belly conklin x fem! reader. where the reader is conradâs best friend from school, and at first belly finds herself feeling jealous, but then she realizes she has a HUGE crush on her, and then they kiss!!
jealous, belly conklin
-synopsis: since the age of twelve, belly had been jealous of your relationship with conrad. turns out, she was jealous of him the whole time.
-warnings: underage drinking, kissing, angst with happy ending, very vague mention of a man not taking no for an answer, fem reader
-notes: i got way carried away on this one, it's really long, i hope it's what you wanted!
Belly loved the summer house and the people in it. It was an extension of herself, the one constant she always counted down to, looked forward to, hated to leave, and always wanted to go back to. It had always been the Fisher and Conklin families, before Belly was born and long after she realized how joyous the place was. The summer she turned twelve, it became different though. That was the first summer she met you.
Conrad had spent the better half of a year begging his parents to let you go with them, that you were his best friend and he'd hate to leave you behind where all you'd have of this magical place were the stories he'd have when he got back. That's what Susannah had told Laurel when she questioned who you were. Belly just happened to overhear.
Belly hadn't cared much at the time. She'd thought that maybe another girl would mean less teasing, less jokes made at her expense. But as the summer progressed, she also felt jealous that you had just as much if not more attention from the boys as she did. They became your friends as much as they were hers. She decided then that she wished Conrad would've kept his school friends at school.
You had left a couple weeks early that summer, and Belly was glad things had gone back to normal for her last days at the beach house. It was just like it had been last summer, except it wasn't. You still lingered in the air, Conrad still talked about you and even Jeremiah and Steven did too. Belly found herself hoping as she got in the car that you wouldn't be back next year. That next summer would be the Fishers and the Conklins, no one else.
âââââââ
The next summer had come, and Belly would be thirteen. It would be like any other birthday, just the parents, the boys, and her. But nearing closer to the beach house from the drive way, she knew by the laughter in the living room that you were back. Steven ran inside with Jeremiah who was previously helping with bags. Laurel gave a gentle squeeze to Belly's shoulder with a reassuring smile before following her son inside.
Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Belly promised herself she wouldn't let you bother her this summer. The beach house was supposed to be for happy memories and a fun summer. She wouldn't ruin that, even if she didn't like the changes it came with.
Inside, Belly was surprised when you stood to greet her with a hug, the smell of your perfume lingering even after you pulled away to help Laurel carry bags. It wasn't so strong it burned Belly's nose, but it was present enough to leave a mark that said 'I was here'.
That summer, she got sick and had to stay inside for a few days until she was better. The boys left every day without her but you stayed back and ate popsicles with her. You watched her favorite films with her and played various games with her. Then when the boys came back at night, you'd leave her with Susannah and Laurel to go hang out with them.
Even when she got better and the boys left to go camp at the beach like they had in a previous summer, there you were, trying to roast marshmallows over the living room fireplace so she could have smores too. When she asked where you'd gotten the supplies, you'd responded that Jeremiah was easy to bribe out of food with the right trade.
Belly had to admit to herself that maybe your presence wasn't so bad, that if you came back next summer, she wouldn't be so upset by it. She finally liked not being left alone or stuck with the moms watching old films, though she did enjoy it.
She was starting to think that maybe you weren't the worst thing to happen, but all those thoughts came crashing down one day at the boardwalk. Conrad asked her to go after they'd both been left alone in the house. He bought her a caramel apple, he walked down the pier with her, and when he asked to go play ring toss, Belly understood why he'd brought her. She remembered a conversation between you and Conrad earlier in the week when you and Steven had gone to the boardwalk by yourselves. You came back talking about a giraffe they had on the prize wall at the ring toss game.
When Belly approached the stand with Conrad, she saw him look right at it. She realized then that there was probably more behind the title 'best friend' when he spoke about you or when you laughed at something he'd whisper in your ear as everyone left dinner. She dragged him over to the ring toss game and said to win a prize. She walked away from him, leaving him to the pretty girl working the game.
Conrad found her later, confused as to why she didn't come back. In his hands were two prizes, which surprised Belly. He held out a polar bear with sunglasses to her. "They said it was the best prize they had." Belly took it, her other hand pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose.
"I like the giraffe better. Thanks though." Belly walked away, leaving Conrad standing in the middle of the food court with the stuffed giraffe he'd won for you.
Belly cried that night. She was jealous, Conrad had dragged her all the way out to the boardwalk to win you the stuffed animal you'd seen with Steven. It wasn't fair, that's what she told Taylor when she got back home before school. Belly hadn't said goodbye back to you that summer, too sick with dislike to say it with any meaning.
Belly hoped more than anything you wouldn't come back next summer, but she knew you would, so she would bring Taylor. She thought maybe with her best friend there, the thought of you and Conrad would be distracted from her mind.
âââââââ
It was mid-June, and Belly absolutely regretted bringing Taylor. She was only concerned with seeking Jeremiah's attention, leaving barely any of her own for Belly. Meanwhile, Belly had to sit on the sidelines and watch you and Conrad. Racing to the ocean, sharing huge bowls of ice cream, sitting next to each other at dinner, talking in hushed whispers and laughing so loud it rattled her heart.
Belly had brought Taylor hoping it would distract her from you, but she was constantly with Taylor, which meant you had all of your time to spend with Conrad. It shouldn't have mattered to Belly as much as it did, you were here for him anyways. He was the only reason you were there.
Later in the summer, Jeremiah wanted Belly and Taylor to be the judges of a surfing competition. Belly thought it would be just him and Steven, she hadn't seen you or Conrad all day, but then you both showed up, surfboards tucked under your arms as he laughed and you just watched with a smile.
Belly stood up to leave, everyone else was too busy to notice. Taylor was transfixed on Jeremiah who was already running out to the water with Steven, you and Conrad still stood in the sand laughing, hiding in the shade behind your surfboards.
Laurel watched her daughter walk in the back door, shoulders hunched and a frown etched deep into her face. "What's wrong? Are you not having fun out there?"
"I don't want her here." Belly mumbled, sitting on the couch between her mother and Susannah who held a glass of iced tea in her hands. The ice was making the cup sweat, so when Susannah reached out to Belly, her hand was cool and wet. She would've hated anyone else doing that, but it wasn't anyone else, it was comforting because it was Susannah.
"You don't have to bring her next year." Belly's frown deepened. They thought she meant Taylor. And it was true, she didn't want Taylor there anymore, but she meant it about you. She was tired of looking at you having so much fun with Conrad. She was sick of watching you do everything with him. She hated that you were with him all year round and she was only there in the summer.
Usually when summer came to an end, Belly hated having to leave the beach house. All she wanted was to stay there forever. But this year, she was ready to go. She was ready to escape the jealousy she felt every time she looked at you and Conrad. She was upset with Taylor and Steven who she caught kissing at the beach after Taylor promised not to hurt Jeremiah. It felt like that whole summer was just them falling apart. Before Belly got in the car, she tried to avoid the painful goodbyes. Not because she was sad, but because she couldn't stand to leave this place with her last memory being of you. You always said goodbye last and you would hug her and she wouldn't say anything, leaving you standing there in the driveway like she had the last two years. She couldn't handle it, not after this summer's chaos.
She wasn't fast enough though, or maybe you had come outside earlier. Belly watched you walk down the porch steps, Steven's hand wrapped around your elbow as he said something stupid, judging by the way your eyes squinted in confusion before Steven shook his head, signaling to dismiss what he had said. He walked around to the other side of the car, and Belly turned to get in before you said anything. To her misfortune, you were faster, wrapping your arms around her shoulders in the same hug you gave her every time you said goodbye.
"Goodbye, Belly. Have a good year. I'm sorry we didn't see each other much." You spoke in a whisper, just like always. It annoyed her. She didn't hug you back, she didn't say anything. She pulled away, turned towards the car, and got in. Not once did she look back, she never did. Belly had done this every summer since you arrived, she couldn't stand you any longer than she had to.
As Laurel drove away, Steven turned up the music he had on aux. Taylor was staring down at her phone, tapping away furiously. Belly could still feel the cool press of your rings on her sun warmed skin, she could still hear the softness of your voice, she could still smell the faintness of your perfume that was carried in the wind.
Next summer, Belly wouldn't pay you any attention. She wouldn't watch one more summer of you and Conrad when all she could do was sit and watch.
âââââââ
As soon as the car stopped, Belly swung open the car door and stepped out into the gleaming sunlight. The cool breeze felt good on her skin, it was the feeling she'd been waiting for all year. She was so glad to finally be back in Cousins for the summer, forgetting all about what happened the last time she was here.
The front door to the beach house flew open, and Jeremiah ran outside, followed by Conrad and Susannah who lingered back a bit. They all shared hugs and greetings, until Steven finally asked where you were. It was the question Belly had purposefully tried to ignore.
"She's not gonna be here for a while, her cousin's getting married." Conrad answers, and Steven seems upset with the answer but drops it. Belly wished it would take longer than just a while for you to get to the house. But, it made easing into summer that much better. She hadn't been the only girl in the beach house since she was eleven. It was just like old times, Belly, Steven, Conrad, and Jeremiah. They went swimming in the ocean, had lunch by the pool, Belly watched movies with the moms while they boys went to a party. Belly had gone to sleep every day for a week with a smile.
One morning when she woke up though, that peace was gone. Belly had gone downstairs for breakfast, only to find you standing in the kitchen with Jeremiah, flipping pancakes and dodging the strawberries Steven was throwing at you. Belly frowned, you were there early. It had only been one week. Conrad mentioned exactly that, moving down the stairs around Belly to greet you. Even he hadn't known you'd arrive early.
"My cousin and her partner are going a few hours south of here to meet other family that can't make the wedding. This is just a pit stop so I thought I'd say hi." While you spoke, Steven threw two more strawberries at you, neither of which you were able to dodge. Belly watched from the stairs as Conrad tried to wipe the stains off the white shirt you wore. They were noticeable, right in the center of your torso. "It's not a big deal." You told him, taking the towel from Conrad's hand. Belly's stomach twisted, he smiled at you so easily, and your hand was on top of his before taking the towel. Jeremiah and Steven didn't even notice, taste testing the pancakes. Belly turned around and went back upstairs.
She didn't come back until the afternoon, preparing herself to see you standing with Conrad again. Against everything in her, she'd put on the smallest bit if mascara and lip gloss, hoping she'd be noticed better. Maybe the attention wouldn't be on you then, and she wouldn't have to see Conrad staring at you. You were gone by the time she stepped of the last stair. Jeremiah told her you'd left an hour ago when she asked.
Belly went back upstairs to take off the mascara and lip gloss. She changed into her swimsuit and rushed back down stairs, diving straight into the pool. She hoped Jeremiah hadn't noticed the makeup when she asked where you were, she didn't need it if you weren't there. She wouldn't see you with Conrad, that was all she put it on for to begin with.
On the day of her birthday, Belly still hadn't seen you since the surprise visit. She opened her gifts from everyone, they all had pancakes for breakfast, per her request. Conrad had asked if she wanted to go to the boardwalk, Belly agreed. Steven and Jeremiah ended up going too, but they went straight to the arcade as soon as they arrived. Conrad followed Belly to all the things she wanted to do, until it led them to a picnic table for a snack.
Belly didn't think it was a good idea to ask, but she had to know. She asked Conrad why he was friends with you. Belly wanted to know what was so important about you that he couldn't even leave you back for two months to be at the beach house.
"She's been my best friend for years. I've known her almost as long as I've known you. I just never really talked to her until the year before I first brought her here." Conrad shrugged, he didn't understand the importance of the question. But now that Belly had asked it and received the wrong answer, she didn't understand why it was important for her to know either. But she'd already asked, she wanted a real answer.
"That isn't what I asked you." Conrad sighed at that. He took a long sip of his drink and paused, almost as if he really had to think about the answer. Maybe he was just trying to avoid it.
"She was there for me when I needed someone." He answered shortly.
"And no one else was?"
"That's not what I meant." She knew. But she wanted a real answer, not a vague one, not one that could be misinterpreted. And she'd already asked twice. There clearly wasn't anything special about you, or Conrad wanted to keep something about your relationship secret. Either of those explanations would've confirmed Belly's suspicions.
"She just, she makes people feel safe with her even if they don't know her. She's just got that about her, y'know?" Belly had never heard Conrad say that about anyone. But, it made sense to her now though, why he would drag you miles from your own home and family every summer just to spend that extra time with you. It also made sense to her that you were more than his best friend, and she had a feeling she knew just how much more.
"Hey guys, guess who I just saw outside!" Jeremiah ran up to their table, Steven trailing a safe distance behind. Belly and Conrad stood up, following Jeremiah and Steven to the exit. The sun was setting, Belly hadn't realized how long they'd been there.
Just as Jeremiah said, you stood in the parking lot alone, a jacket draped over your folded arms. Belly guessed you'd come straight from the reception, judging by your slightly smudged makeup and the dress you wore that rippled softly around your legs in the breeze. Once you saw them, you reached into the bag hanging from your shoulder and handed each of them a pressed flower.
"My cousin saved me the leftover ones for my room. I don't need all the ones she gave me." The boys clutched onto them like it was all they'd ever have of you, observing every inch of their flower like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Belly put hers in her pocket. She didn't look back at you after she did, not wanting to know if you'd seen her do it.
Back at the house that night, Belly sat in her room, looking at the clock every so often. It was late for her to still be up, even for it being summer. Everyone was asleep, so she got ready to go for a night swim. This was the latest she had ever gone, so there was no chance Susannah would come down tonight. She'd have the pool all to herself, but she was wrong.
On a chair across the deck from the door, you sat looking out to the stars above the ocean. Hearing the creak of the door, you look back to see Belly standing there, a towel tightly clutched in her hand. Belly was surprised when you didn't smile at her before you looked away. You always did, and it felt odd to Belly that you didn't. She wondered if something happened, if you were upset with her about the flower or if you finally gave up on trying to be nice to her.
Belly considered going to sit next to you, but as she walked farther out from the deck, she saw the look on your face, illuminated by the moonlight. You weren't mad, or sad, or upset. You were just there. There was nothing wrong, so Belly dropped the towel on the closest chair to the pool and dove in. She swam her laps, took short breaks to just float, and every time she looked back at you, you were still there, eyes never once leaving the sky.
Finally feeling tired, Belly got out of the pool and wrapped herself in the towel. She headed towards the door to go back inside, but something made her stop. Something made her want to go sit with you and watch the stars, just for a bit. You still didn't look away from the sky as Belly sat next to you, and she didn't say anything. She tucked her knees up to her chin to fully wrap the towel around herself and she watched the stars with you.
She had no idea what you were thinking, or if you were even thinking about anything at all, so she quietly kept an eye out for any shooting stars until you suddenly moved your hand to your pocket. Belly jumped slightly, not expecting you to move. You pulled out a small box and handed it to Belly.
"Happy birthday, Belly." Then you turned back to the stars. She carefully removed the lid from the box, revealing a small starfish charm glinting delicately in the light from the moon. "For the charm bracelet you've got. It's to remind you of this place even when you aren't here. I know how much you love it here." That was all you said, and Belly assumed it's all you would say.
She stared down at the charm, and thought back to what Conrad had said earlier at the boardwalk. She makes people feel safe with her even if they don't know her. She's just got that about her, y'know? Belly now knew how true that really was. Even back when she first met you, you had been the one to make sure she never felt left out, you'd sit with her when she was sick or when the boys would leave without her. You'd always tell her to have a good year when she left and you meant it every time, even when she left you standing in the driveway without saying anything back. You'd gotten her something to remember this place and all the amazing memories it held.
Belly realized there was nothing about you that she could hate. Not the way your voice lingered in her head all the way home at the end of the summer, not your perfume that she could smell long after you'd vanished from sight, not the cooling metal of your rings that came with every touch or hug you gave her, not the welcoming smile you always wore. Even tonight, when she first walked out the door and saw you. She realized if it had been anyone else besides Susannah, she would have turned around and gone back inside. For some reason, it didn't bother her that you were out there with her. She felt safe.
"Good night, Belly." Belly looked up from the charm to see you already halfway back inside. "Don't stay up too late, you'll hate yourself for it in the morning." You were gone before Belly could say anything back. She wished she would've said something, she didn't even say thank you. It made her think about every summer she never said anything back, never hugged you back, never looked back.
Summer was over fast after you got there. Belly didn't try to avoid your goodbyes this time, but she was confused now. Why was she now realizing that all the things she thought she hated about you, she didn't and never had? She still didn't hug you back. She still didn't say goodbye. But halfway down the street, she looked back. It was the first time she ever did, and she wished she hadn't. Your arms were crossed over yourself, the same way she did when she felt bad. You were frowning, and then Conrad was at your side, wrapping an arm wound your shoulder and leading you back inside, a gentle smile on his face. Had it always been that way?
âââââââ
It was spring break now, and Belly was still confused about last summer. She tried talking to Taylor about it, but she couldn't form the right words. All those times she saw you with Conrad, was it really you she was jealous of? Or was it just wishing that she was doing those things with you instead. Did she hate your goodbye hugs because if she hugged back she wouldn't let go? She missed the nights the boys left and it was just you and her, making your own jokes to laugh at. She finally recognized that she wanted to be the one you turned to, not Conrad.
Her whole life, she was so sure she wanted Conrad, for him to want her and to be with him. Now she wasn't sure that's what she'd wanted. Maybe deep down, she'd wanted the giraffe at the boardwalk because you wanted it, and it was subconsciously as close to you as she could get at the time.
Belly had stared at her phone for hours over the course of spring break, debating whether or not to call. She had no idea what she would say if she did, but she didn't like being confused over it. Time kept passing and Belly never called. And before she even knew it, school was out, exams were done, and she was packing her bags to go back to Cousins.
The ride there was the same as always, but when the car pulled in to the drive, only Jeremiah was on the porch waiting. He hugged Steven first before Laurel made her way over to ask about Susannah, to which Jeremiah responded that she was inside sleeping. Conrad came around the house a few moments later, pausing at the sight of them like he'd forgotten they were coming. He quickly greeted them before Steven announced it time for a 'Belly flop'. Conrad and Jeremiah were quick to follow. Belly looked around for you, but you weren't there. She guessed you were inside somewhere, waiting for them.
When Belly hit the water, she heard a new tone of voice added over the laughter of the boys. Swimming back to the surface, she saw you over Conrad's shoulder. You were smiling, hitting Steven's shoulder playfully. Belly swam over to the edge of the pool where you met her and kneeled down to help her out of the water. Once you were both sitting on the ground, you pulled Belly in for a hug, getting the front of your shirt wet. You both laughed and for the first time, Belly hugged you back. Things were going to be different that summer, she'd make sure of it.
Something was already different, though. Jeremiah and Conrad had never really paid her much attention before, but their stares had lingered a little longer than they ever had. Even Susannah had said Belly looked prettier, and she wondered if maybe your stare would linger as long as the boys' had. She hoped so.
The bonfire party came later in the week, and to Belly's disappointment, you'd spent most of that time with Conrad more than anyone else. Steven had told her not to go, and that he wouldn't be responsible for her. Belly didn't really want to go, but if was the only time she'd get to see you, she would go.
She called Taylor that night, asking her friend's opinion on what to wear. The call consisted of less help than meaningless bickering about what she should say to you. After the call had ended, Belly stared at her reflection in the mirror. She wondered if the dress she'd put on would even be noticeable to you, or if you would even care.
A thud echoed from across the hall, breaking Belly's thoughts. She went to see where the noise had come from, which led her to your room. Before she could say anything, the door flew open, revealing you in a shorter dress than you'd worn before and your makeup that hadn't been redone since the morning. You were shocked to see Belly standing there, waiting for you to say something.
"I heard something fall." Belly watched the crease between your brows even out, the confusion leaving your face.
"I just knocked my phone over. No big deal." You shrugged, stepping out of your room and closing the door behind you. "Are you going to the party?" You ask, eyes tracing over the dress Belly wore.
"Oh, um, yeah. Don't tell Steven though." Belly looked down, realizing that Steven would see her once she got there, so you telling him wouldn't even matter.
"Don't worry about him, go and have fun. He can be mad later, you look great." You put an arm around Belly's shoulders, leading her to the stairs so you could go.
Steven, Conrad, and Jeremiah had already left, the party was undoubtedly already in full swing. Belly would have questioned why you didn't go with them, but she knew from Conrad and Jeremiah's stories that you were always late to parties anyways.
Belly went around to the passenger side of your car, waiting for you to get your keys. She glanced in the window of the backseat and saw in the small amount of moonlight a stuffed giraffe in the middle seat. The one Conrad won at the boardwalk. A frown pulled at her lips as you walked outside, unlocking the car. Belly immediately got in, looking out the window. Getting in the car yourself, Belly felt your eyes on her, and when she looked at your reflection in the window, she saw the worry in them.
"We don't have to go. We can stay back and watch movies." You say, pausing to put the key in the ignition.
"No. I want to go." Belly still didn't look back, but she truly did want to go now. She couldn't go back inside and go to bed. It felt like every time she thought maybe she had a chance, Conrad came right back. The giraffe in your backseat was proof enough that she was right. She was going to the party, either with you or someone else to distract her from that thought.
"Okay." The car started, and the whole drive, Belly didn't look anywhere but out the window. You'd glance at her once in a while, making sure she was still okay. Belly tried to ignore it, just focusing on the music softly playing from the radio.
Barely waiting for the car to park along the crowded street, Belly tried to open the door. You locked it before she could, causing her to groan in annoyance. "Promise you'll tell me if you want to leave."
"Fine." Belly still didn't look at you, and she tried the door again. "Just unlock the door so we can go."
"Look at me, Belly." Finally, she turned to look at you, one hand still on the door and frowning. "Promise, or I'll turn around."
"I promise." Her shoulders deflated into a more relaxed posture, and you unlocked the door. Belly split from you as soon as you got to the crowd of people drinking and laughing. She needed a minute alone before she could go back to you or she got caught by Steven.
"Hey, Belly!" Jeremiah was walking over to her, a full solo cup in his hand. He held it out to her, and laughed at the grimace on her face as she looked down at it. "Don't worry, it's just water. I'm driving tonight."
She took the cup, from him and downed about half of the water before handing it back. Her nervousness had dried her throat. Jeremiah just shook his head with a smile. "Wait, how'd you get here? Some creep didn't drag you here, right?" It was Belly's turn to laugh, and she shook her head, explaining she'd come with you.
"Actually, did you see where she went?" Jeremiah squinted, trying to remember if he'd seen you.
"I don't think I've seen her yet, I mean you just got here, right? Maybe Steven knows, he was hanging around by the fire." He responds, turning to go in the direction Steven was.
"No, I don't want him to know I'm here yet." Belly stops him, and Jeremiah frowns but doesn't argue.
"I can ask Conrad." Belly nods, and Jeremiah leaves the cup of water with her as he goes racing off to find his brother.
A few minutes later, Jeremiah comes back, reaching for the water cup back from Belly. He took a long drink before answering Belly's previous question about your whereabouts. "She's actually with him right now. They're over by the water." Jeremiah points towards the ocean in a vague pattern, but Belly thanks him anyway and makes her way down the beach.
However, as Belly got closer, she stopped, trying to register what was happening in front of her. You were kissing Conrad, and clearly so distracted you didn't even notice the tide getting the side of your shoe wet. Your hands were in his hair and his arms were around your waist and Belly felt so upset that she almost didn't notice the man standing a few feet from you drop his cup and walk away.
Steven suddenly appeared with Jeremiah and a girl she hadn't seen before, and she was too frozen to even consider trying to run away before Steven saw her. "Belly, what are you doing here?" Her eyes turned to Steven who was quickly approaching her, she hadn't seen you when you appeared next to her, gently taking her arm and leading her away before Steven got to her.
"Let me go!" Belly tried to pull her arm away from you. You didn't let her go until you were both a safe distance from the crowd on the beach.
"Belly, just breathe." You stood in front of her, and she tried to move around you. "Belly." You blocked her again.
"Just let me go."
"Go where? And who with?" Belly didn't know, she just wanted away from you, and Conrad, and Steven. She didn't know when her tears started falling, or when you hugged her and she fought against your hold until she finally gave up. She let you run your hand up and down her arm to soothe her, you let her cry into your shoulder. "I'm sorry." You whispered.
Belly realized she'd been right, that it had always been you and Conrad. No matter how badly she hoped, it would never be you and her. Maybe she could've changed that if she'd been nicer all those past summers, maybe if she would've matched your efforts to be there, that could've been her you kissed on the beach.
"Let's go home, okay?" Belly nodded, she let you lead her back to your car. Even when you'd gotten home, she let you lead her up to her room, wash the light makeup she had on off her face and laid out a change of clothes. After you'd left her with a 'goodnight', Belly lay awake staring at her ceiling. The summer had just started, she couldn't handle watching you and Conrad all summer. She had barely tolerated it in previous summers. It would hurt worse to see it knowing for certain that you loved him.
She wasn't sure how long she had laid there when she heard stumbling on the stairs followed by a string of quiet curses. She heard you and Jeremiah say goodnight before Jeremiah's door closed and Conrad's swung open, hitting the wall before there was a long pause of silence.
Belly quietly got out of her bed and went to her door, cracking it open just enough to see what was happening. You were backing out of Conrad's room, whispering something she couldn't hear before shutting his door. Belly closed her own door, it wasn't loud, but it was audible. She stood behind her now closed door, listening as you stopped on the other side of it.
"Belly," She didn't respond, she didn't move. She just stood and stared right at the door where your face you be if she opened it. You sighed. "Good night." Belly listened until the sound of your footsteps quieted and your door squeaked shut across the hall.
Belly couldn't fall asleep, even after she had been back in her bed for an hour. She couldn't stop thinking about what she'd seen at the party, what you might've told Conrad before you shut his door, what you probably did the rest of the year when you weren't at the beach house. She wondered if you slept more peacefully than her, not knowing how badly Belly's heart was breaking.
The next morning, Belly didn't want to leave her bed. She didn't want to see you and Conrad, it would just make last night more real. Unfortunately for her, her mother walked in at the exact second she turned away from the door to go back to sleep.
"Belly, you need to get up. It's already late." Laurel sat on the edge of her daughter's bed, pulling the sheets off Belly's head.
"No. Can't I just sleep today?"
"It's summer Belly, go out in the sun, you can sleep tonight." Laurel sighed, standing up and going back to the door. She told Belly that you, Conrad, and Steven had gone to get drinks and muffins. Belly got up then. She thought she could go downstairs, eat something, and escape the house before you got back. Jeremiah was the only one at the time Belly could stand to see without being lectured or heartbroken.
"Finally! I thought I was gonna have to sit out on the surfing competition today." Jeremiah smiled up at Belly as she entered the kitchen, grabbing a box of cereal and a bowl, taking the milk from the counter before Jeremiah could refill his glass.
"I'm not going." Belly said, stuffing a spoonful of cereal into her mouth. Jeremiah rolled his eyes.
"Of course you are, Steven's an unfair judge."
"No I am not!" Steven appeared in the doorway, a box balanced on one arm and a coffee cup in the other. Belly froze, she hadn't made it out in time.
"Yes you are, you give us all twos at best." Conrad followed after Steven with another box.
"That's not true." Steven argues, sliding Jeremiah's cup over to set down the box he carried.
"It so is. Just because we're better than you." Belly didn't look anywhere but her bowl of cereal, your voice was the last one she wanted to hear right now.
"Shut up, just because you went to a fancy camp-"
"No I did not!" You and Steven continued the banter as you set down the drink carriers balanced in your hands. Conrad opened the muffin boxes, mindlessly reaching for one as his eyes full of amusement never once left you and Steven you were now pushing each other.
"Hey! Watch the food, some people are actually hungry." Childishly, Steven stuck his tongue out at Jeremiah, who in turn rolled his eyes.
"Didn't your mom tell you we were bringing muffins?" Belly looked up for the first time since you got back. The boys had left the kitchen with their plates of muffins and drinks.
"Yeah, I didn't want to wait. I thought you'd be longer." Belly lied, putting her bowl in the sink and muttering that she'd come back later to clean it. She quickly left to go back to her room, getting right back into her bed.
A few minutes later, there was a knock at her door before it was gently pushed open. You walked in with a plate of muffins and two drinks balanced in your hands. Walking over to Belly, you held out one of the drinks, sitting next to her. Once Belly had taken the drink, you set the plate down in front of her on the bed.
"I know you're upset with me Belly." She looked at you, pretending not to know what you meant. "I would've talked to you about it last night, but I think it was best we both slept off a bit of emotion before talking." Belly looked away, she wasn't ready to have this conversation yet. Not last night, not now, probably not ever. Her heart couldn't take it. "Talk to me, and if you still hate me after we talk, I'll leave you be."
"Do you love him?" Belly's voice was hardly above a whisper, but you heard, and with a small sigh, you answered, knowing exactly who she was talking about.
"He's my best friend, Belly. He has been for years. There's a thing about a friend like that, that just becomes a part of you and your life. I do love him, very much. But I'm not in love with him and he's not in love with me." You explain gently, eyes never leaving the side of her face.
"So why'd you kiss him?" Belly looked at you, there was a certain sadness in them that broke your heart.
"Because some people don't listen to words like they do actions." That's when Belly remembered the man that had stormed away from you before Steven and Jeremiah showed up. She hadn't thought anything of it when it happened, too focused on her own heart breaking.
"Oh." Belly took a sip of her drink. Maybe she had misread the whole thing.
"You can talk to me Bells." You hadn't called her that before, she wished you would've. She wished you'd keep doing it.
"I like you." Belly blurted before she could talk herself out of it. You smiled at her.
"I know. I like you too." Belly's eyes scrunched in confusion. "I was just waiting for you to figure it out yourself."
"I hate you." Belly smiled then, her face relaxing as you both laughed.
"That's not what you just said."
"No." Belly thought back to all the summers she'd spent with you that led up to now, you laughing in her room. You liked her, not Conrad. "What was that thing you were saying about actions..." She laughed again as you rolled your eyes in fake annoyance.
"What do you want? My muffin? My drink?" This time Belly rolled her eyes and you'd laughed, but she still took the drink, setting both on the night stand beside her.
"I want you to kiss me."
"Okay." You took her face in your hands and kissed her. Belly hadn't realized before, but she lived for this moment. She could've done this all along, had your lips on hers, your hands in her hair, rings pressing lightly against her cheeks, your perfume drowning her in a scent that made everything but you disappear.
When you pulled away, she found herself wishing you hadn't. She didn't want you to stop, and then it hit her that she'd only ever have you in the summer. You lived hours from her, she couldn't go to you whenever she wanted. She had just finally gotten you, and not even three months later, she'd have to let you go.
"I'll come find you." Your voice broke her thoughts.
"What?"
"When summer's over." Belly thought you'd read her mind, you knew the look she had in her eyes. "I'll be there when you need me." She didn't say anything, she didn't want to think about it. Summer had just started anyway, and now she had you. She kissed you again, ignoring your complaint about the muffins that still hadn't been touched. How could she care about those muffins right now when she'd been waiting long enough to finally kiss you?
Synopsis: Tension has been building for months now between you and the most recently hired bouncer at the club. As your final dance approaches, you find yourself thinking about the different perks of stripper retirement, besides finally being able to work in your field of study. Eric shares your enthusiasm.
Warnings: 18+, NSFW, M/F. Minors DNI // bastardized Cockney slang (Iâm so sorry, I did my best), awkward flirting, s*x work, str*pper!reader, alcohol consumption, drunk make-out session, dry-humping in a car, m*sturbation (f!receiving), light choking k*nk (blink-and-you-miss-it), dirty talking (eric is a yapper), yearning, anger management skills (not issues because heâs improved <3)
Word count: 5.4k
Read below or on AO3
I made a moodboard for this fic âĄ
Notes:
I refuse to accept Eric Love was in jail for 19 years, so for this AU he was released at 25 with the advocacy of Oliver and a new solicitor, who reviewed his case and petitioned the court for an early release date. He is now 26, still trying to get his life together in the outside world by accepting any job that will take a former convict. Idc if it doesnât make sense, I am forever team Eric Love x Happiness. My manâs a working-class hero and heâs getting some love <3
Feat. honorable cameos of Hass and Oliver + an OC called Janice who is a dancer at the club
I have never been / met a stripper or been to a strip club. But I did some research to make sure I at least avoided portraying it in a stigmatizing way. Still, itâs possible some inaccuracies remain, so feel free to hit my dmâs or leave a comment with feedback!
Some random hcâs I have for Eric Love that are included in this one-shot for no reason other than I want to and I can: heâs a West Ham United supporter (the East London team with the coolest kits); heâs a massive Rihanna fan.
⥠dividers by @strangergraphics-archive and @hyuneskkami âĄ
He doesnât recognize the song blasting from the speakers, which is not surprising, considering itâs now 2am. This is generally the point when Eric starts having trouble telling apart the heavy bass music thatâs been playing for the past six hours.
Two more to go. Fuckinâ hell. He sighs, resigned after checking his watch â an expensive gift from Oliver. Because of course the posh cunt couldnât just give him a cheap Casio. No, he had to spend the equivalent of a monthsâ rent on a glorified bracelet.
Eric grins as he remembers taking the piss during their last supervised outing before conditional release. âOi, Ols... âDunno if the news reached Eaton yet, but thereâs these lush things nowadays that tell you what time it is and a bunch of other useful stuff. Itâs called a cellphone, ya daft cunt. âFuck do I need this poof jewelry for?â
The memory of Oliverâs exasperated face still makes him chuckle, as he felt the need to overexplain the amount of money he spent by going on a rant about how âunfortunately, Eric, the right accessory can be decisive when applying for certain positions, even more than a recommendation, and besides, in many jobs you wonât be allowed to have your cellphone on you, but knowing what time it is is still vitalâŠâ.
It hasnât been a bad night, all things considered. No drunkards getting too touchy with the girls, no cheeky bastards provoking a fight, and especially no groups of posh lads giving him the side-eye like heâs dirt under their loafers.
Still, heâs tired. Itâs a Friday, after all â one of the busiest nights at the club, but it also means heâs only got one more shift before his day off, and he finds himself spending most of the night daydreaming about it.
He's so distracted he doesnât notice the DJ announcing your name, as you get up on stage. The distinct opening notes of Rihannaâs Rude Boy bring him back to reality. Without thinking, he starts tapping his foot at the familiar beat.
From his spot at the corner, he has a 360Âș view of the whole club, including a privileged angle to the center stage. Itâs Ericâs favorite place to do vigilance, because he can see everything yet is hardly noticed by anyone, especially if he stays still. Itâs a sort of challenge he likes to put himself up to, whenever boredom kicks. And it usually kicks in the last few hours before the club closes.
He remembers feeling like a kid at a candy store on his first day. Getting paid to stare at fit naked birds? Sign him the fuck up. But he was quickly put in his place by the head of security â a huge, proper experienced geezer. âTrust me, sonnyâ, the man had said, vacantly staring at the three girls shaking their tits on stage, âit gets old real quick.â
At the time, he paid him no mind. Heâd only been out of prison for little over a year, and even though heâd been taking full advantage of his freedom, the prospect of being around beautiful women for eight hours a day still had him buzzing.
Now, though, only a couple of months past and he completely gets what the boss was saying. Itâs like reliving the same night over and over again: the same girls, give or take, the same regulars, and the occasional drunk fight â but even those became routine.
Still, it has its perks. He gets along with the other bouncers, and his boss looks out for him â courtesy of Hass, who recommended Eric for the job through whatever connections he has on the outside. Mad cunt, he thinks with a fond smile.
The girls are nice as well; they pamper him like heâs their younger brother because of his boyish face and cheeky manners, and Eric would be lying if he said it didnât feel good to be coddled like that.
And then, thereâs you.
When youâre on stage, he locks in, attention undivided â like a cheetah, hiding from the gazelles in the savannahâs tall grass right before pouncing.
Tonight, youâre wearing a black leather and pink lace set, with matching glittered platform heels. Heâd spotted you before, doing rounds at the tables, bum looking unbelievable in that pleated miniskirt.
On stage, you move with practiced ease. Eric notices that you look lively today, all smiles and sticking your tongue out as you shake your ass to the drooling cunts gathering around you, like moths to a flame.
He clears his throat and adjusts his standing position by clasping both hands in front of the unfortunately growing bulge in his pants. He looks down, hoping to will it away with the force of his disapproval. Fuck me to hell and back. Poppinâ one on the clock. Heâs been doing this gig for long enough that this canât be happening.
He checks to see if thereâs anything happening that requires his intervention. Nothing amiss, he gives himself two minutes to close his eyes and do one of the breathing exercises heâs learned in group. It works; in the end, he feels calmer â and so does his prick.
Satisfied, he looks back up, to find you almost completely naked, twirling upside down on the pole to the last seconds of the song while looking straight at him. As if you already knew he was there â like you had been paying attention to him the whole time.
Eric freezes. On stage, you smile, looking away before finishing the routine with a drop split, crowd raging and showering you in bills.
You could swear that your feet are literally trying to kill you. The club was packed tonight, and it seemed like no one wanted to just chat on the couches. Still, it was worth it: between private dances and tips, you made good cash. But paid a heavy price.
âThank fuck itâs Sunday. Gonna rot in bed all dayâ, you snarl, like youâre applying alcohol to an open wound, instead of foot balm. The thought of returning next Tuesday makes your stomach recoil â which goes to show you really are done with this shit. You throw a death stare at the stiletto pumps you bitterly flung across the locker room minutes before, almost nicking Janiceâs eye off.
âFucking hell, girl⊠youâre in a mood tonight. No one would think you made your rentâs worth. Congrats on that, by the way! That mean you gonna leave us early, now that youâre rich?â
Janice pouts, as she scuttles closer on the bench to give you a tight hug, mock crying the lyrics to Baby, Please Donât Go in your ear. You catch some new girls giving her the side eye, while everyone else just moves along, already used to her unwavering enthusiasm.
âGoddamn it, Jan, quit it⊠pleaseâ, you grimace. Your head feels like itâs going to burst open.
âSorry, babe. You really done tonight, yeah?â
âYeah⊠I really amâ, you sigh, sliding into comfortable slippers and getting up to wash the grime off your face. Suddenly, your eyes light up as you remember. âWhat about the birthday boy? Has he been here yet?â
âOoou, speaking of the devilâŠâ, Janice purrs, wiggling her eyebrows at the door.
You turn around to see Eric standing in the doorway, grinning like the cat that got the cream.
âAlright, ladies? Now, donât go tramplinâ over each other for a piece of this⊠plenty for all of yousâ.
He emphasizes the sentiment by giving himself a sound slap on the bum, which is enough for the whole locker room to erupt in laughter and cheeky cat calls.
You giggle at the sight of him getting properly pampered, showered in happy birthday wishes â although, between bear-tight hugs, pinched cheeks and wet kisses all over his face, you must make a real effort not to laugh when he reaches you.
He is in a sorry state, face full of smudged make up and smeared lipstick in all the colors of the rainbow. Eric seems to realize this far too late, cheeks reddening as he tries to quickly wipe it off with the back of his hand.
âHere, Love. I donât think spit is gonna do itâ, you smile as you hand him a bottle of cleanser and a clean, fluffy face towel. He stares at one, then the other, then you.
âAinât you got soap? I dunno how to use this shite.â
You laugh. Typical lad. âYeah, we have soap, you twat. But this is betterâ. Still, you canât help but smile at his stupid, sweet face. You nod your head, silently telling him to join you at the dresser mirror. âCâmon. Iâll do it. After all, youâre a baby today â canât expect babies to clean up after themselves.â
He blushes again. Something tightens in your chest â heâs usually so full of bravado, but there are nights when he doesnât seem to know how to act in front of you. You shouldnât like it as much as you do.
âOi, youâre cleaning up after them. They did this to meâ, he lifts his eyebrows comically high and points to the girls, like a kid tattling on his mates.
âYou keep being ungrateful and you wonât be getting your present, birthday boy.â
At Janiceâs threat, he pauses, suspicious. âNah⊠you girls got me something?â
âOf course we did. Youâre our favoriteâ. Someone hands her a pink envelope with his name written in cursive on the front â a cute heart drawn at the bottom.
âHappy birthday, love. We all pitched in â but you can thank her for the ideaâ, Janice nods in your direction as she hands him the envelope.
This time, itâs your turn to blush. You shoot her a threatening smile which you hope translates into Iâm gonna kill you.
His eyes shine at that, and youâre sure you actually see his chest puffing in pride, like a goddamn peacock.
âYouâse are mintâ, he holds the envelope in his hands like itâs a precious jewel, before greedily tearing it open.
â⊠got me front-row tickets to Rihanna.â
He takes time to process the information. The whole room is suddenly quiet, waiting for his reaction. Everyoneâs eyes flicker from you to him, wondering if maybe youâd gotten it wrong. Turns out, he doesnât give a shit about Rihanna and this was a crap gift.
When he lifts his head, heâs smiling from ear to ear.
âYou girls are mad. This mustâve costed a fuckinâ fortune⊠never wouldâve thought of spending this money on meself. Thanks⊠for realâ. He clears his throat, obviously moved but not knowing exactly what to do now with everyone staring.
Thankfully, the girls come to his rescue, engulfing him in coos and sweet kisses all over. Again. At this point, heâs begging you for help with a desperate look, as you hide incontrollable laughter behind your hand.
Without breaking eye contact, you tap the bench next to you. As Eric finally frees himself from the crowd, he strolls over and sits down with a relieved sigh.
âSo⊠howâd you know I was into Rihanna?â His cocksure grin makes your stomach flutter. But you donât yield.
Eyebrow raised, you shoot back, drenching your hand in cleanser before roughly rubbing it all over his scrunched-up face.
âHow could I not? Sheâs your lockscreen picture, youâre always listening to her songs and singing along while weâre practicing our routines, and the only times I see you pay attention to us on stage are when the DJ plays her tunesâ.
Your annoyed voice contrasts with the gentle, caring movements you apply to his face, slowly removing all the gunk with your softest face towel.
The noise of the locker room fades, as your senses become flooded with him. He is so physically close, you want to scream: his face mere inches from yours and your legs between both of his, your naked knees occasionally rubbing against the rough fabric of his suit trousers.
You can feel him relax under your soft touch, shoulders slumping, breath slowing down, and lips parting â had you ever noticed how plump they are? Fuck. You can smell him, too â a mix of cheap cologne, cigarettes and sweat that should not be making you wet.
âSeems like youâve been paying a lot of attention to me, dollyâ. His voice is lower now, like heâs telling you a secret. As he says this, his thumb casually rubs against the sensitive skin on the side of your knee, and you shiver, unthinkingly rubbing your thighs together. His eyes shoot down, then back up to look into yours, as his mouth twists into a crooked smile.
Two can play that game.
âYeah, guess I have. Because I got you another giftâ.
He laughs in disbelief. âYouâre joking.â
âIâm notâ, you grin, amused at his confused face. âWanna see?â
ââCourse. Damn, I feel spoiled todayâŠâ
âYou are. Our spoiled little brat.â
You get up and rummage through your bag until you find it. âCatchâ, you shout, as you dramatically throw him a little teddy bear with the West Ham United crest.
Youâre both quiet for a few seconds, before exploding in laughter.
âSorry, saw this the other day and couldnât resistâ, you confess, looking at the floor to disguise your blushing cheeks.
âI know youâre not apologizing for giving me a gift, darlinâ. Thanks so much⊠for all of itâ. He scratches the back of his head, awkwardly trying to find the right words. ââDunno what I did to deserve all this attention, but Iâm not complainingâ, he grins.
âGoodâ, you grin back, as you get up and start getting ready to leave. You quickly undress, rubbing wet wipes over your body. All you can think about is how much you want to get home and take a long, coma-inducing bath. That thought makes you moan aloud.
Eric coughs loudly behind you, and you freeze, having forgotten he was still there. You feel a wicked smile forming in your face.
âNothing you havenât seen before, sugar. Iâve caught you staring earlierâ, you coo back at him, with a cheeky shake of your bum.
Heâs sitting up straight, one hand rubbing on his thigh while the other holds the teddy bear you gave him in a death grip.
He clears his throat, staring at the floor. âHeard youâre leaving us next month.â
You smile softly. âYeah⊠itâs about time. This was a good gig to get my life started â yâknow, paying for uni, getting a flat on my own. But Iâm ready to move on. Got an offer in my area that pays real well. Which I never wouldâve got without this job, funny enough. âCause thereâs no way I couldâve accepted so many unpaid internships if I was earning minimum wage, working a regular 9 to 5.â
âOh⊠thatâs wicked. Congrats.â He sounds genuinely impressed.
Finally dressed and ready to leave, you approach him, bag slung over your shoulder. Standing between his open legs, you bend down in front of him, hand resting on his thigh for purchase. You know youâre giving him a privileged view of your tits, freely bouncing inside the white cotton halter top you put on â no bra.
Just a few inches closer, and his face would be crushed against your chest. You can feel his hot, labored breath on your skin, panting like a starving dog; itâs making your insides burn.
Gently, you hold his jaw, turn his head to the side, and give his cheek a slow, lingering kiss â dangerously close to the corner of his mouth. You can hear him gasping and swallowing thickly.
âThanks, Lover boyâ, you whisper against his face. As you turn to leave, you hear him call out for you.
âWait⊠luvâ, the dragged way he says it â like heâs just coming up from a high â makes you wish you could drop on his lap and ravage him right there.
âI wanted to ask⊠if youâd fancy meeting up one of these days⊠yeah? I mean, outside of work. I could take you out proper⊠go for a grub. Or a cuppa. Or somethinâ else. Fuck. Dunno how to do thisâŠâ, he hides his face between his hands, frustrated.
You werenât expecting this. Not now. Still, your heart melts a little inside your chest. Suddenly, the pain and weight of the entire nightâs work slips away, body feeling light as a feather.
Dropping down to the floor in front of him, you get his hands away from his face and stare up with a huge smile on your face.
âAsk me again in a month.â
Itâs the longest 20-minute drive of his entire life.
Heâd offered to give you a ride home in his car, after the goodbye party the girls had thrown on your last night at the club. Â
The trouble began at the first traffic light stop. Youâd been sitting in a comfortable silence. Until, nonchalantly, you put your hand on his leg, thumb rubbing soothing circles right above his knee.
When he turned to look at you, your eyes seemed lost in the urban landscape beyond the car window â but the corner of your mouth was twisted upwards in a lazy, almost forgetful smirk.
The second you noticed him staring was obvious. Suddenly, your back straightened â and you actually whimpered, rubbing your naked thighs together and biting your lower lip. But you didnât let go of his leg.
Fuckinâ hell. Eric griped the steering wheel hard.
All he could think about was how youâd spent the whole night making sure you were as close to him as possible. As the club closed and the party started, it was as if a switch flipped in your head, and now the world was made up of only him and you.
Shoulders and legs constantly bumping against each other, and lingering. Loaded stares and increasingly cheeky back-and-forth banter. Gaze dropping mid-conversation to fix on the curve of a neck, the movement of lips. Eric is sure his heart stopped for a few seconds when your head dropped to his shoulder and your fingers laced with his underneath the table, while Janice was telling one of her mad stories.
Which is why, right now, the bulk of his energy is spent trying to pay attention to the road, instead of the constant warm weight of your smaller hand on his knee. Or your legs, barely covered by the laughably short black dress that hugged your curves perfectly. Or â worst of all â the small noises you made each time you snuck a look at him from the corner of your eye.
Once the car stopped in front of the house, he closed his eyes and released a long, frustrated breath, mentally counting down from twenty and then up. He could feel the tension in his muscles, same as when he was getting ready for a fight. Thereâs no way he wanted to be like this around you.
He was brought back midway through the breathing exercise by a feeling. Or rather, the absence of one. Your hand was no longer on his leg, rubbing circles around his knee, grounding him.
Looking at you, he was met with a pair of frightened, shining eyes. His stomach dropped â he could imagine the figure he mustâve been cutting throughout the whole trip, all sullen and grunting like a cave man.
Ya fuckinâ animal â nice job.
âEric, Iâm so sorryâ, you whispered, voice trembling. âDidnât wanna make you uncomfortable⊠Iâm such a fucking tit when Iâm wasted⊠sâlike I lose my grip. Tâwas so nice of you to drive me homeâŠâ Ashamed, you hid your face between your hands and slid down on the seat, trying to disappear.
âFuck⊠sweetheart. Hey. Look at me.â Gently, he cups your cheek in his big hand, while his other arm is slung behind your seat. Youâre shivering, and Eric feels bile rise in his throat.
The first hints of panic engulf him, the sense that heâs losing control over the situation and can do nothing about it. He wants to envelop you in his warmth and keep you safe. He also wants you to run him over with a truck: itâs the least he deserves.
You start absentmindedly rubbing your face against his hand, hiccupping and breathing labored, pleading eyes staring straight into his soul. His chest tightens, as he grits the words out with effort.
âLuv⊠you ainât done nothing wrong. Dâya hear me? Nothinâ.â
He punctuates this with a slow stroke of his thumb across your cheek. You moan softly, biting your lip and falling backwards, mindlessly hitting the back of your head against the glass with a painful thud and a loud complaint. He chuckles, feeling a bit lighter. Youâre so cute.
âCome âere then, sweet pea. Iâll hold ya upâ. He backs up his seat and starts maneuvering your pliant body to sit across his lap. Your arms instinctively go around his shoulders for balance.
The tension in his muscles and the fire in his veins start to settle. Finally, a purpose, something to direct his rampant chaotic energy towards. Keeping you here, satisfied and safe.
âEricâŠâ, you mewl, nudging at his neck with your nose and â worst of all â shifting your hips non-stop right above his crotch, like heâs the most comfortable couch in the universe and youâre breaking it in.
Thereâs no way you canât feel his painfully stiff cock against your naked ass â at this point, the dress has risen so high on your legs itâs barely more than a glorified top. He catches a glimpse of the red thong youâre wearing underneath.
He snaps and gives you a forceful slap to the bum. You yelp.
âLady. Behave.â Heâs trying to be serious about it but canât bring himself to remove his hand from your ass, rubbing soothing circles on the abused flesh. In reality, he thinks, he must also be a little drunk. Because he doesnât remember giving his hand permission to squeeze. An animalistic groan rips out of his throat, hips giving an involuntary spasm upwards. Â
He can feel your triumphant smile against his neck. âBut I donât wanna behaveâŠâ Your lips start leaving small kisses anywhere you can reach, while your hands feel up his biceps.
âBaby, youâre so fit.â You bite your lip, as you move away from him and look him up and down for a good minute, roving your hands over his chest above the fitted black T-shirt, feeling up his chiseled tummy and his waist, occasionally releasing appreciative little noises.
Taking advantage of the fact that you seem completely engrossed in these tasks, he tries to ground himself for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.
He studies you. Youâre definitely tipsy, which is not ideal. Remembering Oliverâs advice about the importance of honest communication â canât believe Iâm thinking of that cunt with a hot bird rubbinâ herself silly on my lap â, he makes a decision.
âLuv. Gotta tell ya somethinâ. Itâs important, so I need you to have a proper listen now. Yeah?â.
Absentmindedly, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, thinking how fucking beautiful you look right now. Completely disheveled on top of him, the strap of your dress hanging from your shoulder, tits perfectly hugged by the dark fabric, half-lidded eyes roving every inch of his body â like you want to devour him but are unsure where to start.
The serious tone works. Your hands stop on his chest and your eyes refocus on his. You smile, hands cupping his face.
âIâm listeningâ, you whisper. Not without a devilish roll of your hips right above his tortured cock. Â
Eric holds back a moan at this, and laughs. âYouâre a fuckinâ menace.â
You bite your lip. âSorry, baby. Couldnât resist⊠love seeinâ you all hot nâ bothered âcause of me⊠but go on. Talk to me.â You hold his head between your hands and kiss his forehead sweetly.
He takes a deep breath and looks back at you. âYouâre fuckinâ gorgeous, alright? Iâm this close to cuminâ in my damn trousers like a virgin, just from a bit of rubbinâ and grabbinâ. And thatâs the issue, right? âCause I donât want this to be how it goes between us. Youâre drunk, for starters.â
He puts his hand on top of your mouth to stop you from interrupting him, to defend yourself against the vile accusation. Instead, you accept the indignity with an offended frown.
âAnd even if you werenât, I still wanna take you out on a date. Proper. At least once, before we shag each otherâs brains outâ.
He whispers the last part into the crook of your neck, feeling you squirm under his breath and moan against his hand.
Smirking, he decides to give you a taste of your own medicine by licking, kissing, and sucking at your soft skin until youâre reduced to a whimpering mess, whatever relief you try to get stopped by his hands holding your hips at a distance from his thighs. Youâre keening like a puppy being denied a treat, drooling all over his hand. He is painfully hard.
Youâre trying to say something, so Eric takes pity on you and drops his hand from your mouth, wiping the drool on his shirt â even though what he really wants to do is use it for lubricant as he shoves his fingers up your pussy. He can feel how dripping wet you already are, his pants a mess from your insistent rubbing.
âGo on, sweatheartâ, he urges you, kissing the corner of your lip and wrapping his arms around your waist, effectively locking you into place. You look ravished, and something warm unfurls inside his chest at the thought that he did that.
âBabyâŠâ, thereâs a begging quality to your whispering, as you softly rake your nails across the back of his head. âIâve wanted you for months now⊠you must know it. Right?â Your head tilts to the side, like a curious kitten.
âThe last few weeks âve been torture⊠canât stop thinking âbout you. Been touching myself⊠every night, soon as I get home, I get in the shower and all I can think about is you⊠fuckinâ me hard, against the wall, on the floor, in my bed... but itâs never enough. Last night I mustâve slept, like, 2 hours. âCause no matter how many times I got off to the thought of you⊠still needed more.â
Your eyes drop, cheeks flushed in embarassment. Trying so hard to get the words out through the slurr of your tipsy thoughts.
âI get it if you donât wanna⊠go all the way, tonight. Honestly, I donât want our first time to be like this either. But can you give me somethinâ⊠anything? I canât take this anymore⊠I need you, Eric. Please.â
Heâs looking up at your wet, pleading eyes, stunned into silence. He realizes the grip on your waist is too tight when you start squirming, whimpering, your hands hesitantly falling on top of his, hips tentatively rolling over his stiff cock.
When he finds his voice, it comes out ragged â strained with reluctant restraint.
âLuv⊠you canât say shit like that and expect me to control myself. Fuck.â Grabbing your ass, his hands start guiding your movements on top of him. He can feel the rational part of his brain receeding to give way to a more primal instinct â something comfortably familiar.
He taps into it effortlessly, wired to all the senses that allow him to smell your sweet perfume, touch the curves of your body, see you trembling on top of him, hear your desperate whines for more of him, taste your skin⊠he feels alive.
âPrincess...â His hand comes up to circle your throat, barely more than hovering â just so you can feel him there. Your eyes glaze over for a moment. Then, mouth agape, your hands close around his wrist and grip â like youâre daring him to mark you up â and your hips are grinding down hard, your pace increasing.
âThis how you wanâ it?â he gives your neck a tentative squeeze, and you moan, a loud yes! exploding from your throat. He chuckles.
âDirty girl⊠look atcha. Fuckinâ desperate for it, ainât ya? Donât worry, luv⊠Iâll treat ya right. Yeah? Tell me what you want, sweetheart... go on. Iâll give it to ya⊠best you ever had.â Heâs carressing your neck with his thumb, lavishing the other side with kisses and licks and groping your tits with his other hand, as he watches your eyes roll all the way back in ecstasy.
â⊠kiss me.â You whisper the request, almost shy.
Heart in his throat, he gulps. This is it.
Reverently â still holding your throat in his hand, like a precious jewel â, he brings your lips to his, sweetly, taking his time savoring you. Until you deepen the kiss, moaning into his mouth, tongue begging to be let inside, and fuck if heâs gonna deny a lady her heartâs desire.
Youâre both breathing hard when you finally come up for air, smiling stupidly at each other.
âEricâŠâ You fake-pout, as your hands slide underneath his shirt and feel him up, suddenly dragging down to play with his belt buckle. âWanna taste youâ.
He shakes his head firmly. âNah, luv. Thatâs not happeninâ tonight.â Even though the thought of you on your knees with his dick between your lips is almost enough to make him cream his knickers.
Before you have time to protest, he slaps your bum again, grabbing it hard. He slides his fingers underneath your soaked panties, rubbing you just right, the inside of your folds and your clit caught in one smooth motion. Youâre dripping wet, begging to be filled up.
You scream, and he quickly shuts you up with a bruising kiss, tongue going so far into your mouth it almost gags you. When he lets go of your lips, his finger comes up to rest on top of them as his other hand continues rubbing your clit mercilessly. You can barely moan, throat sore and mind blanking. Fucked out of your mind, and he hasnât even whipped his dick out.
âSshh⊠poor thing. Starved for my cock, ainât ya? All this time, teasinâ me at the club, makinâ me crazy⊠just to go home ân suffer all by yâself⊠Shit. If Iâd known⊠I wouldâve fuckinâ ran to you. Given you a proper fuck.â
To pontificate, his hips drive upwards as two of his fingers â strategically locked into position â easily slide inside your dripping pussy, two-knuckles deep, and he starts pumping them into you, mercilessly.
âFuck! Baby, yes yes yes yes please donât stop ââ, you cry out into the crook of his neck, babbling, hanging onto his shoulders for dear life. He can feel your thighs trembling and abs spasming â youâre about to break apart for him.
âThatâs right, sweetheart⊠come undone for me, yeah? Give it to me⊠go on. Fuckinâ take it.â
Legs spasming uncontrollably, you sink into his fingers hard, coming all over his hand.
Itâs enough to send him spiraling, his vision blanking out as he finally comes, moaning into your tits.
Neither of you feel like moving for a while. Your voice is ragged, little gasps breaking out of your mouth as he sooths you with little caresses on your back.
âDid I hurt you?â, he asks, suddenly concerned, searching for bruises around your neck.
You laugh. âNo, baby⊠you only made me feel good. Really fucking goodâ. You nuzzle his nose, kissing him sweetly.
He sighs in relief. âGood.â
âEric⊠thank you. It was an amazing night⊠and Iâm glad it ended with you.â You smile at him, earnest.
âTrust me, lovey, it was my fuckinâ pleasureâ, he nods down to his soaked trousers, and you both laugh.
âI was a little sad you didnât let me touch youâŠâ, you admit, while tucking your face into his neck.
âWanted to make you feel good.â
âWell⊠you did.â
He grins. âSo⊠I think this is the right time to ask again.â
You frown, confused.
He clears his throat, nerves wrecking him as much now as when he first asked you a month ago. âCan I take ya out to dinner tomorrow?â
A look of relief washes over your face. âGod, Eric. Yeah, obviously. With one condition.â You hold up a finger right up to his face.
âWhatever you want, sweetheart.â
You hold his face in your hand, whispering right into his mouth. âWe come back to mine afterâ.
He grabs your head and kisses you. âClosed fucking deal, love.â
summary You know Josh is gross â the way he looks at you, touches you, says things no decent guy would â but somehow, his desperate obsession feels intoxicating. He's pathetic, and filthy, which is exactly why nobody can know. (read on ao3)
wc 8.4k words
warnings explicit (MDNI!), PIV, fingering, masturbation, semi-rough sex, degradation, humiliation&praise kink, dub-con elements, bit of overstimulation, semi-public sex, emotional manipulation, obsessive/manipulative behaviour, general creepy and grossness from josh, unprotected sex, some noncon touching, alcohol use, sub/dom dynamics grey area
pairing josh washintgon x fem!reader (+ mentions of rest of until dawn gang)
You donât tell your friends about Josh.
You canât. Heâs just⊠ugh. Gross.Â
Not in a hygienic way. No, he showersâprobably too often, given how his skin always looks stretched tight over his cheekbones, shiny and a little raw, like he scrubs himself bloody each morning to peel away whatever filth clings to him from the night before.
And his hair, while thick and styled with cheap gel that flakes off onto his shoulders, still somehow reeks of expensive cologne. The type that burns your nostrils with its sharp, synthetic sweetness, clashing horribly with the stale tang of sweat that seeps through by midday.
No, gross in the way he looks at you.
His gaze is⊠devouring.Â
Like heâs trying to imagine exactly what youâd look like stripped bare, mouth parted, eyes wetâlike heâs undressing you in his mind and finding ways to ruin you all at once.
His eyes dart over your body too fast, greedy, like he doesnât want anyone else to notice what heâs doing but he also canât control it.Â
And when your eyes accidentally meet, he always smirks. That horrible, twitchy smirk that never reaches his eyes, his tongue running across his bottom lip as if tasting something only he can see.
Your friends noticed it immediately.
The first time he stumbled over to your group at a house party, a few beers deep, pupils blown wide and glassy, that grin split his face so wide it almost looked painful.
âLadies,â he slurred, his voice thick with booze and something else, something sticky and leering, âwhatâs going on over here, huh? Talking about me?â
âFuck off.â You snapped at him immediately.
You remember your immediate eye roll, how it only seemed to spur him on. His eyes snapped to you, laser-focused, pupils twitching like he couldnât keep them still.
He let out a short, barking laugh, leaning closer, his free hand coming up to clumsily fix his fringe before it fell right back into his eyes.
âOr are we talking about you tonight?â he drawled, swaying forward so close you could smell the stale beer and cheap cologne mixing with his sweat. âGod, you lookâfuckâ you know you look good, right? Youâre like⊠fuckinâ dangerous.â He hiccuped, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes never leaving yours. âYouâre⊠Samâs little pal, yeah? Bet she doesnât even know what to do with you.â
You scoffed, looking away, refusing to give him the reaction he wanted. âFuck. Off.â
But he didnât. His gaze dropped to your chest, lingering there like he was etching every inch into memory, then dragged lower with a grossly audible sigh. He licked his lips, slow and deliberate, before leaning in, his mouth brushing your ear as he whispered, voice trembling with cocky desperation, âBet you taste even better than you look, huh? Fuck⊠Iâd ruin you.â
Then, like nothing happened, he snapped upright with that manic, boyish grin plastered back onto his face, eyes flicking around the group, manic energy radiating off him. âAnywayâwhoâs getting me another drink? Iâm fuckinâ parched.â
He watched your reaction with a flicker of dark amusement, eyes narrowing slightly as his grin widened. It was like he was cataloguing every tiny twitch of disgust on your face, savouring it.Â
But what really caught his attentionâwhat made his pupils darken with something greedy and almost triumphantâwas how you didnât tell him to fuck off this time.
You just stood there, glaring, lips pressed tight, shoulders tense.Â
And he liked that. He liked it way too much.
Chris had to drag him away by the elbow, muttering an apology under his breath as Josh twisted to keep staring at you, his eyes unfocused but hungry, like a stray dog seeing scraps.
As soon as he left, your friends circled up, wide-eyed.
 âOh my god, what was that?â one asked, laughing nervously. âWhatâd he say to you?â
âWhere do men get the audacity?â another chimed in, rolling her eyes. âHeâs so gross.âÂ
Then they turned to you, eyebrows raised. âDid you see the way he was looking at you? Like he wanted to⊠I donât even know. Eat you alive or something.âÂ
âLiterally. He gives me the creeps,â one friend shuddered, sipping her drink. âDid you hear what he said to Anna last week? Told her she âlooked like a pornstar from the nineties, in a hot wayâ. Who even says that?âÂ
âUgh, remember when he asked Sarah if her boobs were real? At brunch? In front of everyone? Heâs disgusting. You'd think all that money, he'd have some manners.âÂ
You just laughed along with them, cheeks burning, ignoring the way your stomach twisted at the thought of him wanting to âeat you aliveâ.Â
Another time youâd mentioned to Sam offhand that you were cramping badly, and Josh, overhearing from across the kitchen, piped up: âThatâs kinda hot though. Like⊠primal or some shit.â
Youâd gagged into your cereal bowl.
Men like him have always existed.
Too cocky for their own good, a little unhinged, but never quite dangerous enough for anyone to actually cut them off. The type who toes the line with crude jokes and lingering touches, only to grin and apologise with that manic glint in his eyes, and somehow everyone just lets it slide.Â
Heâs funny, or at least loud enough to pass for it.
Charismatic in that slippery, suffocating way that keeps him invited to every party you go to, keeps him perched at the edge of every group dinner, leaning back with his arms spread across the seat like he owns the world.Â
But itâs the way he looks at you that makes your skin crawl.
His gaze turns dark when it lands on youâhungry, feverish, like he wants to peel you open and crawl inside, nestle there and never leave. Like he wants to keep you all to himself, hidden away beneath his fingernails and teeth.Â
And he never tries to hide it.
Not at parties. Not in the warm candlelight glow of a crowded dinner table. Not when youâre laughing with friends and feel his stare burn across your throat like a brand.Â
You always catch it.Â
The way his eyes slid over your body like oil, lingering a bit too long on your chest, your thighs, lips parted just slightly like he was already picturing what theyâd feel like wrapped around him.Â
Heâs touchy, too.
Always brushing past you when thereâs plenty of room, his palm hot against your lower back as you walk through a crowd. When he compliments a dress or shirt youâre wearing, he just has to know what it feels like, running his fingers over the material, dragging them across your skin beneath it if he can, even when your face scrunches up in disgust and your friendsâ jaws drop at the sheer audacity of Josh.
The worst part is⊠you never really discourage him. You just roll your eyes, mumble a half-hearted âStop it, Josh,â and move on. You never actually push him away when his hands settle near your midriff or drift up towards your collarbone, fingers gripping at the fabric like he wants to rip it away.
Heâs just one of those guys.
He laughs too loud â breathy and obnoxious, echoing through the room.
He says things that are just a bit too sexual, even to his other female friends like Jess or Ashley, little comments that make them shift uncomfortably closer to their boyfriends, which he loves doing in front of them.
He jokes too much about wanting to roleplay or choke someone out, watching your face closely after he says it, eyes dark and mouth curled up in that stupid smirk.
He messages you at 3am, âu up? â€ïž,â and when you donât respond, he sends another. And another.Â
Sometimes you wonder why heâs like that.Â
His sisters seem totally normal â Hannahâs a bit naĂŻve, sure, and Beth can be firm when she needs to be, but theyâre normal. Theyâre just too rich for their own good. Their parents stopped caring a long time ago.
And Josh⊠Josh fucking loves that mountain lodge they own. Heâs always talking about it, about how quiet it is up there, alone in the snow, how you could scream and no one would hear.Â
He once told you, straight-faced, âYouâd look so fucking hot crying. Like, properly sobbing. Bet your mascara would run all down your face.â
It wasnât even during an argument, or after a joke, or anything that might have excused it. Youâd just been sitting there on the back deck, scrolling through your phone as he smoked, the fading sun casting gold across the lake.
You hadnât even been talking to him. Youâd just sighed quietly to yourself at some sad video, blinking fast to keep your eyes from watering.
Josh exhaled a cloud of smoke, eyes locked on your face, studying every little twitch of your expression. Then he said it. Calm. Flat. Like an observation about the weather.
You looked up sharply, heart stuttering in your chest. âWhat the fuck is wrong with you?â you whispered, disgust curling thick and heavy in your throat.
He just smirked wider, tongue flicking across his bottom lip as his gaze flicked down your face, lingering at your mouth. âNothing,â he said softly, almost to himself. âAbsolutely nothing at all.â
Then he stubbed out his cigarette, stood up, and walked back inside, leaving you there with your pulse pounding in your temples, your skin crawling so violently it felt like you might scratch it all off just to be clean again.
Heâs pathetic. Heâs gross. Weird. Perverted.
Which is exactly why nobody could know.
It happened at the lodge, of course. Where else would it happen?Â
Just a winter getaway, late January. Youâd come up with Sam, your duffel bag stuffed with sweaters and thick socks, expecting nothing more than hot cocoa, card games, and maybe a freezing dip in the lake for bragging rights.Â
Josh called while you were halfway up the mountain road, the icy trees blurring past outside. The moment he heard your voice crackling through the car speakers, you swear he nearly came right then and there.Â
âFuck, yeah. Fuck. Yeah.â His breathing was ragged over the line, like heâd been running or⊠something else. âYouâre gonna have the time of your life, babe, I swear. Iâve told you about how qââÂ
ââI know, Josh. Itâs quiet. Shut up now,â you snapped, cutting him off before his filthy mouth could say something else that would make Sam roll his eyes in disgust.
Too late, she was gagging at the âbabeâ of it all.
Josh just laughed. That low, manic, bubbling laugh that always made your stomach twist, equal parts revulsion and dread. He was never put off by your impatience.
If anything, it only spurred him on.Â
âGod, youâre such a little bitch sometimes,â he chuckled, voice dropping low, filthy, almost fond. âGonna be a fun weekend.â
âWatch it, Josh,â Sam remarked. âSeriously, sheâs my friend, stop acting all⊠you.â
âShe doesnât mind, do you babe?â
âFuck off,â Is all you say.
It started earlier that night.
Youâre rummaging through your duffel bag looking for clean socks when you notice your folded underwear sitting a little off from how you packed them. Your stomach clenches cold. The lace is twisted around itself in a way you know you didnât leave it. Wrinkled. Handled.
You frown, fingers brushing over the cotton, then glance up to see Josh standing in the doorway.
Watching.
He smiles slowly, eyes flicking down to your open bag before meeting yours again. His gaze is glassy, hungry, lips parted just slightly like heâs been panting. You notice then the way his hand flexes at his side, fingers twitching like theyâre aching to touch.
âNeed any help unpacking?â he asks, voice syrupy sweet, but thereâs a rasp to it, raw and shaky, like heâs been breathing heavy for a while.
Your skin crawls. âNo,â you snap, shoving the bag closed, feeling your cheeks burn with disgust and something shameful under his stare.
But as you walk past him, his arm brushes yours. He leans in close enough that his breath fans hot over your ear, and under his deodorant and sweat you catch a faint, bitter tang that makes your stomach flipâlike heâs been working himself up alone in the dark.
âCute panties,â he whispers, so low youâre not sure you heard it right. But then he laughs, a quiet, broken little chuckle, and you know.
You push past him, heart hammering, bile rising in your throat. But even as you leave, you can feel it. His stupid fucking staring.
The cabin was warm and golden with firelight, flickering shadows making everyone look softer, prettier, a little drunker than they really were. Youâd spent most of dinner ignoring Joshâs gaze burning into your side profile as you laughed at Mikeâs stupid impressions. You felt it â every time you tilted your head back, his eyes dragged down your throat, your chest, your arms. Devouring.Â
He barely spoke through dinner. Just watched. Picking at his food with trembling fingers, flicking glances around the table to keep up the pretence of normalcy, then dragging them back to you like gravity.
Afterwards, he and Chris set up beer pong, coaxing everyone to join in with drunken cheers and clumsy bravado.
âYou play?â Josh asks as he gets one in.
You stood beside the table, sipping on a beer yourself. âNot really. Canât aim for shit.â
âIâll teach you. Câmon, itâs easy,â He insists, waving you to come closer.
You sigh, feeling the glances of Emily and Jess, both of whom have mightily advised you to stay away from Josh.
âHeâs a sweet guy, like, we wouldnât be friends with him if he was a total dick, right? But like, you can do so much better, girl.â
Despite it, you agree. He smiles as you step closer, taking the ping pong ball out of his hand.
âWhat? I just bounce it right in?â
âYeah. Yeah. You just- alright, maybe pick a cup you wanna get it in.â
âFine. Um. Third row from the front, second from the left.âÂ
âGood girl,â he says without thinking, voice low and hoarse. Your stomach clenches at that, unbidden.Â
You glance up sharply, but heâs already moving to stand behind you, big clammy hands coming to rest on your hips. You tense. His thumbs press circles into the fabric of your hoodie, squeezing like heâs trying to memorise the shape of your bones beneath it.
âOkay, okay, relax,â he murmurs near your ear, breath hot and beer-sour. âJust⊠line it up. You wanna flick it, not throw it.âÂ
You can feel everyoneâs eyes on you â Mike grinning drunkenly, Jess smirking, Emily rolling her eyes like sheâs already written this scene off as pathetic.
But Josh doesnât care, and maybe you donât either. His entire body is pressed against yours now, his chest firm against your back.Â
His fingers slide down from your hips to rest lightly on your thighs, the touch far too intimate for a party game. You feel him press in a little harder, the swell of his crotch flush against your ass, and you stiffen instinctively.Â
âJosh,â you hiss under your breath, a light reprimand, but he just laughs quietly, his grip tightening like iron shackles.Â
âShh, babe, Iâm just helping you aim,â he murmurs, voice dripping with fake innocence, though you can feel the twitch of his grin against your ear. âCâmon, focus for me.âÂ
You swallow hard, forcing yourself to raise your arm, wrist flicking as you send the ball flying in a clumsy arc. It hits the rim of your chosen cup and bounces out, clattering across the table.Â
âAh, so close,â Josh breathes, his fingers digging bruises into your thighs as he pulls you tighter against him. You feel him through the thin fabric of your leggings, and your cheeks burn with humiliation.Â
He finally steps back, hands sliding back up to your waist, giving it a squeeze that makes you wriggle under him. âGood try. Keep going.â
You wriggle under the touch, shoving him off with your hip as best you can, glaring over your shoulder. But heâs already stepped back, watching you with that heavy-lidded stare, pupils blown wide, tongue flicking across his bottom lip like heâs tasting the moment.
You canât believe you listen to him.
You do. You try again, shaking out your wrist, and he stays back this time, arms crossed over his chest. His hoodie sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, veins snaking down his forearms, hands twitching like heâs resisting the urge to touch you again.Â
âAim with your wrist, not your hand,â he mentions lazily, like itâs a casual afterthought, like he didnât just grind himself against you in front of half your friends.Â
âFuck off,â you remind him flatly, eyes locked on the cup. But you take the advice anyway.
You flick your wrist, the ball arcs neatly, and lands directly in the cup youâd chosen before.Â
Beer sloshes over the rim. Chris and Mike whoop, Ashley cheers, Emily claps sarcastically.Â
âBabies first beer pong,â Jess teases, raising her cup to her lips.Â
You smile despite yourself, feeling a flicker of pride, looking down at the ping pong table and shaking your head. Then you glance at Josh, expecting a cocky comment, and find him staring at you with an expression so intense it makes your stomach clench.Â
You give him a small, reluctant smile, just a twitch of your lips. âThanks, coach,â you mutter, sipping your beer to hide the flush in your cheeks. Then you add under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear: âNever touch me again, though.âÂ
He just grins at that, wide and twitchy and obscene, raising both hands like heâs surrendering to the cops. âDonât know what youâre talkinâ about,â he says, voice thick with mock innocence.Â
You roll your eyes, but thereâs heat rising in your chest that you try to shove down, turning away before you can think too much about it. As you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, you catch Emily watching you from across the table, eyebrows raised, an amused, questioning smile curling at the corner of her mouth.
Your smirk fades instantly. You duck your head, focusing hard on your beer, willing the flush on your cheeks to cool down before anyone else notices.
Youâve always heard nothing good happens past midnight.
Youâd have to agree.
You slept too much on the drive over, and now youâre wide awake, curled up on the loveseat as the fire burns low, dying phone in hand. Chris had nearly lit himself on fire trying to get the thing started earlier, and everyone had laughed until their ribs ached.
Now itâs quiet. Everyone else has drifted off to bed, sprawled out in spare rooms and on couches, bodies heavy with beer and whiskey and shots of something sweet Josh found in the back of the liquor cabinet.
You sobered up a while ago, nursing a wine, staring into the embers as they collapsed in on themselves.Â
Almost everyone had gone to bed.Â
You hear the footsteps before you see him. Heavy, uneven, like heâs dragging his feet across the polished wood floors just to let you know heâs coming. You donât bother turning. You already know.Â
Josh stumbles in from the kitchen, hoodie unzipped, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, hair sticking up in greasy tufts like heâs been tugging at it all night. Like heâs been pacing and thinking and pacing some more.Â
When he sees you, his whole face changes. That stupid grin unfurls across his lips, slow and twitchy, his eyes going soft and dark all at once. Hungry. Lazy. Like heâs just come home to something warm and waiting.
âCouldnât sleep?â he wonders.Â
You donât look up from your phone. âNope.âÂ
He chuckles under his breath, moving closer, the floor creaking under his weight. âYeah. Me neither.âÂ
He exhales a shaky sigh, like the sight of you actually calms him, shoulders dropping as he steps around the couch to stand in front of you. The shadows from the fire flicker across his face, catching on the sharp plane of his cheekbones, the wet gleam of his lips. He smells like sweat and cologne and stale beer. Overpowering. Cloying.Â
For a moment he just⊠looks at you, stood between the couch and fireplace. Like heâs drinking in the sight, pupils blown wide, tongue darting out to wet his lips. You flick your gaze up at him, and his breath catches, chest hitching like you just punched the air out of his lungs.Â
âStop staring at me like that,â you mutter, voice flat, phone now of no interest to you.
He raises his hands again, surrendering. âLike what?â
âJoshâŠâ You sigh, tired, rubbing at your eyes with the heel of your palm. The fire crackles behind him, shadows dancing across his sharp cheeks, making him look almost skeletal. Gaunt. Haunted.
Because he knows. He knows exactly how he looks at you. Everybody does. He finally drops it.
âOh, come on,â he scoffs, but thereâs no real bite behind it. His words are low, slurred at the edges, eyes flickering over your face with something like pleading. âIâmâ Iâm nothinâ but a gentleman to you, arenât I?â His brows twitch together, mouth twisting into something sour. âI⊠I keep my distance. I deal with your attitude, donât I?â He chuckles, but itâs hollow, wet at the end like heâs swallowing back something desperate.
You stare at him, brows drawn tight. Heâs rambling, voice dropping to a whisper.Â
âCanât I justâ canât I just have one thing?â
You blame the wine for how you donât stop him as he takes a slow step closer, like youâre his prey. Except he just watches.
âIs that alright with you?â He mumbles. âIf youâre not⊠gonna give me what I want.â
You canât help it. âWhat do you want?â
He scoffs a dry laugh at that and points at you like youâve just told a hilarious joke. âThe playing dumb thing is cute. Real cute, you know?â He chuckles to himself.
God, if your friends knew you were even entertaining this.
A beat of quiet goes by till he takes a seat in the empty spot next to you. He spreads his legs wide, knee bumping against yours. You curl more into yourself, tucking your foot up onto the seat, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands as you inhale sharply, staring into the fire with him.
Yeah. Heâs fucking weird.
And just⊠crude, and touchy.
But maybe youâre touch-starved. Maybe your ex was too nice. Maybe youâre bored. But he wants you. Heâs never not shown that. Not like the others, who flirt when itâs convenient, whose eyes flick away the moment theyâre bored of the chase.
He looks at you like heâs starving. Like heâd gnaw his own arm off if it meant getting to touch you for a second.Â
And maybe thatâs why you ask himâÂ
âWhy do you like me?â you whisper, voice almost lost beneath the crackle of the fire. You stare down at your lap, fingers fidgeting with the fraying ends of your sleeves.Â
Josh almost doesnât hear it. His glazed eyes remain fixed on the fire, flickering orange reflected in his blown pupils. For a second, you think heâs not going to answer. But then he exhales, a shaky sound that rattles his chest.Â
âYouâre hot,â he says flatly. Like itâs the most obvious thing in the world.Â
You scoff, rolling your eyes, but before you can cut him off he keeps going, words tumbling out clumsy and unfiltered.Â
âYouâre⊠nice. Not always to me, nâ all, but thatâs usually âcause Iâve got it cominâ,â he chuckles, rubbing a hand over his mouth like heâs trying to hide his smile. âBut I see you with Sam. With the others. You⊠I dunno. You care about stuff. About people. Youâre funny. And youâre just so fuckinâ sexy, you know?âÂ
He lets out a low, breathy laugh, shaking his head slightly. It sounds almost disbelieving, like he canât believe heâs saying this and youâre actually listening. His knee nudges yours again, firmer this time, like he canât help himself.Â
âI meanâfuckâyouâre sittinâ here lookinâ like that, and youâre talkinâ to me, and⊠shit, dude,â he mumbles, voice going quiet at the end. His gaze finally drags over to you, eyes half-lidded and heavy with exhaustion and liquor and that same disgusting, obsessive hunger. âItâs like⊠I dunno. You make me fuckinâ crazy.âÂ
Your chest tightens, stomach twisting uncomfortably. Itâs pathetic.
Heâs pathetic.
But thereâs a part of youâsome small, rotting part buried deep in your chestâthat feels something warm curl through your ribs at his words. At least he wants you. At least heâs obsessed. And thatâs worth something. Even if heâs gross.
Which is exactly why you lean in without thinking, pressing your lips against his cheek. Your cheap red gloss leaves a faint smear on his sharp bone.
You watch him twitch at the contact, squirming under your gaze when you pull back, still close, your body fully angled towards him now.Â
He turns his head to look at you, eyes wide, confused, silent.Â
Good. He should shut up more often, you think.Â
Before he can say anything, you lean in again.
This time, your lips press against his. Soft at first â he goes completely still, frozen in shock, before his mouth starts to move against yours, clumsy and desperate. You can feel how plush his lips are, how they part under yours like heâs starving for it.Â
You kiss him deeper for just a second, tasting stale beer and mint gum, before pulling away abruptly, leaving him panting.
He stares at you like youâve just handed him the meaning of life on a silver platter. Like he might genuinely explode if you touch him again.Â
âYou canât tell anyone,â you murmur, voice low and firm.Â
He nods so fast itâs pathetic.Â
âAnswer me,â you demand, eyes narrowing.Â
âI-I wonât tell anyone,â he blurts out, voice breaking at the edges.Â
âYou promise?â Your hand slides up to cup his jaw, thumb brushing over the faint stubble there, almost tender.Â
His eyes flutter half-shut, lips parting like heâs about to say something worshipful. But he hesitates. âWellââÂ
You fist your fingers into his hair and yank, hard enough to make him gasp, his head tipping back, mouth falling open in a silent moan. âPromise me,â you repeat, your voice like steel.Â
Heâs breathing heavy now, chest rising and falling fast, but a shaky smile curls at the edge of his lips. âYes, maâam,â he breathes out, half joking, half ruined already.
You donât remember how his mouth ended up on yours, chasing it like you would vanish into thin air. How his fingers found their way under your sweater, rough and trembling against the bare skin of your waist. How you climbed onto his lap, straddling him without thinking, knees digging into the ratty loveseat cushions on either side of his thighs.Â
His hands clutched at your hips like he was scared youâd slip away. His touch was desperate â not tender, not considerate â just greedy, fingers digging in so tight you knew youâd bruise. You felt his cock straining against his sweats beneath you already, pathetic, hard just from a couple of kisses.Â
âFuckâŠâ he whimpered into your mouth, his voice breaking pathetically as his tongue licked at your bottom lip, sloppy and uncoordinated. âFuck, fuck⊠youâre⊠youâre so fucking hot, oh my godâŠâÂ
You pulled back slightly, just enough to watch his face. His eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide, chest heaving like heâd run a marathon. Sweat beaded along his hairline despite the chill in the lounge.
He looked⊠kind of beautiful, in a filthy, trembling way. Like something that shouldnât exist, and yet there it was, all yours.
You remember his little noises â those quiet, broken whimpers into your mouth â and the way he said your name like it was the only word he knew.Â
âYouâre a fucking dick,â You muttered softly, but your hips rolled down against him anyway, feeling the way he twitched beneath you, how his breath hitched in his throat.Â
His hands slid up under your hoodie, rough palms skating over your ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra. He looked like he might start crying from how overwhelmed he was, lips pink and swollen, gloss smeared across his mouth and chin.Â
âIâve dreamt about this,â he whispered, his voice wrecked. âYou can call me whatever you want. Just⊠please⊠please keep going.âÂ
Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.Â
You leaned in again, your mouth ghosting over his ear. âYouâre such a fucking loser, Josh,â you whispered, your tongue darting out to lick the shell of his ear.Â
He shivered violently beneath you, hips jerking up against yours involuntarily. âYeahâŠâ he breathed out, his hands sliding down to grip your ass, squeezing like he was trying to memorise the shape of it. âI donât care⊠donât fucking careâŠâÂ
You kissed him again, harder this time, biting down on his bottom lip until he let out a strangled groan into your mouth. His hips were grinding up into you now, desperate little thrusts that made your stomach twist with disgust and reluctant heat.Â
Because at least he wanted you. At least he was obsessed.Â
At least when his eyes rolled back and his hands shook against your skin, it was because of you. Only you.Â
God, youâre pathetic.
His hands slip out from under your shirt, fumbling down to grab at your ass, squeezing rough and greedy as you kiss him harder.
You move his hand lower, guiding it yourself until his fingertips brush the waistband of your sleep shorts. He lets out a ragged little gasp at the contact, the sound muffled by your mouth, and you can feel him twitch beneath you, pathetic.Â
You drag his hand under the thin cotton, down into your panties. He hesitates for half a second, almost like heâs overwhelmed, before his fingers slip lower and finally swipe through your folds.Â
You break the kiss with a shaky inhale, your forehead dropping to rest against his as you feel him touch your core, wet and hot against his trembling fingers. His breath hitches, chest rising sharply under yours, and his eyes flutter between your flushed face and the sight of his hand buried under your shorts.Â
âFuck⊠youâreâŠâ he starts, voice hoarse with disbelief as he feels just how wet you are.Â
âShut up,â you mutter quickly, cheeks burning with embarrassment.Â
He just nods, swallowing hard, but his mouth wonât stay shut for long. âIâve⊠Iâve thought about this for so fucking long, you know,â he rambles, his voice cracking at the edges with desperation. âI⊠fuck, I canât believe this is realâŠâ
Youâre about to tell him to stop talking again, but then his thumb brushes your clit, light and tentative. Your hips jolt forward involuntarily, a moan slipping from your parted lips. His eyes flick back to your face, pupils blown wide, drinking in the way you scrunch your eyes shut and bite down on your bottom lip.
His thumb starts circling your clit, slow at first, as his fingers dip lower, teasing at your entrance but never pushing in.Â
âI jack off to you all the time,â he breathes out, his voice low and trembling. âIn the shower. In bed. Fuckinââ even in the bathroom at work sometimes⊠Youâre like⊠youâre a fucking dream, you know that?âÂ
You let out a shaky exhale, pressing your face into his shoulder to muffle your noises when he finally sinks a finger inside you, crooking it experimentally. Itâs rough and clumsy, nothing like how you touch yourself, but his fingers are thicker, reaching deeper, the stretch making your thighs quiver around his hips.Â
He chuckles low in his chest, dark and filthy. âIâve thought⊠fuck⊠thought about putting you in so many different positions,â he murmurs, curling his finger inside you just right, making your breath stutter. âThought about your mouth around my dick. Thought about what kind of noises youâd make when I fuck you. Bet you sound so pretty, donât you?âÂ
He thrusts the single finger slowly, and itâs not enough. Not even close. You reach back, grabbing his wrist, guiding his movements. âLower,â you pant out, voice strained, âand⊠another.âÂ
His eyes roll back at your words, a guttural little whine escaping his throat as he obeys immediately, pressing a second finger in beside the first. You let out a choked moan, your back arching as he scissors them open, finding the spot that makes your thighs shake.Â
âFuck⊠fuck, look at youâŠâ he whispers, voice shaking with reverence as he pumps his fingers deeper, thumb rubbing fast, messy circles over your clit. âSo good for me⊠riding my fingers like thatâŠâÂ
You move against him, grinding down desperately, chasing the feeling, your breath hitching with each thrust. His fingers fill you perfectly, curling just right, thumb flicking your clit faster. Your vision blurs at the edges. âRight there, right thereâŠâ You mumble.
âIâve thought about tying you up,â he mutters, ignoring your praise, his voice wrecked, eyes glued to your flushed face and parted lips. âWould you⊠would you let me do that? Hm? Tie you up, spread you open⊠fuck, Iâd ruin you.âÂ
You let out a shaky breath, pretending like youâre ignoring his words, but the flush that spreads down your chest gives you away. You canât even speak, can only nod weakly, your hips rolling faster, thighs trembling around him.Â
âFuck⊠fuck, thatâs so hot,â he groans quietly, his fingers thrusting deeper, thumb relentless over your clit. âGod⊠youâre gonna come for me, arenât you? Gonna come all over my fingers⊠fuck, please⊠please, babyâŠâ
âShit, thatâs so hot,â He exclaims quietly, watching as you ride on his fingers.
Your stomach coils tighter, heat building fast, his filthy words spurring you closer and closer as you ride his hand, desperate little whimpers muffled against his neck. His thumb is relentless over your clit, circles sloppy and fast, his two fingers thrusting deep inside you, curling up just right, stretching you open around him.Â
âThatâs it,â he breathes out shakily, his lips brushing your ear as his voice drops low, dark, possessive. âSo good for me⊠making those pretty little noises⊠canât let anyone hear, can you?âÂ
You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut as the coil in your stomach snaps tight. Your body clenches around his fingers, a broken sob tearing out of your throat despite how you bite down on his shoulder to muffle it.
The orgasm rips through you, hot and fast, your thighs trembling violently around his hips as you cum hard on his fingers, grinding down desperately as if you could drag out every last wave.Â
âThatâs it⊠good fucking girl,â he whispers raggedly, his breath shaking against your cheek as he keeps thrusting his fingers, slower now, helping you ride it out.Â
You pant into his neck, your forehead pressed to the sweaty skin there, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Your whole body feels loose, trembling with aftershocks, but youâre hyper-aware of the way his cock is straining hard against his sweatpants beneath you, pressed snug between your soaked core and his stomach.Â
Even through the fabric you can feel how hot and hard he is, twitching with every tiny shift of your hips. He lets out a strangled little whine when your hips shift involuntarily, rutting up against you with desperate need.
His hands grip at your ass, holding you tight against him, grinding up into your clothed crotch shamelessly as he pants into your hair.Â
âPleaseâŠâ he whimpers, his voice wrecked, needy and pathetic. âPlease⊠need you so bad⊠please let meâŠâÂ
His forehead drops to your shoulder, lips parted against your skin as he ruts up against you again, cock throbbing hard under his sweats, leaving a wet patch where precum soaks through. His hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging into your flesh like heâs scared youâll pull away.Â
You can feel his chest heaving against yours, his whole body trembling with restraint as he keeps himself from flipping you over and taking what he wants.
Because he knows â he knows he has to wait for you to give it to him.Â
And maybe thatâs what makes this feel so fucking good. Knowing how desperate he is. How completely and utterly at your mercy he is right now, shaking beneath you like a dog begging for scraps.
Without warning, you spit quickly onto your palm, the wet heat slicking your skin. Your hand slides between you both, bold and unhesitating, slipping beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, then under his boxers, curling around the length of his cock.Â
His mouth falls open, a ragged breath catching in his throat before it bursts into a long, desperate groanâtoo loud, too raw. You clamp your other hand swiftly over his mouth, fingers pressing firmly against his cheek.Â
âBe quiet,â you hiss, voice low and sharp. âOr Iâll fucking leave you here.âÂ
You see the flicker of genuine horror cross his face at the thought, eyes wide and glassy. His body tenses, trembling under your touch. He nods quickly, swallowing hard behind your hand.Â
Still, the soft, pitiful whimpers press against your palm as his lips press and bite lightly, nearly grazing your skin. You grip him tighter, thumb stroking up and down, moving slow and deliberate, letting him drown in the feeling while you hold the reins.
Your hand moves carefully, almost possessiveâlike youâre trying to tame something wild and broken beneath your touch. His body shudders against you, tense but craving, the heat radiating through the thin fabric of his sweats.
Heâs barely holding himself together, that desperate, hungry edge never leaving his eyes, even though his lips stay pressed beneath your palm, muffling his ragged breaths and quiet whines.Â
You can feel the frantic pulse beneath your fingers, the slick heat that speaks of him straining on the edge. You donât want to drag this out any longer than it has to.
You want one thing and heâs already got you there once, which is already more than you expected.Â
You just keep moving your hand, slow and steady, fingers tracing the line between pleasure and pain, between control and surrender.Â
Suddenly, you pull your hands away, leaving him trembling and exposed beneath your touch. His cock presses hard against his stomach, eyes wide and glassy as he watches you, dumbfounded.Â
Without hesitation, you shimmy down your shorts and panties, the fabric slipping to the floor with a soft thud. His breath hitches, a string of low, shocked curses escaping his lips like he canât quite believe this is really happening.Â
His hand rises hesitantly, replacing yours, fingers wrapping around his own aching length, moving in a slow, desperate rhythm as his gaze stays locked on you.Â
âCan you, umââ He gestures awkwardly toward your hoodie, hesitation thick in his voice.Â
You freeze, a flicker of doubt flashing through your mind. Stripped bare before him, while he remains warm and clothed, the imbalance of power sharp as ever. But his eyes, burning with that twisted mixture of hunger and awe, drag you forward.Â
With a reluctant breath, you tug off the hoodie, the cool air prickling your skin as you settle back onto his lap, careful to keep just enough distance to remind him this isnât softness or tendernessâitâs control.Â
He watches, hand moving faster now, slick with sweat, as you unclip your braârevealing curves that have him practically swallowing his own breath.Â
Your heart hammers loud in the stillness. Anyone could walk in at any moment. You pray the whiskey haze keeps the others oblivious, safe behind closed doors and heavy lids.Â
âHoly shit,â he rasps, voice thick with disbelief and need.Â
One hand never leaving his cock, the other tentatively reaching for your bare tits, fingers exploring, squeezing like heâs trying to memorise every inch. You shiver under the weight of his touchâequal parts revulsion and reluctant heat.Â
âFuck, fuck, fuck,â he whimpers into your neck, voice ragged and wet. âYouâre so fuckingâgod, youâre so warm, please, please let meââÂ
You barely hear him. Your brain is cotton-wool fuzz, heat coiling tight in your stomach as you grip his hair, forcing him to look at you. His eyes roll back slightly, lids fluttering, mouth falling open in a silent moan as his hips jerk up again, desperate for friction, moving his hands to your waist, holding your back towards him.
âYouâre pathetic.â you mutter, your voice flat, empty.
âYeah,â he breathes, nodding into your grip, his fingers digging bruises into your hips.
You watch him for a second. Watch the way his chest heaves with each ragged breath, sweat dripping down his temples, gloss smeared across his swollen lips. You could almost laugh. This is Josh Washington. Rich kid. The Black Sheep, even in his own friend group. Reduced to a whining, trembling mess beneath you.Â
You reach between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around his cock again. He sobs at the touch, forehead thunking forward against your collarbone. âPlease, please,â he whispers, voice shaking so hard it cracks. âI need it, I need you, I needââÂ
âShhh,â you say softly, cutting him off.Â
Your thumb brushes over the flushed head, smearing the precum down his shaft as his thighs twitch under you. You guide him to your entrance, sinking down slowly. The stretch burns and heâs not even all the way in, but the way he chokes on his moan makes the discomfort worth it.Â
His hands fly to your waist, gripping hard enough to leave fingerprints. âFuck, oh fuck, oh my god,â he gasps, eyes wide and shining in the dim firelight. âYou feelâfuckâbetter than I ever imagined.âÂ
You roll your hips experimentally, feeling him twitch inside you. Heâs thick, not huge, but big enough to make your eyes flutter shut as he fills you completely.Â
âGod, please,â he whines, thrusting up helplessly. âLet me, let me fuck you, please, I need toââÂ
You slap your hand over his mouth again, silencing his desperate noises as you start to move. The couch creaks beneath you with every bounce, the springs whining under your combined weight. âShut up, for fucks sake,â you hiss. âYou want everyone to wake up and see what a pathetic little perv you are?â You spit. âHearing about how you touch yourself to me, how youâre a fucking weirdo, going through my underwear, tellin' me how you wanna see me crying... making all those stupid, stupid jokes?â
He moans against your palm, eyes rolling back, fingers digging into your flesh like heâs holding on for dear life. His hips jerk up into yours in sloppy, uncoordinated thrusts, chasing the tight heat of your cunt like an animal.Â
Tears are brimming in his eyes now, lashes wet and clumped together as he looks up at you like youâre the fucking messiah.Â
âShit. Shit. Fuck. Iâm- Gonna cumââ he tries to say against your hand, voice muffled and broken.Â
âAlready?â you mock, leaning in close so your lips brush his ear. âGod, youâre fucking useless.âÂ
That does it. His whole body seizes under you, back arching off the loveseat as he cums with a choked, pathetic sob. Hot, wet pulses fill you as his hips keep twitching, his entire body trembling like he might collapse if you let go of him.Â
You donât stop moving. You keep grinding down onto him, ignoring his whimpers of overstimulation, using his cock for your own pleasure. His eyes roll back, mouth open in a silent moan as his hips jerk involuntarily. He hits just the right spot, and you quickly move to shove your lips against his, moaning into his mouth to quiet yourself.
âFuck, fuck,â you mumble, your stomach tightening dangerously. The heat coils low in your gut as you ride him harder, his cock stretching you open, every inch filthy and overwhelming. âDo you have any ideaââÂ
Your words cut off with a sharp whimper when his hands come up to your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples, sending electric shocks down your spine. He looks up at you like youâre god, eyes glazed, mouth falling open before he leans in, kissing across your chest, lips hot and wet as he wraps them around your nipple, sucking hard.Â
âAny idea how⊠humiliating this is?â you pant out, voice trembling, breath coming in ragged gasps as you bounce in his lap, the slap of skin on skin echoing faintly over the crackle of the dying fire.Â
He moans against your chest, tongue flicking over your nipple, drool and spit mixing with his feverish kisses. His eyes flick up to yours, pupils blown wide, glassy with tears from sheer sensory overload. He doesnât stop. His hands squeeze your breasts tighter, thumbs brushing insistently as his hips buck up, desperate for more.Â
âHave any idea how⊠if I was to tell anyone that I fuckedââ you gasp, voice rising, heat building faster and faster, âfucking Josh WashingtonââÂ
He groans at the sound of his name falling from your lips like that, filthy and ruined.Â
âTheyâd think Iâm a fucking weirdo,â you spit out, words dissolving into a breathy moan as he sucks your other nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing it just enough to make your hips stutter against him. âOhâfuck, fuck, right there, fuck.âÂ
He stops for a moment, head falling back against the couch with a low, broken groan as your cunt clenches around him.
âShit,â he breathes, staring down at where youâre joined, at the slick mess dripping down his cock, at the way youâre swallowing him whole with every desperate thrust.Â
Your stomach tightens one final time before the coil snaps, pleasure exploding behind your eyes as you come with a shaking, choked moan. You bury your face in his shoulder, teeth sinking into the material of his hoodie, biting down hard enough to feel the sting in your jaw.Â
He fucks up into you slowly, grinding his cock deep inside, moaning into your hair, his hands trembling against your ribs as he tries to hold himself back. When your orgasm fades, you lift your head slightly, breathing ragged, sweat dripping down your chest. Between your legs is a ruin of slick and cum, his cock twitching still inside you as your walls spasm around him weakly.Â
Both of you look down at the mess, panting, the obscene sight making your stomach twist in disgust and reluctant satisfaction. âFuck,â you mutter to yourself, a brief hit of clarity slicing through the haze, shame coiling around your throat like a chokehold.Â
A few minutes pass in silence, only the sound of the dying fire flickering across the room, painting shadows across his ruined, flushed face. You gently pull yourself off of him, sitting besides him now, bare as ever. You lean over, grabbing your bra and hoodie.
Then, Josh chuckles. Quiet. Low. Almost thoughtful. His eyes stay fixed on yours as a twisted smile curls up at the corner of his mouth. âMaybe you are,â he says softly, voice raw, trembling with exhausted lust.Â
Your brows furrow, confusion slicing through your afterglow as you reach for your bra, hooking it back around your chest with trembling fingers. âWhat?â
Josh just grins wider at your confusion, tongue darting out to wet his lips, eyes dark and glossy with exhaustion and something sharper. Something almost triumphant. He tucks his cock away slowly, hissing a little at the sensitivity, before leaning forward to grab your shorts from the floor, holding them out to you.
âMaybe you are a fucking weirdo,â he whispers, voice low and hoarse, âfor wanting someone like me.âÂ
You blink, staring at him, feeling your chest tighten with something hot and shameful. He holds your shorts out closer, wiggling them teasingly between his fingers before letting out a quiet, broken laugh.Â
âBut⊠thatâs kinda what makes you so fuckinâ hot, isnât it?â he murmurs. âYou could have any guy here, but⊠here you are.â He shakes his head, a breathy, disbelieving chuckle leaving his lips. âHere you fuckinâ are.âÂ
You snatch your shorts from his hand, cheeks burning. But you notice immediatelyâheâs handed them to you without your panties. You glance at the floor, searching, but he just raises his brows innocently, that twitchy smirk returning as he reaches down to his hoodie pocket, shoving the bunched-up cotton inside.Â
âDonât worry about those,â he mutters, voice smug, self-satisfied. âSouvenir.âÂ
Your mouth falls open slightly, rage and disgust flashing hot through your veins, but he just leans back against the couch, arms spreading lazily along the backrest, watching you with half-lidded eyes as you pull on your shorts, maybe accepting your fate a little too quickly.Â
âThis is a one-time thing,â you bite out, voice trembling with leftover adrenaline.Â
Your hands feel clumsy as you tug your hoodie back over your head, trying to ignore the way his gaze devours the sight of you dressing. He tilts his head at that, studying you with a dark curiosity.Â
âYeah?â he hums, tongue flicking out again to wet his cracked lips. âYou sure about that?âÂ
You glare at him, chest heaving, heart pounding so loud youâre surprised he canât hear it. âDonât push it, Josh.âÂ
For a second, something flickers behind his eyesâsomething almost genuine, raw, stripped of all his usual sleazy bravado. His lips twitch upwards into a broken smile, eyes softening as he watches you adjust your hoodie.Â
âHey,â he says softly, voice barely above a whisper. âI⊠I wonât tell anyone. Ever. You know that, right?âÂ
Your jaw clenches. You donât answer, refusing to give him even that sliver of reassurance he craves.
You just turn away, stepping over empty beer bottles and discarded blankets as you leave him sitting there, panting quietly in the firelit dark, your panties hidden away in his pocket like a trophy.Â
And as you step into the silent hallway, your chest tightens with something sickening and warm, something that makes your skin crawlâ
Because you know heâs right.Â
note: woah first fic alert ! this was supposed to be way shorter, but i decided to commit to the smut. first time writing it, have no idea if it's any good. veryyyy welcome to feedback! i just kind of try to write and emulate my own fav writers yk . anyway. hope u like! also pls lmk if the warnings aren't quite accurate or if i forgot something!
snowghoul
discoholicmusic
jacobvanloon
pixelskylines
kaledo-art
romaincrisis
blakekathryn
prguitarman
