amused. Amused by the way, out of everyone in this town–it’s you that’s asking him the same question, but with no intention to gossip. 

But you’re naive and innocent. You don’t want answers to share with others, you want answers for yourself. To sate your own curiosity about him, about the strange man who’s now living in your former neighbor’s home. 

“You gonna tell anyone?” He asks, crossing his foot over the other casually. “Should I not?” You ask back.

“You could,” Brian says with that same easy going smile, but it’s a little toothier, and you can see the little gap between his two front teeth. It’s endearing. He seems even more amused, with how your question sounds a bit more submissive than challenging. “But I prefer keeping to myself. And I figured a town like yours don’t want people like me messing up the ecosystem. Makes it easier for everyone.”

You purse your lips at that. You weren’t sure if you could understand his reasoning, but you suppose you can respect a man wanting to be kept alone. Marlon was the same. 

“Ok, I won’t tell,” You assure. “I can keep a secret.” He laughs then, and your stomach flips. “Wasn’t trying to tell secrets, but good to know.” You really like him so far, and you hardly know him. Granted, this is your first interaction, but even so, it felt like he was dancing around answers.

Brian’s eyes are on you. A gaze so slow, you feel hot under his gaze. You’re unsure what emotion it was, but hot was the only way to describe it. He answers, finally.

“I’m a friend of the last owner’s son.”

You perk at the mention of Marlon. Of his son, specifically It was like him moving in had unlocked a can of worms for you and your memories. Marlon’s son… What was his name… Reid? 

You recall the guy. He was much older than you back then, so you were never really close to him. You just recalled he was living with Marlon for some time, until he upped and disappeared. 

It was your sixteenth birthday when you had last seen Reid. And thinking about it now, that was also when old Marlon stopped coming out of his house more and more. The town figured Reid got too tired of the quiet life and skipped to the next town or city after an argument with his dad, considering no one could get proper answers from Marlon. Reid would be around Brian’s age for sure, maybe a little younger or so.

Actually… What did happen to Marlon before he passed? You suddenly feel like that part of your memory was fuzzy. But maybe now is a bad time to try and recollect old memories.

“Reid, so he is ok?” You ask, feeling that blossom of curiosity take the form of a flower in your stomach. You had so many questions of your own regarding the man in front of you, and with this new found information, you feel like you’re nowhere close to figuring him out.

But it was only your first interaction, so you suppose it only made sense.

Brian lets your question sit, tongue against teeth momentarily before he answers, “He’s been alright. Busy with life. Told him I needed a break with mine and he suggested this town.” He waves his hand lazily across the field. “Jus’ din’ expect to tidy up the place as soon as I got here. This whole home needs some proper maintenance.”  

You giggle a bit at that. “Yeah, well… we sort of left it that way after… um… the old owner’s passing.” And he hums, “I figured. Is a shame.” The two of you fall into silence, and you suddenly start to remember the heavy weight in your arms. They’re going to be sore by tomorrow, you could tell by how they’ve gone nearly numb after the burn in your muscles. And while you can still hold them up without much of an issue, you should still head back home soon.

“I should… go now.” You announce, but you can’t help but feel slightly disappointed at that. You sort of wish you weren’t holding bags of flours–and maybe then you wouldn’t have to worry about getting home soon. Then again, you can’t be out for too long without pa getting worried.

Brian doesn’t question why you’re leaving so soon. Instead, he straightens himself up, ready to come down to help you. “Need any help with that?” He asks, about to make the step but you shake your head. “It’s fine! My house is just up the hill, I’m used to carryin’ things up and down it.”

“Are you sure? Can’t have a little lady like yourself strainin’.” He tries offering once more, but you shake your head harder. “Really!” You, for some reason, now feel like you can prove you can do it. It was just two bags, but you’re flattered he was willing despite just meeting. He was a gentleman.

“Well, then it was nice meeting you, little lady.” Brian says, leaning back against the railing, giving you that nice smile with the little gap. “Don’t be a stranger. Maybe when you’re not hauling things, come see me, yeah?” There’s something about him asking specifically for you, for your return, that makes you suddenly giddy. “Yes, sir–I-I can come back.” He likes that answer, “Atta girl. See you then.” It’s you who takes the turn to leave, continuing your way up the dirt path and up the hill. And despite your back turned to him, you can feel his eyes still on you, your arms clutching at the flour tighter.

As soon as you make it home, your boots come off first. Your arms are crying for rest and you grant it relief by dropping the bags onto the kitchen floor, near the other bags. “Kid, is that you?” Your pa calls out from the living room. He’s watching tv. You can hear it from where you stand, wiping the sweat off your forehead. “I’m home, papa!” You answer, shedding off your socks, your feet red and nipped in a few places from your worn boots. You’ll bandage them after your shower. Right now, they burn–aching from the busy day, aching from standing for so long while talking to Brian. Brian. You recall that he noticed you from the day before. Even if he hadn’t talked to you then, he noticed you outside his home. Suddenly, the realization that he’d seen you before you’d seen him makes you queasy. You’re not sure if you dislike it though.

“Mrs. Madison gave me some flour, pa.” You say, making your way into the living room. It’s small and a bit cramped, but it’s decorated just the way you like it. Your pa had always emphasized the idea of a home needing a woman’s touch, you remember how he’d joke if it were up to him, the whole house would be decorated like a bar.

You stand behind the couch, getting a glimpse of the tv. It’s his favorite game show, the same one he always makes sure to catch. “I’ll probably bake tomorrow, if you’d want anything.” Apple scones, maybe butterscotch pie–pa’s favorite was whatever you made.

“Yeah? That’d be nice, kid.” He gives you a wrinkled smile, reaching a hand out to pat yours that rest on the top of the couch. “Just don’t go too crazy, ya hear? I ain’t dyin’ to no heart attack.” You smile back, “No promises, papa.” You joke.

And you’re ready to head up to shower, but your pa calls out. “By the way, what took you so long?” He asks. There’s no room for anger in his voice, curious and a bit skeptical. “You’re normally back earlier, I was a little worried.” You look out the window to realize the sun had already been setting. You had been out for longer than expected. 

“Mrs. Madison wanted me to help with her cats.” You say, unsure if you should even bring up your encounter with Brian. Pa always went on edge at the mention of strangers, or boys in any manner. “Mr. Madison was there too, and I guess I got carried away talking with them after.” Pa grunts, “That’ll do it, that chatty couple. Well, if they’re havin’ ya carry heavy stuff later in the day, least they can do is offer ya a ride.” You only hum in acknowledgement. “Well I’m gonna clean up and head to bed, papa.” You bid, heading up the steps. “Good night.” “Night, kid.”

Sleep came easier than you expected. Freshly clean and smelling sweet, you were dressed in your favorite pajamas after lathering on lotion and vaseline. 

Now, you were laying in bed, facing the window of your room. The lace curtain hardly blocks out anything, but all you can see from where you lay is the big white moon. It was always a pretty sight, falling asleep while growing up, and it still was.

After a busy day, you’re left tired and ready to fall asleep, but you can’t help but recount your meeting with the new neighbor. Brian.

Pulling the comforter closer to your face, you think about how he asked to see you again. How he smiled, how he leaned against his porch railing. The sound of his voice and his laugh–even if subtle. It was all nice. And you feel almost impatient to hear it all again, to see him again.

You’d be baking tomorrow. Maybe you can bring him something.

It’s about two weeks into your new life in town when your things start going missing. You don’t realize it at first, usually assuming you misplaced whatever item disappeared this time–a pack of smokes, a lace ribbon, a beaded bracelet, a half-full bottle you snagged from Evan’s store. It isn’t until you’re picking laundry off of the line that you realize the last two of the clothespins are empty.

You squint against the afternoon sun, shading your eyes as you look around for what could be missing. You go through your laundry list in your head and compare it to the clothing pile in your hands: Overalls? Check. Jean shorts? Check. 2 blouses? Check. The bra that you always hide underneath a cheese cloth? Check. Bloomers? Check. 3 pairs of panties? Check. Check…

Shit.

Spinning around, you flick your gaze over the ground and pray you’ll find the lace somewhere between the patches of grassy weeds. No luck. Your face flushes red with embarrassment, scurrying back into the church with wide eyes and furrowed eyebrows.

You offer nervous smiles to the townspeople in the pews, shuffling towards the attic stairs and practically catapulting yourself into the safety of your room. You slam the door behind you and collapse onto your mattress, the headboard and springs squeaking as you shift your weight. Groaning into the floral-patterned pillow, you run through scenarios in your head.

1. They fell to the ground. Maybe the clothespins were broken (they weren’t) or maybe the wind took them down (the heaviest wind in this town is a light breeze).

2. Animal interference? Maybe some bird picked them up to weave into their nest (there’s barely any animals in this town. The only bird you ever saw here was a dead one that Kate hung up next to her window).

3. Someone took them off the line.

You flip onto your back, staring up at the wood rafters. What if some creep is out there doing who knows what with your panties?! Some random townsperson you barely know, probably some gross old guy… The idea makes you feel sick. 

You spend the rest of your day in your room; folding clothes, flicking through the book that Brian lent you, and occasionally peeking through the far window to check the empty clothesline.

Every time you check, the green space around the posts is empty, but it doesn’t seem to quell the feeling of being watched. You can swear you see a flash of something behind a nearby willow tree, between the window slats of the house across the road. It puts you on edge, pacing your room and chewing on your fingernails.

–

By 6 o’clock you’ve decided to check the area outside one more time, just to make sure. Your bare feet shift over the dry grass, eyes scanning for the flash of white fabric.

You hear a rustling sound far too close behind you, the sound of a twig snapping beneath heavy boots. You twist around sharply, gaze darting around for the source of the sound, but you’re only faced with boot prints in the mud and something shiny in the weeds.

After checking around you a couple more times, you turn your attention back to the flash of metal. Apprehensively, you lean down and brush your fingers through the grass, stopping when they land on something solid. You bite your lip as you lift the item, turning it over in your hands.

It’s a camera. One of the handheld ones that can record videos. Carefully flicking the screen open, you’re met with a photo of yourself standing below the clothesline just outside the church. Your heart skips when you realize that it was taken seconds before you turned around.

You flip to the next photo with a shaky breath, to be met with another photo of yourself. This time, it’s as if you're leaving the church just a minute ago. You quickly flick through the roll, met with photo after photo of you.

Then–a video.

It’s taken from where you’re standing right now, frame capturing the window of the church attic. The recorded version of you lazily pulls off her shirt, tossing it to the side and facing the window, torso on full display. You watch in horror as her fingers start working the clasp of her bra. 

You slam the camera back closed, face burning. Stumbling back into the church, you grip the device closed like it’ll pop open at any moment and reveal what your breasts look like to any and all passerby. When you get back into your room, you discard the device onto your nightstand like it hurts to hold it in your palm. 

You stand still in the center of the room, breaths heavy as you try to figure out what to do. Should you tell someone? There’s no sheriff's office in this town, no authority. Even then, would you want to show this to anyone? Shouldn’t you check what else is on the camera first?

Shame burns your cheeks as you reopen the display. The video is back–and you watch yourself like a voyeur as the figure on camera pops open the clasp of her bra, tits spilling out in full view of the lens.

You feel disgusting, watching yourself like this. But there’s something else there too; something that pushes into your stomach and lodges itself there, a heat that won't go away and grows as you scroll through photos of your naked figure. Almost all of them are taken from outside on the grass or from the window of a house across the street. 

There’s one that catches your eye, though, a photo of you in your room. You’re bent over to pick something up from the floor, ass peeking out from the denim of your overalls. Your eyes trace the room, the positioning of the camera, before you realize it was taken from inside your closet.

You start to internally panic, the heat in your stomach replaced with fear. Reaching into your pillowcase, you close your fingers around the pocketknife you keep hidden away in case of emergency. You slowly rise back up, cautiously stepping closer and closer to the wooden doors.

You take a deep breath, hand shakily reaching out to grip the knob. Steeling yourself, you practically rip the doors open, eyes wide and brandishing the knife to find–

Nothing. Just the sparse hangers and stacked denim. You feel like you could sob with relief.

You give the room one more look-over before you decide to collapse into bed for an early night. Kicking off your shorts, you climb under the bedspread and grab Brian’s book again. The soft light of your bedside lamp and the smell of old paper lulls you back into a sense of calm.

–

You’re woken violently when you hear the slam of the church doors reverberating through the building. Reaching out for your knife again, you clutch it close to your chest in the hopes that whatever’s going on downstairs will stop.

The more you think about it, the more it worries you. The town has an unspoken curfew–no one’s ever out past 8 at the latest, but it has to be close to midnight now. And who knows… This could be that creep from earlier coming back to get his camera back.

You quietly slide out of bed, tiptoeing across the creaky wooden boards and wincing after every sound. You make it to the door, carefully unlocking it and slowly cracking it open to try to hear who’s inside.

At first, it’s just something breathy and quiet. A male voice, but one that you could barely make out. There’s the soft sound of the front doors groaning on their hinges, and someone shifting uncomfortably on the pews. You push your way onto the stairs, cautiously testing your weight on each one, when you hear it.

“I can’t s-st-stop touching my-myself.”

You freeze up, fingers gripping the bannister. You know you should turn around right now, let whatever sinner confess what they need to, but the voice has you rooted to your spot on the stairs. It’s Toby.

“I can’t f-f-fuckin’ focus… ‘m s-so hard I c-can’t do a-anything but touch my d-dick,” he’s whining, and you can hear his boots tapping nervously on the floor.

His words make you gasp, barely covering the sound with your hand before he can hear you. You have half a mind to let him be, you’re hearing things you really aren’t supposed to–

That’s when you hear your name.

Your feet stay where they are, and a nasty shade of red spreads over your face. Fuckfuckfuckfuck–

“Sh-she’s so p-pretty–ah–I can’t–” He cuts himself off with the sound of a zipper being undone. Is he touching himself in a church? The soft moans that slip out of his mouth as he palms himself through his boxers send a spike of down through your stomach, and you feel slick pooling in the center of your panties.

“Sh-shit. She kn-knows I’m a fuckin’ cr-creep… F-found the camera. Probably fuckin’ h-hates me…” The sounds get louder as he slides his fingers under the fabric.

Your feet move without you wanting them to, slowly sliding down the stairs until he comes into your view.

He’s a mess, hair ruffled and sweaty, face pink. His jacket is discarded a few pews away, and his jeans sit hastily pushed halfway down his hips. You can see the imprint of his hand working his cock under the fabric of his boxers.

“P-please, father. H-h-help me so I can con-continue being your disciple. C-can’t do anything when I’m l-like this–’m h-hard all the time. Evan w-w-won’t stop makin’ f-fun of me be-because I’m thinkin’ about her while g-g-gutting some st-t-tupid fuck…” He’s lucky you’re so distracted that you don’t notice that last sentence, eyes glued to the bulge in his underwear.

You realize just how far you are down the stairs too late. His eyes open, hooded and lazy, but snap wide when they land on you. His palm flies away from his dick like he’s been burned, hastily trying to hide it behind his back like it’ll undo you seeing him with his hand down his pants.

He blinks back at you with wide eyes, chest heaving as tics rattle through his neck down to his feet, boots thudding heavy against the floor again. Your eyes nervously flick down to the exposed skin of his stomach where his tank has ridden up.

You stare at each other, both weighing your options in this situation. Toby flinches like he’s in pain, hips unconsciously lifting off the wood before dropping back down. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. He watches you for a while longer, still stuck in your spot on the stairs. 

“W-will you h-help me?” He sputters, wincing again as his dick nudges against the undone zipper of his jeans. He looks pathetic, fingers spasming as he wills them back from reaching into his boxers.

You take a step back. “Um, I don’t-”

“W-wait! P-please, it hurts so b-bad, just n-n-need your hands, I p-promise,” he whines, hips stuttering up again.

On one hand, yeah, he’s a creep. You should be running to Evan or Tim or anyone else in this town to beg them to do something. On the other… The poor boy just wants forgiveness. You can understand that better than anyone. 

Who are you to deny him salvation?

“O-okay… sure,” you mumble, hands fidgeting at your sides. You cautiously step closer to him, pausing and checking his reactions like he’s a stray dog that might bolt at any moment. His eyes follow your figure, but he seems fixed in his spot on the pews. By the time you reach the end of the bench he’s sitting on, he looks terrified.

“Thank yo-you-fuck,” he whispers as you reach to take his face in your palm. He isn’t wearing the bandage he always does, and there’s a rough chunk of skin taken out of his cheek. You can see his spit-covered tongue darting out from between his teeth.

He whines into your touch, gently nuzzling against your skin. You can see his resolve crumbling with every passing moment, fingers twitching by his sides. His wide brown eyes flick up to meet yours, pleading, as he shifts to kiss your palm.

He doesn’t break eye contact as his lips slowly make their way up the inside of your wrist, shaky breaths ghosting along your arm. He makes a quiet whimpering sound whenever his tongue brushes against skin, and you press your thighs together to try to get any relief from the fire burning in your stomach.

His hand reaches up to fist into your top, pulling you down to press his lips to yours. They’re chapped, rough against your own. You can’t think too hard about it as he pushes his tongue into your mouth, fingers travelling up to tangle in your hair.

You break the kiss, slowly sinking down onto your knees. Your hands land on his thighs, cautiously pushing them open to settle between his legs.

When your eyes dart back up to his face, he looks like he’s in pain. Nose scrunched up and heaves wracking through his chest. “P-please, touch me, god,” he mumbles, almost incoherent.

You reach up to the bare skin above the top of his boxers, fingertips brushing against his lower stomach as they hook into the waistband. He gasps as cold air washes over his now exposed cock, and you can see his fingers flexing and unflexing as he fights the urge to touch himself. Toby almost cums right on the spot when you tentatively lean forward and take the tip into your mouth.

“Holy f-fucking shit–ah, g-god, you d-don’t have to–fuck,” one of his hands pushes into your hair, gently leading your head as you take him further. You’re just starting to accommodate his size when his hips unintentionally slam forward. You can feel the tip nudging at the back of your throat, and hot tears start to form on your waterline.

“Oh, god, I’m s-so s-s-sorry,” he whines, eyes wide as he lets go of your hair, hissing as you pull off of him. His puppy eyes follow you as you stand and wipe your mouth, and he’s suddenly very aware that you’re no longer touching him.

Oh god. You’re leaving him, you hate him, you’ll probably go tell everyone what a freak he is–

“Toby, it’s okay,” you whisper, taking his face in your hands again. He looks like he’s going to sob in relief when your knees land on either side of him, straddling his lap. You reach down to pull your panties to the side, letting out a small whimper as you feel him nudge against your clit.

“I-” his fingers trail up your thighs, gently brushing against the wet cloth of your underwear. “Do you need m-me to, um,” he stammers as his face flushes red, eyes squeezing shut. Turns out he’s not great at articulating his words when he’s about to cum. “D-do you need my f-f-fingers first?”

You shake your head, against your better judgement. “I can take it,” you insist, embarrassingly desperate to feel him. Toby looks like he’s going to choke when you slowly sink down onto his lap, letting out a whimper as the flushed head of his dick slides into your pussy. 

You wince as you rock your hips down onto his, one hand braced on his shoulder. He lets out a string of expletives when his hips jerk up, causing your free hand to grab for purchase in his hair. He almost cries out when he feels you tugging his head back, and you can hear his boot kicking against the pew in front of him.

His hands come to steady your waist, guiding your movements against his cock. You’re both panting as he finally manages to get himself fully inside of you, hips flush against yours. He connects his lips onto your collarbone as you ride him, soft licks and bites trailing from your clavicle down to the collar of your shirt. 

His fingers make quick work of the buttons, pulling back to stare at your chest as you shrug off the fabric. You’re pretty sure you can see him salivating, drool welling up and spilling from the opening in his cheek.

Toby’s mouth is on your tits the second your bra is undone, licking over your nipples and sucking light marks into the valley between your breasts. You continue to fuck yourself on him, holding the back of his head and every so often yanking on his hair.

You feel him whimper as his movements falter, and he leans back against the pew, eyes searching yours.

“D-did you know it w-w-was me?” he grimaces, whining as you drop yourself down onto him.

“What?” you mumble, voice fucked-out and breathy.

“The p-pictures. D-did you know I was w-watching you? Stealing y-your un-underwear like a fuckin’ f-f-freak?” He flushes red at the memory, his words breaking as your hips continue to grind against his.

His pupils are blown out, lips parted as he stares up at you. “N-no. I didn’t. Really–fuck–really scared me too…” you trail off as you see something flicker in his face for a second. But you blink and his expression is back to pleading. You feel him fuck up into you and he winces again.

“Yeah? Sc-scared?” His head is back against the wood, his fingers digging into the plush of your hips and bouncing you on his lap. He pants like a dog, and you can feel his dick twitching inside you.

You let out a breathy laugh, closing your eyes. “Yeah, was really nervous. Thought some old guy was creeping on me, you know?”

You don’t notice his grip leave your hips, instead mindlessly grinding down on him like nothing changed.

“Was gonna go to Evan to ask for help, I was getting kinda freaked out…” your words die on your lips as you look down at him, hips slowing to a stop. “...Toby?”

His eyebrows are furrowed, a dead look in his eyes as he glares up at you. There’s a pout on his kiss-bitten lips and he blinks up at you. He’s fully still except for a slight tic in his shoulder. You nervously watch him, retracting your hands. “Um, sorry… did I… uh, did I do something wrong?” you mumble, voice soft and palms up in the air like you’re talking to a startled animal.

Silence.

The cold bite of something solid beneath your back is the first thing you register, then his hands wrestling you down onto the pew, then the drag of his cock pulling out of your pussy before slamming back in. The thrust makes your head bang into the wooden bench end, your brain going fuzzy for a minute before another rough drive of his hips brings you back to reality.

His teeth bite hard into your neck, before coming up to your ear. “No one else c-can have you, y-yeah? You’re all m-mine. My p-p-pretty fuckin’ girl–shit!” Toby slams himself into you relentlessly, all traces of the shy, obedient boy from earlier gone.

“I-Toby, wait–”

You’re cut off by your own moans, the tip of his dick pressing against your sweet spot. You hear him whimper again as you clench down around him.

“This pussy’s t-too goddamn good, f-f-fuck.” He suppresses a whine in the crook of your neck before pulling one of your ankles up to rest on his shoulder.

“Fuck! Wait, s’too much, I–”

Your hands scramble across the glossy wood, trying desperately to find something to hold onto as he drills into you. Your brain feels like it’s going fuzzy again, and you realize there's too much pressure on your neck.

You try to claw his hand away from your throat, but you can feel yourself coming in and out of consciousness. Just as black starts to creep into the corners of your vision, the hand on your neck lets up and snakes down to play with your pussy instead.

You take in huge, shuddering breaths, gasping as he circles your swollen clit with his thumb. You can feel yourself getting close, the relief of oxygen travelling back to your brain combining with the pleasure spreading through your lower stomach. Toby’s getting close too, judging by the ruined words falling from his lips.

“ I fuckin’ h-hate the way Evan looks at y-you, if h-h-he had a single ph-photo of you–Oh, shit!– I’d g-gut the bastard on the s-s-spot, you… fuck… you know that, don’t you, a-angel?” His hips stutter into you, thrusts getting smaller and more desperate, his eyes staring into yours.

“I’m g-g-gonna fill you up, o-okay? I c-can’t stop h-h-here, right?” His face screws up and you hear him gasp as you nod, fingers lazily threading in his hair and tugging on the strands.

Your orgasm washes over you, your body shaking as you cry out. Everything’s too much, and the pressure on your clit makes you sob as you finish. But he’s still fucking into you, and your hands close around the nearest solid surface to try to keep from losing it from overstimulation. 

The triumphant look on his face falls as your fingers dig into his neck, and you watch as he transforms back into the begging puppy he was just 30 minutes ago. He looks shocked for a moment, before he lets out a long whine and you feel hot spurts of his cum fill your pussy. His hips slow to a stop and you’re finally able to let out a full breath, eyes closing in your post-orgasmic haze.

They snap back open, however, when you hear a sob, and watch as Toby quickly pulls out of you. He sits back on his haunches, watching you with wide eyes and tears spilling down his cheeks.

“Oh, g-god. I’m so s-sorry angel, I didn’t mean t-to h-hurt you…” he cries, his fists coming up to bang at his temples. “I’m so b-bad, I know, you c-can hurt me, I-I deserve it. F-fuck!” You watch in stunned silence as he flops down on top of you, his face digging into your bare stomach and his hands back on your hips.

“Please, d-don’t h-hate me. Do y-you hate m-m-me?” His words are muffled against you, spit smearing against your skin. You cautiously raise a hand and place it in his hair, which is replied to with a soft whine. “I… I don’t hate you?”

Toby’s head snaps up, his chin resting on your abdomen, pupils wide, begging, and searching yours. “Y-you don’t?”

You shake your head, still a bit nervous about him having another outburst. He lays back down, his cheek smushed against your stomach. “‘M so s-s-sorry, angel. I’d never h-hurt you, you know th-that?”

He’s back up again in seconds, pulling you up to your feet. Your legs are wobbly, but he manages to steer you over to the stairs and pull you up to your room. He lays you down on the soft sheets of your bed, settling between your thighs with a promise about another ‘apology’.

He kisses over the bruised finger marks on your hips, down to your pussy where you can hear him mutter another “m’sorry, angel,” this time into your clit. You let out a contented sigh as he gently licks over you, eyes never leaving yours.

The last thing you remember is a soft voice asking, “I-is this okay? Do y-you feel g-g-good?” and your hand reaching out to lazily scratch behind his ears, earning another string of whimpers. 

–

You wake up naked the next morning with an ache between your legs, light filtering through your open window and casting shadows across the room. There’s no trace of the previous night, besides the now empty spot on your bedside table where the camera was sitting. Instead, there’s a small scrap of paper with messy writing. It reads: sorry i took your panties again. if someone else tries to touch you i’ll cut their hands off and make them eat em :)

Tim realized he’d been silent the whole time.

It wasn’t as if seeing Brian’s dick was a new concept, too many years together to not see another guy naked. It was more that he’d been so protective of you for so long. Tim didn’t think he’d want to share something as precious as you. Especially not when Brian had you wrapped around his finger.

“Damn.” Was all he could muster. His throat felt weirdly dry.

The response was good enough for Brian. “Took this one the other day.” His grin spread wider when he clicked on the next clip. In the brief moment he spent on the folder, Tim noticed the large amount of similarly lewd thumbnails. The laptop screen shows a different angle of you. The sound of skin meeting skin hard played from the speakers, deep grunts from behind the lens reminded him that he knew the subject and the director of the dirty film.

Your back is arched with the help of Brian’s large hand pressed at the top of your ass. Helping him keep the rhythm while he pounds into your ass, you’re crying out with each time you meet his hips.

“Who’s your man? Say…Say it.” He commands. Quietly urging you to speak up, Tim finds a similarity in his voice when he’s focused on an important task. 

“Y-You…Brian…” You manage to sigh out. Your face is smashed into the bed beneath you, sheets gripped between your fist. Even with the dim lighting, he sees the blush spread across your body, how even your shoulders are tinted with red. Then, the camera shifts down. He’s straightening up, watching just how Brian fucks you dumb.

It seems like you have no problem taking all of him. His thrusts are sloppier than the first angle allowed him to see. Now he sees the way he pulls out halfway before fucking deeper into you that before. His dick burrows deep before teasing to pull out fully, only to shove himself back in place quickly enough to keep you full of him. You’d respond with more mumbles, his name spilling out of you like a familiar prayer. 

A small voice in the back of his mind telling him he’d be sweeter than Brian, treat you nicer when you’re laid in front of him.

“You’re a lucky man.” Tim hopes the scatter pistol on his lap would be enough to take his mind off the idea of you sprawled out beneath him.

Brian doesn’t take much note of Tim's newfound love of cleaning and reassembling his distraction. Leaning back into his original lounge on the couch cushions. Slumped as he kept scrolling the seemingly endless folder. “She’s real sweet, man..I could film her forever ‘nd never get bored.” He’s clicking on the trackpad a few more times before once again pulling up another video.

Tim couldn’t say he wasn’t interested. His jeans grew tighter by the second. The cotton cloth spread under the metal pieces was really the only saving grace he had from relentless teasing. Sure, in the past Brian would show off any clips he had of a random fling or some set of perverts he caught in their car late at night, but Tim knew you. He even stopped by your place the day before to pick up Brian’s forgotten wallet, you both joked about how forgetful he was. Now he was staring from your nightstand, watching Brian hold your throat from behind as you cried into the camera about how bad you wanted it. How good his dick felt, you’d beg him to slow down, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. When his hand shifted to holding a handful of your hair and your eyes nearly rolled back, Tim’s distraction barely worked. 

He couldn’t stop watching.

It felt so wrong, but Brian was more than willing to show you off. The video ends after the longest 4 minutes of his life. Brian leans in with a gaptooth grin, never pulling out, and nearly crushing you against the mattress. He seemed to be responding to one of your incoherent babbles that Tim couldn’t make out. “‘Course I’ll turn it off, pumpkin–” With that the audio cuts and the screen goes dark. 

Tim’s trying to come up with an appropriate response, but Brian’s already scrolling again. 

“Been collecting them for a while. She’s just perfect on camera.” Finally he looks over at Tim. “Don’t you think?” The same smile Tim just saw on the screen. Mischievous, the same expression he frequently wore. 

Tim watches the small thumbnails pass by, that painful dryness in his throat returning.

“What d’you want me to say, Brian?” Tim shoots back, looking straight at him. “That I think your girlfriend’s a fine piece of ass?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes and trying not to seem like he had a raging hard-on. Lying as if he had the moral high ground for not being attracted to his best friend’s girl.

Brian chuckles, shaking his head, closing the laptop and setting it onto the handmade coffee table in front of them. “No shame in it, Tim. She’s cute.” He makes no move to get up, instead sitting back up and watching Tim’s hands as he works the metal back together at a comfortable (yet shakey) pace. “You’re just a good friend to her, I was thinking that maybe it’d be nice to show her just how good she is.”

The half-constructed gun falls back to his lap as Tim looks over in near shock. “Right.” He’s just shocked that he would even offer you like that. “‘Cause she’s so open to getting passed off to the next guy.” 

Brian’s reply is smooth, calm, that same grin never leaving. “She thinks you’re handsome too, told me so a few nights ago.” 

Tim finds it hard to believe, shaking his head with a sigh. “Stop messing with me, man.” Putting the final pieces together on his pistol, he uses his thumb to try and buff out any non-existent marks on the handle. “You think I’d trick you?” Brian laughs, finally giving Tim some room to breathe. “You know you’re the only one I’d trust to share my girl with.” 

Tim stands up, tired of the conversation. Tired of being teased. 

He needed a smoke. 

“Sure, dude. Why don’t you call me when she’s ready. I’ll be there in a heartbeat.” Sarcasm is his only gate out of the conversation. He feels himself growing irrationally angry at his nonchalant attitude towards your body. Tim’s hands slot in their respective pockets after grabbing his cigarettes and lighter off the coffee table. 

Brian doesn’t even see anything wrong with his offer, settling back into his slump against the old couch cushions and pulling his laptop back up. 

“I’ll keep you updated.” He says simply. Tim chooses to ignore your moans that start to sound out again from the shitty computer speakers as the front door shuts loudly behind him.