what my user says

you turned over, facing away from him. he plastered himself to your back, hand stroking up and down your side.

“please, baby,” he whined.

but you weren’t that easy. sammy had pissed you off with his stupid little comment. if he wanted to get off, well that was his problem now.

the bed creamed as sammy fisted his chubby cock behind you. he was letting out pathetic mewls, whining into the back of your neck. everytime he tried to lay a hand on you, or grind against your ass, you would swat him away. you heard the way he choked on a sob at every denial, simply rolling your eyes.

“please, please, i need you so bad—”

“should’ve thought of that before you ran your mouth.”

“i know, honey, i know. ‘m sorry. just wanna feel you, please—”

his begging was incessant, and as much as you loved hearing sammy begging and pleading, you had an important briefing at work tomorrow. meaning you could not be losing sleep because your boyfriend was tugging at his weeping cock all night.

you looked over your shoulder, shooting him a heated glare. you ignored the shuddering reaction it gets you.

“you want to touch me? you want to cum?”

he nodded frantically, “yes.”

“you get to use my thighs and that’s it.”

he’s already spooning you, sliding the head of his cock along the crease of your thighs. he pressed forward, whimpering as his length disappeared between your plush skin.

sammy’s so worked up, that it doesn’t take long for him to start pistoning his hips, gasping and groaning at the slick glide of it all, all from his own pre.

“thank you, thank you—” he repeated it like a mantra, squeezing his eyes shut as the pleasure made him dizzy. he couldn’t even see your face, but it was still you squeezing around his length. he was so so so close.

“such a sick boy, i’m starting to think you like this more than stuffing me full,” you clicked your tongue, earning a keen from him.

“feel s’good, sweetheart. ‘m gonna cum, please lemme cum—“ he panted, needy and desperate as he pumped his hips.

you pretended to mull it over with a long drawn out hum, “hm, i dunno. i’m still upset about earlier.”

“m’sorry, baby. should’ve kept—mmph—quiet. i don’t know a damn thing. won’t happen again. ah, ah.”

“yeah?”

“p-promise.”

sammy was so far gone, he’d agree to anything you said.

“then cum. make a mess and show me how sorry you are.” and that, was a very easy order to obey.

“so good t’me, fuck, thank you, baby—“

he bucked his hips once, twice, before they stilled. hot spurts of his cum spill over your thighs, dripping into a small puddle on the bed. you sneaked a glance down, watching how his cock twitchd with every gush.

sammy slumped against you, mouthing at your shoulder. he was breathing heavily, still riding the waves of his climax.

after regaining his composure, he reached for the tissues off the nightstand. he cleaned up the sheets the best he could, making sure to wipe you down as well.

he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. “thank you, baby.” he kissed your temple, relaxing against the pillows.

“what do you think you’re doing?”

sammy’s eyes went wide.

“you think you get to piss me off, blow a load and then just go to sleep? thought you were sorry.”

his face flushed, “i—i am.”

“what part of ‘show me’ don’t you understand?”

he didn’t need to hear another word, already scooting down the bed to settle between your legs. for the second time that night, you rolled your eyes.

only now—as he kissed the bend of your knee, lifting it over his shoulder—you broke into a smile.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to be upset with them. You loved your sisters to bits and pieces, and you knew they would back you up in a heartbeat. But it was tiresome being second-best to them all your life. But that wasn’t their fault. It wasn’t their fault that you stiffened when anyone talked to you. That your words were clipped and blunt. Your expression just as blank, and your rigid posture off putting. That you found trashy reality tv shows to be just that–trashy. That music past a certain volume made your skin crawl, meaning you hated most parties or any social event. Or how you would stand by the window, motionless as you watched the waves crash against the shoreline in complete silence. It wasn’t their fault that you were like this.

You were startled from your spiraling thoughts when a large body knocked into yours, spilling your beer over the both of you. You stumbled back a little, clutching the cup to stop yourself from looking like an even bigger fool by dropping it.

You grumbled to yourself, looking down at the dark splotch quickly spreading through the fabric of your tank top. Shit.

Glancing up, you were met by a man with a twin stain on his shirt, looking straight at you. His brows were furrowed, pinching the freckled skin of his forehead together. The two of you stared at each other, stuck in a stale mate with blank faces.

You fumbled for something to say. You should probably apologize. Maybe just walk away. But the weight of his gaze had you pinned in place, the rest of the world fading away as you zeroed in on the intensity of his hazel eyes. Your words were caught in your throat—a common phenomenon—as your hands clenched into fists at your sides. His own, you realized, were gripping your shoulders and keeping you steady.

You were both pulled from the moment when another man approached, your sister slung around his arms. You recognized his face—images flashed of a screen being shoved in front of you as your sister showed off the new guy she was hooking up with. The guy who invited her to this party. Craig, your brain so helpfully supplied.

“Think this one belongs to you.”

You reached out as he maneuvered her loose body into your hold, wrapping her arms around yours. She giggled, head tipping forward before swinging back up. Jesus Christ, she was out of it. You were just thankful that Craig had returned her to you. From the looks of his red-rimmed eyes, he wasn’t too far off from blacking out himself.

You mustered a short thanks to him, sparing the other man with the freckled face one last glance before seeing yourself out.

“What w’you doin’ w’Pope?”

You were trying to buckle your sister into the passenger seat as her words slurred together. Keyword being trying. She was attempting to be ‘helpful’, clumsy hands blocking your path.

“Pope?”

“Mhmm, that guy y’were with. Pope. He’s Craig’s brother.”

The seatbelt finally clicked into place, and you rounded the other side of the car as your sister prattled on.

“—‘s quiet. Kinda weird.”

Her head lolled to the side, looking at your profile. “Kinda reminds m’of you.”

“Thanks.”

She shook her head, hands waving animatedly, “No, no, no, not a bad thing! Swear.”

“You called him a creep and compared him to me.”

She paused, “Meant you two would get along.”

You shook your head and she slumped in her seat. The rest of the drive was silent, your sister passing out about a third of the way home. You were left with your thoughts for the remaining stretch of the road, strong hands ghosting the nape of your neck.

The party had been over for a while now, only a few lingering bodies remained, draped over lounge chairs or curled up in a bath tub. Pope could deal with them later.

He was scrubbing dishes, suds running down the yellow latex of his gloves. Craig was braced against the counter beside him, just barely lucid.

“Hey, what was up with you and, uh, what’s her face—“ he snapped his fingers together, recalling your name.

Pope remained focused on his task, “Who?”

He repeated your name, “That girl you were lookin’ at—which is a kind way of phrasing it, by the way—the one who got beer all over you.”

“What about her?” His jaw ticked, recognition creeping in.

He remembered you standing by the pool, clutching a red solo cup. There was something intriguing about the way you were so still, almost like a statue compared to the parade of zoo animals around you. His feet had carried him over as he traced your features. The rigid stance of someone entirely too sober at a Cody party. Despite your stony face, there was almost something contemplative in your eyes that drew him in. Your skin looked soft. One of your tank top straps had started to fall off and he wanted nothing more than to fix it for you.

Before he realized in, he was crowding your space, tipping you over. His hands shot out, grabbing you by the shoulders. His suspicions were confirmed—soft—his thumbs digging into the flesh there. 

And then Craig had waltzed over, his latest fling hanging off his arm. Your sister, apparently.

“She matches your freak.”

Pope scowled at him, 

“Just sayin’.” He shrugged his shoulders, pushing off the counter, “I could probably get her number for you. Or you could take her sister for a spin once I’m done.” Craig snickered, slapping Pope on the back as he walked way.

Only once his brother’s footsteps faded down the hall, did Pope dare utter your name, testing the way it sounded on his tongue. 

About a week later, your sisters were holding a social gathering of sorts. They invited all their sorority sisters and a few other friends. They were huddled around a grill and cooler, laid out on towels with an umbrella hanging over them.

You had lurked around the edges of the crowd, exchanging basic pleasantries. One of them had extended her hand and you glared at her open palm. She had laughed—nervously—glancing at one of your sisters before turning away to talk to someone else. You stood in place, swallowing roughly as embarrassment burned your cheeks. You stalked away after that, leaving them behind to sit down at the very edge of the shoreline. You dug your heels into the wet sand, ocean lapping at your ankles. 

You mulled over the interaction, chewing on the inside of your cheek. You risked a glance over your shoulder, watching how seamlessly their conversations flowed. How someone could jump right in with a joke that would send the whole group into laughter. 

You slouched, returning to your personal bubble of gloom. Often at night you would lay awake, staring at the rough edges of your ceiling, unblinking. You wondered what had made you so obsolete compared to your peers. It wasn’t like you grew up in an unloving household. Sure, you parents worked long hours and often had to take business trips up to Long Beach. But they always took time off when it mattered. They were always patient with your…quirks. Meanwhile, the rest of their daughters had turned out just fine. 

There was just something fundamentally wrong with you, and that was your burden to bear. Alone.

There were loud cheers from behind you, and you instinctively whipped around to see what the commotion was about. Your second oldest sister was bounding up to you before kneeling on your level.

“You remember that Craig guy?”

“The one that—“

“Yeah. She invited him and his brothers.”

You frowned, “Why?”

“Hell if I know. I thought they were just messing around. No harm no foul, I guess. Besides, they brought the good stuff,” she waggled her eyebrows.

You nodded.

“You hungry? Hot dogs are ready. They’re firing up some hamburgers. I can bring you a plate after if you want.”

“No.”

Your sister sighed a little, tilting her head in the way you hated. “Okay. Well, we’ll be right over there if you need anything.”

You didn’t bother responding, facing the ocean once more.

Moments later, you heard footsteps from behind.

“I’m not hungry,” you reminded her.

“Not what I was told.”

The unexpected timber startled you, originally anticipating the sweet cadence of your sister’s voice.

A hand reached down—the same one that had been plaguing your thoughts since the party—setting a paper plate beside you. It was double stacked, ensuring the wet sand wouldn’t soil its contents.

You remained fixed on the waves, oh so aware of the you were being watched. He made no movement to back away, and you didn’t gesture for him either.

Most would’ve found it unsettling—the way he practically loomed over you. But you weren’t most people. Instead it was almost comforting. His presence was a steady one, grounding. You bet he had that same sharp look in his eyes. You wondered what they looked like now, in the golden rays of the afternoon.

You finally turned back to meet his gaze, pupils blowing wide at the sight. In the lowlight of the moon, it highlighted the angular features of his face. His sharp jaw and creased brow was just as you remembered. Only now, illuminated by the sun could you make out the finer details. His entire face was smattered with freckles, running down even the hollows of his cheeks and slope of his nose. His lips were pressed together in a straight line, quirked down ever so slightly. He had a head full of auburn curls, a little unkempt in the salty breeze, making him look almost boyish. It was cute. Handsome, if you were being honest.

“Anything interesting?” He jutted his chin towards the ocean.

“No.” 

“Thought so.”

“Come here often?” The corner of his mouth twitched, seemingly pleased with his quip. The only evidence of your amusement was a short exhale of air.

‘Meant you two would get along.’ Your sister’s voice rang in your head.

“Your name’s Pope?”

“Andrew,” he corrected.

“Oh.”

He must have sensed your confusion, waving you off, “Story for another time,” he muttered, finally sitting down.

You turned back towards the waters, calmed by its gentle motions and the soft breath tickling your neck.

Since the beach, your encounters with Andrew became more and more frequent. You would drop your sister off and he would be in the driveway. Long after your sister disappeared into the house, you would observe one another through the car window before you eventually drove off. You went to the bank and saw him lurking around, making himself busy and never quite making it to a window. You’d be running errands around town, the same truck parked outside the store. The driver had a cap on, but you recognized the curls peaking out.

Any conversation you had were fleeting, much like these moments. You quietly learned he was anticipating the annual airing of Shark Week on Discovery channel. He was the eldest of four boys. He liked to take strolls on the beach. Or maybe that was just him following you.

It was another evening, an hour far from reasonable, when your phone buzzed. Opening the notification, you saw it was a text from an unknown number.

Party tomorrow. You should come. 

You squinted at the screen in confusion. You almost told them they had the wrong person, before another message appeared.

This is Andrew.

You sat up, looking around the dark corners of your room as if someone was watching, peering over your shoulder. You brought your phone close to your face, reading the short sentences over and over again. Why would he possibly want you there? You weren’t exactly the life of a party. Well, neither was he.

You noticed the way he lingered. Walking the perimeter, but never quite breaching that distance. You supposed that’s why he followed you around. 

For the next few minutes, you cycled between typing out a response and deleting it. You were sure you were driving him mad with your frantic text bubbles. In the end, you hearted his message, slamming your phone face down onto the bed.

You had spent agonizing hours getting yourself ready. You raided your sisters’ bathrooms for perfumes, gagging at their sharp candy scents. You grabbed the most mild fragrance you could find; something fresh and almost salty that reminded you of the beach. All of your closet was laid out on your bed, tossing dresses and jeans around your room as you tried them on. You settled on the first outfit you had pulled out: a lace-trimmed tank top in your favorite color, paired with denim shorts and tights. You hunched over the sink, applying makeup. It was nothing special, just enough to make you feel less dull and more put together. Something that would bring life to your otherwise blank face.

Despite being a grown woman, you snuck out through your window. You didn’t think you could bear the embarrassment of your sisters’ teasing if they saw you like this—all for some guy you saw on occasion.

The door had been wide open, letting yourself in. You quietly padded through the house, the inside was silent compared to the raging party happening in the backyard. You peered through the sliding door, trying to spot the broad figure you’d become familiar with.

Your searching was cut short, heavy footsteps thudding behind you. 

You spun around, face growing warm. Andrew was dressed in a simple black shirt. It was unfair the way the fabric stretched across his chest. The sleeves were struggling to wrap around his bicep, accentuating the muscle there. You didn’t even want to think about how his jeans were holding up.

“Hi.”

“That for us?” His eyes flicked down the six-pack you held, the one you almost forgot you had. It wasn’t anything fancy, just some Coronas. You didn’t want to show up empty handed, but if you had to guess, they probably already had a taste of everything the corner store you stopped at had to offer.

In an instant you were awkwardly shoving the beers towards him. He grabbed them from you, calloused hand brushing against yours. The contact was electric and you repressed a shiver. You would have thought that you were successful, if not for the way his jaw clenched. It seemed Andrew couldn’t contain himself either.

He started toward the kitchen and you followed after him. While he put away the beers, you caught a glimpse of the fridge. You noticed how everything inside was perfectly lined up and stocked. But that wasn't all. As you spotted the dish rag along the sink, and the cereal boxes on top of the shelves, you put together another piece of the puzzle that was Andrew Cody.

He closed the fridge, stalking towards you. Your heart began to race in a way that wasn’t familiar.

Save for your family, others would simply gloss over you. They’d see your stern expression and hear your deadpanned answers, deciding you weren’t worth their time. It’s not like they could bear to be around you for more than five minutes. People grew antsy under your piercing eyes and detached demeanor.

Boys didn’t pay you any attention, aside from cruel jokes and bets. Throughout adolescence, you observed how your peers danced around one another. It started in kindergarten, chasing each other at recess. Notes passed in class. Homecoming proposals. There was always someone in the driveway, asking your sisters out with a large cardboard sign. You would watch from your bedroom window, an ache blooming in your chest. 

You didn’t inherit the magnetic genome that your sisters possessed. No, yours had mutated into something completely else.

Not that Andrew seemed to mind. If he was bothered by it, he wouldn’t be caging you against the counter.

For weeks, he had been restraining himself. He’d been circling you, a predator inching towards its prey. He learned the cadence of your days, attuning his circadian rhythm to match yours. He shadowed you across town, keeping tabs of all your favorite stops. He made a mental receipt of your groceries, the wrappers you absently tossed into the trash, what tune he heard floating from your car, all of it.

At some point your pace began to slow, purposeful, as if waiting for something. Or maybe someone. Him.

Andrew caught your chin between his thumb, tilting your head up to look at him. He whispered your name, his voice low and gruff but full of reverence. 

A lifetime full of deceit and isolation, he’d spent so long molding himself into someone else’s desires. Frankensteining himself into something he didn’t recognize, something he despised. Grief and passion and rage woven so tightly together that he couldn’t tell them apart. His tough exterior was the last of his defense, keeping him from wanting more, and frightening others offhis dark path.

The first time he saw you, standing all by yourself by the pool, he recognized that look on your face. To others you might have seemed passive, but he recognized the uncertainty behind your eyes. The question of what you were doing there. He’d seen it at the beach, too. You had glanced past his shoulder, envy flashing briefly across your face as you watched your sisters and their friends. But when you held his gaze, familiarity had settled deep inside the both of you. 

“Andrew,” you murmured back.

His hand slid up, so slowly that you could feel every wrinkle of his palm. He cupped your cheek, his other hand brushing away any stray hairs from your face. Your breath came out in shallow puffs, heart hammering against your chest. 

“What do you want?” He was blunt, straight to the point.

But so were you.

“Kiss me.”