𝓡𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓮

note: posting this with one eye open

You grew up with decent guardians around you, so you really don’t know why you constantly chase after women who are twice your age. Your preference has never been a question because you only ever sleep with women. You’re entirely gay, but your attention always goes to women in their forties. You know you look good because you have a pretty face, and your curves make everything you wear look even better. You’re definitely not ugly, but you never manage to get with a middle-aged woman because they check you out, then decide you’re just too young for them.

Flirting with them is always fun, especially when it comes to your best friend’s mom. Yolanda is totally off-limits, but that makes it even better when you push your luck around her. “Do you need any help with those bags, Ma’am?” you ask, while leaning against the kitchen counter to watch her unpack groceries. “I can manage just fine, but thank you for offering,” she replies as she gives you a quick chuckle. She turns you down, but she never tells you to stop looking at her. “You’re always such a sweet girl when you visit,” Yolanda says as she glances over her shoulder at you.

Hearing those occasional praises always makes you feel stupid, so you practically melt on the spot every time she speaks to you like that. You just bite your lip while trying not to think about how wet you get simply from her saying nice things to you right in the middle of her kitchen, but it happened more often when your best friend moved out of the house. You know you really shouldn’t visit Yolanda or her home anymore, but you're more stubborn than a toddler, so you keep visiting her, yet make it a total secret from your friend, because you want to keep coming back.

“She knows I actually come over to check on you,” you lie straight to Yolanda, while sitting at her dining table. You completely make up the story so you have an excuse to be around her. You end up visiting her at least once a week, and sometimes she cooks dinner for the two of you before letting you sleep over. “You should just spend the night because it's gotten so late,” Yolanda says as she gathers the empty plates from the table. You never say no to her invitations because you love sleeping in her spare room just to be under the same roof.

Yolanda obviously likes having you around because the place got way too lonely after her daughter left. Your visits give her some company, and she always looks happy when you show up at her front door. “It gets pretty boring being by myself all week,” she admits, while handing you a cold drink for the afternoon. You keep coming back because you know she actually wants you there. She likes having you around so much that she doesn’t care at all if you use the backyard pool whenever you want. You didn’t bring your own swimsuit when you came over today.

“You can just borrow one of my daughter’s old suits from the closet upstairs,” Yolanda says, while pointing toward the hallway. She acts like she completely forgot that her daughter’s old clothes are made for a skinny body, but you go upstairs anyway to check out the drawers. “Don’t worry because the material is stretchable,” Yolanda calls out from the kitchen, while you search through the bedroom. You open the drawers, but you only see tiny string suits. You borrow one anyway, but the fabric hardly covers your chest and your cunt. Your body fills out the fabric to its absolute limit, so the only parts being covered are your nipples and your slit.

You find a big towel and wrap it tightly around yourself before walking downstairs to the backyard. Yolanda looks up from her lounge chair when you step out onto the patio. “Did you find one that fits you okay?” Yolanda asks as she watches you walk toward the edge of the water. You just nod your head, while keeping the towel securely around your body, because you don’t want her to see the fit just yet. “Take that towel off, and sit down right here,” Yolanda says, while pointing to the edge of her lounge chair. She holds up a bottle of sunscreen so you don’t have to guess what she wants.

You unwrap the towel and drop it onto the ground before sitting down directly in front of her. “Here’s something to keep you busy,” Yolanda murmurs as she hands you a cherry lollipop. She always keeps a small bowl of sweets next to her book whenever she spends the afternoon outside by the pool. You unwrap the candy and pop it into your mouth while she sets her reading glasses down on the small table. “It really doesn’t look so bad on you,” Yolanda adds, while looking you over. “The strings are luckily long enough to fit my body,” you reply as you look down at the minimal coverage.

The thin strings are completely tight against your hips. Yolanda completely stares at your exposed breasts for a second before she pops open the plastic cap of the sunscreen bottle. Yolanda tips the plastic bottle to pour sunscreen into her palm before she sets the container down on the table. She rubs her hands together and reaches forward to spread the sunscreen over your shoulders. She watches you take the lollipop out of your mouth to lick it, while she runs her fingers across your collarbones. “Did you just get your nails done?” Yolanda asks while looking at the hand you use to hold the stick.

You smile to yourself before you nod your head at her question. “I went to the salon yesterday, so I wanted to know if you like them,” you reply, while popping the candy back into your mouth. “They look absolutely gorgeous,” she says, while moving her hands down to your upper chest. Yolanda spreads the sunscreen right over your cleavage as she sits directly in front of you. Her fingers occasionally slip inside the edge of your top when she rubs the sunscreen across your breasts. She gets incredibly close, but she doesn’t actually touch your nipples.

You take the candy out of your mouth because having her hands all over you makes it hard to act normal. You take a slow breath before you look down at her fingers on your chest. “I can just do the rest myself,” you suggest as you reach toward the table to grab the bottle. Yolanda shakes her head before she moves the container completely out of your reach. “I’d really like to help you out,” she replies, while squeezing a little more sunscreen onto her palm. You almost pout at her, but you just shyly nod your head instead. “Just tell me if you want me to take over,” you murmur, while leaning back on your hands.

Yolanda gives you a small smile as she rubs her palms together. “I don’t mind doing it at all,” she says before reaching out for you again. She moves her hands down from your chest to rub the sunscreen directly onto your belly. You just grip the candy stick tightly in your hand, while her palms slide lower. She coats your stomach before she completely squeezes your thick waist. You watch her hands hover right above the thin strings, while she rubs the sunscreen onto your hips. Yolanda slides her hands down past your waist to rub the sunscreen directly onto your pelvis.

“Did you happen to tell my daughter you were visiting today?” she asks, while keeping her fingers right above the tiny strings resting against your hips. You look down at the candy in your hand before you answer her. “I told her I wanted to check up on you,” you lie directly to her face, so you have an excuse to be here. Yolanda smiles before moving her hands down to smear sunscreen onto your thick thighs. “You’re such a pretty little liar,” she teases, while gliding her palms over your legs. She looks up from your legs to meet your eyes.

“I actually talked to her yesterday, so I know she has absolutely no idea you actually visit me,” she adds, while rubbing the sunscreen completely over your kneecaps. You immediately look away from her because getting caught in a lie makes you feel completely stupid. “Are you mad at me for coming over?” you ask, while rolling the lollipop stick between your fingers. Yolanda chuckles as she leans a bit closer to you on the lounge chair. “I’m definitely not mad at you,” she replies before she slides one of her hands right between your legs to rub the sunscreen onto your inner thighs.

She keeps her hand right between your legs, while her thumb starts rubbing your inner thigh. She watches your face closely to see your reaction as her finger rubs the soft skin there. You finally reach over and drop the lollipop stick onto the side table once the candy is long gone. “Do you like girls, sweetheart?” Yolanda asks, while looking right at you. You swallow on nothing at her words, so you instantly feel too nervous to give a straight answer. “What?” you whisper as your eyes go wide from the question. You try to hide the nervousness, but your throat feels entirely dry when she watches you.

Yolanda doesn’t look away at all before her thumb slides an inch higher toward the skimpy fabric that hardly covers your cunt. Her thumb slips right against your inner thigh next to the material to rub small circles there before she repeats herself. “Women, baby, do you like them?” she clarifies, while her fingers glide against the exact same area. You stare back at her while trying to process how close her hand is to your wetness. “Like them as in f-friends or?” you stutter when your brain completely stops working. You look down at her thumb moving against your thigh because you really don’t know how to finish the sentence.

“Friends. Sure, sweetheart,” Yolanda murmurs before she chuckles at your stutter. She keeps her right hand resting against your inner thigh, while she moves her free hand up to your hip. Her fingers easily untie the thin string holding the side of your suit together. She uses her hand between your legs to push the loose fabric away from your cunt. She doesn’t touch your slit right away, but she stares directly at how wet you’ve gotten. “Do you always get this wet for your friends, baby?” she asks, while she finally looks back up at your face.

You never even stepped into the pool, so you have absolutely no excuse for the mess between your legs. “You look like you’ve been ready for me all afternoon,” she adds, while giving you a mocking smile. “I- I didn’t mean to,” you stammer as you try to come up with a believable excuse. You feel exposed when she looks at you, so you instinctively try to squeeze your thighs together to hide yourself. Yolanda immediately pushes her free hand against the inside of your knee to stop you. “Don’t try to close your legs on me now,” she orders, while forcing your knees open wide on the lounge chair.

You glance around the open patio, but anyone could easily walk outside to catch the two of you by the pool. “Someone might see us out here,” you whisper as you instinctively try to move your hips away from her hand. Yolanda just shakes her head before she moves her fingers directly to your cunt. “Shh, nobody’s going to see us,” she murmurs, while she uses her middle and index fingers to spread your lips apart. Yoland stares directly down between your legs to watch the way your clit pulses right out in the open. She keeps your lips completely spread apart, while you leak directly onto her fingers.

“Nnh- wait,” you whine when your thighs twitch from her fingers keeping your lips held open. Yolanda ignores your whining to place her fingertips directly against your opening. “You definitely don’t look like you mind being out here when you’re this soaked for me,” she teases, while she feels how wet you are before she even slips a finger inside. You bite your lower lip when trying to process the feeling of her touching you. Yolanda smiles at you before she slowly pushes her middle and index fingers straight inside your cunt. “Ahhn- f-fuck,” you gasp when her fingers easily fill you up.

She pushes deeper into you while she watches your face carefully. “Don’t try to tell me you don’t like this when I know you’re absolutely dying to call me mommy,” she mocks as she keeps her fingers buried inside you. You instantly heat up at those dirty words, so you reach down to grab her wrist. You immediately shake your head from side to side to defend yourself. “I- I don’t want to call you that,” you stutter when you let go of her wrist. Yolanda ignores your denial as she continues to thrust her fingers in and out of your cunt. “You can lie all you want, but I see the way you always stare at me,” she murmurs before giving you a smile.

Yolanda glides her fingers deeper into your wetness. “I know you’ve wanted to kiss me for a long time now,” she adds, while she watches your reaction. “Nn- no, I haven’t,” you lie right to her face, but your body completely betrays you. You instantly thrust your hips upward whenever she slides her fingers halfway out of your opening. You practically chase her hand to get her fingers back inside you. You try to squeeze your thighs together around her hand, but Yolanda immediately pushes your knees wide open again. She easily notices how desperate you get whenever her fingers almost leave your cunt, so she keeps your legs forced apart.

“It’s entirely okay to admit it, sweetie. Mommy is going to take very good care of you,” she whispers to you. You completely lose all your excuses, so you just whine out loud. “Hngh- p-please,” you beg when she completely stops moving her hand. Yolanda keeps her fingers inside your cunt without moving them, so you can’t get any relief. “Please what, baby?” she asks you. “Mmn- please, mommy,” you finally say as you tilt your head back to look up at her face. Yolanda leans a bit closer to your face before she puts her lips right against your ear.

“That’s such a good girl for me,” she whispers before she begins to thrust her fingers inside your cunt again. You instantly drop your head forward to rest your forehead against her shoulder, while you try your best not to chase her hand. It takes every bit of your control to hold your hips back as her fingers slide deep inside you. You keep your forehead resting on her shoulder, while her fingers continue to move inside your cunt. “Mmn- I n-need you, mommy,” you gasp out as you cling to her. Yolanda chuckles against your ear before she reaches her free hand up to squeeze your breast.

Yolanda pulls down the bikini top that barely covers your chest. She keeps her lips right against your ear when speaking to you. “You look so incredibly sexy,” she whispers before she pinches your nipple. Hearing her dirty words right in your ear makes you feel a bit self-conscious about your body. Yolanda instantly senses your hesitation, so she speaks directly into your ear to reassure you. “I love how you look for me,” she murmurs, while her fingers continue to slide inside your cunt. Your hand slides directly onto her chest, while you cling tightly to her body.

“I want to focus entirely on you right now,” she murmurs as she keeps squeezing your breast. You don’t listen, but you start kissing your way from her shoulder up to her neck. “Mmn- p-please let me,” you beg, while your lips move over her collarbone. Yolanda stops leaning against your ear, then she tilts her head to the side to let you kiss her neck. She lets you kiss her there, but her hands never stop moving against your breast or deep inside your cunt. “Look at how desperate you’re getting for me,” she teases, while she continues to thrust deep inside you.

You just shake your head right against her neck before you kiss all the way up her jawline until your face is directly in front of hers. Your one hand gropes her chest, while your other arm hooks around her neck. You look directly at her lips before your breath immediately hitches. “See what I mean when I call you desperate?” she mocks as she notices you staring at her mouth. You instantly shut her up by crashing your lips against hers before you two start making out, while she continues to push deep inside your cunt. You move against the lounge chair, but you can’t hear anything besides the sounds coming from between your legs.

Your body clenches around her fingers as she moves deep inside you with a slow pace. Yolanda keeps her other hand busy by rolling your nipple, while she watches your face. You grind your hips against her hand because you want her to go faster. You kiss her hard while your tongue sweeps inside her mouth. She moves back just a little bit, while a long string of saliva connects your lips. You immediately chase her mouth because you want to taste her. “Do you like that, baby?” she asks, while she watches you follow her. “Mmn- yeah, give me more,” you gasp out, while you pull her closer to meet her lips.

You crash back into her kiss and wrap your arms tight around her neck to draw her body toward yours. Your body clenches around her hand every time she finds that spot inside you, while she keeps her fingers moving in that slow way. You keep making out with her until your breath comes out in gasps. “You’re doing so good for me,” she murmurs, while she keeps thrusting deep inside your cunt. Yolanda leans close to kiss your neck, while her free hand grabs your left wrist to peel your arm away. She grips your other wrist next to drop your arm down before she lets go to lean down to your chest.

“Let me get a better look at you,” she whispers as she opens her mouth to take your nipple in. “Nghh- oh god,” you whine as your back arches instantly. She enjoys hearing your cries once she starts tasting you. Your fingers tangle into her hair to hold her close since her hands are no longer holding your arms down. “Hngh- Y-Yolanda,” you sob out as you try to find a better angle. Yolanda grunts against your chest as she feels your hips grinding up to meet her. She thrusts her fingers faster inside your cunt, while she licks your breast for her own enjoyment.

“You feel so tight around me,” she mumbles against your chest after she lets go for a second. She uses her tongue to drag across your flesh before she takes you back into her mouth. Your cunt squeezes her fingers tightly as the combined pleasure overwhelms you. “Mfffh- f-fuck, faster,” you beg as you pull her hair to keep her mouth on you. She continues to mouth over your breast, while her fingers keep moving inside your cunt. She moves away from your chest after a few moments to look up at your face. “You’re taking my fingers so well for me,” she whispers as she watches your expression.

Your hips twitch against her hand, while you struggle to catch your breath. “Mmmph- m-mommy, please, I’m so close,” you sob out as you yank on her hair to get her mouth back on your skin. You arch your back to push yourself deeper against her hand, while your hips move on the chair. You need her to keep touching you, so you grind down hard on her fingers. Yolanda grunts as she feels your cunt clenching tightly around her fingers, but she doesn’t stop her movements. She speeds up to give you exactly what you want as she curls her fingers inside you to find that exact sensitive spot over and over.

She continues thrusting deep inside you to make you come. She leans her face against your chest again to leave a kiss over there, while you feel her breath against your skin. “Good girl, come for me,” she mutters against your chest as she thrusts her hand into you even faster. Yolanda keeps thrusting her fingers fast inside your cunt, while she gives your chest kisses. She moves her mouth up to your shoulder, and then to your throat as your hips lift against her. She trails her lips along your jawline until she covers your mouth to silence your moans.

“P-please- mommy, I- I-” you gasp out right before her lips seal against yours. You cum around her fingers during the kiss, while your body shakes against hers. Yolanda doesn’t stop thrusting even though you are cumming. She keeps moving her fingers deep inside your wet cunt to make you feel everything. “Mffph- mm,” you moan into her mouth, while you cling to her neck. She finally breaks the kiss after a few moments to let you breathe, but she keeps her fingers inside your wet heat. You lean close to her shoulder to rest your head against her, while you try to recover. “You’re such a good girl for mommy,” Yolanda whispers against your ear as she feels you hiding your face. “Hahh- oh god,” you whisper, while you nudge your face deeper into her neck.

Yolanda stops thrusting her fingers, but she slides her thumb inside your wet folds to rub your clit in a slow circular motion. You gasp against her neck, while your thighs twitch against her legs. “Did that really take you out?” Yolanda whispers against your ear, while her thumb continues to rub your clit. You try to move away from her touch, but she holds you against her chest. She murmurs, while she feels your body relax against hers, “Look at you all worn out for mommy.” You hide your face against her neck, while she holds you close.

“Hahh- j-just shut up,” you mutter into her shoulder, while you try to stop her from teasing. Yolanda chuckles as she stops rubbing your clit to push your head away from her shoulder. She asks, while you pout at her face, “You whine and call me mommy, but then you tell me to shut up?” Yolanda moves her hand away from your wet cunt, while you both sit together on the lounge chair. She nudges your chin up with her fingers so you have to look into her eyes. She whispers, while she tilts her head toward the pool, “Let’s go swim now.” You notice your bikini is completely untied and pulled to the side when you look down at your body. It leaves your breasts and cunt totally exposed to her eyes.

Yolanda asks, while she looks you up and down, “You didn’t dress up for nothing, right?” She just grins at your reaction, while she waits for you to answer. You shake your head while you look away from her eyes. “It’s r-really messy,” you whisper, while you look down at your legs to see the cum dripping on your thighs. Yolanda dismisses your worry as she tugs the untied bikini completely off your breasts and hips before she throws the clothes straight into the pool. She stands up from the lounge chair and strips out of her own clothes until she is completely naked in front of you.

Yolanda reaches down with both hands and grabs your wrists to lift you from the seat. “Come on,” she whispers as she guides you toward the edge of the pool until you both fall forward into the deep water. You plunge beneath the surface together, while your hands hold each other in the cool water. Both of you kick your legs until you break through the surface to catch your breath in the open air. Yolanda pulls your naked body closer against her front and places her hands on your waist. Your arms wrap tightly around her neck, while you float together in the water. Yolanda leans her head closer and whispers, “See? It doesn’t feel sticky now.”

You nod your head while you lean into her chest in the pool. Yolanda leans in to kiss you for a soft moment, while your fingers slide into the hair at the back of her neck. You let out a quiet breath against her mouth before you look into her eyes. “I feel like your daughter is going to hate me if she ever finds out about us,” you whisper after she pulls back a few inches. She chuckles at your worried face as her hands grip your hips under the water. “Are you just scared that she’ll catch you fucking her mom?” she asks, and she tilts her head to tease you. Yolanda leans close to your neck and bites the area right above your collarbone.

“You need to worry less about her,” she murmurs against your neck before she sucks on the small mark. You shake your head because you can’t stop thinking about the risk. “I can’t help it,” you mutter, while you look away from her face. She kisses your jawline before she moves up to give your lips a quick peck. “There’s really nothing to be worried about,” she promises, while she rubs your waist with her thumbs. The water ripples around your bodies as she pulls you a little closer. Yolanda smiles at your expression and whispers, “In fact, you should just sleep over at my house more often so we can do this again.”

⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀ twenty-twenty-six © addie / musingsofheaven.

⠀⠀⠀

note: because this is an intimate shaving fic, reader is described as having pubic hair. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

It’s past midnight, and you’re scrolling in bed with your phone screen’s brightness turned down low. You just want a basic wax or a facial to relax for thirty minutes. You type body waxing near me to scroll through the results until a place called Angel Estetica catches your eye. The website looks exactly like what the actual place looks like. You click the link to check the menu.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀──⠀⠀ ꒰ ︎ WELCOME TO ANGEL ESTETICA ! ♡ ︎ ꒱ ︎

SERVICES ╱ treatment menu ﹙ click to view ﹚ ❣

Full body waxing

Bikini laser

Sugaring

Dermaplaning

Intimate shaving

“Intimate shaving?” you mumble. You tap the option to see what it is, and a new page loads up with the logo in the corner.

PACKAGES ╱ choose your service ﹙ select one ﹚ ❣

Bikini line ꒱ This treatment focuses on the edges only to keep things neat for a swimsuit. The session includes a warm towel and an application of our aftercare balm.

Brazilian soft ꒱ This option removes all hair from the front to the back for a completely bare finish. The package includes an optional rinse, a calming balm, and a warm towel.

Signature bare ꒱ This service focuses specifically on the labia and excludes the backside. We use a sterilized razor with hypoallergenic cream for a perfectly clean shave. A warm towel and aftercare balm are included at the end.

REMINDER⠀♡⠀The technician will walk you through each step, and they may request gentle repositioning to ensure full access. This service is strictly non-sexual, discreet, and performed only by trained hands.

Your eyes read the offers on the screen, and you realize that paying a stranger to use a razor near your cunt sounds crazy, but it also sounds really nice. Your legs squeeze together beneath the blanket as you think about it. It’s been a long time since you let someone get that close to you. You just want to lie there while a professional takes care of you without making a big deal of it. “Fuck it,” you mutter before you hit the book button, and the screen loads to a new page for your contact details.

You type in a nickname instead of your real name, and you use a burner email just in case. You leave the phone number blank before clicking next. A small calendar pops up to show the available appointments. Tomorrow morning is way too early, so you scroll down until you find a spot right after lunch on Friday. “That works,” you mumble while tapping the screen to select the time. A checkbox appears at the bottom of the page, right after. The box is just another reminder stating the service is strictly non-sexual. You click it to confirm you understand, without thinking it through too much.

The final step asks if you have a preferred technician. There’s a short list of names to pick from, but you ignore it. You just want someone professional who won’t make things weird while they do their job. Leaving it blank automatically assigns someone, so you just press the submit button. The screen loads for a second before showing a message that your booking was received. You lock your phone to roll over your bed. Your screen lights up thirty seconds later with a new notification.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀──⠀⠀ ꒰ ︎ INBOX : 1 NEW MESSAGE ♡ ︎ ꒱ ︎

APPOINTMENT ╱ confirmation ﹙ click to view ﹚ ❣

Hello. Your appointment has been successfully booked.

Service ꒱ Intimate Shaving - Signature Bare

Date ꒱ Friday

Time ꒱ 2:00 p.m.

Technician ꒱ Art Donaldson

REMINDER⠀♡⠀ Please arrive 5-10 minutes early if possible. Arriving 15 minutes late means your appointment will be given to others. See you soon.

You blink at your phone, as if you did something that offended you. “Art Donaldson?” you say out loud as you sit up in bed to read the screen again. It made your stomach drop when you realized you really left the technician option completely blank. You stare at the male name on the screen and wonder what you just got yourself into. You tap back to the website page and scroll down until you find the specialist section. There’s a photo of Art Donaldson where he’s wearing a polo, with a good haircut and stubble. He looks young with a friendly smile that makes your skin prickle. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you whisper while staring right at his picture.

His brief bio says he’s fully trained and has years of experience under his hands. The profile about him includes reviews from past clients who call him gentle and professional. You scroll down further to read comments from other women as you try to reassure yourself. One of them says she was incredibly nervous, and another mentions it was her first time getting bare. You find a review that calls it the most relaxed she ever felt with her legs open towards a man she doesn’t even know. “Well, at least he’s got good reviews,” you mutter when you finish reading the comments.

You tell yourself that this is just a job for him because he’s a trained professional. You’ve been to the gynecologist before, so this shouldn’t feel any different. You glance at the clock to see it’s already 1:31 a.m. and realize you shouldn’t be worrying this much this late. You let your head fall back onto the pillow, but your stomach flips when you picture his hands holding a razor between your legs. You’ll just show up at your appointment like a normal adult because it’s only shaving. “I just need to go to sleep,” you groan while yanking the blanket over your face, and you manage to fall asleep eventually, but Friday afternoon arrives much quicker than you expected.

The first thing you notice when you walk into Angel Estetica is that the place is completely covered in different shades of pink. There are orchid-pink chairs and rose curtains everywhere, while jazz music plays to make people feel relaxed. The whole place looks like it was designed to make women feel completely comfortable. The receptionist wears clear lip gloss, and she smiles immediately when you walk up to the front desk. “Hi there, do you have an appointment with us today?” she asks while looking up from her computer. “Yes, I have an appointment,” you reply, and tell them the nickname you used while leaning against the counter.

She checks her screen to look up your details. “Found it, you’re booked for the Signature package at two o’clock afternoon with Art Donaldson,” she says before pausing to check your reaction. “Just, so you’re aware, Art is a male technician, but he’s fully certified. I can see if anyone else is free if that makes you uncomfortable,” she adds while watching your face. You take a quick breath because you just want to get this over with. “No, that’s totally fine,” you say to reassure her before you smile at her. She doesn’t question you further, so she leads you down a pink hallway toward the treatment rooms.

She stops outside the third door and turns the handle to let you inside. “You can take everything off from the waist down and wrap yourself in that robe on the rack,” she explains while pointing toward the clean bed. “He’ll knock before coming in, so just take your time getting ready,” she mentions, then steps back into the hall. “Thanks, I appreciate it,” you say when she closes the door behind her. The private room is just as pink as the lobby, with a comfortable bed and a small shelf on the wall. You undress slowly, and you’re trying to stop your mind from racing. You fold your clothes into the little basket and tie the robe loosely around your waist.

You sit on the edge of the mattress with your naked legs touching the sheets, and you stare down at your knees in the quiet room while you wait for him. It’s funny how you’re about to let a strange man touch you there, but you tell yourself it’s just a normal aesthetic treatment. A knock on the door interrupts your thoughts. “Come in,” you call out while wrapping the robe tighter around yourself. The door opens, and Art walks in like it’s a normal day. You sit on the edge of the table with your knees pressed together while you’re trying not to look like someone who booked a male technician at one in the morning.

He looks tall in his beige uniform and shuts the door behind him before he looks right at you. He carries a small tray of clean towels, with a new razor resting alongside the other things needed for this session. “Are we doing the Signature package today?” he asks, and he steps further into the room to walk over the table. “Yes, that’s the one,” you reply and nod your head to confirm the appointment. “I’m Art, I’ll be taking care of your service today,” he says before he sets the tray down on the rolling cart right next to the table. Art gives you a polite nod, and you feel a sudden relief when he gestures toward the bed.

“Go ahead and lie back. I’ll get the towels ready,” he instructs before he turns around to prep his station. You hesitate for a second, but he doesn’t move closer. Art puts on his gloves and then turns to grab the clean towels from the tray. You grip the sides of the table while you slowly lie down onto the sheet, and the robe slides down your thighs when your legs part slightly. Your breath hitches when Art places the first towel right at your navel and puts the second one over your upper legs to leave the center open. Cool air brushes the exposed area before his gloved hands press against your hips to adjust the fabric.

He applies pressure to tuck the edges under your thighs. “I’ll start with a warm compress. Let me know if anything feels uncomfortable,” he explains before he walks over to the warmer on the counter to unfold a hot towel. You nod when he steps back to the table to start, and you’re not used to the feeling when Art wipes the warm towel over your mound. He presses a little firmer each time, but the fabric doesn’t feel rough against your thighs. He places the towel down after a moment and grabs the cream from his tray. His gloved fingers trace downward to the outside of your lips, and his palm presses against your pelvis to force an unexpected noise out of your mouth.

“Nnh- fuck. S-sorry,” you murmur when you realize you made a sound out loud and brace your body against the mattress. Heat blooms across your cheeks as you stare at the ceiling. You feel embarrassed about a noise you didn’t mean to make, and you hope he didn’t hear it, but you glance down and catch his jaw tightening. “I didn’t mean to-” you start to say before you cut yourself off because you feel too exposed. “Hey, you don’t have to apologize,” he says after he pauses his work, but his reassurance only makes the heat spread further. Art talks to you as if you did something brave just by lying there under his hand, and prepares the rest of his supplies.

His fingers spread the cream along your folds. He acts as if he deals with nervous clients all the time, so your reaction doesn’t surprise him. “Seriously,” he murmurs and keeps his attention on you as he leans closer. “You’re okay,” he says and moves his hand back up to rest right on your mound. You want to thank him for not making a big deal out of it, but you just stare at the ceiling. You feel ridiculous for making the situation weird, but Art simply ignores it. You twitch when his hand glides forward again, and your fingers squeeze the sides of the table. The cream shocks you with cold when his glove wipes across your cunt.

Art rubs the cream evenly across your labia and keeps his gaze down, without a word, to let you adjust to the temperature. Another sound slips from your mouth as he smooths the cream higher up your pelvis. “Nh- mhm,” you mumble and try to keep your legs open despite the urge to close them. He glances at you briefly and then looks back down to focus on his task. “It’s okay,” he says when he rests his hand right against your thigh to support you. “You don’t have to be nervous,” he whispers. Art picks up the razor from the tray and treats you gently as he holds the tool with one hand while his other hand flattens the surface.

Your neck burns when you look down to where his gloved hand rests right next to your clit, but he keeps things strictly professional. “You’re doing fine,” he tells you and lines the blade up against your mound. You want to say something funny, but you just stare at the ceiling again. “Mhm- nghh,” you whine from the back of your throat when the razor starts moving along the top of your cunt to shave the hair. He shaves the area clean. Heat burns your face, and you pray Art doesn’t notice how wet you get under his touch. His gloved left hand rests on your thigh while his right hand holds the razor.

The top of your mound is bare now, so he looks at the hair right next to your slit. The towel rests across your hips, and you realize leaving the technician preference blank on the website for the Signature package was a mistake, especially after you declined the receptionist’s offer to give you a female technician earlier today. “Can I move the towel down a bit?” he asks and points his left hand toward your hips. “I need to reach the rest of the hair,” he adds and waits for your answer. You sigh when you remember the whimper you let out earlier, since you already let him see more than you planned today.

“Nngh- okay,” you whisper back and squeeze your eyes shut. Art keeps the razor in his right hand, and his left hand grabs the edge of the towel. He pulls the fabric down an inch to expose your cunt and then moves his left hand to the inside of your knee to push your leg out. Your stomach drops when he looks at the wettest part of you without saying a word. “Thank you,” he murmurs and moves his left hand to dip his fingers into the cream container. You have no idea what he is thanking you for, but heat floods your face. He spreads the cream over the left side of your labia, and his fingertips glide right above your clit to coat the area.

You flinch when he touches that spot, yet he ignores your reaction. Art works the cream along the edge of your slit, and you squirm when his glove gets close to your opening to prepare the area. “Is this okay?” he asks and looks up at your face to check your comfort. “Mhm- y-yes,” you answer and try to catch your breath. He places his left hand back against your thigh to pin you in place and then brings the razor in his right hand down to your labia to shave the left side. The razor glides over the cream on your pussy to shave the hair, and he reaches over to wipe the blade on a towel every few seconds.

It doesn’t hurt since the cream protects you, but your clit pulses from the continuous touch. He works in silence as you lie on the table and soon gets right next to your slit to shave. You know he has to look, and the realization makes your face burn. Your hands grab the towel underneath you, and you try to close your legs. He notices your reaction and pauses what he’s doing with the razor. “You’re doing good,” he says as he looks up at your face to offer reassurance. “Almost done with this side, so let me know if you need to stop,” he adds and pulls a small stool over, so he can finally sit down.

You force out a nod instead since you cannot find your words. Art leans back in to prep the right side next and grabs a towel with his left hand to wipe the cream from the shaved side on the left. He wipes close without touching your opening, but you feel too worked up under his focus. “Thank you,” he murmurs when he sets the towel aside. You have no idea what he keeps thanking you for, but heat blooms across your cheeks again. His left thumb pauses right above your clit, where the cream sits on your flesh. “I can get this part now,” he says. His eyes flick down, then meet yours to gauge your reaction.

“Can I put my thumb here to spread the cream?” he asks while his thumb waits right above your clit. You stare at the ceiling and feel like you can hardly breathe. “O-okay,” you whisper back and force your knees wider to give him access. He rubs his left thumb in circles to spread the cream over your clit, and you close your eyes when the attention becomes too much. He pushes his thumb against the sensitive spot until a sound slips out to break the quiet of the room. “Nnh- mmph,” you gasp, and your legs squirm against the table.

You grab the sheet beneath your hips because your cunt reacts to his hand. Art stops moving his thumb after he hears the noise. “It’s okay,” he murmurs as he looks up at your face to catch your eye. “You don’t have to hide it,” he adds. He keeps his left hand resting against your thigh to hold you in place and then uses the razor in his right hand to work on the right side of your pussy. He slides the blade down to shave the hair and reaches for a towel to clean the razor after every stroke. It doesn’t hurt despite the blade, but a shudder ripples through you anyway when he shaves all the way down the edge of your labia.

He sets the razor down on his tray, then grabs a clean towel to wipe the cream off your thighs. He drops the towel into the basket and then stands up to pull his gloves off. “The right side is done,” he says and looks at your face to check your status. “Do you want some water before we finish?” he asks and walks over to the counter to gather his supplies. You nod because your throat feels dry from the tension. “Yeah- thank you,” you whisper back. You prop yourself up on your elbows to drink, and he fills a cup with water before bringing it over.

You swallow the water and slightly dent the paper cup under his gaze when he watches you finish the drink. “This is more intense than a wax,” you admit. You hand the cup back to him, and he throws it into the trash before a smirk crosses his face. “Really?” he asks and pulls new gloves out of the box to snap them onto his hands. “Yeah,” you mutter. Warmth spreads across your face when you confess that you think it’s just having a guy do it, and you lie back down against the table. Art snaps the new gloves on and then steps back to his place by your legs to resume.

“Well,” he says and picks the razor up from his tray to finish the task. “I’ll try to make the rest of it easy for you,” he adds and looks down at your cunt. He rests his left hand on your inner thigh, and then he brings the blade down to shave the rest. You twitch when he gets close to your opening because the sensation spikes again. “Are you good to keep going?” he asks after he checks your face to make sure you can handle it. “Mhm- yes,” you answer to let him complete the job without delay. He dips his fingers back into the cream and then leans closer to apply it to the bottom of your slit.

You watch his thumb slide the cream under your opening, and the razor waits in his right hand. The room feels quiet when he focuses on your cunt, so you force yourself to speak. “Hey- isn’t it weird?” you ask to, sound casual. Your legs twitch on the table when you try to distract yourself. “Like- do you ever get bothered touching pussies all day without getting tired of it?” you add to force a conversation through the silence. Art keeps his attention on his work, but a smirk shows on his face when he hears your question. “It’s just part of the job,” he replies as he lines the razor up against the cream at the base of your opening to continue shaving.

“You just have to be professional,” he explains and scrapes the blade down your labia. You let out a laugh and feel stupid for asking. “I just thought you’d be grossed out by it,” you mutter and bite the inside of your cheek in regret. He brings the razor down to shave the hair, but then he stops to look up and hold your gaze. “It’s just part of the body,” he points out, and then his eyes drop back down to your cunt to resume his task. “But some clients are more interesting than others,” he adds and drags the blade over the cream. You stare at him because you don’t know what to do with that comment.

“What do you mean by that?” you ask and swallow hard. Art wipes the razor on a towel next to him and then places his left thumb right above your clit. “Some bodies are just easier to read,” he murmurs as he looks into your eyes to hold your attention. “They tell me everything,” he finishes, and his thumb rubs over the top of your mound to emphasize his point. Your stomach drops because you know exactly what he means by that statement. “Nnh- that’s messed up,” you whine when his thumb pushes against you.

He ignores your comment and breathes out through his nose before he goes back to shaving the bottom. You feel exposed under his hands. Art works the blade in strokes to shave the end of your slit and finally sets the razor down on his tray to reach for a towel. He uses the towel to wipe the cream away. You try to catch your breath when his hand moves around the outside of your labia to clean up the mess. The towel feels warm when he cleans the area, and you force yourself not to move. He works for a moment before his hand suddenly stops.

He tilts his head and looks down at the bottom of your opening. He stares at the spot where the wetness from your cunt mixes with the cream. Art clears his throat and then looks up from the wetness between your legs to check your expression. “Hey,” he says and keeps his hands away from you to give you space. “There’s some cream that slipped down,” he observes. Your stomach drops because you know exactly why it slipped down. “I can wipe it up, but I need to get deeper if you’re okay with that,” he adds and waits for your answer.

He asks like it’s a normal question, and even though you lie on the table with your legs open for him. You swallow and then nod your head to confirm. “Mhm- yeah,” you whisper back to let him do it despite your embarrassment. He breathes out through his nose and then leans closer to your cunt. His left hand rests against your thigh, and his right hand brings the towel down to your opening. He wipes the cream from the bottom of your slit to clean the area, but your body reacts without your permission to the sudden friction.

Your toes curl against the table, and your thigh flinches to touch his hand to try and seek the warmth. “Nnh- s-sorry,” you gasp and squeeze your eyes shut. You feel like an idiot for twitching over a towel, but Art doesn’t move his hand away. “You’re fine,” he murmurs and waits for you to relax your legs against the table. “It happens more than you think,” he tells you and watches your face to make sure you are calm. Your legs are worked up, and you stare at the ceiling to cope with the intense embarrassment. “Is it clean now?” you ask. Your voice shakes, and he looks down at your pussy to check the spot.

“Almost,” he answers. His eyes flick back up to meet yours to deliver the news. “Some got inside,” he explains. His left hand rests right on your thigh, and you try not to think about how wet you are right now. “Oh- um,” you mumble and try to close your legs to hide yourself. “I can just clean it if you want,” you offer to save yourself the humiliation of him doing it. Art pushes his fingers against your thigh to stop you from closing your knees, but he doesn’t react to your panic. “It’s alright,” he says and keeps his voice steady to reassure you. “This is my job,” he reminds you, and then goes back to wiping the opening with focus.

The towel drags over the wetness when he wipes right next to your slit, and you squirm backward on the table to get away from the overwhelming feeling. “I think you got it all,” you say. You want him to stop touching you there, and you try to shift away. “You can just put the balm on now,” you add and grab the sheet under your waist to pull it down. He stops moving the towel and looks up at you to challenge your sudden movement. “Are you sure?” he asks and checks your expression to see if you are lying.

“Cream can get stuck in the folds, so I want to make sure it doesn’t bother you later,” he explains, and his right hand waits right above your slit to finish the job. You know the wetness between your legs has nothing to do with the cream, but your body aches for him to finish. “Haaah- yeah,” you whine and force your knees apart to give in to his logic. “I’m sure,” you tell him so that he will move on to the next step. Art gives you a nod and then drops the towel into the basket to clear his hands. “Okay,” he murmurs and turns back to his tray to prepare the balm.

Art grabs the jar of balm and unscrews the cap before he dips two fingers inside. You take a breath when he rubs the cold balm over your freshly shaved labia. Your thighs twitch against the table, but he ignores them and keeps working. He smooths the product from one side to the other. He avoids your opening at first, but you get wetter the more he touches your folds. The wetness makes his fingers move easily, and your hips tilt upward on their own. You grip the towel tighter when his fingers go lower and swipe right over your wet cunt. He brings his hand back up and slides two fingers between your folds to drag them straight down from your clit to your entrance.

Your breath hitches after your hips flinch at the contact. You stare at the ceiling with a burning face, but he just spreads those same two fingers against your labia to part your lips. He looks down at your pussy so that he can see everything. Your cunt twitches under his fingertips, and slick spills out over his glove because you are so turned on. He exhales through his nose before his thumb moves right against your clit to show he feels your reaction. “Is the balm feeling okay?” he asks when his fingers drag through your wetness again. You swallow hard because you feel too worked up, and his hand is right between your legs.

“Nngh- yeah, it’s good,” you answer while your hands grip the sheet underneath your waist. “Just try to relax for me,” he instructs and leaves his fingers resting right at the bottom of your slit. You need a distraction from the intense feeling, so you force your brain to come up with a topic. “Mmh- do you actually like doing this more than waxing?” you ask to force a conversation. His fingers pause at the bottom of your slit before he moves his hand to rub the balm along the outside of your labia. “I prefer it,” he answers and keeps his attention entirely focused on your cunt. You can’t believe you started this conversation when your legs are wide open for him.

“Haaah- I mean, you probably see a hundred of these a week, right?” you ask to cover up your embarrassment. “More than that on a busy week,” he replies before his thumb rubs right next to your pulsing clit. Art dips his fingers into the jar again to gather more balm before he brings his fingers back down to your cunt. You tilt your head against the towel and try to focus. “Do they all look identical to you, or do you ever get bored?” you ask softly, then watch his face for a reaction. The corner of his mouth twitches, but his expression doesn’t change.

“Not really,” he answers after his fingers slide down to spread the balm across your labia again. You squirm against the sheet because his touch feels too much. “So mine is not boring, right? Is it cute?” you whisper and look away from his face out of pure embarrassment. Art huffs out a breath and keeps spreading the product without answering your question. You are already too deep into the conversation to stop your rambling thoughts. “If you had to rate it from one to ten, what would you give it?” you ask while your hips move slightly under his fingers. He doesn’t say anything, so you keep talking to cover up your mortification.

“I won’t get mad, but I’ll definitely cry if you say a five,” you promise quickly when you watch his jaw tighten. His gloved fingers make a soft, sticky sound when they rub your folds. “Do you guys rate everyone in your heads? Like, do you remember the perfect ones later?” you ramble blindly because you can’t control your mouth anymore. “Alright,” he interrupts firmly and stops his fingers right above your slit. “I need you to stop moving,” he instructs before looking directly into your eyes. You blink up at him. “I’m not moving,” you mutter back to defend yourself.

Art doesn’t argue with your claim, but he moves his fingers directly onto your clit to prove his point. His thumb firmly circles the sensitive spot to make you react. “Nngh- ahh!” you gasp after your hips jerk upward against his glove. A smirk shows on his face when he sees you squirming against his touch. “What are you doing?” you ask breathily and try to keep your legs open. “I’m just applying the balm,” he replies casually, then continues to rub your clit to show you exactly how squirmy you are. Your body reacts completely to his thumb and more slick leaks out over his glove.

“Fuck- nn- please don’t do that,” you whine while you grip the sheet tightly to keep from moving. He ignores your plea and rubs the spot even faster to keep you completely helpless under his control. “It’s part of the job,” he explains smoothly and watches your mouth part from the pleasure. Art continues to rub your clit while he slides his middle finger between your wet folds to drag it right down to your opening. The sensation feels incredibly good, but it only makes you realize how empty your pussy is right now. Your body reacts on instinct, and your hips tilt upward.

You try to grind your cunt directly against his fingers instead of pulling away from the touch. He stops his thumb right on your clit, then looks down at your squirming hips. “What’s the matter?” he asks quietly as he waits for your answer. You feel too embarrassed to say the actual words out loud, but your legs fall wider apart on their own to expose yourself even more. “Mmmff- nn,” you whine and stare up at the ceiling. Art moves his lower finger up and down through your slick as a replacement for his thumb. He watches your mouth part from the sensation. “Do you want me inside you?” he asks smoothly to force you to admit it.

You want to act like you hate this unprofessional behavior, but his glove feels entirely too good against your wet cunt. You try to say no, but you can’t think straight anymore. “Nngh- p-please,” you beg accidentally instead of pushing him away. Art hears you say that and stops moving his fingers. “Please, what?” he demands as he leaves his finger resting right at your hole. You are completely overwhelmed by how wet you are, so you just drop the act and look right at him. Art doesn’t say a word, but he grips your thighs to drag your body down until your hips rest on the very edge of the table.

Your legs dangle off the end while you prop yourself up using your elbows to watch him. You look right at him and watch him peel the gloves off his hands before he directs his attention back to your exposed body. He rubs his fingers over your cunt, and the touch makes your mouth part. “Mmmf- ahh,” you gasp when he slides one finger straight inside your cunt to test if you’ll actually try to stop him. You don’t push him away because having his finger inside feels too good, but you suddenly remember your appointment is almost over.

“W-what if our hour is almost up?” you ask breathily while you stare at his calm face. Art thrusts his finger a little deeper inside you. “Then we’ll just make this quick,” he answers and grunts when your walls tighten around him. You look toward the door and wonder if the walls are thick enough to hide your noises. “Is this room soundproof?” you whisper because you’re terrified that someone outside will hear you. A smirk shows on his face when he hears your question. “Don’t worry about that,” he replies, then slides a second finger inside your tight cunt.

Art starts moving his two fingers in and out of your tight cunt. Your toes curl off the edge of the table when you feel him touch a sensitive spot inside you. You drop your head back against your shoulders as your eyes roll from how good it feels. “Ahhn- fuck,” you moan loudly and grip the edge of the table. You wonder how you are ever going to look him in the eye after this appointment ends. His fingers don’t stop moving inside you while he places his other hand on your waist to hold you in place. He angles his hand upward to rub against your walls.

“Nngh- r-right there- ahh,” you stutter breathily as your hips buck toward him. Art grunts in response before he pushes his fingers even deeper into your dripping cunt. You can’t believe he is actually doing this to you in the middle of a session. He watches his fingers slide in and out of your cunt. “I haven’t ever done anything like this before,” he says calmly and keeps his eyes focused right between your legs. You look down at him, then part your lips to catch your breath. “Mmmf- you haven’t?” you ask because you assumed he did this with other clients, too.

“No,” he answers simply before he spreads his fingers slightly inside you to make you squirm. Art starts moving his two fingers in and out of your tight cunt. Your toes curl off the edge of the table when you feel him touch a sensitive spot inside you. You drop your head back against your shoulders as your eyes roll from how good it feels. “Ahhn- fuck,” you moan loudly and grip the edge of the table. You wonder how you are ever going to look him in the eye after this appointment ends. His fingers don’t stop moving inside you while he places his other hand on your waist to hold you in place.

He angles his hand upward to rub against your walls. “Nngh- r-right there- ahh,” you stutter breathily as your hips buck toward him. Art grunts in response before he pushes his fingers even deeper into your dripping cunt. You can’t believe he is actually doing this to you in the middle of a session. He watches his fingers slide in and out of your cunt. “I haven’t ever done anything like this before,” he says calmly and keeps his eyes focused right between your legs. You look down at him, then part your lips to catch your breath.

“Mmmf- you haven’t?” you ask because you assumed he did this with other clients, too. ⁠“No,” he answers simply before he spreads his fingers slightly inside you to make you squirm.⁠ He pulls them almost completely out, then pushes them back inside you until it’s knuckle deep with each thrust. You look down to see his fingers sliding in and out of your wet cunt. Watching him do this right in front of you makes you clench tightly around him. You squeeze around his fingers so much that he stops moving entirely. “You need to let me move them,” Art tells you calmly as he looks up to meet your eyes.

You just shake your head because you have no control over how tight your cunt gets. “Nngh- I c-can’t help it,” you whine breathily since your body reacts entirely on its own. He hums quietly in response while he waits with his fingers buried deep inside you. Your walls eventually loosen up on their own. Art starts thrusting back into your cunt once it’s okay for him to move again. “Ahhhnn- mmmf,” you gasp loudly when he hits that sensitive spot inside you. You spread your legs a little wider, so he has better access to you. Your clit throbs, and he can feel it every time his knuckles brush over it as he slides deep inside you.

You wonder how he knows exactly what to do to make you feel like this. “Oh god- nngh- it f-feels, so good,” you admit breathily while you stare down at his fingers. A cocky smirk shows on his lips after he hears your praise. “Yeah?” he asks simply before he slows down on purpose. He drags his fingers out of your cunt as slowly as possible just to tease you. You want him to move faster, but you don’t know how to ask without sounding completely desperate. “Haaah- p-please- mmf,” you whine quietly and bat your eyelashes at him. You bite down on your lower lip because you hate how slow he moves.

His other hand rests on your waist while he watches you beg him. “Tell me,” he demands right before he fucks you slowly. “Please- m-move faster,” you plead after you look right into his eyes. Art finally speeds up his fingers inside you, just like you asked him to. You can hear the loud wet sounds after every single thrust he makes. His hand holds you in place on the table so that he can fuck your cunt at a much faster pace. “You aren’t going to report me for this... right?” he asks manipulatively when he pumps his two fingers in and out of you.

You nod your head desperately since you don’t want him to stop what he is doing. “Nnngh- n-no- no- no,” you stutter breathily, and your hips buck up against his hand. He pushes even deeper into you, so you grab the edge of the table tighter. “Promise me,” he demands right before he angles his fingers up. You look right into his eyes, so he knows you mean it. “Ahhhnn- I s-swear- mmf,” you gasp loudly as the new angle hits that sensitive spot inside you. You look down between your legs to watch his hand working. You can see exactly how wet you are when slick covers his fingers after every thrust.

Art watches your face and pumps his fingers in and out of your dripping cunt. “You just officially became my favorite client,” he tells you casually while he moves his hand. You wonder if he says things like this to everyone. “Haaah- s-shut up- ahhn,” you whine breathily once the feeling builds up. He chuckles quietly before he pushes his fingers all the way down to his knuckles. “You asked me to rate it earlier,” he states simply as he watches you squirm on the table. You gasp out loud after he rubs against that spot inside you again.

“Mmmf- w-what about it- nghh,” you stutter out, and your toes curl. “I can’t even give it a number because it’s completely perfect,” he answers confidently. His other hand moves off your waist so that he can reach right between your legs. He finds your throbbing clit right away and starts rubbing it with his thumb. You buck your hips toward him the second he touches your clit while his fingers keep moving inside you. “Oh god- ah- f-fuck- mmph!” you gasp loudly once the sensation hits you. You tilt your head back as his thumb circles your clit and his fingers slide in and out of your wet hole.

Your legs start shaking after his fingers move faster inside your wet cunt. You bite down hard on your lower lip, but you can’t stop your body from trembling. Art notices the way you shake before he smiles down at you. “Are you close already?” he asks knowingly while he watches your face. You nod your head when you realize you need to come. “Hngh- yes- please- mmf,” you gasp out and stare right into his eyes. He drags his fingers in and out much slower to tease you. He stops rubbing your clit and starts tapping it with his thumb instead.

His thumb just tapping your clit makes you squirm on the table when you actually want him to rub you. “Mmmph- Art- hahh- faster,” you plead after you try to force your hips against his hand. He leans closer to your face before he moves his fingers faster inside you. You let out a breath when he speeds up, but he slows his hand down the exact moment you start to enjoy it. His thumb pushes harder against your throbbing clit. You grind your hips up against his hand so that you can take him deeper. “Nnn- Art- don’t stop- ahh,” you whine loudly and arch your back.

He watches your face with a smug look after you buck your hips again. “I’ve never seen anyone this desperate to cum,” he murmurs mockingly while he keeps his thumb right on your clit. You pout at him even though your body shakes on the table. “Th-that’s because nobody’s ever tried to tease me this much- hngh,” you snap breathily and try to take his fingers all the way in. You think he does this completely on purpose just to see you beg. He chuckles at your tone before he tilts his head. “So you’re used to having everything given to you?” he asks knowingly right before he starts fucking your cunt fast again. The deep thrusts make you grab the table tighter.

“Y-yes- ahhn- oh god!” you cry out when his knuckles rub against your clit. He pumps his two fingers in and out of you as hard as he can. “You’re so spoiled,” he grunts softly and watches you squirm. “Mmmph- hah- f-fuck- nnngh,” you whine loudly while you squeeze your eyes shut.

Your cunt tightens around his fingers when you start to cum. You squeeze your thighs together, but he doesn’t stop thrusting inside you at all. He keeps pumping in and out while your elbows prop you up on the table. “Oh god- I’m- ahhh- f-fuck- mm,” you cry out loudly and arch your back from the feeling.

Art watches your face before he looks down to see you coat his fingers completely. The squelching sounds get louder in the room with every single thrust he makes, as you get so much wetter. You think you’ve never been this wet for anyone before this moment. “Hngh- Art- mmmph- hah,” you stutter out breathily while you look down at his hand. He chuckles at how much you came before he finally slows his hand down. He drags his fingers a little slower, but he keeps sliding all the way inside your dripping cunt.

“You take my fingers, so fucking well,” he praises you bluntly and continues to fuck you. You feel completely embarrassed by his words, but your hips still twitch up to meet his hand. “Nnn- y-you- haaah,” you whine quietly while your legs dangle off the table. He slides his wet fingers out of your dripping cunt and holds them right in front of your mouth. You see your own wetness coating his skin when you try to catch your breath. “Clean it up,” he orders gruffly while he taps his fingertips against your bottom lip. You know you should refuse, but you open your mouth anyway to slide his fingers past your lips.

He watches you suck his fingers clean as your tongue licks them off. “Mnn- hahh- f-fuck,” you mumble around his knuckles before he takes them back out. Art immediately drops down between your legs right after you finish cleaning his hand. He kneels on the floor and spreads your thighs wider, so he can get a better view. You feel the cool air on your wet cunt before his warm tongue laps straight up your slit. He licks your pussy clean as he catches every drop of your juice. “Nngh- Art- wait- mmf,” you gasp out loudly when his tongue touches your clit.

He acts like he wants to clean you up, but he starts sucking on your clit instead. You sit up and grip his hair to pull him away. He ignores you while he continues to suck on your throbbing clit. He clearly has another plan to make you cum again as his tongue laps faster. You try to push his shoulders off you, but he only grunts against your thighs. “Haaah- stop- nnngh- it’s too much,” you plead breathily while your hips grind against his mouth anyway. Art looks up at your face after he finishes cleaning your pussy and stands up to grab a clean towel from his cart.

He steps right back between your legs while you sit on the edge of the table. “Keep them open,” he orders bluntly before he wipes the towel over your cunt. He dries off your inner thighs carefully to make sure you’re completely clean. You watch him clean you up as your skin feels incredibly sensitive. “Can you pass me my stuff?” you ask quietly and point to the chair in the corner. Your folded clothes are stacked there with your lace panties peeking out from under your jeans. He pauses what he was doing before he looks over at the chair.

He turns his head back to look at your thighs and walks over to the chair to pick up your pink lace panties first. You slide off the edge of the table, so you can stand up on the floor before you untie the robe around your waist and let it fall from your shoulders. You toss the fabric onto the table so you can finally get dressed. You feel way too exposed now. “I don’t even know why I wore those today,” you mumble quickly to fill the silence while you avoid looking at him. You want to hide your face when he looks at the tiny piece of fabric. “I just grabbed whatever,” you add nervously because you instantly regret saying that out loud.

Art holds the underwear out to you with a raised eyebrow. “You sure about that?” he asks before a smirk forms on his lips. You snatch your panties from him while your face gets hot. “I swear I’m not usually this weird,” you snap breathily and slide the panties up your legs. He picks up your jeans next and holds them out to you calmly. You quickly grab the denim and step into the legs, then tug them up to your waist. He turns around to toss the dirty towel onto his cart. “Lace,” he says casually while he wipes down his tray.

“People pick things without thinking sometimes,” he points out mockingly. “Okay, yeah, that was a lot,” you admit nervously while you zip your pants up. He focuses on arranging his tools, and you finish buttoning your jeans. “Not in a bad way, obviously,” you ramble awkwardly when he doesn’t respond right away. “So do I get a sticker or something for being good?” you ask playfully and wait for his reaction. Art finally looks over his shoulder with a small smirk. “I’ll check if we have a star one in the back,” he replies teasingly.

You clear your throat again and rub your palms down your jeans. “Yeah, I should probably get out of here,” you mutter awkwardly while you try to fight off the embarrassment now that the adrenaline is gone. “I’m going to go pay at the front desk and pretend I wasn’t just spread open for you five minutes ago,” you joke nervously to fill the room just before Art drops another tool into his tray with a loud click. You look over at him while he faces his cart. He turns his head just enough so you catch the corner of his mouth twitching.

He acts like he didn’t just make you cum your brains out on that table a few minutes ago. “You’re smiling,” you point out playfully when you see his expression change. “Am I?” he asks without looking back at you as he continues to arrange his tools. “You totally are,” you insist, and grab your phone off the chair to give your hands something to do. “No proof,” he replies bluntly and tosses a rag onto his cart. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from grinning. You walk toward the door to finally leave this room. “I think I’m booking a woman next time I need this done,” you announce confidently when you reach the doorway and turn back to face him.

That gets him to look over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “Not that you weren’t great,” you ramble quickly and raise your hands up defensively. “You just act like nothing even happened, and it’s a little intimidating,” you admit honestly while you watch him stand there completely unfazed. He turns around to face you completely now. “Intimidating,” he repeats like a question while he crosses his arms over his chest. “Yeah,” you breathe out quickly as your face gets hot all over again. “Anyway, I hope you forget all about me by dinner,” you say awkwardly and reach for the door handle, so you can finally escape.

You hope the door doesn’t squeak when you open it. “Not planning on it,” Art says smoothly right before you turn the knob. You freeze in place and look back at him. Your heart skips a beat when he says that. He stands by his cart with his head tilted. You wonder if you heard him right, but he looks straight at you with a smirk. “Dinner,” he clarifies casually while he maintains eye contact. “You said to forget by dinner, but I’m not planning on it,” he tells you directly, so there is no misunderstanding. Your mouth opens, but you can’t think of a single thing to say back to him. You just huff out a breath and push the door open with your shoulder.

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us,” you mumble quietly before you step into the hallway. “And don’t bother booking anyone else next time,” Art adds firmly right before you can leave completely. You pause with the door held open. “Why not?” you ask quietly while you wait for his reason. “Because I’m the only one taking care of that from now on,” he states bluntly as his gaze drops right to the zipper of your jeans before he looks you straight in the eye again. You just stare at him for a second without knowing how to respond. You let go of the door and walk away before you say something stupid. You realize you’re grinning all the way to the front desk.

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⠀⠀⠀ twenty-twenty-six © addie / musingsofheaven.

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note: this fic made me take my time! also if i forgot any warnings that should be here, let me know. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

Life isn’t easy for you, and it never has been. Your emotions are completely all over the place because you either feel everything at once or nothing at all. People call you a crybaby when you let the tears fall, but they call you a bitch the second you shut down and stare right through them. Your family only gave you tough love, and they left you to figure out the hard stuff on your own. They put food on the table, but they never gave you real affection or any useful information, so you had to learn how to take care of yourself. Everything happened because you chose to step up in your own life since nobody else was going to do it for you. You learned how to save up the small allowance and the random pocket money they gave you because you knew they’d never give you everything you needed.

You had to look out for yourself from the very start, while the people around you just watched and treated you like a total time bomb. You learned how to fix your own hair, and you figured out how to dress up without any help. You went through your very first period week entirely alone without anyone checking on you or explaining a single thing. You even had to learn about safe sex and how to avoid getting knocked up young by teaching yourself what to do because no one else cared enough to protect you. You owe everything to yourself because you’re the only person who ever kept you safe. Eventually, teenagers are bound to fall into the wrong crowd and connect with shady people who bring nothing but bad influences around.

You definitely had that phase when your brain wasn’t fully developed yet, and your impulsiveness made you think those bad decisions were totally fine. That lifestyle led you straight toward a terrible situation that left you with a lot of hidden trauma and made you absolutely hate the whole world. You aren’t stupid at all, so you knew exactly when people did you wrong and crossed the line. The pain made you completely furious and feel intense thoughts inside your head, but you’re not stupid enough to act on that anger too quickly. You know not to mess things up by reacting right away, but you know you won’t let them get away with it forever. You actually tried your best to bury the grudge and avoid doing any kind of revenge.

Yet, the damage he left on your life was simply too big to ignore. The memories gave you constant nightmares that messed with your head until it took you years to finally decide that you’d only get true peace if you shut this person down for good. He clearly never forgot you, either, because you two still text occasionally just for formalities since he honestly thinks he didn’t fuck you up at all. It took you a whole month to gather the necessary supplies at the abandoned warehouse where you used to hang out. You bought a meat cleaver and a hunting knife from two different stores. You also stole a shovel and a crowbar from your neighbors' garage. You slowly stockpiled two gallons of muriatic acid along with a big jug of liquid bleach.

You finished the collection by hiding packs of charcoal briquettes, gas, boxes of baking soda, pliers, and plastic bags for the trash. You kept a strict list running inside your mind about exactly what you needed for this day. It’s decided that it would officially be his last day the exact second you felt you had finally gotten everything ready. You went to the abandoned warehouse at 5 pm just to make sure every single detail was perfectly in place. You checked on the grave you dug for him throughout the month, which sat hidden under a piece of rotting plywood so he wouldn’t notice it when he arrived. You reached into your big duffel bag, where the things you need are, and you double-check the crushed benzos you intended to mix right into his drink.

The plan was to slip the drugs in the moment he had too many drinks and stepped away to pee. The last time you were here was just yesterday, and it was also the day you put the knife you’ll use to kill him and the benzos. You pulled out your phone at 6 pm to send him a carefully worded text message. You made yourself sound incredibly worried while typing that you really needed him to meet you at the usual spot. You wore all black that day so that any potential blood splatters wouldn’t show up on your clothes later. You kept the hunting knife stashed in your right pocket while you moved the crushed benzos in your left pocket for easy access. He only sent back a quick thumbs-up emoji before he officially pulled up to the location thirty minutes later.

You pulled out your absolute best acting skills the second he walked through the warehouse doors. You started ranting about some total bullshit drama to make your text message look believable while you offered him a bottle of alcohol. He gladly took the drink from your hands because he didn’t suspect a single thing. It went exactly as you predicted because it didn’t take him fifteen minutes of drinking before he asked if he could piss somewhere around the corner. You let him go while you quickly dumped all the crushed benzos right into his open bottle. You didn’t even care how many pills were in that powder since you just wanted to see if he would die from an overdose or from your own hands. You managed to suppress your massive rage, even as an uncomfortable feeling crept over your skin during this interaction.

You forced yourself to keep hanging out with this absolute piece of shit without letting your face betray you. He was completely stupid enough to finish the rest of the poisoned drink the exact second he walked back over to your side. It took a good amount of time to realize he wouldn’t die from the fucking pills. You sighed when you saw him closing his eyes before he leaned back against the wall. There weren’t any seats around, so you two were just sitting on the dirty ground of the trashed warehouse. You already knew he was weak when he got drunk, but he was completely helpless now that he was heavily drugged. You stood up right away and leaned down close to his face. “You’re fucking dead,” you whispered while staring straight into his glazed eyes.

He barely opened his eyes and mumbled back with a confused expression. “What? Of course I am, I’m fucking drunk,” he muttered as his head dropped down toward his chest. He started rambling total nonsense after that, but you already pulled the hunting knife out of your pocket. “Yeah, so drunk and stupid,” you whispered while tightening your grip on the handle. You previously studied anatomy for a little over a month to find the best spot to put the knife, so you chose the sternocleidomastoid muscle in his neck instead of his chest. You slammed the knife right into the side of his throat without hesitation. He immediately opened his eyes with a betrayed look when his hands reached up to grasp the wound.

He tried to speak, but he only produced a stuttering mess of wet sounds. “Oh, can’t talk now, motherfucker, huh?” you spat while blood stained your black sleeves. The blade went into his flesh again and again until he stopped moving completely. A few extra stabs made absolutely sure he was dead before you finally walked away from his body. You headed over to the other side of the warehouse to grab the edge of the rotting plywood. The board scraped across the floor, and you moved it aside completely to expose the dug-up ground beneath. All the supplies you needed sat right there in your hidden pile. The charcoal briquettes came out first since you wanted to heat up the pit before you burned him.

The briquettes are scattered in the bottom of the open hole, and you lit them one by one until the smoke began rising from the dirt. You pulled a pair of gloves out from your bag before you walked back over to where the corpse lay on the dirt. The arms were the easiest place to grab him, but his dead weight made the task incredibly difficult anyway. The surge of adrenaline kept you working hard and made you drag him closer to his grave. The movement left a long and dark trail of blood staining the soil behind you. “Fucking dead weight,” you muttered as you forced him another foot forward. You stopped for a second to catch your breath right next to his side. “Stupid piece of shit, killing you was easy, but hiding you is the real problem,” you spat while looking down at his face.

You bent down to search through his pockets for his phone, his wallet, and any identification that could trace back to him. The phone went straight into airplane mode for now, so nobody could track the signal to this warehouse. His wallet and the device disappeared into your own pockets to finish cleaning up the evidence. “I’m so glad you’re finally out of my life,” you whispered as you stared down at his bloodied body. You walked back over to your pile of tools to grab the pliers you stole from the garage. You knelt right back down in the dirt before you forced his jaw open with one gloved hand. You clamped it onto his front tooth to start pulling it as if you’re doing dental work. It was an incredibly annoying task because you had to do it one by one.

“Your mouth is absolutely disgusting,” you muttered while wiping the saliva off your wrist. Thankfully, he didn’t even have a full set of thirty-two teeth to worry about tonight. You twisted the pliers back and forth until the first one finally popped out. Determination made you focused on working your way to the next ones. You only managed to rip out five teeth total before you started considering using the crowbar to remove his teeth. You dropped them onto the soil while looking down at the empty gaps in his mouth. You continued popping his teeth out of his mouth until the top and bottom front incisors were completely gone after getting the satisfaction from staring at his fucked up mouth. You moved right along to the canines, which came out much more easily with the pliers.

“At least these aren’t giving me a massive headache,” you muttered as you tossed the pieces onto the dirt beside his head. The task turned incredibly difficult when you finally got to the premolars. You had to force his jaw all the way open with your left hand just to reach into the very back of his mouth. “Open wide, asshole,” you spat while guiding the pliers deeper to yank the stubborn teeth out. He already had some missing premolars, so you only pulled out six of them. You counted the remaining molars and found only eleven, which meant three of his teeth were already gone before tonight. You suddenly slapped his face with the metal pliers because the numbers weren’t adding up properly. “Can’t even have a normal set of teeth, can you?” you muttered as you threw the tool onto the blood-soaked soil.

You quickly counted all the pulled teeth on the ground to make sure you had every single one of them. You scooped the bloody pieces up and hid them away in your pocket because you were in a massive hurry. You reached for the iron crowbar to finish the job, since it was getting very late and you still had a lot of work to do. You started banging the bar straight into his jaw until his lower face was totally unrecognizable. You reach for your tools after you mess up with his face and grab the meat cleaver to do the next thing, which seems very crazy to you. You stood over the corpse and looked down at his body to check exactly where you needed to chop him up. You decided to work on his wrists first so you could get his hands out of the way before doing anything else.

“This is going to take a lot of work,” you muttered while positioning the blade right above the joint. You brought the cleaver down hard against his wrist to slice through the flesh. The blade cut through perfectly in a single swing and sliced his hand instantly. You quickly did the same to the other side before you picked up the two severed hands and placed them aside on the dirt. You worked on the elbows next, but cutting through the joints took much more effort than cutting through the wrists. The cleaver kept getting stuck in the tissue, and the blood kept oozing onto the dirt. You grew incredibly frustrated with how hard it was to do the work because you needed to finish this quickly.

The shoulders proved to be an even bigger annoyance because of the flesh. You slammed the cleaver into his right shoulder joint several times, but the blade wouldn’t go all the way through on its own. You tried to yank the arm after cutting and slamming the cleaver into the joint, but it didn't work. It made you plant your shoe on his chest, because it's so hard to pull and twist the arm to completely separate the joint. “Stop making this harder than it needs to be,” you muttere as you worked it back and forth until the entire limb detached from the torso. You stared down at his smashed face and immediately wanted his head off the body. You swung the cleaver into his neck with anger until the head detached completely from the torso.

You kicked the skull across the dirt while you jumped on it until the nose and broken jaw cracked under your shoes. You finally felt in control because he couldn’t hurt you anymore after what he did. “People will probably think that you’re someone’s child and friend, but so do I,” you whispered while wiping blood off your face. “Mine are terrible, too, but that didn’t give you the right to treat me like garbage,” you spat while staring at the body parts scattered in the dirt. You went to the legs next and sliced through his ankles because they were easy to cut through. You muttered insults at the corpse while you cut the pieces away. The rage inside you made the butchering feel effortless as you aimed the cleaver at his knees. You slashed through the joints in a few fast chops while the blood pooled on the floor.

“Look at you now,” you said as you tossed the detached legs onto the pile. You chopped through the thigh joints to separate the legs from the pelvis completely. You lined up the hands and the feet alongside the head in the dirt where you planned to use the acid. You walked over to the gallon bottle and twisted the plastic cap off before pouring the acid right onto his hands. Your nose scrunched from the strong smell before you shut your eyes tightly for a few seconds. “You deserve this,” you muttered after you looked again at the dissolving flesh, and you dumped more acid over the feet. The acid poured over the flesh made you unable to stand the bad odor for very long, so you threw the arms and legs into the pit quickly.

You paced around when everything you just did started messing with your head. You took a deep breath to get a grip on yourself before walking right back to the pile. You felt zero regret as you tipped the gallon bottle to empty the remaining acid over his face. “Go to hell,” you whispered while the skin melted away. The limbs and the pelvis were already down in the pit. The head, hands, and feet were in the nearby acid puddle. You left those parts alone for now as you looked down at the torso sitting on the ground. You leaned over and shoved your hands against his ribs to roll the deadweight toward the hole. The uneven dirt made it difficult as the skin snagged on rocks. “Move- you- stupid piece of trash,” you growled as you pushed with all your strength.

Your arms trembled from exhaustion, and your muscles ached because he was hard to move. Your anger worsened because he was finding a way to cause you trouble even though he was already dead. You gave another kick to his side until the torso rolled over the edge and dropped down into the pit. You wiped the sweat off your forehead while you looked down at the hole. You let out a ragged breath while staring at the remains, but you left after a minute to pick up the crowbar from the floor again, where you left it earlier. You used it to roll the hands, feet, and head from the puddle into the pit until they dropped down on the torso. You grabbed the remaining acid bottle and poured it over the pile of body parts just to make him more unrecognizable.

You twisted the cap back onto the empty bottle and got a disposable plastic trash bag before you started picking up the trash. You will put it in there, but mostly it’s just the bottles of the acid along with the empty drinks you used earlier. The smell made you gag, but you had no choice except to make it worse because you had to burn his body. You unsealed the one-liter bottle of gas you bought after getting it from the duffel bag of tools you stashed for this day and splashed it over the remains. You stared down into the hole to look at him before you flicked the fire up from the lighter that you also got from the duffel bag, and you threw it into the pit. The flames took over right away and burned everything down there. You started cleaning around the warehouse while the fire crackles from the burning body, and you pour bleach over the exact spot where you killed him.

You scrub the blood trails off the floor until the concrete is completely clean. The empty gas container and the bleach bottle go straight into a trash bag along with your leftover drinks. You drop the cleaver back into your duffel bag next to the knife. The pliers clink against your other stash when you shove it inside, but you just leave the zipper open. Your chest tightened while you stared at the pit because the fire was making the whole warehouse hot. The heat crept up toward the ceiling, and the smell got so bad that your stomach started to turn. Leaving the mess like this isn’t an option, so you reached right back into the open duffel bag to grab the boxes of baking soda. Your eyes watered as you opened them one by one and dumped the powder right down into the pit to get rid of the smell.

You watched the powder cover the mess before you tossed the empty boxes into your disposable trash bag. A tired grunt leaves your mouth when you pull the shovel out from the bottom of the same bag. You didn’t want to spend another second in this place, so you went straight to the containers near the pit to scoop up the dirt you'd kept inside them. Your arms are starting to feel sore as you carry the soil over and dump it down to bury everything. The flames slowly died down as you kept covering the burning remains until you filled them to the top. Sweat rolled down your neck while you worked, but you didn’t stop until the dirt filled the entire hole. The shovel goes right back into the bag, and the plywood is dragged across the warehouse to cover up the hidden spot. You zipped your duffel bag closed and grabbed your disposable trash bag.

Your fingers were shaking because your mind kept looping through everything that happened tonight, but you forced yourself to walk toward the exit without looking back. You pushed the warehouse door open and stepped out into the cold air. You hurried over to your car and threw both bags straight onto the passenger seat. You got behind the wheel and started the engine because you needed to get away from this place right now. The car rolled out of the empty lot while you stared at the road ahead. Those gloves are still covering your hands, and you don’t even think about taking them off yet, because you need to dispose of the evidence first. You watched the empty sidewalk until you finally spotted a public trash can under a streetlamp. You briefly pulled over to the side, got out of the car, and dumped the pliers straight into the bin, then got back behind the wheel.

You drove a few miles down the road before you parked near another dumpster. You stepped out to throw the cleaver into that bin, but you saved the knife for a different stop since you wanted the tools scattered in separate places. A second of silence in the driver's seat let you catch your breath while you used your gloved fingers to pry open the side of his phone. The SIM card came out easily and was tossed out the window into the grass, then you started the engine again. You drove until you were completely away from that part of town so you could get rid of his wallet. You reached inside to pull his identification cards out one by one. Those cards flew out the window at different spots along the empty road. You made sure you didn’t keep anything except the phone, which you'd already broken by stomping on it earlier.

You reached into your pocket with your covered hand to feel the hard shape of his teeth just to make sure they were there. You knew that leaving where you live was your only real option since being anywhere near that empty warehouse meant getting caught. You kept your head down and threw your necessary clothes into a bag the second you drove back to your place. You prayed that your savings would be enough to get you by. You abandoned your place that same night and spent months bouncing from one place to another until you finally ended up in Oceanside. Living there wasn’t easy because the little jobs you get from places aren't enough to keep you alive, but you sold your car to some people on the road just to get easy money that helped you get here to Oceanside.

The locals from the oceanside seemed to know each other, which made it hard to find someone when they already had established relationships with one another. You didn’t know how you were going to blend in with them, but you needed to pull your big girl pants on to at least try for yourself, and it worked out in your favor because you learned how to pick things up on your own. You figured out how to watch people so you could get information on who to avoid around town. You managed to find a shitty job at a local diner that at least paid rent and a meal for a day. Keeping your ears open at work made you realize that the Codys ran almost everything in Oceanside. You knew exactly how to stay out of trouble, but this place was small enough that you were bound to encounter everyone at some point.

You actually met one of them without even realizing who she was at the time because you were working that shift when she walked in. A woman named Julia popped into the diner with her son and sat down at a table. You were the one who went over to hand them their bill for the food they ordered, but they suddenly didn’t have enough cash on them. “Do you have anything at all?” you asked while you watched her struggling to keep her eyes open. She looked completely out of it, but you figured she just wanted to feed her kid. “You can just pay half,” you offered as you tapped your pen against the notepad. The boy quickly dug into his pocket to grab a few crumpled bills. “Here, is this enough?” he asked while he held the money out to you.

Julia immediately grabbed his wrist to push his hand away. “No, J. I’ll take care of it,” she mumbled as she patted his shoulder. You just sighed and nodded because you felt too bad to argue with them. You took whatever cash she handed you, then you walked over to the register where your older coworker was standing. “Do you know them?” you whispered as you organized the receipts in your hand. The woman immediately shook her head while she stepped closer to you. “Stay away from them, that’s Pope Cody’s twin,” she warned as she kept her voice down to avoid other people hearing what she said. You definitely recognized the surname, but you didn’t know who Pope was. “Just let her give you what she has,” she ordered while she started hitting buttons on the machine.

“So she just eats for free around here?” you asked because the math didn’t make sense to you. “It’s not free,” your coworker explained as she printed out a new ticket. “We list what she gets, and Smurf pays the businesses her daughter visits,” she said while she grabbed a separate notebook from under the counter to write down the remaining balance. You just watched her put the book away, and you realized they would keep coming back. Knowing that made you look out for them, so you started claiming their table every time they walked into the diner. You noticed that Julia never actually asked for anything while she just sat there and staring at her coffee mug. “I brought you a little something extra today,” you whispered as you slid a bigger plate onto their table.

You always made sure to sneak them some extra fries or a large slice of pie so they could eat more. The boy usually just nodded at you before he started eating the food. “Thanks for this,” J mumbled while he grabbed a handful of fries. You just smiled and walked back to the counter because you really couldn’t stop your empathy from taking over. What you didn’t know was that Julia didn’t even live with her family anymore. You also had no idea that her twin brother secretly kept tabs on her whenever he could. He always just sat in his truck across the street, and he watched you give his sister free food through the diner windows. Today is different, though, because he waited until Julia and J finally left the parking lot before he left his car to walk through the front door of the diner.

You had no idea who he was when you grabbed your notepad to walk over to his table. “What can I get you?” you asked as you clicked your pen. He just looked at you for a second before he mumbled his order. He wanted a black coffee with a waffle, but he specifically asked for absolutely nothing on it. He didn’t want any syrup or butter on the plate at all. You took his order straight to the kitchen for the cook to make, and you brought the plate back to his booth a few minutes later. His eyes exchanged between you and the food while you placed the dishes on the table, but his gaze quickly went back to your face. You went back behind the counter to let him eat, but ten minutes went by, and the food just sat there untouched like a display.

You tried to ignore him by wiping down the countertops, and you even took an order for a truck driver who just came in for pie. His stare followed you everywhere, no matter what you did in the diner, until you finally got tired of it and walked over to slide into the seat right across from him. “Are you going to eat that or just look at me?” you asked while you crossed your arms over the table. He just blinked at you a few times without looking away. He looked like he didn’t even want to go inside, but he refused to look away from your face. “You help them,” he muttered as he kept his hands on his lap. “What are you even talking about?” you asked as you stared right back at him. You just blinked in total confusion while you tried to figure out how this stranger knew anything about what you did for Julia and J.

“Julia,” he said as he kept his eyes looking to yours. Your brain connected the pieces immediately while your lips parted in surprise. “Oh, Julia,” you whispered while you glanced over your shoulder to make sure none of the other employees were listening. You turned back to him with a frown because you wanted to know how he fit into her life. You felt a surge of panic in your chest because giving away free food could get you fired on the spot. “You aren’t going to tell my manager about that, right?” you whispered while you kept your voice as quiet as possible. He just shook his head slowly, but he didn’t look away from your face. “Who are you anyway?” you asked as you leaned in closer over the table. He picked at the skin around his thumb for a moment before he stared right back at you.

“Her brother,” he stated while his jaw tightened. “Don’t mess with her,” he said as he placed his hands on the table. It sounded like a warning to your ears, but he just stared at you without changing his expression. “She needs the food,” he added while he looked down at the untouched waffle. He stood up from the booth before you could even respond to him. He reached into his pocket to pull out a hundred-dollar bill, and he dropped it right next to the coffee mug. He walked straight out of the diner without looking back at you once. “What the fuck is wrong with that guy?” you muttered as you watched the door close behind him. You picked up the cash from the table while you tried to process the weird interaction because you had no idea you had just met a Cody.

You half-expected him to never show up again after such an encounter, but he proved you wrong the very next week. He waited in his truck until Julia and J finished eating, so he could avoid them until they walked away from the diner before he came inside. He took the same table and sat in the same spot while he stared at you. That behavior became a predictable habit over the next month, where they would come into the diner only once a week, and he never missed a visit. He always ordered the same waffle and black coffee during those first four times, but he didn’t touch a single bite. He also always put a hundred-dollar bill on the table every single time and left. You didn’t feel creeped out by the way he stared at you because you figured he probably just had some issues.

It seemed like he really missed his sister, but something was stopping him from talking to her. You could tell he probably had some mental struggles, but you weren’t about to judge him for being that way. You actually found him intriguing, and you definitely couldn’t criticize anyone anyway, since you literally killed a man in your past. His presence became just another part of your shift by the time the second month started, so you stopped asking for his order since you already knew what he wanted. “The usual waffle and coffee?” you asked as you stood by his table with your notepad. He just gave a small nod and watched your hands while you put the note away. He finally started trying the coffee during his weekly visits after that week, but it took a few more weeks of the same pattern before he actually finished the whole order.

He started trying to make conversation about his family once he got comfortable enough. “Did Julia look like she was doing okay today?” he asked one afternoon while he was cleaning his own table. You wiped the table beside his so you could be close enough to answer him without raising your voice. “She seemed good. She ate everything on her plate,” you said as you gave him a reassuring look. He nodded slowly and looked down at his empty cup. “Did you give her the larger servings today?” he muttered while he adjusted the fork to his liking on the table. “Yeah, I always slip extra onto their plates,” you whispered back while you kept an eye out for your manager. You found the occasional questions really endearing because they showed how much he cared about them despite his behavior.

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His presence became a regular part of your Tuesdays because he always arrived at the same hour. Your question during the last time he went there is about why he didn’t just sit with Julia and J, which made his knuckles turn white around his coffee mug. “It’s complicated,” he croaked while his eyes were focused entirely on the windows. You didn’t push him further after that because the tension in his shoulders told you he’d snap if you kept probing. He left his usual hundred-dollar bill on the table before he departed. The next Tuesday felt completely empty because the table remained vacant for your entire afternoon shift. You wiped the counters twice, and you kept looking toward the front just to see if he was there, but his truck never even arrived.

It’s also the same after that week, and there’s still no sign of him. You’ve actually been looking forward to each Tuesday ever since your first interaction with him, and you can’t help but get completely anxious about disappearances. How can’t you when you started to feel that you needed that persistent attention he always gave you on Tuesday? Not showing up at the diner felt like a rejection. Your skin felt hot and agitated while you worked because you couldn’t stand being worried about things and not knowing what was going on. “Who was that guy in the corner booth every Tuesday?” you asked your coworker while you scrubbed a stubborn stain off the counter. She shrugged as she counted the money in the cashier and looked around before she sighed.

“Oh, that’s Pope. People talk that he’s in prison for armed robbery a few days back,” she said with a lower voice, and she scoffed. You stopped scrubbing and felt your stomach twist because you didn’t expect it at all. Not that you didn’t hear about the shady business the Cody’s ran, because you do. You just thought they would be more careful than that, and you’re stupid for eating what your own words in your head because you’re the one being stupid when you ask people around where the Pope lives. People know them so well that it doesn’t take long before all three people you asked answered the same way. You almost ran like a desperate puppy and stopped at the massive place, and you walked toward the gate because you had to see where he lived.

You stared at the house and wondered if you were doing something stupid, but you didn’t turn back. You walked across the street and paced in front of the locked property for a couple of minutes before finally deciding to knock on the gate. Your knuckles banged against it multiple times until you noticed a small smart doorbell in the wall nearby, and you realized a camera was probably recording your face right now. “Who are you?” a woman’s voice came through the speaker after a short delay. You gripped the edge of the gate tightly while you tried to find the right words. “I’m a friend of Julia,” you yelled back at the device and hoping someone would open up. “She doesn’t live here,” the woman answered through the small speaker with a completely dismissive tone.

You moved closer to the gate while you shook your head. “No, wait, I’m not looking for her,” you shouted because you didn’t want her to hang up on you. “I’m looking for Pope,” you added because you couldn’t leave without answers. “Pope’s not here,” she stated plainly after a short pause. You didn’t want to get turned away, so you kept pushing. “Please, I just want to ask something,” you begged as you stared directly into the small lens. “Sure, honey. Wait outside,” she replied before the connection cut out and left you waiting in the silence for a couple of minutes until the latch finally clicked. The woman opened the gate with a shotgun in her hands, and you immediately stepped back. “Ma’am- I’m not going to do anything! I didn’t do anything wrong!” you panicked while you raised your open hands in the air.

“Are you one of those junkies Julia gets high with?” she asked while her eyes scanned your clothes. You felt insulted because the accusation was completely wrong. “What? No! I’m a waitress, r-remember?” you stuttered while you tried to catch your breath. “You saw me before when you paid for Julia’s balance,” you reminded her, because you hoped she would recognize you. “Sorry, honey. You look just like everyone else to me,” she stated with an indifferent look that immediately hurt your pride. You had to defend yourself because the weapon was aimed right at you. “I only give them food. I swear,” you pleaded while you kept eye contact to show you weren’t lying. “And I served Pope, too,” you whispered while your knees started to shake under the pressure of the barrel pointing at your chest.

“Pope?” she muttered with sudden curiosity as her eyebrows raised slightly. “Yeah, Pope,” you nodded while your hands were up. “He eats at the diner after he watches over Julia and J,” you explained, because you wanted her to understand your connection to him. “I just want to know where he is,” you choked out while you stared at the gun. “In prison,” she answered before she lowered the shotgun. “Come inside,” she ordered before she turned around. You gave a small nod and followed her through the open gate until both of you were in the kitchen. “I don’t know who you are. I hope you understand why I need the precautions,” she said while she put the gun down on a counter. She walked over to the island, where a tray of lasagna was under foil, and scooped a massive portion onto a plate.

She slid it right in front of you, and you felt completely forced to eat it because you didn’t want to anger her after the incident outside. You picked up the fork and took a small bite just to satisfy her. “What’s all the shouting about?” Baz asked as he walked into the room from the hallway. “Baz, this is our guest,” Smurf said as she waved a hand toward you while she leaned against the kitchen counter. You gave your name quickly because his eyes roamed over your face and clothes, as if he were trying to figure you out. “She’s a friend of Pope,” Smurf added before she tapped the edge of your plate. “Pope has friends?” Baz muttered while he raised an eyebrow and leaned his hip against the island. He took a second to study you before he gave a casual nod and strolled out toward the kitchen.

You gripped your fork tightly because the condescending way they talked about him fired up your irritation instantly. “I just want to know where they’re holding him,” you whispered as you stared at the half-eaten lasagna. “Eat your food first, then we can talk about it,” Smurf replied while she pointed a finger at your plate. You take another bite and nod once Baz is completely out of sight. “Why do you want to see him anyway?” Smurf asked while she watched you finish eating. “I want to visit him,” you answered honestly because you didn’t see a reason to lie to his mother. “I didn’t know Pope had a new girl,” she stated, and she tilted her head to gauge your reaction. You felt a prickle of annoyance because she was clearly trying to mess with you.

“I just grew fond of him,” you explained as you pushed the empty plate away. “Let’s trade numbers then,” Smurf suggested before she grabbed her phone from the counter. “You can tell me how he looks whenever you go see him,” she requested as she handed her phone over to you so you could enter yours. You agreed and typed your contact number into her device before you sent yourself a text because it felt like a harmless deal. “I’ll give you two hundred dollars for every single visit,” Smurf said after she pocketed the phone. “You can collect the money at the end of the month as a thank you for looking out for my baby,” she stated before you could even process the offer. “No- no. I don’t want your money,” you protested, and you shook your head because you didn’t want her to think you had an agenda.

“Take it, honey,” Smurf insisted as she stepped closer and patted your arm. “My son is different from other people,” she sighed while her expression softened to look vulnerable. “I’m just really glad he’s finally talking to someone who isn’t one of his brothers,” she murmured before she stepped back to wash her hands in the sink. “What does he do exactly when he comes to the diner?” Smurf asked as she turned off the faucet and leaned against the sink to get an answer from you. You wiped your mouth with a napkin, and you wanted to answer carefully without causing trouble for him. “He usually doesn’t even touch his food; he just sits there and stares at me,” you explained while you played with the edge of your paper napkin.

“Yeah, that sounds just like him,” she murmured as she nodded her head with a look that showed she wasn’t surprised at all. “What does he talk to you about?” she pressed while she walked over to the counter right across from you. You shrugged because you didn’t have much to tell her. “He doesn’t really say anything, he just watches,” you whispered while thoughts spun through your head as you tried to figure out why she wanted to know so much about his habits. Her posture relaxed during the interrogation because she realized you were completely clueless about their family history or any crimes. You didn’t know a single thing about the Codys, but you were clearly drawn to her son, and she looked like she wanted to find a way to use your interest. “Are you new to Oceanside, honey?” Smurf asked while she crossed her arms over her chest. You gripped the edge of the kitchen island because you felt defensive at the sudden intrusion.

“I’ve only been here for a few months,” you muttered as you looked away toward the glass doors leading to the pool to avoid her direct gaze. “Where did you move from?” she questioned while she tilted her head to check your reaction. You kept your mouth shut because a sudden panic made it hard to breathe. You couldn’t tell her that you killed a person back home and left without leaving a single trace behind. You had deleted your online profiles and used only cash for your small diner jobs so that nothing could tie back to you. “It’s okay, honey, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Smurf promised with a soft tone as she gave you a reassuring nod. You didn’t trust her kind words because her calculating gaze suggested she was already planning to dig into your past.

Smurf kept her sweet expression because she realized you were a mystery who could be very dangerous or very useful to her. She knew she had to keep a close eye on you since you weren’t family, but she didn’t want to throw you away just yet. If you were crazy enough to show up at her house for her son, then you were compliant enough to visit him and keep his head straight while he was locked up. “His real name is Andrew,” Smurf whispered as she walked over to a drawer to grab a pen and scribble on a small slip of paper. “He’s serving his time over at Folsom State Prison,” she added while she watched you tuck the address safely into your pocket. That slip of paper was the only thing on your mind until Saturday finally came around.

You spent your day off taking a grueling hours long bus ride up to Folsom State Prison, with nothing but your ID and cash in your pocket, because you had already researched the strict visitation rules at home. The shared visiting room was completely packed and deafening with the sound of screaming toddlers. The chatter from other families was loud and made you a little uncomfortable while you waited at a small table. Andrew had no idea you were coming, but your thoughts raced in circles because you two weren’t even friends. The guards finally brought him out, and he stopped in his tracks before glaring because your presence made absolutely no sense to him. “Why are you here?” he demanded when he sat down across from you and glared at you with those hostile hazel eyes.

“I just wanted to see how you’re doing,” you answered as you scratched at a mark on the table because you didn’t want him to see your hands shaking. He shuffled his feet against the floor and stared down at his own knuckles. The sudden attention made him look like he wanted to crawl right out of his skin. “You shouldn’t have come,” he rasped because he looked completely surprised to see you sitting there. “I don’t even know who the hell you are… you’re not my family. Go back to Oceanside,” he snapped before he abruptly stood up from the plastic chair to signal a guard over. You stood up too after his words made your blood boil at the sudden rejection, and you couldn’t believe he was ending the visit after only five minutes. Yet, you kept showing up every single week like a total leech.

You knew Andrew could easily tell the guards he didn’t want any visitors, but he came out to the visiting room every time. It was incredibly annoying because he’d just sit down and say something mean, and then he’d tell you to go home before he walked right back to his cell. This situation went on for almost two months, and you always arrived at the exact same hour. Andrew actually started looking forward to your visits, even though he treated you like garbage and barely talked to you. He was just being cautious because he didn’t really know you and only recognized you as the waitress who used to serve Julia. He remembered you were always nice to her back then, so he always took his seat at the table for a few minutes before he got all grumpy and told you to get the fuck out.

But then you missed a week, and he got completely disappointed when your usual time passed. He was the type of person who noticed the same things happening immediately, so his head practically boiled with anger when the guard told him there was no visit for him today. He stewed in his cell until the next weekend came around, and he practically marched into the visiting room the second they called his name. “Where were you last week?” he snapped, as he slammed his hands onto the table that caught people's attention, and he just glared right into their eyes. “I had a date,” you answered with a small smirk, because you actually enjoyed messing with him after all his attitude. “You’re a liar,” he growled, while his grip tightened against the edge of the tabletop.

“What? You don’t think a pretty girl like me can get a date?” you asked with a chuckle, because his intense reaction was honestly hilarious. Andrew stopped completely and shut his mouth when your sudden remark caught him entirely off guard. You didn’t let him sit in his confusion for long, but you shrugged your shoulders before taking the fake excuse back. “Relax. I’m messing with you. I had to cover an extra shift at the diner,” you explained, before you stood up from the plastic chair because you wanted to try a completely different approach with him today. You walked over to the vending machines across the crowded room and used some money to buy a burrito along with a bottle of water. You pushed the items right toward his side after you returned to the table.

“Eat something,” you ordered, while you sat back down and watched his reaction closely. Andrew looked totally upset about the missed visit, and his defensive walls came right back up as he stared down at the snack. He glared at the plastic wrapping as if it were absolutely disgusting, because he was completely uncomfortable with your sudden gesture. “I don’t want your charity,” he grunted, and he crossed his arms against his chest. Your own mood was totally ruined by now, so you simply dragged the plastic tray right back to your side of the table. You ripped the wrapper open out of pure irritation and bit into the burrito right in front of his face because you weren’t going to let Smurf’s cash go to waste.

You purposely chewed slowly and stared back at him just to be petty, while the loud chatter of the other families filled the background. Andrew just watched you eat in a completely awkward silence, and he looked entirely thrown off by your stubbornness. He didn’t say another word for the rest of that visit, but you weren’t stupid, and by now you knew he completely lived by having a plan to do the whole day. You spent the next few weeks building on that stubbornness by establishing the exact same pattern every Saturday, because you wanted him to soften up or at least associate you with something familiar. It wasn’t like the vending machine burrito tasted amazing or that he ate it every day, but your consistency slowly worked.

He eventually touched the food because he did the exact same thing with the waffles and coffee you used to serve him. Once he grew comfortable with your weekly visits and expected you on that specific day, he tried to be nicer to you, and he didn’t just stare at it the next time you set down the heated burrito and the water. “You got the tasty one… I mean, good options in the burrito,” he muttered as he reached out and took the food. Andrew had specific habits once he accepted the meal, and you watched him carefully tear open the top seam of the plastic wrapper. He folded the edges down into clean, even cuffs so his thumbs never touched the grease on the tortilla, and then he picked up the water bottle to place it down right in the exact center of the table between the two of you, before he took a single bite.

“Tell me if it’s not hot,” you whispered, while you watched him chew his food. Andrew stopped chewing mid-bite because the center of the burrito was cold, while the ends were completely hot. He didn’t say a single word to complain, but he laid the tortilla back down on the wrapper. He stared at the cold spot with a locked jaw because he absolutely hated it when his food wasn’t hot throughout, and he refused to finish the rest of the meal. “Do you want me to go heat up a new one instead?” you asked when you pointed at the abandoned food on the table. Andrew just shook his head instantly, but he didn’t offer any explanation for his rejection. You sighed and reached across the plastic tray to grab the wrapper yourself, because you weren’t about to waste the money.

“Fine, I’ll just eat it then,” you muttered, as you took a bite of the cold middle part of the tortilla. Andrew watched your face for a few seconds before his eyes dropped toward his hands. “How’s Julia doing?” he asked, while his fingers tapped a quick pattern against the laminate surface. You let out a breath and shook your head, because you really didn’t want to get into that whole situation today. Andrew squinted his eyes and leaned forward slightly. “What?” he snapped, after your visual avoidance made him impatient. You chewed your food quickly and swallowed it before you gave him the bad news. “I haven’t seen her for three weeks now, and I think she’s really struggling out there,” you explained, while you watched his posture change.

Andrew twitched his mouth in response, but he didn’t say a single word about her. “How are you doing anyway? Is prison tolerable, or is someone beating you up in here?” you asked, as you leaned your elbows on the table to get a closer look at him. Andrew stared back at you with a completely confused expression on his face when your protective question made him feel like you were treating him like a little boy. Andrew narrowed his eyes and sat up straighter, as if he wanted to remind you that he could easily fight his own battles. Yet, he still expected you to show up every single week after that, and those weekly updates became the exact reason Smurf kept paying you cash for every single update you brought back to her.

Collecting that money meant stopping by the Cody house on Monday nights because you had work during the day, and you usually just walked right through the unlocked front door, but you picked the absolute worst day to skip knocking. The kitchen was completely empty when you stepped inside, but you heard muffled movements. You walked a little further into the house and stopped when you found Smurf, Baz, Deran, and Craig standing in the living room around a fresh, dead body on the floor. Your immediate instinct was to turn around and run back to your car, but Craig looked up and spotted you before you could even take a step backward. The entire room went totally silent, and the boys stared at you because your sudden arrival caught them completely off guard.

“Great, now we have another fucking problem to deal with,” Craig snapped, as he turned his head toward Smurf with a tense posture. Deran gave you a quick look that showed a bit of empathy, since the two of you had grown kind of close during your weekly visits, but Baz stepped in front of the body to block your view. “She can’t leave this house,” Baz muttered, while his hand rested near his waistband. “I-I won’t say anything, I didn’t see a single thing,” you stammered out quickly while your panic kicked in, but you tried hard to keep your expression neutral. Smurf stepped forward with a warm smile that didn’t reach her eyes at all, while she looked you up and down. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re always dropping by at the most interesting times,” Smurf said softly, while she rubbed a hand over Craig’s shoulder to calm him down.

You didn’t want her to think you were weak or a liability, so you never looked away from her as you held your ground. “I know exactly what a corpse looks like,” you stated firmly, because you wanted them to understand that you weren’t going to pass out or scream. You needed to save your own skin and prove your utility right now, so you kept talking before they could make a decision about you. “I can help you get rid of it, and I know exactly how to clean up blood without leaving a trace,” you pitched desperately, while your hand pointed toward the mess on the floor. Smurf studied your face for a long moment, because your lack of a panicked reaction told her everything she needed to know.

She already ran a background check on you weeks ago. She found out you were a missing person with absolutely no digital footprint, but seeing you offer to scrub up blood confirmed her theory that you either stole something massive or killed someone back home. You were broken and dangerous, but you were also the perfect tool to keep Andrew stable and give her leverage. “Alright, you can help us,” Smurf said, after she pointed a finger directly at your chest to establish the rules. “Craig and Baz are taking the body, but you’re sleeping right here under my roof with me and Deran on cleaning duty,” Smurf added when she decided to keep you within arm’s reach. The boys unrolled a piece of plastic on the floor and prepared to wrap up the mess.

“Make sure he turns into a total John Doe before you bury him,” you whispered, as you watched Baz grab the shoulders of the corpse. You stepped closer to the group because your mind went straight into survival mode. “Destroy the teeth and get rid of the thumbprints first, because that’s the easiest way for cops to identify,” you explained, while the boys stopped what they were doing to stare at you in surprise. Craig let out a breath and looked up at Smurf for confirmation, but she just gave a slow nod because your resourcefulness proved exactly how valuable you were going to be to her family. Craig and Baz carried the wrapped body out through the back door after they finished taping up the plastic.

You immediately went to work on the living room floor, and you wanted to get rid of every trace before the stains could set into the surface. Deran fetched the cleaning supplies from the laundry room, as Smurf watched from the armchair to ensure you kept your word. You dumped bleach over the blood and scrubbed the floor until your arms felt tired, but you didn’t stop until the chemical smell filled the entire house. “The decorations near the corner need to go in the trash too,” Deran muttered, while he tossed a bunch of stained items into a black garbage bag. You rinsed your sponge in the bucket because you wanted to make sure you didn’t miss a single spot. “We already took care of it,” you replied softly, as you wiped down the bottom of the coffee table to erase the last of the mess. Smurf nodded in approval from her spot and smiled when she saw the room completely clean.

That approval kept you tied to the family over the following months, because she asked you to come over to the house all the time, and being around them constantly made it feel like you had just hidden that body yesterday. The frequent visits gave you real information to share when you went back to Folsom to see Andrew. He sat across from you at the metal table, while his fingers picked at a seam on his jumpsuit. “Julia staying out of trouble?” he asked bluntly, as he stared down at his own lap without looking at you. You gave him a small nod because you wanted to keep him calm. “She’s getting by, Pope,” you answered quietly, while you watched his leg bounce up and down under the table.

He didn’t acknowledge your reply, but he adjust himself in the chair. “Smurf keeping Baz busy with work?” He muttered before he leaned forward with an awkward tilt of his head. You nodded again, because you had to hide the fact that Baz and Craig had just dumped a dead guy a while back. “They’re managing the business just like always,” you said casually, as you leaned your elbows on the surface between you. He blinked a few times and stared at the wall behind you before he leaned in a little closer. “Did you see Catherine? Does she look good?” Andrew whispered, while his breathing got a little faster. You didn’t think much of the sudden change, because he always asked about everyone in order. “Yeah, I saw her at the house last week, and she looked totally fine,” you shared easily, as you watched his fingers grip the edge of the table.

“How is Lena handling school?” He added, after his hand moved to scratch at his neck in a repetitive motion. You kept your face perfectly neutral, since you just wanted to give him a regular update on his family. “She has everything she needs,” you assured him when you reached across the table to tap his arm to stop him. He dropped his hand away from his neck and let it rest against his lap. “Baz has to take care of them,” Andrew said firmly, while his eyes drifted back down to touch the fabric of his jumpsuit. You just listened to him ask things like he always did during these visits, but your next visit to the visitation room didn’t start with you talking to Andrew first, because a guard started a conversation with you first.

He strolled over to your spot when he saw you checking the clock. “You here for Cody?” the guard asked, as he rested his hands on his belt. You looked up at him, and you gave a nod before he spoke again. “You must be Catherine, the wife he keeps bragging about,” he muttered, and he nodded toward the chair across from you. “Pope doesn’t ever shut up about you during the block rotations,” he added, before he stepped back to give you some space. Hearing the guard mistake you for Baz’s partner left you completely baffled and angry. The piece of information forced your mind back to every previous visit, because Andrew never forgot to ask about Catherine. You used to think he just wanted regular updates on the family, but the guard’s words painted a completely different picture. It seemed like he actually wanted Baz’s wife.

You wanted to know exactly what kind of stories he spread in this place, so you hid your reaction to keep the conversation going. “Yeah, that’s me,” you lied, and you placed your hands on the surface. You needed to hear what Andrew said about Baz’s wife, so you tilted your head up to keep the guard engaged. “What does he say about me?” you asked softly, while you watched him glance toward the desk. The guard shrugged and looked at your face. “Just stuff about how you look, and how much he needs to get back to you,” the guard explained, before he walked back to his post. You dropped your hands from the surface into your lap, and your fingers balled into fists under the table after he spoke.

You stared at the chair across from you, and you didn’t even notice how dry your throat felt, because the whole situation made you feel sick. Why the fuck was Andrew talking about her when she never even showed up at this prison? Catherine wasn’t the one here for him. You were the only one who helped him, and you were the one sitting in this room. You exhaled through your nose to keep your temper in check because what you just heard pissed you off. You swore that you would find out what he was playing at when they brought him through those doors, but you didn’t have to wait long after the guard walked back to his post, because the door clicked open and Andrew shuffled out into the room. He watched you from across the room when he walked over to your table, but he pulled out the chair across from you without making any noise.

You offered him a smile as he sat down. “Hey,” you murmured softly, and your hand reached across the surface to touch the edge of his sleeve. “Did you want me to get you some food from the vending machines?” you asked, since you wanted to see if he’d look up at you. Andrew just stared down down at his knuckles, and he shook his head right away. “I’m not hungry,” he muttered, and he adjusted his posture against the chair. He didn’t say a thank you, but he looked at you, and his concern for the family took over before you could even start a normal conversation. He needed to know how everyone was doing back at the house, but it all made sense now why he always asked about those same two people, after knowing that he told people inside the prison that Catherine was his wife.

Andrew knew you weren’t lying to his questions, because you were hanging around the property, and he knew that because Smurf told him during a prison call that she took a liking to you after you met. She claimed she let you hang around because you always visited him, but you knew Smurf lied to him. She would never tell her son that you actually became closer to the family because of the murder. You didn’t let your anger show, but you decided to change how you handled his intense curiosity about Baz and Catherine during the visits that followed. The next week, you sat in the same spot, and you pretended to be your usual self when he brought her up. “They look totally happy together,” you lied smoothly, and you watched his fingers twitch against the table.

“I think Catherine’s trying to bring Lena into Smurf’s house more often, even though they don’t have a good relationship,” you added, before you leaned in to watch his reaction. Andrew didn’t say anything, but his jaw clenched, and he looked away for a second. You rubbed it in even more when he asked for another update the week after that. “Baz was talking about how much he loves his family,” you whispered, while you kept looking at him to see how he took it. You liked poking at his sore spots about Catherine just to make him stop asking about her, so you always lie after another, and your next visit is no different. “I think Catherine’s glowing lately,” you implied, with a small nod to suggest a pregnancy without saying the word.

His reactions to your answers never failed to make you satisfied, especially when he always looked tense, and he looked completely miserable after hearing your words. You swore to yourself that you’d keep changing the updates every single week, until he finally stopped asking about Baz’s wife. But you were glad that he actually started telling you about the prison lately, even though you were being petty and an asshole every time he asked about Catherine. He never talked about himself before, but now he shared actual details of his day. He made sure to describe the loud fights on the block or mutter about his deep hatred for sleeping there. Andrew trusted you because you were the only person who kept showing up for him week after week, and that consistency finally paid off.

You even mentioned the location where you live during one of those conversations, because you were complaining about the place and how awful the landlord was. “You should visit me there once you get out,” you joked with a laugh, and you watched him listen closely to the description of the building. He didn’t say he would come by, but he remembered every word about the place, and it felt good knowing you were someone he never expected to have by his side while he was stuck inside the prison. But, you never thought to this day that he would actually take the invitation seriously. He had good timing, because you took a sick day leave from work since it wasn’t Saturday, and you were just resting inside your home when you heard loud knock coming from the door.

You walked over to open it because you expected your landlord or a neighbor who needed something, but your eyes widened when you saw who was on the other side. Andrew was standing right there in front of you. He looked disheveled in his wrinkled clothes, and he held his small prison-issued property bag in one hand. You stared at him in shock, since he never told you he'd gotten an early release during your weekly visits, and he'd kept the entire thing a secret from everyone. He didn’t call Smurf or his brothers about the news, so nobody else knew he was out. “Pope?” you whispered, and your hand froze on the edge of the doorframe, because your head spun at his sudden appearance. Andrew didn’t say anything right away, but he looked you straight in the eye, and he stood there awkwardly in the doorway.

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” he muttered, and his fingers tightened on the property bag against his hip. You stepped back to let him inside, because he looked lost out there in front of your door. He looked around the room like he wanted to memorize every corner, but he actually remembered your joke about him visiting after all those months. It felt surreal to see him standing in your space, after all the time spent inside that prison visiting room. You backed away from the entrance to give him room, and he walked into your place before you finally shut the door. You guided him over to the couch by his sleeve, and he sat down on the cushion with his property bag placed in his lap.

You stood right in front of him with a genuine relief filled your chest, because he wanted to go to a place, or at least thought about you, when he had nowhere else to turn to. You feel a little confused, though, about why he avoided his own family entirely after getting out. “Why didn’t you go see Smurf first?” you asked, while you looked down at his hair, because you wanted to understand his choice. Andrew shook his head instantly, and he stared down at his shoes for a few seconds before he looked back at you. “They’re just gonna smother me with questions,” he muttered, and he seemed overwhelmed by the idea of dealing with his brothers today. “I just wanted to see you for a minute,” he added, and he his eyes meets yours.

“I’ll go find them later,” he explained, and he leaned back against the cushions, and he seemed to find comfort in your place. You nodded slowly, and you crossed your arms after his honesty caught you off guard. “You can live here if you need a place, okay? As long as you need,” you replied, and a small smile formed on your face when you realized he trusted you more than anyone else. Andrew took that offer literally, but he didn’t actually sleep at your place. He just showed up out of the blue because he barely slept at all, and he usually spent the night sitting on your couch watching TV. Sometimes you caught him watching you sleep, but you just closed your eyes again, because you knew he didn’t rest easily, and you wanted to act like it didn’t bother you.

This set up lasted for a while, where he split his time between your place and Smurf’s house. You eventually learned that the day he went over to the Cody house after his release was the exact same day he saw J in person, because Julia died. Andrew had panicked, and he ran straight to your workplace, before he stood there completely silent until your shift was over. He waited until both of you were back inside your home before he finally explained the situation. You also found out about his complicated feelings for Cath when you accidentally overheard them talking during a party at Smurf’s house. You actually discovered his obsession with her way back when you visited him in prison, but you honestly thought he stopped feeling that way, because you were the one who always showed up for him while he was behind bars.

Hearing them together made you realize those attachments didn’t just disappear. You didn’t feel threatened by his attachment to her, but the situation bothered you enough to start a burning rage in your stomach. Cath pushed him away immediately after that conversation, and her rejection actually made you happy when Andrew turned to you for support. He showed up much more often to seek a quiet place and peace of mind. You brushed his hand when he ranted about how Smurf hated Cath, and you secretly loved that Smurf despised her. It ruined his chances of seeing Lena often, but it kept him coming back to your door. You tried offering comforting words to ease his irritation, but you never really knew whether he was really listening to you. What actually surprised you was one of your conversations that made you two a little more vulnerable with each other.

“You shouldn’t be helping me. I’m not a good person,” Andrew muttered, before he stared at his knuckles, and he looked up at your face. “It’s nothing that I can’t handle, since I’ve been hurt by worse before,” you whispered, and you squeezed his knuckles to keep his attention on you. He leaned closer to your face after you admitted those details from your past. “Who did that to you?” Andrew asked, and he gripped your wrist protectively when his face darkened. “That’s been taken care of,” you replied, while you held his gaze to reassure him. “Taken care of?” Andrew repeated, and he narrowed his eyes when he didn’t understand your meaning. “It just means he won’t ever hurt anyone again,” you murmured, and you leaned forward to kiss his cheek before he could ask more questions. Andrew didn’t say the realization out loud, but he stopped watching your movements when he finally understood that the person from your past was dead.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ──────────

Andrew opened up to you during a hard time, and honestly, you somehow became his therapist a little with all the listening you do, but Smurf’s control over him ran much deeper, because she’s his mother. That’s why he never mentioned a word about her telling him that Cath is talking to the police against their family, and the only thing Andrew believed in was protecting them at all costs. That’s also why you didn’t expect his late-night phone call telling you to come to Baz’s house immediately. You walked straight inside, because they left the front door completely unlocked, and you entered the bedroom, before you stopped at the sight of him completely naked, while he wrapped up Cath’s dead body in sheets.

“What the fuck happened?” you curse out, and you realize it’s the second time you’ve become an accessory to a murder by the Codys. Andrew looked like he’d break down completely right in front of you. “S-she made me do it… Smurf said- She said she’s going to talk to the cops,” Andrew whispered, and his voice cracked. “I-I didn’t want to go back to prison,” Andrew adds m, and his fingers twitched at his sides from the stress. You took a deep breath to calm yourself, because you sure knew as hell that killing someone is going to land him back in a cell, but you didn’t say that out loud. A burning anger filled your stomach as you stared at the bed. “You fucked her,” you said, and you laughed completely without humor, when the truth made your chest tighten.

“You actually killed her while you’re having sex with her?” you demanded, and you stepped closer to him. “You had your hands all over her,” you said, and you dug your fingernails into the palms of your hands. “Were you inside her when you choked her, or did you wait until you finished?” you snapped, and the disgust made your voice shake. Andrew avoided your eyes as he breathed raggedly, and he pulled at his hair with frustration. “I had to find a way to get close to her,” Andrew mumbled, before you cut him off. “Shut up,” you whispered fiercely, and you shoved his chest to stop his excuses. “Just shut up and dress up, so you can clean your mess,” you ordered, and you pointed at Cath.

You looked around the messy room, but you kept your voice quiet for the kid down the hall. “What do you want me to do?” you asked, after you took another look at him. “Watch Lena, because Baz won’t be back tonight,” Andrew answered, and he fumbled blindly with his shirt when his hands trembled too much to guide the fabric. You placed your hand on his chest to force him to listen to you. “I don’t see a thing,” you whispered, as you felt his chest thumping hard against your palm. “I wasn’t here, so clean this up,” you added, before you walked out of the room to check on the child. You watched over Lena until he returned to the house later that night, and you went straight back to your apartment afterward.

The entire nightmare kept your mind racing for hours, and it didn’t let you sleep a single wink, but what's worse is that everything that happened didn’t end in that bedroom, because everything turned completely messed up after Cath disappeared. The first few days without her were brutal for Andrew, while Baz fell apart and started neglecting Lena. Smurf made sure it looked like Cath just packed up and ran away from them, because she wanted the family to think she was an informant. Only Smurf and Andrew knew the actual truth, but now you are carrying that burden too. Yet, the family business didn’t stop just because she disappeared, and you weren’t stupid about how things worked.

Andrew had small slip-ups when he spoke to you, and you pieced it together until you understood the full picture. That’s why Lena was left needing a place to sleep for the night when a new job came up, and all the Codys had to leave for the night. Smurf always called you after your shift ended, and she invited you over to the house to watch the kid. You only agreed to do it to help out with Lena, but this evening is different from the rest. You waited until the little girl went to sleep before you finally confronted the older woman in the kitchen. “Did you make him do it?” you whispered, as you stood by the counter, and you gripped the edge of it just to help yourself to be still respectful. Smurf didn’t admit to a single thing, but she looked right back at you without an ounce of regret for her plan.

“Well, I have to look out for my boys, don’t I?” Smurf asked, while she poured herself a drink, and she didn’t show a single bit of guilt for what happened to Cath. It wasn’t hard to understand the idea she planted in your head, because protecting your own never felt complicated to you. You know that the tension within the family never really stopped after Cath’ being gone and it doesn’t help you that Smurf showed up at your place unexpectedly one evening, but she only did it to discuss the ongoing trouble with Baz. You assumed the issue was just the way he neglected Lena, since Andrew spent most of his days watching over the little girl anyway. You didn’t fully understand why she chose to confide all of this in you, but your deep attachment to Andrew made you completely vulnerable in her eyes.

“Baz stole from us,” Smurf stated, as she stood by your kitchen counter to watch your face for an immediate reaction. “He took eight million in cash and jewelry,” she added, to reveal the full scale of the theft. You stared directly back at her because the number didn’t make any sense in your head. “Eight million?” you asked, and you leaned against the edge of the table to process everything. “Isn’t he basically your son?” you added, when the reality of the situation made your stomach twist. Smurf completely ignored your question about her relationship with Baz, because she had a different goal in mind. “I’m terrified for my boys, especially Andrew,” Smurf explained, and she maintained eye contact to make you feel how concerning the situation is.

She paused briefly before she continued. “He needs a stable life after spending so many years in prison,” she added, to justify her fear. You just gave her a nod because you cared about Andrew’s safety too much to ignore what Baz did. “I always tell you that I protect my family,” Smurf murmured, to remind you what she’s willing to do. She stopped to let everything sink in before she spoke again. “But I’m truly frightened about what happens if Andrew finds out,” she whispered, to emphasize her words. You listened quietly, and you knew how fragile Andrew’s mental state could be. “Find out what?” you asked, and you bit the inside of your cheek. “He’ll find out exactly what his brother did to this family,” Smurf answered, and she shook her head with a look of exhaustion.

“Andrew breaks so easily when people betray him, and you wouldn’t want him hurt,” Smurf added, while she played directly on your protective instincts. “No… I- I don’t want anyone hurting him,” you stuttered, as you crossed your arms over your chest. The older woman nodded slowly, and she knew she could successfully control you through playing with your feelings about Andrew. “I think Baz already knows that Andrew’s the reason Cath disappeared,” Smurf whispered, and she watched the horrified reaction from the sudden realization. A sudden panic filled your mind because Andrew couldn’t survive another prison sentence. “Andrew can’t go back to jail, you know that. He absolutely can’t die if Baz decides to seek revenge next,” Smurf warned, and her tone grew completely serious.

You didn’t even stop to analyze if she’s fucking with your head, because your protective instincts took total control over your brain. “What do we need to do?” you demanded, and you stepped right up to her to show your loyalty. Smurf didn’t offer an explanation or an actual choice because she simply expected total obedience from you. “I need you to take care of this problem for us,” Smurf commanded, before she reached into her handbag to pull out a gun. Her words infected your mind after that, and you buried yourself in coffee and double shifts at the diner, before they could spread any further. You didn’t just plan to shoot Baz right then and there, because a thing like that needed to be planned out properly.

It made you tag along more with Andrew when he’s taking care of Lena to check Baz’s place, and you spent hours working out how you could possibly do it without getting caught or killed. He's still a man after all, and you have to think about the strength difference if he caught you, but you also had Lena to consider in the situation. You had to do it when she wasn’t in the house. Smurf already told you that the gun wouldn’t trace back to you, and she promised the bullets would shatter on impact. She offered you fifty grand because you were friends with Pope, but you didn’t accept it because it wasn’t a job for you. The whole thing felt personal, and you were willing to go to any lengths for him. Andrew walked into your kitchen later that evening, and he stood right behind you without making a sound.

“You didn’t answer my texts,” he muttered when he pressed his chest near your back, because he absolutely hated when you ignored him. You wiped down the exact same spot on the tiles again, just to give yourself something to do. “I’m sorry… My shifts at the diner ran late,” you answered, and you threw the dirty rag into the sink. He didn’t move away, but he just leaned in closer, until his breath warmed your shoulder. “Smurf said you talked to her,” he whispered, while he watched you from right behind your ear. You swallowed hard because you couldn’t let him find out what you were planning for his family. “We just talked about Lena,” you lied, and licked your lip just to support yourself from taking a deep breath, since he’s too close.

He always did this kind of thing, where he invaded your personal space and then acted like he never did it at all. His hand brushed your hip for a second, and his knee kept touching behind your knee, while he talked like he didn’t even notice it. “Aren’t you supposed to be at your house tonight?” you asked him when you looked over your shoulder to remind him of his schedule. You disguised the question as the exact topic Smurf brought up earlier, since Andrew had to watch Lena tonight, after Baz left her there for errands. It’s the same night you plan to kill Baz, so you need Pope out of your place tonight, before you lose your mind and back out of everything. He gripped your waist before he took a step back from you.

“I just want to know what you talked about with Smurf,” Pope muttered, and he knows that she never came to your place for no reason. You smiled at him before you made up an excuse why he needed to leave right away. “I actually have a guy coming over in a little bit,” you lied, then you forced out a chuckle like it wasn’t a big deal. He didn’t take the bait immediately, since he never saw you with a guy before, and the comment visibly threw him off. He looked bothered for a second, but he simply nodded. “Okay,” Andrew whispered, and he kept looking at you like he was trying to figure out if you were lying to him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Pope,” you said, as you grabbed his arm to walk him straight to the door, before he could ask more questions.

You pushed him out into the hallway and secured the door after he left, and then you started pacing around the room. You tried not to think too hard about what you’re about to do tonight, but you kept checking the clock. You also checked your phone every few minutes, even though no one had texted you. You kept debating whether to do it because a massive panic was clouding your mind. If you back out now, then someone else will take the job, and you already know who ordered it. You feel terrified that if you don’t go through with it tonight, Smurf will just kill you too, because you know too much already. But pacing around benefits you to suddenly have a fuck-it moment, before you change your clothes into a black hoodie, so it will be harder to identify you later if anyone saw you.

It comes with plain black pants and shoes that wouldn’t stand out, but you also have a cap with no design that people could possibly remember. You kept the gun hidden in the waistband of your pants and walked with your head down while taking the route you already memorized. You chose that specific path because you learned which places had CCTV cameras along the route from your place to Baz’s house. You made sure to enter from the back, where it was darker, so nobody noticed you sneaking around, because entering from the front is dangerous for you. You saw that Baz was just about to leave with Lucy, and they were just talking inside the car, when you stood in front of it to start shooting right through the glass.

You were no expert, and your hands shook the whole time, but you managed to shoot him four times in his chest before he tried to run after you. Baz never screamed or even said anything when the bullets went through him. That made everything feel worse, because the only sounds around you were the gunshots going off one after another, and your own breathing when you finally turned around to run. He collapsed on the ground before he could catch you, because the gunshots made him weak. Lucy was in shock but not screaming, and you were already running for your life. He tried to shoot you back while you ran, but the bullet never fully touched you. It only grazed your side, but it was painful enough to make you bleed, and the adrenaline helped you run harder.

Your first instinct was to run straight back to your place, even though you knew it was stupid. Your plan was supposed to involve rerouting somewhere public, like a bar, so that you would have an alibi. Getting shot changed everything, though, because you couldn’t go to a hospital. You were hiding, and you were basically considered a missing person anyway, so a medical visit would alert the authorities that you’ve been found. You bled and panicked while your brain went through every single what-if scenario. You worried if the graze is something they can catch, that it’s from a gun, or if the police would get involved immediately if you decided to go to the hospital. You abandoned the thought of running to Smurf, because your safety didn’t exist there, so you headed toward your own place, even though that’s the dumbest idea you have right now.

You could hear the gunshots, even though the neighborhood houses were entirely silent, and it messes with your head because part of you knows they already stopped, but your body still reacts like they’re right behind you. It’s like you’re having a mental breakdown from it, and it just makes you doubt your own senses. How could someone just pull the trigger, and then there’s nothing after that but silence? It’s making you crazy, and you’re not even like this the first time you did it. His dying face keeps popping in your head the entire time you run without stopping, and you hate how clear it is, like your brain is refusing to take it out. You just let your feet guide you back until you reach your place, but your fingers tremble so badly that finding the keys under the mat takes forever.

This frustrates you to the point that you think someone is standing right behind your shoulder, but it is completely empty when you look back, and it almost makes you feel shit because nothing is actually there. You turned the lock fast when you got inside, then you immediately slammed your back against the wood because your legs felt so tired from running, and you realized you had been holding your breath the entire time without noticing. You yanked the hoodie over your head and stepped out of your shoes, but there’s a small tear where the graze is, and blood from the wound sticks to the hoodie. You stared down at the wound without feeling any panic, because you literally looked at how bad it is, and how fast it will heal, like it refuses to accept what just happened fully.

You can tell that the damage is something you can tolerate and manage after you touch the area directly, and the pain makes you flinch. The pain snapped back at reality, since you realized you could walk fine, and you just needed to clean it up fast, as if you could erase what happened. A hospital visit was out of the question, since you weren’t stupid enough to walk into an emergency room while living as a missing person, and that means you are completely on your own. Your thoughts keep returning to the CCTV cameras, and you picture the car's glass shattering as Lucy watches it all unfold. The fact that Baz never made a sound replays in your head until silence starts replaying louder than the actual gunshots.

Your thoughts started piling up instead of calming down, which showed that you needed a distraction before you completely lost it. You paced across the floorboards while wearing nothing but your bra and pants. The blood keeps dripping from your wound, and every step feels like you’re trying to outrun what you just did. Leaving the apartment risked being seen by neighbors, but waiting here meant risking the police arriving, and neither option is ideal. Nothing felt right, but being here felt worse, and your feet kept walking around anyway. You refused to dial Andrew’s number out of terror that he would discover the truth, but the longer you avoid it, the more your body refuses to stop moving, so you keep pacing around your place.

You don’t even know that it’s been over an hour since you left the strand, but you couldn’t care less about it, or the fact that you’re half naked in just your bra and pants. Your hand reaches into your pocket to check your phone again, even though nobody has called, and the wound on your shoulder hurts without you doing anything bad to it. The only thing that made you stop right in the middle of the room was a sudden three loud bangs on your front door that made your breath catch. “Open up,” Andrew orders from the other side, and you can hear his voice through the door. You don’t take a step because he isn’t supposed to know anything, and he definitely isn’t supposed to be outside your place right now. “I know it was you, so just open the door,” Andrew snaps after you don’t answer right away, but then he bangs on the door again with his fist.

You press your palms against your sides to keep your hands from shaking after hearing him outside. “You think I don’t know what happened?” Andrew murmurs, and then he kicks the door until it rattles. The loud noise makes your stomach twist since it brings back the sound of the gunshots from earlier, and you can’t have him waking up the whole building. “OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!” Andrew yells, and he sounds completely out of patience now. You finally walk over to turn the lock quickly because you need him to stop making a scene. “Pope, you need to l-leave,” you whisper as you pull the door open just a few inches, but your voice cracks on the last word. He doesn’t look at your face because the blood on your skin catches his attention. “You’re bleeding,” Andrew says, and he pushes right past you without asking for permission.

You take a step back, but he walks forward toward you as if he doesn’t care about giving you space. “It’s just a little graze, and you can’t be here right now,” you mumble after you try to block his path, but he keeps walking toward you. “Baz did that to you?” Andrew asks before he turns around to slam the door shut and lock it. He steps right back into your space until he’s standing too close. He stares at the blood on your shoulder as he tries to see how bad it is before he looks right into your eyes. “You actually went out there and shot him? You put bullets in Baz?” he asks while his hands twitch at his sides. You stare right back at his eyes as if you’re speaking through them because you want him to see your honesty.

“Don’t look at me like that, don’t use that tone with me like I’m a monster when I did what needed to be done,” you snap as you take a small step back. Andrew shakes his head since he can’t process the words. “You killed him. He was my brother,” he mutters before he steps closer. He lunges forward to grab your jaw so he can force your head up, and don’t flinch at the way he holds you. You instantly match his aggression with your hand clamping around his wrist, and your nails dig deep into his skin until he bleeds. “Yeah, I did it, and I’m not going to lie to you about it when it’s done,” you whisper as you stare right into his face. Andrew refuses to let go of your face, so his fingers dig deeper into your flesh just to make it hurt.

“Why would you touch him? You don’t touch my family,” he angrily says while he glares at you, and you grip his bleeding wrist more roughly to make sure he listens to you. “Because he knew about Cath, Andrew! He knew what you did to her, and he was going to use it to destroy you!” you shout as you try to shake him off. You feel his fingers slip slightly against your skin, and see him suddenly flinch at the name before he drops his hand. Andrew steps back a bit after he releases your face. “Stop. Don’t say her name. Don’t you talk about Cath right now,” he snaps while he stares at the floor. He looks completely unstable right now, and you can see his shoulders rise with every breath. You walk toward him anyway since you need him to hear you.

“Why? Because your brother was ready to put you in a cell for the rest of your life?” you demand, but he just shakes his head. “He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t do that to me,” he mumbles while he stares at the ground, but he sounds like he’s talking to himself more than he is talking to you. “He absolutely would! I had to protect you because nobody else was doing anything!” you yell as your frustration grows because you want to shake some sense into him before he ruins everything. Andrew looks back up at you, and you can see the way his expression turned furious, but he also looks pitiful right now. “You don’t touch him. You don’t touch a Cody,” he repeats, and his voice drops, but he steps back into your space until you can feel the warmth from his skin.

“And I kept you alive by doing it! Do you think he would’ve hesitated to hand you over to the cops?” you mutter because you’re tired of fighting this thing about him when he doesn’t listen to what you say to him. You want him to see that you put yourself in danger for his sake, but he doesn’t. “You don’t know anything about us,” he reminds you as he leans closer, and you refuse to back away from him even though he’s angry. “I know you’re free right now. I took the risk so you wouldn’t rot in prison!” Your voice rises, and you want him to understand your sacrifice. “I know exactly what I did. You should be thanking me instead of acting like I ruined everything,” you add because you need him to see it, but Andrew only makes a frustrated noise.

“Thank you? You want me to thank you for killing him?” he demands while his chest rises then falls. He looks around the place like he wants to escape the conversation. “He stole eight million dollars from Smurf! Is that what you call family? If he wasn’t going to put you in jail, then he was sure as hell going to kill you for what happened to Cath,” you scream because you’re completely done with his defense of Baz. He doesn’t say a single word back to you and just stares at you like he wants to kill you. “Did Smurf make you do it?” he asks, and he takes another step into your space. You look right back at him, and you want him to snap out of it, but he just looks completely lost. “No,” you answer quickly, since you need him to know this was your choice alone.

He grabs your arm before you can walk away. “She tells people to do things,” he said while his fingers dig into your skin. “She tells you what to do?” he asks, and he watches you try to yank your arm back. The way he grips you is actually painful, but he refuses to let go. “She didn’t-” you start to say before he cuts you off instantly. “She didn’t just what? Say the words,” he demands right in your face. “Let go of me,” you order as you glare up at him. “No,” Andrew snaps, and he leans even closer. “Did she pay you?” he asks while his eyes look at your face for a lie. He looks at you like you are a complete stranger now. “She always buys people. She bought you,” he accuses you, and he also sounds like he’s having a hard time believing it, but his anger blindsides him.

“No,” you whisper, and you shake your head because you wouldn’t accept it even if she offered you money. “How much? Don’t lie to me,” he presses about it again. His repeated questions made you snap completely, and you slapped him across the face with everything you had. The loud noise fills the room before you grab his collar. You aggressively slam him backward against the nearest wall to finally establish some control. “I’m not lying,” you whisper while you keep him pinned against it, even though he could easily push you off, but he didn’t. Andrew stares at you in shock, but the anger never leaves his expression, and he does not try to let go. “I protect them,” he explains, and he glares at your hands that are holding his collar.

“That’s what I do,” he says before he tries to lean forward. You push him harder against the wall since he is being completely blind to the truth. “Who’s going to protect you, hm? You weren’t protecting yourself,” you said right back at him, and hope he realizes that he’s always the one being pushed into violence. “I know what he was going to do to you, and I handled it! I’m the only one who actually cares if you live,” you add while you refuse to let go of his collar. He stares at you, and he couldn’t believe what he’s hearing. “You didn’t do me a favor,” he mutters before he shakes his head just to show he doesn’t need you. “I did what was necessary,” you justify yourself, and you refuse to let him make you feel guilty.

Andrew looks down at you from your face to your shoulder for a second before his eyes go back to yours. “You’re bleeding from it, and you want me to thank you for this?” he asks while he shakes his head. You drop your hands from his shirt and take a step back. “Why shouldn’t you thank me?” you ask, and you couldn’t believe what you just heard. You gesture between the two of you, as if you're trying to prove a point. “You’re breathing right now… You’re free because of what I did tonight,” you point out, since he needs to face reality. “You’re insane,” he couldn’t believe he would say this to another person because he would admit that he never sees another person as insane as him. Andrew pushes himself off the wall and scoffs. You refuse to let him escape the conversation, so you step right back into his path.

“I killed him so you wouldn’t die in jail. Is that hard to understand?” you point out, and your throat hurts from all the back-and-forth argument. “I took the blood on my hands so you wouldn’t lose your entire life!” you finish, but he just glares at you before he walks toward the door, but he looks like he’s hesitating to leave. “You don’t get to touch a single one of us,” he warns as he turns his head to look back at you. You follow him immediately because you are not done yet. “Well, I already did,” you snap while you block his path. “I made the choice to save you from your own brother. Now you’re treating me like this,” you finish, and Andrew stands by the door in silence for a few seconds before he suddenly snaps.

“You had no right!” he shouted in your face to make you feel that you hurt him. “You don’t just get to murder Baz and stand there waiting for me to be grateful,” he adds before he slams his palm over your bullet graze, and his fingers dig into the open wound. He digs his fingers into the wound to make it bleed, and it hurts like a bitch, especially when he’s being rough with it. That’s what made you punch his chest hard until he stumbled back. “That’s exactly what I expect!” Your voice rises before you grab your own shoulder. Blood drips down your arm, but you ignore it because you need him to understand your choices. “I expect you to see the risk I took to keep you safe!” you add since you refuse to back down.

“You’re out of your mind,” he mutters, and he looks at you like you’re completely unrecognizable to him before he takes a step back. “No, I’m just honest about it, Pope. It’s the only real loyalty you’ve ever had,” you snap because you hate seeing him act like the victim here and step closer to him so you can look him right in the eye. “You’re not a Cody,” he said as he stepped right back into your space and glared at you with pure hatred. You chuckle at his words because, thank god, you are not a Cody. “You don’t get to do nothing for me!” he spits before his chest presses against yours with how close you are to each other. You refuse to back away from him, so you hold your ground to make him face the truth of the situation.

“But you’re here, aren’t you? You’re free, and you’re breathing because I handled the problem,” you point out, since he would be in prison otherwise. All the anger suddenly drains right out of his face after he hears that. “He was my brother,” he whispers before he looks away from you. You take a step closer to him because you want him to face the truth. “And he was going to kill you too,” you whisper as you watch his expression change, but you didn’t even get to react when he moved to reach you. Andrew grabs your shoulders and shoves you backward across the room. Your back bangs against the wall before his large hands instantly wrap around your throat to pin you in place. He squeezes your neck roughly, but not rough enough to make you pass out.

You don’t even try to scratch his arms, and you just look right into his eyes. A breathless laugh escapes your lips. “You w-wanted- this t-too- Pope... don’t lie to yourself,” you choke out while a smile spreads across your face. “Shut your mouth,” he said, and you will try to piss him off at this point if he won’t listen to you. Andrew hates the truth you’re forcing on him because he refuses to believe that Baz will come into that, but he doesn’t know what to think about him anymore after what he did to Cath. Air feels hard to get with his hands wrapped around your neck, but you force yourself to speak anyway. “If you d-didn’t… want him dead- you would’ve already ki- killed me, but I’m breathing right now,” you mutter after you gasp for breath.

Your words make him completely lose his mind, and his fingers squeeze harder into your neck until you cough. He leans his entire body into you, and his face is only inches from yours. “I don’t want to hear about it,” he dismisses you, but he’s still here and not walking away or making you shut up for good. “We’re the same, Pope... I would kill for you,” you whisper while you stare right back at him. Andrew stares at you with anger, and you can see it in his dilated pupils. People might think that he looks like a monster, but you aren’t afraid of him. “I will kill you,” he said right into your face, and you could feel hot breath against your skin. You don’t back down from his threat because you know he won’t do it. “Then do it!” you laugh when you look right into his eyes.

You lift your hand and wrap it around the back of his neck to push his face down until your lips touch his. You guide the kiss, but he hesitates to move his mouth against yours. You push your neck harder into his palm to provoke him after what he said. He moves his face back suddenly because your lack of fear confuses him. “Mmgh... do it,” you moan against his mouth when his fingers squeeze your throat. You look right into his eyes and smile up at him. “Kill me, it won’t be hard,” you whisper in a soft voice before he loses his mind completely. Andrew pushes his mouth against yours again and moves both of you away from the wall. His left hand leaves your neck, but his other hand still presses his fingers against it.

He kisses you like he’s furious about how much he wants right now. His tongue forces its way past your lips while your fingers dig into his shoulders for balance. Andrew walks you backward toward your bedroom while he kisses you with total aggression. His free hand reaches around to the clasp of your bra. He unhooks the fabric before he slides the straps off your shoulders. “Fuck... Pope,” you mutter against his cheek when your feet trip over something. He catches your waist to stop you from falling, but his mouth doesn’t leave yours for a single second. Your left hand leaves his shoulder to slip it under the hem of his shirt before you drag your palm over his skin and caress his warm stomach.

Andrew’s mouth keeps moving against yours, but he guides your steps backward until the back of your knee touches the bed frame. He pulls his face away from yours, suddenly just to stare at your body. “Must be your first time with a woman since prison,” you mock him with your chin tilt up. He glares right at you before his hand leaves your neck to grope your breast roughly. “Feels nice, huh?” you taunt him while you watch his jaw twitch. He ignores your teasing words, and his thumb encircles your nipple. “Shut up,” he grunts before he pinches it hard. “Mfffh... fuck,” you moan out, and you immediately bite your lip. Andrew smirks for a brief second, but he scowls again almost instantly. His hand leaves your chest to move down to your stomach before his fingers find the waistband of your pants.

“Oh, wait, I forgot about Cath,” you mock him when his hand pauses, and you look straight at his face, and you smirk. “You already fucked her after you got out, but this is so much better, isn’t it?” You taunt him before his fingers unbutton your pants, and he unzips them so he can tug the fabric down your hips. You push the rest of the pants past your knees and kick them away. His hands grab the bottom of his shirt, and you watch him pull the fabric over his head. “You look good, Pope,” you compliment him while you look at his chest. You hook your fingers into his waistband to pull him closer to you, and he places his hands on your waist. You press a kiss on his neck when he tilts his head to let you, and you bite his skin until you get a metallic taste before you suck the same spot.

“Fuck- don’t do that,” he grunts while his fingers graze your hips. “Why would I? You like it,” you tease him as you feel his palms caress your skin, and you can tell he enjoys it by the way his hands touch your waist. “I don’t like getting marked,” he mutters as his fingers twitch against your skin. You chuckle at his words, and you bite his neck again to give him a hickey to show how stubborn you can be when you want something. He groans into your ear, and his hands slide right inside your panties to grope your ass. “Take it off,” you whisper while you nod to challenge him, and he shoves your shoulders to push you back onto the mattress. You hook both of your fingers on the waistband of your panties as if you’re going to strip, but slap your thigh before he leans over to drag the underwear off your legs himself.

He sneakily shoves your panties into the back pocket of his pants before he steps away. He unbuttons it before he pulls it off, along with his boxer briefs. You take a deep breath when you watch him wrap his hand around his cock to stroke it. “You look like you’ve never seen one before,” he said after he caught you staring. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you mock him back, and you guide him closer with your feet. Andrew crawls onto the bed to get right between your legs and doesn’t look around for protection as if he’s ready to be a father. You watch him drag the tip of his cock against your slit, but he doesn’t push it inside yet. He keeps rubbing the head of his shaft against your clit until he can see it pulse.

“You’re going to buy me a morning-after pill if you want to do this without a condom,” you taunt him when you tilt your pelvis up to meet him. His lips part slightly after he hears what you said, but his hand didn’t stop holding your thigh. “I’ll take care of it,” he grunts, and his palm presses into your leg. “Yeah?” you question him as you stare back at his face. He nods once, and he guides his tip right to your entrance, but doesn’t move for a moment so that he can stare at you. You open your legs wider for him, and you can feel yourself getting wetter each second you wait for him. “You want a little Pope?” you tease him, and you watch his eyes express something that you can’t figure out. Your comment does something to his body that he can’t explain, and he doesn’t give an answer, but he leans forward.

“I- I think you want it- mhm,” you moan out when he slowly slides his entire cock inside your wet cunt. He plants his hands on the mattress beside your head, and he usually avoids looking at women during intimacy, but he faces you anyway before he buries his face in your neck just to hide how he feels. He always made them take him from the back, or he forced them to look away before his time in prison. His mind always went back to it, but he’s actually taken aback when he doesn’t want you to do the same, or at least he doesn’t imagine that it’s Cath he’s fucking with right now. Especially that the last time he had sex was right before he killed her, so genuinely surprised that he can do this with you without her memory haunting his thoughts.

His cock pulls out, and you wrap your arms around his back before digging your nails into his skin when he thrusts it deeply. “Mfffh- fuck,” you gasp out when his length fills your cunt. There’s intense guilt eating him up despite how good it feels while he fucks you. He can’t help but think that this is the exact same night Baz died, and he knows you’re the person who killed his brother, yet his anger completely disappears just being inside you. He finds himself pathetic for letting your body blindside him like this. “You’re t-too- deep…” You whisper, and he moves faster instead of slowing down. “Y-You-” he chokes out after your cunt clenches around him, and his hand sneaks between your bodies before his fingers play with your chest. You grab his chin to make him look you straight in the eye. “Watch what you’re doing to me,” you whisper after you pull his head up.

He let out a ragged breath, and his palms gripped the mattress beside your ears. He squeezes your breast until you gasp, and what you said makes him thrust deeper into your cunt. You wrap your legs around his waist to hold him close, and he’s completely determined to get a reaction out of you after you told him to watch you. “Ngh- never look away,” you moan loudly, and he knows that this is something he needs to remember. He grunts against your skin, and he keeps looking right at you. He lowers his head down to your chest, and he sucks on your nipple while he looks right at your face. He nurses on you as if he hopes something will drop from your skin so he can drink it. This eagerness makes you completely wet, and you feel how desperately he wants you.

His palm squeezes your other breast before his fingers pinch your nipple. He handles your body like he wants to put a baby inside of you just because he wants to drink from your breast. “Mmm... maybe we can have a little Pope,” you tease him, and your hips tilt up to meet his thick cock. “That’s only if you don’t kill me in bed like what you did to her,” you whisper, and you watch his expression completely change. He immediately bites your nipple after hearing that, and his hand moves up from your chest to your neck, and he applies enough pressure to make it hard for you to breathe. He chokes you a little harder, but he keeps thrusting deep into your cunt without stopping. “H-how did you do it?” you choked out as you stared up at him.

“Did you use your hands or a pillow?” you question him before you smile right into his angry face. Your cunt pulses around his shaft while his hand keeps a tight wrap around your neck. “I know you won’t kill me, Pope,” you gasp out, and his hips grind down against yours. Andrew takes his mouth away from your nipple before he leans closer to your face. “How do you know that?” he murmurs as he hovers right above you. His question made you, and your hand reached up to hold his jaw. You know it because you can feel his hand relax against your throat right now. Sure, his fingers are still wrapped around your neck, but it doesn’t do anything, and he’s not even choking you. That just proves that he has plenty of chances to hurt you, but he never finishes it.

He’s just all talk, and you’re not even scared to show him how you feel about that, and you’re not going to back down, even if he’s leaning down closer until your noses almost touch. “Ah- ngh- you like this too much,” you gasp out while his cock keeps sliding deep inside you, and you stroke his cheek as you stare up at him. “Cath would never let you do this, you know? She was terrified of you, but I am not,” you taunt him, and you feel his jaw clenches under your palm because you know exactly how to bait him. “She would not want you like I do,” you mock him when, before you, purposely squeeze yourself around him. His free hand moves down your side after what you said upset him, and his fingers find the fresh gunshot graze on your skin. He digs his nails right into the open wound, and you cry out from the sudden pain.

You pull your hand back from his jaw to slap him across the face, and then your fingers slide straight into his hair to guide his head down to see if he’ll actually kiss you. He stops moving for a second when your mouths almost touch, but he refuses to pull away. The two of you are really crazy and perfect for each other, with the way you respond to one another that no normal people would. He stares into your eyes while his hips keep grinding against yours, and breathes out against your lips before he passionately kisses you. His tongue slides inside your lips when you part them, then he licks your tongue. The way he kisses you makes you clench your cunt around his cock, and that makes him suck on your lower lip until it gets swollen. Andrew moves his mouth away from your lips, and he looks down at them before his thumb slips right between your teeth.

You suck on his skin almost immediately while your cunt squeezes around his cock. “You’re such a freak,” he mutters out loud, and he didn’t even realize he really said it because he’s just thinking of it. His other hand grips your waist to keep you pinned down against the mattress. His comment makes you lick his thumb while you stare right back at him, and he tries to ignore what you’re doing, but he thrusts deeper into you anyway. “Don’t bring her up again,” he said because he’s getting sick of you bringing her up multiple times, and he wants your attention on him instead of Cath. He isn’t actually angry, but he gets annoyed by how stubborn you act when the only thing on his mind is how good your wet pussy feels around his shaft.

You make a soft noise against his finger before you bite down gently on his skin. Pope breathes fast through his nose, and his fingers dig into your waist. “Y-you... you feel good,” he grunts out with frustration because he didn’t even want to say it. It’s an unexpectedly sweet compliment, but it makes you gasp right before he takes his thumb out of your mouth. “Nngh- do I?” you tease him after his hips push deep into you. He doesn’t answer you, but he hides his face deep in the valley of your chest before he scrapes his teeth over your skin, and he sucks on it. His free hand squeezes your breast right after. You honestly find him adorable. “Haah- Pope,” you gasp out when your hands slide up his spine to caress his sweaty back.

The way he’s thrusting inside you made you shut your eyes. Your fingernails dig into his skin to scratch it whenever his cock reaches a deep spot inside your cunt. Your toes curl from the pleasure building up in your lower stomach. “Hah- I-I’m getting so close,” you whisper after you feel his cock throb right against your walls. “Y-you are?” he breathes out in surprise, but he finishes quicker than you when he suddenly cums inside you. It has really been months since his last time, and he doesn’t touch himself, so it made him fill your cunt a lot. He keeps thrusting deep inside you, but he slows down until his hips stop moving for a few moments before he pushes back in. You feel completely full from his size, and all the release he gave inside you makes his cock slide into your cunt much easier.

You realize he is crying, and you feel your chest grow wet from his tears. Andrew is completely overwhelmed, and it shows with the way his hand keeps holding your breast, but his other hand can’t stay in one place. “Mmm- it’s okay, Pope,” you soothe him softly when your fingers play with his hair to make him look up at you. You kiss the top of his head before you guide his face into the crook of your neck, and the room feels hot tonight, so the sweat from both of you makes your skin stick against his chest. You search for his hands on the mattress to intertwine your fingers, but he ignores your attempt, and instead, he grabs your wrists to pin your arms above your head instead. The squelching sound of his cock sliding inside your cunt is all you can hear right now, besides the squeaking of the bed.

“God- Pope, I-I’m getting really close,” you gasp out after his hips thrust to bury himself deep inside you again. He bites down on your neck before he lifts his upper body to hover over you, since he refuses to hide his face so he can look directly at you. The sound of his pelvis slamming against your thighs echoes across the bedroom while overwhelming pleasure builds in your lower stomach. Andrew watches the way your eyes roll back, and it shows exactly how close you are to finishing. He thinks about how you look so fucking good from taking everything he can give to you, and he just wants to watch you cum for him. Your chest heaves when you try to catch your breath, and he notices the exact moment you part your lips before you bite down on your bottom lip.

He breathes out roughly after he stares at your breasts bouncing with every single thrust. “Fuc- right there- ahh,” you whine out when he moves his hips to fuck you harder. You finally cum around his cock after a few more deep thrusts, and your toes curl while your head thrashes from side to side against the bedsheets. You feel way too exposed with the way he looks right at you, so you try to yank your hands away to cover your face, but he doesn’t let you, and he keeps your wrists pinned down. You can’t even think straight from how good he feels inside you, and it just made you turn your head to the side to hide your face since your eyes keep rolling back. “Don’t do that,” he grunts out before he pushes deeper right through your orgasm.

You feel completely overwhelmed by his cock filling you up entirely. “Mmmf- it’s- ahhn,” you sob out, but he starts to slow down until he god satisfied enough to can stop. He doesn’t slide his cock out of your cunt right away, and squeaking from the mattress stops completely, so you only hear his loud breathing. He gets up on his knees between your legs, and his hands grip your thighs. All the sweat you made from this makes your skin stick to the bedsheets, and it feels cold against your back. You stare up at his face while you try to guess what he thinks about. “What are you looking at?” you ask him when he watches you without saying anything. “Nothing,” he mumbles before he slides completely out of you.

You could feel the cold air the moment he put some distance between you. He looks down at your legs to watch his cum drip onto the bedsheets, and you just stare at it because you’re too tired to comment on it. The silence between you is too loud for his liking, so he decided to stand to look around for something to help you clean. You cross your arms over your chest since you feel too exposed wearing nothing, and you watch him search the corners of the room for a minute before you speak again. “What are you looking for?” you ask him before you sit up on the mattress. He licks his lips, and he turns his head to look at you. “Where are your towels?” he asks you quietly while he waits for your answer. You point toward the bathroom, and you nod your head so he knows exactly where to go. You listen to the wooden drawers being opened from down the hall before he walks back into the bedroom a minute later with a fresh towel and the first aid kit.

Andrew brought it towards you, and the bed springs squeak loudly when he sits down on the edge of the mattress. He hands both items over to you because touching you to clean the cum between your legs and the blood from your wound feels way too intimate for him to handle, but he’s not an asshole just to leave you here all alone after just having sex with you. “I got these for you to use,” he tells you softly while he looks at you. You take the things from his hands, and you notice how tense his shoulders look. He clears his throat when you don’t answer him, like a simple thank you or whatever is on your mind. Not that he wants a loud room because he hates loud spaces and people who can’t leave him alone, but being the one who initiates something as simple as giving is making him want a two-way conversation.

“To clean yourself up and to treat the wound,” he explains a few seconds later, because he wants you to understand why he brought them. He looks down at the wound on your skin, and his expression changes because he clearly regrets the way he hurt you earlier. You grab the first aid kit from him, and you drop a towel across your lap. You decide not to wipe the mess between your legs yet, so you just let the fabric cover your thighs instead. You unlock the plastic box to look for something to clean the dried blood that dripped on your skin. He made the cut bleed all over twice earlier when he got angry, so now you’re doing the cleaning work because of his shit, but you stop searching to look back up at him.

“You should lick the blood out since you made it bleed,” you tell him while you point right at the wound, and look completely thrown off by your words. He thinks you’re out of your mind even to suggest that after you provoked him and literally killed his brother, but doesn’t feel scared of you, though, and he actually likes how unhinged you act around him. Andrew stares at you with an expression you can’t figure out what he’s thinking until his jaw twitches. “Sorry,” he mutters out, but he looks like it physically hurts him to apologize. “If you actually mean it, then you should buy me the morning-after pill,” you tell him after you pull an alcohol wipe from the kit. He just blinks at you when he realizes he completely forgot that he fucked you raw without a condom. “What?” he asks you while he tilts his head at you. You rip the small package open to take out the wipe.

“A pill,” you state clearly, so he understands. He watches your movements closely since he looks completely lost. “Do you want me to get knocked up?” you question him as you stare directly at his face. He watches your hands move over the wound, but he thinks getting you pregnant is exactly what he wants because a baby would permanently tie you to him. You already know way too much about his family, so getting you pregnant is the best way to stop Smurf from killing you later. He keeps those thoughts to himself and definitely won’t ever admit them to you, though. “No,” he answers you quietly while he shakes his head. “I’ll take care of it,” he mumbles out as if he’s even ready to buy them right now. You stare at his back as he'd better take care of it, or else you’ll take care of him permanently. But if he actually gets it done, he should know you can really take good care of him, too.

⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀ twenty-twenty-six © addie / musingsofheaven.

⠀⠀⠀

You were able to recognize a few staples, like the church your family dragged you to every Sunday, the hospital you and all your siblings were born in, a few restaurants, and the local dive bar. You laughed to yourself as you remembered trying (and failing) to sneak into the bar as a 16 year old, never having actually been inside since you left home later that year. For old time’s sake, you parked and headed inside. 

It was exactly like every other dive bar you had been in - dingy and dark, the smell of stale beer permeating the air. Yet there was something so cozy and homey about it. You parked yourself at the mostly empty bar and ordered a gin and tonic, scanning the bar patrons as you waited for your drink. 

It was your typical crowd for a place like this, old white men who would probably call you “toots” and middle aged women who probably reeked of Marlboros, nothing too out of the ordinary, until you noticed the older man a few empty barstools away from you. He had aged for sure, but you could still recognize his friendly eyes and soft curls. 

Jack Abbot - your dad’s old military buddy and best friend. Your family was always close to his growing up. Your mind was flooded with memories of when he’d pick you guys up from school if your parents couldn’t, or when he’d let you climb the tree in front of his house until one of you inevitably fell and hurt yourselves, his experience as an army medic coming in handy. He was one of the people you had missed the most after fleeing Pittsburgh, and while you knew he’d definitely be at the wedding, it was still comforting to run into him here. 

“Uncle Jack!” you called across the stools. When he turned to face you, confusion was etched on his face, but only for a brief second as it dawned on him. He said your name, his hazel eyes lighting up. 

“No fucking way! Dave said you were coming, but I wouldn’t have expected to see you until Saturday! Come here, you!” His hug felt warm and cozy, much unlike the one you shared with your parents, and you felt your body melt into his. He smelled musky and a touch woodsy, a welcome smell compared to the stale beer odor of the bar, and it sent a vibration through your body you couldn’t quite explain. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re a grown woman now! How long has it been, ten years? What are you drinking?” he directed his attention to the bartender, who had appeared in front of you with your drink. “Put that on my tab. Whatever she wants, I’ll pay for it.”

–

Conversation came naturally between you and Jack, who had insisted you drop the Uncle now that you weren’t a kid anymore. You told him about what you had been up to since you were last in Pittsburgh, while he told you about working in the ER at the hospital you had passed on your way here. Four rounds of drinks and a shared order of nachos later, the conversation had shifted. You were devastated to learn his wife had passed away in the time you had been gone, and annoyed that your father never told you. 

“He wanted to, honey, but you weren’t exactly on speaking terms.”

Which raised the question you had dreaded being asked. “What happened between you two, anyway?”

You almost didn’t answer, knowing Jack would be biased. But the increasing amount of alcohol in your blood spoke for you, recounting the eldest child syndrome you faced at home - the constant pressure to be an example, to be a parent to your younger siblings, to never once step out of line, lest you feel your father’s wrath. You told Jack that the suffocation became too much, and you took the first chance you could to leave. 

When tears began to well up in your eyes, Jack reached his hand across the bar, holding yours. Similar to when Jack hugged you, your body once again vibrated. He looked you directly in your eyes, and you couldn’t help but get lost in his. 

“Look, honey, I’m not gonna pretend I understand the father-daughter dynamic between you. I’m sorry that happened to you, and I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t talk to anyone about it, but trust me when I say that your dad loves you more than anything. And he’s incredibly happy you’re here. I am too.”

You missed his hand the second he let yours go, and you were quick to say yes when he asked if you needed another drink, eager to push away the strange feeling that was developing in your bones. Jack felt like home, or at least the way home should have felt. Every worry you had coming into this weekend faded away as you talked. But buried amongst the comforting feeling he provided you was another feeling. You couldn’t explain what it was, but it left you feeling hot, like an electrical current was running through your veins. 

The feeling finally began to make sense when the conversation shifted once again, Jack asking when it would be your turn to walk down the aisle. When you mentioned your recent bad luck with men, his response caused another vibration in your body, this one occurring right between your thighs. 

“Well, if a woman as beautiful as you can’t find a date, there’s no hope for any of us!”

Again, the alcohol spoke for you. “Me? What about you? You’re seriously gonna tell me another woman hasn’t already tied down this silverfox?”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me, honey!” Jack said with a laugh. 

The conversation shifted once again, but you had stopped paying attention. You studied Jack, focusing on his hands first, imagining them wrapped around your throat as his lips met yours, squeezing ever so slightly to elicit a moan out of you. You then thought about those hands squeezing your thighs as he held them open. The same imagery played in your mind as you shifted your focus to his lips, imagining them kissing your spread thighs before moving to your clit. 

“You know, we should really get you home. Dave’s not gonna be too happy about you coming home so late.” Jack’s words interrupted your dirty thoughts, your arousal fading at the mention of your dad. You reached for your car keys, but Jack’s hand reached for yours to stop you. 

“What kind of man would I be if I let you drive home after all the drinks you had?” His hand remained on yours, the familiar vibration returning once more. 

“But I’m not even that drunk. And what about my car?”

“We’ll get it in the morning. Better safe than sorry, right? Jack said with a wink. 

—

The softness of Jack’s passenger seat, combined with your exhaustion from the 6-hour drive, made you want to fall asleep, but you fought the urge, eager to enjoy these last few minutes together. You made yourself comfortable, removing your jacket and leaning back in the seat, the action causing your skirt to ride up slightly on your thighs. You smiled to yourself as you caught Jack glancing over more than once. 

Jack cleared his throat. “So, you ready for Saturday?”

“Yup! Got my dress ready to go. Butter yellow. Not a color I’d normally wear…but I still look hot in it.” You looked over, eager to see if Jack would take the bait. 

“Oh, I bet you do.” He replied instantly, meeting your eyes for a brief second. 

You wondered how likely a car accident would be if you were to just lean over and suck Jack’s dick while he drove, when he turned down your street, pulling up in front of your house.

“Well, it was really great catching up with you, honey. You've grown into a beautiful, successful young woman, and I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

You thanked him for a lovely evening and leaned in for a hug. As you pulled away from his embrace, you turned your head and quickly kissed him. It only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like time had stood still. You had barely pulled your lips from his before they were together again, Jack having pulled you in by your cheeks. As Jack deepened the kiss, you climbed into the center console to get closer to him, not at all fazed by the cup holder shaped bruises you knew you’d have on your knees in the morning.  

Without breaking the kiss, Jack leaned the driver’s seat as far back as it could go, allowing you to climb into his lap fully. With the new position, Jack wasted no time slipping his hand up your skirt and into your panties, rubbing hard, fast circles on your clit. The rough pads of his fingers were ecstasy, and you shamelessly moaned into Jack's mouth as his fingers moved down, easily sliding into you.

It felt so wrong. Your dad’s best friend kissing you, touching you, feet away from your front door. But it felt so right. All night, Jack had made you feel better than any other man your age had, and you needed more. You reached between your bodies to unbuckle his belt, but the action seemingly snapped Jack out of his trance as he spoke your name. 

“What are we doing?” He continued to kiss you, but stopped between each kiss. “We shouldn’t be doing this.” “Fuck, honey, we can’t.” He gave you one final kiss before creating space between you, holding you in place at your hips. 

“What’s wrong, Jack?” you asked breathlessly.

“You know exactly what’s wrong. We can’t do this. You’re my best friend’s daughter.”

“I’m not a child, Jack. It’s been years since you’ve seen me.”

“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that you’re an adult. It doesn’t matter how badly we both want this. It doesn’t change who you are to me. What would your father think if he knew?”

“I don’t give a fuck what he thinks.”

“Well I do. I’m sorry, honey. I really am. I want you more than anything right now, but i just ca-”

You didn’t let him finish your sentence before you opened the driver’s side door and climbed out of the car. Jack called your name, but you ignored him, marching up to your front door, tears welling up in your eyes as Jack watched you leave. 

–

You tried your hardest not to think about Jack the next day as your family did their final prepartions for the wedding, but to no avail. 

His lips, the feeling of his fingers inside of you, the way he eased your mind and made you feel cared for. You had always cared about Jack, but this was something stronger, something you had never felt before. Jack occupied every inch of your brain, even more so when your sister dropped you off at your car the next morning, exactly where you left it before you walked into that damn bar and sealed your fate.

Jack was equally as tormented by you, having driven past the bar earlier in the day to see if you had gotten your car yet. He strongly considered picking you up so you could come get it. It was the least he could do after making you abandon it in exchange for your safety. But Jack couldn’t face you. Not when he couldn’t stop thinking about how wet you were on his fingers, or how pretty your moans sounded. He feared that the moment you got in his car again, he’d lose all self control with you. He couldn't believe the hold you had on him. You of all people. His best friend's daughter. He watched you grow up and, of course, never once thought about you this way. There was something about this older version of you that woke something up within him.

Neither one of you knew how you were going to survive this wedding. 

—

By the time you were lined up in procession order the following afternoon, arm linked with your paired groomsman, you had successfully gotten Jack out of your mind. It helped that your groomsman was very attractive, chatting you up while you waited, and you started considering some car fun with him instead after the reception. 

But your body betrayed you the moment you stepped onto the aisle, your eyes immediately finding Jack’s and smiling at him. He smiled back, and you were right back to that night at the bar. You were still hurt over how the other night went, but you couldn’t ignore the way he made you feel, and you needed him to know. 

As the officiant rambled on about love, Jack couldn’t keep his eyes off you, beautiful as could be in that butter yellow dress. He was reminded of the only other time he was this floored by a woman’s beauty - his own wedding day. You reminded him of his late wife. The same ambition, the same spunky attitude, with a softness reserved for him. He loved it in you, and even with the voice in his head screaming at him to stay away from you, he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. He needed to get you alone and tell you how he felt.

—

Getting you alone proved difficult. After the ceremony, the wedding guests were herded into the house for cocktail hour, while you were held hostage outside for wedding photos. Though Jack initially thought it was a blessing having you at the same table as him, especially when you opted to sit next to him, giving him a chance to lean over and whisper in your ear that he needed to talk to you. 

The good luck was quickly snuffed out as your dad took the seat immediately next to Jack. From then on, you never got a moment alone, between your dad rarely leaving Jack’s side, and your family members constantly coming up to you, gushing about how much you’ve grown since they last saw you. Your interactions became strictly limited to under the table, as you brushed your leg against his throughout the night, while Jack periodically reached down and squeezed your inner thigh. Each squeeze leaving you more and more desperate for him.

After dinner, once the dance floor had finally opened up and people seemed to be leaving you both alone, Jack motioned for you to follow him up to the bar. You approached the bar first, ordering your drink as Jack approached behind you.

You waited for the bartender to turn his back towards you and quickly glanced behind you to make sure no one was around before you whispered to Jack. “Meet me inside, two minutes, top of the stairs.” He nodded, and you left without another word as the bartender placed your drink in front of you. 

You had no idea what you were even going to say to Jack, but it didn’t seem like it mattered as Jack grabbed you when he ascended the stairs, pulling you in for a rough and desperate kiss. Without breaking the kiss, you led him towards the first bedroom you could find, locking the door behind you. You finally broke the kiss, as Jack’s hands found your dress zipper, pulling it down. 

“So, no talking then, just straight to it?” You said with a laugh as you turned back to him, loosening his tie and working his shirt buttons open.

“Okay then, let's talk. I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re the first woman I’ve shared a genuine connection with since my wife died. I know I said I cared, but fuck it. I want you, and I don’t care what your dad or anyone else out there thinks.” Jack’s voice was frantic as he slid his pants down, stepping out of them.

“I want you too, Jack. I haven’t felt this way for someone in a long time.” You finished undressing, discarding your bra and panties on the bedroom floor.

“God, you’re so beautiful.” Jack took in your naked body for a moment before moving away from you to sit on the edge of the bed, removing his prosthetic leg and setting it aside. You watched as he did so, your mind flooding with childhood memories of Jack telling you ridiculous stories of how he had lost his leg. Your favorite was when he told you your dad had gotten into a fight with Bigfoot, and Jack had to jump in and defend him. The memory made you feel warm inside, mixing well with the arousal that had already been coursing through you, further solidifying how much you needed Jack.

 “Hope I didn’t just kill the mood.” Jack said with a laugh as he noticed you watching him.

“Never.” You climbed into his lap and kissed him, the moment reminiscent of that night in his car. You once again slid your hand between your two bodies, finally able to do what you wanted as your hands wrapped around his leaking cock. You repositioned yourself, ready to lower yourself onto him when he stopped you. 

“Wanna taste you first.” he mumbled against your lips. “Sit on my face.”

You moved back, allowing Jack to reposition himself on the bed before you straddled him, moving your way up so that you were hovering above his face, hesitating for a moment. 

“Don’t be shy, baby. Wanna taste every inch of this perfect pussy.” Jack’s words and breath against your skin gave you the confidence you needed to fully lower yourself onto his mouth, your body immediately set ablaze. Jack wrapped his arms around your thighs, holding you in place as he licked and sucked you. You held the headboard with one hand while your other hand covered your mouth in an attempt to muffle the moans pouring out of you as you grinded against his mouth. Jack’s own moans against your pussy made your whole body vibrate, and it only took a few minutes before you orgasmed on his face. 

Your thighs were shaking as you lifted from Jack’s face, repositioning yourself so that you could kiss his glistening wet lips. 

“God baby, you’re incredible! Now, show me how bad you want me.”

You repositioned yourself once again, finally sliding down on his cock. The stretch felt incredible, and you couldn’t help the loud moan that escaped you. 

“Gotta quiet down, baby. What if someone comes inside, don’t want them to hear us, do you?”

“Nuh uh.” you sighed as you began to rock your hips desperately, knowing a second orgasm would hit you in no time.

“Especially your dad. Fuck baby, what would your dad say if he knew how much of a naughty girl you were being, riding his best friend’s cock, in his bed, no less.”

You hadn’t really paid much mind to the room you had stumbled into; you just needed the first room you could find, but as you glanced around the room, taking in your surroundings, you realized he was right. You had picked the worst possible place to be caught. 

“I already knew you were a naughty girl when you wanted to fuck me in my car in front of your house, but I didn’t know you were this naughty, baby.” Jack’s hands had gripped your hips now, guiding your movements as they got sloppier. “And now you’re all mine, right, baby? You’re my naughty girl?”

“Mhmm”

“Use your words, baby.”

“I’m your naughty girl, Jack! I'm yours...all yours…FUCK!” You cried out as another orgasm washed over you, this one more powerful than the last. Jack pulled you flush to his chest, letting you ride out your orgasm as he began to thrust upward into you, his own orgasm hitting him moments later as he spilled into you with a groan of your name. Your lips found his, and stayed connected while you both came down from your orgasms. 

–

You got yourselves dressed, making a valiant, though failed, effort to restore your hair and makeup to how it looked before you found Jack. You prayed that the wedding guests were too drunk at this point to notice your disheveled, post sex state and exited the room.

Agreeing that you would stagger your exits from the house to not draw suspicion, you approached the backyard door, Jack stopping you before doing so. 

“Could I buy you breakfast before you head back home tomorrow? Take you on a proper date?” Jack asked shyly, as if he hadn’t just given you the best sex of your life. You nodded, stealing one last kiss before returning to the party.

You spent the remainder of the night on cloud nine, drinking, dancing, and already planning out your next trip to Pittsburgh.

The bar, where she finally let go and danced with you beneath blue and white lights. Then your place, after, where she peppered you with lazy kisses and fell asleep with her nose squished into your cheek.

Trinity usually trusts the voice. The dubious cynic who's built a settlement at the back of her brain, the one who reduces people to their simplest parts, because that's when they're at their easiest to read.

A patient lying about the amount of supplements they've been taking. A child who insists her father doesn't touch her in ways he shouldn't.

A senior resident helping himself to his patients' benzos.

As Trinity's fingers curl around the wooden picture frame, her heart suspended in abject terror, that voice finds its way home.

Most of the time, it's herself speaking. But every so often, in those moments of intense, crippling self-doubt, it's the very same raw, humiliating intonation as the man in the photo.

Stupid or arrogant, you need to realize that you are a beginner, which means that your job is to shut up, listen, and learn, because so far today? The only thing you have been successful at is proving repeatedly that you know nothing.

You know nothing.

Instinct screams at Trinity to hurl the frame across your apartment, the walls of which seem to be inching closer together with each passing second.

"Trin?"

Your clear tone yanks Trinity back to reality. She blinks once, twice, then looks to you.

"Your brother is Frank Langdon," she phrases it as a statement, but not one she's particularly pleased about.

Your eyes, slowly blinking in confusion, flick to the photograph, then back up to Trinity.

"You do know him," you conclude, plucking the frame from her hands and setting it on the table behind you.

Her nose twitches almost imperceptibly. You're not sure at all what to think of this newly unlocked version of the girl who slept beside you the night prior. Glitching out like a video game.

The silence is actually quite deafening, so you try cracking it from a different angle.

"Was he a dick to you?" You guess in that tutting, excusing way that sisters do. "He's just got a sensitive ego, that's all. Don't take it personally."

Trinity's jaw locks, her cheeks tightening with something you can only read as disdain.

Beneath her ribs, her heart tolls in slow, dizzying reverberations.

Fuck.

Trinity closes her eyes, disappearing without really leaving. Her throat bobs in a forced swallow, schooling her features into something she prays resembles neutrality.

"He was there on my first day," she says, fluttering her gaze open into yours. "The day of PittFest. I haven't worked with him since."

"Oh, my god, you were in the ER during PittFest?" You fiddle with the bottom hem of your t-shirt, dragging it between your thumb and forefinger. "That was your first day?"

She nods.

Your lips twist adorably in the side of your mouth.

It's a whack in the sternum when Trinity realizes she's seen your brother make the same exact expression.

"So, okay, what's your beef with him, then?" You ask after a beat, reaching for her hand.

She jerks back before you can touch her.

You pause, then take a step back to give her space. "Trin?"

Her seagreen eyes flick up to the ceiling, hands bracing the back of her neck.

"I have to get to work," she announces when she finally deigns to meet your gaze.

You frown. Confusion swirls around your head, trying like a failed private investigator to put the pieces together, but you come up short. You ultimately decide not to push it. Not right now.

She grabs her clothes from the night before off the counter behind her, then jerks her chin to the bathroom.

"You can wear those out," you nod warily to the sweatpants and hoodie Trinity borrowed to sleep in. They hang off her frame, probably one size too big, endearingly loose nevertheless.

A quiet reminder of how warm she'd been this morning.

Trinity's eyes meet yours blankly, as though she's struggling to compute the kindness you're trying so desperately to bestow.

As if you didn't buy her a drink last night.

As if you didn't give her your jacket.

As if you didn't ask her to stay, circling the pads of your fingers over her hipbone until she fell asleep.

"It's cold outside," you say by way of insistence, quieter now. Hurt, but unsure exactly why.

Trinity's lips purse and she gives a reluctant nod.

An impenetrable rampart has materialized between her and you. She can't bust it down to trace her fingers along your hairline or cradle your neck as she kisses you goodbye. She can't bring herself to promise that she'll call.

"Okay, thanks," is all she can say, clutching her folded clothes to her chest.

Her free hand reaches out, poised to touch you, then veers back at an awkward angle and into the pocket of her hoodie.

Your hoodie, that smells like vanilla and jasmine and clean linen sheets.

Last night had been nothing more than soft kisses and shared warmth, yet it might have been the most intimate interaction she's ever known.

But she can't hold that feeling and this new, unnerving one, at the same time.

When she disappears into the hall, you blink at the closed door with stinging sinuses.

Trinity schlepps into her apartment, and she can’t shake the lingering guilt that gnaws a hole through her stomach.

She hates leaving you like that.

With that abandoned puppy look on your face. The softly stricken downward tug of your lips, your eyes searching hers for answers she can't give.

Fuck. The realization hits her once again. Langdon.

Fuck Langdon.

His name itself is a trip wire, sending Trinity down crashing uncontrollably into self-doubt.

Fuck. Everything about last night was so warm and exhilarating and cozy and perfect. She could actually see this going somewhere.

She actually felt… wanted, instead of a way to pass the time.

In the course of twelve hours, you managed to worm your way into the dusty, forgotten basement of her heart.

You even started to clear some of the cobwebs.

Trinity finds Whitaker propped up against the kitchen sink when she locks the door behind her. One palm supports his weight while the other scrolls through his phone.

When he tears his gaze away from the screen, his eyes fix on the folded clothes in the crook of her arm.

"And just where were you last night, young lady?" He shoves his phone in his pocket, suddenly more interested in Trinity's debaucherous exploits than anything on the screen.

"Does this look like the face of someone who wants to talk about it," she says flatly.

"Hasn't stopped me from asking before," Whitaker shrugs. Only took two months of living together to learn how to bob and weave against her bad moods.

It's fucking irritating, being known like that.

She hangs her keys on the door.

"Whose clothes are those?" Whitaker's eyes follow her as she drags her feet into the kitchen against their will.

"No one's," her voice is edged with warning. She rummages through the open box of K-Cups on the counter, then jabs at the power button on the Keurig.

"Well, they're not Garcia's, because you didn't stay there last night."

She props herself up by her palms against the counter, then angles her head to the side. "How do you know—"

"You think I don't check your location when you don't come home at night?" Whitaker crosses his arms over his chest.

The concrete wall around Trinity's heart cracks the tiniest bit.

"You check my location?" she asks, her lips jutting out a little.

"Well, yeah," he shrugs, like caring for her is the easiest thing in the world.

They're locked in a staring contest for a few moments, Dennis arching a brow as he waits expectantly for her to open up.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to tell someone.

The Keurig sputters alive, so Trinity slams the K-Cup into its slot. If she's going spill her heart out all over the linoleum, she needs coffee first.

In the next ten minutes, Trinity relays the whole story to him. She ends up with her back against the arm of the couch, legs extended across the cushions and coffee in hand.

"Holy shit," is Huckleberry's intital reaction once Trinity finishes. He sits on the opposite side of the sofa in a mirrored position, his legs slotted between hers and the back cushion.

"That about sums it up," Trinity agrees, using her free hand to flip the hood of your sweatshirt up over her head. Your lingering scent envelops her in a warm embrace she knows she doesn't deserve.

"What did you say?" He asks. "That must have been…"

"Horrifying? Yeah, it was."

"I was gonna say 'difficult', but, sure."

She sips at her coffee, peering at Whitaker over the rim of the cup. He's so patient, giving her the space to process her emotions in real time. It's unnerving, especially with the knowledge that he doesn't have some kind of hidden agenda.

Trinity isn't used to that.

"I kinda…" she sighs, leaning in to the embarrassment. Might as well, right? "I kinda freaked out. Clammed up. Told her I had to get to work."

"But we're off today," says Huckleberry in the most Huckleberry way possible.

"That is correct."

"What are you gonna do?"

"Not a fucking clue."

"Shit," Dennis taps his fingers on the back of the couch, his expression twisting pensively. "Is it really that big of a deal? I mean, Langdon's not even been at work since PittFest."

Her jaw tenses. "What happens when she finds out I was the one who…" Trinity waves her free hand fruitlessly.

She doesn't regret telling Robby about the librium, or the lorazepam. Langdon could have, and might have already, hurt somebody. Even himself. But the people who've caught on have avoided her like she's radioactive for the past two months.

She's been busting her ass to prove herself to everyone, even without Langdon around to belittle her every decision.

"Do you think she'll even care?" Dennis asks.

"He's her brother. She has pictures of him in her apartment."

"And?"

"And?" Trinity repeats impatiently. "It's too messy! I don't have room in my life for messy!"

Huckleberry purses his lips.

"What?" she asks, already knowing she's not going to like the answer.

He gestures to her. "You're still wearing her clothes."

"Yeah, so what?"

Dennis shrugs, then swings his legs off the couch. He squeezes Trinity's sock-covered toes as he stands up, comfort-in-passing. "Seems like you already made room."

"What the fuck does that mean?" She scoffs, rolling her eyes at his simplistic, platitude-adjacent bullshit. "You've been watching too many Oprah reruns."

"I think you're scared, Santos," he shoots back. Brusque isn't exactly Huckleberry's forte. Trinity could laugh out of discomfort.

"What the hell do I have to be scared of?" She retorts. "I don't need her, especially not when she'll be a constant reminder of… of…"

"Someone you reported for committing a crime?" Dennis presses his lips into a flat line. "You didn't do anything wrong!"

"I know that!" Trinity exclaims, setting her coffee down on the side table. She crosses her arms over her chest indignantly. "But what happens when she realizes it was me, and she hates me for it?"

"Why do you assume she's going to hate you for it?" Dennis's palms open up. "You're not even giving her the chance to react, you're just deciding that she'll hate you."

Because people always hate me when they get too close, Trinity thinks.

"Fuck off, Huckleberry," she says halfheartedly, her jaw tightening. "I can deal with it myself, actually. Anyway, don't you have a widow to comfort?"

The humorless laugh that ekes out of her roommate is the kind where someone acts exactly the way you expect them to. He nods, then disappears into his room. 

Trinity drags her hand over her face. "Shit," she mutters, bringing her knees up to her chest.

She was right. She didn't like his answer.

Later, when she's climbing into bed at nearly eleven p.m, her phone vibrates. After spending the entire day grinding her teeth and wandering aimlessly around the empty apartment (because Huckleberry did, in fact, bumble off to his widow), the tug back into reality isn't particularly welcome.

She frowns when she sees the notification from you.

Trin, I spent my entire shift thinking about you. I know that's earnest and people don't really do that anymore, so I hope that isn't weird for you to read.

Trinity's heart buckles, and she tugs the hoodie string a little tighter, shielding her face.

A second text buzzes under the first.

But I also hope I hear from you soon. Sweet dreams.

The words ripple down Trinity's spine, and she stares at them for a while. Reads them, then rereads them.

She types up a reply, then immediately erases it.

I had a great time last night, but I don't think this will work out.

Gnawing on her lip, she tries again.

I'm the one who got your brother—

She abandons that one immediately.

You might be the freshest breath of air I've ever inhaled, but I'm terrified my lungs will collapse.

That gets deleted, too.

By midnight, Trinity slams her phone face-down on her nightstand, elicits a string of curse words, then forces herself to try and fall asleep.

Two days pass, and Trinity still hasn't responded.

She’s been crabby at work. More than normal, which has even Javadi concerned.

“Are you alright?” Victoria asks around two p.m, during a rare lull at the Central nurses’ station.

Their shift’s more than halfway over, but Trinity’s been lugging her feet behind her the entire day.

She drags her hands over her face, then forces a stretched, saccharine smile.

“I’m perfect,” she buckles, as always, under the weight of someone showing even a modicum of concern for her. “Don’t I look perfect, Crash?”

Javadi rolls her eyes at the nickname. “Not really,” she points out, her perceptive brown eyes flicking over Trinity’s figure. “You’ve been kind of sluggish, like, all day.”

“Who’s been sluggish?” Mateo sidles up beside Victoria, presenting a tablet to her. “Weird puncture wound in Triage," he explains. "McKay told me to pull you in on it.”

Javadi, to her credit, doesn’t immediately burst into a fit of girlish giggles like she has been each time Mateo so much as looks at her.

It's a unique kind of torture, watching two people blink at each other with swirling, cartoon hearts in their eyes. She nearly gags.

But with the spotlight now shifted off of Trinity, she takes the opportunity to flee the conversation.

Almost as soon as she pivots, a finger points at her from across the hub.

“Santos!” Robby beckons from the opposite end of the counter. “Incoming rig. You’re with me.”

“You got it, boss,” she adjusts her stethoscope, grateful for the distraction.

She bounds around the countertops.

Maybe it’ll be something gruesome, like a struck pedestrian or a GSW, Trinity thinks as she flanks Robby. That guy who got trapped under the refrigerator last week? Man, that was a great save.

She's surprised to find it's pouring down rain when they emerge out into the ambulance bay. It falls in sheets, slapping against the concrete and rattling the top of the rig as it comes to a halt beneath the canopy.

"What do we got?" Robby grunts as he hauls open the back.

“Twenty-five-year-old female, took a fall off an eight-foot ladder," the paramedic explains as Robby and Trinity help lower the gurney. "Struck her head on the edge of a picnic table. Laceration to the right temple, appears superficial. Brief LOC per bystanders. Complaining of dizziness and nausea en route.”

Trinity falters when she realizes it's you.

Propped awkwardly on the gurney, pressing bloody gauze to your head and completely soaked from the rain.

You squint, then blink hard.

"Trinity?" Even the aching in your head and black spots peppering your vision can't keep you from recognizing her.

"You know our Dr. Santos?" an imposingly tall, bearded doctor asks as he takes over the gurney from the paramedic. Something like amusement tugs at his voice.

He and Trinity roll you inside, the fluorescents bleaching your face in an instant. You groan, breathing heavily.

"Can you tell me your name, hon?" A nurse appears in front of you, trailing along the gurney as it rolls towards an empty space.

You rattle it off in a wobbly rasp.

A look passes between the staff at your last name, quick but not subtle. They wheel you behind a curtain, help you into a bed. Someone pricks your arm with a needle to start an IV.

"You're Langdon's little sister!" The nurse trills in affectionate recognition.

Through the haze, you can see the questions practically dancing on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn't ask.

You can't much bring yourself to care, too concerned with your heart pounding in your ears.

 “Frank’s your brother?” the older, male doctor clears his throat, glancing toward Trinity.

“Mmhm, yeah," you slur as the room around you tilts.

The nurse guides your hand to lower the gauze. The metallic smell of blood hits all at once.

Your stomach roils. You gag. “I’m gonna—”

Trinity anticipates it, quick to snap a plastic basin under your chin before you retch.

“Four of Zofran,” she instructs before inching closer to inspect the cut.

Suddenly all her training seeps through every pore, her mind racing at the sight of the laceration on your head. At the sight of you, here, a reminder that you weren't just a dream.

She blinks, forcing herself to focus on the things she knows to be true. A coping mechanism from her therapist.

"Santos," Robby's grunt from behind her presses her to vocalize her assessment.

"Um, no active bleeding, approximately three inches in length," she begins, her fingers brushing back your wet hair gently, and at the same time, the vomiting subsides.

The latex of her glove catches on the dried blood.

"Pupils?" the male doctor asks.

She produces a penlight at that, shining it in your eyes without warning. You flinch.

"Reactive," she swallows the stone in her throat.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Robby says your name from where he stands behind Santos, stance wide and arms crossed over his chest.

"I was cleaning the fairy lights at work," an uncomfortable frown stretches taut over your lips. "The rain came out of nowhere, and I slipped. Hit my head on…" you trail off, then close your eyes tightly as you strain to remember. "One of the picnic tables, I think."

The older doctor, presumably Trinity's boss, sneaks around her to examine the cut himself. He nods in agreement. "It doesn't look too bad," is Robby's conclusion, flicking his gaze from your injury to Trinity once again. "Dermabond for the wound, then get her in line for CT."

"I need a CT scan?" Your voice teeters then, abandoning your pride and your pain to seek comfort in Trinity's eyes.

Her gloved hand shoots to your forearm in an instant, squeezing.

"Just to make sure you don't have a concussion," She says gently. Her touch launches rockets through your veins, but somehow calms your nerves all the same.

How is it possible to feel so many conflicting things around one person?

The bearded doctor slides back around Trinity, then offers you a reassuring smile from the foot of your bed. "You're gonna be just fine, okay? Is Dr. Santos here a friend of yours?"

You smile weakly, unable to be impolite even in your current state. Whatever drug was injected to your IV starts to quell the nausea.

"Something like that," you murmur.

The doctor's eyes crinkle, catching Trinity's in a way you can't quite grasp. Fondness for her, definitely, but a glint of something more tense underneath. The kind of shared look passed between two people who share something they've agreed not to discuss.

"You're in good hands," he hums, then raps his knucles on the end of your bed before disappearing.

Trinity suddenly feels exposed to the elements, in North 5 of all places.

She realizes she's still holding your arm, so she releases it.

"A-are you in any pain?" She swallows once Robby's gone, her heart barraging against her ribs.

"Just a headache," you say softly, looking away. You think of the blank space below your texts and feel your bottom lip flip out on instinct.

"I'll get the Dermabond," the nurse on your other side announces, the curtain sliding behind her.

Trinity rolls a stool up beside your bed, then lowers herself onto it.

"No more nausea?" She asks. You shake your head, still wearing the expression of a disappointed toddler.

Trinity's voice lends itself to an apprehensive cheekiness. "Are you gonna look at me?"

It's dawning on you in this moment, now that the panic has subsided, that this is where your brother works. His hospital.

Or, at least, it was.

The details of his dismissal never really come to light during the family therapy you tag along to weekly, with Abby and the kids. Just that he did something worthy of a dismissal.

You drag your eyes to Trinity's. She inches closer, wheels of the stool squeaking against the linoleum floor.

"You never texted me back," you murmur as she tears open an alcohol pad with her fingers.

"Can I touch you?" she asks. Your breath catches.

You release it when you realize she means your head.

You nod, then she starts to swipe the alcohol pad along your forehead.

She never asks permission to touch patients in situations like this, especially not ones with head trauma. Usually, circumstance negates any pleasantries, but guilt gnaws at her to take the extra step with you.

"You'll tell me if any of this feels painful?" she asks. You sniff in confirmation.

The nurse, a kind-faced woman in a hijab, pokes her head in with a sterile tray of supplies before ducking out once again. Leaving you with Trinity. Alone.

"Gonna flush the area with saline, okay? You'll feel cold down your face and neck," she says quietly, then squeezes the bottle over your wound. The saline drips down the side of your head. She curves her hand around the shell of your ear, protecting it from errant drops.

Even through the latex, warmth radiates from her touch.

Your chest aches, reminded of how softly she brushed your hair behind your ear just two nights prior. So many questions swirl around your head, but the blockade between your brain and your mouth prevents you from asking.

“You passed out?” Trinity asks, to which you hum in confirmation.

The din and fray of the ever-busy ER on the other side of the curtain buzzes into your ears.

“Do you know what day it is?”

You rattle off the answer.

You want so badly to do one of two things: make direct, forthright eye contract with her, or look away from her altogether. Neither would be conducive to cleaning your cut, so you pick a spot on the curtain straight ahead.

“Okay,” Trinity’s hands are suddenly a phantom touch when she pulls away. She reaches for the tube of Dermabond.

“It might feel a little tender when I apply the glue,” she explains, dabbing some on a cotton swab. “But I’ll be really gentle. If it hurts too much, just let me know.”

Your fingers curl around the sheets at your side, but not because of the glue.

“That’s ironic,” you murmur.

Trinity freezes, the cotton swab hovering just an inch above your cut. Her jaw tightens, and she sucks her tongue down her front teeth.

“Hold still,” she grounds out, the first real reaction you've gotten out of her since you arrived, then applies the glue.

It doesn’t take her long. The cool breeze from her lips that follows sends a chill down your spine.

Gloves are disposed into the bin by the wall, then she —finally— meets your eye.

That acidic, dreadful feeling boils in your chest again. This time, apparently, the feeling overflows, like a pot left too long on the burner.

"We're really not gonna talk about it, then?" You find yourself asking.

Trinity’s either stunned by your tone, or something in her finally cracks. Her gaze snaps to you, blank at first, until her jaw tightens.

You’ve dragged something into this place, her place, that doesn’t belong here.

This hospital is where everything makes sense to her. Where she knows the rules.

You're going off-script, dragging in the exact mess she was trying to avoid behind you.

"What is there to talk about, exactly?" Trinity mutters, not convincing anyone. Least of all herself.

You let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Seriously?”

The pounding in your head pulses, but you push through it. “We spend this really great night together," you recap, more convinced now that you still wouldn't have heard from Trinity if you'd not been brought to her place of work by an ambulance. "Then you find out who my brother is, freak out, and then ghost me?" 

She opens her mouth to protest.

“No,” you cut in, your voice climbing. “Don’t. What is your problem with Frank? Or is this not even about him?”

Her expression tightens. 

“Was I just a convenience?” you press. “Did you just not feel like getting an Uber that late?”

That is the straw that breaks the proverbial camel's back. 

“Would you shut up for five fucking seconds?” she snaps, color rising in her cheeks. “I’m trying to dress your goddamn wound, in case you forgot that you're literally bleeding from the head.”

You go quiet.

Trinity takes the opening, pressing the dressing into place, firmer than necessary. You flinch but don’t make a sound.

She steps back immediately, like the contact burned. “I can’t do this here,” she admits, hands coming up placatingly. “You need a CT to rule out a concussion. Do you have someone who can pick you up in a couple hours?”

Her eyes flick up to yours, almost pleading.

You swallow, shoulders sagging. “Yeah," you concede, sniffing. "I’ll call somebody.”

“It won’t take long,” she adds quickly. “We’re not slammed. I’ll check your results when you’re back, and I’ll…” She falters, hand dragging over the back of her neck. “I’ll call you after my shift. Okay?”

A beat passes.

“Fine.”

The flatness of your voice punches Trinity in the gut harder than she anticipated.

You know when you're not wanted, and Trinity does not want you here. 

You're there another two hours, which is apparently VIP treatment around here. 

Someone brings you a gown while your clothes dry. A nurse checks your bandage, says there’s no more bleeding. Then you’re wheeled to CT, staring up at fluorescent panels as the hospital hums around you. Everyone moves with purpose, like they were born knowing what to do.

This is where your brother spent the bulk of his time. Before. 

This is where he saved lives. This is where his own life fell apart. 

By the time they roll you back, the adrenaline’s worn off, leaving you wrung out and heavy. 

You sit there for a while, twiddling your thumbs and avoiding your phone because the nurse said a screen might worsen the pounding in your head. Your eyes eventually grow heavier, and sleep starts to lull you in closer… 

…and then the curtain snaps open.

“You don’t have a concussion,” Trinity declares, already halfway inside. Flat and efficient. Almost disinterested, even. “We’ll get you discharged.”

She doesn’t really look at you. Just at the tablet in her hands. 

She wants this over. She wants you out of here. Why would she want you to stay? 

"I'm clear to sleep, then?" You ask, rubbing your arm to ground yourself. "I've heard sleeping with a head injury can make it worse."

"I just said you don't have a concussion," she snaps. 

The words shrink you. You sink back into the mattress, feeling quiet and small.

Trinity takes in the bandage tugging at your temple, gown slipping off your shoulder. Pathetic, pouting puppy. Just like when she'd left the other morning.

She presses her lips together, forcing the memory from her mind. “Is someone coming to get you?” she asks. “I can’t let you leave alone.”

Had this exchange happened two nights prior, you probably would've rattled off something smooth about how if she'd leave with you, you wouldn't be alone. 

But you just blink back at her, perhaps a little too guiltily.

  "What?" she demands.

  "I forgot to call somebody," you groan, reaching up to pinch the space between your brows. 

A humorless laugh escapes Trinity's lips. "Fucking figures," she mutters. 

It's your turn for your resolve to crack. "Excuse me?" 

"I said it fucking figures," she slows her words, making sure you hear every syllable. "Just doing whatever the fuck you want, without regard for consequence. Must be a family thing." 

You push yourself up in the bed. 

"Okay," you scoff, accompanied by a thin, incredulous laugh. Your eyes narrow at her. "I'm gonna give you a second to take that back." 

She just stares at you, shifting her weight to one hip and arching an immaculate brow. Cool and unperturbed. Your theory that she'd be a cat in another life only garners more evidence.

"What is your fucking problem with my brother?" You ask finally. 

"Exactly the same problem I have with you," she fires back. "You both take up too much space."

The words suspend between you, sharp and ugly.

You swallow, your throat tight. “That’s not fair.”

Trinity exhales through her nose, already shaking her head in dismissal. “I’m not doing this.”

“No!" You exclaim, heat flaring again despite the exhaustion dragging at your limbs. "You don’t get to say something like that, then just… walk away! You don't get to push me away when I still don't understand what the fuck happened. You don’t get to act like I’m the problem when you’re the one who disappeared without an explanation.”

“I didn’t disappear,” she shoots back. “I made a decision.”

“Yeah?” Your head tilts to the side. “And what's that?”

"That this was a mistake," her words bullet into you. "That it's too messy, and I'm not interested in it anymore."

"Why is it messy that you know my brother?" You snap, the simplicity of it grating into you. 

"Because!" Trinity groans, tightening her fist at her side. "I was the one who—" 

She cuts herself off, but the angry redness heating her entire face tells you all you need to know. 

"You…" you blink, then shake your head. 

She blows a breath out, as though she's both unburdened and horrified with herself at the same time.

"You're the one who reported him," it comes out as a statement. You blink, slow and heavy. 

The information tangles like a cord in your throat and your chest. You're not sure how you feel, exactly. You're so exhausted, but you don't think you're angry about this new tidbit of information. Just… surprised. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" You ask, quieter now. "Why'd you get all…" you trail off, trying very diplomatically to come up with another term for emotionally constipated.

"…all mean when I tried to ask you about it?" 

"Because this is what I do," Trinity throws her hand up, and when gravity brings it slapping dramatically into her thigh, you frown. "I push people away before they get too close. Once you do, you leave. You all do. And me being the reason your brother was dismissed from his job?" 

She shakes her head, averting her gaze from yours. "You have more reason to hate me than most people do." 

"I don't hate you," your voice softens. You're suddenly very aware that the walls around your bed is actually only a curtain. The patients on either side of you are surely very entertained by the soap opera occurring in this ER. "You didn't even give me a chance to react, you just assumed I'd react poorly." 

"Because everybody does!" Trinity's voice raises once more, before she seems to think better of herself. "Everybody does," she repeats, softer now. "You're no different. How could you be?" 

You think of the night you shared. How you danced with her under shimmering blue lights at the bar. How you kissed her more slowly and deliberately on the couch in your apartment. How you curled up next to her, in your bed, like a dog. 

Suddenly, all of it is more embarrassing than it is magical. 

Tears prick at your eyes, but Trinity doesn't seem to notice. Or if she does, she doesn't care. "I'll get your aftercare paperwork together," her shoulders heave, reverting to the script she knows so well. She reaches blindly for the curtain behind her. "Come back if it gets any worse." 

Isn't that the understatement of the fucking year.

Trinity isn't proud of the half-crouch she falls into when she sees you emerging from behind the curtain of North 5 twenty minutes later.

She isn't proud of it, but it is necessary. Her skin crawls with the words she said, the admission of guilt, the look on your face. 

You said the same thing Huckleberry did. That she didn't give you the chance to react, that she assumed you'd hate her for it. 

So Trinity ensured that you'd hate her, if not for that, then… 

I'm such an idiot, she thinks, sighing and rubbing her hand tiredly over her face. 

It occurs to her that she never made sure someone was actually coming to pick you up. She can't, in good conscience, let you leave alone. Not with a bandage over your head. Not with an aching fondness for you still haunting the chambers of her heart. 

She waits for you to step out through the waiting room before she follows, breaking into a purposeful, brisk walk. 

You politely shoulder through the crowd, making sure to say 'excuse me' or 'sorry' to each person in your way.

Trinity does not make the same efforts, barely looking anyone in the eye. 

The rain has faded into a diluted trickle as opposed to the toerrential downpour earlier. The sky looms overcast, but the sun remains behind the grey clouds. Looming. Waiting for her cue to come onstage. 

Trinity watches you scan the bustling street just outside the hospital, clutching the paper with your aftercare instructions to your chest. You step towards the curb just as a minivan rolls up, hazards flashing.

A woman in her mid-thirties leans across the console, propping the passenger's side door for you. The backseat windows are rolled down to reveal two kids in carseats, a boy and a girl, both waving at you excitedly. Trinity even spies the boy shouting 'Auntie!'. 

Jesus, she thinks, cursing the endeared uptick of her lips. Don't make me humanize Langdon. 

You clamor into the passenger's seat, yanking the door shut behind you. As you're buckling your seatbelt, you shoot a glance back to the hospital. 

On instinct, Trinity flattens herself against the nearest wall. To no avail, because your eyes lock directly on hers. 

As the woman signals and merges back into traffic, Trinity spies you cradling your head in your hands.